Helen & Holly's Wet Adventures
Episode 1: A Snowball's Chance

Holly kicked the snow off her boots as she stepped through the door of her parents’ house. It seemed strangely quiet for a Saturday lunchtime. The front door wasn’t locked, but there was no sign of either of her parents. “Anybody home?” Holly called out.

“No,” came a voice from upstairs.

“Fair enough,” Holly replied, “I’ll just go away then.”

Grinning, she hung her coat over the end of the bannister and made her way upstairs to the source of the voice. Walking into her old bedroom, Holly found her twin sister Helen tucked up in bed and watching television. “What are you doing here?” Holly asked. “You don’t live here anymore, remember?”

Helen pulled a face. “My heating’s broken down so I stayed here last night. Bloody typical, it works fine all through the summer then goes splat on the coldest night of the year. Anyway, you don’t live here either, what’s your excuse?”

“I don’t need an excuse, I’m just visiting.”

“There’s nobody in. I told you that.”

“You’d better get out then! It’s gone noon, why are you still in bed?”

“Because I’m lazy.” Helen looked Holly up and down. “Doesn’t matter anyway, you’re overdressed so that makes up for me being in my pyjamas.”

It was a fair point. Holly was dressed very smartly in a short-sleeved minidress, mainly white but with a black floral pattern, with a belt, semi-opaque tights and knee-length suede boots, all in black. “Yeah, well... I was out last night and I just put the same clothes on again to come out this morning.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Helen. “More like you’ve been out all night and got so wasted you’ve forgotten where you live!”

Holly laughed. It was just like the old days, the two of them back together in their old bedroom, bantering, teasing and just generally talking nonsense to each other. Of course, as teenagers they couldn’t wait to leave the family home and gain their independence. Tired of being identical, Helen bleached her mousey brown hair blonde and had it cut short, while Holly grew hers and dyed it dark brown. Now, at the age of 22, Holly felt secure enough in her independence to wallow in nostalgia for a little while. She walked over to the window and gazed out at the previous night’s snow which today’s drizzle was slowly turning to slush. A devilish grin spread across her lips as a thought occurred to her. “Hey, do you remember the time we had an indoor snowball fight?”

It took Helen a moment to remember the incident Holly was referring to, but when she did, she gasped and roared with laughter. “Oh God, we got in so much trouble for that!”

“Yeah, and you started it!” Holly teased.

“No I didn’t, you did!” protested Helen. “I was in the other bedroom and all of a sudden this big lump of snow came flying across the landing and hit me!”

“Just like this?” asked Holly, spinning around from the window and letting fly with a slushy snowball.

Helen squealed as the cold wetness hit her smack in the face. She had been so distracted trying to remember who had started the fight all those years ago that she hadn’t noticed Holly scraping snow off the window ledge to start another one. The soft, wet snowball disintegrated on contact, spraying bits of slush all over her face and hair. “Yes,” she said, scraping the snow out of her face, “exactly like that.”

Scooping as much snow as she could into her hands, Helen reshaped it into a ball ready to launch back at Holly, but as she raised her arm to throw, another slushy snowball exploded on her chest. Helen caught her breath as the slush soaked through her white pyjama top, making the already cool satin material cold and clingy. “Right, you’ll pay for that!” she laughed, as she added what she could salvage from the second snowball to the remnants of the first and hurled it in Holly’s direction.

“Ow!” The more tightly packed iceball caught Holly in the ribcage, but failed to explode with the same satisfying “Splat!” as her soggy slushballs, although it did leave a slightly damp patch on her dress. Unfortunately for Helen, of course, Holly still had the advantage of being by the window. No longer having to worry about being discreet, Holly threw the window wide open and scooped up an armful of snow, wetting her dress far more than the iceball had done. Laughing wildly, she turned on her fleeing sister and dumped the snow down her back.

Half laughing, half screaming, Helen shivered as the cold, wet snow melted on contact with her warm skin, drenching the back of her pyjamas. She pulled the clinging wet material away from her shoulders and back, but it quickly slapped back into place. Scraping up leftover snow from the floor, she advanced menacingly on Holly, who was backed up against the window and quickly losing the upper hand; she had no means of escape and no snow left with which to fight back.

“Oops, I tripped,” lied Helen, lurching forward and delivering an armful of snow all down Holly’s front. Now it was Holly’s turn to squeal as the already melting slush soaked through the front of her dress, helped along by Helen who was taking a sadistic pleasure in rubbing the remaining snow into Holly’s breasts. “Gerroff! Stoppit!” Holly screeched as the icy wetness soaked into her bra. “I’ve got to go home like this!”

It was a fair point. Helen finished rubbing slush into Holly’s front and took a step back. The front of Holly’s dress was clinging to her body, her black bra and pink skin quite visible where the melting snow had turned the material see-through. Of course, the same had happened to the back of Helen’s pyjama top, indeed the thinner material made her skin even more visible amongst the folds and tiny air pockets trapped under the shiny satin. They both shivered and laughed at what they had done.

“Cold?” giggled Holly.

“Just a bit,” admitted Helen.

