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Hurricane

By: JDPIV



You and I are cruising up the back side of Hurricane in my Rodeo. We're going to the cabin at the top of the mountain. It's fall and the side of the mountains are alive with reds, oranges, and yellows, no two leaves alike, yet all combining to make a curtain of color for us. There are no Leaf-peepers on this side of the mountain, they're all on the other side, it's our own mountain paradise.

We get to the cabin, it's a little cold, so we fire up the fire place with some seasoned pine logs, that fills the cabin with heat and the nice odor of pine. The cabin is one big room down stairs and a loft upstairs with the two bedrooms. The floor and walls are pine. There's a big couch in front of the entertainment center. On the right wall is the first fire place that goes divides the room from the loft. In front of the fire place is the polar bear skin rug. Guess what's going to happen there, later.

I sit on the couch, you come over and sit next to me on the arm. The White Star is chilling in the ice bucket next to the plate of fresh strawberries, the fire is now roaring. I open the champagne and pour us each a glass. We dip the berries in the champagne, and no I didn't learn this from Pretty Woman, I've known this trick for a while.

We have a glass of champagne. You say, with that evil smile, "Jack, I think we need to get clean." 

"Lead the way, baby."

I follow you up the stairs, taking a long look at your tasty ass. Suddenly, shower time has never been more appealing. You turn the water on hot, and pull off your sweater. Underneath, your bra is fighting to hold its bountiful captives in its black lacy prisons. You step to me, turn around and say, "Can you do the honors?"

"With pleasure." I un-hook the three eyelets and your perfect tits come out, free from restraint, nipples as hard as bullets. You unzip your jeans and peel them off, along with the black lacy thong covering your little pussy.

Feeling oafishly over dressed, I hurriedly rip off my sweater and t-shirt. I throw them in a corner and get my jeans off as quickly as possible. My hand hovers around the waist band of my boxers, you stare at the spot where my dick's going to appear. I like the way you bite your lower lip and I slowly pull my drawers down. You nod your approval at my semi-erect cock and open the shower door. You disappear into a wall of steam. I charge right in after you, finding you naked and warm and immediately pull you to me. We kiss, nothing light about it. It's sexually electric and there is much body English. I push you up against the cold shower wall and you let out a little yelp. I smile and move my mouth down your chin, to your neck and the spot on your collarbone that makes you liquid. I kiss it, you moan, loudly, then with more insistence. It's been a long day, and we have some tension to release. What better place to release it?

I pull hard on your sensitive right nipple. You moan a little harder. The hot water beading down your body adds to the delicious taste of your collarbone and neck. My other hand snakes its way down to your little patch of Heaven. You're very wet. The nipple attack combined with the neck attention has readied you. I stick a finger in your dripping snatch and you moan louder. I ad another one and you raise up onto your toes. I move my mouth down to your nipple and bite and lick and suckle. All the time, I'm pumping two fingers in and out of you and rubbing your clit with my thumb. You're close, very close. Your moans become more insistent, your red fingernails dig into my back, while the other hand musses my wet hair. "I'm gonna come, don't stop, Oh, God." I fuck you with my fingers harder. I press your clit harder with my thumb. Your fingernails dig deep into my back and you start to shake and say my name over and over and over. I like hearing my name during your ecstasy. 

I let you calm down, but you'll have none of that. You grab the soap and lather your hands up greedily. I know what's coming and I have no desire to stop it. You take my long, thick cock into your hands and start rubbing. You continually rub your thumb over the head, while jacking my dick with your small hands. I'm hard, as hard as marble. You turn me around and rinse the soap from my manpole. You kneel in front of me and take my nine inch dick down your throat. It's sweet heaven inside, your mouth. Your tonsils feel odd against my head. You hold the base of my dick in a death grip, sliding my dick in and out of your wonderful, perfect-for-dick-sucking mouth. You deep throat the head, I can feel it going half way down your throat. Nothing in the world makes me harder. Your other hand squeezes my ass, pulling my cock deeper into your mouth. 

Finally, I can take it no more. You need to get fucked, and I'm gonna do it, immediately. I put one leg on the floor and the other on the tub wall, opening the shower door to do so, and soaking the floor. You're wet, and I'm hard, and I have no problem sliding all the way into you. We let out matching moans at the sweetness that is our entry. Your lips part, I kiss them, our tongues wrestling as I pump in and out of your tightness. You're so hot and mixing your fuck juice with the hot water makes you feel like you're boiling on the inside. My hands rub your nipples as I thrust into you and back out, into you and back out. With each thrust, my shaft rubs your high g-spot and my pubic bone crashes into your clit. I start to fuck harder. You're blushing, starting on your face and spreading to your neck and the tops of your breasts. You're about to come again, the second of a billion over the weekend. Your hands pull my head closer and you nip my neck and ears like I like, and you get what you want, more dick harder. 

You moan loudly into my ear. You're starting and it's delicious. You come hard, I have to hold you against the wall to keep you from slipping down to the floor. I thrust harder and you come again and again. I'm near the boiling point myself. You come again and push me out. You smile the wicked smile again and take my dick back down your throat. One, two, three, pumps with your perfect tongue and I can feel the pins and needles starting at the tip of my hair and down at my toe nails. Your hand grips the base, your other hand squeezes all the come from my balls. I grunt loudly and fill your mouth with my man chowder. You squeeze the head and swallow all that I've given you. You pull it out and jack the rest of my fluid onto your tits. I'm hearing colors.

You smile at me and say, "Man, all this time in the shower, and I'm still dirty. I guess, we'll have to get clean..."

Hurricane



Here I sit, on a cold floor...alone...to gather my thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if love will ever happen to me. It seems absurd really, wondering that at my age, and with my life. Maybe when I settle down one day...but there's one thing wrong with that. I don't want to settle down. That's not what love is anyway, you can't have love that's settled down. It has to be bruising, exciting, painful, wonderful and...everything that I need right now. 

I'm alone, more alone than I've ever been in my life. 

They say love is like a drug, like the best feeling in the world times four. I think it must be more like you're just about to commit suicide, and you jump off the cliff, ready to die...then you grow wings. That must be it. It has to save you from everything you've ever been afraid of and everything that could ever hurt you. I'm scared to death of something that powerful taking over my life, but I want it more than I can express. 

I want the poetry of it, more than anything else. It's romantic and soul-devouring stuff. Or at least, it must be...it has to be. 

It's all I believe in anymore. 

Aside from the life-changing and heart-crushing power of it, though, I want the small things that go along with giving your soul to another person. I want to go to sleep with somebody beside me who won't be gone in the morning. I want to share cigarettes and coffee, watch old movies and hold hands in parks. I want somebody to touch my cheek and tell me they love me, and mean it with everything that they are. I want hugs that last for hours until we both fall asleep. I want kisses that make me feel so much I could cry. And I do cry thinking about it, this love I'll probably never have. 

You've always told me that love must be like a hurricane, sweeping away everything safe and leaving you exposed, with only trust protecting you. I think that's the best description I've ever heard...and I'm strangely jealous that you have a better idea of it than I do, and that you said it with such conviction. Like you already knew what it felt like and you already had what I wanted. It wasn't just jealousy of what you had though, it was the stirring of something I'd never felt before in my life. Confusing and brilliant all at once, just like you.

A door opens and I don't even look up, lost in thought and on the edge of frustrated tears when I feel your hand on my shoulder. The feeling of your gentle fingertips through my thin tee shirt sends tingles up my neck and down my spine. I feel you crouch down next to me and your breath ghosts against my cheek for a sweet, fleeting second. Your hand moves to the middle of my back in an accidental slide and I draw in a shaky breath. "You okay?" you ask, looking completely concerned and worried. It breaks my heart.

I look into your eyes...and...and...

Sometimes I wonder if love will ever happen to me. Then I think of you and realize that it already has.



Hurricane



"Damn, damn, damn," I muttered. The track of Hurricane "Grace" -- the seventh named storm of the year, had turned ninety-degrees and the track now took the eye of the Category Two storm directly into the east coast of Florida.

"JIM," I screamed at my production assistant. He turned with a serious look on his face. "Get me set up again. We've got to do another weather bulletin; Grace just turned west again -- towards Jacksonville -- right towards us."

Together we trotted down the hallway to the studio and then Jim slipped behind the large console with more dials and gages on it than a Boeing jet. He slipped on his headset and started talking to the network producer arranging our interruption of regularly scheduled programming -- currently a soap opera. 

I stood over the large "X" on the floor in front of a green screen -- a large green panel that through the wonders of electronics was magically replaced by weather maps as I stood in front of them. Through two large monitors I could see what was actually going out of the studio and right now it showed a large rotating mass of weather out in the Atlantic with me standing in front of it. I checked my clothing in the monitor and decided I was quite presentable.

Jim looked up and said to me, "Ninety seconds, Pam."

I am Pam David. I am thirty years old, single, good looking, 'hot,' and a member of the American Meteorological Society. I majored in meteorology as an undergrad and in business for my MBA. I picked weather as my major even when I was a teenager after an un-forecast Oklahoma tornado wiped out my grandparent's home and killed my grandmother. My psychologist told me that I had to confront my demons and making it my life profession seemed to fill that bill.

I added 'hot' to that brief description of myself because that's what my boyfriends have told me. I have a trim girly figure and nice boobs -- a "C" cup. Also, when the chemistry is right between me and a guy I can really go crazy. That said, I currently have no one special in my life and I haven't gone crazy for over two years. I'm in a rut.

After I graduated from college I lucked into a job as the weekend weather girl and 'gofer' for a TV station in western Idaho. They thought I was 'cute.' A year later I catapulted into a weekday morning and lunch job in for a station in central Arkansas. Three years later, I was a lot more suave, smooth and exciting in my delivery. So WJAX-TV -- the up and coming Jacksonville network station - recruited me two years ago, and here I am doing everything from noon to midnight that has to do with the weather. They take me seriously.

"Fifteen seconds," Jim said from his seat at weather central.

We both counted down silently then a fifteen second automated announcement broke into the network program. We could hear the sound of the excited male voice, well modulated but compelling attention from the listeners: "Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt your regular broadcast with this very important weather bulletin. Please stay tuned for this critical information." An alarm buzzed to ensure listener attention to what I'd say.

The announcement screen faded to show me in front of the weather map.

"Good afternoon. I'm Pam David with a live update about Hurricane Grace, now three-hundred miles southeast of Jacksonville." I stared into the camera with a serious look on my face. 

"This Category Two storm, packing winds of over a hundred miles an hour is now headed straight for Jacksonville. We had hopped that the northerly turn the storm took at dawn this morning would result in Grace heading out into the mid-Atlantic, but those hopes are gone after plotting another eight hours worth of storm track data. This storm is aimed right at us."

I had turned and was making my usual gestures at the green board, showing viewers how the track would sweep the storm right into the Florida-Georgia border.

