It was back in the late 1960's, and we had recently moved into our new house, in a quiet, middle-class, residential neighborhood of a small Midwestern town. The street was lined with white wood frame houses, tall shade trees, and freshly mown lawns. This particular evening was going to be perfect for my plan: the air was still, dry, and very hot, and my parents and brother would all be away until late tomorrow.
I'd been planning this for months ever since my Dad got his transfer, and after we finally moved a couple weeks ago, I'd immediately started checking out the neighborhood guys. I had been paying special attention to Bob, and had now decided that he would be the one. He was a senior at the local high school (one year ahead of me), he lived right next door, the girls at school all said he was gentle and kind, he didn't have a girlfriend, and he was really cute.
My body may never have been on a magazine cover, but it's the type that guys never really get tired of, having just enough of everything they like without overdoing it in any one area: long lean legs, hard butt, a well-conditioned body, round firm bust, pretty face, and long, brown, straight hair. I enjoy the way guys look at all of me, not just at one part like with some other girls. Of course most would like to do more than just look, and there had been plenty of opportunities for me in the past, but I'd never been ready. However, I thought it was best if a girl had a little bit of experience before marriage, and I'd decided that this was the right time. I certainly wasn't going to let it "just happen" -- I was going to deliberately choose who I wanted it to be with, enjoy it, and avoid any complications. I had now chosen Bob and was ready to put my plan into action.
He and I hadn't formally met yet, but classmates at school had told me that he worked an after-school job at the local hardware store in order to save for college, so I knew he would be home soon. As I waited on our porch, I watched the dusk deepen to darkness and reviewed my plans. Subtlety was important, as I wanted to catch him before he knew what I was after. To avoid scaring him away, I had to do what my brother had so often described doing on his fishing trips: hook him good before reeling him in. I was sure I could do it if I were careful.
You see, I'd discovered my own special "secret weapon" to attract and hold a guy's interest. The previous summer a bunch of us were horsing around in canoes out on the lake, and to avoid sunburn I'd worn regular clothes instead of a swimsuit. Well, of course all of us eventually ended up in the drink, and when we got back to shore, I noticed that a lot of the guys were getting hotter for me in my wet, clinging shirt and pants than they were for the girls wearing skimpy two-piece bathing suits. Not only that, but the guys watching me were the nicer ones, masculine but not all macho and self-centered.
Later in the summer I "accidentally" got myself drenched a couple more times to see if this effect on guys was consistent, and it was. Other girls either hadn't figured this out, or else they were too prim and proper to take advantage of the knowledge. To my surprise, I'd also discovered that the sensation of wet clothes clinging to me, combined with the feeling of doing something forbidden and slightly naughty, got me excited, too. I had even considered arranging, as an experiment, a fully-clothed soaking just for my own pleasure, but I'd never actually tried that.
Now back to the story. To keep in shape, I stay active, and I had just come back from a game of tennis with a girl from school and had showered when I got home. Another time, knowing that an empty house when I returned presented an unusual opportunity, I would certainly have worn my white tennis dress, and then gotten in the shower without undressing to see what that would feel like. But tonight I had something else in mind, so I'd just worn cutoffs and a sweatshirt for the game, and I peeled everything off before showering, saving my energy for later.
After the shower I dried off completely and put on the clothes I had chosen in advance. First, soft pink cotton underpants, and a pair of medium-brown denim shorts, sufficiently snug to be flattering, but loose enough to allow free movement, and with legs extending modestly half-way to my knees. Then a lacy white bra and a short-sleeved medium-weight white cotton shirt with a fine flower print. I left the top two shirt buttons open, but not wanting to come on too strong, I buttoned the rest and tucked the shirt into my shorts. I put on open sandals, since I'd found that nearly-bare feet help catch a boy's eyes. Together, this outfit would show off my figure nicely, leaving enough uncovered to hold Bob's attention. Later in the evening, it was going to show my figure even better, but still without revealing so much as to make him think I was "loose." Finally, I brushed out my long, brown hair until it was shiny and soft, and put on just a touch of make-up (waterproof, of course). I picked out my tiniest handbag and stuffed a two-piece bathing suit in it, though not for the usual reason.
