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Addicted to WAM by Loon
M/F, wet, story
This is the first in an intended series of stories about a couple and their WAM adventures. This first section contains a good amount of setting material, so the WAM and sex action is pretty limited. This is a story of fiction.
Part I The Beginning
Though this is not really a story about me, I guess I had better begin by introducing myself. My name is Bill, and I work as a systems engineer for a software company – I won’t say which one, but you are probably using one of our operating systems to read this right now. Anyways, I live out near the coast, and the money I make lends itself to a pretty nice lifestyle. I’m not rich, but I have money in the bank, a budding stock collection, and enough left over to enjoy things. I mean, what the hell? I’m single, right? That’s what being young is for.
Anyways, this story is about my neighbor, Julie. She and I have the top floor apartments in a two story garden apartment. Julie is about two years younger than I (so, not quite thirty, nosy), and is just a babe; knockout hardbody on a 5’6\” frame, wavy brownish-blonde hair down to her shoulder blades, just a perfectly sculpted face, and these bubbling blue-grey eyes. As it turns out, Julie also works for my company, but in a different division, so we see each other at work only occasionally. A nice person, college educated, a career-minded young woman on her way up.
Well, so this isn’t a story about what a humanitarian she is. I got to know Julie soon after she moved in. Neither of us knew many people in the area, she was a long ways away from home, and her boyfriend was having problems adapting to a long-distance relationship. You know how it is. She and I actually met during a fire alarm; one of our downstairs neighbors burned his toast, and his kitchen drapes. I had noticed Julie when she moved in, but I hadn’t had a chance to actually talk to her, so I sidled up as we watched the fire department scurry around.
“Kind of exciting for your first week here, huh?” I asked.
“Really!” She looked at me kind of sideways. “Don’t you live there?” she asked, pointing to my living room window.
I nodded, sticking out my hand. “Bill.”
She took it, finally turning to face me. “Julie.” Here we were in the middle of the night, me in some old sweats and a pair of raggy shoes, her in cut-off shorts and a stupid “GUESS!” t-shirt, hair mussed, no makeup, looking none-the-less perfect. Her breasts stood high, and she clearly was not wearing a bra. I tore myself from the view to catch her watching me watch her, and blushed.
We stood there watching the fire crew for about fifteen minutes before they agreed, almost reluctantly, that the whole building was not about to burst into flames, and we could return to our apartments. We went upstairs, and neither of us was ready to go to sleep, so we sat in her dining room, drinking beer, as we watched the firefighters pack up their equipment, and a dumb-ass local TV crew show up to do a report. We learned that we worked at the same place, but that car-pooling couldn’t be a regular thing, as she was in sales, and traveled around alot. Well, that suited me fine. I have enough senority to kick out early when the work load is light, and waiting around work for an hour or so just because I was supposed to drive someone home, even Julie, was uninteresting to me.
Look, I know how these stories are supposed to go. We get a little drunk, we start making out, we hit the sack. Sorry. It was getting late, the beers made us both sleepy, and I went home. We agreed that neither of us had good plans for Friday night, so we might as well do nothing together, and that was it.
In fact, it was the start of a really good friendship. How many of us secretly wish that we had friends like on Sienfeld or Friends, where we leave the doors open, so they can come in and out as they please? I know I did (and so did she, because we talked about it once). Well, that’s what happened. I am not saying we are funny like those people (even if they were real), or that there is anything really significant about it, but it is very nice. Julie became my drinking buddy, a few months passed, and we were regulars at the corner bar. (Is there anything better in the world than a bar you can walk to? I haven’t found it.) We had seperation, we were not dating (the boyfriend even made it up, once), but we were close, and relaxed with each other. It was a hoot.
But, there was some tension. I mean, I couldn’t likely forget about her looks, which kept haunting me late at night. I felt all sick to my stomach the weekend Rick (ugh) was up to see her, and I didn’t know why for the longest time. I mean, I have lusted after friends before (haven’t we all), but I know the difference between sexy friends and sex with friends. Julie has a killer body, and it would make for a few fun filled days to go up one side and down the other, but it wouldn’t be worth the possibility of losing her as a friend to make a proposition that she would not like. And, it was my assumption that she wouldn’t like my proposition.