“Let’s get warm then.” Brushing the last of the snow from the front of her dress, Holly walked out towards the bathroom. Warm towels, thought Helen, what a good idea. She followed her sister out of the room but was suddenly stopped in her tracks by an explosion of warmth across her front.

“How d’you like them apples?”

For a second Helen didn’t know what was happening, then she realised why Holly had been going to the bathroom - not for towels, but to fill a tumbler with warm water and fling in in her direction at point blank range. Her front was now as wet as her back, but at least it was warm. Looking down though, Helen was glad there was nobody else around but her sister, as her pyjama top was now translucent and moulded to the shape of her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have worn a bra,” she sneered, pulling the cotton away from her chest. It settled back into place in a slightly less revealing way, although her nipples, hardened by the cold, were still clearly in evidence beneath the soaked fabric.

Holly grinned. “Your tits are almost as nice as mine,” she said cheekily, running away to avoid a glassful of water.

With an annoyed grunt, Helen gave up the chase and replaced the bathroom tumbler. Tired of being cold, she reached over and turned on the shower.

“Do you surrender?” Holly’s head reappeared at the bathroom door.

“Yes, yes, alright, you win,” sighed Helen, starting to unbutton her sopping pyjama top. “But in reality I win, because you have to go out in the cold again, whereas I’m about to have a nice hot shower.”

Before undressing, Helen took a moment to reflect on the situation. The girls had been brought up to believe that the worst things you could possibly do in life were murder, stealing, telling lies and getting your clothes wet – “You’ll catch your death of cold!” was their mother’s catchphrase when they were growing up. Now here she was, about to catch her death of cold after all. The quicker she got in the shower, the quicker she would be warm. Her pyjamas were wet anyway, and it was the coldness that was the problem, not the wetness. With a rush of mischievous excitement, she stepped under the shower with her pyjamas still on.

The warm water cascaded over Helen’s hair and off her face, immediately flooding through her already wet pyjama top, plastering it to her body for a second time. Her cold body tingled as it readjusted to being warm. The water flowed on down Helen’s body, drenching the areas of white satin which had previously remained untouched by the wetness of the snow. It ran onto her belly, around her hips and down her legs, gluing the satin to her skin and revealing more and more of her body beneath the material, like a sculptor chiselling away the excess stone to record every tiny detail of his model’s form. Helen turned around to allow the water to work the same magic on her back. Before long her pyjamas were completely saturated and hid nothing, as if she were somehow simultaneously clothed and naked.

“You’re even crazier than I thought! What are you doing?”

Helen opened her eyes to see Holly watching her with amusement.

“I,” announced Helen with a flourish, “am taking a shower.”

“In your pyjamas?”

“No, in the bathtub.” Helen waved her hand in Holly’s direction, lightly spraying her with water as she did so. “It feels quite nice actually. My pyjamas fell all warm and clingy and lovely, instead of cold and clingy and horrible. You should try it.”

“What, showering? I’ve tried it before. Usually with my clothes in the ‘off’ position though.”

“Well, now’s your chance to try it with them in the ‘on’ position.” Helen splashed more water at her sister, who squealed again and jumped backwards in a vain attempt to avoid contact. The warm droplets splattered across her chest, re-wetting a few patches of her dress which had begun to dry out.

In that instant, Holly’s rebellious streak kicked in and caution was duly thrown to the wind. Leaning on the wash basin for support, she pulled off her boots and stepped cautiously into the dry end of the bathtub. Showing great restraint, Helen resisted the urge to turn the full force of the shower spray on Holly; instead she stepped out of the shower and allowed her sister to splash her stockinged feet in the water which had accumulated in the bottom of the tub.

The warmth of the water seeping through the soles of her tights was a pleasant surprise to Holly. Enjoying the sensation, she took a step forward into the spray, allowing the cascade to run over her feet and up her shins. Her black tights instantly took on a glossy sheen. She wriggled her toes inside them, giggling at the squishy warm feeling.

A key in the door startled the twins back to reality. “Oh crap!” gasped Helen, “Mum and Dad are back!”

Suddenly both girls felt as if they were six years old again. “They’ll kill us!” hissed Holly. “Actually, no, that’s not quite right - they’ll kill you. I’m in the clear.” With that she stepped out of the bathtub and rapidly began to towel her feet dry.

“Hang on, we haven’t actually done anything wrong!” Helen half-whispered. “We can get away with this.” With some difficulty, she stripped out of her sodden, clingy pyjamas, dumped them in the wash basin and wrapped herself in a towel. “You stick your boots back on, I’ll get rid of the evidence.”

She began to wring the excess water out of her pyjamas, while Holly slipped her still damp feet back into her boots. She opened the bathroom door slightly and peeked out. “All clear,” she whispered.

The girls tiptoed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Helen hung her soggy pyjamas over the radiator to dry and began to towel herself off, while Holly slipped Helen’s cardigan over her dress to cover the damp patches and bounded downstairs. “Hi Mum, hi Dad!” The inaudible squelching of Holly’s wet tights inside her boots was the only evidence of the girls’ wet fun and a delicious reminder of their mischief. They were home and dry... this time.

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