"The hurricane is currently traveling at twenty miles an hour. If this speed is sustained, the eye of the storm should arrive here tomorrow morning. We are already feeling the fringes of this storm and rip currents along the beach have been evident since last night and are now dangerous to swimmers."

The screen changed to show winds blowing debris around in some earlier storm.

I went on, "Winds are expected to pick up from the current light breezes. By midnight we expect winds to be consistently over fifty miles an hour. Winds will increase hourly as the eye approaches. Just outside the eye winds will exceed a hundred miles an hour."

I engaged the camera again as the clip of winds ended.

"Folks, I want to add my warning -- my stern personal warning to all the others you've been hearing. NOW, is the time to secure loose items and to get to high ground if you live in low-lying areas." I stared into the camera again, "FURTHER, I think conditions in the ocean favor a strengthening of this storm. I think we might have a Category Four or Five by the time Grace reaches us. This is a deadly storm, and you should take such precautions."

I ended the bulletin as we usually did, "We'll keep you updated throughout the rest of the day. We now return you to the regularly scheduled program." I watched as the monitor showed me fading to the Bulletin frame and then that faded back into the soap opera. I wondered how people could watch that stuff when there was so much 'real stuff' happening out there to be involved in.

Jim rose from his panel and said, "We're good for now. Let me know when you want to go on again. I'm not going home. It'll flood out anyway, and I couldn't get back here tomorrow." I nodded and gave a sympathetic look.

Knowing I would be here all night I slipped into our "Nap Room" and lay down for what I thought would be a few minutes. When I awoke Jim was standing beside the cot shaking me gently.

"Pam? Hey Pam, wake up. Time to come back to work." Jim had his enigmatic smile that I liked so much. 

"How long was I out?" I said through my grogginess.

"It's almost five o'clock. Time to start our ninety-minute drill. I figured you'd want to check the Hurricane Center again before you go on. You've got fifteen minutes."

I mumbled, "Thanks, Jim," and stood. A quick stop in the ladies room and I was ready to go. Now I needed something to say.

The National Hurricane Center had a four o'clock update. Things were strengthening, and the storm's relentless track towards us was unabated. I'd be the star of the news for the next few hours as we did the news.

Jim stuck his head in my cubicle, "Hey Pam, we just got the word you're also going to do a two-minute cameo on the national network news at 6:42 p.m. You'll segue over a clip showing the storm's track from the coast of Africa to its present position, and then your 'sweeping into the U.S.' routine."

"OK," I said crisply; here were my fifteen minutes of fame. I'd never done a national feed before. Wow!

Two hours later I was exhausted but exhilarated. It wasn't the standing and dancing around in front of the green screen that made me tired, it was the feeling of responsibility that people were watching me and going to bet their lives on what I told them. I had to get it 'right.'

I'd just sat at my desk when Jim appeared at my cubicle doorway. "Hey, Pam. NBS wants you to do oceanside bites and the weather channel even wants our feed -- all their people are up north or on Hatteras waiting for the sweep north."

"How am I getting around? You driving? Who's the camera?"

"Not me. I'll be talking to you from here on the satellite link. They're bringing in a new guy. He was a big cheese in NBS, but is now retired. He's taking our truck. Don't let him prang it up under a tree or building. He should be here in thirty."

I'd kept a couple of changes of clothing at the station, but most of the duds were more dressy and more suitable for looking "pretty" in front of the evening news camera.

"Hey, Jim," I shouted, "What about the eleven o'clock spot?"

He replied from partway down the hall, "You'll do that from Amelia Island -- on the beach. You should have just enough time to get out there, get set up and broadcast. I'll update you by cell on anything on the wire about the storm."

I shrugged and headed off to assemble some storm clothes. Thirty minutes later I'd found some slacks and scrounged a couple of men's polo shirts. I had some running shoes at the office, so that'd be what I wore under my weather gear. I looked great in foul weather gear -- all you could see was my pert nose sticking out from under my WJAX baseball hat. I pushed my hair through the back of the hat and headed back to my cubicle to pick up my laptop and purse.

There was a very large man asleep at my desk when I turned into my cubicle. He was wearing jeans, rubber boots, and a new NBS polo shirt. His head was back showing a ruddy and tanned complexion and a handsome face that had seen a lot of mileage. I could tell he was tall and trim since there was so much leg between my chair and the edge of my desktop where his boots carefully rested. His muscular arms were folded over his chest. There was a tattoo on one arm -- a smiling dragon.

"Ahem," I coughed to see whether I could wake him.

One steel-blue eye opened and looked at me. The other followed. He uncurled from his repose and put both feet on the floor.

"You Pam?"

I held out my hand, "Yes, Pam David."

"Hi. I'm Doug Saunders at your service - chauffeur, network guru, hurricane hunter, and all-round good guy. I'm told we should hit the road pretty soon since you've got a couple of feeds for the late news."

"Let's go," I said as I stuffed my laptop into my briefcase along with my wallet and my traveling cosmetics kit.

It was already raining as we got into the network van. Doug clearly knew his way around a truck like this for his moves were definite and betrayed a familiarity with the equipment that I thought belay years of experience. I looked at Doug trying to guess his age: somewhere between forty-five and sixty five, I decided.

As we drove I asked, "So tell me about Doug Saunders? I was told you'd retired. Is this a special gig or something?"

He laughed, "Yea, sort of. I had twenty-five years in the military. I did Navy and Marine news and broadcasts all over the place - usually from war zones when we had one. After that I spent fifteen years with NBS, mostly around Washington. Inherited some money, thought I'd try fishing, but got bored and put my oar back in the water with NBS -- and here we are driving into the middle of a hurricane. My thing! At least, no one's going to shoot at us." I narrowed my guess about Doug's age down to about sixty.

We swapped stories and then talked about what we were going to do for the late news and then about overnight feeds.

Just before ten o'clock we pulled into the Amelia Island Resort -- the pleasure spa that WJAX had arranged as our home base for the next twenty-four hours. Doug and I introduced ourselves to a security man that greeted us. The place had been emptied, and all the staff had left for the mainland. The one security guard had stayed behind to help secure the place and anchor loose equipment and outdoor gear from flying around. 

Part of the resort consisted of two large three-story condo buildings. The resort rented out most of the condos and nice folks that they were; they set aside a two-bedroom condo for Doug and me to use. It faced the Atlantic Ocean, but at this hour all we could see was a pit of black from the little balcony. We put the storm shutters back down and went back to set up the van.

Doug pulled the van up close to the building on what we figured would be the leeward side of things. He put up the satellite antenna stopping just at the roofline to minimize wind impact on the antenna. With the help of the security man, he secured the antenna boom to the building for some added stability. Doug really did know what he was doing.

I watched in the van as he fired up the electronics and the panel. Suddenly, I heard Jim's voice over the speaker, "Hi Pam; sneaky way to get an overnight at a resort. Find a hurricane and this whole place rolls over to be your servant."

I talked into the van's microphone, "Hi Jim. It was a dark, stormy night in the Hartz Mountains; greetings from Amelia Island. They closed up the place just for us. Just one security guard here."

Jim updated me on the weather and told me he'd e-mailed me some of the screens they'd splice into my broadcast at eleven. I booted up my laptop as we talked and soon was logged into the resort's wi-fi network.

The surface winds were now over forty knots, and the eye of the storm was about a hundred and sixty miles from landfall with top wind speed of a hundred-twenty -- the storm was a Category Three. I noted that Amelia Island was directly in the center of the projected landfall of the eye. The rest of the maps and satellite photos were predictable. I made some notes on a three-by-five card to refresh my mind just before we went on the air and then suggested to Doug that we find a place to set up the camera.

At eleven I was standing beside the pool at the resort. Doug was a good cameraman; he knew his stuff. The rest of the feed took care of itself. I did my cameo in the news segment of the broadcast and then ten minutes later did an in-depth update on Hurricane Grace and what to expect along the Florida and Georgia coasts. 

I suggested to viewers that given the growing intensity of the storm and its track right for the city that viewers check in at four a.m. for a special storm update. We'd set that up with WJAX earlier at Doug's suggestion; we'd probably be live at least every half-hour after that.

Doug and I folded up the van and went up to the condo that had been assigned to us. 

For the first time, I felt a little surge of sexual excitement as we went in the door. He seemed quite comfortable sharing the quarters with me, and he'd certainly made no move on me. Yet, I felt chemistry between us -- really strong chemistry. If there were pheromones about, I was certainly receiving his.

"He's old enough to be your father," I told myself. That didn't work. I still felt chemistry. I didn't know what to do about it, but he did.

"Pam, we'll have to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in four hours. We both better get some shuteye. I have an alarm clock." Doug shuffled off towards one of the bedrooms.

I lay down and quickly drifted to sleep, assisted by the sound of the wind and rain hitting the storm shutters.

"Pam? Pam? It's time to get up." I heard the voice from afar. I had this slight feeling of panic as I wondered where I was. The voice was more persistent. "Pam, get up. Time to go."

"OK. OK. I'm awake. I'll get moving. Thanks Doug." I was fully aware now. I listened to the storm sounds for a minute. They were more ferocious than when I'd gone to sleep. I went to turn on the bedside light but found only darkness.

"Hey, I've got no power. Is everything out?" I yelled as I fumbled towards the bedroom door.

"Yes," Doug said in a loud voice from the direction of the living room. "Do you need a light?"

"Yes," I replied. "I have nothing. I forgot we might be in the dark. Funny I tell all my viewers to be sure to have flashlights but don't take my own advice."

Doug opened my bedroom door and handed me a flashlight. He didn't appear to notice that I was just in the polo shirt and bikini briefs. I went back to my bedroom to redress. I decided to skip the makeup since I could tell anything I put on would be washed off in seconds outside the building.

Doug was waiting for me when I came out. 

"Ready?" he asked.

"Let's see what we've got," I replied.

We stepped out into the maelstrom. The wind was blowing about sixty miles an hour and the rain was nearly horizontal. Doug pulled me along the short distance from the door in our section of the condo to the van. He pushed me into the van.

Doug started a generator on the van and fired up all our equipment. It was a quarter to four in the morning. I was wondering how I'd be able to talk and do a broadcast from outside the van.

Doug came back into the van, slamming the door behind him. He shed his parka and sat at the console. 

"I need Internet, or access to the National Hurricane Center satellite broadcasts or better yet, both," I told Doug. He pointed to the other console in the van and up on the screen popped the latest satellite photo of Hurricane Grace. 

"Oh my God," I said. "It's gotten bigger. It's huge." He told me how to flip the screen and check things on the Internet. I madly dialed in screen after screen of meteorological data on the storm. I was swearing aloud as every screen brought worse news than the one before it.

I heard Doug talking to Jim at WJAX. He gave me a five-minute warning and suggested we go set up the camera someplace where I could broadcast. 

I put on my foul weather gear, and I followed Doug from the van, pushing the door shut behind us. We set up on the leeward side of the building. It was still windy but with the camera against the building and me about ten feet away it wasn't too bad.