But worse than that was the direction our talk had taken us. After the first few times out, it became clear that there would be no holds barred in our conversations. We talked about relationships, about sex, and about seduction. We took turns scoping the bar for each other, pointing out choice morsels for the other’s attentions. I learned alot about her; her sexual past (pretty active), her preferences (tall, muscular men – not me), what she hates (moustaches, hair on the back, bad breath). But there was stuff she left out – I mean obviously left out. But I couldn’t figure out what.
At the same time, I was editing my own contributions. I have not been too sexually active; career, insecurity, whatever. I don’t think I am bad looking; 5’8″, not fat though no muscle man, blonde hair/blue eyes, outdoorsy. But, I am not the greatest catch either, at least in looks. At any rate, my fantasy life had always been more active than my real life, and I was not about to let on that I had a fetish. Yep: WAM, all my life. I was into it long before I read the name on the web, or saw the videos. And now, I am in to it deep (pun intended). I don’t think of it as dirty, necessarily, and I don’t think of it as taboo, just something I don’t want to shout out in a crowded room. I wasn’t sure how Julie (or anyone) would take it, and I wasn’t prepared to gamble on the outcome. So I just left it alone. But it was eating at me.
So, one night we are in the bar, and on the TV there is one of those rediculous made-for-TV movies, starring the bimbo of the week, and named something like “Another Time Around the Block: The True-Life Story of Sarah Jane Betty, Child Prostitute to the Stars,” where the first thing you see is a screen telling you that the events, while based on a true-life story, was fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Crap. So, we were not-really watching, on our fourth or fifth beer, and Julie, who had figured out there was a major part of my sexual makeup missing from my stories, was once again trying to brow-beat it out of me.
“What is it, bondage?” I shook my head, and ordered another beer. “Animals?” I cringed. “Incest?” I looked horrified.
“I don’t have any sisters, and if you even are beginning to imply my mom .. . . ech!” I pretended to throw up at her feet. She grinned. “So, maybe it’s your brothers.” She smiled sweetly.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” I sat up haughtily and looked at the screen. Sarah Jane whatever was talking with some frizzed out reject who was supposed to be her boyfriend, standing near to a pool. As any true WAMmer knows, directors do not shoot scenes by pools unless they have a reason to have a pool there, or they are directing Melrose Place. I covertly turned my full attention to the television, wishing I was home with my VCR. I even wondered if there was someway I could duck out for a minute, and go home to tape this, but if something were to happen, I would never get there in time.
Julie was not to be ignored, or put off. She grabbed my shoulder, and tugged me to face her direction. “So what?” She thought for a second, then cringed. “Someone showed me these sick pictures of some guy peeing on a girl. That’s not it, right?”
“Blech!” I said, twisting back towards the TV. “Never in a million years! Look, it doesn’t matter, ok?” I took a pull of beer, and looked back up. The two people on TV were now sort of pushing and slapping each other to suggest they were being playful and carefree. Another great sign. I was getting pretty excited, just at the thought of sitting in a bar, next to someone who I thought very highly of, possibly watching a wet scene on TV.
But Julie was still persistent. “So, I think I have guessed enough. Tell me now, or I am going to start telling everyone you like to get dressed as a baby.” She looked pretty pleased with herself. The man on TV was starting to back up the woman towards the pool, a devilish look in his eye.
There was no way I was going to miss this, so I glanced at Julie, and without thinking, I said, “Listen, leave me alone for a minute, this is getting good.” I gestured towards the TV, and she looked at it for the first time. As I looked back, the guy went to give Sarah Jane the final push that would send her in, but she danced aside, and the guy went in headfirst instead, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “Arrgh!” I thought. Another WAM cop-out by the television networks! The female was in a tight light-green party dress, cut to show a certain swelling in the bosom, and an ample amout of leg. It was not an “appropriate” outfit for the water, by the network’s standards (women who are thrown into the water can only be in oversized sweatshirts and baggy jeans – men can go in anything), which was one of the things that had captured my attention.
