WETLOOK STORIES SOAKED AND DRENCHED

Ralphfred2

copyright 2014

May not be re-published without permission of author

Billing. Can anyone stand it? That morning, Sandi and I were preparing the end of the month billing statements in my beach pad apartment. There were wet towels, wet clothes, and sand everywhere. As Sandi sat at the table diligently plugging in the billing statements, I could see the golden Pacific sand emblazoned on her new blue jeans and denim blouse. Sand lightly speckled her toes from her morning jog on the beach, and peppered the dining room table where we worked. The draft statements were all coated very lightly with sand.

Somehow, our plates and silverware had fine coatings of sand too, even after we had diligently washed everything. The shower had more of the black and brown variety of sand on the bottom. I guess the golden grains didn't show up as well against the white tile of the shower. We did clean, really we did, or at least we meant too. Perhaps it was more of an aspirational goal, but the thought was truly there.

We were both at our wits end with the endless computer work. Pacific sunlight streamed into the apartment, making the computer work a form of torture.

In frustration, Sandi just blurted out “I wish lawyers would just throw away all of their papers!”

Sometimes, I felt that way too, but I just said nothing. Without her help, the statements would not go out, and the rent would not be paid.

She added, “lawyers are just people too stupid to pass organic chemistry.” That was very true. Words of wisdom there. That should be the dictionary definition of a lawyer: a person who can't pass organic chemistry, but who likes suits. I thought that probably most of the judges I had appeared in front of also couldn't handle calculus or physics either, but the whole legal profession was filled with people who couldn't cut it as scientists or engineers. No wonder cases took so long to resolve. A lot of dead weight couldn't figure out common sense. The one motion most lawyers knew was a motion for continuance. Just like a bunch of kids standing up in court and stating a dressed up version of “the dog ate my homework.” That was certainly true in family law, another term for which was “people hating people.”

However, I did not want to feed Sandi's frustration. She could be so unpredictable. Finally, I heard an animal sound of acute distress and frustration. She tore the thumb drive out of the computer, and I was now alarmed. I foolishly blurted out “you're supposed to hit the menu key and wait until the appropriate time to pull out the memory stick!!”

Sandi said nothing, but her eyes smoldered with anger. Any sort of legal work does that to a sane and normal person, and Sandi was very sane, very normal, and extremely gorgeous, with a hauntingly narrow, beautiful, feminine face. Sandi wore no makeup, and I loved that and everything else about her. She shoved the thumb drive into the front pocket of her jeans and asserted “let's take a break!! It'll clear our heads.”

“Just a little longer Sandi. We're almost done.”

Sandi just slammed the laptop shut, got up from the table and ran out the front door of the apartment.  I was caught off guard. I had left the apartment door open to pull in the ocean air from the window. I got up to chase her, but lost time looking in vain for the keys. Finally, I just slammed the front door of the apartment behind me, without locking it, and chased Sandi down the hall.

She was already down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment building before I could catch up. Sandi was a fast runner, and I could hear her bare feet slapping the pavement on the street parallel to the ocean. Then she turned left down the short drive down to the sand. Her arms were pumping, and her beautiful loose, long, abundant brown hair flowed in the gentle breeze behind her. I could see, hear and smell the beautiful Pacific Ocean panorama spread out before us. At the bottom of the hill, she did not break stride, but leaped from the end of the sidewalk onto the sand.

It was an unseasonably warm day in February, and the tide was high. In our little town, the beach was narrow at high tide, there was only a short distance from the beginning of the sand to the ocean.

Like a person possessed, Sandi just kept going. She loved the ocean, just as I did, and she raced at full tilt toward the water's edge. Without breaking stride, her feet hit the water. However, the Pacific Ocean at high tide has some rollers that break right near the shore. Sandi was still in her favorite new jeans and denim blouse. That did not stop her for a moment. A large wave reared up close in to shore, and Sandi just launched herself airborne, head first into the wave. Complete abandon and complete recklessness. For a moment she disappeared into the surf, and I could just see her legs and feet going into the wave.

Then she reappeared. Her formerly nice flowing clean hair, now soaked and plastered to her head and shoulders, laughing like a person possessed. She got back up, water streaming from her body and drenched hair, and half ran, half skipped forward to meet the next wall of surf. This one was a larger true Pacific roller coming right over the top. Surfers love these. Sandi did not hesitate even one second. She plunged into the wave just beneath the whitish-blue wall of water curling over the top. Then, almost impossibly, she was out the other side, yelling at me to just dive in. Or at least I think she said that. The Pacific was very loud at high tide with large surf, and Sandi was bobbing beyond the surf close in to the beach, fully clothed in her new jeans, waiting for the next mega wave to come in. She was a great swimmer, sort of like a dolphin, and she just could not stay out of the water. Neither could I, especially with her bobbing in the ocean like that.

What choice did I have? I loved her like crazy, so I plunged in too. Just as I reached her, a massive roller crashed over both of us. I was not positioned just right, so the wave tumbled me as though I were in a dryer, but filled with water. My butt hit the sandy bottom, and I came up sputtering, sand in my teeth, having swallowed some of the ocean. In front of me, five pelicans in single file flew low over the crest of the waves, like crazy dive bombers intent on a suicidal fishing mission. We were so lucky to live here!!

Surprisingly, Sandi was right next to me, drenched and soaked as I was. I looked at her wet face, water droplets dappling her cheeks and running off the tip of her beautiful nose, dripping from her chin, her denim blouse soaked and glued tightly to her breasts, her wet hair plastered wildly to her face, and I kissed her, until a slightly smaller wave crashed over us again, pulling us apart. The water was very cold, but neither of us minded. Then we got up and dove in again and again. Sandi kind of skipped into the waves, and then did a looping dive into the next one. In between the sets, we floated on our backs, going up and down, until the up and down motion got inside my head, like the effect from being on a small boat tossed in the waves. We dove in over and over, until the idea of a hot shower beckoned.

As we waded out of the surf, Sandi kicked up a steady spray of water with her bare feet. Then she kicked water on me. I splashed her back, and then tackled her wet body into the surf. Then we ran up onto the beach, where I tackled her again, into the sand. The sand here is a mixture of gray, brown and black fine grains, with some golden grains mixed in, although the golden grains showed up better at low tide. The fineness of the sand grains meant that sand got everywhere, inside shirts, pants and pockets. It stuck to your skin, especially your feet. Bringing half the beach home with you was unavoidable.

I rolled on top of Sandi in the sand, and she came up with dark sand coating her wet brown hair, and all over her blouse and blue jeans. She looked attractive like that, and I could not help kissing her again and again. She kissed me back, and we rolled over in the sand, both of us getting an even more thorough coating of gray, brown and black grains of sand.

Then we got up and ran back into the surf to wash off. The tide was beginning to recede, so the breakers were just a little farther out. The tidal swing was so incremental, that you could not see it from moment to moment. Sandi skipped into the smaller surf, and then picked a medium sized wave and dove back in, her luxurious long brown hair spreading out like a soaked hood behind her. She got to her feet, water gushing and streaming from her soaked clothing and body, and she dove underneath a larger wave, coming up laughing and thoroughly enjoying her fully clothed swim. Then we ran back up onto the beach, shivering in the morning coolness. Sandi had a fresh coating of dark gray sand covering her toes and the bottoms and sides of her feet, like a pair of impromptu sand shoes.

The cold shower that is a fixture at so many California beaches was not working. We hit the shower button again and again, but nothing came out. That was no problem with the apartment fewer than two blocks away. Neither of us had towels, shoes or keys to worry about, so we raced back up the hill to our apartment. Sandi was a faster runner, so I watched from behind as the water streamed off her brown hair, her blouse and her now very dark jeans. Her jeans were almost glued to her butt, with a fine coating of sand on top. Her wet footprints lined the sidewalk as I followed up the hill.

Fortunately, the front door of the apartment complex was ajar. Luckily, the landlady was nowhere in sight, because we were both a wet, sandy, drenched, dripping, sloppy mess. We raced up the stairs, leaving our wet footprints as we ran, and sprinted into our apartment. Sandi shrieked and ran through the living room, leaving a foot trail of water and sand on the carpet, and raced into the bathroom. She impatiently threw into the dining room the damp and sandy towel hanging over the shower entrance, and turned on the hot water, full blast.

This was one of the great showers of our time. The water came out hot and steamy at the outset. Sandi just stepped under the hot torrent, and immediately, a trail of brown sand ran from her hair, her denim blouse, and her jeans. I got in there with her. The hot torrent streamed over Sandi's hair, and she just moaned with contentment, letting out a long and very satisfied, “Ohhhhh, that feels soooo good.” It did indeed, it did indeed!! Then she let out some small chirping noises. I loved that and everything about her, her noises, her spontaneity, and the way she embraced life to the fullest. Don't over-think everything, just do!!

Several very large containers of Kegsudsapoo shampoo were right there, because why put stuff away when you are going to need it anyway? I opened the cap on one, and poured the blue shiny mass onto her head, and just drained the large sized bottle. The stuff made a slurping noise as it oozed out onto her hair. I picked up another bottle, as Sandi just smiled her toothy grin, and then poured a liberal helping inside her blouse, and also into the pockets of her jeans. Sandi smiled as the cool, blue gelatinous shampoo oozed inside her drenched denim blouse, working its way down and coating her breasts and her stomach, with thick, lathery shampoo suds oozing out around her belt. 

I rubbed the shampoo steadily into her blouse, paying special attention to working it thoroughly in. Her denim blouse bloomed thick flowers of suds all over, with the surplus falling to the tile floor of the shower with little plopping sounds. Then I carefully rubbed the outside of the pockets of her jeans, and a mass of suds covered her jeans. Then I poured a liberal helping down the inside front of her jeans, and slowly and very thoroughly worked that into her crotch. I reached inside, and thoroughly worked the shampoo inside of her underwear. Sandi moaned with contentment, and involuntarily sank to her knees. As I got down with her, she smiled, and and then poured shampoo all over me.

At that point, she burst into laughter. I asked her what it was, and she reached into her pocket.

She pulled out a sand encrusted object, also covered with shampoo bubbles, just a little over an inch long. It was the thumb drive from the computer. “Maybe it still works,” she said with a laugh. She just threw it onto the bathroom floor. At that moment, I could not have cared less about that memory stick.

I just kissed her long and hard, and she kissed me sweetly and softly back. I reached underneath her extremely soapy, shiny, and now very slippery denim blouse. It was glued with wetness so tightly to her chest that two buttons popped off. I slid my hands inside. Sandi had no bra on. I poured more shampoo inside her blouse, and worked it into her breasts, gliding my hands over her slippery breasts, her nipples standing at complete wet and slippery attention. A river of suds poured from Sandi's body and her long brown hair.

Neither of us said anything. The bathroom was now so hot, and so steamy. I loosened Sandi's belt, pulled it off, and threw the wet leather onto the bathroom floor. Between the two of us, we ruined a lot of clothing!!

Sandi then stood up under the hot torrent. The water and suds streamed from her hair, her blouse and her jeans, piling up around her toes. As she stood under the water, we kissed over and over again. Then she suddenly ran out of the shower, still in her jeans and blouse, soaking, dripping, and drenched. She ran into the bedroom, streaming water as she ran. I tackled her onto the bed, soaking and ruining the bedspread. But at that moment, who cared? The bedspread drank up the water and suds from our drenched clothing and bodies.

With some difficulty, I unbuttoned the slippery button at the top of the zipper on Sandi's jeans. Slowly, ever so slowly, I pulled down the zipper of her drenched jeans. Lubricated by the shampoo, her jeans now slid gently off. She looked at me with complete contentment and satisfaction. . . .

When we woke up, it was late afternoon. I could here the sound of the waves pounding the shore just a block and a half away. At that moment, I did not want to be anywhere else, but next to Sandi, the love of my life, the wet one. Piles of wet clothing were on the carpeted floor. The place was a complete and total wreck. Sandi sleepily looked at me, and said she wanted fish for dinner. I just asked, “if we walk to that place near the pier, can we stay out of the ocean long enough to get there?”

Sandi just laughed and kissed me again and again and again.

Ralphfred2

Copyright 2014.

May not be re-published without permission of author

All rights reserved  

WETLOOK STORIES AGAIN

Ralphfred2

copyright 2014

May not be re-published without permission of author

One morning, I was alone in my apartment eating a solitary breakfast around nine o'clock, when I heard a knock on the door. I have been a bachelor since Sandi left a couple of years ago, and I was not expecting anyone. Have you ever had a messy house or apartment, and felt unprepared for a surprise visit? Well, that is how I felt at that moment.

When I opened the door, Sandi walked in, carrying her shoes, with the air of never having left. Sandi didn't ask if she could come in. She just did. She threw her shoes into the corner of the living room as if she owned the place, and as if we had never split up two years earlier. I mean, shouldn't you ask permission before just barging into your ex's apartment and then throwing your shoes into his living room? However, she looked great, and I was speechless. Moreover, I was very glad to see her, so glad that I quickly closed the front door, and unsuccessfully tried not to smile from ear to ear.

“I know you have gone all beach bum and everything, but this building could use a bit of work. Have you ever thought of cleaning up around here?” With that, she just swept the cluttered contents of the living room table onto the floor. All that junk mail that had piled up for months. Well, the table had been cluttered and so it seemed better now. She could have burned the contents of my apartment and I would hardly have cared.

“There, that's so much better!” She threw her purse and keys down where my stuff had been a minute ago, and, as if her entrance were perfectly normal, she asked where the bathroom was.

Sandi wore a blue jeans jacket over a starched pressed blouse, with a nice denim skirt. She looked ready for work or something, so I asked her what brought her to town.

“Oh, some stupid interview with a marketing firm this afternoon, but it's not til one, so I thought I would see how you were doing. Not too well, by the look of your living room. Still into the minimalist school of furniture, I see. I don't even want to know what's in your fridge, probably nothing edible, that's for sure. Is the bathroom right or left? I'm about to burst.”

