Thunder Snow

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Author’s Note: A Valentine’s story of sexual curiosity and budding romance for a virtuous, virgin Christian youth director swept into one of life’s paradoxes when her flight is canceled by a freak Texas thunder snow.

Michelle’s moral stance shifts as she seeks shelter with a man after a perilous mistake puts them in danger of freezing to death. It takes Michelle a while to warm up, physically and emotionally, before she rises to a soulful climax. May you enjoy the slow warm up along with Michelle on this wintery Valentine’s Day tale. –Sandy


*** Personal Question – Paradoxical Answer ***

“Who was your first?” Pomona’s question was a little personal and I was hesitant to share the truth. Or at least the circumstances.

She immediately sensed that she had gone too far with her question, or at least too quick. Pomona’s chin dropped, breaking eye contact as a silent apology.

For my part, I knew that my hesitation to share an answer was a minor transgression of the Sisterhood Code. I was supposed to be open with another woman after we spent the afternoon and evening in emotional conversation.

Pomona was more than a supportive member of the church, she had become a friend. We had grown closer as I invested serious hours in listening, counseling and comforting her during her daughter’s crisis. Any line that once existed between clergy and a parishioner needing congregational care, had been blurred by now. Not sure where or how to handle her question, a heavy, uncomfortable silence hung in Pomona’s living room.

“Our lives are a paradox, are they not?” I began. “We are fallen creatures, pushed by our spirit heavenward to attain high and pure purposes, yet we carry a seed in our soul that pulls us in the other direction. There is something in the soul that digs its roots deep into comforts of primal pleasures and draws up from there a nourishment, we are sustained by this intimacy – even by our lusts.”

Pomona’s countenance brightened with my statement, she understood I had just reached out to her as an equal. She intuited that I had just shed the mantle as spiritual counselor and I had taken on the role of sister-friend. Pomona needed a friend more than she needed a counselor.

“It’s already late, may I get you a cup of coffee?” offered Pomona as she rose to go to the kitchen before I considered my reply. “I should make a good, fresh pot, shouldn’t I?” she called from around the corner, again not expecting an answer before she got started.

“Might as well,” I said in resignation, “This could get involved – but keep in mind, Pomona, that I’m sharing this story with you as a friend, not as an ordained hypocrite.” I added with a light-heated guffaw, “You understand?”

She called from the kitchen, “Oh, do I understand. I understand our lives are filled with paradoxes – tell me about it, girl.”

*** A Righteous Beginning, A Mistake ***

Pomona, seated across from me, took hers black. She waited in a casual recline as I added sugar then cream. “Just waiting for you to ‘stir things up,”’ she added with a smirk as she watched me swirl the elements into my steaming mug.

I took a sip. The bitter brew, now sweetened with a mix of sugar and cream, slipped warm down my throat. With a steaming cup between my palms, I was warming up to spill the beans. “My ‘first’ was a bit like a mug of coffee, bitter contents made so comforting and palatable with sweeteners like sugar and…”

“What the hell?” interrupted Pomona, “This sounds like one of the metaphors you usually use to start one of your sermons. Hell’s bells Michelle, this isn’t going to be a sermon – is it?”

After a gulp of coffee, I took a moment to relax and recalibrate to girl-talk mode. “No. No it’s not meant to be a sermon. This is a Valentine’s Day story. It’s my secret, intimate Valentine’s Day story. And like I was saying, it was a bitter, miserable, freaky weather, confusing Valentine’s Day that ultimately turned sweet and comforting once some of those deep-rooted yearnings of the soul were mixed into my steaming cup. It’s a paradox, one of my worst days led to one of my best. What was bitter in the beginning led me to realize the sweetness of an earthy, soulful life rooted in primal pleasures and even lust.”

Pomona grinned, “I like your sermons Michelle, but I think I’m going to love your story.”

*** Church Girl in a Frozen Hell ***

Settling into the cushions, tucking my knees up under my skirt, I began the improbable story of ‘my first.’

“I was young. Though at the time I thought I was pretty old for a virgin. I’d finished at the university and then I had completed my training to become a certified church youth director. Seminary would come a few years later.

“I was thrilled to accept an offer for a youth director position at a large church. I was desperate to hit all the marks; I was eager to get to know the kids and I was adamant that I would be a fine, upright and unbesmirched example of Christian gaziantep escort virtue for the youth.

