See Me Now?

Sophie woke up late, although as this was the normal time she had woken up for months one could make the argument that Sophie woke up at the usual time.

For that extra thirty minutes of sleep she was required to sacrifice a more relaxed morning routine. She would still do all the things that she would normally do, just a lot quicker.

On waking up Sophie would slowly pad to her kitchen to make her first coffee of the morning. It was the most important cup of coffee of the entire day. When she had contemplated eliminating parts of her morning routine for more time in bed this first coffee would not even be in consideration for elimination; it was an immovable necessity.

As she waited impatiently for the kettle to boil she would distract herself by opening her Twitter app. Normally there would only be a handful of notifications for Sophie to navigate but last night she did something rather impulsively silly. She posted a selfie.

Her motivation for doing so was because she felt good. She was happy and rather than describe her happiness in 280 characters or less she thought it would just be easier to post a picture of her smiling. Look… there’s me… happy.

Her closest followers all reacted with likes and compliments which increased Sophie’s elated mood. Yet that quickly diminished as she read some of the other comments which had taken a rather different approach to being complimentary.

She had ignored the more leering responses but in doing so this had been taken by the unknown contributor as painful rejection who now eloquently dissected Sophie’s entire character by calling her a “thirsty teasing bitch”.

Reading the word ‘thirsty’ caused Sophie to stare at her kettle that was still obstinately boiling. She tutted at the kettle, quickly realising the futility of showing disapproval to an inanimate object in the ridiculous hope that this criticism would make it want to work quicker next time.

Returning to her phone she noted that she had quite a few Direct Messages. Amongst those inexplicably just wanting to say ‘Hi’ there were some more colourful contributions.

Some had seen Sophie’s fully clothed selfie as the perfect opportunity to become some low budget DH Lawrence and seduce Sophie with well trodden erotica.

“Why’s your cock angry, dude?”

Others, however, despite being allured by Sophie’s smiley face felt it was simply necessary to get to the point. “I want to fuck you” stated one response. Concerned that Sophie may have further questions there was a follow up message that read “With this?” Should Sophie also have the slightest curiosity what ‘this’ was he sent a picture of his penis, helpfully next to a drinks can should Sophie need a size comparison.

It wasn’t really the thing she needed to be seeing first thing in the morning, especially on an empty stomach.

It prompted Sophie to briefly ponder what he was hoping to achieve by sending a picture of his penis. Should the sight of some flaccid meat laying mournfully across an aluminium can have aroused burning feelings of lust inside her? Was he hoping his penis was the passport not only to her heart but to between her legs? That she would respond with;

“Well I did have a busy day planned at work but seeing that your cock almost reaches halfway to a monster energy drink can I have called in sick and want you round here now big boy”

With her coffee finally made and despite only just having got out of bed Sophie sat down and turned on the TV. The morning news show she watched was only there for background noise, Sophie got her news by scrolling Twitter and reading people reacting to the news, that way she could know what the most important topics of the day were.

As her TV fizzed to life she caught the end of the local news bulletin. There had been another attack near the local park where Sophie lived. A young woman out jogging was the latest victim. However, this topic was not the focus of everyone’s attention this morning. Something else had happened. Someone had painted the words “See Me Now?” on Churchill’s statue and people were angry.

The dark pink hue of the tv presenter seemed to be a visual embodiment of the anger that was spreading on social media over this incident. For a full five minutes he spat out his condemnation of such an atrocity before interviewing another man who was equally as angry.

Sophie recognised this man. She thought he might be a politician but had never seen him in the House of Commons, yet he held very strong opinions on a lot of subjects. Whilst he ranted about Britain’s heritage being destroyed and history being erased Sophie searched Twitter to see if there was any update over the woman who was attacked.

With her coffee drunk she took a shower, brushing her teeth at the same time. Hurriedly she got dressed and was then clip clopping her way to the tube station. She slowed down as she walked past the park where the attack had happened the. Apart from a few extra police officers around everything was as it usually was.

Sophie grabbed a copy of the Metro as she walked through the entrance of the tube station. She knew she would not have the opportunity to read it as it would be too busy; she’d barely have enough room to breathe let alone turn the pages. She quickly glanced at the front page which led with the story of the defacing of Churchill’s statue (later in her mid morning coffee break she would read a small column on page 4 about the woman being attacked).

There had been an earlier signal failure on the Northern Line and so the platform was heaving with already weary commuters. She only had a few stops to travel and was well used to being crammed into a metal box with what seemed to be most of London.

Unsurprisingly all the seats were taken and she managed to find herself a small pocket where she stood clinging onto the pole. As the train stopped at different stations more people clambered on, jostling for whatever position they could find. Within a few stops Sophie found herself sandwiched between the pole and a tall man.

The man’s groin rhythmically rubbed up against Sophie’s behind as the carriage gently rocked to its next destination.

Maybe the gentleman felt as awkward as she did. Perhaps he was just as uncomfortable but whilst Sophie tried to move he seemed to be in no rush to adjust his stance, leaving Sophie just to hope that was his phone rubbing up against her.

She would soon be at her stop and tried not to give it any thought but she did muse on what perhaps he might be thinking. Was he frozen in awkwardness, his mind reminding him that he is rubbing his cock up against a woman he doesn’t know yet offering no solution to stop that from happening.

