Red Hot Lightning

Red Hot Lightning
A Dirty Bits Short Story

A streak of high-voltage electricity split the sky, followed by a loud, ground-rocking rumble of thunder. Lightning with a chance of turbulence, that’s what the local channel had said. Skye Miller stared at the clouds, dark and ominous, promising needed rainfall and relief from the ninety plus percent humidity. The moisture hung in the air like a steaming wet dishrag, ready to slap you the minute you dared to walk outside. She’d made it home from her tennis match, and not a drop of rain had fallen. It hadn’t for weeks. She and most of the inhabitants of Tannerville needed a reprieve. Apparently nature was on edge as much as she was.

Skye didn’t know what it was about the town’s vacillating weather conditions, but they seemed to play havoc with her senses and her hormones. Her ears stuffed up as if she were in a tunnel, her head pounded, a dull ache formed between her eyes. Her only outlet was a set of tennis. The hard pounding of her feet against the asphalt, the quick maneuvers and powerful swings connecting with the reverberation of a solid ball slamming into her racket calmed her nerves and the tension forming in her shoulders. It even helped her ears pop. Sometimes. But not this afternoon. Not even a quart of Gatorade cooled anything down, especially her aching need for release.

Her hormones were on red alert, screaming for sex and only that would calm them. Not chocolate, a shopping spree, even a mechanical insertion of the best vibrator any woman could own would work. She needed a tease of the lips, a tongue begging entry, a hand between her legs and an erect cock waiting its turn. When was the last time she’d had that? Too long. It was only a hazy memory.

She thought back to when she’d been married. First wedded in the honeymoon phase when the mere touch of his hands along her arm, a nibble at the hollow in her breasts, was enough to set off tremors down her spine and pooling hot fluid between her legs. Before life got in the way and reality made fools of them, of what they had as a couple. Bills, careers, differences in values when it came to having kids. Growing apart, infidelity, on his part, not hers. No, righteous idiot that she was, she’d suffered alone and unfulfilled. Not even her best friends had known what was going on until it was over.

She’d decided then that marriage was something superficially required by the religious left, but not something that fit with today’s culture. Did it?

She sighed and wished for the umpteenth time for the fairytale. Hot sex and love happily ever after. Consummated and sanctioned. Not that it existed. At least not in her life.

She started to go into her apartment, housed in an old property, a large home from the nineteen fifties or before, and stopped. Brent Williams. He lived, so he said, two blocks up. He’d made it clear just a week ago when she’d stopped into the neighborhood grill for a bite. She hadn’t forgotten, even remembering his apartment number. Perhaps she could just go say…hello? He wasn’t a stranger. She knew where he worked, and it wasn’t a slouch job. What was there to lose but a few minutes?

Or more, like her tension.

There was no doubt he fit the bill. Tall, at least six-three, maybe more. Brown hair, almost black, short but waved around his face. A whisper of stubble that quickly formed around his nose and mouth. Dimples—who could resist them? And last, but oh so needed now, a bulge between his legs that wasn’t a wad of rolled up socks. The promise of something that would calm her. That is, once the ignited fire lay smoldering.

Now free, unrighteous and horny, she stomped up the street with purpose, still holding her tennis racket in her hand. Minutes later, she stood in front of his door and knocked before convincing herself this wasn’t a good idea. She cowered momentarily as a blaze of red hot lightning streaked across the sky and the ground trembled.

The door opened slowly and Brent Williams stood there, dressed in just a blue silk robe.

Her eyes drifted down to his partially exposed leg, black hair dotting it. It appeared there was nothing under that garment but him. Oh, boy, were the Gods in her favor today or what?

He grinned as he stared down at her tennis racket. “Okay, I give. Did you come to beat me into submission?” He swung the door back and gestured for her to enter. “I don’t think you’ll need it.”

“I, uh, just thought I’d take you up on your offer to visit. I didn’t just interrupt something did I?”

“Wasn’t doing a thing.”

Yet. Skye smiled to herself and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him. Staring around, she realized he had an efficiency. Everything was in the same room, even the huge king-sized bed that took center stage. Deciding she wouldn’t immediately throw herself onto the sheets, bad form, she thought she was far safer on the futon next to the window. Her legs shaking, she walked to it and sat down. “It’s very dark in here.”

As if in answer to her statement, the flash of the lightening reflected on the drawn draperies and the thunder crackled right behind.

Brent nodded, striding to the table where he struck a match and lit a large pillar candle. “I find it more soothing during a storm and cooler against that relentless heat. Besides, I had to work graveyard.”

“Oh wow, I forgot.” She dug her nails into her thighs. Of all the bad timing. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Brent stared up looking even more seductive by candlelight. “I’m not.”

Maybe the timing wasn’t so bad after all.

He sat across from her in a chair slightly higher than the futon and spread his legs just a bit, but enough. The position allowed his robe to open to barely below his crotch. His cock hung out, visible to her hungry eyes.

“Do many women visit you here?”

He shook his head. “No time. My work is very consuming.”

“Of course. I suppose I know that more than anyone. But what I do is far less strenuous than your work.”

He exhaled. “I don’t know that for a fact. Some would argue with you. One thing I do know. When I’m off and won’t be called in, I tend to enjoy the time in whatever way I have access to.” His robe slipped open just a bit farther, highlighting the fact he had the same idea she did on his own mind. “Have you ever had a quickie?” he asked, as nonchalantly as if he were taking her drink order.