Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition Read online

  Coming Together

  an erotic cocktail

  special

  Hurricane Relief

  edition

  edited by

  Alessia Brio

  This is a collection of erotic fiction & poetry

  intended for the enjoyment of adult readers.

  Please keep out of the hands of children.

  * * * *

  Other works in the Coming Together series:

  Coming Together: The Erotic Cocktail

  v1 ~ v2 ~ v3

  Coming Together: Special Memorial Edition

  Colleen Thomas

  Coming Together: For Gabrielle

  Coming Together: For the Cure

  Coming Together: Under Fire

  Coming Together: With Pride

  Coming Together: Al Fresco

  Coming Together: Against the Odds

  Coming Together: At Last

  v1 ~ v2

  Coming Together: For Her

  www.EroticAnthology.com

  Celebrate the Diversity of Desire!

  Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition copyright 2005, 2006, 2007, 2009 by Alessia Brio, ed.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A Coming Together Production

  To order additional copies of this book, contact:

  [email protected]

  Cover art © 2009 Alessia Brio

  Edited by Alessia Brio

  First Print Edition – September, 2005

  Café Press

  Second Print Edition – September, 2007

  Phaze Books

  www.phaze.com

  Third Print Edition – October, 2009

  Create Space

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-44953-994-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This special edition of

  Coming Together

  is dedicated to the victims

  of all weather-related disasters,

  particularly those

  of Hurricane Katrina

  Table of Contents*

  Foreword

  Preface

  Introduction

  Disclaimers

  Wave Length

  The Fury

  Thunder Beach

  Identity

  Wet Panties?

  Ridden Tempest

  Deluge

  it's raining

  Encore : Passadumkeag Waltz

  A Storm in Time

  When It Rains, It Pours

  Wetter Has Never Been Better

  Katrina Dances

  Nouveau Soleil

  Katrina

  Heather's Baptism

  Curiosity is not becoming, Kajira

  Grande Dame

  A Break in the Storm

  Riding the Rain

  Romance of Atlantis

  Tsunami

  About the Authors

  Copyright Acknowledgments

  * poetry is italicized

  Foreword

  The language used to describe orgasms is often powerful, wild, and evocative. It pulls on the imagery of storms. Words like "deluge" and "flood" are used to describe the physical release of the sexual act. Stormy eyes lead to wet panties and then to thunderous orgasms.

  Sex and storms are closely connected in the minds of many.

  However, the reality is that some storms are not sexy. Some storms destroy livelihoods, lands, and lives. Some storms happen on such a massive, unexpected scale that they cause total chaos.

  Hurricane Katrina was one of the extreme examples of this kind of natural disaster. This powerful storm smashed into a 90,000 kilometer area off the Gulf coast of America in the fall of 2004. It all but destroyed several towns and villages as well as the well known jazz capitol, New Orleans. The damage was catastrophic, and it will take years to rebuild all that has been damaged.

  Hundreds of thousands of Americans became refugees, seeking the very basics of sustenance: food, water, clothing, and shelter. They battled just to live—just to survive—and all they really wanted was to go home. Unfortunately, for many it was an impossible dream.

  When the denizens of the Author's Hangout at Literotica.com® heard about this, they naturally wondered, as we all did, how they could help. They pooled their expertise, their skills, talents and inspiration, and created this special edition of Coming Together. All the proceeds from the sale of this volume will go to the American Red Cross to help provide aid to those who most desperately need it.

  So you can do something to help. You have already done something to help just by purchasing this collection of rainy day erotic stories and storm-inspired poetry. We all can do something. We all have talents that we can use to help, and we can make a difference simply by doing what we can: by not thinking individually, but collectively—by coming together.

  ~ Victoria Blisse

  a/k/a English Lady

  www.victoriablisse.co.uk

  Preface

  Coming Together was conceived online in the Literotica.com® Author's Hangout. It is the result of many hours of collaboration between some very talented authors, poets, and illustrators who have (ahem) "come together" to produce a scintillating erotic cocktail.

  In each volume of this serial, the reader may partake of a variety of intoxicating spirits: group sex, romance, both hetero- and homosexual romps, humor, incest, bondage, anal sex, dominance/submission, fantasy, and fetish. While each individual ingredient may not suit the tastes of every reader, the savory combination of flavors is sure to stir every imagination.

