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
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