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Blessed solitude

Torrential rain cooled the streets that had been suffering under oppressive summer heat for several days.  The inimitable fragrance of hot tarmac in the rain rose to the welcoming senses of Ursula Schenk as she strolled casually along the lonely street.  She wasn’t concerned about the drenching downpour, but enjoyed the relief.  Her light tank top clung to her body, and her well-toned figure was emphasized by the opaque pink that revealed details of her erect nipples and six-pack stomach muscles.

Ursula was not a showy woman.  Quite the opposite.  She was a rare example of simple dignity not usually found in a woman of extreme glamor and beauty.  She was actually quite shy, but the emptiness of the night street assured her that nobody would be gawking at her.   She had been a member of the vice squad for almost three years at that time, and was very capable of taking care of herself should she be accosted, but was relieved that there were no cars nor pedestrians who would undoubtedly stare at her striking image.

She had long since taken to wearing her hair cropped short, so the wet hair trauma was minimal.  She continued her stroll, enjoying the urban beauty of steam rising from the roadway.  She had a romantic nature, and the glistening street, lined with old, brick row houses gave rise within her to fantasies about distant times and places as one would imagine the streets were in Robert Louis Stevenson’s time.

She turned her cap around to have the peak forward to keep the pelting raindrops out of her eyes.  She saw cars crossing on the main artery a block ahead, and felt some regret that the solitude that she was enjoying might come to an end if she continued in her current direction.  Instead, she turned down a paved alley that ran behind the elegant homes that faced the busier street ahead.  Through the hiss and splat of the heavy rainfall, she heard a mournful cry of an unhappy cat.  She found it crouched in a rear doorway and went to it.

“What are you doing in a place like this,” she said as she stooped to touch the drenched, tiger-striped cat.  “Do you live around here?”

The cat merely looked at Ursula, and shook some of the water out of her short fur.  Ursula assumed that she did live in the neighborhood and continued her stroll.  She looked back over her bare shoulder and saw that the wet cat was following her.

“Okay, kitty,”  she said, “come along if you want to.”  The cat meowed and followed along.  They continued along the alley to the next street until they arrived in front of a classic brownstone house that sat in darkness, no light was on inside.  “This is my last stop, kitty,” she said.  “Are you going to come in to dry off for a while?”

Ursula mounted the concrete steps, and the cat bounded up with her.  In the alcove that protected the massive oak door, the cat waited at Ursula’s side while she unlocked the door.  Inside the vestibule, she tried to shake some of the excess water off her, and the cat did the same.  Ursula walked down the hall toward the kitchen, turning on some lights along the way.  In the kitchen, she put a saucer of milk on the table, and the cat gratefully hopped from the hardwood floor to the kitchen chair and then onto the table where it eagerly enjoyed the treat.

Ursula plugged the kettle in, and while it began to growl toward a boil, she shed her wet clothes and sat at the table in her panties.  Her wet breasts sparkled with water droplets in the kitchen light.  She made tea, and sat idly sipping it, clear and fragrant while she watched the cat grooming her fur.  Both were relieved that the heat had been diminished by the rain, and were happy to be indoors and quietly together.

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