After setting things up, Doug yelled, "Sixty seconds." I nodded.

A minute later Doug cued me. I started talking rapidly.

"This is Pam David broadcasting from Amelia Island, just off the coast from Jacksonville. I'm standing on the protected side of this resort; however, the winds are howling at sixty to seventy miles an hour and the rain is horizontal on the other side of this building."

I went on, "I have some bad news for you. Hurricane Grace is now a Category Five storm. The warm waters of the Atlantic have fed energy into this storm, and it is now a killer. If you are in a low-lying area this may be your last opportunity to move to safer ground. Get to high ground!"

"The eye will likely pass directly over me and very close to the downtown areas. Flooding can be expected over a wide area. Winds near the eye will be over one-hundred-sixty miles per hour. Rainfall is estimated at three to six inches an hour over a wide area with heavy flooding, particularly near the St. Mary's River and all feeder streams. Again, get to protection and high ground -- NOW!"

I gave some other statistics about the storm then had a thought. I told viewers, "If Doug my cameraman can follow me, I'm going to step out from behind this protected wall and show you the power of this storm." I walked backwards towards the corner of the building where there was no protection.

As I came into the wind stream, my body was lifted and carried about ten feet before I landed in a rolling pile on the ground. I flipped and flopped over a couple of more times before I could crawl, on hands and knees, back into the protection of the building. Doug started towards me, but I waved him away.

Doug motioned that I was still on camera. "Wow!" I said to our viewers, "That was a little more than I expected. I should tell you I weight about a hundred and twenty pounds and stand five-foot-six. To be blown around like that shows you the power of this wind, and when the eye gets here it will be over twice this speed -- that's at least four times the energy. Winds will be around 160 miles an hour! If you live in a mobile home or an older home not built to new hurricane protection standards, you need to find better quarters to ride out the storm. Get going -- NOW!"

"This is Pam David, signing off for now. We'll try to be back in a half hour with an update." We ended the feed.

Doug came and put his arm around me, "That was stupid!" he admonished me. "You could have been hurt or hit by debris. That's why we're on the protected side of the building. Don't do that again." He pulled me towards the van, grabbing the camera and tripod with his other hand.

In the van, he cast an evil eye at me. 

"I'm sorry, Doug," but I had to do something so people watching would get a sense of the power of this storm. I'd do it again, but next time I'll set it up with you. OK?"




Hurricane



"Not if it puts your pretty butt in danger," he replied protectively. 

"My pretty butt is covered up with foul weather gear," I said. "You can't tell whether it's pretty or has warts all over it."

"It's pretty," he said flatly. "I peeked before you covered it up with all that rain gear."

We both laughed. I was also pleased. Some of that chemistry was still around.

We did half hour updates. By five-thirty we opted to do the updates from inside the van although the noise level from the wind was becoming excessive. Wind speed was up to eighty miles an hour. 

For the six o'clock newscast, we went into an interior room of the resort and did wireless video and audio feeds to the van. We set up two spotlights powered from the van. Doug had fed some views of the ocean to the station about fifteen minutes before we went on. The waves were up right at the edge of the dunes, on sea swells and a storm surge of almost twenty feet. The water was boiling. The air was thick with salt spray and debris. He caught a few frames of a roof rolling past the resort from one of the upscale homes nearby.

The feed was spectacular. I watched it later. It was a team effort. Jim was splicing Doug's storm feeds from windows of the resort into my live broadcast. Somewhere along the line I figured that a large portion of the area was without electricity and so missed it. Oh well.

Doug lowered the antenna of the van about the time we figured the wind speed was hitting a hundred. Although it was protected, he was worried about it ripping off the truck. 

The eye came ashore at seven o'clock. We were right under it. It was eerie to suddenly feel the wind almost cease. We both went outside and stood. The security guard appeared from somewhere in the bowels of the building too. We stood and looked at the wall of clouds and water; yet above us a few puffy clouds and blue sky.

While the eye was with us, Doug set up the camera and we did a quick five-minute clip back to the station. Jim said there was concern at the station that they'd lose their satellite dishes soon. He'd still be there trying to figure out how to get us on the air.

After we finished I noted that we could look almost vertically up the eye wall, perhaps for 30,000 feet. It was hard to tell. On our side of things the sky was blue and almost serene; the eye wall was a seething dark and malevolent monster waiting to strike. 

Doug quickly moved the van to reposition it for the change in wind direction we expected when the eye finished passing. At seven-twenty the eye passed and the storm started again with a vengeance. We ran back in the resort just in time hoping that we could maintain contact with the station through the van's radio link. Even in the interior room we could not only hear the wind screaming at almost a level beyond imagination, but also feel the building shake and twist. 

Several windows blew out, and we felt the hot humid storm air penetrate the hotel. 

I went and sat close to Doug in a corner of the room. I was scared. "Hold me," I told him.

He smiled at me, "Why that'd be an honor, Pretty Lady." He put his arm around me. It was not the most romantic of circumstances -- I was still in my foul weather gear from head to foot and for that matter so was he. Our lights were off, but we had some light from the hallway doors that we'd left open.

Almost every minute we heard another major crash or something akin to an explosion somewhere around the resort complex as one thing or another blew away or things crashed together. 

Then there was a horrible tearing sound above us. Doug said, "There goes the roof on this building. It's peeling off in the wind." He no sooner finished the sentence then we heard a tremendous crash -- almost an explosion of debris right outside the building. We assumed it was the roof hitting the ground.

Almost immediately we felt the wall behind start to give way. A large crack appeared behind me, and we both scrambled towards the adjacent wall. Then the ceiling started to cave in on that side of the building, several light fixtures fell to the floor along with most of the ceiling tiles, and a gale force wind ripped through the room, throwing tables, chairs, and anything that wasn't nailed down, all over the place.

I vaguely recall something hitting my head, and then I lost consciousness. I started to come to and there was Doug kneeling over me with a bloody rag in his hand. I felt really woozy.

"Come on girl," Doug said. "That's it. Welcome back to the real world. You took a really bad hit. Knocked you right out. Here. Can you sit up? You're still bleeding from the gash on your temple, but I think you'll be all right."

"Storm? Broadcast?" I mumbled.

"Van is gone. Went bye-bye in the wind. Got pushed into the other building -- about five feet into the other building. The satellite antenna is gone. When the wind dies down I'll see what I can salvage."

I sat up, a little more alert. "How long was I out?"

"About half an hour," Doug replied, dabbing at my wound. I noticed the rag was what had been his shirt. Without his shirt I could see he had strong ab muscles, a good tan, and a masculine chest. I wanted to touch it - that chemistry again. 

"This building?" I asked.

"Demolished," he replied. "The security guard is dead. A concrete wall fell on him. Could have happened to us too if we hadn't moved when we did -- right before you got hit in the head. Nothing I could do but cover him over."

I noted that the wind was still howling outside, but it seemed less intense than just before I passed out. 

"Wind speed seems to be dropping," I observed.

"Yeah, it's dropping slowly. The storm is probably going to lose some punch now that the eye is ashore. Plus I think it's shifted north again, that'll help drop the winds a little faster for us. When the speed drops down to about sixty, I'll go out to the van and see whether we have any type of communication with the outside world."

I surveyed the room we were in. Even the wildest party could not have created the kind of devastation that I saw. On the far side of the room, light was visible where the wall had collapsed and then dropped the two upper floors of the condo -- concrete, furniture, and remnants of the roof, into a pile. Rain pelted in the opening, but we were far enough inside against the other side of the condo to stay dry. 

Doug had created a small space where he could lay me out and minister to my wound. He'd propped up some of the debris to create a small fortress, but I doubted it was sturdy enough to withstand a further collapse of the upper floors.

"Shouldn't we move?" I pointed upwards.

"As soon as you can stand we should climb out of here. I think if we try to go down that hallway it might be safer. There were no upper floors there." He pointed to a door that was now blocked by debris.

"Give me a minute and I'll be ready," I said as I carefully got up on my knees. I gathered up my raincoat; Doug had used it as a pillow under my head. It had a lot of blood on it.

"Am I still bleeding?" I asked.

"Yes, but not as much as you were initially. Head wounds do that. I should tell you that I was a backup EMT -- Emergency Medical Tech -- in the Navy. I didn't just go around and take pretty pictures."

I finished standing, holding onto Doug. The woozy feeling passed slowly away and I was good at moving slowly as long as I could hold onto something like Doug. 

Doug moved towards the door, heaving tables and chairs from my path. At the door, he tried to both pull and push until he could get the door open about a foot. He peered through then said to me, "It's wet and windy but I think it's safer than staying in this wing of the resort."

We both squeezed through the door. What had been a glassed in hallway to the main reception area was now obliterated. The concrete pad of the walkway was in tact, but the glass sides and roof were gone. Some twisted remains of the HVAC ducts lay a few yards away.

"Let's try the reception and lounge area," Doug said. 

He helped me along the path, supporting most of my weight as we threaded our way amid the wreckage. Three hundred feet later, we were soaked but safe in the resort's reception area. Windows were gone, but the roof had remained in tact. Further, most of the lounge furniture had survived.

"Sit here," Doug said leading me to a wet sofa. Let me see what shape things are in around here. He went behind the reception desk and was gone for several minutes. 

When he came back he announced, "No nothing. Phone service is out completely. The cell tower is out. There's no electricity. But, I have some good news." He smiled and produced two containers of orange juice from his pocket and a dozen peanut butter and cheese crackers.

I laughed and reached for the nosh; "Why, Doug. You take your girlfriends to the nicest places and spare no expense. I am truly impressed."

Doug bowed and sat beside me. We ate and waited for things to quiet down amid the howl of the wind. I nestled into his shoulder and closed my eyes.

I awoke about an hour later. Doug's yellow rain parka was soaked with my blood, but he said I was in good shape. He noted that another section of the building we'd been in had collapsed so it was a good thing we moved. He also noted that the wind speed was now down considerably, and he wanted to go and check out the van.

He made me promise to wait where I was, and he went out through one of the nonexistent windows and headed towards the other building. I stood and went to the opening to watch his progress.

The front of the van was about five feet into a windowed wall of the other section of the resort's condo units. As Doug reached the truck, he clamored in the back door of the unit and slammed it shut behind him. 

Five minutes later he reappeared and went around to the cab of the truck and barely got in. With some difficulty, he got the truck started and was able to back the unit out of the hole it had created in the structure. He drove the truck across the well-manicured lawn, leaving deep tire tracks, until he was next to the reception area.

Doug got out of the truck and ran back to where I was.

"Darlin', the truck seems in good shape except for the lack of a satellite antenna and a cracked windshield. If I can find it I might be able to get it working again. In the meantime, we have a radio link. I can hear a lot of emergency traffic talking, but it's all from the downtown area; that's almost twenty miles from here. I don't know whether anyone can hear me. Didn't try all that hard for now."