Or was he getting a thrill out of it? Was his brain fantasising that he was in some sordid club. The pole that Sophie clung to morphing into one of those dancing poles for her to twerk and gyrate against. She was no longer a stranger just travelling to work but a dancer that was happy to dry hump him to orgasm. She supposed she’d know the answer to that if she found £20 slid in between the waistband of her skirt.

Eventually Sophie arrived at her destination and was relieved to be away from her claustrophobic surroundings and into the spacious air of outdoors. It was a brief walk to where she worked and she passed a number of coffee shops.

As part of her ‘extra time in bed’ routine she had swopped breakfast at home to popping in to the shop nearest to her office to grab something quickly to eat at her desk.

The building next to it was having some renovations and scaffolding adorned the Victorian exterior.

“Way-Hey! Love. You’re alright”

Sophie instinctively looked up stupidly thinking it might have been someone she knew. There she saw a man she didn’t know in a hard hat and hi-vis jacket looking down at her.

“You fancy a real man, sweetheart” he said before turning to his colleagues and laughing.

Whilst Sophie was old enough to realise fairy tales do not exist and romance as depicted in movies were unrealistic she was also experienced enough to know this was not the most seductive of pick up lines.

Once again she found herself confused as to her expected response. Did he think she would say “Well I was going to just get a bagel but hey throw down a ladder and I’ll come up and ride you”

The workman was now joined by his colleagues who chipped in with comments about Sophie’s appearance making it clear to express how that made them feel. She simply put her head down and went into the shop.

Having avoided any further amorous advances from workmen Sophie was able to sit peacefully at her desk. She finished the final remnants of her bagel while flicking through the pages of a report she had compiled in readiness for the Strategy Meeting today.

Sophie had spent the evening reviewing it and had purposely not started to watch that show on Netflix everyone was talking about. Had she done so her desire to binge watch as many episodes as she could would have meant she was ill prepared for the meeting. This was an important meeting and she wanted to ensure that she was fully ready.

The meeting room was large with a glass oval desk prominent in the centre. Random Art Deco paintings made the walls seem less sparse and at the far end was a large LCD screen.

All Heads of Division were attending this meeting, in total seven people made themselves comfortable around the table. Sophie, the only female in this group, took the available seat furthest from where her Boss stood at the screen.

He introduced the meeting trying to say as many random letters as he could with enough confidence that those present in the meeting would nod along like they understood – “KPI, GDPR etc”.

His talk, accompanied by a 100 slide PowerPoint presentation, was littered with talking points for the rest of the ensemble to muse over. Every time Sophie went to offer a comment someone else would interject and begin making the point she was about to say. The meeting lasted for two hours and within that time Sophie reckoned she had spoke for about two minutes of it.

The rest of the work day went quickly and soon it was time for her to leave and go home. Sophie planned on getting a take away, open a bottle of wine and binge watch that Netflix show.

As she was putting on her coat her phone chimed. It was a message from her friend seeing if she wanted to go for a quick drink. Sophie pondered this request. She had sold herself on the idea of a relaxing evening but then imagined the crush of the tube as everyone also rushed back for their few hours of downtime. She could do without being rubbed up against twice in a day.

It was settled. She would have a quick drink with her friend and get the tube home when it was little less busy and still have time to settle down and watch that show.

Sophie enjoyed the company of her friend and they shared a bottle of wine as the gossiped and laughed. They even got a bite to eat which meant Sophie would not require that takeaway after all. Just Netflix and wine it will be.

The bar was quite busy as was usual but everyone kept themselves to themselves. A few men looked over but none chose to insert themselves into the spare seats next to Sophie and her friend. They were just allowed to have fun chatting in their own little bubble.

Such was their enjoyment they could have easily made an evening of it but it was mid week and Sophie did not want to be getting the late tube home. So after a few hours in the company of her friend they kissed each other goodbye. Sophie watched her friend walk off in the opposite direction before she turned to walk to the tube station.

“Oi luv… show us your tits” said a man who must have been in his twenties sitting on a table outside smoking a cigarette; he laughed and high fived his friend in celebration.

Sophie ignored him and carried on walking to the station. She mused upon the curiosity of the question. We live in a digital age where if you feel the urge to look at breasts you can. In fact there are so many different types of breasts you could feast your eyes on.

Pictures of breasts, videos of breasts, gifs of breasts, even animated breasts. Never in the entirety of human history has being able to look at breasts been so accessible. So what was so special about Sophie’s breasts that demanded such immediate attention?

She didn’t think they were that special, they were just your normal breasts. Men had seen them before and whilst they seemed excited at the sight had never complimented her on them being ‘The Greatest Breasts Ever”. Sophie stopped thinking about this as she made her way inside the station and down on to the platform.

There was only a handful of people in the carriage. It was that midway point of the evening where either people had already gone home or were still out for the night. Sophie sat down in an empty row of seats.

After one stop a man got on and despite the availability of other seats sat directly opposite Sophie. He leaned back, spread his legs and just stared at her. Sophie looked away but curious as to whether he was still looking led her to glance back. Each time she did she was met by his piercing stare. Although it was only for a few seconds each time made her feel more uncomfortable.

She scanned the carriage to see who would be around to help her if this guy suddenly pounced. She spied a couple making out and an old lady concentrating on crocheting what looked liked a deformed panda. Whilst Sophie didn’t think they would be much use their presence still brought a slight wave of comfort that she was not alone.

She contemplated getting off at the next stop and changing carriages but this unexpected fear that had grown in her seemed to glue her to the seat. Besides she did not know if there were more weird staring men in the other carriages.

