Wednesday, December 15, 2004
You drive for a while, seemingly aimlessly. I suppose I will never know if it is to give me the opportunity to calm down a bit, or to keep me guessing as to our destination. Or, perhaps more accurately, some combination of both.
You stop at a light, and I look up at the sky. It is getting darker, and the trees are starting to sway in the wind. I lean forward and look at the sky directly above us. Clouds. Big, dark clouds.
You turn in to the parking lot, and pull all the way to the back. The lot is half empty, but you pull in to the farthest spot, and turn off the truck. I look at you, questioning our position. You don't even hesitate. You hop out of the truck and come around to my side. You open the door and I slide out, the bottom of my dress slipping up to the top of my thighs as I reach the ground.
The wind has picked up, and the temperature is dropping. I shiver in the wind, and we start to walk toward the entrance. You have one of my hands in yours, and I have the other pressed tightly against my thigh, holding my dress in place. A huge gust hit us, and you don't see what you expect. You look over my head, and notice my hand clutching the bottom of my dress, holding it down. I am keeping it from floating up in the wind, and you are not at all happy.
You drop my hand and reach around to grasp the back of my dress. You draw back the other hand and as you lift the back of my dress, you swing. As you bring your hand into contact with my now naked behind, I am turning to face you. You connect, and I jump. You continue to hold the back of my dress, and I begin to plead. I ask you to let go, and tell you that I won't hold the dress down any more, but you are unconvinced. You march me toward the entrance, holding the back of my dress up close to my waist. "Please," I beg. "Please give me another chance." You hear the panic in my voice, and yet you continue holding the dress. We reach the part of the lot where most of the cars are parked, and I start holding back, not wanting to move. You propell me forward and when we are in the midst of a large number of parked cars, you drop the back of my dress. You look at me, eyebrow raised, and I know that this is my second, and last, chance.
You hold out your hand, and I take it once again. I wrap my other arm around myself, using my free hand to hold the arm closest to you, keeping myself from being tempted to smooth the material around my thighs. The storm is approaching quickly, and we are beginning to hear thunder in the distance. The wind is strong enough now that my dress is floating almost constantly, hovering somewhere around the tops of my stockings most of the time, and flying higher with strong gusts.
One such gust grabs the fabric, lifting the hem of the dress up past my waist, threatening to take it off me entirely. You rescue me, puting your arm around my waist and holding the cloth close to my body. The skirt may be flying, but at least I don't have to worry about being completely exposed.
We are close enough to the entrance now that we are meeting people on their way out to the parking lot. I try not to look at them, especially when the dress flies up, but I can hear the snickers. I lean into you, and we walk together. I can do this, because you are here with me. But then I feel something out of the ordinary.
Drops. The rain has begun, and we are still at least fifty yards from the entrance. We are going to be drenched.
You stop at a light, and I look up at the sky. It is getting darker, and the trees are starting to sway in the wind. I lean forward and look at the sky directly above us. Clouds. Big, dark clouds.
You turn in to the parking lot, and pull all the way to the back. The lot is half empty, but you pull in to the farthest spot, and turn off the truck. I look at you, questioning our position. You don't even hesitate. You hop out of the truck and come around to my side. You open the door and I slide out, the bottom of my dress slipping up to the top of my thighs as I reach the ground.
The wind has picked up, and the temperature is dropping. I shiver in the wind, and we start to walk toward the entrance. You have one of my hands in yours, and I have the other pressed tightly against my thigh, holding my dress in place. A huge gust hit us, and you don't see what you expect. You look over my head, and notice my hand clutching the bottom of my dress, holding it down. I am keeping it from floating up in the wind, and you are not at all happy.
You drop my hand and reach around to grasp the back of my dress. You draw back the other hand and as you lift the back of my dress, you swing. As you bring your hand into contact with my now naked behind, I am turning to face you. You connect, and I jump. You continue to hold the back of my dress, and I begin to plead. I ask you to let go, and tell you that I won't hold the dress down any more, but you are unconvinced. You march me toward the entrance, holding the back of my dress up close to my waist. "Please," I beg. "Please give me another chance." You hear the panic in my voice, and yet you continue holding the dress. We reach the part of the lot where most of the cars are parked, and I start holding back, not wanting to move. You propell me forward and when we are in the midst of a large number of parked cars, you drop the back of my dress. You look at me, eyebrow raised, and I know that this is my second, and last, chance.
You hold out your hand, and I take it once again. I wrap my other arm around myself, using my free hand to hold the arm closest to you, keeping myself from being tempted to smooth the material around my thighs. The storm is approaching quickly, and we are beginning to hear thunder in the distance. The wind is strong enough now that my dress is floating almost constantly, hovering somewhere around the tops of my stockings most of the time, and flying higher with strong gusts.
One such gust grabs the fabric, lifting the hem of the dress up past my waist, threatening to take it off me entirely. You rescue me, puting your arm around my waist and holding the cloth close to my body. The skirt may be flying, but at least I don't have to worry about being completely exposed.
We are close enough to the entrance now that we are meeting people on their way out to the parking lot. I try not to look at them, especially when the dress flies up, but I can hear the snickers. I lean into you, and we walk together. I can do this, because you are here with me. But then I feel something out of the ordinary.
Drops. The rain has begun, and we are still at least fifty yards from the entrance. We are going to be drenched.
