Intermission

Rain had been scarce for so long that the entire state was approaching drought conditions. Lisa Graham, looking at a perfect cerulean sky through her office window, sympathised with the people who were nurturing lawns or raising cattle. They certainly needed the rain. But not as desperately as she did. Six weeks without a drop of moisture and she was so horny she could get herself off just by rubbing her cunt back and forth on the seat of her office chair.

It was the damn bar. Or pub. Or whatever a place like Interlude called itself. She’d taken refuge there during a stormy night when her car was in the shop and cabs were scarce. All she’d been looking for was a drink or two to take the edge off her nerves after a piss-poor day. Instead, she’d found the sexiest stranger who was pure sin walking and found herself having sex in public.

Something had happened to her that night, almost as if a stranger had entered her body. A powerful lust that apparently had been buried deep inside her all these years had burst forth like a raging beast, consuming her, until now it seemed it occupied her every waking moment. And many of her dreams, as well.

Even now as she thought about it, a flush consumed her body and she had to fan her face. Oh, the very naughty things they’d done, she and sexy Mark. She thought of the waiter who’d once joined them, and another wave of heat rolled over her. Then, on the only subsequent visit to Interlude, Mark and Damon, the owner, had taken her into the very private back room where she’d indulged in erotic fantasies she hadn’t even known lived at the back of her mind.

But damn! The fucking place only showed up when it rained. And how weird was that?

The day after her first visit, she’d gone back there to retrieve her umbrella, only to find herself in a noisy bar called Danny’s Pub. Nothing like the place she’d been in the night before. Interlude was a dimly lit place with curtained booths, barely audible music and people enjoying each other in various sexual activities without any apparent inhibitions—the same thing she’d done, mesmerised by Mark, his voice and his touch. Stranger still, when she’d asked the people in Danny’s Pub about Interlude, no one seemed to know what the hell she was talking about, nor could she find her umbrella.