Sophie spent the rest of the journey with her eyes down staring at her lap, inwardly flinching when the carriage lurched or rocked. Normally the journey home would go quite quickly but each station seemed to take an age to reach as if the driver was going as slow as he possibly could.

Finally she saw the welcoming sign of her home station. Sophie waited until the doors opened before she left her seat and exited just in case the man wanted to follow her. She paused on the platform, looking back at the carriage to see if he emerged.

The relief that he hadn’t was quickly replaced by the realisation that she was the only one on the platform. Walking to the exit her heels echoed off the tiled floor. A feeling of dread followed her and often Sophie looked around to make sure that was the only thing that was following her.

Eventually she emerged into the nighttime air only a mile away from her home. Away from the the hustle of Central London the streets were quieter and Sophie’s experience on the tube alerted to the eerie quietness of the night. It was dark but the row of street lights provided ample illumination.

She began her normal walk home but was alerted by the scuffing of footsteps behind her. She put her hand her pocket and made a fist round her keys as she tried to up the pace. But the footsteps became louder and closer.

Could she run? She was about half a mile away from home and doubted she would get so far. Her legs felt heavy. Was it that man? Had he followed her? She looked everywhere but behind her hoping that some glimmer of salvation would appear but she was alone. The streets were empty. Just her and whoever it was approaching behind her.

She instinctively stopped. Fear not allowing her to take one more step. Should she scream? Her throat was dry , her legs felt like they were going to give away. The street silent, not even a passing car just the footsteps that moved upon her and….

Went straight past her. She took a deep breath and waited for a man in a long coat to disappear up the road. She cursed herself for being silly but that did nothing to dispel the feeling of dread that still surrounded her. She just wanted to get home, open the wine and watch Netflix.

Sophie noticed that she had stopped just by the entrance to the park which is where the recent attack had taken place. The relevance of her geographical position did nothing to calm her mood.

“ ‘ere darlin’ you gotta light”

Sophie hadn’t heard the car pull up along side her. A young man of know more than 19 years old dressed in a hoodie leaned out of the passenger window.

“No sorry. I don’t smoke” Sophie replied as politely as possible

“We’re going to a party. Wanna come?” the young man persisted.

“No… thank you” Sophie replied as she began walking but the car slowly followed her.

“Where’d ya live? We can drop you home?”

“It’s literally just up there. Thanks”

Sophie could feel her heart pounding. It was literally not up there and she had at least 10 minutes more to go before she could finally get home and relax. The car continued to slowly follow her route.

She thought about her options and concluded the only thing she could do is cut through the park. They would not be able to follow and there was a small gate just on the right hand side that she could go through. Normally she wouldn’t go through the park at night but equally she could not have these guys escort her home.

Just as she was about to turn and walk back to entrance to the park the young man shouted “Oh fuck you. You cold bitch” and the car wheel spinned off and out of sight.

Sophie’s heart was beating even faster now. With her hand shaking she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She selected her sister’s number and pressed dial.

She had been meaning to call her sister who was due to give birth shortly and a baby shower had been planned for this weekend. Sophie would welcome the sound of her sister’s voice to accompany her the rest of the way home.

She put in her earphones and listened to the sound of the ringtone as she turned the corner.

****

Trevor woke up late but that was by design. It was his day off. He reached for the remote control and turned the small TV on his bedroom.

The news bulletin reported another attack near the park but he didn’t care about that. There was a far more important issue to be discussed.

Some woman historian had been trashing statues and he was looking forward to his favourite morning TV presenter absolutely tearing her and her woke views apart.

He grabbed his phone, there was bound to be some silly leftie already supporting her on Twitter and he wanted to get in quick with a reply.

Opening the app there was slight disappointment that none on the women he had messaged last night had responded. No worries, he’ll try again later.

Trevor peeked under his bedsheet to look at what he had woken up with and was impressed. He thought about taken a quick pic but a rudimentary look around the room he noted there was no drinks can so chose not to bother.

Shame that one definitely would have got a response.

He turned his attention back to the TV screen where a reporter was still discussing the latest attack.

“Who cares!” shouted Trevor “Get to the bit about the statues”.

The Wet Misadventures Of One Miss Tempani Jones : Episode 2

Tempani sat exhaustedly at her desk. She’d already had quite the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

The orgasms (and they are certainly orgasms…plural) that Tempani experiences are quite intense. Waves of pleasure flow through her, every fibre in her body alive to the heightened state of arousal.

They are not the sort of orgasm one has where they can simply go ‘that was nice’ before popping off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

These orgasms exhaust Tempani and as she stared out of her office window at the rain she questioned whether she would have the strength to make it back home.

Despite her post-orgasmic fatigue she had coped remarkably well at the very important meeting. Indeed, the very important client and his entourage seemed pleasantly transfixed as Tempani delivered here presentation with professional aplomb.

The only time she slightly hesitated was when a raindrop still clinging to her damp hair fell. Like a horny harbinger of ecstasy it spied Tempani’s bare hand resting on the large glass conference room table.

This dirty little drop only had only one goal in mind. It could see Tempani’s finger just waiting. Were the lines in the knuckle smiling at it? Teasing it to descend faster, to fulfil its deviant destiny by sensually splashing down on to that smooth skin and bringing with it the mother of all climaxes.

