Solstice
by Claudia Morgan


The girl stood in the dark and watched the moon shining through the trees. She’d unscrewed the
globe light on the deck so that nothing but the moon and the occasional flash of her neighbor’s
motion lights would distract her. The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and fresh cut
grass. She leaned against the brick behind her and listened to her neighbors moving below her.
Someone calling a dog to come back another moving the trash cans to the curb. The normal sounds
on any street, any city. There was also the slow rustle of the wind through the trees and the steady
chirp of crickets.

The air was hot gluing her black gauze dress against her skin. She moved her hand against her
thigh slowly and felt a trail of moisture left from the heat of her palm. She closed her eyes and felt a
moth flit close, like a breath against her skin. She let her hand roam lightly up her thigh, her other
hand closing gently on her breast. Below her, she could hear voices low and murmuring. A dog
barked, a car started. The streetlights hummed.

Her hand was cool against her skin. Underneath the almost sheer dress she wore nothing. She
liked the way the light cotton clung to her in the heat. She liked the feel of the ribbing at her shoulders
and waist. She pulled at the drawstring on the bodice and ran her hand inside. Her breasts, full and
tight, responded to her touch. Her nipples drew themselves upright and she sighed. She let one
hand drop and ran it up her leg to the center of herself. She let her fingers brush over the coarse hair
on her pubis and them she delved inside with one finger and then two. She moaned as she found
the sweet spot and began circle it with her fingertips. First lightly and then hard. Her hips rose to
match the pressure.

She could hear her lover inside, through the open window. She pushed her fingers harder. Beneath
her the world moved on. She could hear, barely, the sound of an animal in her garden and the flicker
of a sprinkler turning on. As her movements became more urgent, she clutched her breast and
moaned. Her hand grew slick, as did her thighs. She moved her back against the brick wall
rhythmically and the gauze of the dress caught against its roughness pulling the neckline down
lower. When she reached her climax, she stifled a small scream and it came out like a growl—
primal and raw. She removed her hand when she felt the last shudders pass. Not bothering to tie
her dress’ bodice, she let her skirt drop and went inside.

He was in the bathtub. She could hear the splash of water and the sounds of a book’s pages being
turned carefully. She turned and walked toward the bathroom. The house was dark, the one lit room
a beacon. Her bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor. She pushed open the door and the
hinges moaned. He looked up—wet, surprised, his book held high above the water. "I thought you
were in the garden," he said. She didn’t speak. Instead she walked over to the tub and took the book
from him. She laid it on the sink counter and sat straddle-legged on the edge of the claw-footed tub—
one leg on cold linoleum, the other braced on the tubs rim. The skirt of her long black dress fell into
the water and fanned out like hair.

She pulled the skirt from the space between her legs where it had settled and felt the cold edge of
the tub slide into her cunt. She dropped the rest of the skirt and let is float in the water billowing over
his legs. "You’re getting wet," he said fingering the skirt’s dark fabric. She leaned over his knees and
licked the head of his penis. He gasped and let go of the skirt. She licked her lips like a cat and
settled back down on the cold porcelain. He reached up her leg and under the still dry part of her
skirt. When his finger probed her naked sex he shuddered in surprise. "It was hot outside," she said
sliding off the edge and into the tub.

Her wet skirt dragged around her as she kissed him fully on the lips, sucking his lower lip and
running her tongue over his teeth. His wet hands rubbed her breasts pushing her nipples through
the thin and now drenched fabric. He moaned and she pulled the bodice off her shoulders. Slowly,
she pulled the wet folds of her skirt away from her and settled inches from his cock on her knees.
The steam from the hot water curled around them frizzing her hair. She leaned down and worked on
his distended cock with her mouth, her long black hair cascading in the water and covering his
thighs. He moaned low and gutturally and pressed his hand hard against the cold tile. Steam rose
around them.

She looked up, her long hair clinging to her almost naked breasts. Slowly she moved up til she was
straddling him and with a gentle push took him inside herself. She moved slowly and water oozed
over the edge of the tub onto the tile. She closed her eyes and then opened them her head thrown
back, riding high on his cock. Through the window, the moon shown bright and pale. Leaning
forward she found his mouth and they locked together as they thrust. The hot water surrounded them
and moved with their rhythm.

Their intensity increased and he reached up, pulling the dress completely down to her waist. His
hands dug into the skin of her back as he guided her thrusts. She leaned her head back as she
climaxed and moaned, her contractions causing his orgasm to come fast and hard. He threw his
head back, hitting it hard on the tile. The girl laughed and rose up off his now-deflating cock. She
pulled the sopping dress from her and let it land on the floor with a smack.

Outside the window the full moon shone brightly. Clouds obscured the stars. The girl leaned forward
on the window ledge, pulling her wet hair out of her face. Behind her, she could hear him getting out
of the tub. Silently, he pressed himself against her back. "You’re wet," she said. "So are you," he
murmured. She pointed at the moon with one finger and he smiled into her hair. "I see the moon,"
she said. "And, the moon sees me," he finished. She turned and kissed him lightly on the lips.
Outside, the breeze blew through the trees and the clouds shifted showing a bright field of stars.
Claudia Morgan is a freelance writer and painter living in Nashville, TN. Her short stories and poems
have been published in Atriad Press' Haunted Encounters, Bewildering Stories, FATE, The Harrow,
LongStory Short, Quantum Muse, Typhoon.net, Waxing Waning Moon, Ultraverse, The Wheel,
Zephyrus, and other publications.  Her hobbies include cultivating her medieval herb garden and
begging her cats (unsuccessfully) to stay off the sofa.
Claudia Morgan
©2005 by Claudia Morgan
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved.