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