Yet despite what promise this singular speck of satisfaction held it would fail in its true purpose. With Tempani’s skin in sight and pleasure only moments away she moved her hand to gesture at the screen. The raindrop splashed inconsequentially on the glass table.

Tempani turned to glance at the raindrop that lay lifeless on the table, it’s promise of pleasure unfulfilled. It was at that moment her brain decided to add some unhelpful commentary;

“Cor! Imagine what would have happened if that had hit you? Best of luck trying to show exponential growth in a line graph while having a full on orgasm”

This momentarily caused Tempani to lose her focus but she was able to regain her composure and complete the very important meeting without incident or interruption from any more perverted little raindrops.

When the meeting was over she exchanged final pleasantries with the very important client and returned to her office. Following a brief discussion with her assistant where she asked if she wouldn’t mind popping out and buying an umbrella and a new pair of tights, Tempani closed the door and collapsed in her chair thoroughly exhausted.

The company that Tempani worked for occupied the fifth floor of a modern building in Central London. The abundance of glass meant the architect was not a big fan of privacy and any passengers travelling on the train track that ran adjacent to the building would have a clear view of her.

She would often stare out across the impressive London skyline, it helped her focus but on this day her view was distorted by the rain that lashed against the glass.

The rain was heavy and the way it hit the window made Tempani believe that it was trying to break the glass to get to her. The sound of the rain splashing against the glass seemed to hiss ‘We are not finished with you’.

She moved closer to the window and stared at the droplets that formed on the glass with impatient haste. It was probably her exhaustion but Tempani thought the rain reacted to her. The rain found its journey blocked by a transparent obstacle it slipped and slithered across the pane desperate to reach her. Deciding that strength lay in numbers it grouped together forming a larger stream. Tempani dreamily traced their futile attempt with her finger.

She would write about the events of that morning when she got home in her ‘Rain Journal’. It was a book that Tempani had started when she first realised about this condition. The hope behind the journal was that it would provide some answers as to what was happening. Yet over ten years of entries and it was nothing more than an anthology of questions, frustrations and awkward encounters.

Her gift/curse/affliction (Tempani would delete as applicable depending on her mood) first revealed itself shortly after puberty. An unexpected downpour during a hockey game led to a thoroughly embarrassed Tempani, numerous raised eyebrows from her class mates and the strong suggestion to her parents from the ex-Nun head teacher that they should consider an exorcism.

Several other incidents are recorded in this journal before a two page acceptance that the rain does in fact cause orgasms (the word orgasm is underlined and highlighted).

What follows are a number of experiments and theories, some of which have proven to be useful. Perhaps the most notable is that it is just rain that causes this reaction and not water. Baths, showers, swimming pools have no sensual impact upon Tempani at all. However, a record of a day trip to Clacton-On-Sea establishes that the sea is very much a no go area. Tempani then spends a number of unnecessary pages theorising whether this means rivers as well and when she might end up in a river, concluding that this probably applies to lakes also and repeating the process.

In amongst the reminders of rain induced orgasms are pages entitled ‘Practical Tips’. Here Tempani bullets points in a variety of different coloured felt tips steps she could take to mitigate the consequence of coming into contact with rain.

Page 7 for instance is the reason why if you asked anyone who went to her school ‘Do you remember Tempani Jones?’ they would reply without hesitation ‘Oh you mean the girl who came to school wearing a poncho carrying an umbrella’.

A melancholic theme of this journal is the bleak look that a young Tempani has on living with this bizarre gift. An attractive and previously outgoing, happy-go-lucky girl slowly becomes more recluse. It is, should you require a reference, on Page 12 of her journal where she happens upon a semi-permanent solution to her troubles – Not go out.

Whilst she reluctantly accepts that her education requires leaving the house she justifies limiting social interaction with a graph, the accuracy of which may be suspect but one can at least admire the pretty colours she chose to use.

Effectively withdrawing from society has its consequence that Tempani painfully reflects upon. Her parents, still reeling from their daughter’s very public sexual awakening, may have been happy she was not sneaking off to see boys but very disappointed she would feign illness to escape a picnic arranged for Aunt Margaret’s 80th birthday.

Whilst she still maintained a core group of friends she had little desire to extend it, her theory was the less people she interacted with the less chance of witnesses of any storm based sauciness. However, even her closest friends would not often invite her to places citing the reason that they didn’t think she’d want to come, it nonetheless frustrated Tempani that she was deprived the opportunity to say no.

Withdrawn and isolated Tempani found the only suitable distraction was her education and with very little distraction she thrived. University beckoned and with it a set of new challenges.

The move from teenager to womanhood is marked in the journal with a declaration that she must live a normal life. It is a mission statement to herself that she would not hide away any longer. Despite this new found resolve she still maintained some of the usual precautions – avoiding large groups and where possible outdoor activities.

Her commitment to leading a more normal life extended to no longer resisting the advances of those who found her attractive. At school she had dismissed any possibility of having a boyfriend finding the notion to be ridiculous (with or without her affliction) but she could not deny her curiosity and desire to indulge ‘in that sort of thing’ (this is also highlighted and underlined).

Her first experience was with Tom after one boozy night at a local pub. His wish of how he wanted to end that evening was made clear before Tempani had even ordered her first rum and Coke. After a number of drinks they ended back in his room for an evening that Tempani would describe in her journal as ‘absolutely fucking terrible’.

To be fair it would be wrong to simply lay all blame at Tom’s drunken fumblings because as Tempani recognised this disappointing liaison led to a scientific discovery – Only the rain could arouse her.