"I do have one other present for you, though." Doug reached under his parka and produced a first aid kit. Five minutes later my head wound was treated and gauzed over, and my entire head was wrapped to hold the dressing in place. 

"OK, I'm ready to do the weather now," I announced as he finished. I stood, primped, and acted as though I was wearing a new Dior suit; I said to him, "Do I look all right?" I realized I looked like shit -- a pile of shit that had been pummeled with blood, debris, water, wind, dust, and dirt. 

We went in the van and sat for another hour listening to the Jacksonville emergency units struggling with one disaster after another. Doug tried several times to make contact as well as to call the station on the two-way, but there was no response.

Eventually, he announced he was going on an antenna hunt. I sat in the van, and Doug went out to wander the property. He came back in ten minutes and told me he'd found the antenna boom, but all he wanted was the antenna and the feed cable. He took a toolbox and headed back out.

I lay down on the floor of the van again, dozing until I heard noises that I took to be Doug returning from the hunt. I opened the door, and he was standing there with the satellite dish antenna and about thirty feet of antenna cable over his shoulder.

"OK, let's see what we can set up," he announced. 

I decided I'd call him MacGyver, after the TV character that could create miracles with a paper clip and rubber band. Doug had fastened the antenna to a patio chair and rewired the unit. All this while standing in forty-knot winds and rain. 

After a lot of in and out of the van to get the antenna aimed at the right satellite, Doug was reasonably happy that he was in the vicinity. He had a partial lock on one 'bird,' and we started to try to make contact again.

"WJAX, WJAX, WJAX. Mobile One here, how do you read?" He repeated the message over and over again.

Then suddenly, after we'd been tweaking things for fifteen minutes, a booming voice came in over the truck's speakers, "Mobile One, this is National Broadcasting Service. How do you read?"

"NBS, Mobile One here. We read you five by five. How do you hear us?"

"You're five by five as well. Where are you? Are all in your party safe?"

Doug responded, "This is Doug Saunders and I'm with Pam David, the WJAX weather person. We are at the Amelia Island Resort. We are OK although Pam has a head wound. There is a dead security guard here. The resort is in shambles and part of it has collapsed. How's the rest of the area?"

After a silence the speaker came on again, "This is NBS in Atlanta you're talking to -- Bill Walsh. WJAX and most of the Jacksonville and southeast George radio and all the TV stations are off the air. Antennas are down mostly. When they went out we started to monitor the satellites. You're about the only one out there other than emergency crews around the City. Is the head wound on the woman OK or do you need emergency assistance?" I shook my head "no."

"No emergency here in terms of personnel. How are roads?" Doug asked.

"The north bridge to your island is gone - destroyed. The southern one is probably gone too. I think you're going to be there for a while. There are a lot of washouts and flooded highways. I wouldn't try to move very far. The storm is well inland now; the storm center is up near where Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee come together; it's only a tropical storm now. Lots of rain and flooding going on."

"OK. Can we stay in touch?"

"Most definitely. Say, hold on for a minute, my producer wants to talk to Pam David." 

There was a long silence then another male voice came on the radio. "Pam, this is Ron Wilson, executive producer of network news for NBS. Are you able to broadcast over this link? Video?"

"Hold on, we'll set up the camera and see," I said into the mike as I leaned over Doug's shoulder.

Doug played with the camera and the connection wires. Suddenly, the monitors in the van came to life with the picture of the inside of the van and me sitting in the chair.

"Great!" the voice over the speaker said, "We can see you? Are you really OK? The bloody bandage looks impressive. Are you still bleeding?"

"Yes, I'm fine thanks to Doug Saunders here. He was an EMT so I'll take his word that I'm OK. I feel OK, just sore -- all over."

"Can you do a clip for us in about ten minutes? Be good if you could be outside? You know, show some views of the debris and all."

Doug nodded, and I said, "We'll be ready."

Fifteen minutes later we'd set up outside the van. Doug cued me to start talking.

"This is Pam David talking to you from Amelia Island, Florida, where five hours ago the eye of Hurricane Grace passed directly overhead. The hurricane destroyed the three-story building of condominiums that you see over my shoulder. My colleague Doug Saunders and I were in that building when it collapsed, that's why I have this bandage around my head -- I didn't fare too well and got knocked out. At the far end of that building is also the body of a security guard left here by the resort to ensure that the property was safe and secure; Hurricane Grace killed him."

Doug panned the camera around the property as I kept talking. 

"Everywhere you look there is destruction. This is what winds of a hundred-sixty miles and hour will do. Down the road you see in the picture right now is the main highway off the island. The only trouble for us is that the bridges to the mainland are gone; blown away by Grace."

"We can hear the radios of the emergency crews on the mainland -- mostly from Jacksonville area. They have their hands full right now with every kind of emergency you can imagine. This is a time for neighbors to be helping neighbors. It is also a time to avoid downed power lines and the other hazards that this Hurricane has left us with."

The camera came back to me, "Pam David, NBS News." I stood still for a moment. Doug then motioned us back inside the van.

Ron Wilson came on the speaker; "Pam that was marvelous. You're a natural. That'll go on the national news tonight every half hour between five and seven. We'll keep this line open in the meantime."

Doug leaned into the mike, "We're going to take the van and drive a little and see whether we can find anything else of interest. Might not get too far, but we'll let you know if we find anything newsworthy."

"OK, we'll be on this channel. NBS on standby."

Doug disconnected the antenna and left it untouched. "We'll come back to broadcast plus there's food in the kitchen here. Moreover, if we can make it I had a house just down the road from here. I'm sort of worried about whether it's still there or not. Wasn't much, so it's probably gone."

We got in the front of the van, and Doug slowly threaded his way down what had been a picturesque roadway up to the resort. Trees were down everywhere, but only one of them blocked the road completely. Doug used a chain saw from the van and cleared it in less than five minutes. I was impressed with how well equipped the van was.

There was a small general aviation airport on the way to the bridge. We pulled the van into the airport. It was deserted. Doug filmed me doing a clip against a backdrop of a dozen planes, flipped and tossed every which way by the Hurricane. 

When we got to the bridge, we were met with a staggering sight. The long suspension bridge to the mainland had disappeared into the muck and mire of the Amelia River. Only a few steel girders, twisted and distorted against the swollen river were visible. We did another video clip.

Doug turned the van around, and we drove through Amelia City -- the place was not only deserted; it was destroyed. There was no sign of life as we drove slowly through the street along route A1A. Doug had me run the camera out the window of the truck as we drove down the littered main street. Doug then headed for the other end of the island to see how that bridge had fared.

The bridge over the Nassau River was gone as well. Doug pointed at one of the flattened buildings as we drove by. It would have been a pretty location, but now trees were down, and the house lay in shambles. 

"My place," Doug said. I saw the name 'Saunders' on the mailbox that still stood as an odd angle beside the road.

"Oh Doug, I'm so sorry," I said as I touched his arm sympathetically.

"Place needed rebuilding anyway. Glad I wasn't at home. I would have been of a mind to ride out the storm there." He paused and looked at me and grinned. "See, you saved my life."

Many of the other homes and businesses we past were destroyed too, some were repairable and some, like Doug's, were unrecoverable. We made a few more video clips then drove back to the resort.

Doug hooked us up to the satellite antenna again, and we uploaded our videos much to the joy of NBS news central. I also did several different news feeds standing with the destroyed condominium behind me. According to WNBS New Central we were the only game in town, at least within a hundred miles of here. They were rushing crews and equipment into the area. We had nowhere to go.

After our 'work' was done, Doug led us on a food foraging expedition into the kitchen area of the resort. Amazingly the kitchen had survived almost unscathed. We found a gas stove that worked, and soon we'd prepared a large meal of eggs, sausages, bacon, rolls, milk, juice, and a few other tidbits. Although it was late in the afternoon, we enjoyed our breakfast.




Hurricane



The rain stopped while we were eating, and the first sight of some blue sky started to appear in the east. We found some patio chairs that hadn't been destroyed and set them up beside the resort pool looking out over the ocean. The tide was down from when I'd last noted. The storm surge was gone.

Doug excused himself and returned with a bottle of very expensive wine and two glasses. We sat and looked out at the ocean. I reached over and held Doug's hand as we sipped our wine. The chemistry I'd felt earlier returned with a vengeance.

"Quite an adventure," I commented in a flirty voice.

"Yeah, an adventure," he said with a raised eyebrow.

I stood. I think I can take off my foul weather gear now. I'm not going to sleep in it again. I'm all sticky and sweaty under here. I probably smell like it too." 

I glanced at the pool. The large resort pool was full of water and debris from the trees; a few pieces of patio furniture were also visible sitting on the bottom. The water was still clear, so I figured it was all right. I stated, "I think I'll take a swim and clean off." 

I pulled off boots and then my rain suit. Everything under the suit was sopping wet, more with perspiration than rain, but it was hard to tell. 

I hesitated and thought about what my next step would be, but then yielded to my wilder side and peeled off my pants, my shirt -- covered with some blood I noted, and then undid my bra and stepped out of my panties. 

Naked, I walked carefully down the steps into the pool, ensuring I kept my head dressing dry. "Oh, Doug, this is marvelous," I shouted up to him as I started to float.

Doug had watched every move I'd made -- I'd made certain of that. Now he stood and peeled layer after layer off his body. His shirt was long gone -- used to soak up blood from my head wound. He took off the parka first. I watched as this Adonis' body slowly appeared from beneath the rest of the foul weather gear.

Doug stood in his naked splendor at the edge of the pool for a second then slowly came down the steps and ducked under the water. I was impressed with what I saw.

I was there when Doug surfaced. I moved to intercept his underwater path.

He stood in front of me. I put my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me. We kissed for the first time. It was as though we'd kissed a thousand times before in rehearsal for this one kiss. It was perfect. Lip pressure, feel, texture, emotion, body posture, and sensation all combined into the perfect kiss.

Our naked bodies entwined, and one kiss led rapidly to another and another. Our tongues carefully came into play revealing the underlying passion both of us had carried from the moment we met.

Doug's hands found my hips. He held me and then pulled me more tightly into his own body -- into his erection. I grasped his erection between my legs. The nipples of my breasts grazed the salt and pepper hair on his chest and hardened.

"I'd like you to make love to me," I said softly.

Doug nodded and smiled lovingly at me. 

He carried me to the edge of the pool, sat me up on the side and then buried his head in my pussy. His tongue instantly brought pleasure to me with every twitch and thrust that he made. I crested pretty quickly -- quickly for me anyway. In only a couple of minutes, my groaning and moaning turned into a wild shriek of joy as my first orgasm arrived. 

Doug paused then raised his head and suckled on each of my breasts. I went right back into my orgasmic state as he pleasured my orbs. One hand was energetically thrusting fingers into my cunt. I felt myself rising back to another crest. I'd never thought of myself as multi-orgasmic, but this man was turning me on in every way possible. I was gushing juices at his every move.

As we kissed and jammed our tongues into each other's mouths I came again, clutching his body to mine as the wave of pleasure swept through me.

