Flash Fiction: Rain Like Wine by Mark Tulin

“Hold me,” Karima demanded, no longer feeling like an alienated exchange student missing her country, but a self-assured young woman who was free of all cultural restrictions and taboos.

Rain Like Water 

Rain Like Wine, by Mark Tulin
11/6/2018
 
We were caught in a summer rainstorm at Roosevelt Park. I covered her shivering body with my arms as we slowly made our way down the grassy hill. I watched the raindrops drip off the ends of her curls and tasted the rainwater on her silky throat like I was drinking a fine wine.

She bit my upper lip as the thunder and lightning shook the nighttime sky. We were oblivious to everything except each other, as the moon barely peeked out from the dark rain clouds above.

“Hold me,” Karima demanded, no longer feeling like an alienated exchange student missing her country, but a self-assured young woman who was free of all cultural restrictions and taboos.

We fell to our knees on the grassy knoll as the pouring rain washed over us, making us brand new with our passion, thirsty for more.

“I’ve never done it before,” she whispered with her innocent brown eyes looking to me for direction.

I felt her warm breath on my chest and could feel her tremble with desire. I wanted to be that one guy who knew what to do in this very special moment, who would never betray her or lead her to a place of regret.

“Whatever you want,” I said, indicating that I was satisfied just holding her close. “I’m not rushing you.”

Without saying a word, she grabbed my hand and gently placed it on her breast.

I felt a chill down my spine, not so much from the rain, but from the uncertainty of the moment. I paused for a few seconds to slow down my heartbeat and said, “I’ve never done it before, either.”