Masturbation was something that Tempani never really considered doing. Why would she? Why put all that effort in if you could simply stick your head out the window and let the rain give you a mind blowing orgasm.

Despite all her ‘experiments’ Tempani had never tried out manual stimulation. Had she done so she would have quickly realised she felt no arousal whatsoever. Instead, this discovery was left to Tom.

Admittedly his technique of prodding at her like he was entering his PIN number at a cash point was not the most masterful way of doing it but it really wouldn’t have mattered. Tempani could feel nothing. She just lay there trying her best to encourage the increasingly frustrated Tom.

However no amount of rubbing would produce any sign of arousal and the faux deep breathing Tempina did to give the impression she was sexually excited started to make her seem like she was asthmatic.

“What’s a matter with you?” Tom said, the alcohol doing little to help control his emotions.

Tempani abruptly stopped that line of questioning by giving Tom a lack lustre handjob resulting in him unemotionally depositing himself over her belly. At least Tempani could put ‘Semen’ on her list of wet things that don’t cause orgasms.

After this non event Tempani spent perhaps too much time trying to make herself manually have an orgasm. Despite her technique being far more refined than Tom’s the result was the same – nothing, not the slightest hint of arousal.

She even tried sex toys but this just resulted in a one page, double sided rant in her journal that she was fifty pounds down and wasted loads of batteries.

Tempani later theorised that perhaps she was cured but the unfortunate consequence of that cure was that all sexual desire had been removed from her. Although she was only twenty she already felt she had a lifetime of orgasms and probably could live with that.

Her awkward experience with Tom happened as England entered a long spell of dry weather and the glorious sun matched her equally glorious mood. She felt free of this curse and threw herself fully back into life by attending many social events.

It was at an outdoor music festival (a previous no go event for Tempani) that she met Ethan. Their relationship blossomed slowly and whilst there was clear sexual chemistry between them Tempani was in no rush to take things to the next level.

No longer concerned with rain the journal entries changed to her theories on how she could possibly keep a man when he would not be able to sexually please her.

She mused on the possibility that a mix of blowjobs, handjobs and any other jobs she could think of would keep them more than satisfied but the problem would arise when they wished to reciprocate. Even the best lover in the world would not be able to make Tempani the slightest bit aroused and guys seem to take that personally.

Within the journal is a whole essay on the possibility of a platonic relationship. They certainly exist and Tempani was in no doubt that there were plenty of couples enjoying such companionship.

What she didn’t know is how does a relationship become platonic. Even at a young age she knew guys do not approach you in bars and say ‘Fancy coming back to my place for a nice platonic relationship’. How do you even raise it? When is it socially acceptable?

“Darling I just want you to know I am going to suck your cock but other than that our relationship is strictly platonic’.

Despite her insecure scribblings Tempani very much enjoyed the company of Ethan and they began to spend quite a lot of time together. Heavy petting on the sofa would not lead to anything more intimate than awkward silence. Ethan masking his erection wondering how to get her in the bedroom and Tempani wondering if now is the right time to say ‘Hey let’s go platonic’.

Despite the awkwardness they continued to see each other even indulging in such pursuits as jogs around the local park (something that Tempani would have normally avoided and not just because of the rain).

During these jogs there would be impromptu races which would lead to flirtatious attempts to trip each other up. As they lined up to start their next race Tempani kissed Ethan on the cheek and said ‘Catch me if you can.’ They both laughed as he chased her round the park, Tempani took a hard right into the wooded area where Ethan found her resting against a tree.

“You caught me” she said, smiling but clearly out of breath.

“What’s my prize?” Ethan replied advancing towards her.

“Come here and I’ll show you”.

Ethan approached Tempani, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in close as they started to kiss. Above them storm clouds were forming and light drizzle fell hesitantly from the sky.

The leaves of the tree protected them from rainfall but the hissing sound it made alerted Tempani to its presence.

She looked up at the dark clouds that menacingly filled the sky. Normally she would be feeling a sense of panic at this sight, desperately looking to escape the rain or at the very least find somewhere to privately submit to the pleasure it would bring.

But now she was cured. She had no fear. As Ethan nuzzled at the nape of her neck she smirked at the clouds , a teasing smile to entice a jealous reaction from an ex-lover.

The clouds did react throwing down more rain at the kissing couple, ensuring this time it was harder so the weak barrier of leaves would provide no protection.

Drops landed on Tempani as she nibbled on Ethan’s earlobe. As the rain trickled down her cheek she began to experience something she thought lost forever. Within moments her body began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened and her breathing became shallow.

Tempani pulled Ethan into her, his arousal could be felt poking through his shorts. She grabbed his hand and put in between her legs, the dampness already seeping through her jogging bottoms.

She gripped the band of his shorts and tugged them down releasing his cock which she took in her hand and began to stroke.

“Fucking Hell Temps!” he moaned as he slightly pulled away to look at her.

She stared back at him. Tempani could feel the orgasm beginning to build, it was only a matter of time before she would be experiencing the full force. Drunk with arousal she had the presence of mind to bring Ethan along for this wild ride.

The reality, of course, was she didn’t need him. Nothing he would be doing aided her arousal, the rain had that totally covered.

Pulling down her jogging bottoms while Ethan hastily struggled with putting a condom on she purred impatiently ‘Hurry up and fuck me!’