I did have milk and a frozen pizza in the fridge. What was wrong with that? But I was mentally off balance from everything that was happening. While I was still thinking about the pizza, Sandi just bounded into the bathroom and closed the door.

I was trying to sort through some conflicting emotions, but a minute later she was back in the living room.

“The sink thingie is well . . . you'd better see for yourself.”

What sink thingie? First the table contents all over the floor, now the bathroom sink? She had only been here a few minutes, and already my mind was not functioning properly. Some sort of confusion gripped me. Perhaps a malaise of some sort.

“The sink?” was all that I could manage to say.

Sandi smiled at me as though I were some sort of deranged individual.

She took my hand, and pulled me towards the bathroom. Before I could comprehend what was happening, we were in the bathroom, as though we had just teleported there or something.

The drain in the bathroom sink was closed, and it would not open. Odd, because it had never clogged before. The water faucet was on full blast, and the sink was just starting to overflow. I turned off the faucet but just a little too late.

“Why did you leave the water running?”

“Oh, so now your defective faucet is my fault? Now look, you've stepped in the water on the floor, and there's gunk all over the floor.” Before I knew it, Sandi had gotten my last clean towel from the linen closet and wiped up most of the water from the floor. She had only been here ten minutes, at most, and already things seemed to be in a state of confusion or something, but before I could say anything, Sandi reached down, slipped off my sandals, and threw those into the other room.

Now, my apartment was only one block from the beach. I was in the habit of coming back from the beach, stepping into the shower in my wet shorts, and emptying out the sand from the beach, which always seemed to fill half of each pocket. Simple, right? I lived alone, so if there were a little sand on the bottom of the shower, who cared.

As Sandi finished sopping up the last of the water, she turned to throw the wet towel into the shower. She then looked up at me with the kind of expression reserved for a poor, dumb animal.

“Oh my God, no wonder they are talking about dredging the harbor and piping sand onto the beach! All the sand is on the bottom of your shower!!”

Well, there was a certain gray, granular coating on the shower floor, but it wasn't THAT bad,or was it?

The water in the shower was now on, blasting some humidity into the bathroom, kind of like the fog in my mind. I didn't turn on the shower. Why was the shower running?

“Come on, we have to clean out this shower!!! I can't leave this wet towel in there with half the beach on the shower floor. My God, this is soooo uncivilized.”

Uncivilized? That was a bit low. While I mulled that over, she pulled me in and we stood in the part of the shower mostly untouched by the spray.

My shower was like a walk in closet. You walked in on the left side, but the shower head was on the right side, pointed at the opposite wall. There was no shower door. You could stand on the left side, and remain more or less dry. Just a little spray hit our feet, but . . . .

“Look at all these shampoo bottles. Don't you use one completely before opening another?”

Well, It was sort of like squeezing out half the toothpaste, getting impatient, and reaching for another tube. So, in one corner of my shower, there were about a dozen, sand coated containers of Blue Kegsudsapoo, the bargain shampoo brand. Eighty-five cents a bottle, so I bought a dozen. Two quarts each, so plenty of bang for the buck. Somehow, they were all in the shower, but no sense putting them in the cabinet. They were for the shower anyway, so right where they were supposed to be!!

Sandi opened one bottle and playfully held it over my head. Now, I was alarmed. Things were getting out of hand, that's for sure. All in about ten minutes!! I was supposed to see a client in an hour, and he was one of those punctuality guys.

I was stern, very stern. “Sandi, not now, put the bottle down now!!”

There, assert some control. After all, this was my apartment, and my bathroom and . . .

“Here, it's empty” she sang.

“Look, there's nothing in it. You should have thrown this out a month ago. Here, I'll show you.”

And, with that, she squeezed the bottle. Not much came out but I felt a little of the patented blue Kegsudspoo syrupy shampoo adorn the crown of my head. This was too much. Who did Sandi think she was, fooling around on a work day, with no consideration for anyone else. Now I'd have to get the shampoo out of my hair. No time for a shower before heading to the meeting with Bob. And I was unprepared for the meeting too. I had not reviewed my notes again, like I always like to do.

A flash of petulance hit me. Without any thought, I picked up a fairly full bottle of Kegsudsapoo, with it's patented syrupy, sudsy formula. The cap was already off this one.

Sandi backed up a little, and the shower stream, on full bore, was within a centimeter of hitting the back of her neatly pressed denim skirt.

“No, let's think about this!!” she shrieked, and I just dumped the entire two quarts onto Sandy's lustrous, thick brown hair. One minute, her hair was shiny, bouncy, and quite lustrous. The next, blue syrupy Kegsudsapoo was oozing down all sides of her hair and face, coating and flattening her hair as it headed downwards.

The slurpy blue Kegsudsapoo then hit the collar of her denim jacket, going inside and turning Sandi's shirt collar a shiny blue. Next, it fell over and thickly coated her breasts, now covered by a very shiny, solid, thick liquid coat of Kegsudapoo.

Sandi just screamed with laughter, picked up another two quarts, and dumped them all over my head. At least the shower was getting a good cleaning.

I looked at Sandi, all coated with blue Kegsudsapoo, her hair flattened, her denim jacket covered with the shiny, gooey shampoo, and I kissed her, hard and long. It had been two years, and suddenly she seemed so beautiful, covered with a thick coat of shiny blue Kegsudsapoo.

I kissed her back a couple of steps, into the shower stream. Suddenly, a cascade of suds flowed down Sandy. I reached under the denim jacket, and it just slid off her body, and hit the bottom of the shower with a resounding plop!

Sandi always starched her blouse, but now it was coated in a shiny veneer of blue suds. The shirt was glued to her breasts, so that you could see the details of her black bra beneath. Some sort of flower pattern, and I started to work in the suds with my hands. Didn't think about it, just did it. I reached down for another bottle, and poured it all over Sandi's blouse, I really massaged it in, and Sandi just quietly moaned with little noises of contentment.

The avalanche of suds poured down Sandi's blouse, over her breasts and flowed downwards, invading her nice expensive looking patent leather belt. The river of suds invaded Sandi's belt, and flowed inside and on top of her nice denim skirt. The skirt had been a kind of sky blue, but now it was a dark navy blue, sopping wet, soaked and drenched.

The river of suds poured onto Sandy's feet, and then backed up near the shower drain. Sandy pulled me down onto the shower floor. She was all slippery, sudsy and wet. Her hair, which had been so full five minutes before, was now half covering and plastered to her face. Some sand was still at the bottom of the shower, and some golden grains of ocean sand now speckled and painted her dark blue drenched skirt.

I fell on top of her, reached down and ripped off the buttons of her blouse . . .

We stayed in that shower for hours. Afterward, we dozed, as luxuriously as if we were in a five star hotel. The water still ran when I awoke.

I did not know the time nor did I care.

Sandy awoke, and pulled me towards her.

All she said was, “tomorrow, you can show me the beach.”

I laughed and kissed her again.

Copyright 2014.

Wetlook stories and wetlook blog may not be re-published without permission of author

All rights reserved

TWO WOMEN TAKE THE PLUNGE SATURDAY NIGHT

I just saw two beautiful women pull each other into the cold ocean at eleven o'clock tonight.  They seemed to be in their mid-twenties.  It was a somewhat chilly moonlit night, but in they both went! 