As I came back, I thought about returning the favor. "Doug, you sit up here. Let me pleasure you." I slid back down into the over full pool as he sat on the side.

I grasped his hard rod in both hands and thought how perfect this cock was for pleasure and loving. I massaged his thighs and cock, running my hands up to his chest and back down again. I leaned in a sucked on his nipples and then ran my tongue down his lean body.

I enveloped his cock in one gulp. I think it caught him by surprise for I could hear his sudden intake of breath as I sank down on his shaft completely, grinding my nose into his groin so that he got the maximum stimulation from the deep penetration of my throat.

"Oh, honey, no one's ever done THAT to me before. Don't you dare stop!"

I bobbed up and down on his shaft, occasionally deep throating my new lover. Every time I did I could hear his intake of air. I marveled at how I had produced a seven-inch rod of steel -- hot velvet steel.

"Pam, I really want to be in you -- at least for our first time. Is that all right?" Doug asked.

"Come and make love to me," I replied moving to the wall of the pool, sitting up on it and spreading my legs.

Doug was on me in an instant. His cock stood out, just above the water level, as he moved in front of me and gently inserted his tool into my box. Now I was the one that gasped for air as the intensity of the pleasure from his penetration hit my brain.

We started slowly, but we both needed closure, an orgasmic end to this otherwise terrible day.

Soon, my legs were over his shoulders and Doug was jamming his cock into my body at a rapid rate. This was called hard sex -- rough sex -- fast sex.

Through his exertions he whispered, "I'm near. Are you safe?"

"Yes," I said, "cum in me -- cum deep in me. I want every drop you have." 

I dropped my legs and wrapped them around his naked body. I urged him to go deeper and faster. He did. Then we exploded into each other. I felt him start to arch before I felt the jets of cum shoot into me. When he made the last few definitive thrusts into me, it was all it took to push me over the edge again. We came together, arched into one another. Silent as the crest of pleasure hit our bodies then gasping for much needed oxygen.

"Oh, fuck!" I exclaimed as I floated down from my high, "You are a magnificent lover. I hope you can do that all over again in a little while."

"Darlin', you ain't too bad yourself," Doug whispered in my ear as he kissed me and nuzzled his face to me. His hands found my tits and erect nipples and smoothed them to my delight.

Doug pulled out of me then gently pulled me into the water. I drifted into his arms, and we kissed again. Right now, I didn't want to be anywhere other than in his arms.

We drifted around the pool as the last vestiges of daylight disappeared in the stormy west.

At one point, Doug gestured to the condominium building where hundreds of blank windows stared down at us. "Do you suppose anyone is up there watching us? I can't believe we just made love in a very public place. Sort of exciting wasn't it?"

I told him with a smirk, "I think I have an exhibitionist streak in me, so it didn't matter. I hope someone took a video; I'd like a copy so I can remember this forever."

Doug spoke a few minutes later, "Before we lose all the light we should settle in somewhere for the night. I was thinking of one of the unbroken condo rooms." He gestured towards one of the ground-floor units.

"Sounds good. Let me gather my clothes so I have something to wear tomorrow."

We both put our boots back on, but none of our clothes. We were an interesting contrast as we walked through the debris field to the van. I put my running shoes on instead of my boots; we left our weather gear in the van, and then walked naked towards the surviving condo building.

Doug picked a rare ground floor unit whose glass had remained intact. He went to the main desk of the resort and returned a few minutes later with the key. Inside we made ourselves at home. He found two dinner candles in the unit and lit both. We left the doors and windows open for ventilation. I hung our clothes up various places around the unit with no expectation that they'd be dry anytime soon.

The second time we made love was more moving and emotional for me. If the first time was mostly for lust, this was mostly for love. Our kisses carried more unspoken messages, our embraces more desire and passion, and our coupling greater longing for something longer and more permanent.

When we were done, Doug remained deep inside me. We rolled to our sides and fell asleep. 

Sometime in the night I awoke. Doug was sleeping beside me. In the dim candlelight, I studied his masculine form. I was hooked. This was the man I wanted in my life for the rest of my days -- his days -- our days.

After my reverie, I got up and extinguished one of the candles then snuggled back against Doug. He woke momentarily and wrapped his strong arms around me.

We woke shortly after dawn and took another swim to wash the remnants of our night's love making from our bodies. After dressing we fired up the van and reestablished communications with the NBS news central.

"NBS, this is Mobile One in Amelia Island. What's happened overnight?"

"Good morning, Mobile One. Pam and Doug isn't it. Tim Morgan here. Well Hurricane Grace is now just a big blob of rain up over West Virginia, but everything within five-hundred miles from the storm's center is wet."

"How'd the late news go?" I asked.

"We used almost every second of all those clips you sent. You're famous. I'm just a flunky here, but I think the big bosses want to make you an offer to move up to national - big pay jump if you do."

I grinned at Doug, and we did a little 'high five.'

"What's happening at WJAX?" I asked. "Are they operational again?"

"No TV in Jacksonville is up yet. All the towers got wiped out I'm told, not just NBS but all the networks. They're all buying into a temporary tower that should be operating later today. Power is still out in most of the city anyway; it'll be weeks before things get back to normal."

"How can we get off this island?" I asked. "Any chance you could arrange a boat or something for us to get back to the mainland?"

"Sure enough. Stand by for a bit and I'll let you know what we can do."

Doug and I set up lounge chairs outside the van door and sat in them holding hands while we waited for word from NBS.

About an hour later, the speaker over the console crackled and Tim's voice rang out. "NBS to Mobile One -- Amelia Island."

Doug scrambled into the van, "Mobile One here, go ahead."

Tim spoke, "We have a working airlift for you two. What we want you to do is get to the airport where you took pictures yesterday. We're sending in a chopper from Charleston, and it should get there in about an hour. Leave the van at the airport and lock it up, but take a couple of the cameras and batteries. You're going to do a flyover the entire area and do some 'in air' reports of the damage from Hurricane Grace. This is for tonight's national news."

"THAT'S GREAT!" I cheered into the microphone. "Any special instructions?"

"Nope," Tim said. "You're the reporter on the ground and you know the area. The crew of the chopper can set up a broadcast in the air if you see something truly spectacular, but otherwise use a lot of tape, and we'll sort through it later. Do lots of lead-ins and transition-outs between each segment; that'll help us splice stuff together later."

"OK, we'll fold up and start for the airport," Doug said into the mike.

"Just one more thing," Tim said. "I really hope to meet you guys. You've survived something extraordinarily horrible, and I'd like to shake your hands. You must have an aura of luck surrounding you."

"We both look forward to it," I said into the mike.

Doug folded up the van and antenna, and we collected the few things we'd left outside and drove to the airport. An hour later we were aboard a large Bell helicopter plastered with NBS logos.

The tour from the air showed the tragedy of the hurricane. From the time we lifted off we could see the devastation, particularly near where the eye had hit the mainland. We did two hours worth of taping, capturing in one flight the horror facing North Florida and Southeast Georgia.

Part of the WJAX building was damaged, and of course the satellite dishes were trashed by the winds; one twelve-foot dish blew away completely. They were getting back to business. We landed in their parking lot, and Doug and I hopped out. Only minutes later we'd uploaded the tapes to NBS news in Atlanta.

Doug and I then sat the rest of the day and put together a one-hour special. We called it 'Amazing Grace.' I figured I'd do part of it live. We went live at eight o'clock -- prime time! NBS picked up the feed and put it on national. I had thirty-five million viewers!

I am pleased to say that we scooped all the other networks. We had the best and most up-to-date coverage. Doug, WJAX, and I captured a whole bunch of awards including the prestigious Peabody Award for Outstanding Excellence in Broadcast Journalism.

The plaque for the award sits over my desk. Oh, yes, my desk is now at NBS headquarters in Atlanta. My partner, Doug, has the office right across the hall -- Doug and I specialize in weather and technology news, so we travel around the country a lot because weather is news. We don't do the day-to-day stuff, just the really big events -- tornadoes, hurricanes, blizzards, monsoons -- you get the idea.

Oh yes, Doug and I got married the day I accepted the new job at NBS News. He couldn't live without me, so pledged to move to Atlanta with me providing we spend much of our time at the new home we're building on Amelia Island.

*

"Now reporting from Central Oklahoma, the site of the devastating tornado that destroyed a whole town there today is Pam David. Pam."

"There are no words that can describe the terror that this small town felt in the middle of last night when an F-5 tornado descended from the mamato-cumulus clouds overhead and totally destroyed over three-hundred homes and the entire commercial center of this town of over a thousand people ..."



Hurricane



The Colombian thug Arillano Galindo was rubbing his head dry with one towel, with another one wrapped around his waist, as he stepped from the bathroom into his sea view room at Cartagena's resort Caribe Hotel, when he was caught up short. Standing inside the closed door to the corridor was the waiter he had just been flirting with down at the hotel pool.

He'd actually been assessing the young man as possibly part of the package he planned to deliver to the docks of New Orleans in two week's time—fresh ass for the male bordellos across the southern states of America. The young man was standing there, in a vest over his naked chest and short shorts—the uniform of the pool service—and holding a tray with a champagne bottle, a single glass, and a fruit plate on it. He was a Mestizo, highly valued in the trade, small of stature, almost boyish, dusky complexion but with blond-tipped hair and blue eyes. And he had the smile of a knowing flirt. Galindo probably wouldn't even have to whip him into shape if he took him to New Orleans.

"Compliments of the hotel management," the young waiter said with a smile. He moved to his right and put the tray down on the side of the dresser and then came back to the door, smiled, and said, "Anything else I can do for you, sir? Anything at all?"

Manuel was flat on his back on the carpeted floor, turning his head back and forth, crying out at the invasion, and digging his fists into the carpet pile. He was mouthing off like this was his first time, but Galindo wasn't buying that and he was feeding his ass fast and deep—and Manuel was taking him in, stretching to accommodate him without apparent trouble. Manuel's butt was raised on three pillows from the bed; one of his legs rose up Galindo's chest, and Galindo held the other one out to the side with a fist wrapped around his ankle. Galindo was on his knees between Manuel's legs and raising and lowering his body in rhythm as his cock moved in and out, in and out inside Manuel's tight hole—at an ever faster, deeper pace.

Manuel groaned and moaned and slowly pulled on his own cock, as Galindo muttered what a nice, sweet, tight ass he had, murmuring that he should see the world, that his talents should be shared—and thinking to himself that, yes, this young, boyishly handsome waiter would command top dollar in the male bordellos of New Orleans. Maybe, he was thinking, he should consider pimping some of these guys himself and letting them keep more of the take. Galindo's share of the market at this point was not-fully-willing, expendable asses. It was almost a shame to throw someone as good at bottoming as Manuel was into that short-term pool. Almost. Manuel would return top dollar anyway—almost as much as if he was a virgin.