Tempani did all she could to delay this inevitable orgasm. Ethan had to be inside when it happened otherwise she’d be experiencing the same sexual awkwardness as she did with Tom, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Tempani stifled a moan of pleasure, keeping it at the back of her throat which she only released as Ethan’s cock slid inside with ease.

Once he had entered her Tempani fully submitted to the pleasure that only the rain could provide. Pressed against the tree she wildly bucked and slammed down on Ethan’s hard cock.

Any intention for Ethan to be involved in this orgasm disappeared, Tempani was lost in the throes of it so much so that Ethan could have quite simply ejaculated followed by doing a few laps of the park and Tempani would not have even known he had gone.

When she later reflected on this liaison in her journal she would be unable to recall whether she felt Ethan’s cock inside her. She would remember from holding it in her hand that it was thick and certainly above average size but whatever it was doing as she welcomed wave after wave of blissful pleasure you would have to ask Ethan.

To be fair Tempani would make a particular point of complimenting Ethan on his athletic prowess. With her fingernails dug firmly in his shoulders and convulsing wildly in his manly grip, she was impressed he managed to stay standing throughout.

At some point when there was a small respite before the rain demanded another orgasm from Tempani, she heard Ethan moan, his buttocks thrust wildly before he nuzzled into her. She presumed this was his orgasm but any weakening of his grip was met by Tempani tightening hers. She hooked her legs round his, gripped his neck and welcomed yet another orgasm.

You see, as Tempani recognised at Page 52 of her journal, the rain controls her pleasure. It decides when it is enough and often it’s desire to cause Tempani pleasure was insatiable.

The final climatic wave dripped through her body, turning every nerve into pressure points of pleasure. Perhaps Ethan was of some use after all, she could feel his fingers on her side that caused her to roar out the final orgasm. Exhausted and spent she gently lowered herself down and rested wearily against the tree.

Despite her lack of concern throughout for Ethan he seemed to have enjoyed this unexpected frolic in the forest as he addressed his assessment to the exhausted Tempani

“Oh wow! Fuck! Wow! What the fuck just happened. Wow!”

Whilst Tempani would have loved to indulge in a debrief with Ethan she needed to get out of the rain and get dry. Another thing she had learned about the rain is she only has a post-orgasm immunity for a short period (Page 13 of the Journal – The Didn’t Towel Dry Your Hair Properly Incident)

“Let’s go” she said smiling before running back to the car as best she could with weak legs so she could get dry.

Tempani knew that after this any suggestion of a platonic relationship was off the table. Throughout her journal she would often reflect on the lessons learned with this liaison.

The first lesson was she could have a sexual relationship with a partner, it just needed to be raining when she did. What follows in the journal are a number of prints out showing the average rainfall in England as well as certain specific cities.

On average it rains 156 days and Tempani reckoned that was more than enough sex per year to keep anyone happy.

A flaw in this plan was that it never rained at a suitable frequency to make this viable. Firstly it can often rain for a full week and she did not know if her body could cope with a week’s worth of the orgasms that the rain provided.

Secondly, England had experienced more lengthier periods of dry weather. Often weather presenters would be eager to reveal a month being the driest ever on record. Whilst this suited Tempani’s health and prevented her just becoming a mess of liquid on the floor it was not great for sustaining a relationship.

For example, the storm that brought such a passionate encounter between Tempani and Ethan was a brief interlude before England was once again basked in hot dry weather.

One can forgive Ethan for wanting to experience as soon as possible what he did in those woods and Tempani could only keep him at bay for so long before a frost formed over their relationship.

This caused Tempani to revert back to the beginning of her journal and opting for a life of withdrawal and isolation.

Tempani often mused in her journal about Ethan and others. Wondering what their sex life is like with others. She questioned whether she is being fair to them. After all, a woman having wild multiple orgasms on their cock may give them a sense of achievement they have not strictly earned.

She imagined Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands after some unsatisfying love making

“Seriously love it must be you cos I once had this girl literally explode on my cock”

Yet despite these misgivings Ethan would not be the last to experience Tempani’s rain induced sex sessions. Each one recorded for posterity in her journal with the conclusion ‘I never learn my lesson.’

Tempani broke her hypnotic gaze at the rain that still relentlessly tried to pursue her through the glass. She turned to her desk where her phone was vibrating. She picked it up and saw that Danny had messaged her.

Danny was the latest to show Tempani some affection. They had met a few months earlier at a rather dull conference she was forced to attend. She regretted that the conference took place on a particularly sunny day because a wet session with Danny would have livened things up. Nevertheless they stayed in contact and had been out for some perfectly platonic dates.

Fancy going out tonight the message read.

Tempani looked back out of the window at the storm clouds that showed no sign of relenting. She scrolled through the many Weather apps she had installed which confirmed rain was forecast all night.

Absolutely!!! She replied.

Some time later Tempani Jones would write in her journal that she never learns her lesson.

The Wet Misadventures of One Miss Tempani Jones

There is nothing unusual about a rainy day in London, especially in October.

The pavements full of workers on their way to the office, jostling for position with their tiny black umbrellas, grumpily making way for the one who ploughs through the bustling crowd with his oversized golfing umbrella.

The previous night’s takeaway boxes mangle into paper mache works of art against the side of the pavement. A solitary paper cup not wishing to be part of this impromptu abstract sculpture attempts to escape down the dirty stream, it’s journey disturbed by a black cab ferrying a passenger whose new haircut is worth paying the disproportionate fare to preserve.

