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“How the hell can you possibly be so calm!?!”
The howling of the wind and especially the semi-regular scraping of things along either the roof or either side of the apartment building were terrifying. To think that the wind was traveling through the neighborhood at more than twice the fastest I had ever driven on a highway was enough that I had a massive semi-permanent lump of fear deep in my gut. Since one of the reasons that we moved into this apartment complex was the number of tall and beautiful trees, I kept thinking that every sound of something scraping along the roof was the beginning of one of the said trees coming down upon us.
The lack of electricity did not help the situation at all. We had several flashlights, and the laptop’s spare eight-hour battery was ready as well so that we could truly illuminate the bathroom, the only place large enough for us both to fit comfortably and be protected in case debris pierced a window — since we lived on the third floor, we had been unable to cover the windows with plywood.
“Believe me, hon, I’m not ‘so calm.'” I kept typing away at the laptop, recording my thoughts about my first hurricane to a text file which I planned to post to my blog whenever I happened to get Internet access again, which I knew was at least a few days away.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor, my young wife slapped her book down in frustration. “I’m practically petrified here, barely able to focus on anything, not even the radio, and you’re calmly typing away!”
The radio was a lifesaver for me. It was a hand-crank radio, similar to those initially created so that people in remote areas of the world could still get radio signals for news and weather and entertainment. With the radio, I was able to hear voices from beyond the confines of the small windowless bathroom, and that assured me that my wife and I were definitely not alone; the radio station we were listening to was simulcasting the continuous reports of one of the local television stations, the hurricane reporters braving the elements so the many residents of the large metro area could get a sense for what was happening to the region as Escort bayan Hurricane Ike relentlessly pounded us with rain and especially with wind. The “problem” with the hand-crank radio was that about one hundred turns of the crank would only provide roughly twenty minutes of radio before the internal battery would be nearly drained, which in turn meant that it would be a long, long, long night without any hope of sleep.
“Shall we trade places?” I asked. “Would you like to type your thoughts about the hurricane experience?”
“No! I just…”
That was when I knew that she was definitely scared, and suddenly I regretted having accepted the promotion which had required us moving to Houston and putting us into a hurricane-prone region. She was a strong woman, which was one of the things I truly admired about her, but fatigue had weakened her and was allowing her fear to finally overcome her. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her lower lip was beginning to tremble.
I needed to do something, and I had an idea — an unorthodox idea for this situation, but an idea nonetheless.
After saving my progress on the laptop, I knelt on the floor and drew my tearful wife into my arms. She clutched me tightly, fear truly seizing her. I did my best to kiss her tears away, but they kept falling faster and faster as she sobbed openly, the voices from the radio apparently not helping to calm her as much as they were helping me.
It took her several minutes to calm down enough to realize that I was gently kneading a breast. “What? Now?”
I chuckled softly. “You finally noticed.”
“How can you play with my chest at a time like this?”
“Listen to yourself,” I noted. “You already sound calmer.”
She hesitated. “I do?”
I only nodded as I continued to fondle my wife. She was still sniffling, but the tears had ceased, drying on her cheeks. Her eyes were bloodshot, a testament to the fatigue of the long day of hurricane preparation followed by the nighttime arrival of the hurricane itself.
The voices from the radio began to grow quieter. “Why don’t you crank the radio for a moment?” I suggested, and Bayan Escort with a nod, my wife rose to her feet to go to the radio, allowing me to roll out the sleeping bag on the bathroom floor and arrange the two pillows, one atop the other.
“One hundred cranks, right?”
She kept cranking the radio, her eyes focused on the small red light indicating its power level. I listened attentively to the voice reporting that the eye was passing over eastern Houston, which meant that the worst of the storm would not quite reach us since we lived outside the Beltway on the western side of the city. The winds assaulting our neighborhood at that time were probably the worst of what we would experience, but it was still a long time until daybreak, and I had previously estimated that it would be roughly Noon before the winds would have truly decreased to below a level of danger.
“Done.” As my wife turned her attention back to me, I saw in her eyes and in her body language that the act of cranking the radio had helped her as it had helped me throughout the long night, giving her something other than the storm itself on which to focus her mind.
“Lay down,” I instructed, and she did.
As the hurricane continued to howl over and alongside the apartment building, as unknown objects scraped along the roof and the outer walls, as the voices on the radio kept talking about the damage the hurricane was creating in various parts of the Houston and Galveston areas, I fondled my wife. Having rather sensitive breasts, she always calmed quickly whenever I fondled her chest, and despite the rather unusual circumstances, she responded as I had expected. Touching her intimately also helped to calm me by giving me a rare moment of “normal” during a very abnormal situation.
Touching her also aroused me during this very abnormal situation. It was quite an unusual mixture of feelings: fear and arousal. I repositioned myself so that my wife could feel me growing against her thigh, so that she could recognize that it was okay to give in to something sexual in these hours of danger.
She began to truly respond in time, her hands caressing Escort me, her lips seeking mine. Her response heightened my arousal and my desire, and soon touching and kissing and being touched and being kissed were simply not enough.
I unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper, and she did not protest. I slipped my hand inside, and I found the crotch of her panty was moist.
That sealed the decision, and as the voices faded with the radio’s loss of power, we undressed each other, the light from the laptop and from the flashlights creating a most eerie view of the situation as clothes were slowly removed.
A particularly heavy object moved quickly across the roof. That caused us both to hesitate, but it also made me realize that if we were going to die, if one of the trees was going to fall on our apartment and crush us, we may as well end our lives together in intimacy.
I entered her slowly, my ears trained on her low moan from the initial penetration. The lovemaking was gentle and sweet, with many touches and kisses, with my soft words reassuring her whenever we heard another branch or shingle or unknown item scraping the outside of the building.
I did glance at my watch on occasion, and over an hour passed as we changed positions, paused for long hugs, pleasured each other with hands and mouths, but during the course of the hour, the wind seemed to slow its rapid speed a little, its howling not so loud, the scrapes against the roof and the outer walls not quite so quick in duration. Fatigue eventually threatened to overtake us, and I withdrew from her for the final time and took her into my arms for a warm and loving and protective hug.
“The radio…” she breathed, and I released her so that I could retrieve the radio from the bathroom counter. She took me into her mouth, pleasuring me one last time as I cranked the voices back into existence and learned that the worst of Hurricane Ike was indeed heading away from the city, the winds in our area definitely lessening, with the center of the eye not far from George Bush Intercontinental Airport.
Neither of us had reached orgasm during the hurricane, but that did not matter. The goal had been achieved: My wife’s fears had been eased away. And perhaps more importantly, we now both had a unique story to tell about our first, and certainly not last, hurricane.
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