I was already somewhat excited. I love the sensual feel of my skin after a shower; somehow the brisk rub-down with the towel heightens my sensitivity and makes me feel warm and tingly all by itself. That feeling, the frustration of forgoing my long-awaited experiment in the shower, and the anticipation of what I hoped to accomplish tonight, all combined to deepen my breathing and quicken my pulse. I had to be careful not to fall off the porch railing where I was now perched.
When at last Bob's convertible came slowly cruising down our street, as it had each of the past two evenings, I hopped off the railing and wandered over to his driveway, being careful to arrive next to the passenger door just as he pulled to a stop. I introduced myself as his new neighbor, and, knowing how proud guys are of their wheels, told him "Nice car." I walked slowly around the car, pretending to check out its profile admiringly, but really to give him the opportunity to check out my profile admiringly. He tried hard to act normal, but it was clear he was interested in me, and at the same time he didn't know quite what to make of me. That was just right; if he was a little off-balance he'd be easier to catch.
When I had circled the whole car and again stood by the passenger door, I stopped and made some small talk with him, casually leaning over the door a couple times to give him a quick peek down the front of my shirt. With only two buttons open he couldn't see much, but of course his eyes darted there anyway. This reassured me that although he was a nice polite boy, he did have what it would take for what I had in mind. I mentioned two or three times how hot it was, that I was just boiling, and how much I'd like a swim. I was sure he had a pool in his backyard, but it seemed like he'd never take the bait. Finally he got the hint and mentioned that there was a pool at his family's club.
This was no time to play hard-to-get, and it didn't really matter where we went as long as there was water, so as soon as he said "pool" I opened the door and plopped down in the passenger seat. He looked at me, a little confused, and asked if I had a swimsuit. I just smiled at him like I hadn't heard him and said "Let's go." He shook his head and pulled out of the drive, still not quite knowing what to think.
As we drove down the street, I tilted my seat all the way back, slipped off my sandals, put my bare feet up on the dash, and closed my eyes. The breeze gently tickling my legs and face felt great, and my hair streamed out behind me. I noticed that Bob had slowed down a bit, so he could watch both me and the road. When we arrived, the club was deserted, which was perfect. I "forgot" my sandals in the car, and Bob led me to the outdoor pool and pointed out the door where I could change. I just pretended not to hear again, tossed my handbag onto a table, and said "Oh, that water looks wonderful."
It was quite dark by now, but the pool area was well-lit, so Bob would be able to appreciate what I had in store for him. The deep end of the pool had a diving board and a slide, and the shallow end, obviously intended for small children, had a long gradual slope running all the way from zero depth to 4 feet deep. I walked straight to the shallow end and took a few steps in, to where the water was just deep enough to cover my bare feet, telling Bob "This feels great!" He just stood there watching, not saying anything, obviously not knowing what to say. He had no idea what I was going to do next, which is just what I wanted -- it kept his attention on me.
I walked slowly back and forth for a few seconds, watching my ankles slosh around in the shallows, edged deeper for a moment to let the water caress my calves, then slowly moved on to just past knee-deep. When the water almost reached the bottom of my brown shorts, I stopped going any deeper and switched to just walking back and forth right at that depth. Bob had now forgotten all about pretending not to be interested, and he was just standing and staring at me. It had never occurred to him that a girl might deliberately swim fully clothed, and he couldn't tell whether I was going to do that, or whether I was just testing the water and would come back out and change into a swimsuit (if I even had a swimsuit), or whether shallow wading might be all I had in mind. I let him stew for a full couple of minutes, giving him plenty of time to consider what I might look like totally soaked. While he mulled that over, I just smiled and closed my eyes, murmuring "Mmmmmmmmm" as I walked.
I made sure to occasionally move fast enough so little waves would slap up my leg and hit the bottom inch or two of my shorts, darkening just the edges to an obviously wet and very deep brown. As I sensed the material starting to absorb water, a little shiver ran down my spine and I felt the thrill of knowing something erotic was going to happen.