One was a beautiful brunette, dressed in a drenched black shirt and soaked black pants, glued tightly to her skin, and the other was a very attractive blonde in a grey skirt and dark blouse.  Both were barefoot. 

At first they stood in waist deep water, and got splashed by the small waves.  Then, much to my surprise, they waded deeper in, and then plunged completely in!!  Both women actually dove under the waves several times on a winter's night, and emerged completely drenched from head to toe. 

The brunette was the chief instigator, pulling the blonde in with her.  We definitely need more women like that brunette. 

Needless to say, I was completely stunned. Unfortunately, I only had a cell phone, with no flash!! I actually asked if I could take some pictures of them on the beach, and they both agreed. Although the pics did not come out well at all, that wasn't important. Neither of them acted as though they were cold, but they must have been freezing!!! I told the brunette that I loved wetlook, and she just gave me the most beguiling smile.

They then walked to their car. The brunette took off her pants right there in the parking lot, and then they drove away.  They were obviously lovers.  I will probably never see them again, but I will remember them extremely well, that's for sure.  This is just not a common sight, although I wish it were.

Please feel free to check out the stories and vids below.

Matereva clothes and all - You tube video. A woman walks on the sand closer and closer to the warm ocean water. She finds the magnetic pull of the water irresistible, and SHE PLUNGES IN, clothes and all, reveling in the caress of the warm ocean water. What could be better than to give in completely to impulse, completely soaked and drenched to the skin. Video posted by frenchplait, and not connected with my original stories posted below.

Wetlook Walking and Swiming Fully Clothed in River at Summertime

WETLOOK STORY BLOG

I am looking for a woman willing to kick off her shoes and plunge into the waves, clothes and all.  There is nothing more beautiful than to see a woman plunge into a pool, the ocean or a lake, fully clothed, and revel in the moment.  Email me at ralphfred2@gmail.com or at ralphfred28@aol.com  or go to my google+ site at ralph ralphfredtwo:
https://plus.google.com/u/0/?ab=jX#113795525619992090456/posts, or go to my YouTube channel at ralph ralphfredtwo:
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC8EJcHEnoVMkQE0i_juV29g/videos?view=15&flow=grid. 
A lot of people love this, but are just too shy to say so.  It's becoming all the rage, with all the wild and wet weddings on YouTube, where the bride, groom and all the guests take the plunge!!

Enjoy the following stories, with some video interludes:

PLUNGING IN

By Ralphfred2 © 2013
 
I live on the East Coast, where it gets sticky hot and humid in the middle of summer. Seven years ago, there was a hot spell in the middle of July, just like that. I had a ton of sales calls to make after lunch, when the air conditioning went out in our office. As the temperature inched up inside, my temper started to rise with all of the paperwork, and I started dreaming about the ocean. I could not help it, and finally, I gave in to the temptation.

I just got up and left. I left my jacket on my chair so that it would just look as though I were going to the refrigerator or something. I said nothing to my secretary. I got to the elevator in the hall without anyone noticing me, which was surprising given how large the office was. There was a small satellite office one floor down, and my heart skipped a beat when the elevator stopped on the floor below. However, someone got in from another company, and she did not know me, and she did not know that I was ditching work to go to the beach! But I had to. I just could not control the desire. Haven't you ever had a desire like that? Out of control, just must do it.

I got to the underground parking garage, and almost ran to my car. I got inside, closed the door, and thought that now I had made my escape. The air conditioning in the car did not work either, but I did not care. In a half hour, I would be at the beach. I kicked off my shoes, and drove like a maniac. I tried to keep the speed down, but the urge to submerge was building inside of me.

In half an hour, I was there. I pulled the car into the first parking space. It was a weekday, and this particular beach was a favorite of mine because it typically was not very crowded, given that there tended to be rip currents and big waves, so this beach was not popular with families. Best of all, it was the middle of the work week, so the parking lot was far from full. In my overheated state, I could not understand why everyone was not there, but so much the better!!

I took everything out of my pockets with reckless abandon. Wallet, pens, notes from work, loose cash. It all seemed like such trash at the moment. I could hear the surf pounding the sand in the distance, and I just wanted to be on the beach, free of all the work related junk that was jammed into my pockets. I threw the detritus from work onto the floor of the passenger seat, and I barely had the presence of mind to keep the car keys in my pocket. I then got out of the car, and ran through the connecting tunnel that led to the beach.

Of course, I had no swimsuit, and no towel either. Who could be bothered to stop for stuff like that when daylight was burning, it was over ninety degrees, and the ocean was calling. I had just escaped from work, and I was not about to waste time at a department store buying stuff.

I put my car keys in a shoe and threw my shoes onto the sand about one hundred feet from where the waves were breaking. It was high tide and the waves were spilling up far onto the sand. The humid, salty air smelled fantastic. Gulls wheeled overhead, and the stress of work started to subside. The sea breeze had not yet kicked in, and it was pretty damned hot under the broiling sun. I had to stick my feet in the water. No choice about it. I rolled up my blue jeans. They were my best, newest pair of jeans, that I occasionally wore to the office with a sport jacket (still on the back of my chair in the office), but this was no time to worry about a little sand on a pair of jeans!!

I walked up just to that moving line where the water reached its high point before falling back. Then I took another few steps in. God, that felt great! Just as I was starting to relax, a voice interrupted me, asking if I knew whether the restaurant on the pier was open. My initial reaction was to think, "who cares?" However,when I turned around, my irritation quickly subsided. Standing to my side was a beautiful young woman in her mid twenties or so. She was standing barefoot in a pair of dark blue jeans and a light blue denim shirt, tied off at the midriff. She clutched her shoes in one hand. She had long brown shiny hair that fell past her shoulders, but not styled in any way. Completely natural. I could see a line of sweat on her forehead. It was that hot.

I blurted out, "You look hot."

She completely misunderstood my meaning, and said "Of all the lines, that is ridiculous!!"

Before I could clarify, she threw up her hands in disgust, and slapped her hands against her hips, dropping both shoes into the water that had just come up again.

"My shoes!" she exclaimed.

But it was high tide, and the wave that had just came in started to rush out again. I could feel the wave pulling sand back out into the ocean, as the sand, mingled with the water, rushed past my feet. The receding wave had some speed to it, and so did the woman's shoes. She and I both raced forward to grab them, when another, much larger wave started to break close in to where we now were. It all happened in a second. Before she could pick up either of the shoes, a wave crashed down just a foot from where she was standing. The surf then rushed in with the high tide.  I was immediately soaked above my knees, and Sandi (I later found out her name), who was standing a foot or so further in, was drenched to the middle of her thighs. There was a strong current, so the shoes had completely disappeared into the undertow.

As the wave then receded with a rush back out, soaking the backs of our jeans, Sandi and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.  Sandi reached into her pocket, took out a key ring with what seemed to be a million keys, and threw them up onto the beach, out of reach this time of the incoming surf.  She looked down at her soaked state, and said, "Those shoes have to be here somewhere.  I can't get on the bus without shoes.  My jeans are already soaked, so we might as well wade in a little more and see if we can feel them with our feet on the bottom.  Let's not go in more than waist deep. I don't want to get my shirt or hair wet, because I have to be somewhere later."