“I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed. Julie looked over at me quizzically, but patted my arm.
“Keep watching.” she advised. The guy on TV swam to the edge of the pool, where the woman was standing and laughing. She bent down as the guy rose up, and gave him a kiss. But then he grabbed her by the head and yanked her in. The scene went on to show them splashing around for a few seconds, and there was even a shot of her coming out of the water to sit on the side. The green fabric glisened in the lights, and her breasts and nipples poked out of the front of the dress. Her beautifully styled hair plastered to her head. It was one of the best wetlook shots I have seen on network TV, and believe me, I try to make it my business to see them all (cliptape trading is a wonderful thing). By the time they went to commercial, I was rock hard, and almost visibly panting.
Then I came back to reality. It had happened! I was at the bar, with my sexy close friend, and we had watched a WAM scene. I was almost in shock. I carefully looked over at Julie, expecting her to be glaring over at me by now, or else looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Instead, her eyes were glued to the set! She was gripping the bar with one hand, holding very tight by the look of it, while the other hovered over the neckline of her dress, lightly touching the skin underneath her neck. And, she was breathing heavier than me.
This time, when she looked back, it was her turn to blush. She attempted to regain her composure by turning the tables on me.
“So,” she said, “you have something you’d like to share with me?”
I looked at her, stunned. “Huh?” was all I could manage.
“You said that if I left you alone for that,” she gestured towards the screen, “you would tell me what it was that you were in to.” She folded her hands, and waited expectantly. Damn her, she had regained her composure faster than me.
That wasn’t how I remembered the convesation going, but it was no use. I tried squirming out of it, but she wasn’t going to have any of that. She had locked her sights on, and was just waiting to fire. Finally, I had no choice, so I blurted it out.
“Fine, I like what was on TV there.” I pointed up. The movie was on, but of course, they had not returned to the pool.
“What exactly did you like?” she asked, still looking very innocent.
“The water stuff. You know, getting wet, like a wet t-shirt contest?” I just wanted this to be over, but Julie was really dragging it out.
“Hmm. Are you telling me that you are interested in, no, excited by seeing women get their clothes wet?” She looked at me curiously, like she was some kind of shrink discovering a new psychosis. I decided to just go for it, figuring that if she was really opposed to the whole thing, the damage was done.
“Yes,” I said, rapidly regaining my composure now that I had made a choice. “Although, sometimes it is fun to see people in whipped cream, or mud, or something else gooey and sticky.” I leaned on the bar like we were talking about who at work was getting a promotion. “And sometimes, I like it when women are wearing jeans, and sometimes when they are wearing business suits.” I fingered the sleeve of her dress, just to be obnoxious, and grinned.
“And do you ever do this yourself, or is it just a voyeurism thing?” Her right hand was still playing with her neckline, and I was starting to get fascinated by how it moved up and down. There is such a thing as too much beer, and I could tell this had spun completely out of control, and I should be worried about what Julie would think of me from now on, but all I was really paying attention to now was her hand, and her cleavage. Which was bad, because I was answering her questions like I had been hypnotised.
“Yeah, I’ve done it some times.”
“I’ve taken showers with my clothes on, or swimming around in a pond, and rolling in the mud. I even took an oil bath one time.”
“And what do you think of when you are doing that?”
She really had me going now. “I think of someone being there with me, and enjoying it as much as I do.” Does the floor always move like this?
“Who do you think of doing that with you?” Her eyes bore in for the kill.
“Different people.” I suddenly got very reckless. “You.”
Julie let out this little sigh, and closed her eyes for a minute. I was sure I was dead. She opened her eyes, leaned in towards me, and murmured, “I think we had better go now, Bill.”
We paid up, and headed out of the bar without saying a word. We walked towards our apartments, up the walk, and up the stairs without saying a word. I would like to think that neither of us wanted to break the mood that we had set, but the truth was I was scared to death that she had already written me off.
At the top of the stairs, she turned to face me, her back against her door.
“Well,” she said, “you could just go on to bed . . .” Her expression said she obviously had another alternative.