When I thought that Bob was sufficiently excited by the possibilities, it was time for the next step: to keep him guessing and always wanting more. I waded back into foot-deep water, then across to edge of the pool where he was standing. Pretending not to notice what had happened to the bottom edges of my shorts-legs, I made some more small talk, asking him about the club and his family. He started to calm down a little and found his wits again. After a few minutes of chatting, he finally seemed to decide that my slight wetting was accidental and I wasn't actually going to swim after all. When he started to appear a bit disappointed, I knew my plan was beginning to work. That's when I flashed him a sultry "I'm still hot" and waded gradually but directly back to my previous depth.
Sure enough, Bob started looking flustered again. My unpredictability was doing just what I wanted it to, keeping him on edge. For another couple of minutes I kept making those "Mmmmmmmmmm" noises, as I waded back and forth between water only calf-deep and water just barely deep enough to touch my shorts again. Then I suddenly grinned at him and said "I just love the water, don't you," simultaneously backing up until the deepening water had swallowed a few inches of my shorts and the surface was just lightly brushing my crotch.
Bob grabbed a chair next to the edge of the pool and just about fell onto it. I then began a cycle of returning toward the shallows until my shorts were completely out of the water, then turning back toward the deep end, going about an inch deeper each time so Bob could watch the water lap that much higher up my round butt. Each time I moved toward him, he'd see a little more of the front of my shorts emerge darkened and glistening wet into clear view, and each time I moved away, he'd see a little more of the back of my shorts stuck tightly to my buns before they slipped back under water again. Crooning "This feels soooooooo good," I continued this routine until I was just waist-deep, slowly spinning a couple of times to remind him what my above-the-waist profile looked like.
The top edge of my shorts was now even with the surface, and just above that a couple inches of my shirt had gone semi-transparent and was clinging to my back and belly where small waves were soaking it. I could tell how turned-on Bob was getting watching me, eagerly anticipating what he now hoped I would do next, but wasn't at all sure of. What Bob couldn't know was what a delightful rush I had gotten each time the cool water flooded into my shorts and soaked another inch of my pink cotton underpants. I too was eagerly anticipating what would come next.
But first things first: I had to keep him wondering. I waded back up to where he now sat, next to the foot-deep water. As I moved, water emptied out of my shorts and coursed down my legs, leaving both fabric and skin shimmering in the artificial light. As I leaned on the edge of the pool, those heavy, wet shorts held my buns tight, and inside them my underpants were clinging to all the right places. It felt so good I couldn't resist squirming and wiggling my hips a little inside my pants.
After I was sure Bob had noticed my wiggles, I hopped up and sat on the edge of the pool next to his chair, and we made more small talk about school and his job. When we'd first met he'd been very polite about maintaining eye contact while we talked, but now he was having a lot of trouble with that. I could see his gaze wandering all over me: from the water dripping off my feet and my long, firm legs; to the puddle in which I was sitting, growing ever larger as it was fed by water steadily leaking from my shorts; lingering for a moment at the shirt stuck to my waist; and on up over the parts of me that were still dry.
He was trying to be cool and collected and to concentrate on our conversation, but as I gazed deep into his eyes I knew he was wondering, "Well, sure she got her shorts wet, but they're dark and still hide her underwear. Her shirt is white and won't hide much at all if she gets it wet. I can almost see through the little bit that's already soaked. Is she going to go any deeper? She seems wild enough, maybe she will, but she's gotten out of the pool, so perhaps she's had enough, or she might go back in like before, or ..."
By watching just below his belt buckle I could tell the effect these thoughts were having on Bob, and when they seemed at a maximum, I suddenly added "I'm still hot, I need to cool off some more."
Slipping back into the pool, I started wading directly toward the deep end. This time Bob was so wound-up that he jumped out of the chair and started walking along the edge of the pool, keeping even with me so he could get a closer look. As soon as the surface touched the bottom of my still waterlogged shorts, I slowed and took a leisurely, meandering path, enjoying the sensation of the water gradually creeping back up into my pants and underwear, until at last the waist-deep water reached the top of my shorts again.
