She couldn't sleep. A glass of wine, a cool shower, and a walk in the warm evening air - all these things had soothed her for a while, but her stomach was still tight with what felt like anticipation. Lying in bed, she could feel the blood pulse in her veins, the touch of her skin against the warm sheets, and the heavy air that slipped between her lips, into her lungs and out again. A light sheen of perspiration coated her body; it was a humid night and the fan above her circled with a lazy beat.
She shrugged out of the nightdress that seemed suddenly too tight. It clung to her moist skin, and then released her, naked except for the silk thong she had worn to bed.
For a while she lay still, her arms and legs spread far apart. The fan above her swept the humid air in downward spirals, brushing her breasts, arms and between her thighs with feathery touches. She still felt warm, and a bead of sweat tickled as it negotiated her flank. She could smell the faintly perfumed musk of her own body, and it mixed with the scents of the night outside - earth, grass, and water.
She lay, listening to the creaks of the house settling down, the chirruping of frogs outside. Bats squeaked, geckos barked and the banana tree near the kitchen door rattled its leaves in a fitful breeze.
She told herself to relax. That nothing was wrong. That the heaviness in her belly was just nerves, or from the evening meal and the wine. For a while she felt calmer and almost drifted off, until a low rumble in the night sky from behind the hill stirred her again. The frogs redoubled their efforts, and the air seemed to grow heavier. A flash of light suddenly framed the trees outside the bedroom window and briefly highlighted the interior of her room with stark shadows.
Another rumble followed, and this one she felt through her body. A breeze stirred the curtains of her window and shimmered across her skin, raising each hair in its path and making her tremble. Her nipples responded, as to a lover's touch, and peaked in the dark - skin tightening and gathering, adding a tension to her breasts, which matched and increased the strange tight feeling in her stomach.
She had always loved storms, and here they were different to the tempests of her youth. Those had been cold and cutting, driving rain into her face and catching her breath away. She had always been protected with layers of clothing, gloves, boots and scarves, so the biting wind in her face had been a delicious contrast to the warmth beneath her jacket.
Here the storms would build in the afternoon, sometimes from the sea, sometimes above the green hills in an otherwise sunny sky, rising and billowing, throwing the trees into contrast when the sun highlighted their pale trunks against the darkening pregnant clouds behind. As the day wore on, the humidity would rise until everything she touched felt moist or sticky and even the flies which usually buzzed crisply against the screen door seemed to become lethargic, droning in the late afternoon or simply sitting against the mesh. The heat and moisture would finally combine in sudden, turbulent downpours and lightning which swept the air clean and left the country still and clear, until the next morning.
Now the flashes and rumbles became more persistent, and fat, heavy raindrops began to spatter on the verandah awning. They increased in number until there was a drum-roll of water hitting the roof, splashing and cascading from the metal, down into the garden below.
The smell of wet earth and foliage came on the breeze, with a fine mist of water droplets that tingled against her skin. She rose from the bed, intending to close the window, but as she walked through the dappled shadows towards the verandah, something drew her on - out through the open glass door and into the wind and water. She felt the wet wood beneath her feet and the spray on her chest - the water seemed almost to steam against her skin, before coalescing into tiny threads and streams, rolling down the slopes of her breasts and belly, soaking like cool fingertips into the silk which covered her sex, playing over her body and trickling into her secret places.
She walked to the rail, revelling in the liquid night, taut with excitement and a growing arousal as the sensations washed over her - the wind tugging at her hair, eyes dazzled briefly and holding the image of a lightning flash, spray soaking her surface and chasing itself down her skin, puddling at her feet.
She leaned against the rail, her upper body cantilevered into the night air, eyes closed, mouth open to catch the moisture falling from the sky. Her nipples tingled, her muscles trembled, and she felt a growing warmth between her thighs, where the wet silk clung to her folds and the growing nub of her clitoris, which rubbed against the smooth material when she brushed her thighs together. She was lost in sensation from within and without, heat and coolness, and wet, so wet. from the rain and now from her own desire.
She pressed her hips against the rail, and delighted in the hardness of the wood against the swell of her pubis. She rubbed herself gently against the wet timber, feeling the silk of her thong catch on the rough surface and the way it pulled wetly between her legs, tugging and dividing her engorging lips, caressing her stiffening clitoris, tightening against her anus in a way that felt both strange and pleasurable.
She felt at one with the night, part of the lightningÕs crackling energy, liquid and leaking with the rain, steaming and moist with the air and the trees, earthy and musky in the nature around her and the soaking breath of the storm.
