It could have been a clear, calm night full of stars, perhaps a moon, or a sky full of brooding black clouds, it wouldn’t have mattered. Selena Wittmar wasn’t interested in meteorological details, whether during the day or during the night. The only time she was truly content was when the sky was an indiscriminately uniform gray, without any overt problems or unnecessary innuendos, exactly half way between sunshine and thunder. She didn’t like the sun because of her sensitive skin and eyes, and she didn’t like unexpected thunderstorms because they terrified her and she had to pull all her covers over her head and plug her ears.
She had her best orgasms under uninterrupted gray skies, whether she was alone or with a man, or, occasionally, with a woman. She wasn’t able to climax from someone else’s stimulations, no matter how skilled or devoted they were. Most of them weren’t, and she was always left to look after herself afterwards, just as if she were alone. She knew exactly how to stroke her labia into awareness under a gray sky, rub her clit in just the right way, bring herself to a slow but intense orgasm every time. She had never tried to give herself more than one, and had no intention to. She was content with the one volcanic explosion and the sky.
The only thing the men she picked up were interested in was her vagina and what it did to their erections. She never moaned or sighed or dug her fingernails into anybody’s back, so they never knew how she felt and what part of the cycle she was at and, she was sure, didn’t care. When they were done and rolled off her, she quietly went about her business without anyone ever noticing, they were so involved in themselves and their own satisfaction. She never screamed when she rocked through her orgasms, just let her body quietly shiver through the stimulations and the upheaval.
In many ways, she could easily have done without any partners at all, but on one level her body craved the stimulation of another person. It made her orgasms so much more enjoyable than when she was alone, even though she did it all herself. The physical contact with another human being in the throes of arousal and desire and eventual release sent shivers through her body that she couldn’t generate herself, no matter how gray the sky. It was a different kind of electricity, much as she liked stimulating herself, and made the achievement of her orgasms all the more easy.
Once she was with a man when an unexpected thunderstorm roared across the city and she had to pull all her covers up over her head and plug her ears. The man didn’t seem to mind at all. He knew where he wanted to be and where he was, and what he wanted to do and what he did. As did she, though in a completely different way. She had to wait until the thunder disappeared, the man sound asleep by then, until she was able to satisfy herself. She didn’t emerge from underneath her covers, just in case, and it made her orgasm all the more intense because she knew she was hiding from something.
Or a woman. She didn’t care much, as long as it didn’t rain. Rain always made everything difficult, confused, as if her mind couldn’t handle it. She made sure it never rained when she picked up a woman at a bar or some other such place. In a way, there wasn’t much difference. Most of the women were only interested in her thighs to rub their labia and clit against and bring themselves to their own orgasms without any particular regard for her and her feelings. Which was just as well, because it gave her so much more leeway to look after herself afterwards. The only thing that she liked about being with a woman than being with a man was that she had a breast to hold on to during her final crescendo, a small yet important consolation.
She actually liked breasts, her own and those of others. She always had one breast in her hand when she rubbed herself to her orgasms, whether she was by herself or with someone else. The ones she was with tended to pay perfunctory attention to her breasts, both the men and the women, without anybody apparently ever getting too excited. Of course, her breasts weren’t very big, so she was probably a disappointment to the men and not much of a challenge to the women. But it didn’t matter to her. She had her own hands, her own gray clouds, her own fingers to keep her content, as long as there wasn’t any thunder, or any rain.