There I stopped, wet my hands, and brushed them over my outstretched arms to gently moisten them. Gradually I began to cup my hands a bit, each time getting a little more water, until eventually I was pouring a handful of water over each arm, being sure to overshoot enough to get my short sleeves nice and wet. My bra straps started to become visible on the tops of my shoulders, and a small beige spot began growing down each side of my white shirt where the runoff was absorbed under my arms. Bob was beyond any self-consciousness, standing there grinning and shaking his head. He'd never met anybody like me before and still wasn't sure how to handle it. He sure kept watching, though, and I could feel my nipples getting firm inside my bra.
Next I began using my wet hands to moisten my cheeks and forehead and the back of my neck. Then concentrating just on my face, I gradually increased the amount until little rivulets of water were running off my chin. Eventually I was splashing cupped handfuls of water onto my face, leaning back a little so more and more water would run down to my throat where my collar was open, into the buttoned part of my shirt, and onto my bra. When the shirt had started to get damp and stick to my bra, but before it got wet enough to see through, I stopped, faced directly toward Bob, and dipped my head so that my long hair would all go in the water in front of me. Then in one quick motion I flipped it over my head so it would all come down on my back with a loud "splat!". Of course, this sprayed water onto Bob, catching him totally off-guard, but he stayed planted right where he had a good view. Things were going well.
I laughed and quickly turned my back to him, then pulled my hair over my head and dipped it in front of me again. This gave Bob a clear view of the back of my shirt, which had been completely drenched by all my wet hair. The shirt was now pasted tightly to my back, tracing a clear outline of the whole back of my white bra, and between the wrinkles it was semi-transparent and took on my flesh tone. I paused for a moment to let Bob get an eyeful, then flipped my hair back again. This time Bob was quicker, and dodged the water. One more time I pulled my hair in front of me and bent over, submerging it. This I time I turned to face him again, and raising my head slowly from the waist-deep water, I leaned back and let my long hair all plaster itself heavily against my chest, finishing the job of soaking my clothes. I giggled as all that cool water hit me at once, but my hair was blocking both my view of Bob and his view of me.
The knowledge that I had Bob just short of drooling, and the feeling of being fondled by my clingy wet bra and shirt and by all that water running down my body, were getting me so excited that I almost forgot about my plan, but this was no time to blow it. I knew my nipples were so hard by now that they'd be visible even through my wet clothing, and if I moved my hair Bob was going to see what he'd been anxiously hoping and waiting for, but my plan called for keeping him tantalized just a little bit longer. So I took a deep breath, ducked completely under water, and swam out into the middle of the deep end. When I surfaced, laughing, everything from my neck down was still under water. I stayed in the middle just treading water, while poor Bob tried to stare through all the little waves that were distorting his view.
Taking pity on him, I switched to floating on my stomach, so he could admire my dark wet buns bobbing out of the water, and then to a back float, which showed off my well-rounded breasts ever so nicely. I kept making eye contact with him and smiling innocently, and Bob started to blush. Before he could regain his composure, I squealed out "Ooooo, a slide," and swam quickly to the ladder at the deep end. Climbing up out of the water, my clothes must have weighed about 10 pounds, but it was worth the effort to get the effect.
As I stepped upright onto the pool deck and got my hair behind me, water was streaming off every part of my body, and every piece of outer- and under-wear I had on was hugging me like it was glued to my skin. The effect of the white shirt was especially good, since it looked almost like you could see right through it, and Bob could see where my nipples were straining against my bra cups, but it still hid enough to keep him wanting more. It felt really erotic to me, too, and I had to keep moving to hide how aroused I was.
I climbed up the slide ladder, shouted "Come on, this is fun!," and slid down into the water, making the biggest splash that I could. Bob wasn't quite ready to join me, but he was sure enjoying the show. I climbed out and did a swan dive off the diving board, which made my clothes go really tight to my body when I stretched out, then climbed out again and did a quick surprise cannon-ball right next to Bob. His reflexes were improving as he relaxed and started to enjoy all my flirting, and he dodged the splash remarkably well.
