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My story, “Weather Man,” is in Sommer Marsden’s new anthology, Kinkyville, which makes me super psyched. And, to be honest, I just got to read my contributor’s copies of both Dirtyville and Kinkyville, and let me tell you: Miss Marsden can throw together an anthology that’s so hot that you don’t know whether to keep reading or to put the book down and get fucked. Really, they should invent a way to read books like these while fucking…

There’s blow jobs and hand jobs and sexy plumbers and daddy’s little girls and hot sex in the cool car wash.

And there is also my hot weather man, and a storm rolling in on the horizon:

As soon as the gray clouds slide across the sky, tucking the sun behind them, I start listening for the phone. By the time the first raindrops are splattering against the windows, I’m naked and lying on the living room floor, phone in hand.

It takes a full five minutes for him to call, and I wonder if he was busy at work or if the rain has just arrived there, pelting the roof of his office.

“It’s raining,” he says.

“I know,” I say.

I can barely hear him over the pulse and pound of the storm, but it doesn’t matter. I know what he’s going to say next.

“I’m coming home to fuck you.” And not the phone, not the distance, not the hard beat of the rain can drown out that low growl that surrounds every word.

“I’m glad,” I say.

After we hang up, I lie there and listen to the rain, listen for the sound of his tires on the gravel. The TV station where he works isn’t far from here, but I know he’s driving slow and careful, going past the school where our children are learning about types of clouds and drawing pictures of their house. While I wait, I draw my own pictures, finger-painting in the wet space between my thighs.

Pick up your copies of Dirtyville and Kinkyville today (you can even get them as a package deal!). Your libido will thank you.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

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PS – Sexy man in rain picture by this artist.

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