“My church sent me to a youth conference out-of-state. Among other duties, I was an uptight, hard-ass, chastity chaperone overseeing a bubbling pool of hormones. Damn, I was vigilant; squelching boners and drying up young wet pussies. If, by the end of the conference; no lives were lost and no lives were created, I’d attained my measure of success.

“On my return, I had a layover in Dallas. I was upset when my flight was delayed, then ultimately rescheduled for the next day because of a couple of back-to-back severe cold fronts that were clipping across the country. Disaster hit home when it was announced that all flights were canceled because of the icy winter weather. I was furious at God. What was He doing to me? This is Texas, land of parched mesquite trees and dusty tumbleweeds. It’s not supposed to snow in Texas, much less for multiple days.

I’d already spent one hellacious, uncomfortable night crowded into DFW Airport with a seething cast of thousands of stranded passengers. It was the ‘Valentine’s Day snowpocalypse.’ With each continuing hour of freezing rainfallI, I was facing the prospect of being stranded for a second night. My fate of being stuck on an uncomfortable airport bench without my luggage seemed unbearable.

While looking in vain for a place to buy a toothbrush, I ran into a professional acquaintance who was also stranded. She introduced me to a guy, Antonio, with whom she had some connection. He was a few years older than me, I was told he was in advertising, writing jingles for TV ads and stuff.

My acquaintance excused herself, as she had a lead on finding some ground transportation that she hoped could get her out of this frozen-over hell at DFW airport. I wished her luck, leaving the two of us newly introduced strangers standing uncomfortably in a crowd of strangers.

“Been here all day and all night?” he asked to make small talk. He must have known my obvious answer.

“Yah. I spent a miserable month in Dallas one night,” was my snide quip. “Actually two days, and it’s looking like I’ll be stuck here for a night two too.”

“I fear we’ll both be stuck in our night tutus. I’m just afraid I’ll look silly in my tutu, but I believe you’ll look fine in your night tutu.”

Antonio’s pun and cheap humor fell flat. I was in no mood for word play. I just wanted out. He was disappointed that I was unresponsive to his levity. I’ll give him credit, he didn’t quit; “Only thing is that my tutu was packed in my check-on baggage and it’s earning travel bonus miles for a Florida vacation while I’m stuck here in Dallas on Valentine’s. Like a fool, I didn’t bring a carry-on with me.”

He looked at me sympathetically, “Do you have a carry-on bag with you?”

“No,” I snapped. “Everything has gone to hell, including my baggage and my career.” I felt like telling him that he could go to hell too. But I didn’t. “No, I don’t have any change of clothes with me.”

He told me, “Stay right here, I’m going to check on something,” as an enviable spark lit his eyes.

“Stay right here?” I parroted. “Where would I go? Even if I didn’t want to stay right here?” I whipped my hair off my shoulders with a violent and defiant jerk of my neck to emphasize my frustration with his directions to me as well as everything in general.

He gave me a look, like, ‘OK, I’m not going to touch that.’ He checked his phone battery, grimaced and stepped across the concourse and punched something into his cell phone.

He came back to where I was standing, looking at me like he was cornered by a wounded mama bear. “I’m down to nine percent charge. But I have a plan.” He struck up a chanting cadence of sorts, singing, “I don’t know, but I’ve been told; I’ve gotta plan oh so bold, wanna blow this joint, it’s gettin’ old?” Then he added, “‘Misery loves company’ – so I’m told. Join me in my escape plan?”

He got the stink eye from me. Then I had to ask, “Depends. What’s this bold plan of yours?”

“I just sent a text to a gal I’ve worked with in the music industry. She has a small place somewhere near this airport; I think. I know she’s out in LA now doing a gig. If she responds before my phone dies, I’ve asked her if I could use her place until hell quits freezing over.”

In a few minutes, his phone pinged. He scrolled through the text as I looked at his hunched form. “You’ve still got a charge. I hope that’s her. Is it?” I asked as a bit of hope crept into my tone.

“Good luck for a change. One, I’ve got permission; two, an address and three, a front door code. With an air of nonchalance, he asked me, “If I can find a rideshare, would you care to join me in a small, warm place, far from the madding crowd?”

I was uncomfortable and desperate and perhaps against all of mother’s advice, I decided to cast my lot with this older, experienced guy of my acquaintance for all of forty minutes.

*** Out of the Fridge and into Hell’s Freezer ***

Our Uber driver asked, “Any bags?”

