Laundry Service
I’d known Katie for about three months. Well, I say “known”, we hadn’t actually met in real life. We first “met” on an internet discussion forum - not a chatroom, if you don’t mind, with all the sordid connotations that throws up; Katie was a very intelligent young lady, which was what had attracted me to her in the first place. Anyway, we soon found ourselves spending stupid amounts of time on this discussion forum just talking to each other, which then naturally progressed to e-mail, and then phone calls, which gradually became more intimate as we got to know each other better, until we reached the stage where we considered ourselves “an item.”
In her e-mails, Katie gave the impression that she was a little self conscious about her body. “Short and dumpy,” in fact, had been the phrase she used, although after very careful studying of the pictures she had attached to her mails, I would have favoured “cute and curvaceous.” Admittedly she wasn’t tall, a smidgen over five feet, but she had a very pretty face and - as far as I could tell from the photos - a full, shapely figure. She certainly wasn’t fat, but the fact that she wasn’t a micro-skinny model type endeared her to me all the more.
By this time we knew virtually everything about each other. Our entire family histories, likes, dislikes, hopes, fears, ex-lovers and, naturally, sexual preferences. In one e-mail, after a lot of deliberation, I’d bitten the bullet and told her that I was turned on by girls getting their clothes wet. I spent anxious hours wondering how she would respond, but when her next e-mail arrived the subject was quietly ignored. Whether she had written it off as a harmless quirk, taken it as some kind of code for “I never ever want to see you naked, fatty,” or marked me down as a dangerous pervert, I didn’t know, but the subject never came up again, and the e-mails and phone calls carried on as if I’d never mentioned it.
One evening, a couple of weeks afterwards, the phone rang. It was Katie, as it so often was, but this particular evening’s phone call was a bit different. Rather than taking the phone into her room and locking the door so that her flatmates couldn’t eavesdrop on us, tonight she was looking after her parents’ house while they were on holiday. “Why should I run up my phone bill when I can use theirs?” she reasoned rather cheekily. “And it means I get to use their swish cordless phone instead of the cheap and nasty one in the flat,” she continued.
The conversation soon settled down into its usual pattern; discussion of any vaguely interesting things which had happened to either of us during the day, and once that topic was exhausted, further discussion of the things we were going to do to each other when we finally got together in real life. This rather pleasurable conversation had been going on for around twenty minutes when it was brought to a shuddering halt as Katie let out an exclamation. “I forgot I had washing to do tonight,” she grumbled. “Come with me while I put it in the machine.”
I stayed exactly where I was and listened to Katie hurry downstairs and into the kitchen. As she loaded the washing machine, an admission from a half-forgotten e-mail must have suddenly come back to her. “Is this turning you on?” she asked.
This took me by surprise. “What?” I asked. “You loading the washing machine?”
Of course I couldn’t hear it, but she probably stuck out her tongue at that point. “But when I switch it on, all these clothes that I’ve worn over the past few days are going to get wet. That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t sure if she was being funny or had spectacularly misunderstood what I’d told her. “Er, yes,” I stammered. “There’s a bit more to it than that. You’re supposed to be wearing the clothes when they get wet. It’s the person inside the clothes that’s the important bit, not the clothes themselves, otherwise I’d never be able to pass a laundrette.”
“Oh,” Katie replied. “You mean like a wet t-shirt contest?”
There was a definite note of hostility in her voice now. “No, no, no,” I assured her. “Nothing tacky like that. A wet t-shirt is nothing, the girl might as well just take her top off and be done with it. It’s much better if she’s dressed up in her normal street clothes that she wouldn’t normally think about getting wet in. It’s kind of spontaneous and exciting, naughty I suppose. And the wet clothes show off your body, while you keep your dignity by not having to get naked.”
It sounded as if I’d been planning that speech for some time, which in fact I had. In fact I’d intended to refer to some non-specific hypothetical woman all the way through instead of relating it directly to Katie, but things got the better of me in the last sentence.
Katie thought for an agonisingly long while. “Well,” she finally began, “if the thought of me taking my clothes off doesn’t do anything for you…”
Oops. “Well, of course it does, babe, but… where are you going now?” I could hear footsteps again, and it sounded as if she was walking back upstairs.
“To the bathroom,” she confirmed. “I’ve had these clothes on all day, they need to be washed one way or another, and besides, if it turns you on, it might do something for me too.”
My heart began to pound. Was she really going to do this for me? If the sound of running water was anything to go by, it appeared she was. “What are you wearing?” I asked, desperately trying to sound cool.
“I’m still in my office clothes,” Katie seemed to take great delight in telling me. “White blouse, grey trousers, white bra and knickers, and now I’m about to get into the bath with all my clothes still on, just to please my wonderfully kinky boyfriend.”
By now I was grinning like a lunatic. It was unfortunate that I wasn’t going to be able to see it, but my imagination would certainly get a good old workout. “You’re a goddess,” I told her, “I love you.”
“I suppose I must love you too,” she giggled. “I don’t do this for just anyone, you know. Hang on, I’m going to switch to speakerphone. Unless the thought of me dropping the phone in the bath and electrocuting myself turns you on too?”
Although the question was probably rhetorical, I assured Katie that I didn’t want her to die. Whether or not she heard me I couldn’t say, because now the speakerphone was on all I could hear was the sound of the bath filling with water. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to focus. This was before they’d invented phones with cameras in them, and with no way of hooking the phone up to a tape recorder, I wasn’t going to be able to preserve the moment for posterity (Katie would probably have been mortified if I had), so I had to concentrate and try to remember every tiny detail of what was about to happen.