Bob was even cuter than I'd first realized, and by this time I was so horny that I when I climbed dripping out of the pool again I could barely keep my hands off him. Besides, it looked like he was about ready to jump in himself, and I needed to leave him wanting more. So I just told him "Wow, that was fun," grabbed my handbag from the table, and with water still streaming off me quickly disappeared into the ladies changing room, leaving nothing behind but a dark wet path on the concrete.
As the door closed I caught a glimpse of the expression on his face, which was priceless: it was now obvious that he'd decided to join me, and he was thinking that he'd been too slow and blown his chance. He didn't realize that I'd deliberately timed things that way, and that he'd still get his chance another day.
In the dressing room I paused for a moment to relish the sensuous feel of my soaked shirt snug and cool against my skin, of my sopping bra cradling my breasts, and of my heavy shorts holding my saturated underpants tightly against me. Then, resisting a strong temptation to linger longer and enjoy them, I peeled off all my wet clothes, wrung them out and folded them into a damp but neat bundle, dried off with a clean towel that was hanging there, and put on the dry 2-piece bathing suit from my handbag. The suit consisted of a modest halter top and boy-leg shorts, both bright red, so although not nearly as skimpy as a bikini it still showed off more of me than Bob had seen before
When I emerged and announced "It's getting late, I'd better go home now," he just shook his head again, laughed, and said "Sure, let's go."
He simply couldn't figure out a girl who changed into her swimsuit after a swim instead of before it, and he didn't even bother to ask about it. The ride home was pleasant; we talked about our hobbies, and he clearly liked the way I looked dry, too. I didn't mind letting him see more of me now, since I was confident he would be mine very soon. When he stopped at my house, I winked at him, leaned over close, let him feel my hot breath on his neck, whispered in his ear, "That was really great. Next time maybe you'll join me in the pool," then skipped back into the house before he could respond.
By now he'd surely figured out that I'd drenched all my clothes on purpose, and perhaps he was even beginning to suspect why and that I'd planned the whole evening from the beginning, but it was too late to matter. There would soon be another night in a pool, and that visit wouldn't end as quickly as this first time.
Bob had just dropped me off at home after my little escapade in the pool at his club. Entering the house, I realized that although I'd been dry for 20 minutes, and even my hair was now dry, that warm and tingly just-toweled sensitivity was still present. I had a big glass of water and an apple to try to distract myself, but my mind kept wandering to how cute Bob was, and how much I longed for another meeting. I was sure he would ask me for a date, but it would be hard to wait patiently. Even though I was wearing only my swimsuit, the house still felt hot, and my whole body was restless and aching for release. Then I remembered that my family wouldn't be back until late the following day, and that my cute white tennis dress was clean and dry and hanging in my closet.
That was too much to resist. I had never tried this by myself before, but my feelings of sexual desire for Bob, clingy wetness, and warm touching had become thoroughly intertwined. This idea had occurred to me before, and I'd even passed up an opportunity earlier that same day in order to concentrate on my capture of Bob's affections, but now the experiment would be delayed no longer. In my haste and excitement I even thought of calling Bob and inviting him to join me, but he would get his treat later; for the rest of the night I wanted to concentrate purely on my own pleasure.
Rushing upstairs to the master bathroom, I set down the big plastic drinking glass that I was still holding, and began filling the tub with water as hot as I could comfortably tolerate. Then I ran to my bedroom, hurriedly slipping out of both pieces of the red bathing suit. Standing nude in front of my dresser, I opened a drawer and chose a smooth seamless white sports bra that I wore for exercising and a pair of white cotton underpants. As I put them on, my breathing was already becoming faster and heavier from anticipation. Then I opened my closet and took out the tennis dress.