“Or . . .” I prompted.
“Meet me over here in ten minutes, and wear something . . . old.” She turned around and entered into her own apartment.
Well, I am not a rocket scientist, but Mama didn’t raise any dummies, and I could see where this was heading, if not why. I scurried into my apartment, into the bedroom, and shucked off my work clothes, putting on a pair of jeans, an old long-sleeve shirt, and my mucking shoes, an old pair of sneakers, with socks. I grabbed my keys, but left my wallet, and everything else that would be damaged by water behind, and made it out the door in time to see Julie emerge from her own apartment.
Do you know any women who have different looks at different times, all of which are attractive in their own way? Julie is that type of woman. At work, she appears professional, competent, and lovely. At a company formal we went to, she was elegant and sophisticated, a completely different person than I was used to, achingly beautiful in a straight black gown with soft curls in her hair. We have gone for groceries in her around-the-house getup, a loose shirt and sweats that tug in all the right places, and played football, where she was the darling of my friends in a tight t-shirt and jeans. But, I had never seen her before like that night; tight sweater and pleated skirt, bobby socks and saddle shoes, hair in a pony tail. The complete cheerleader.
She must have seen my jaw hit the floor, and grinned triumphantly. “Not bad, huh?” she asked as she whirled around, letting me see a fair expanse of thigh. There was a button-down oxford under her sweater (which, by the way, wasn’t a real cheerleader sweater, but rather one of those pull-over knit things, in yellow), and she even had time to throw on a little makeup, not that she needs it. I leaned in close, and took a breath. Yep, she had freshened her perfume as well – Tommy Boy, and boy does it smell good on her.
“It . . . ah, looks good,” I stammered out, then halted. How do you describe a sunrise, a rainbow, or a star in the sky? Julie was all those things and more, and I had it so bad for her at that moment that I could hardly stand up straight.
“So . . .” I said.
“So.” she agreed. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the stairs. “Come on.”
We walked out of the building, and she led me around back. Behind our apartments is a partking lot, and beyond that is a border of trees, with a little path down it. We had both gone down there before, and I knew it led to a golf course on the left, and a small inlet off of the river that runs near our community, to the right. I thought I knew where we were heading (towards the inlet), but I was wrong, as Julie set off across the golf course, still towing me behind her.
As we were walking, I decided to end some of the mystery. “So, what do you think?” I asked.
“About you?” I grunted. What else? “Well, it’s what I always thought.”
“Huh?” Now I was back to being shocked. “What do you mean?”
She giggled (very sexy). “Well, there was always certain things that you didn’t talk about, but were eager to have me talk about to you. After a while, it just became obvious.”
“Huh?” My vocabulary was not improving.
“Well, remember how I told you about babysitting, and what happened?”
Did I? Before she graduated high school, she had sitted a couple of kids for a wealthy doctor on a weekly basis. The family had a pool, and when she would show up, the kids would usually be swimming. So, one day, according to Julie, the boy told her that they couldn’t go swimming because their mother had put their swimsuits in the wash. Juile asked him why he didn’t go swimming in his shorts, and the boy replied that people couldn’t swim in their clothes. So, on a bet, Julie had dived in to the pool in her school clothes; jeans and an Izod shirt. She said the kids had been amazed. I was too; I made her go through a complete description of what she had on, and what had happened. Yes, she had left her tennis shoes on. No, she wasn’t worried about what the shirt would look like, because it was only a couple of kids. Yes, she was wearing a bra, but it wasn’t very heavy and her nipples had stuck out pretty clearly. Yes, she got out of the pool several times, and then dived back in when the kids asked for more. I must have grilled her for about twenty minutes before I was sure I had a complete mental image of the event stored away for later reference.
“Oh yeah.” I said, reluctant now to admit my interest.
“Well that was pretty obvious. And, there were other things too.”