The paper cup perseveres in its determination to reach the mystery of the drain it spies in the distance and the promise of a magical journey into the unknown.

In its haste the paper cup becomes entangled with a newspaper but it has little time to dwell on whatever horror is the main headline of the day.

Such is the determination of this adventurous little cup it fails to notice the oncoming bus with its large wipers that dismiss the raindrops with arrogant glee.

Yet fortune is on the side of this intrepid cup as the stream which carries it towards its final destination quickens with the increasing rainfall, pushing it safely past the advancing wheels of the bus. The cup spins to reflect upon this closest of calls as it watches the wheels of the bus brush up against the pavement.

The cup is now mere moments away from completing its journey, the wrought iron finishing line agonisingly close. Suddenly a gust of wind striving to reclaim the attention from the rain in this storm picks up the little cup, lifting it high up into the air. It’s goal that had been so close fades into the distance. Is it a raindrop that drips from the lid as it spins uncontrollably in the air or a tear of a dream unfulfilled?

Quickly bored with its newly found plaything the wind unceremoniously dumps the cup in a nearby alley. There it rests, defeated. It takes one final melancholic roll as it concedes to be forever forgotten. The hopes of what wonders lay beyond that drain disappear as it rests still.

Yet our broken cup was not alone in that alley on that particular morning. Had the cup just found the strength to roll one final time it would have hit a patent leather kitten heel shoe.

That shoe belonged to one Miss Tempani Jones. And she was about to have an orgasm.

Now a woman pleasuring herself down an alley is a relatively rare occurrence, even in London. Rarer still at 8.30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.

To be fair to Tempani she certainly had not intended on being down an alley pleasuring herself. It was not part of her normal morning routine, she was not some kinky exhibitionist getting a quick thrill. Nor was she filming a brief video to later upload to a porn site. This was very much an unplanned masturbatory pitstop on her way to work.

Equally it would be unfair of us to judge the location Tempani had chosen for this impromptu orgasm. We can all sit in moral judgement offering alternatives such as doing it at home before she left or the toilet cubicles at work, to even maybe not doing it at all. But this was all out of her control.

Tempani loved being in control. Her life was dictated by precise routines each specifically designed to ensure she would not find herself leaning up against a wall knuckle deep in her own pussy, especially before she has even been able to buy her usual Espresso Macchiato.

So what events conspired to make poor Tempani have no option but to satisfy herself on that stormy Thursday morning?

The previous evening had been beautifully mundane, the sort of day that isn’t even worth registering as a memory. Yet when Tempani reflects on her unusual start to her Thursday morning she would realise events of the previous day were more malevolent than she had assumed.

Firstly, her very important meeting that was scheduled for 9.30 a.m. with a very important client was moved forward to 8.30 a.m. This did not trouble Tempani who would simply get the earlier train to work. She would not wish to blame this very important client for why she was finger fucking herself in the alley, he was after all very important and this contract would see her with a nice bonus. She did however hope he had his worst performance on the golf course ever.

On her walk home from the train station that Wednesday the strap on her large leather tote bag snapped. Tempani loved this bag, it was just the right size to keep all the items she may require at any given time, including the small umbrella she always ensured she had on her person. You will see the relevance of that umbrella later.

Nevertheless given the stories she had read about how these fashion items are made she certainly would not be looking to blame her awkward Thursday on whatever poor soul made the tote bag.

Her Wednesday evening was spent drinking wine and preparing for her very important meeting. It was the pleading sound of the notification alert on her phone that interrupted her work to demand she upgrades to the latest operating system. Tempani was more than happy for her phone to be busy doing other things so not to disturb her further from her work.

Yet what Tempani did not know is that a minor glitch caused by an error in the code would mean all her alarms would be reset. The consequence of this is that on Thursday Tempani would wake up late. Waking up late was not part of Tempani’s routine and she was more than happy to throw shade at the software engineer in California that caused her to oversleep.

Rather than her relaxed morning routine Tempani found herself on that particular Thursday morning rushing around. There was to be no relaxing shower instead she found herself cleaning her teeth whilst rubbing shampoo in her hair; the hope was this newly discovered method of efficiency would claw back some lost time.

Instead of taking time to pick out her work outfit she instead hurriedly dressed in whatever she could find, laddering two pairs of tights before triumphantly hopping into the third pair without consequence.

There would be no time to sit and have that first cup of coffee in the morning while she watched the news, paying particular attention to the weather report. Instead she quickly grabbed her replacement bag, a smaller black handbag, rushing to check the contents before slipping on her heels and hurrying out the flat.

As she hurriedly clipped-clopped in comedic fashion towards the train station her focus was more on not breaking an ankle than the clouds that begun to form in the sky.

While waiting on the platform Tempani was more absorbed with telling her assistant on the phone all what she had to do than to the clouds that had now begun to turn sinisterly dark.

It was when she only a few stops away from Charing Cross that she happened to look up from her phone and see the first drops of rain hit the dirty train window.

Calmly, Tempani reached for her handbag to seek the reassurance she had her umbrella. Her relaxed searched became more and more frantic as the realisation dawned on her that her umbrella was still very much at home, housed as it always was inside her now broken tote bag. Yet even after it became obvious she did not possess an umbrella she continued the futile search, even rifling through the most smallest of pockets in the hope she might find it there.