I had made it myself as a three-piece ensemble, and in order to keep cool during a vigorous game, I had deliberately chosen a thinner, lighter material than the commercial outfits are made of. First were the white panties trimmed with rows of tiny ruffles across the back and all around the leg openings, which went on over my cotton underpants. Then I pulled on the short pleated white skirt, which had a navy blue waistband and a hem-line a couple inches above my knees. Last came the button-front white blouse with short sleeves and a matching navy blue collar. I was trembling so much with excitement that it was hard to work the buttons, and I tied off the bottom of the blouse bare-midriff style instead of fastening the last couple buttons. Finally, I put on a pair of white socks and white sneakers, since I wanted to be wearing exactly what I'd have on for a real tennis game.
As soon as my last shoelace was tied, I raced straight back to the bathroom. Taking a moment to indulge myself a bit, I stood admiring my own appearance in the mirror. The material of the tennis dress was just heavy enough so my underwear didn't show, yet thin enough to really display my figure: the white blouse draped alluringly around my firm breasts, my navel and part of my smooth hard stomach peeked out between the outfit's top and bottom, the pleats of the skirt swished suggestively over my nice round buns, and my well-conditioned, exposed arms and legs completed the picture. Overall, a nice view that I was sure Bob would appreciate, but right now I was hot and impatient and wasn't going to wait for anyone.
The tub in this master bathroom of our new house was quite large, with two shower heads, whirlpool jets, and plenty of room for two people in the tub itself, and it briefly occurred to me that this could present interesting possibilities for the future. But right now the tub had gotten almost completely full, so I turned off the tap. Standing by the edge of the tub I felt, for the second time that night , the nervous thrill that for me precedes erotic experiences. Then, swinging my leg carefully over the edge and grasping the handrail for security, I very slowly lowered my right foot into the hot water. The feeling I got was entirely different from that in the pool, since this water was quite stimulating instead of refreshing, but the sensations were no less enjoyable: first just a slow warm leak through the sneaker itself, then as my foot sank lower the hot water rushed over the top and soaked my sock. I lowered my left foot in just as gradually, ending up standing in the tub with sneakers and socks entirely submerged.
I noticed that the floor of this bathroom was all tiled and had its own drain, so I stepped out of the tub back onto the bathroom floor, and took a few steps around, concentrating on the sounds and feels of my feet squishing inside my hot socks and gurgling sneakers. When they started to run dry I returned to the tub to replenish their supply of hot wetness, then squished around some more. This was everything I'd hoped it would be and I was eager for lots more all at once, but instead I forced myself to carefully prolong my pleasure as long as possible.
The edge of the tub was comfortably wide and just the right height for a seat, so I stepped back into the tub and sat down on the edge, facing into the tub, leaving the back of my white skirt outside the tub and the front draped over my legs. I reached behind me to grab the big plastic drinking cup and filled it with water from the tub. Using it as a pitcher, I poured hot water over my calves. The heat would normally have relaxed and calmed me, but in this context it aroused me and my hands started to tremble again. Still slowly pouring, refilling the glass as needed, and gradually working higher up my legs, I reached the tops of my knees, and watched as streams of water meandered across the tops of my thighs, moistening the edge of my pleated skirt when they reached it. As I continued to pour hot water onto my knees, the skirt continued to drink it up and its edge became heavier and less opaque. When I could feel its sopping weight in my lap, I stood up and wrung out the wet part along the bottom edge, then sat back down and let more streams soak it again. As I did this, other smaller streams occasionally escaped to sneak down the insides of my thighs, under the still-dry top of the skirt, stopping only when they were absorbed by the ruffles of my tennis panties.
Next I stood up and repeated the pouring procedure for my outstretched arms, working all the way up to my shoulders so the short sleeves of my blouse would catch plenty of overflow. When both arms were nice and warm and both shoulders thoroughly wet, I raised one arm vertically, and slowly poured water against the wrist. Each hot little river I created this way clung to my arm on the way down, found its way inside my blouse, slowed to leave a wet track across the side of my bra, tickled the side of my ribs, then emerged back into daylight as it crossed my bare midriff and slipped off the side of my skirt. I stopped only when the side of my blouse could hold no more water and wetness had penetrated through my skirt to reach the side of my tennis panties, and then did the other arm the same way. Then I used my wet hands to warm my face and the back of my neck, increasing the volume of water until many little trickles had thoroughly moistened both the front and back of my collar.
