The Thunder and the Roar
“I’m the blood on the floor,
The thunder and the roar,
The boat that won’t sink,
I just won’t sleep a wink,
You’re the same kind of bad as me.”
I grew up just east of what is known as “Tornado Alley”, a wide region stretching across the midwestern United States that creates perfect conditions for tornadoes through most of the year.
As a result, I became quite used to tornadoes, as sirens for warnings would go off enough to have me wondering if it was actually worth getting off the couch to go to the basement.
I’ve never been especially scared of storms, even as a 12-year old kid crouching under a cash register as an F2 tornado blew out every glass window in the small grocery store.
I know I seem lackadaisical about this, but the fact of the matter is this: tornadoes don’t care. There’s nothing that’s going to stop one. Nothing. And there’s really not much you can do about one if you don’t have time to evacuate. The only thing left to do is just accept your fate, hold on tight, and hope it doesn’t kill you. Because Nature is wild. Nature is bold. Nature...is hot as fuck.
I’m not sure if it's the unbridled power of storms and the risk of certain death that a tornado can create that turns me on, or if it’s something deeper. Power exchange is my biggest kink, and yes thunderstorms are indeed quite powerful. But how can that fit in with something like this?
I was chatting with a Dom I knew at the time, and mentioned how I had made the discovery that the smell of a storm, the warm breeze, the lightning strike and the subsequent rumble in the clouds made me a horny mess. I sent him a link for a tornado chasing tour, one that would surely cost too much to go on anytime soon. “Wouldn’t this be so hot?” I moaned, mostly to myself. We had a mutual attraction at that time, though we never explored it much past our flirtations. But at this moment, I think he wanted to indulge in my fantasy.
With the matter-of-fact and level voice he replied, “I want to fuck you against a picket fence while a tornado lands in the distance.”
Holy. Fuck.
I suddenly had this vision of the swirling winds pressing my cool linen dress against my body. My Dom would slide it up over my hips and thrust deep into me from behind. My eyes would lock on the storm as I watched the funnel cloud form in the sky, a wave of ecstasy rising with the dirt and debris, intermixing with my final climax to meet the tornado’s tip as it painted across the prairie…
My fetish for thunder, lightning, and tornadoes puts a bit of a spin on “risk-aware consensual kink”, and I know that it rests squarely in the land of fantasy. But the rain and the thunder can move me in primal ways.
While I’ll never make love while a tornado makes its way across a prairie, I can still open my windows on a summer night and let the air beckon me to this strange kind of lover. My upbringing conditioned me to recognize the signs of a thunderstorm on the horizon. Some days the air itself seemed to turn a very light shade of greenish-yellow, a sure sign that a monster of a storm was on its way. The air begins to feel more electrified, and the winds begin to smell like wet grass and bark.
The sound of rain brings me memories of young adulthood, making love to my then-boyfriend as rain tapped on our tent or on the metal roof of his cabin. Winds remind me that the world is turning and inhaling that movement connects me to the earth. With bated breath I’ll wait for the summer storm to return to me.
About the Author: SubtleShadow is a queer, poly, sadomasochist and playful submissive with an insatiable curiosity about the world and a desire to explore all of it.