The deafening hiss of the running water suddenly stopped, and Katie spoke. “I’ve never used the speakerphone before. Can you hear me?”
There was a small rippling noise which I took to be Katie testing the temperature of the water. “Loud and clear,” I assured her. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, very well. Almost as if you were in the room.”
I sighed. “Ah, if only.”
“Mmmm, it’s a shame you’re not with me,” Katie agreed. “Still, if I don’t find it too unpleasant, we might be sharing a bath together soon.”
“I can’t wait,” I told her. “So this is only a dry run?” Another thing that had attracted me to Katie was her unquestioning acceptance of my uncontrollable urge to make the worst possible joke at any given moment.
“Something like that,” she giggled. “So, Mr Expert, how do I do this? Just as if I was having a normal bath?”
“Er, pretty much,” I told her. “I’ve never had to talk anyone through it before. In fact…” Was this giving too much away? Oh well. “…nobody’s ever done this for me before.”
Katie seemed surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I mean, I’ve been with girls who’ve got wet in the rain, or messing around on the beach or whatever, but nobody’s ever deliberately got their clothes wet just to please me. All my previous girlfriends thought it was weird.”
“Well, it is a bit unusual,” Katie admitted, “but if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy. I suppose you want a running commentary?”
“If you could. I want to be able to visualise everything.”
“Okay. I’m getting in.”
I heard a gentle “sploot” noise, then another. “I’m now standing in the bath, up to my calves in water, fully dressed,” Katie announced. Her voice had now taken on a deeper, huskier tone, as it always did when she was turned on. “The bottoms of my trousers legs are all wet and floating around my ankles.”
There was another, slightly larger “sploot” noise. “I’m kneeling in the water now,” she told me. “My trousers are soaked right up to my thighs, and they’ve gone a much darker shade of grey where they’re wet.”
For someone who’d never done this before, she certainly gave me plenty of detail. “How does it feel?” I asked her.
“Quite nice,” she replied. “Very nice, actually. I can feel the air bubbles inside my trousers. It tickles!” I heard a giggle, followed by a louder splashing noise.
“I’m standing up again,” she said. “My trousers are all shiny and clinging to my legs. Can you hear the water dripping off them?”
I gave a low moan of pleasure. “Yes I can.”
“You were right, it does feel very naughty,” Katie continued. “I’m going to sit down in the water and soak them completely.”
There was another splashing noise as she did so. This time it was Katie who gave a gentle moan. “Oohhhh, I can feel it soaking into my knickers. Mmmmmm, that feels really good.”
I said nothing, continuing to listen in an increasingly aroused state. There were further splashing noises, the sound of running water, and an “Ooooooh” from Katie. “If I lift my legs out of the water, my trousers cling skin tight. I see what you mean about showing off my body. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”
She said nothing further for a while, although she continued to make gentle rippling noises in the water. Eventually I had to prompt her. “So, er… is your blouse wet yet?”
“Hmmm? Oh… a bit, just around my waist. Hang on…” She splashed around a bit. “I’ve untucked it from inside my trousers. It’s now floating around on the surface of the water.” She giggled again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, I was wearing these clothes in the office just a few hours ago!”
I was briefly distracted by the thought of the reaction Katie would get if she walked into the office as she was now; if she’d nipped out at lunchtime without a jacket and been caught in an unexpected downpour, for example. There wouldn’t have been much work done in her office that afternoon.
“So are you turned on yet?” Katie asked.
What a question. “You can’t possibly imagine how turned on I am right now,” I told her. “How about you?”
“Hmmm, yeah, it does feel good. And the thought of what it’s doing to you is doing things to me. I just wish you were here to see me do what I’m about to do.”
What did she mean by that? I heard a splash, then a pause, a strange beeping noise, then another splash and a giggle. “What happened there?” I asked.
Katie continued to giggle. “I just felt the urge to duck myself right under and soak the rest of me,” she informed me. “Oh my God! My blouse has gone completely see-through! You can see my bra!”
I couldn’t. Well, I could in my mind.
Now Katie’s voice became less giggly and more husky. “You know what? My bra’s gone see-through too.” This announcement was punctuated by another beep, but I barely noticed. The thought of Katie’s soaking wet blouse clinging to her shapely body, showing off her bra and hinting at what lay beneath was almost too much to bear.
Meanwhile Katie continued to sound like she was enjoying herself. “Ooooh, I can feel the air bubbles in my blouse, it feels like they’re stroking the back of my neck... Oh God... I think...”
Beeeeeeeeep.
What the hell? The line had gone dead. Surely she hadn’t hung up on me, however much she was enjoying herself. And what was the beeping noise? Oh, of course. The batteries must have run out. Stupid bloody useless bloody cordless phones!
I consoled myself with the thought that Katie was still in the bath with her clothes on. Her soaking wet trousers were still moulded to the shape of her legs and her breasts were still straining at the wet cotton of her blouse and bra, trying to show themselves even though I wasn’t there to see them. I thought long and hard about this before going to bed.
Predictably, my virtual relationship with Katie didn’t last; soon we both moved on to other partners who would provide real-life contact and save us both a fortune on long-distance phone bills, but I recognised a special friendship when I saw one and made the effort to stay friends with her. Katie never mentioned my wetlook fetish again, but I still wonder if she ever thinks about me when she’s in the bath...
