Wind and Withering

I miss the weather reports. The 24-hour coverage from the Gulf Coast, anticipating, documenting and reliving the landfall of the spinning storm. We were watching our second disaster in a row from a hotel room bed, this time, unlike before, in the storm's very path. Despite this threat, despite this danger, despite this risk of being coincidentally stranded (read: busted) in the same hotel room 2,000 miles from home, she and I were as comfortable as either of us had ever been in our lives.

The first storm, Katrina, was the worst. It killed New Orleans while we hallucinated sex over one night in Freehold, NJ. Our bodies rained upon one another in fits of sweat throughout the night, twisting and turning in unpredictable patterns much like the hurricane that destroyed the delta. In a decidedly emetic or sensual twist, depending upon your potential for passion, we flooded our bed in a storm surge of divine relief.

Less than a month later we were undeterred in planting ourselves in the very path of another churning apocalyptic pulpit, Rita. This time we were escaping hurricane Lanmark for time alone 2,000 miles from home, risking catastrophe and transport in an effort to embrace undercover. We traded the eyes of employers for the potential deathly eye of a storm to us tamer, more forgiving and less judgmental.
We found comfort under the coverage of the storm and the pillows of the bed, channels and anchormen rivaling the down covering and positions we took across the expanse of the mattress lit by the cathode ray of the hurricane eye. Ft.Worth, while we were churning and moaning, slapping, snowballing, rimming, writhing, spasmodic, cumming, spotting, squirting, oozing, sweating, swearing, collapsing with skin upon skin, muscle upon muscle, bone upon bone love, became the site of one of history's greatest unheralded sex sessions. To this day, any whisper of wind reminds me of the sweet salty taste from her ears to the back of her knees.

I think she knew it, too. That's when I stopped saving her from herself, and it was no coincidence how quick her down fall came. And then mine. We were overpowered by our own charisma. To tell you the truth, I think couples in love were jealous at how in love we were.