Julie had been in a sorority at school, and the sorority had a charity car wash every year. Well, someone there had a camera, took some pictures of the event, and put together a sorority scrapbook. She had shown it to me. I had almost burst. There were Julie and eight or ten of her sorority friends, standing in a line wearing sopping t-shirts and shorts, whooping and holloring at the camera, while a group of guys looked on. Mostly, there were bathing suits and bikinis on under the wet clothes, but a couple people, Julie included, aparently had not planned on getting wet and were wearing skimpy bras, or nothing at all under the shirts (Julie had on a lace bra, and you could see all the details in the picture). There were a couple other shots from the carwash, all of which showed plenty of sorority skin, and wet outfits. I had told her that the scrapbook was wet-dream heaven, and that if she was worried about someone stealing it, I would gladly keep it under my protection, in my apartment.
So, I hadn’t been quite as discreet as I had thought. Big deal. In some ways that was better, because it meant that she had some time to get used to the idea. But, despite the fact that we were almost certainly on our way to some sort of wet or messy adventure, I still fealt a need to make her come right out an admit that she was not disturbed by my preferences. (Look, guys don’t always think rationally, ok?) Caught red-handed (or whatever), I could only grunt in acknowledgment. But she still hadn’t answered the basic question.
“OK, it makes sense. But still, what do you think?”
“You don’t know?” she asked, then made a noise as she recognized something on the golf course that she was looking for, and we headed off in a different direction.
“Well, let’s just say I want to be absolutely sure.” As we came closer (it’s dark out, remember?), I was now able to place a sight with a noise that I had begun hearing a minute ago. There, next to one of the greens, was a sprinkler set, throwing water over the grass. It was one of those automated things with two long arms holding three or four sprinkler heads each, moving along its hose slowly. The arms threw water to each side, covering an area about 20′ distant from the sprinkler. They were pretty common in the summer on this course, and we had just walked along the fairways until Julie heard the noise of this one. We stopped near the radius of the water, and she dropped my hand for the first time since taking it at the apartment building.
“I have been waiting for you to fess up about it for a while now,” she said, answering my question. She was standing near to me, and I could look in to her eyes. The half-moon gave our eyes plenty of light now that we were adjusted to it. “I don’t have any problem with it. In fact, just the opposite.” She was now running a finger along my chest, raising goosebumps whereever she touched.
“And that is what this is about?” I asked, nodding towards the sprinkler, then plucking at her clothing.
“Watch!” she whispered, and backed off from me.
She walked a few feet, and stood still, legs slightly apart, hands by her sides. The sprinkler cycled through, water hitting her calves and spraying her socks (not that I could see very well, but I knew exactly what was going on). She gave a little yip, and shivered. The sprinkler cycled again, and she gasped as the water hit her a second time.
Julie put out her hand, and beckoned me to join her. I timed it so that I could walk out when the sprinkler was somewhere else, and took her hand as I joined her. She gave me this playful look and asked, “Aren’t you going to get your jeans wet?” grinning all the while.
I grinned back at her. “Not if you keep blocking the spray.” I grabbed both of her arms so she would stay where she was. “I’ll bet I can make it all the way to the sprinkler without getting really wet.”
“Really?” she asked. “And what about me?”
“I’m afraid one of us will have to suffer.” I pushed her lightly, and she stepped a couple steps back, just as the sprinkler came through again. Despite my predictions, some of the spray was hitting me, and I could feel it now well above my knee, to the point that on her, it should just about be hitting the bottom of her skirt.
“This is a very nice outfit you have on,” I shifted topics. “Where did it come from?”
“Well, I was a cheerleader in high school,” she answered, “and we wore outfits that were similar to this. But really, I got it to tease the guys at the sorority picnics, the skirt and the saddle shoes, anyways. It got me alot of attention . . . uhgh!” she exclaimed. “The water is hitting me on my butt!”
Julie was definitely starting to breathe faster now, and I was reaching the limit of my endurance. It was one thing to think about getting her in exactly this situation, it was something totally different to actually be here. I could hear my heart pounding, I could feel the blood rushing through my ears, and I could feel every detail of the clothing I was wearing, where I was touching her, and the cool air around us, all at the same instant. Hyper-sensitive, but still wanting much much more.
Almost panting, I brought her closer to me. “Is your skirt getting wet?” I breathed, ignoring that she had just told me so.
