Rachel loved this new tradition.
Recently, she and Michael had decided to actually start knocking items off of their bucket lists. Lots of people talk about doing it, but few actually pursue their goals—hell, a lot of people say they have a bucket list, but they never even write anything down.
That all changed three months ago.
They’d been watching the sunset on the balcony of their apartment: a typical evening, with nothing that stood out from the ordinary routines. Same routine, different day that ended in “Y.” She wasn’t exactly dissatisfied with it, but there was a growing sense of… something inside of her. What was it? Unhappiness? No—they had a good life, and there wasn’t anything she’d actively eliminate. Irritation? Again, that wasn’t it. Everything had just grown predictable, and something needed to change.
Rachel shifted her lithe figure in the Adirondack chair on the balcony, as if the emotions had translated into physical feelings that needed to be dealt with. After a few seconds, she moved again, and then fidgeted a third time, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Michael looked up from the book he was reading, a quizzical expression on his face. “Babe?” he asked. “You ok?”
The sigh his partner heaved was probably more exaggerated than it should have been, but she was as frustrated by the restlessness she felt as she was perplexed by where it had come from. But wait–that was it! The emotion she couldn’t quite put a finger on… restlessness.
“Why don’t we ever do anything?” she erupted, not out of anger, but as a release of the pent-up sense of unease that had filled her. “It’s just… predictable! We work, we come home. We eat out at the same places, hang out with the same people. We don’t travel, we never try anything new… what are we even doing??”
The look on his face was surprise mixed with confusion. The outburst seemed like it had sprung forth out of nowhere, but in reality, it had been a long time coming. He shifted his tall figure, closed my book, and leaned forward. “What do you mean, babe?”
“I just…” Rachel paused, uncertain of what to say next. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings; it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. He just hadn’t done… anything. Why was he satisfied with life as it was? Didn’t he feel what she did? “I just wonder why it feels like we’re existing and not really living. I want to experience things. I want to try something new!”
The conversation that followed stood out in their minds as a defining point in their relationship. They talked for over an hour, a bit unsure at first, until they realized that they both felt the same way. Bored. Complacent. The pace of the conversation grew as their excitement fed off of each other. By the end of the night, the kitchen table was covered with random Post-It notes as they brainstormed everything they wanted to do. The final result was two single sheets of paper: actual, real, authentic bucket lists. The activities ranged from the mundane (“Try the new Thai place in the campus district”) to the exotic (“Visit Antarctica and see penguins”), but they were theirs, and they were real.
Michael taped the papers on the bathroom mirror. After he’d finished with the last piece of scotch tape, he stepped back with a quiet, subtle, but proud smile. They looked at each other, then at the papers, then at each other again. Rachel hadn’t felt this way since the last time she mailed a letter to Santa when she was six years old. It was positively magic. The excitement of a future that was actively being shaped by the present was a sensation that made her burst with vitality. Falling asleep was difficult that night—the air just felt different, and it almost crackled with the not-so-subtle hint of positive energy.
The next day, they began.
~
The couple made a commitment to knock one thing off of each of their lists every month. Sometimes they were easy, like trying the restaurant (easily the best Pad Thai she’d ever had, by the way), and some took a little longer. Rachel had been surprised to learn that bowling a perfect game was on mine, but she enthusiastically signed up for a fall bowling league with him and laughed as they unboxed their absolutely absurd team shirts. The combination of Pepto Bismol-pink and a gray that seemed like it belonged in a hospice ward caused them to erupt into fits of laughter. But every Tuesday night, they put on their clownish bowling shoes and made a bit of progress toward crossing that one off.
It was Thursday, and Rachel had just gotten home from a long shift. She’d barely kicked off her shoes before her bra came off, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she flung it across the room in an act of liberation. As she turned to walk into the kitchen, something caught her eye. There, on the bar, was a single rose on top of a piece of paper. Filled with curiosity, she removed the flower and read Michael’s looping scrawl:
“Pack a weekend bag. Bucket list time after work tomorrow. Don’t ask questions.”
