Friday, 9 October 2015

HornyHour: Summer Rain, 2006

As the rain increased in frequency and efficacy, the soft plik-plik-plik on the canvas steadily began to work its way up towards a tattoo, punctuated by the snuffling heavy breathing of my hairy friend and the light, whispy inhalations of Bob. I turned onto my back, my sleeping bag shuffling with a zip against the ground, and listened to the rain.

Bob was definitely asleep. My hairy friend, also slumbering heavily like a gentle giant, had an arm around her - they had fallen asleep while hugging. The thought made me suddenly feel rather lonely, even though I was in close proximity. He was a friend that I'd had since youth; she was somebody we'd only just met that week. It was the last night. Both groups had merged nicely into one.

The rain began to fall in earnest and I wondered about the brave souls who had chosen to bivouac underneath a large sheet propped up with sticks. Who the young raver had been kissing, if anyone (spoiler: two girls of 15); who else was up there with him. His tent (and theirs) was empty, and I fancy I heard a few footsteps heading for the relative safety under a flysheet. I was grateful that I hadn't chosen to bivouac myself, although - as I ruefully smiled to myself - how much of this choice was not wanting to leave my hairy friend alone in a tent with Bob may have contributed to the factor. Bob, herself, was fairly hot, but he was dating (quite seriously, as it turns out) my little sister's friend, Vee. I myself had no particular designs upon Bob, but I was grateful for her presence nonetheless.

I idly entertained myself by picturing the raindrops cascading down the sides of the Vango, and how the hundreds of people elsewhere on the campsite were experiencing these last vestiges of summer rain. Certainly it was warm, although night was upon us. Maybe there were those dancing, or walking through it, or making love in the rain. Perhaps there were campers enjoying a midnight beer in one of the fair-trade co-operative bars we'd set up. Or maybe the entirety of the camp, like us, was under canvas, waiting for the sandman to take us away.

Staring up at the lightless canvas, attuning my breathing to that of the water, changing brown to green and grey to blue, I allowed myself a smile to the gods.

And was content. 
click the image for this week's prompt

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