It’s wet outside

It’s raining here today, not that lovely summer rain you might picture, but a big fat storm, cold and windy. Too cold and windy to go outside, but if you did, it’s the kind of rain you can feel hitting your skin. Little stings where it hits, small pinpoints. Too cold to go outside naked, but it’s still fun to imagine, as I sit inside and contemplate staying here until the weather turns. Walking out, wearing light summer clothes instead of the warm sensible stuff I’m wearing. Succumbing to the fact that it will be wet by ensuring that I’m not wearing too many items. Maybe even just a dress and shoes, you know?

Why try to dress to stay dry when it’s so much easier to get wet? To walk outside and feel my clothes getting clingier from the rain, knowing that there’s no part of my body I can hide, not really, with the way the fabric sticks to me. I could probably feel the water running down my back, maybe between my legs? Just wet, everywhere, drenched and nearly see-through. I know it would be cold, in real life, in this weather, but in the fantasy it’s just wet and I know I’ll be even warmer when I get back inside.

I guess I picture someone there, prepared with a towel, who looks at my body through the dress, enjoys the clinginess of the fabric, even though he knows he could just undress me. But sometimes it’s more tempting to look at the body like that, wet in ways it shouldn’t be, in clothes that should be dry, to enjoy the forbidden sight of something more than the invited viewing of a naked body. It’s exciting to intrude a little, see what you shouldn’t.

Sadly, there is no one waiting for me when I get home, no warm body to hide against from the chill, no temptation to go outside wearing less than I should, there’s only me. And today I want more.