Galindo was even more pleased a half an hour later, when he had Manuel's belly up against the wall of the shower, under a cascade of water, and the little Mestizo was able to go with a power fuck. Galindo had to be careful with the small ones, like Manuel. He was built like a heavy-weight prize fighter, with the brutalized face to match, and he sometimes lost control at the height of a fuck. He could get rough, and he could crush the smaller ones under him in the heat of lust. But doing it like this was OK. Holding Manuel by his waist and raising him up and down on his cock, and Manuel making all of the sounds of full-satisfaction taking that the marks like to hear. He didn't just lay there and take it; he moved his hips and touched his taker with his hands, and murmured his love for the cock and what it was doing to him.

Afterward, as they were stretched out on the bed and Galindo was enjoying Manuel's lips with his and the little berry-brown body, lithe and boy-like, with his gliding hands, Galindo whispered to him, "Are you free for the weekend? I have a very private island. I can make it worth your while."

"Yes, I think I would like that—if, of course, your pocketbook is of the same generous size as other parts of you."

"Well, I could be very, very generous. If you can show me that you can suck cock as well as you ride it."

Manuel then showed him that he, indeed, could suck cock very, very well.

* * * *

The speedboat was skimming across the water, the beach resort coastline of Cartagena receding behind them and an islet dead ahead. The waves were choppy and white capped, and the two men were breaking off from what they had been doing to look up at the sky. Arillano Galindo was sitting in the seat behind the wheel, his bathing trunks around his ankles and Manuel sitting on his cock, his hands trapping Galindo's wrists, as the older man steered the boat, and his ass rising and falling in Galindo's lap.

"I don't like the looks of the sky," Galindo muttered. "We'll make the island, but not with much time to crank up the boat in the boathouse. If we lose the boat, we're stranded for a couple of days."

"Stranded," Manuel exclaimed. "How big is this island we're going to anyway?" Manuel wasn't at all worried about the black clouds scuttling across the sky or the sudden picking up of the breeze and drop in temperature, or the whitecaps on the waves. This had been one of the riskier aspects of all this. The timing had been very touchy, and the primary plan required the hurricane that had been building off the coast of Cuba to be making an appearance here either later today or tomorrow. It now looked like tonight was going to be the night.

"It's small. Only has one house on it," Galindo said. "I own the whole island. I'll have you all to myself." He took one hand off the wheel and pulled Manuel in close in his lap and gave him a deep kiss in the hollow of his neck.

"If your island is small, it's the only thing about you that's small," Manuel whispered, and he wiggled his butt and was rewarded with a groan from Galindo as his cock touched all sides of Manual's undulating channel walls.

And once again the international trafficker in illegal flesh, Arillano Galindo, blessed his good fortune at having added Manuel to his collection at the last moment for delivery to the New Orleans auction house. Of course Manuel didn't know yet that he was going to be sold into the underworld of male brothels. And as long as Manuel was giving him a good time, Galindo wasn't going to tell the nice little piece of ass what was what. He'd have Manuel on the ship and sailing across the Caribbean before he had any idea what was in store for him.

"There, there. Up ahead. Do you see it? Isle de Turto. And it's all mine."

"Where? Oh, that? It [i]is[/i] small," Manuel said. He was doing his best acting to convey the impression that he'd never seen the island before—although he had. He knew practically every inch of the island and the house on it now.

"Shall we take a spin around it and see it from all sides?" Galindo offered. "It would only take a couple of minutes. The storm should hold off that long."

"No, I don't think so. I think I want to see your bedroom first." It was the best Manuel could do on the fly. A trip to the other side of the island might have proved embarrassing to the fishing boat he knew was anchored just off the island over there. But the remark worked. Galindo revved up the engine and headed straight for the dock and boathouse.

Manuel thought the house was the perfect set up, and while Galindo was cranking the speedboat up out of the water in the boathouse, Manuel went on ahead, saying he wanted to look around the island a bit. He found the package he was looking for hidden behind a concrete vase at the edge of the stone terrace behind the house. He had its precious contents stashed away in his backpack well before Galindo came up the steps from the boathouse.

And as Manuel had requested, he was shown Galindo's bedroom first, and the wrist restraints in the headboard, and Galindo's ready cock, and the passage to paradise.

* * * *

Manuel woke in the middle of the night, encased in Galindo's arms, and in an instant he was fully awake to wariness at the sounds he was hearing—the whistling of the wind, raindrops smattering against the window shutters, and the beating of a loose shutter on a window frame. "Showtime" was the word running through his brain and he nudged Galindo—enough for the thug to wake up but not enough for him to think Manuel had purposely awakened him.

"The hurricane is here," Galindo murmured, half awake. But he became alert to the sounds of the storm quickly and sat up in bed. "It is time for me to show you the storm cellar."

The two rolled off the bed at opposite sides and reached for their clothes.

"Hurry, this way," Galindo muttered. Already the wind was howling rather than whistling.

"Just a second," Manuel answered. "I want my backpack."

They barely had made it into the store cellar under the house when the generator gave out and they heard sounds of the tin roofing giving way.

They were on a mattress on the floor, and Manuel clung to Galindo in fear of the night and the storm, and Galindo embraced him and comforted him. Manuel let his little hands roam around on Galindo's body, and they soon drifted into a slow fuck. As Galindo was at the point of ejaculation, the world caved in on him. Something hit him on the head, which stunned him, and something stabbed him in the thigh, which blacked him out.

Manuel dropped the length of wood he'd used to stun Galindo, put the syringe he'd used to put Galindo out for several hours back into his backpack, extracted a flashlight from his backpack, and went to the cellar door and let in the much bedraggled team of U.S. intelligence technical experts.

The hurricane was passing by, but it didn't give them any help in their difficult task. Still, they were miracle workers and they had trained for this. They had brought all of the supplies they needed, and the team had every move planned down to the second. The first thing they did was turn the generator back on that they'd cut off themselves.

While they worked, Manuel, with pleasure, bloodied up the Colombian flesh-peddling thug's head more than he originally had and then bandaged it with his torn undershirt.

As the team was pulling out, layering a mass of splintered timbering in their wake, the last of them, the team leader, whispered to Manuel, "You sure you know what we need? We need to know where it is and where it's going."

Manuel nodded. His thoughts had been concentrated on that for days. They were simple questions, but the answers were worth all of the effort they were putting in to get them.

By the time Galindo came too, but woozily so from his head wound—although more so from the drugs Manuel had shot into his thigh once more—the cellar had been transformed into a collapsed building trapping the two of them in a small, but manageable air pocket, with no access to an exit. The timbers were stacked precariously to leave the impression that if someone started trying to move any of them, the whole lot would come down on his head.

"Where, what?" Galindo moaned as he came closer to the surface of consciousness.

"The hurricane collapsed the house on us," Manuel said. "You got hit in the head by a falling timber. We're alive, but we're trapped. I don't think it would be a good idea to try to move any of this debris."

"Alive but trapped," Galindo muttered and drifted off again.

He woke again in an hour, as the drug Manuel had shot into him was wearing off. There was enough still in him to make him confused, however, and Manuel was prepared to keep him in that state as long as he could.

"Where? Oh, yes, trapped in the cellar," he muttered. "How long?"

"You've been out for a day—through a night," Manuel said.

"Water. Thirsty," Galindo whispered.

"We don't have any," Manuel said. He put a sob into his voice, made himself sound like he was sinking in despair. "We're trapped . . . on an uninhabited island, under a collapsed house. Can't get out. We're going to die in here."

"No. We're not," Galindo muttered. "A night you say? We can hold out. Ship. Ship will be here tomorrow."

"A ship?" Manuel asked. "What ship?"

"They know I should be here; they'll see the house collapsed and will get us out. They can't sell the cargo without me. All those people will be useless to them. I'm the only one with the contacts in New Orleans and the way to get illegals in."

"People? Cargo? What ship? Where is it coming from? Where is it going?"

Galindo started to drift off again, and Manuel patted him on the cheek, a bit hard, actually. "Please, daddy, stay awake. I'm scared. What ship? I don't understand."

Galindo took Manuel in his arms and started to rock him back and forth. "Shush now, don't worry. It will be here tomorrow. Picking up cargo down the Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama coast. Sex flesh from all through the region. Love that in the south. Nice brown Hispanic ass—some fresh. New Orleans. Have it all set up."

"You're just trying to keep me from giving up, daddy. We've been here so long. I'm thirsty and hungry. We're going to die here. What ship, daddy? What ship."

"Shhh, shh, the Grego II. Wouldn't go by without finding me. Wouldn't do them any good in New Orleans."

"Oh, daddy," Manuel wailed—as he jabbed Galindo's thigh with the needle again and Galindo drifted off to lala land.

Manuel extricated himself from Galindo's embrace, reached into his backpack. took out a mobile phone, and punched in a number. "It's the Grego II, coming from Panama and headed to New Orleans for a sex slave trade auction. He expects it here on Tuesday. Now get me the hell out of here."

It had all happened in an eight-hour period from hurricane damage set up, to Manuel getting the information they needed from Galindo, to breaking the staged set in the cellar of a perfectly sturdy house and bundling Galindo onto the fishing boat on the other side of the island. They called in other teams to intercept the Grego II before it left Panamanian waters, the Panamanians being much more cooperative in these matters than the Colombians were.

As Manuel climbed aboard the fishing boat, he looked up at the sky, at the black cloud scuttling away from them up toward the Nicaraguan coast. He said a little thanks to Mother Nature for cooperating. Plan B for this operation would have been much, much more complicated and risky.



Hurricane and Home-made Wine



Maddie Sturm gripped the front of her coat and held it tightly shut under her chin as she quickly walked across the Hurricane Box Company parking lot. It had been the coldest winter in years in Hurricane, West Virginia and Maddie couldn't wait for spring.

Maddie shuffled gingerly through the newly fallen snow. She never tied her size five Timberlands, and she was trying not to get snow down inside them. Stepping up to the large four wheel drive pickup truck, Maddie opened the passenger side door,

"Geez Louise Bubby, couldn't you park any further away?!" Maddie playfully scolded the young man behind the wheel.

"Sorry Maddie. But you look like you could use some exercise anyhow," Bubby Lundy teased back.

Maddie struggled into the tall truck and settled in. The climb up was hard enough when she wasn't tired, but now, after fourteen hours at the box plant, it took what seemed like all she had. The one consolation was she only had three more years until she could retire. Maddie, and her husband Reg, had figured it out that by the time Maddie reached sixty, they would have enough in savings to buy a little place in Florida and retire. No more boxes for Maddie and no more cross country trucking for Reg. The most recent hitch in the plan was Maddie's car breaking down. She was really counting on it lasting three more years as well. So now it was in the shop for two weeks and she had been riding with Bubby.

Bubby worked on the shipping dock. He had been there since he dropped out of high school at the age of fifteen, four years ago. He was extremely shy and backward around most people, but Maddie and his grandmother, Emily, had been best of friends when they were girls, so it was almost like he and Maddie were family.