Don’t panic Tempani it may just be a little drizzle she told herself. A rumble of thunder seemed to answer her back “Fuck you! I’m more than that”.

As the train slowly pulled into Charing Cross she hesitantly stood up. Her gaze was drawn to the gentleman who had been sitting opposite her who was in possession of an umbrella.

“Excuse me? I don’t suppose I could borrow your umbrella” she asked, ensuring she fluttered her eyelids as she pleaded to his chivalrous nature.

The gentleman just looked at her in absolute disgust before leaving the train (Tempani would later wish this gentleman experienced a disappointing sexual encounter for his refusal to give up his umbrella). She slowly followed the other commuters down the platform and onto the concourse.

There are a number of shops located within Charing Cross station purporting to cater for the needs of the weary worker, yet on this particular day not one had any umbrellas for sale.

Tempani stood in the archway and looked out on to The Strand. Normally there would be plenty of taxis waiting but the weather had meant these were in high demand. She opted to wait for either a taxi to come to her rescue or for there to be a miraculous break in the weather.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and noted the time. 8.15 a.m. It would take her at least ten minutes walk to get to work. She decided to wait a little longer, hopping on either foot in impatience.

Each minute that passed was agonising. She couldn’t be late for this very important meeting. Every time she checked her phone her brain would offer up an image of the very important client walking out of the office with his golf clubs in tow. Or her Boss disapprovingly shaking his head as she walked through the entrance before making her do the walk of shame to clear out her office.

Fuck it. Tempani decided she could wait no longer. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand she grabbed a free newspaper, held it over her head and made a run for it.

Now you may be wondering what Tempani’s deal is with rain. After all unless you happen to be the Wicked Witch of the West it really can’t hurt you. Indeed, the rain didn’t hurt Tempani – on the contrary, it made her horny.

When we say horny we are not talking just a little frisky. Whilst the mere presence of rain does heighten her senses it’s more what happens when one single raindrop touches her skin. Should that happen Tempani experiences waves of pleasure. The more rain that hits her the more intense the pleasure is. It’s like each raindrop is a mini vibrator specifically designed to create the most arousal possible.

So when Tempani decided to rush out into the rain with just a newspaper as protection she was not risking bodily harm, she was risking having a full blown orgasm in the middle of London during rush hour.

To be fair to Tempani she made a good effort of avoiding the rain. Perhaps she may have even been able to make it without incident were it not for the driver of the Audi (someone who she blamed unreservedly for the events of that Thursday morning) who decided driving at speed through a puddle was an appropriate way to confirm his masculinity.

In her attempt to dodge the mini tsunami she dropped the newspaper that had been protecting her exposing her forehead to the arousal inducing raindrops.

Tempani was able to quickly duck into a doorway for cover but she knew by now that it only took one raindrop to bring on the feelings of intense arousal. She could feel her nipples harden underneath her bra. Between her legs began to mimic the dampness of her forehead.

She couldn’t stay there in the doorway and allow the rain to do it’s thing. Not only were customers coming in and out of the shop and might say something about the smartly dressed woman having a loud orgasm but time was running out for her to get to the very important meeting.

Stifling a moan of pleasure she yanked her jacket over the head and continued her journey to work. The jacket was tight over her head making it difficult to see, plus the occasional pang of pleasure would make her legs suddenly go weak and with it an instinctive groan of arousal would follow.

To the passer by it would have looked as if Tempani was on her way to audition for the lead role in some porn parody of a horror movie. Eventually she made it to her office which was an attractive glass fronted building her firm shared with a number of other companies.

Now something else you need to know about Tempani’s ‘gift’ is that the pleasure she experiences will not subside until she has had a complete orgasm. Many times previously she has rushed indoors after getting caught in the rain, although drying herself manically with a towel did little to prevent her experiencing the complete climax.

Fortunately for Tempani there is a small alley which separates her more modern place of work with one of London’s many Victorian buildings. Avoiding meeting any work colleagues she rushed into the alley and no longer fought off the pleasure the rain was determined to bring.

Now you will recall when we first met Tempani in this alley her fingers were deep inside her. It is a legitimate question to ask why, if the rain does all the work, would she be needing to put in any effort of her own.

Well, she entered the alley at precisely 8.30 a.m. when her very important meeting was due to start. Even in the throes of pleasure Tempani had the presence of mind to believe that a bit of manual assistance would bring about this disruptive orgasm quicker.

Had she not done so and put her very important meeting ahead of her very real pleasure then she would have been in the midst of a complete and blissful orgasm before she even got to third slide of her PowerPoint presentation. She feared shouting at the very important client “Oh fuck! Yes! More” may come across as a tad over enthusiastic.

Within a few moments and with the assistance of her fingers Tempani welcomed the much needed orgasm. As this was an orgasm borne more out of necessity than want she was not willing to indulge in the full pleasure experience.

No sooner had she felt that wave of intense pleasure flow through her body and her vagina begin to contract as if it was trying to applaud happily, she was pulling up her tights and adjusting her skirt before running round to the entrance of the building.

Waiting in the foyer was her assistant who took one look at Tempani and asked “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Yeh a little” replied Tempani, still experiencing the final throes of her orgasm.

“Anyway. The meeting is about to start” said her assistant moving towards where the lifts were located.

Tempani took a moment to collect her thoughts and ensure all the rain induced pleasure was firmly out of her system.

“You coming?” asked the assistant.

“Yeh I am.” replied Tempani “Just give me one more moment.”