Frankly, I would have liked to see her all the way in, but I told her, "Waist deep, my thoughts exactly."  I told her that earlier, I was just talking about the weather being hot, and she frowned and said, "so I'm not hot after all?"

I was at a loss of what to say, so she said "Come on, it feels like an oven out here." and she grabbed my hand and we went wading a little farther out.

"Just up to my waist, I don't want to get my shirt and hair wet."

I agreed. This was so much better than being at the office, with all of that stupid paperwork.

At that point, the ocean subsided a bit, and the tide seemed to rush out, or at least that's how it looked.  We walked about ten steps in, and with the receding waves, it did not seem deeper.  We waded a little farther out again, and I began to wonder if we were on a sand bar, when suddenly, both of us walked into deeper water.  The water was suddenly over Sandi's waist.  She was chest deep and she looked down and said "Oh look, my shirt is all wet." I was fine with that.  You could see her black bra clearly through her shirt, and some great curves under that.

At that moment, while I was still studying Sandi's shirt, a large wave seemed to come out of nowhere.  This beach was known for that.  It seemed at least three feet high and was breaking right in front of us. Sandi yelled "dive, dive," so we both did.  Sandi dove in first and I just got a glimpse of her plunging underneath the crest, her feet disappearing in that gorgeous wall of water.  We dove under the breaking wave, and came up sputtering and laughing.  She said "so much for my shirt and hair, I look like a wreck."  Sandi floated on her back in the swells.  She wore little makeup when dry, but a little mascara ran down her cheek.  The knot in her shirt had come undone, and her shirt tails floated around her. She stood up, and the swells were above her chin.  Her silky brown hair was now plastered to her head and face, as the shoulder length part of her hair literally floated around her.  Something came over me, and I just kissed her, passionately. Irresistible. I could not help it.  This had always been a fantasy, but to see a woman this beautiful, so completely drenched, left me helpless.  To my surprise, she kissed me back, tenderly, softly and sweetly.  We broke off, and a little saliva dribbled down her chin, into the ocean.  We kissed again, while we hugged each other, and a larger swell lifted both of us gently off of the sandy ocean bottom, and then gently put us down again.

I told her that as long as we were soaked, we might as well enjoy it.  She enthusiastically agreed, and she dove under and pulled my legs from under me.  She came up, with water streaming down her face, and I kissed her again.  We were in the swells, just past where the waves started to break, and the rolling motion, with Sandi soaked to the skin, was a fantastic combination.  Sandi said she sometimes came to the beach unplanned, and frequently wound up in the water, clothes and all, but that she loved the spontaneity. I told her that I felt the same way.  We must have stayed in the ocean for two hours. My watch had been pulled off by the waves, Sandi's shoes were gone, but we did not care at all. We swam back in and a monster wave crashed into us from behind. Both of us were swept off our feet and literally plowed head first into the sand in the shallows. We got up and walked out, with our clothes plastered to our skin.  Sandi pulled on the front of her shirt, and it literally made a sucking sound. We both laughed, and ran up onto the baking hot sand.  She retrieved her keys and we walked to where my shoes were.  We both fell forward onto the sand.  The baking heat felt great.

Sandi rolled over on one arm, looked at me, and said, "I must look like a complete mess."  I just rolled over on top of her, and kissed her wet face a dozen times.  Our clothes were getting completely covered with sand, but who cared?  Sand got in Sandi's hair, my hair, her shirt, her blue jeans.  We both were covered in it.

Eventually, we were so covered in sand, and the beach was still so baking, baking hot, that we got up and ran back into the ocean, and dove underneath another monster wave.  We played in the water until after the sun went down.

And that is how I met Sandi, with whom I lived for three years. Eventually, the pressures of life pulled us apart.  I regret that to this day. She went for post graduate training elsewhere, and I was stuck in that God awful job. Getting pulled apart was terrible.

But that first summer was the best. We went to the same beach every day that we could.  It got to be so bad that I was put on probation at work. Some mornings, I would drive Sandi to work, and then drive to my office.  Or at least that was the plan.  When I saw her kick off her shoes to get in the car, something came over me.  I loved her, and I would find myself driving us to the beach.  Sandi felt the same way, and she would just look at me, smile, and say that she just felt too sick to work. Only plunging into the ocean could cure it. Then we would both laugh, and we were happy. We were terrible employees, but many days, we were wet, drenched and happy.

Sometimes, Sandi had to dress up for work at the bank. But if the temperature was over seventy degrees, we were helpless. Instead of getting on the highway to work, I took a left turn towards the shore.  Sandi would smile, and hum a tune.  Once, she was in her best red suit jacket with a dressy white blouse, black skirt but no hose underneath. When we got to the beach (it was a scorcher that day, work had no chance), we just threw down our shoes and keys, and all of that work junk, and ran and PLUNGED into the waves.  Sandi came up, hair plastered to her head, and wrapped her arms and legs around me.  We made love right there in the ocean, which was not easy, but we had to do it.  Just had to.  We stayed in the water all day, until the first stars began to come out. The red suit jacket was completely ruined, but who cared?

I have never again found anyone with as much zest for life, albeit a soaked and drenched life, as Sandi.  Although we are no longer together, the memory of those three years will be part of me forever.

ralphfred2
copyright 2013
may not be re-published without permission of the author
all rights reserved


by Leather Angels, wetlook 081-8 Nikki



LOW TIDE

By Ralphfred2 © 2013


As you know from the last installment, after I met Sandi, my performance at work went rapidly downhill.  Every time I looked at Sandi, my self control vanished, and work, well, who cared?  I don't know how it kept happening, but we would wind up at the beach. I tried to fight it, stay professional, but . . .

That same July when I first met Sandi, the temperature and humidity kept going up.  Less than two weeks after I met Sandi, we were already living together, but my house was not air conditioned.  Sandi and I had spent a sleepless, sweaty night (not completely without its benefits), and when the alarm went off for work, there was only one thought in my mind.  I said nothing to Sandi, but I could see the smile on her face.

"Sandi, no beach stop-off this morning, or Morton will fire me."

"Okay, I didn't say anything," Sandi purred, but she smiled.

"I know that look, and we just can't.  The mortgage payment is due next week, and we just can't screw up."

Sandi said absolutely nothing, but she just had this impish grin on her face.  I knew what that meant, but I said nothing. I was learning that she was very impulsive and spontaneous, but in a terrific way. However, not this morning, no way.

She said, "work, right, work, I know." She then softly muttered something about "Morton can take a long walk off a short pier."  I smiled at the image. The guy was born in a suit and tie.  He probably slept that way, dress shoes on, files at the ready.  But he really was on my case.  I did not want to get put on probation at work, although some days, I just did not give a damn.

Sandi was more like a conspirator in crime, and not the best influence.  But I was crazy about her, and in any contest between Mr. Morton and Sandi, well . . .

