That must be him I thought. As he smiled at me and I smiled back there was the confirmation.We ordered coffe and sat down and all through I wasn't really listening to the conversation. I was undressing this man.We had swapped pics of our body parts and here he was all covered up. I was dreaming of running my hands through his chest hair, it looked so soft on the pics.Could I really meet this man and not have the opportunity to touch, carress and kiss his body.My distraction must have been obvious because it wasnt long before he suggested that we go somewhere more private. How could I refuse such an offer.We drove to a quiet country lane and as soon as the engine was turned off we were all over each other. His kisses were warm and tender and then firm and insistant.I unbuttoned his shirt and there it was, the chest from the pic, his nipples calling out to be kissed and sucked. I wasted no time. He groned as my lips encased his nipple. As i sucked he was moving his hand up the inside. There are no Hurricanes there. He'd seen Hurricane films on television and was in awe of the storms each time. Now, because of his deep love for her, he was going to see, first hand, a Hurricane.This Hurricane was born like all her great namesakes, Camille, Hugo, Andrew, on the Western coast of Africa, as a wisp of weather hardly noticeable on any modern radar screen. Then it pushed itself West, across the Atlantic, gathering strength as it went. At first, forecasters predicted the Hurricane to take a southern track, perhaps to make landfall along the East coast of Mexico. Then the track changed. The Hurricane meandered northwest, then west. By the time it was 8 days old it had changed direction three times. Then it picked its target. North Carolina.On Friday evening the lovers walked hand in hand on the beach along the ocean, uncaring that four hundred miles out to sea the death storm was taking aim. As they walked he looked out over the ocean. The sky above them was bright orange.
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