So I guess I'm kinda good at writing gay romance novels. Who knew?

This is a gay romance I wrote about my stations engineer and our weatherman. I changed the relative names and locations to protect the identities of those involved.

Weathering Heights
A Tale Of Stormy Passion
By Chet Huntly

I will always remember the day Steve came into my life. It was late October. The leaves on the trees had already turned to beautifully rich shades of red, orange and yellow. The cool autumn morning made me grateful for the fact that I was wearing my zip-up fleece and corduroy pants. I had just gotten home from KTVM where I had read the weather for the day. Miranda was still at the station and would be for some time. I like to take this time to by myself and reflect how truly happy I am with Miranda. That was of course until I met Steve. While I was sitting alone in my living room quietly crying to myself; suddenly there was a knock on the door. I took a moment to compose myself then answered the door.

Standing in the doorway was the cool drink of water I would come to know a Hurricane Steve. Steve had been in Townsville to work with KTVM’s engineer. A recent rain shower had knocked out our digital transmitters and people couldn’t get their weather updates on the fives. But there was no need for updates for there would be only one 7 day forecast; “Hot and Lusty with a 100% Chance Of Passion.”

Steve played it cool and casual like a Saturday afternoon in April. He told me his truck had broken down right in front of my house. He asked if he could come in a call for a tow. I could see the cell phone in the pouch he had clipped to his belt. He didn’t need to use the phone. I knew exactly what he was after. Just before I closed the door I looked up in the sky, where just minute ago it had been partly cloudy with a twenty percent chance of rain, now the sky was full of cumulonimbus clouds that’s threatened stormy skies ahead. Today would not be a Goldie Locks day, no. There was fire in the skies above us, and the only thing that would quell it would be our unbridled passion.
I walked into the kitchen where Steve was on the telephone, he was having trouble finding a tow truck. I stood next to the cabinet where Miranda allows me to keep my all of my tears. She can always find the traces of my sadness and when she does I must spend at least two hours in the quiet closet while Miranda decides how she will punish me. So we came to the agreement that I could cry as long as I didn’t make a mess.

Steve turned and saw me standing there. He looked me up and down then said, “I can’t get anyone on the phone. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I told him, “Well we can worry about what you’re gonna do later. Right now we need to get your truck off the road and under some cover. There’s a storm coming and I’d hate to see any harm come to your truck… or you.”
We raced outside to the truck and like the Olympians before us we pushed the truck up into the drive way. In this moment I was Zeus and Steve my Hercules. With every inch we moved the lumbering beast forward our muscles burned, every tissue like a forest fire given to utter desolation. Beads of sweat raced down our backs as we continued onward; just as we approached the driveway; winds came blowing in from the south, south east at 45mph and in a flash, sheets of rain poured down on us soaking us to the core. Lighting shattered all around us. We had no choice but to abandon the truck and look to our own safety.

Back inside the house Steve and I stood in foyer. Our clothes were sopping wet and with the sudden drop in temperature outside we needed to heat things up inside. We stood silently waiting for the other to make the first move. Our barometric pressure was rising, there was a storm brewing in this house as well. Then before we both knew what had happened we were locked in embrace. The eruption of our desires came bursting forth like the peak Mount St. Helens. I tore open Steve’s short sleeve plaid button up shirt. His chest hair was thick and rich like the North Dakota prairie which I have visited many times on my Hippy Dippy Day Trips (Books & DVD available at your local News Station). I ran my fingers through like a combine during the harvest, but I would not, could not deface this Adonis standing before me.

A brief moment of tenderness came as Steve gently blew in my ear. The cool air from his lips was just like an Alberta clipper that brought a shiver to my spine. As Steve began to gently lay me down on the bear skin rug that I like to bring out for such occasions; there came a crash of thunder. The house went dark, but neither Steve nor I noticed. There were no lights but we didn’t need any to know what to do. Our bodies were like extensions of each other’s forming to make one perfect being, not unlike dual F2 tornados combining to create a larger destructive force. A destructive force was what our lust was and after a whole 7 ½ minutes of love making (Personal best, thank you) I looked around only to find that the entire interior of my house had been destroyed. When I realized what I had done and there was no way of ever explaining this to Miranda, I curled into a ball and went to my sad place. I cried out, “What am I going to do when Miranda gets home? She’s going to kill me.” It was at this moment both Steve and I heard the cracking, then with a thunderous force the sycamore tree that had added a lovely decorative touch to the back yard came crashing into the living room. The house was destroyed but the evidence of my tryst with Steve was now lost amongst the wreckage.

Steve collected himself and left. Not with words but with a look that said more than words ever could; the shared joy of our moment together and the sadness at the realization that that it was never to be repeated. I watched from the doorway as Steve walked to his pickup. He climbed in and with the turn of a key, what was once a cold dead homunculus roared back to life; full of youth and vitality. As Steve drove away I noticed a single tear run down my cheek. It would be all I would weep for my Hercules.

Harper Collins, the ball is in your court now.

Laters,

Dan "The Man"