Licking his lips and trailing his tongue down the shadowy cleavage of her breasts in his imagination, left him wishing that with a swipe of his mouse, like a paint brush, he could take off her clothes and have her pink nipples exposed. She was smiling at him from her pic, the resolution poor, the details shadowed, yet, in spite of it, Dan saw the depth of her brown eyes. He looked closer and made out the smudge of lashes beneath her brow, the round fullness of her bottom lip and the tiny mole on her neck.
Leaning back and feeling the tingle of desire nagging at his cock, while deep in his groin the knots of need churned, Dan wandered through a fantasy of their fucking. He'd take her hard with no consideration for the delicacy of her flesh. His sweet ghost woman was everything he'd dreamed and he was "her artist", her painter or sculptor, like she'd told him in their private script chats on-line. Dan liked that since it sure beat the reality of going to the office every day.
He stretched and glanced at the screen again, set the pic as his wallpaper and chuckled when he noticed the Winzip icon ironically situated over her lips. A click on that tab opened the file he saved her voice in. Dan loved her deep and silky voice, its quirky little lisp slipped off her tongue as if the wetness of her words would never be contained by her language.
As he waited for the file to load Dan noticed the rain on his roof and shook his head. How long had that been going on? With a restlessness he didn't quite understand, Dan got up. He turned off the a/c and opened a window, letting in the rain-washed smell of the yard. He smiled as the drops kissed his face and stayed a moment, leaning against the sash.
In his mind's eye he could picture her on the wet walk through his back garden, with her hair dripping water onto the light fabric of her shirt. Where her brunette tresses rested against her body, the water soaked through and first darkened, then turned the white cotton invisible. A bolt of lightening lit the yard and in that instant he blinked. In disbelief Dan gasped, her image was there like it was burned into his retinas. He heard her singing, "Rain, rain. Go away..."
Sighing because he knew he was dreaming, he turned to go back to the screen. He shook his head, amazed at how vivid his imagination could be and was startled to still hear her voice chanting, "Rain, rain. Go away..."
Looking over his shoulder into the darkness of the storm, Dan saw someone moving out there. It was too much to hope and he silently chided himself for having such juvenile fantasies; fantasies of her being there and wanting him. He ducked below the sash and squinted through the rain. She was out in his garden, on the walk, with the concrete reflecting the streetlights at her back, a sweet specter of the storm. His gaze seemed to give her life and she began to walk toward the side porch.
Dan hastened around to the door and went outside onto the covered deck. Everything was dimly lit in the filtered blue light of his screen saver shining through the window. A ghostly image approached him up the path, her fingers deftly unbuttoning her cotton blouse. His pupils dilated in the dark and more details came clear as if she were solidifying in his presence. Dan held his breath. Soon the wet garment was open and she was peeling it off her shoulders.
She was exquisite, his imaginings personified and the rain seemed to encompass her in an aura of misty brightness. Dan basked in her glow, her health and sexuality streaming forth into his soul. At the lower step of the porch, she let her blouse fall to the ground. Her hands drew up along her ribs and cupped the round fullness of her breasts, lifting them to Dan's gaze.