I couldn't hold back much longer, so I bent my head forward, pushed my long hair to one side, took a full glass of hot water, and poured it gently onto my upper back, luxuriating in the feel of it slowly soaking my blouse, pausing as it saturated the wide back of my sports bra, then on down the blouse to the bare small of my back. A second glass of water continued the stream to my skirt, where the flow split. Most of it ran outside down the pleats of the skirt, weighting it down as the skirt absorbed all the water it could, the excess dripping into the tub; but the rest crept inside the skirt's waistband and pushed an ever-growing wet spot ahead of it down my buns, soaking into one row of panty ruffles after another until it almost reached my crotch.
Shaking now with pleasure, I leaned back my head and began to pour the third glass onto my throat. My collar was immediately drenched, and as I poured faster my breasts felt an arousing heat as the hot water saturated both the blouse and the cups of my now clearly visible bra. A fourth glass washed over my chest, pushed out from under the knotted bottom of the blouse, on over my midriff, and split over the top of my skirt. My blouse and bra were now completely soaked, and most of my skirt was heavy with water streaming off into the tub. The gentle but potent waves of hot sogginess now penetrating under my skirt were converging on and had nearly reached the most sensitive part of my body, and I was unable to hold back any longer. Pulling open my skirt and the waist of my tennis panties, I dumped a whole glass of hot water between the panties and the white cotton underpants I wore underneath, instantly and totally drenching them both.
With all my clothing now dripping and clinging hotly, enveloping me like the intense embrace of an invisible lover, and barely able to even stand any longer, I lowered myself fully into the water. As I sat down my skirt billowed up, and I had to push the few remaining dry spots under water to submerge it. The powerful heat of the bath water engulfed my thighs and crotch, and I knew my release would come soon. Leaning back, I held my nose and dunked my whole body, head, and hair under the surface, then came up just far enough to breathe again. With one hand gripping the side of the tub tightly for balance, my other hand crept across my breasts, kneading them gently, then found its way under my skirt, massaging myself in my favorite places and rhythms. Only seconds later I finally climaxed, moaning and rolling in the tub. Water sloshed over onto the bathroom floor in waves, but I didn't even notice. This had been building up all night, and nothing else mattered now.
For a long time I just lay there submerged, totally relaxed and basking in the warmth. Finally I realized how sleepy I was and decided to go to bed. I lazily stood up again, using the handrails for leverage against the heavy pull of my sopping tennis clothes. As I stepped out of the tub, I paused one last time in front of the mirror. The thin white fabric made this outfit a lot more revealing when wet than what I had worn earlier in the pool. Checking out the view from the back first, I could see that my blouse, now practically glued to my body, had become completely transparent, and even the smooth white bra was sufficiently translucent that it took on my skin tone. My blue collar was now a very dark navy blue, and it had acquired an attractive shine. The skirt hung wet and heavy, but the ruffles on the back of my panties were nevertheless clearly visible underneath. Turning slowly in the puddle that had already formed under me, I could see that things looked equally good from the front: every curve I had was visible through the blouse, and even my nipples were faintly visible right through the translucent bra. When I flipped up the front of the skirt, the edge of my underpants could easily be distinguished right through the tennis panties. Since everything was quite absorbent and held lots of water, it all kept dripping for a long time, creating a very enticing, feminine look. I decided right then that this would be exactly what I'd wear next time Bob took me swimming, and I hoped it would be soon.
Cleanup could wait until tomorrow, so I stripped off the sodden sneakers, blouse, skirt, and tennis panties, followed by the socks, bra, and underpants, dropping them all in a big wet pile on the floor. Then I quickly dried off, pulled the plug to let the tub drain, slipped into my summer pajamas, jumped into bed, and immediately drifted off to sleep, thinking about water and Bob and tennis dresses and doing it all again. I had an exciting feeling that soon I would have someone to share my bathing pleasures with.