We left the house, both of us dressed casually for work.  Sandi wore a nice pair of new dark pressed blue jeans, with a thoroughly professional pink long sleeved dry cleaned blouse, with some nice loose frills around the cuffs, that came over her wrists, and partly covered her hands.  I couldn't help but wonder how that blouse would look soaked; but no, this was Thursday; work first. Think right.

She had lost her black pumps a couple of weeks before (and you know how that happened), so she had her best brown dress shoes in her hand as we went out to the car.  We had been to the beach a lot in the past couple of weeks, so the car was not in what you would call great shape.  Sand all over the driver and passenger floorboards, one soaking wet towel in the back seat.  I was supposed to have the car ready for clients. This was nowhere close to being client-ready.

I looked over at Sandi in the passenger seat. She looked resigned for work at the bank.  Her bank was over-staffed, and her supervisor was pretty lax, unlike my boss, so I knew what she was thinking.

Sandi gave a little sigh, and said "okay, let's go.  Another day in the salt mine."  My heart melted.  She was so beautiful that I just loved to make her happy.  Every day.

"Sandi, we can only stop off at the beach for at most five minutes.  I've already missed several afternoons of work, and Mr. Morton is really on my case.   I have run out of explanations, and I have to get in early this morning to make up some time.  So, we'll just get a muffin down there, and then, right into work."

"Oh, goody, just five minutes!!  That will make us both so much more productive!!  Doing something you love in the morning makes you so much more productive.  You'll see, you will get twice as much work done when you get in.   Also, the traffic might lighten up in a little while.  We'll get in faster, and waste less time in traffic."

I looked at her face, and she sounded and looked so sincere.  It seemed to make some sense.  I was sure that she intended to go to work.  I felt in control as I made the familiar left turn towards the shore, watching the highway traffic headed downtown, bumper to bumper already.  It was already eighty degrees, and really humid.  Another scorcher!!

We got to the beach in about twenty minutes.  Everyone was headed to work, going in the opposite direction.  I felt like such a criminal, but five minutes at the snack stand, and we'd head back in to work.  We both needed to eat anyway, so this made some sense.

We got to the beach, and this time, I kept my cell phone with me, just in case that jerk Morton called.  Sandi and I carried our shoes, looking collected and professional as we walked through the tunnel to our favorite beach.  God, I must say that coming out of that tunnel seemed to transport me into a different universe.  The gulls were out looking for breakfast, making their high pitched cries.  The smell!!  God, it was good.  And the waves breaking gently onto the sand.  Sounded like low tide.  I really was coming here too often if I could know that just by listening.

I looked at Sandi, and I could see by the smile on her face that she was in heaven too.  It was like an addiction, although neither of us would admit it.  Perhaps there was a treatment program for beach addicts like us.

"Okay, Sandi, no more than ten minutes, and then we have to go back."

"Righty, ten minutes."

I loved the way she said "righty" and "goody." So casual a woman, the opposite of everyone at work.

We walked over to the snack stand, but it was still closed!!  Beach time was different from work time, that was for sure.  I then realized that the beach was still deserted, because it was so early.  But it was already hot and sticky.  Never a sea breeze in the morning.

Sandi was quick: "They will open in five or ten minutes, we'll just take a quick stroll on the beach.  It will relax us both, and we'll be happy and productive at work."  She playfully tugged on my hand, "Come on, don't be so serious all the time."   Who could argue with that?  It was still early.

"Alright, but no more than fifteen minutes, twenty tops, then we have to leave."

Sandi grinned, "So look at the time on your phone, and twenty minutes from now, we'll turn around and start walking back towards the tunnel, get a muffin, eat it in the car, and we'll be at work in no time."  Okay, that made some sense. Eating breakfast in the car would save some time.

We walked, and Sandi hummed a tune.  The gulls sang another tune overhead.  The sand on this beach was so soft, and was a nice light brown color.  It was hard to think about my sales report while walking on the beach.  I couldn't even remember our biggest account.  Oh, well.

Sandi pointed out that it was low tide. "We can walk closer to the water's edge.  The sand will be firmer, and we won't get messy.  We can lean on each other to put our shoes back on when it's time to go back."

I pointed out that I forgot the towel again.

"Oh, it was so wet and yucky, better without it."

That too made sense to me.  So we walked to the water's edge, and Sandi bent down to roll up her blue jeans, a nice new pair too.  They were stiff to roll up, but she got them over her knees with a little difficulty.  Then she went to work on mine.  Her fingers felt so soft at work, that I didn't put up any resistance.

We started to walk in the low tide wavelets.  Pretty tame, and Sandy tugged on my hand to go out just a little farther.  It was so hot that day, and the water felt so nice.  Sandi asked if I wanted to go out to a movie that night, and I asked her what was playing at our neighborhood fourplex theater.  We debated a little, and finally picked out something good.

We were wading almost knee deep, but the water was relatively calm, and it felt soooo good to me.  Sandi was on my right, so she was out just a little farther, and I could not help but notice that she had a couple of splashes on her cuff, but that would dry in the car, especially in this heat.

I was suddenly jerked back to reality by the ping of a text message on my phone.  Damn it!! I pulled it out from my pocket, and scrolled down.  It was just routine.  Morton: "Monthly sales reports due by the close of business."  That was to all sales associates, and not aimed at me.  Okay.

Sandi asked if it was important, and I told her "just routine."

I put the phone away, and not one minute later, another text ping. Morton: "I would like to discuss your sales figures this morning."  Hmmm, this one was irritating, and then I blurted out in alarm, "Hey, what time is it?"

"You're the one with the phone."

"Damn it, we've already been walking for fifteen minutes.  We have got to turn around."  I listened to myself, and I did not find myself convincing.

Sandi smiled her cute little grin, and I heard myself say, "Okay, ten more minutes, and then we really must go back."  I was still looking at that stupid cell phone when a small wave came in and got Sandi and me right above the knees.  The rolled up part of both our jeans drank up some water, and Sandi's rolled up cuffs on her jeans turned even darker.  In fact, on her right leg, the cuff had come lose, and the rolled up cuff was pretty wet on her right leg.

Sandi didn't care.  She was just delighted with walking in the surf.  We had drifted out a bit now, and the boardwalk was starting to look smaller and distant.  Sandi started kicking some water up as we walked, and she got me a bit wet, and I said "Hey!," so Sandi playfully splashed me with her foot.  I splashed her back, and got her good above her knees.  Her right pants leg was coming down with the weight of the mild soaking.

Then another text ping. Morton: "You will grace us with your presence soon, I hope."  I needed to reply, and we stopped while I fiddled with the damned thing.  Sandi and I were both focused on the phone, when wham!!  A medium sized wave slammed into us.  Low tide was ending.

"Whoa!!" was all that Sandi could get out. She was short, and was soaked to the middle of her thighs, and I mean thoroughly soaked, dripping wet.  The cuff on her right leg had completely fallen down in the water, and we were both now standing in a couple of feet of water.  I looked down at both of our now soaked jeans, and wondered what Morton would say about that.  Sandi's cuff on the left leg was starting to disassemble too.  Neither of us was looking nearly as professional as when we had emerged from the tunnel onto the beach.  A little water had also splashed onto Sandi's nice pink blouse.  Maybe the bank would make some allowances for her, I thought.