They had gotten about five miles from the plant, traveling on state route five, when they were stopped at the foot of Miller's Mountain, a long hill on the way home. Bubby turned on the cb radio and they heard the chatter between the other drivers that a eighteen wheeler had jack knifed two thirds of the way up the mountain and flipped onto its side, blocking both lanes. The one driver said the state trooper on the scene told him it would be an hour before they could get traffic moving again.

Maddie let out a groan, "Like today hasn't been long enough!"

Bubby chuckled in agreement, "Speakin' of trucks'n truckers, where's Reg?"

"I talked to him at lunch time today. He was still in Cleveland and they were gettin' hammered with snow then, so he figures it'll be sometime Sunday afternoon before he gets home. So, I guess I'll just sleep until then."

They both laughed knowing Maddie couldn't be that lazy. Even at fifty seven she could out pace any girl on her production line at work. She had, in her husband's words "Aged Very Well". If one looked closely at Maddie, one could see the faint ravages of time, but at a glance, even at a second glance, Maddie had held on to her simple good looks. Her dishwater blond hair had streaks of grey now, but not blatantly noticeable. A little makeup hid the few lines and wrinkles and she had always been of diminutive build, and that had always seemed to help the illusion of her appearing younger than she really was.

"So how's your Gramma Em?" Maddie asked, making small talk.

"Mean as ever I 'spose," Bubby replied.

Maddie reached over and slapped him on his arm, "Don't you be talkin' bad about your Gramma!" she pretend scolded him, "Or she and I will whip up on you!"

"Me and her go way back," Maddie said.

Bubby looked out of the drivers window and rolled his eyes. His grandmother said the exact same thing whenever she talked about Maddie, and he swore he had heard both of their stories a hundred times over.

Then after a pause Maddie said out of the blue, "Her daddy, your great grand daddy, made the best home made cherry wine I ever had."

Bubby looked over at Maddie, a little surprised to hear a story he had never heard before. Also a little surprised anyone knew about the wine making. Everyone in his family made their own wine, but kept it secret as it was frowned on by the Baptist church they attended.

"Yessir, you can't buy wine as good as your great grand daddy made," Maddie said almost wistfully as she looked out of her window.

Almost forty years ago, in August, Maddie had gone to Em's daddy's farm to help with the haying. It was just something all the neighboring farms did back then, everyone would help everyone else. This particular day was stifling hot, too hot to work and all the boys had gone down to the creek to swim. Emily's folks had gone to the house to rest and Emily had procured a quart of her daddy's cherry wine and she and Maddie had snuck off to the root cellar.

It was cool and dark in there. The only light once the door was closed, aside from a few stray beams of sunlight that shone through cracks in the door, was an old kerosene lamp. Em took a long sip from the jar and then handed it to Maddie. Never having had a drink before, Maddie took a little sip and then puckered up her face. It was sweet enough, but the alcohol in it made her shudder. Emily just giggled and took another sip. Not to be out done so did Maddie. After about twenty minutes both girls were giggling and shushing each other to be quiet.

"Wanna know a secret?" Emily asked Maddie.

There was nothing Maddie loved better than a good secret, even to this day. "Sure!" she replied with a slight slur.

Emily motioned with her finger for Maddie to move closer, Maddie assumed Emily was going to whisper it to her. When her face was close to Emily's, instead of a secret, Emily kissed Maddie full on the mouth. Maddie was so shocked she didn't know what to do at first. Then she pulled back from Em, instinctively wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Maddie looked at Emily, there in the dim half light, and who she saw was no longer the girl she had played with dolls, climbed trees and swam with. It was another person, a woman. Something shook through Maddie's very being. It wasn't fear or disgust. It wasn't love or lust even. It was excitement. The excitement of exploring something new, something not discussed in the small community of Hurricane. This was adventure.

Emily stood up, without a word, and unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it off her white shoulders and draped it over the small table next to the door. Maddie calmly stood up and walked over to Emily and kissed her, deeply, passionately, like a lover. Maddie had never kissed anyone before, but something deep inside her seemed to be navigating her in the direction she was now going. What transpired between those two girls in the cool darkness of that root cellar, may have been presented as evil from the Sunday morning pulpit, but was so natural and beautiful it couldn't have been wrong. Passion guided their hands and tongues, and it was wonderful. For the next hour Maddie and Em were eternal lovers. Every touch, every taste, every caress bound them together forever. When they finally walked out into the hot, blinding sun, they were changed forever. They were now women. Women with a secret. And while it never happened again, and there had been no other women in either of their lives, the memory never failed to make either woman smile.

Maddie was pulled back from her revelry by Bubby nudging her arm,

"It ain't cherry, but it ain't bad," Bubby said as he offered Maddie the wrinkled paper bag he had retrieved from under the seat while she was remembering she and Em as girls.

Opening the top of the bag, Maddie found a Mason jar. Opening it, her nostrils were filled with the delicious smell of strawberries. Raising the jar to her lips, she took a small sip. It was ambrosia of the gods! It was as good or maybe even better than the wine that Bubby's great granddad made all those years ago.

"Oh Bubby!" Maddie said, "This is delicious!" and took another sip.

"Yeah, we had lots of extra strawberries two years ago, so me and Gramma Em made about sixteen gallon of wine. It's just now gettin' good. But it'll sneak up on ya," Bubby warned, "It don't taste like it's got much kick, but it'll hit ya when ya ain't lookin'!"

Maddie took another long sip. The wine made a warm path inside her and all of a sudden the night didn't seem quite so cold. For the next half hour or so Maddie and Bubby chatted and laughed while they waited for the road to be cleared. Maddie, ignoring Bubby's warning, kept sipping as she and Bubby talked. Then all at once her head was swimming. Bubby had been right, it certainly did sneak up on you. Of course not eating much all day didn't help either,

Whoa, Bubby!" Maddie said, her slurring was just barely noticeable "You better take this, I think I've had enough!" With that she shoved the now empty jar back to Bubby.

After a few minutes , Maddie leveled out a little. She struggled out of her jacket and then leaned back against the passenger door and put her feet up on the seat after kicking off her Timberlands. She studied Bubby for a moment. The tall, shy boy was the subject of speculation among several women at the plant. The general consensus was that he absolutely had to be hung like a horse and a complete animal in bed. No one, as quiet and shy as Bubby, could be anything but a seething volcano of lust, when he wasn't at work.

Sudden Maddie shifted around on the seat, drawing her feet up under and shifting next to Bubby,

"I sure wish you'd let me give you money for gas. You've been so sweet haulin' my butt into work and home again all this time," Maddie said as she reached up and toyed with lock of hair that peeked out form the back of Bubby's cap.

Bubby chuckled, "Gramma Em would skin me alive if she knew I took money from you."

Maddie licked her lower lip with the tip of her tongue as she stroked the back of her fingers over Bubby's cheek, "Well...we wouldn't want anything to happen to that skin... now would we?"

Maddie was now up on her knees, wrapping her arms around Bubby's neck, "Uhh...Maddi..." Bubby started but was interrupted by Maddie's hot, moist mouth over his.

She pressed her lips to his. He felt them move over his, as if she was whispering something as she kissed him, then the tip of her tongue brushed between his lips. Bubby had very little experience with women, but his lips parted of their own volition as instinct took over. Maddie's velvety tongue snaked into his mouth, swirling and teasing his. He reciprocated, which coaxed a moan of approval from Maddie.

Bubby put his right hand on Maddie's back and rubbed her in large circles. Then sliding his hand lower, he slowly slid it over her bottom. As he did, Maddie dropped her head onto his chest and tried to catch her breath. In truth, she was suddenly embarrassed. She had thrown herself at Bubby like a horny high school girl. He should be out with some lusty eighteen year old, not a woman who was best friends with his grandmother. But, at this instant, she felt like a horny high school girl. She was wetter than she had been in thirty years and she ached for Bubby. For the taste of his mouth, the stroke of his hand, for the passion that sometimes can only be found in the front seat of a pick up truck on a dark winters night.

"Bubby, I'm sorr..." Maddie started to apologize for stepping over the boundaries of propriety, but this time she was cut short by Bubby kissing her.

His hungry mouth covered hers, his tongue plunged into hers, his yearning twined with hers. Maddie pressed against him as they kissed passionately, feeling unable to be close enough to him. Maddie untucked her tshirt from her pants and taking Bubby's hand, guided it inside to her 34C's. She slipped her fingers under the bottom edge of her bra, pulling it up and off her breast. Bubby's hand side slowly up her torso and over her rock hard nipple,

Throwing her head back, Maddie groaned through clenched teeth "Ohhhh...Bubby!" She gasped, "Those gloves!!"

Bubby wore those white canvas work gloves covered with brown rubber dots. The warehouse and shipping dock were cold this time of year so he rarely took them off. He had cut the finger tips off of them so he could sort papers and invoices easier,

"Oh! Sorry Maddie. I'll take 'em off," Bubby said as he started to withdraw his hand.

"No no!" Maddie said as she clamped her hand over his, "They feel wonderful!"

The sensation of all those little dots running over her sensitive nipples was driving her insane. Maddie reached back to unhook her bra when she noticed the cars ahead of them starting to move,

"Dammit to hell!" she spat, "The road must be cleared now."

Bubby looked at her slightly dumbfounded, as if clue less what to do next.

"Turn down Walters Creek Road when you get up to it," Maddie directed as she slid back down onto the seat next to Bubby.

Three quarters of the way up Miller's Mountain was Walter's Creek Road. It was just a narrow little road that ran for about ten miles back into the national forest and dead ended at a parking area.

"Now where to?" Bubby asked as he turned onto the dark, narrow road.

"About a mile and a half back, there's a pull off," Maddie said, her voice getting husky with anticipation.

Looking out the rear window to make sure no one was behind them, Maddie began struggling out of her jeans. She began giggling at the thought, the difference now between her and an eighteen year old high school girl, is that the high school girl would probably be struggling to keep her pants on, while Maddie couldn't wait to get hers off.

As soon as she was free of her jeans, Maddie was all over Bubby, nearly making him swerve off the road. She was kissing and biting his neck and ears, licking his face, then dropping her hand into his lap she began rubbing him through his jeans. Not nearly soon enough, they were parked at the pull off. Maddie had Bubby pinned against the drivers door, raping his young mouth with her tongue. Wanting the feel of skin on skin, Maddie pulled her shirt and brassiere off in one motion, leaving her completely nude, save her socks, then she went to work on Bubby. Feverishly she tugged and struggled to get him out of his clothes quickly. Once his shirt was off, he cupped both her breasts with those wonderful gloves and thrust his mouth to one, sucking Maddie's swollen nipple. Maddie shuddered and groaned as electric tingles zipped throughout her body.

"Bubby!" Maddie panted, "I can't wait anymore!!" And her hands lunged for his cock.