“Yes.” she gasped, clearly as excited as I was.
“Turn around and let me see it.” I practically forced her around myself. I steadied us both, then dropped to one knee. Her exquisite ass was right in front of my face. I had actually massaged it a few times for her, and knew exactly how firm and well-defined it was. But, for the first time, I was seeing it exactly as I had in all my fantasies. The skirt on her was visibly wet, and one side clinged to her right thigh, curving to the shape of her ass cheek. The other side was still dripping water, and the point where the spray stopped was clearly visible on the dark blue fabric. I couldn’t resist running my hand down the skirt, feeling it getting wetter and wetter, until I reached her bare leg, then slid up underneath the fabric. The water had soaked through to her panties, and they clung to her skin.
I was now gasping for breath, as I dealt with the visual and tactile images before me. The sprinkler cycled again, and Julie gasped as the water hit the front of her skirt. Her hands came down and grabbed the skirt hem, lifting it up to her waist. We stayed frozen in that position until the spray came back through again, this time hitting her panties and skin directly. Julie shuddered with excitment, and my hands were shaking.
I stood up, and whirled Julie back to facing me. “So, I am not the only one with a secret, huh?” I asked her, looking into her eyes.
Her breath was coming in great gasps, moving her breasts in a most intoxicating manner. But, I was more interested in her answer.
“Yes!” she panted. “I love this. I can’t get enough.” She bucked as the water passed by again, spraying her back side. “Push me in further, please.”
I took a step towards her, but instead of pushing her on, pulled her to me and kissed her hard. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around me, pulling my head down to hers, and making little squeaking noises in the back of her throat. The water cycled through three or four times as we stood there, battling with our tongues. Finally, I broke the kiss, and shoved her backwards.
“Do you think you should get your sweater wet?” I asked her. I was feeling dizzy, almost beyond myself, like I was actually standing about five feet behind me, watching us both. “Well?” I demanded.
“No,” she replied in a very small voice.
“Will people like it if you get yourself all wet?” I asked, now really getting in to this sort of disapproving personality that I had always heard in my own mind when I was doing this on my own. Apparently, she was too.
“No they won’t. It is wrong.” She was almost completely gone now, her eyes only a quarter of the way open, her lips open and her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“So I had better not do this, then.” I whirled her around, and pushed her even farther forward, so that the oncoming spray hit her square in the chest.
That did it. She convulsed, doubling up, as a shriek issued from her mouth. She lurched forward, closer and closer to the sprinkler, until she was close enough to be constantly in the water. She stuck her head down, letting the spray hit her in the forhead, as she clutched her hands to her crotch. She shuddered again and again, crying out loud as a strong orgasm overtook her. The water matted her hair, soaked the back of her sweater, and came dripping down her front. Her butt was up in the air, the skirt half up, showing the wet panties she was wearing, and the motion of her hands down the front of them.
I had followed her in, keeping body contact with her, but not intruding on her moment. Julie was completely overcome by the situation, by my presence, but mostly by the act. While I participated, and we had kissed, I wasn’t sure how much of a shared sexual thing this was. For the moment, I was willing to wait and see what would happen next.
Finally, she gasped one last time, and stood up to face me. The sweater still his most of the details of her breasts, though as I passed my hand over them, I could feel the nipple pointing through. She was running her hands down her body, making smoothing motions over her skirt, and still trying to catch her breath.
“That was very good,” she panted, flashing a deep smile at me, as she pulled me down and kissed me again, this time, more tenderly.
“Umm,” I breathed into her mouth, as I enjoyed the kiss. This was the fantasy realization of a lifetime for me, and I savored the moment. Just to have my arms around her, kissing her seemed this afternoon an impossibility. To be standing with her on a golf course, fully dressed, immediately after she orgasmed from getting wet in her clothes was a possibility unexistant to the realms of reality.
Finally, a lifetime later, the kiss ended. She looked up at me, still leaning on my chest, and said simply, “Wow.”
“Wow, indeed,” I agreed. “Does this show have an encore?” She smacked me lightly with one hand.
