Summer Rain by JimBob44
Indulge in the steamy allure of 'Summer Rain'—an erotic sex story that explores passion and desire under a sultry sky. Join our characters as they navigate their intense attraction, unveiling a world of intimacy and heat. Perfect for those craving tantalizing romance and vivid storytelling!<br/>
Author’s Notes: This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.
Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
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“Heeeey! Come on in!” Bramley Applewhite cheerfully called out, swinging the door of the apartment wide open.
“Hey! Thanks,” Ann MacIntosh smiled, entering the cool, dimly lighted living room.
The petite red head looked around; the furniture looked plush, inviting. Everything was soft, muted colors but was not drab. Even the framed painting over the sand colored velour couch was soft and muted.
“I swear, it is just so hot out there,” Ann said.
“Yeah, but it’s a dry heat,” Haralson Apple said from the depths of the kitchen.
“Hot is hot, whether it’s dry or not,” Bramley retorted.
Ann wondered how they managed to make the apartment dim; the late summer morning sun was bright with not a cloud in the sky.
“Come in, come in, sit, Hare’s in the kitchen making us some canapes or as normal people call them, finger food,” Bramley said, shutting the door of the apartment.
“Some people also call them hors d’oeuvres,” Haralson called back.
“Or, the majority of people in the world just call them appetizers,” Bramley teased, settling onto the couch next to Ann.
She smiled as Haralson entered the living room, tray in hand. With a flourish, he placed the tray onto the table. He placed some cloth napkins next to the tray.
“The ones on the left,” Haralson said, indicating what side of the platter he was referring to, “Are smoked salmon; the ones in the middle are an olive spread and the ones on the right are a humus. Care for a drink?”
“Um, what do you have?” Ann asked, deciding to try a smoked salmon canape.
“Sparkling water, um, mimosa, lemon spritzers, oh! Oh! He makes the absolute best muddy blary in the world…” Bramley enthused.
“Muddy…? Sounds like you’ve already had a few,” Ann giggled.
“I use this cayenne vodka,” Haralson called out.
“I just love your hair; how long you been growing it like that?” Bramley said, even combing her fingers through a few strands of Ann’s ankle-length carrot orange hair.
“Pretty much all my life,” Ann said. “My mom cut it once when I was like five or six and we both cried and cried and we never cut it since.”
“Or, I can make us a batch of apple of my eye,” Haralson suggested as he walked back to the kitchen.
“Ooh, could you?” Bramley begged, helping herself to a smoked salmon canape.
“Apple of my eye?” Ann asked.
“It’s this drink he made up,” Bramley enthused, still playing with Ann’s hair.
“Some green apple vodka, some apple brandy,” Haralson called out from the kitchen. “Some cinnamon liqueur and apple juice.”
“He freezes the apple juice,” Bramley confided. “It’s the perfect summer brunch drink.”
Any conversation was cut off as a large capacity blender ground through the chunks of frozen apple juice. A moment later, the blender whined to a stop and Ann tried a humus canape. She looked up when Bramley twisted to pull her feet under herself on the couch.
Bramley Applewhite apparently had some Asian heritage; her dark eyes were almond shaped and her knee-length hair was straight and shiny black. Her face was narrow, her nose slim and pointed, her lips thin.
Just like Ann, Bramley was petite; Ann guessed they were both roughly five feet in height. Both were also slender. Ann hated her own 24A chest, 22 inch waist and 25 inch hips. If she had to be short, cursed with pale skin, red hair and an abundance of freckles, couldn’t she at least have been blessed with large breasts? Blessed with a sweet bubble butt?
Bramley also seemed to have a small chest, slim waist and narrow hips. Her skirt reached to mid-thigh, exposing slim golden brown legs.
Ann tugged down the hem of her sundress but could only pull it down to mid-thigh. When Bramley had invited her over for Sunday brunch, Ann had not known what to wear so decided on her cutest sundress, a pale yellow dress with light blue flowers and her leather sandals. She’d not given thought to just how short the dress was but now struggled to preserve her modesty.
“Here we are; an apple of my eye for the apple of my eye,” Haralson said, bringing two drinks into the living room.
“Apples,” Bramley giggled, accepting the drink.
“Hmm?” Haralson asked.
“Apples. I’m an apple, and Ann’s an apple,” Bramley explained.
“Oh God,” Ann groaned. “Yeah, yeah, heard it all my life; MacIntosh is an apple. An apple. Ann Apple.”
“Why when you moved in I told Hare we needed to have you over,” Bramley said, her breath warm against Ann’s ear and neck.
“Hey, I’m an apple too,” Haralson smiled at Ann.
“By the way, these hors d’oeuvres are great,” Ann offered.
“Canapes,” Haralson smiled.
“Appetizers,” Bramley teased.
“Know what Bramley? Next time, you cook,” Haralson told Bramley.
“You really want me to do that?” Bramley asked, laughing.
“He’s a cook,” Bramley confided to Ann, resting her hand lightly on Ann’s bony hip. “Works off-shore.”
“No kidding?” Ann asked, trying another humus canape.
“God, I could just play with this hair all day,” Bramley said, now gently raking her fingernails against Ann’s scalp.
“Wonderful. Wonderful, oh these are just perfect,” Haralson enthused and Ann heard the oven door slam shut.
“Brunch is ready,” Haralson announced and placed three plates onto the round dining table.
“What? What is this?” Ann asked, seeing three small pies on her plate, along with a small bowl of chopped vegetables in a sauce and some chopped pieces of fruits.
“Quiche,” Haralson said. “This one…”
He pointed to one of the quiche as Bramley and Ann took their seats. Ann put the linen napkin onto her lap and took another sip of her sweet and tart Apple of my eye cocktail.
“…is a spinach quiche. This one is a crawfish quiche, and this one is a five cheese quiche,” Haralson continued.
“Five? Five? Only five? Ann, he’s cheating us,” Bramley teased.
“You hush your mouth, woman,” Haralson smiled and kissed Bramley’s laughing mouth. “The broccoli cauliflower carrot medley has a dill sauce with it and the fruit is oranges, pineapple, and grapefruit; just something light and refreshing.”
Ann watched as Haralson returned to the kitchen. He was a handsome man with thick brown hair, deep brown eyes and a tanned, strong face. His shoulders were broad and his chest tapered into narrow waist and hips. Ann was terrible at guessing heights but Haralson was easily six feet tall if not taller.
“Um! Oh! Oh, this, this is to die for!” Ann said, trying the crawfish quiche first.
“Ann, what you take in your coffee?” Haralson called out.
“Bailey’s,” Bramley called back.
“Your name Ann? Huh? Is your name Ann?” Haralson asked. “I’ve already made yours, Ms. Bramley Applewhite.”