Instant butterflies. Rachel reflected on the new dynamic that characterized their relationship now. The change had been almost instantaneous once those letters went up on the mirror. They had both expressed how they felt more alive, how it seemed like they experienced each moment more intensely, how it felt as if they made more progress in everything we did. As if their actions mattered now. This wasn’t just existing—this was life.
Michael arrived home an hour later. He didn’t say a word as he walked into the living room; he simply cast an intentional glance at the paper, and saw that she’d moved the rose. Their eyes met, and he winked. That was it, and it was enough. The smile didn’t leave her face for the rest of the night.
The next day passed with agonizing slowness. She tried not to look at the clock and forced herself to wait for hours in between glances, only to find that it had actually been ten to fifteen minutes, every time. The anticipation was a double-edged sword; she couldn’t remember ever looking forward to something so much, but she felt mired in her day, unable to concentrate. Finally, five o’clock arrived and she practically sprinted for the door. Michael was waiting in the parking lot, and the moment Rachel climbed into the Jeep, he gunned the engine, accelerating them toward whatever surprise awaited them on the horizon.
As they drove east, the lightness of the couple’s mood was tempered somewhat by the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. The weather hadn’t called for rain at all, and the top was off the Jeep. If they were caught out in the open, it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. Rachel looked sidelong at Michael as he drove; she saw his eyes flit between the road and the clouds, the muscles at his jaw clenching ever so slightly. She was having the same thoughts, but she didn’t want to create a negative mood by questioning anything. He’d said no questions, and she gladly submitted to his rules. The destination was still a complete mystery to her, so there was little she could do but try to ignore the impending storm.
Thirty minutes later, Michael turned off the highway onto a small side road. A sign flashed by that read “Crystal Cabins.” Rachel turned as it passed, trying to catch some clue as to what this was referring to. “What on earth?” she thought. It sounded like some hippy retreat, and images of healing potions and Woodstock filled her mind. This didn’t resemble anything she remembered from her list. The two-lane road turned upward, tracing its way up the side of a hill that was covered in majestic oak, beech, and maple. The foliage was aflame with color: every shade of crimson and sun-streaked yellow, pierced sporadically by the deep green of a fir, made her forget about the weather. Her excitement grew as she mentally reviewed the items on her list again. What on earth were they doing??
They turned a corner and drove straight into the forest. After a mile, they came upon a central log cabin that obviously served as both a reception area and an office. The author of their evening parked the Jeep, looked over at her, and grinned. “Wait here, sugar.” Rachel watched as he nearly sprinted for the front door and grinned at my childish excitement. She admired his athletic figure. At 5’10”, he wasn’t going to play in the NBA anytime soon, but he was a perfect match for her 5’2” frame. He was perfectly proportioned, and she caught herself lusting at the way his shorts hugged his ass and accentuated his thighs with every step. Whatever was going to happen tonight, it was definitely going to involve removing those clothes if she had anything to say about it.
Once he disappeared through the doors, she looked around. Pathways led off in different directions, but what lay at the end of them remained shrouded in mystery. Nothing was visible except for trees. Occasionally, it seemed as if you detected a glint through the trunks, some momentary reflection that caught the corner of her eye and drew her attention toward it. Each time, however, it disappeared the moment she tried to focus on it.
“You ready?” Michael’s voice startled Rachel from her daydream. She looked at him, smiled, and nodded. At that moment, she realized how much darker everything was. The clouds that had threatened the horizon on the drive in had moved quickly as she’d let her mind drift. They suddenly appeared above the couple, and with a threatening, menacing crack, a bolt of lightning shot through the air not five miles away, instantly splitting it into a peal of thunder.
Michael cranked the engine and immediately backed out, shifted into first gear, and turned the wheel toward one of the paved paths to the left. They’d barely made it a hundred yards before the bottom dropped out of the sky. It felt as if the rain had been stored in buckets that had been tipped over all at once; there was no warm up, no easing in, no transition. They were both drenched within seconds. The Jeep made it out of the clearing and into the tree line, offering some relief, but the rain still poured around them. They wove back and forth for a quarter mile before the two broke out of the trees into a small clearing.
The open space was on the side of a mountain and looked straight out over a valley. The trees had been allowed to grow close enough on three sides that there was complete privacy, but they opened up in a fan toward the gorge. In the very center of the clearing was a small, single-room house, made completely of glass.
Rachel gasped as she realized which item they were going to fulfill. She’d told Michael on that first night that she had always wanted to sleep in a glass-topped house beneath the stars, and here it was. She barely had time to take it in before they parked, and both of them leapt from the Jeep and sprinted through the torrential downpour toward the door. Michael fumbled with the key as rain poured off the roof in a solid stream, soaking them to the bone—apparently glass gutters weren’t a thing yet. Rachel huddled against his back, shielding herself from a few drops, at least. He finally managed to unlock the door, and they tumbled inside into the welcome respite of a dry room.
Rachel looked around. It was spartanly furnished: there was a massive, king-sized bed as the centerpiece and a wood-burning stove off to the side. It had already been lit and the frigid wet of the outside was instantly replaced by its comforting warmth. The heat served as an instant contrast to soaked chill of her clothes. She shivered, then became still as she felt his hands on her hips. Michael spun her around, pulled her close, and whispered: “Here’s to a night we won’t forget.”
Their lips met in a tender kiss. All of the friendship, the companionship, the shared experiences of the past few months welled up, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling so genuinely happy. That overwhelming sense of bliss lasted for a mere moment before it transformed into something else, equally as good and just as strong, but with a sharply different flavor.
He placed his left hand on the back of her head, interlacing it in her wet hair, and pulled her in tightly for a deep, passionate kiss. Michael thrust his tongue into her mouth, and the two began making out as if they needed each other’s lips just to breathe. His other arm wrapped around Rachel’s waist, pulling her tightly to him, controlling her—and he began to walk her backward. She couldn’t see where she was going, but the lack of knowledge somehow increased the sensuality of the moment. She was completely in control.
The backward steps stopped when she felt a wall behind her. Michael pressed her to it, and she felt the muscular contours of his chest. He continued to kiss her, but transitioned his hands to the bottom of her shirt. In one swift, sudden movement, he pulled it up and over her head and tossed it aside, and it made a wet plopping sound as it hit the floor. Her bra was one that snapped in place in the front, but he didn’t have the patience to fumble with fasteners. Michael placed one hand on each cup, his fingers curling inward, grazing her nipples, and ripped her bra open.
The black, lacy undergarment hung in tatters on her arms, and he immediately stepped forward, pressing his body against hers and pinning her to the wall. One of his hands went to her throat and grasped it firmly, squeezing until she felt that tingling sensation behind her eyes that only served to sharpen every sense in her body. The man’s other hand grabbed one of her boobs, roughly massaging it with his palm.
They made out for a minute longer. She arched her back, pressing back against him as he pinned her to the wall. She sensed his hands dropping to your waist. He pulled his mouth back from hers, knelt down, and jerked her pants to her ankles. Michael stood back up, planted his foot in the crotch of her jeans on the floor, placed a hand under her thigh, and lifted her leg straight out of her pants. With his other hand, he unfastened his shorts and let them drop to the floor. His hard cock sprang free, and with his free hand, he grabbed it, pressing the head against her pussy lips and moving it back and forth, toying with her. She was soaked, and not from the rain.
A second later, he thrust into her so hard that she was lifted up on the toes of the one leg she still had standing on the floor. She threw her head back and moaned as Michael withdrew and then forced himself inside of her again. This wasn’t lovemaking—this wasn’t even plain sex. This was pure, raw, animalistic fucking. Rachel opened her eyes and experienced confusion for the briefest of moments: she was staring straight up into the rain, but it wasn’t hitting her—it seemed to pause and dissipate just a few feet above. She remembered where they were, and glanced over Michael’s shoulder.
The storm raged around them. Dark gray clouds battled in the sky, colossal juggernauts bent on destroying each other as they collided. Lighting crashed down, splitting into dozens of tiny fingerlets as it made its way to the ground. The thunder crashed so loudly that she could barely make out her man’s sounds as he grunted and moaned, continuing to thrust his rock hard cock into her hot, dripping cunt.
She was surrounded and filled by storms, each separate in their nature but unified in their intensity. Her cries of pleasure matched the crashing of the tempest—this was an entirely new experience, and she couldn’t believe how erotic it was.
Michael pulled back, picked her up, and took two steps toward the bed. He threw Rachel onto her back, then stripped of the rest of his clothing as she watched him. She realized that there were no lights in the house: the ambiance was exclusively provided by the shadows and flashes of the storm as they darted back and forth, chasing each other in a mad dance. He bent over, grabbed her by the waist, and tossed her onto her stomach. Rachel felt him mount the bed behind her; he seized the remnants of her bra and yanked it away, tossing it free. As it slid off, it forced her arms behind, and he grabbed both of her wrists, locking them in a crisscross pattern across her lower back.
With a powerful thrust, his cock bottomed out in her pussy. She screamed in pleasure, but the echoes of ecstasy were muffled as her face was buried in the bed. Michael loved her sounds, and was having none of that. He grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of her head and yanked back, forcing her to look forward as he pumped his dick into her hole, again and again with powerful thrusts.
Rachel was facing out over the valley and was overcome with its beauty. The trees bent under the force of the wind; she felt its power as she felt the powerful man behind her force her to mold to his movements. The rain beat down upon the landscape, reshaping it as she watched—and she was intimately aware of the powerlessness she felt, her arms locked behind her, head forced up with no ability to move, her legs pinned beneath Michael’s.
Her orgasm came upon her with both the suddenness with which the storm had appeared and the intensity with which it raged. Between the crash of thunder, the furor of lightning, and the powerful sensation of his cock piercing her again and again, she didn’t realize she was cumming until it was already happening. She was shocked to hear the sound of a scream, then realized it was coming from her throat. As if this wasn’t powerful enough, her sounds encouraged him, and he began slamming into her so hard that each thrust pushed her forward on the bed by several inches. When her orgasm began, her head was near the edge of the bed; as it built, she was forced forward until she felt one, then the other of her tits drop off the edge. She was suspended over the edge, facing into the storm that nature had provided, and filled with one of their own making.
Her orgasm peaked and she slowly began to come down. Rachel’s senses had sharpened as she came, but in the flood of endorphins, she became dull with pleasure, nearly intoxicated with the waning strength of the orgasm. She felt heat radiate from her core—far from an unpleasant warmth, it was as if a fire had been lit inside of her and every nerve awakened with its embrace.
A sudden movement pulled the woman from her passion-induced stupor. She felt Michael’s cock suddenly withdraw … his hands release her hair and wrists… his powerful arms flipping her onto her back… and she saw him stand over her. That image was forever burned into her mind: his frame outlined against the tempestuous storm above us, the rain pouring down except where his body blocked the sky. He was shrouded in shadow, then suddenly every feature was highlighted with a burst of lightning in the distance.
She moaned and grabbed both of his ankles, pulling herself further beneath him. His right hand was on his dick, furiously pumping it as he stared at her body, raw lust emitting from his eyes in a near glow. Rachel knew from his sounds that it was building, that the explosion was imminent… and then it came. A burst of lighting above Michael timed perfectly with that first convulsion of cum, and he threw his head back toward the sky and shouted in ecstasy. Rope after rope of jizz fell from above, covering her naked breasts as the rain had done so only minutes before.
A wave of pleasure washed over her—it wasn’t an orgasm, but almost an embodied shadow of one. His hand slowed, and he collapsed onto one knee… then another. Michael was kneeling over her waist, and slowly sat back onto her thighs, spent with the intensity of the pleasure he’d just felt. He leaned forward; their chests touched. She felt his heart pounding against her as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her man close. Her hands stroked his hair and the back of his neck as she looked straight up into the sky, watching the rain fall in straight lines directly toward her, but never touching her.
This was indeed a bucket list item to remember.
Beautiful, Brutal Truth 