“Can I rest first, please?” She grinned, and pushed away, heading out of the spray. Nearby was a sandtrap, and she went over and sat on the edge, her feet dangling down. “Something like that can really take it out of a girl, you know.”
I sat down next to her. “You don’t say.” I assessed myself. The water had hit me somewhat, though not directly. Still, I was damp, and the air was cool, so I could only imagine how she was feeling. I put my arm around her and pulled her close, to share our warmth.
“Hmm,” she sighed, setting her head on my shoulder. “That’s nice, Bill. Thank you for doing that with me.”
“I don’t remember doing very much.” I wasn’t planning on hinting on how I hadn’t yet got off, but these things have a way of popping out. But, Julie took it without criticism.
“Well, I liked having you here. It isn’t the same if there isn’t someone to watch.”
“Is that what you like?” I asked, intrigued.
“Uh-huh, or at least in part.” She pulled back, and looked at me, impishly. “Is that interesting to you?”
Duh. Still, was that all there was to it? “So, how did this come about?”
“Well, I have known about what I like for a long time, ok?” It most certainly was. “I think when I was twelve or so, I found that water fights were more than a little interesting to me, particularly when it was out where everyone could see.” She looked at me like she thought I might think she was a little crazy now. “I’m not sure why things turned out that way, but they did.”
“So, you like WAM, and you’re an exhibitionist?” She nodded, a bit reluctantly it seemed. “And you want to know if I am ok with that?” She nodded again, looking directly at me.
“Honey, that is so ok with me, I don’t know how to say it.”
Julie laughed. “Well, I thought so, but you can never be sure. . .” True enough. We were both definitely getting cold by now, but neither of us wanted to moment to end. We snuggled some more, though now kissing again seemed a little forward.
In fact, I wasn’t sure what would happen next. I stood up, and gave her my hand. She rose up. Apart from her hair, you really couldn’t tell that she just had a soaking. My pullover was damp, but it wasn’t really clinging to me any more. Our teeth chattering, we started to walk back towards our apartments, arm in arm.
“So . . .” I began.
“What . . . ah, what is this?” I sort of gestured around.
“A golf course.”
“Thanks. No, I mean what we did. What happens next?”
“What do you mean?” She was being purposely obtuse. I hate it when women are obtuse. They know what we mean, usually better than we do. They just want US to tell THEM what we mean, so they can see if we have got it right. It’s like some kind of a test, for God’s sake.
“This was a once in a lifetime experience for me, and I loved every second of it,” I began, after a few moments to plan strategy. “Thank you too, for sharing this with me.” What was I after, actually? I wasn’t sure.
“Well, you’re welcome.”
“To find out that you have a similar . . . uh, interest, is very exciting for me, and I cherish the gift you have given.” OK, sometimes I lay it on pretty thick. But, since most guys are hesitant to lay it on at all, it usually works in my favor. Still, what did I want out of this? I was still unsure.
“Hmm.” She leaned in to me a little more. I took the opportunity to stop, bring her around to face me, and took her hands.
“Julie, I don’t know if this is the right thing to say, or if you will think I am moving too fast, but I want to do this again with you. Please? It doesn’t have to be a sex thing, and if you prefer, I won’t lay a hand on you, but I don’t think I could stay your friend if we didn’t do this any more, and I have to stay your friend, because you are really important to my life, so please don’t make me choose because it would kill me to think of loosing you, or loosing this, but I . . .” I sort of ran out of steam as Julie pressed her finger to my lips, hushing my stream of babble.
“We will have plenty of time to talk this over,” she said, in a very definite tone. I’ve heard that tone before. It means that she is laying down the law, and there will be no nonsense about it. “This is a part of my life, and I am not going to stop it. And you are a part of my life, and I want that to stay the same too.” I let out a sigh.
“So, can we do this again?” I asked expectantly.
“Who says we are finished now?” she shot back. That raised my eyebrows. I had assumed we were heading home. It was pretty cold, and she had already had her jollies. But, I should have known Julie better.
“Wow!” I said, as she pulled me towards the inlet.
“Babe, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”
End Part 1