Mastering The Storm
by Jamie Joy Gatto
     I want to see you in that blue dress. The one you wore when we fucked out on the rough concrete bench in City Park--the old seat you can plainly see from City Park Avenue.  I want you to wear that same dress you wore when I dared you to follow me barefoot out into Hurricane Andrew, when the trees whipped wild and the rain beat at us and drenched us to the core.  The one I slipped over your head onto white, bare skin, the time I forbade you to wear a bra or panties or even perfume.  The short, polyester dress I squeezed your tits into as I pulled the zipper tightly up your back.  The one you wore as I came in your lap, since you were too afraid to take it all the way off, even though  no one else was anywhere to be seen:  no cars, no busses, no pedestrians, no one brave enough to face the storm, everyone aroused with fear for their lives and their belongings, not understanding the powerful draw of the lust of a new lover, the sweet smell of a new play-cunt to fuck, to fuck for days until it bled, and then fuck it some more.

     I wanted to come on that dress, maybe even more than I wanted to come inside you.  I can still see the splatter shaped like a dripping "c," bright against the navy blue.  I remember your wet hair caught between your own teeth as you came, my hand swallowed by your shivering cunt, the dim orange glow of the streetlights on at noon, the skies filled with the dark anger of the gods.  I wanted to see my own glistening come washed off in the torrential rain, seeding the earth under live oaks and pecans.  I wanted to show the whole world that I, too am a god, that I can live through anything and that I can fuck a goddess and not lose myself, I can still exist.

     In my mind, I can still smell the ozone in the air, see the lightning flashing overhead, hear thunder that felt as if it would break the ground we walked on. I want to go to that place again, to be newly in love, to forget about the fighting, the pain, the years we have since spent destroying little pieces of each other and mending them back again, to be a god once more, to find myself in your eyes again, to find the lust inspiring enough to risk my life. 

     I want to see you in that dress tonight.  I want to slip it over your head, pull it over your white skin once again, take your hands and lead you into the shower.  I want to stand in puddles of water that fill my shoes, up to my shins and listen to you tell me you love me for the first time, once again.  I want to fuck you like a god, to put my hands and myself back inside you, spread my come across your hem.  I'll be home at eight.  No panties allowed. 

Copyright 1999, 2000  Jamie Joy Gatto. All Rights Reserved. 
May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author.
"Mastering The Storm" first appeared in Black Sheets, 1999.