Amaranthine Rain

I feel it, it’s coming.
– Madonna


It’s raining.

Raindrops compose rhythmic, pitter-patter music as they caress my skin. They leave a brackish tang on my tongue and the scent of springtime in my nose.

Bathed by soothing mist and ambient light, I lie upon warm dirt. Flowers sprout between my fingers, tickling. Newly formed petals nod their colorful heads as they bloom—lilac, indigo, cerulean hues.

I am rain. I am sun. I am earth.

I cannot move.

Vines spiral, serpent-like, around my cock. They squeeze and pulse until I am erect and jerking with lust. I’m flooded with desire, shame, and fear.

My mind, desperately struggling to make sense of things, turns to the Garden of Eden, Heaven, and Hell—concepts once scoffed at. Perhaps I have lost my mind.

Am I dead?

Selfish and aggressive, I’d been a commanding man, wielding my power like a sword, often hurting others self-righteously as I climbed to the top of the heap.

Even as rain and flora begin to work together, stroking me into an exquisite, surreal orgasm, I feel sure death looms and decide I must be in hell.


“Jack! I can’t do it!”

Blinded by pummeling rain, Jack swallowed anger.

Autopilot attached—hating to leave the helm in the storm—Jack fought his way to the bow, where his wife struggled with the tangled emergency parachute.

The storm had struck fast, the seas forming deep valleys their sailboat seemed desperate to cast itself into, suicidal. Any larger and they’d become huge waves, unleashing deadly amounts of energy as seawater crashed down. They’d be crushed unless the chute was in the water to dissipate the ocean’s power.

“Move! You’re totally useless!” Jack pushed Diane away, ignoring her familiar, wounded expression.


Hell is sunny, yet rain always falls. The sky is cloudless, brilliant blue.

I know I am no longer alone. Untangling myself from sensuous brambles, I walk naked to meet my judge, crushing violets under my feet.

I am surprised to see a woman. She sits as if meditating in the verdant field—legs folded, palms filling with rain. Her hair is long and brown, her face hidden.


She is motionless.

I walk endlessly, but she remains out of reach.

Am I dreaming?

Tired, I curl upon the ground—a human snail among the otherworldly vegetation.

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0 thoughts on “Amaranthine Rain

  1. I intended this story to be rather horrific – all that death and regret; a selfish and cruel, cheating spouse on the verge of death meeting up with his wronged (already dead) wife in purgatory and being seduced into dying. Talk about revenge! It’s so lovely and dark and everyone’s dead in the end. My kind of story. I spent eons getting the imagery and words just right, tweaking the prose until it was perfect.

    But, I let people read it and only two of them got the ultimate, revenge horror of it all. Most readers said things like this:

    “True love diluted and damaged by the striving and all the distractions of life, but underlying is the bond between the characters that united them again in death.”

    “I wanted them to live but only if they could appreciate the second chance at life that they could have been given. Upon their deaths I thought you as the author got it right. Their deaths were the birth of their eternal happiness.”

    I was torn. Should I have rewritten the story to make it more clear that I intended this to be horrific – a tale of a wronged woman’s ultimate revenge – and not a true love (despite all the death)story?

    I decided to leave it as is. Just like the erotica within, it’s a subtle story and one open for interpretation.

    I hope you like it and let me know your thoughts, no matter what you read into it.


  2. Zander,

    As always, I totally LOVED this! Swoooooooon CITY all the way.

    To me, it had an ominous feeling of doom from the first words, and the very last line his wife said to him made it pretty clear that she wanted him to stay dead “forevvvvvvvvvvvvver”. Hehehehe. Cool beans!

    You rock!


  3. Well, I got it. **is bemused** This line: “Evermore, Jack…mine now,” Diane says, pulling me under the waves. certainly explicates it nicely, if one was confused, beforehand.

    And you, you make me laugh: It’s so lovely and dark and everyone’s dead in the end. My kind of story.

  4. and you rock just as hard, jenny…thanks for the comments. You made me smile. I haven’t heard “cool beans” in years and am glad to know my most loyal fan “gets” me.


  5. well, of course you got it beth…you are a smarty pants ~winks~, well read, and a clever writer yourself. That said, I’m still glad to hear you got it (and that I amuse you). Both comments warm me.


  6. I’m glad you didn’t change your story. Some people need to have things spelled out, lined up A-Z but, frankly, stories like that bore me, and you never do.

  7. anon,

    I write what I like (but admit I’m glad when others like my words too). Thanks for letting me know you do.


  8. Lydia,

    Thank you. I firmly believe erotica can be beautiful and use language much the way poetry does. This piece is one I dearly love, and have had so much positive feedback about. Thanks for adding to it.


  9. As if you needed more reassurance… your intention was ever so clear. I loved the effect of the alternation of perspective. And your use of language? aah… truly lovely.

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