  Proceeds from the sale of this special edition of Coming Together will be donated to the American Red Cross for Hurricane Katrina relief and recovery efforts.

  So, join us in a toast: to sex!

  Bottoms up,

  ~ Alessia Brio

  Editor

  www.alessiabrio.com

  Introduction

  Death and sex. Disaster and sex. It seems that personal tragedy requires affirmation of life. When faced with the apparently random acts and displays of unparalleled puissance and anonymous destruction, what bigger affirmation do we poor people know that has the same intimacy, the same energy, the same shout-it-from-the-rooftops-we-are-here, as the act of physical love?

  We pour our love, our hot volatile need, our gentle but urgent persuasions towards, around, and into our partner of the moment: wishing, hoping and anticipating our reward. That small, endless, titanic, momentary reward which leaves us less and increases us greatly. Knowing our variously voracious or inconsequently insipid appetites can never be filled we nevertheless contrive to partake of it again.

  In that act, that race towards orgasm, that outpouring of lust, we defy nature, scream at the stars, and challenge the cosmos to do its damnedest.

  And so, be it by acts of sexual abando
n, gentle love, or basic urges, we declaim to an uncaring universe: We are alive. We thrive. We will continue.

  ~ G.C. Rider

  Disclaimers

  Coming Together is a compilation of erotic fiction and poetry. It is solely intended for persons of legal majority.

  Please note that Coming Together contains works of fiction in which the characters may not practice safe sex. The authors and poets featured in this volume of Coming Together encourage all readers to act responsibly and to take appropriate precautions against both unwanted pregnancy and the transmission of disease.

  For resources and frank discussion about safe sex practices, we refer the reader to the Coalition for Positive Sexuality at www.positive.org.

  Wave Length

  © Lauren Hynde

  They dance on the beach

  where tides succeed

  and draw patterns

  upon their bodies and

  on the hard dance floor

  (sea's antidote of salt and iodine

  and droplets of sweat)

  in abandoned motions

  they dance since crepuscule

  and they may dance till dawn

  but they will not dance

  after tonight

  masks of foam

  disintegrate by light and rend

  their skins defenceless

  to the erosion of sea and time;

  some say the wind

  won't be back to this beach

  so soon, unable to breach

  the opaque wall of algae

  and with no wind,

  essence of lightness,

  of all aerial progression,

  all dance will cease

  their metrical ballet has

  the weight of consciousness

  and the elegance

  of time-proved lovers;

  their subtle gestures

  forever imprinted in their skin

  will resist the attrition of reality

  and seek the following night

  in successive curves of the body

  that will define their own

  as they melt in a chorus:

  dance and remembrance.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The Fury

  © Sherry Hawk

  I looked out the window at the sky growing dark with storm clouds, and uneasily wondered why my husband wasn't home yet. I love storms, but this one had been called dangerous more than once on the weather forecasts, and the scenes of devastation it had left behind in the areas it had already gone through were frightening. The wind whistled through the trees next to the house, growing louder and louder every minute, starting to become almost a muted roar. I paced, watchful and worried, in front of the big picture window in the living room, chanting, "Come on, come on," like a mantra to bring him home safely.

  Finally, I saw headlights turn into our driveway at the far end. Relief washed over me, almost leaving me limp, and I went out on the back porch as he pulled his truck around to the back of the house. He came bounding up on the porch, soaking wet, and shaking the rain out of his hair.

  "I'm glad you're home. I was beginning to get worried! We've got to get the horses in the barn before it gets any worse." I was almost having to shout over the wind howling through the massive oak trees behind the house.

  "Okay, babe. Give me just a second, and we'll go round them up."

  I ducked back into the house, grabbing my oilskin, and then whistled up the dogs to help get the horses towards the barn. Our horses have never liked being cooped up, and I knew that with the weather as bad as it was, they would be skittish and hard to handle. I looked down at my Australian shepherd, Taz, and pointed out towards the pasture. "Go get 'em!"

  He took off like a shot, ears laid back against his head in the driving rain and tail up like a flag behind him. Trixie, his female counterpart, took off after him, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I saw the horses topping the rise at the end of the pasture, relentlessly being driven towards the barn by the dogs.

  Martin rejoined me on the back porch after grabbing his own oilskin, and we tugged the collars up around our necks as we ventured out into the forty-mile-an-hour winds and the rain that was coming down so hard it stung when it hit my cheek. The huge pine trees behind the barn seemed to bend almost parallel to the ground, and I started to worry about one of them coming down on top of the old barn. I wordlessly pointed them out to Martin, knowing that my voice would be lost in the roar of the weather around us, and he nodded. He knew, like I did, that there was little we could do to prevent any damage this storm chose to inflict on us.