The size of Bubby's member was a blessing and a disappointment all at once. The disappointment being, it wasn't the huge monster cock so many girls at the plant wanted to believe it was. It was a blessing because Maddie hadn't had sex in ages, and forcing something huge in there now, would probably do more harm than good. But what Bubby did have was a penis about five inches in length and the girth was about as round as Maddie touching her index finger to her thumb, but it was a cock, nonetheless, and that was what she needed right now.

Maddie hooked Bubby behind the knees and jerked him towards her, then shoving him into a laying position on the seat, she quickly straddled the young man, grabbing his cock and guiding it toward her hot, sopping pussy. Maddie dropped her hips down and Bubby slid very neatly into her. Maddie gasped as he slipped in. It was wonderful! Slowly she raised and lowered her pelvis, reveling in the feeling of young cock inside her after such a long hiatus.

Bubby placed his hands on Maddie's ass and began slowly rubbing her in big, slow circles,

"Gaddammit! I gotta get Reg a pair of them gloves!" Maddie groaned.

Then sitting upright, Maddie grabbed Bubby's hands and put them on her breasts, "My titties Bubby!! Rub my titties with them gloves!!" She was practically screaming now as her climax was only moments away

Maddie put her hands on the roof of the cab as she thrust down on Bubby for all she was worth. Her pussy was on fire as she felt the muscles starting to contract of their own volition. She shoved Bubby's hands away and thrust her hand between her legs and violently began rubbing her clit as Bubby continued to thrust into her,

"Watch me Bubby!" Maddie exclaimed in a panted shriek, "Watch me rub myself!" Maddie was out of control now as her orgasm gushed forward, "Watch me play with my pussy!!"

For the next several moments the inside of that truck was rocked with the sounds of Maddie screaming, punctuated with dashes of profanity. She bucked and moaned as she rubbed her swollen clit. Then as her climax began to subside, she started giggling and she began to slow her hips down. As she opened her eyes, she saw Bubby had one hand clutching the steering wheel and the other had a death grip on the back of the truck seat. His eyes were tightly shut and his teeth were clenched. Quickly Maddie dismounted him and in a flash her mouth was on his turgid member. She easily took it all into her mouth as she sucked it. Pressing her tongue against the underside of his shaft as she worked it in and out of her mouth she could feel his start to shudder and he spent his load. 

Bubby seemed to cum forever, squirting his hot semen into Maddie's mouth, so much so that it was dribbling out of the corners as he continued to rhythmically shove his cock past her willing lips. Finally as he finished, he began chuckling. Maddie rolled down the window and spit the mouthful of semen outside. Picking up the wine she took a quick sip, swishing it around a bit before she swallowed it.

The lovers shyly dressed, then sat quietly for a few moments in the awkward silence. Finally Maddie leaned over and kissed Bubby and smiled. Bubby grinned from ear to ear and gave her a quick peck back, then started the truck. Conversation was fairly sparse for the remainder of the ride home. 

Stopping outside Maddie's house Bubby said "Well...there ya go!" The same as every night he dropped her off.

Maddie got out, gathering up her coat, then blurted out, "You wanna come in?" Regretting saying it even before she finished.

"I reckon not, " Bubby smiled. "But y'all have a good weekend end."

"You too," Maddie smiled back.

Then suddenly Bubby got out of the truck and trotted around to Maddie's side, " The Old Man always said 'Walk'er to the door son'," then he chuckled and put his arm around Maddie's shoulder.

Once at the door they shared one more, and one last, long, passionate kiss. Maddie closed the door and then leaned back against it and let out a long dreamy sigh. She peeked out the curtains and watched as Bubby drove off into the night. Not even bothering to turn on a light, she went straight to her bedroom. She quickly stripped off and slid into the cold sheets, shuddering and giggling at the frigid chills that ran through her body. As she lay there, Maddie's face was fairly beaming as she slowly drifted off to sleep. Basking in the memory of tonight, which brought a smile that last all weekend and a memory that lasted all her life.



Hurricane Brings Roommates Together



Sarah was sitting on the kitchen floor when I came in from the living room. The soaked living room carpet made my feet freeze, and ache for warmer weather.

It was a few days after the hurricane hit our tiny island in the Gulf of Mexico, and we were one of the lucky ones. Mostly we had a bit of damage to our patio and only our downstairs bathroom and living room. Sarah was just cleaning out the lower drawers and cabinets so the insurance agent could adjust the damage.

Sarah was wearing a pair of my old basketball shorts and a tank top, sitting indian style on the floor unloading pots and pans. She glanced up at me when she heard my feet slip against the tile floor and I had to catch myself on a barstool. 

"You are probably the clumsiest person I have ever met." She said with a smile. I laughed it off and made some remark about her inability to wear her own clothes. Which I couldn't say much about as I was wearing one of her shirts. 

Her chest was slightly smaller than mine, making my breasts more defined in her grey slim work out tee, the freezing weather forcing my nipples to stay erect. I sat down next to her to help clean out the cabinets.

Sarah and I moved here about a month ago, and neither of us were regretting purchasing renters insurance, which was a whopping $2 a month. We both came down here after we graduated from college in hopes of putting off growing up for another year or so. So far, it has been a success.

Sarah placed her arm around my lower back, sending chills up my back, since her hands were freezing from sitting on the tile all morning.

"I don't know what I would be doing down here with out you," she said.

I laughed and said, "You wouldn't be down here if I hadn't convinced you it would be a brilliant idea to not put your biology degree to good use."

She smiled and said "You know that you could have told me we would be stripping for dimes or cleaning houses down here and I still would have come."

"Ya but your mom would have killed me!"

She leaned in a tucked a bit of my hair behind my ear that had been getting in my face all morning. "I would have been able to persuade her. Besides, I couldn't imagine not being with you. Even before Jake broke up with me, I couldn't imagine living away from you." I agreed. "It just feels right."

We continued to rearrange the kitchen and move the living room furniture to the tile until mid afternoon, and there was nothing left to do but wait.

The bathroom upstairs only had a bathtub, so Sarah took the first, and I the second.

I had just been moving all of our toiletries upstairs when Sarah called to me asking for a towel. I jogged up the stairs and threw a towel in the bathroom then returning down stairs to get the rest of the morning necessities.

I walked down the hall and Sarah was standing completely naked, except for the towel that was wrapped around her hair. I gasped and couldn't help but to not look at her perfectly tanned and erect breasts.

"I am sorry" I quickly muttered, and turned my head.

"Jess, honestly? Your are my best friend, I don't give a damn if you see me naked, I've seen your naked ass half a dozen times."

She had a point. I had gotten into the habit of wearing a thong and a thing shirt around the house since our top balcony was virtually invisible from the ground, and I had been tanning.

"Well ya know." I walked into the bathroom and began arranging the toiletries accordingly. Sarah still stood naked behind me, taking her hair down and crunching it with the towel, and turning on my bath water for me.

I had never seen Sarah this naked before. I knew she had been getting brazilian waxes done, since I referred her to the lady who did mine, but this was the first time I had seen another girl as hairless as me.

She continued to move around the bathroom, brushing her teeth, and then her hair. She seemed to be taking more than the usual amount of time to get dressed. My bath water had already filled.

Not wanting to seem like a prude, I stripped down in the middle of the bathroom, and tested the water, it was too hot, I couldn't get in right away, surprising for a post hurricane water heater I thought.

I sat on the edge of the tub, watching Sarah gracefully move around bath, eventually sitting on the countertop, and unscrewing the top to a bottle of hot red nail polish. Just as she threw one leg into the sink I couldn't help but stare and the deep red lips between her thighs, leaving her other leg hanging limply towards the ground.

"When you are done with yours, you should do mine. When I do my own, it always looks like I just dipped my toes in paint." She looked up at me and laughed and said, "Here give me your's."

I placed my foot on the closed toilet seat lid and she positioned herself around my foot, finally lifting it on top of her leg, leaving me just as exposed as she was before.

After she was done, I had sunk down into the water, leaving my legs spread and draped over the edge of the tub. She stood up and without much warning she too, mimicked my position. sinking into the steaming water with me.

I instantly felt aroused. She leaned into my shoulder and I put my arm around her, as we sat in the steaming water. Sarah moved her hand around to the back of my head, untying the band that had been holding my hair up, letting it fall past my shoulders, and barely touching the water.

I knew she was thinking the same as me. Neither of us had much luck when it came to dating on this tiny island and tourists were off limits, since neither of us were one night stand types of girls.

She placed her hands back into the water, clutching the underside of her thighs. Knowing I would have to take a leap of faith I tilted her head up and before I knew it our lips were touching, lips parting. Her tongue began to explore mine and I began to twist my body, allowing my legs to wrap around her waist.

Sarah's warm hands caressed my collar bone, then my breast, allowing her thumbs to flick my erect nipples. My hands were naturally holding her waist close to mine. Soon she was pushing me towards the back of the tub with her body, forcing me to soak my hair. I lifted my head up and began to kiss her dripping neck, as she was managing to move one hand through my hair, the other massaging my right breast.

Gradually she lifted her self up and out of the bathtub, pulling me with her. She had me pushed up against the hall wall, placing one of her hands delicately around my waist, and the other moving up and down my side, from the nipple of my breast down to my thigh, kissing me deeply. And gradually moving her hand closer to my opening.

I pulled her into the bedroom, not able to make it to my bed, we collapsed on the floor, my hand on her inner thigh, moving upwards. Feeling the heat radiate from her red lips, I moved two of my fingers deep into her wet hole, forcing them up towards her G spot, then bringing them out again, and back again. Her back arched, and pulled my face closer to hers.

I withdrew my fingers and began kissing her neck, down to her breasts, stomach, then finally her clit. Massaging it with my tongue, sending her to her first orgasm, releasing a loud moan in pleasure.

I could hear her deep breath as she leaned forward as I began journeying up her torso again, stopping every inch to place a soft kiss, or light lick on her perfectly tanned abdomen. I soon felt a hand tracing out indistinguishable patterns across my waistline, then finally over my throbbing clit.

I was unable to hold back my first gasp of pleasure, as she was placing a deep kiss on my collar bone, and she began sucking, sending chills through my body. My leg twitched in pleasure as she fit a third finger in my soaked hole, reaching deep towards my g spot, stroking it fast.

My breathing intensified, as my best friend began to open my hot lips with her fingers and began sucking up my juices that kept flowing, and flowing. She began teasing me, by lightly licking my clit gently. Aching for more I moaned, "Faster Sarah, harder!" And she obliged, sending me into a spasm of pleasure that flexed my inner muscles right in front of her mouth.

Exhausted, she collapsed next me, throwing an arm around my stomach, and again lightly touching her lips to mine, allowing me to taste my own flavor, and tracing another pattern into my stomach.

She took a breath and said, "Do you know how long I have wanted to do that for you." I had been clueless. "Seriously," she started again, "I've been wanting to give you everything you wanted and more for the longest time." She had.

I laughed and said, "I never knew."

We didn't have to wait for the next hurricane, to try that again.