It was many years ago, before our first child was even a twinkle. We were visiting my parents. It was California. Winter. A wild, Pacific storm had settled over the San Francisco Bay Area. Rain was tossed at windows, tree limbs shook. Somewhere, one must have cracked, fallen on a power line. The lights went out. The television went dark. The house stopped humming. It was late enough in the evening that everyone just went to bed. I undressed, then in just my bra and cotton bikini underpants, drawn by the howling outside, went to the bedroom window, pulled back the curtain. Outside, everything glistened, ambient light reflecting off clouds. The pine tree in the neighbor's yard thrashed against the sky, sending clouds of needles onto my parent's covered-for-the-winter pool. I was turned on. Wind does that to me. My husband came up behind me and slowly slid his hands from the sides of my waist over my bare belly. I can still remember the exquisiteness of that moment. I can close my eyes, think of it, and feel the rush and the gathering moistness. Even now, as I type this.
Oh! I just remembered this. It's one of the first 45s I ever bought!