  At the barn, the storm seemed to conspire against me as I struggled to open the small side door. Once I had it open, it was snatched from my grasp by a gust, and slammed back into the side of the structure. It was a little quieter in the barn, but it only served to highlight the creaks and groans wrung from the old building by the storm.

  While Martin struggled to pull the door closed behind us, I made my way down the aisle of the barn to the sliding doors, intending on getting them open so the horses could easily come inside once the dogs had them headed this way. I slid the door to the side just in time to see the horses top the hill to the side of the barn at a gallop, head high, nostrils flared, and the two dogs nipping at their heels.

  I stepped to the side as Taz and Trixie herded them inside, and turned to see that Martin had the stall doors open. Each horse had headed to its own stall, snorting and blowing.

  "They feel it, don't they?" I almost yelled at Martin as I watched my gelding, Striker, paw at the stall gate, tense muscles highlighted in his chesnut neck.

  "I haven't seen it this bad in years!" he yelled back, busy throwing hay into each horse's stall, and checking to see that they all had water.

  "Are you sure they'll be okay in here? What if one of those pines comes down on the barn?"

  Martin looked out the door of the barn, and nodded his head at a lightning strike that arced out of a sky that had turned a sickly greenish-yellow. It struck the ground perilously close to us. "They need to be in here. Out there, they'll be under the trees...and may get hit. They may not be happy, but they'll be safer here."

  I helped him check the last couple of stalls, and then resigned myself to the trek back to the house in the rain. Even though the air was relatively warm, the rain was icy cold and would manage to find its way under my coat to drench me in seconds. I motioned to the dogs to stay, and nodded to Martin that I was ready. We ducked out of the side door, and it took two of us this time to get it closed. Martin swung the latch, and I turned to head back to the house. We both took off at a trot, holding our oilskins closed and hunching our shoulders against the rain. We made it about halfway to the house when thunder roared right above us, and the crackle of lightning made the hair stand up on my arms. A deafening crack sounded, and I looked up to see half of one of our massive oak trees leaning impossibly.

  Martin dived for me, and pulled me to the side as half the oak came crashing down where I had stood seconds before. He yelled in my ear, "Tornado!" and forcibly turned my head to make sure I saw.

  I looked towards the pasture and saw a dark finger reaching out of the strange sky towards the ground. It didn't seem real, and I probably would have stayed frozen there to the ground, but Martin grabbed me and pushed me towards the creek. "We have to get to lower ground!"

  I stumbled towards the creek, almost unable to see where I was going through the downpour—and still deafened by the thunder seconds before. Martin dragged me, forcing me to keep up with him, until I reached the short bank above the creek and fell about three and a half feet to the creek bed below. Martin was right behind me, and he pulled me up against him as we huddled against the small overhang that seemed to be our only shelter for the moment. I was shaking, not because I was cold, but because I had seen the damage tornados can do in a split second, and we now had one bearing down on us quickly.

  A rumble started getting louder, vibrating through
my body, sounding like a freight train flying through the air above us, and again I noticed the sickly color of what sky that I could see between ominous, dark clouds.

  "Put your head down!" Martin yelled in my ear, and I ducked my head down against his chest. His arms went around me, squeezing me almost uncomfortably tight. I felt him put his head down next to mine, pulling us both against the steep bank and the meager shelter it offered. The crackle of almost constant lightning strikes left negative images on my retinas. Not being able to make sense of the chaos around me, I shut my eyes and prepared for the worst.

  For a moment, it almost seemed that the wind died a little, and I thought for a split-second that we had dodged a bullet. I was wrong. The fury had only taken a short breather, and when it resumed it was worse that before. The noise seemed inside me, making my whole body resonate with the chaos. I could feel Martin's arms tight around me: my anchor to the earth. The rest of me was consumed by the storm.

  Time dragged. The scream of the wind seemed about to burst my eardrums, and then it got just a degree quieter. I thought that I had to be mistaken, but after a moment I realized that I was right. The chaos in the air was almost imperceptibly slowing. I finally dared to raise my head and open my eyes and was greeted with a landscape that was vastly different than it had been when I had last seen it.