We answered with a glum and simultaneous, “No.”

She told us we were lucky that she took us, “Nobody wants to be out in this slick shit. I grew up in Minnesota, but these Texas ice-storm roads are crazy different than snow. Y’all are my last ride, this is too dangerous.”

She dropped us off at the address Antonio had given her. “Hope y’all get to have a warm Valentine’s Day,” she said as she fish-tailed away on the icy boulevard in front of our apartment complex of refuge.

Crossing the iced-over parking lot was treacherous with the sleet and snow coming down almost horizontally through the bitter wind. Our progress was made more difficult by the fact that neither of us had appropriate shoes. I was wearing Crocs, Antonio had sandals; minimal footgear chosen to quickly pass through TSA screening and shoe removal.

“Something’s not right,” moaned Antonio as we approached the building. “This doesn’t match the description I was given.”

“If it’s not right and if we’re stuck outside in this weather, we’ll die. My toes are already frozen purple,” I complained, not exaggerating.

Antonio checked his phone and I saw a look of panic cross his face. “My phone’s dead,” he mumbled through quivering lips.

“Is your phone still working?” he asked me.

I dug it out of my bag. “Yep. But not for long.”

“I think I can remember my friend’s number; dial her number for me.” With cold, stiff fingers I pressed the key sequence he thought he remembered.

He pulled his frigid hand out from his pocket, asking for my phone as it rang through. “Leila? Is that you? This is Antonio. Something’s wrong, we’re standing somewhere that doesn’t look like the place you described. We’re freezing our asses off.”

Antonio held my phone to his ear as I listened to his side of the conversation, “OK. OK… No. Our Uber dropped us off… Yes! I used the address you gave me… No, well possibly… I told her 11263. ——– Shit! Frozen shit in hell! Leila? Wait, let me repeat, 11623. One-one-six-two-three? You sure… Sorry, Leila, probably my mistake. This phone is about to die and we’re also about to die of hypothermia. I owe you. Thanks. Bye.”

I uncrossed my arms folded across my chest, covered only in a light-weight blouse, to take back my phone.

Antonio looked sheepish and very cold. “Well, if hell ever freezes over, this is what it’s going to be like. I’m sorry Michelle, some numbers got transposed. We’re four blocks away from where we need to be. I’m sorry, our only choice is to start walking and start walking fast.”

*** Cursed by Snow, Blessed by Thunder ***

I heard a crack and a rumble coming from above. It scared me. “What was that noise?” I asked in added terror.

“I believe that’s thunder snow,” my hard-luck escort answered. “I’ve never experienced it, but I’ve heard of it. Supposed to be a rare meteorological phenomenon.”

There was another loud rumble. “Is thunder snow dangerous?” I asked, panicking under the severe weather conditions.

“No,” he told me. “It’s a sign, it’s a special sign of hope for you and me Michelle. You might call it a blessing.”

I wanted to believe him. I did believe him.

He pushed me on the back. “Let’s get moving.”

A layer of ice had crusted over the six inches of snow that had fallen earlier. Barbs of freezing rain were biting into my cheeks as we scuffled along the abandoned boulevard, hunching against the driving wind. My toes were numb, everything was painful, including the real fear of not being able to make it the four blocks to shelter.

The low, cruel clouds continued to deliver stinging pellets of ice. The dismal sky above rumbled and cracked with thunder snow as we struggled ahead. “I think thunder snow sounds like the voice of God,” I suggested, perhaps delusional in my suffering.

“What’s God saying?” was Antonio’s question.

“I don’t know. I want to believe His voice is in this thunder snow, I feel He’s telling us that He’ll keep us safe. That He will save us.”

Antonio did not respond to my interpretation. He was too miserable to converse.

I followed in Antonio’s tracks, just moving, not thinking. The sharp chill stabbing through my wet clothes had frozen everything out of my brain except the will to survive.

“This is it.” He sounded subdued.

He took a hand out of his pocket and reached for mine. I gave it to him as we climbed the icy steps to the third floor. A huge, echoing boom of thunder snow rang out as soon as we touched hands. Antonio squeezed my hand, “I believe God just spoke. I think your prayers are answered, Michelle. You will be safe now. We’ll be OK. God just said so.”

I nodded weakly. “I believe thunder snow is a special sign for us,” I suggested.

Antonio squeezed my hand again.