Just then, another text ping.  Just as I pulled out the cell phone again, and was fantasizing about Sandi being able to go into work dripping wet, another, slightly larger wave caught both of us by surprise.  One side of Sandi's jeans got soaked to the waist. "Holy cow," was all that she could get out.

Meanwhile, I glanced at the text. Morton: "Where the hell are you!!  Get your ass in here now!!"  These were all in caps.  I sensed some real anger and frowning, I started to look at my last reply to see what had set his anger off.  The wave started to rush out, and a fine layer of sand was deposited on Sandi's jeans, and mine too.

Sandi said something about the snack shack, but she could see that I was shaken by the text.  She grabbed the phone. "What is that asshole saying now!?"  Sandi read the text, and I tried to get it back.  She played keep away, dancing away from me in the surf, holding the phone up over her head, as she sang, "let him stew in his own juice."

I just had time to get out "Sandi," when a third wave really slammed into us.  I looked at Sandi, and her jeans were completely soaked to her waist.   The lower part of her shirt was pretty wet too, and certainly had lost it's dry cleaned appearance, that was for sure.  One of her shirt tails had come out and Sandi looked a little messed up.

Sandi was getting pretty wet, but she just laughed hysterically, and refused to budge, even as I pulled on her hand to guide us out of the waves and back to shore.

Just then a fourth wave hit us, and I almost lost my balance.  The ocean water smacked into Sandi hard, and she stumbled into me.  Then the water went out with a tremendous tidal rush.  Neither of us could stand still, and we both involuntarily took about five big steps deeper in, with the force of the outgoing rush of water, when the final wave of the set hit us both, and it was a doozey.  Sandi completely lost her balance, and fell to her knees.  The wave washed right over her her shoulders, leaving her head barely visible in the spray, and when she got up, she was pretty done, pretty well soaked to the skin, her blouse, drenched, and her jeans, drenched as though they had just come out of the washing machine, in the middle of an unfinished soak cycle.  Her beautiful brown hair was in wet disarray, but not yet completely soaked, just fairly wet as though she had walked in a very heavy rain for five minutes.  Mascara ran in small streams down her face. She was a sight to behold.  Actually, I felt pretty excited.  Morton?  The office?  I was just looking at my gorgeous girlfriend, completely soaked.

She deadpanned, "Hello, I'm Sandi, your friendly bank loan officer, at your service. How can we help you today?  Do you have a towel before we discuss your loan application?"

I broke into hysterical laughter, because Sandi looked like such a mess.  She still somehow had held onto her shoes and my cell phone, which was a miracle.

"Sandi, I think you have gotten the company cell phone soaked.   How am I going to explain that?  I hope the thing still works."

Sandi looked me full in the eyes.  I was learning that she had an impetuous side.  She got to her feet, with her soaked, now dark pink blouse hanging loosely over her belt, water running from the tails of her shirt, her dark soaked jeans completely drenched and disheveled, and she shouted, "Who gives a rat's ass about Morton, or your stupid sales job!!!" Sandi was literally screaming, but no one heard, except for me and the sea gulls.

"Let Morton rot in hell!!!  I'm sick of hearing about that moron!!!

Just then, the phone pinged twice for successive text messages.

Sandi turned, and before I could stop her, flung the phone as far as she could into the ocean.  I was flabbergasted.  Who was this beautiful, gorgeous, unpredictable, wild creature?  At the same time, I was also slightly pissed off that she had just flung a two hundred dollar company cell phone into the ocean.  I briefly wondered whether, if we listened carefully, maybe we could get it, before realizing how ridiculous that was.

Then I got a little angry, and I grabbed Sandi's nice brown (now soaked) calf leather shoes, and flung them even farther out into the ocean.

I was shocked at what I had just done, and simply stood there in the surf.  Sandi was actually competitive in her way. She then grabbed my dress shoes from me and, with a crazy grin on her face, wildly tossed them into the ocean.  It was an unbelievably good throw.  Now, everything we had brought from the car, including the car keys tucked into my shoes, was now out there.  I could still see one of my shoes floating about sixty feet farther out, but a rising ocean swell got in the way of a clear view.

Just as I was wondering if that was the shoe with the car keys in them, an even larger wave, with tremendous force, slammed into us.  Both of us were knocked down, pummeled onto the sandy bottom, and forcibly dragged by the wave towards shore. Sandi came up laughing, and only said, "I think we might be late for work this morning."

We both were completely soaked.  Any part of Sandi's hair that was not wet before, was now completely soaked.  Her hair was wildly plastered to her face, shoulders and back.  I was similarly drenched.  We just sat in the surf at that point, no pretense of trying to keep dry.  We were thoroughly soaked.  I looked over at Sandi.  Sandi's blouse was plastered to her skin, as though that was her pink skin.  Her bra was clearly visible underneath.  The lacy frills of her blouse cuffs were glued to her wrist and hand.  The shirt was completely pulled out from her soaked jeans.  Some sand decorated her blouse and her drenched blue jeans.  I leaned over and kissed her.  She kissed me back, long and gently.  Kissing Sandi was like drinking water.

Sandi felt around her collar, and said "Oh, my building entry card that was on a lanyard around my neck!!"

I just laughed. We had both just given in to the surf, which was relentlessly coming back in and washing over us. This beach had some monster waves, and Sandi always seemed to find a way to get underneath them.

"I need that entry card."

I said, "I need that cell phone."

"Maybe my nice brown pumps are somewhere out there; can you see our shoes?"

I couldn't see anything at that point. Salt water was in my eyes, and Sandi's too.

Sandi stood up, with streams of water gushing from her jeans, her dark pink shirt, and her beautiful soaked brown hair.

With that, she said, "Well mister, we've got one hell of a treasure hunt," and she ran forward and gracefully dove underneath a four foot wave.  I followed.  If I got fired, so be it.  When Sandi looked like this, I could not take my eyes off her.  I dove into the next wave and caught up with her.  She was diving underwater, and came up sputtering, saying, "no cell phone down there."   She waded farther out, the incoming tide rushing against her pink blouse, and dove under a huge wave, her feet disappearing into the wall of water.  She came up grinning, hair plastered to her face and head.

Sandi said, "Well maybe we should drive back to the house, change, and at least go in to work after lunch. We'll think of something to say."

"Sandi, do you remember throwing my shoes into the ocean?"

"I don't like where this is going."

"Well, the car keys were in my right shoe."

Sandi thought about this, while treading water in the deep swells, a very serious expression on her face, hair plastered to her face, a complete mess, fully clothed with jeans on no less, dressed for work, but treading water barefoot with me in the ocean, her shirt tails floating around her, and she just said, "Well, we can't go anywhere, so we might as well just enjoy our predicament."

That "what the hell" attitude is what I most loved about Sandi, and still do in my mind today. None of life's little problems ever really bothered Sandi. She just let them roll off her back.  She also found dozens of ways to find an excuse to plunge into the ocean, fully clothed as she was.  Utterly spontaneous.