Antonio entered a digital code and pushed the door open. I don’t remember being elated, I only remember feeling exhausted as the door swung closed behind us and the window pane rattled with another burst of thunder snow. It was a sign, a good and special sign from heaven I decided. I understood in my soul that the roar of thunder snow was the sound of heavenly passion.

*** Resurrection of the Frozen Dead ***

Antonio went to the thermostat and cranked it up. I was stunned by the cold and too numb to think or do anything other than to sit on the end of the bed and shiver in my wet clothes. Antonio glanced at me, “Michelle, you get the first hot shower.”

Like a stiff zombie rising out of a frozen grave, I stepped into the tiny bath, dropped my sodden blouse, pants and socks on the floor, draping my equally wet bra and undies on the door knob. Hot water poured over my skin, I was resurrected from the cold and the dead. I was once again a woman of warm flesh and blood. I did not yet realize the magnitude of my transformation into a young woman of warm flesh and hot blood. The significance of facing the trauma of a frozen death, only to reach safety and feel warm and alive, maybe shifted my perspectives on morality.


I had a towel wrapped around my torso as I peered through the bathroom door. The place was cramped. Antonio’s wet clothes had been dumped in a pile on the kitchenette’s floor. I could see his form across the room under the blankets of the narrow bed in the corner. He was motionless. I wondered if I should wake him and tell him the shower was available. We were both wrung out from our ordeal and the previous sleepless night in DFW Airport. I thought it best to let him sleep.

I don’t know what I was thinking – I probably wasn’t thinking. I had no energy left to think, but I do remember my feelings as I looked at the sleeping man in the corner. I stepped to the edge of the bed, feeling grateful to be alive and in a warm, dry place. I was feeling that Antonio had protected me and delivered me from freezing to death, realistic or not. I was feeling tired, yet with a warm, quiet satisfaction that together we survived our Valentine’s Day snowpocalypse.

I was feeling some warm affection toward the man who had led me by the hand to this quiet place of refuge.

I lifted the blankets enough to see he had shed all of his wet clothes. There was a naked man before me. A naked, sleeping, wonderful man. This man deserved to rest after bringing me to safety. This wonderful man deserved to have my warmth shared with him after all we’d been through.

This should have been a paradox for me; one bed, two people, a virtuous, virgin church girl and an undressed music man. I didn’t think about it. I just felt it was right to drop my damp towel next to the bed and slip under the sheets with this wonderful man.

Trying not to disturb him, I eased in close, but not intending to touch his skin. I pulled the blankets over us as a distant peal of thunder snow slipped into the late afternoon light of the room. That last echo of thunder snow was a sign, I felt it was a blessing for us from above. I was asleep in an instant.

*** Mystery of a Curious Erotic Fascination ***

I never imagined it would be this way. I was prepared to wait for the marriage bed. At least that was my strong belief the day before yesterday. Now, I had crawled naked under the covers with a sleeping, naked man that I just met and it seemed like the most natural and right thing to do after what we’d been through together. I admit, it was a strange transformation, one of those paradoxes that I’ve come to understand that comes with this messy life of mixed spirit and soul. I sensed we were Adam and Eve, innocent and naked and unashamed in the Garden of Eden.

I guess we’d tossed around in our sleep. I awoke. Antonio was asleep on his back, his left arm was on top of my bare chest with his palm resting flat on my left breast. I considered gently lifting it off of me, but I cherished the feel of the weight of his arm across my chest. I enjoyed the feel of a broad, male hand covering my nipple. My nipples had ached in the cold earlier, now they were warm and welcoming to the pressure of Antonio’s palm and I’m sure they began to plump up pert and pretty under the circumstances.

Holding still in the darkness, I was thinking about the man next to me. Our feet had intertwined in the night on the narrow mattress we shared. I liked having our feet tangled as much as I liked his arm pressing on my boobs. I was thinking about his penis which I’d glimpsed as I slipped under the covers next to him.

It wasn’t so much temptation, but more of a compelling fascination. I wanted to get to know this penis. I’d seen it laying across his thigh, it was so gloriously male. It was intricate and elegant, connecting to his scrotum. A great mystery had been revealed to me, but I think like most ladies, we can never understand the power of the penis for a man. Lying in the still darkness, naked and next to his exposed masculine mystery, something was percolating inside of me. I couldn’t deny I’d developed an erotic fascination for Antonio’s external manhood glory.

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