Another monster wave was just breaking.

So Sandi and I just dove in, and we swam until the stars came out.

ralphfred2
copyright 2013
may not be re-published without permission of author
all rights reserved
Wet Fashion Fun, Clip 20 excerpt, by George000de
 


A POOL PARTY LIKE NO OTHER

By Ralphfred2 © 2013

A few years ago, I was sent on a business trip to Phoenix. After the conference, my flight did not leave until the next day, so I took a random drive with no particular plan. I drove around for a couple of hours, and finally was thoroughly lost in a residential subdivision. I'm one of those people that tries to not ask directions, but eventually, I had no idea how to get back to the freeway. I saw a group of cars in front of a house, heard some general party noise, and finally gave in and went to the house to ask directions.

When I got to the house, there was a lot of noise coming from the back yard. I rang the bell, but no one answered. A young woman came up from behind me at that moment, and I tried to ask her directions. She said her name was Amy, that she did not know the shortest way to the freeway, and said there were a lot of people in the backyard, and that someone would probably know. The thing that struck me about Amy was her long brown hair. Really silky, almost like a TV commercial. You know, super clean. She was nice and thin, and I have always been partial to that. She wore blue jeans and a purple long sleeved shirt, but tied off at the midriff. I just had a feeling right then that I was not going anywhere, at least not voluntarily.

So I followed Amy into the yard (as though I had any real choice), and there was quite a crowd around a pretty large pool, at least for a house. Amy grabbed me by the sleeve and led me towards a group standing near the pool. She explained to a guy that I was lost, and asked him which way the freeway was. However, it was so noisy that he could not hear the question over the conversation and music.

After asking three or four times. Amy looked at me, shrugged her shoulders, and made a motion suggesting a drink. I nodded, and she went off towards an improvised bar in the yard, with a couple of kegs in front. I had no appointments, knew no one in town, and so I figured this was as good a pit stop as any. But you have been to parties like this, where in front of the kegs, a fair amount of beer and other drinks had already soaked the grass and walkway. As Amy got to the keg, it was so muddy and messy that she took off her heels, and threw them near some others next to the bar, squished up to the nearest keg, and got two large beers, spilling a bit on her jeans in the process. She was definitely different from my last girlfriend, who guarded her shoes as carefully as jewelry.

I watched Amy bring back the beer with some amusement, because the yard was really starting to get packed. Amy would have to raise the glasses and sidestep various groups of people as she came back. She finally brought the beers back to our spot by the pool, handed me mine, and I thanked her three times, but she really couldn't hear me well with all the noise.

Now Phoenix in the summer is broiling hot, almost like a furnace. On this evening, the sun had only just set, and it felt like an oven. I could feel the heat from the concrete around the pool coming up through the soles of my feet. Strangely though, not one person was in the pool. About half the crowd had swimming trunks on, but Amy and I were dressed in blue jeans, and given how crowded the yard was, neither Amy nor I were going to move very far.

I looked at the pool. You know how many hotel pools these days are shallow, to prevent accidents. Not this one. Amy and I were next to the diving board, and it was deep, really deep, and beautifully clear and clean. The lights sparkled off the water, and it looked just so inviting.

We sipped our beer, and tried to make conversation over the noise, but that was tough. Eventually we drained our drinks, and Amy made a motion to go and get some more. She took my cup, but it was now so crowded that you almost could not move. There was a large group of people behind us, so Amy could not move that way. The diving board blocked the way on the other side, so to move, you had to walk along the edge of the pool towards the corner where there was a little room to get to the kegs.

Amy held on to my shirtsleeve for balance while she started to walk along the edge of the pool, but it was tight. She had the front of her foot on the concrete, but the heels of her feet were hanging over the water. Just then, a guy behind us lurched backwards, bumping into me. I tried not to, but I could not help taking an involuntary step towards the pool, right where Amy was. Just ever so gently, I bumped into her, and she started to fall backwards, towards the pool. She already was holding on to my shirtsleeve for balance, and now her other hand reflexively grabbed the collar of my shirt. She really grabbed the collar tightly, and so I stepped again towards her. But there was no ground left to stand on.

We both tumbled into that beautiful, deep, clear, sparkling pool. It wasn't the right moment, but Amy and I were past the point of no return. There was no regaining our balance, and in a matter of seconds, I felt the water close over my head. It was warm too, but that was no surprise in Phoenix in the summer. Then I was back to the surface, and I saw Amy, with her long silky clean brown hair plastered to her head and back. Her light purple shirt had turned a rich dark shade of purple. The knot in her shirt had come undone, and you could see her black bra clearly underneath her shirt. Her jeans had turned a dark shade of blue, as she treaded water barefoot. She was a mess, but to me, she was so gorgeous like that. I couldn't help it: she was beautiful and magnetically attractive.

Fortunately, she came up to the surface laughing. Some women worry about their clothes in a situation like that, and some take it in stride. Fortunately, Amy was enjoying herself, and I was having the time of my life, just seeing Amy completely drenched. Of course, there was the usual applause from the crowd, but no one else took the plunge. I guess that in some places, it has to be 120 before anyone dives in.

The water felt really good, and I felt luxurious swimming in jeans, getting to feast my eyes on Amy. Amy swam over to the ladder, and as she pulled herself out of the pool, the water cascaded from her. It gushed from her shiny, dark jeans, and fell in small streams from her shirt. She didn't care. I got out behind her. She motioned towards the bar where her shoes were, and we got our refills, and laughed as we downed our beer.

Amy shouted that she lived nearby, but before she could finish shouting the sentence over the noise, she started patting her pockets. I heard her say something about "my keys," and we edged our way through the crowd towards the pool.

Sure enough, like shimmering, shiny pieces of silver, there were Amy's car keys at the bottom of the pool, at the bottom of the deep end too. Amy just handed her shoes to me, and did one heck of a graceful dive into that pool. She got to the bottom, and just barely missed snagging the keys. I was leaning over the edge watching her, and as she came up empty handed, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me in again.

The keys were not going anywhere, and we just played and had fun in that pool, with the party going on around us, but who cared if some people stared and laughed? Amy was just so drop dead gorgeous in that pool.

We eventually got out (with Amy's keys and soaked shoes, finally), and made our way out of the party.

I wish I could say that this was the start of a great romance. However, even though she wore no ring, Amy was engaged to be married. We did not stay together that night. Since that night, I have thought about Amy literally thousands of times. I just can't help it. She is, and always will be, for me, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It is almost as though I have been imprinted with her vision. More to the point, of all the ways in which I have met a woman, that was the most fun, and the most sexy at the the same time. However, I have promised myself that if I ever meet another woman in remotely similar wet, soaked, and drenched circumstances, I will not let the situation end like that. More than how Amy looked that night, it was her willingness to dive back in and just have fun. It turns out that not that many people really love getting soaked, in the spontaneous and free way that Amy did. I will look for a soul mate, for as long as it takes, someone who is willing to plunge in, just as she is.

ralphfred2
copyright 2013 
Not to be re-published without permission of the author
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Chelsea Black Pants Sample, By Wet Kahuna