Customer

whirlpool bath

All my cares floated away from me as I closed my eyes and lay back into the beautifully warm, bubbly water. For that moment, nothing mattered. My jeans, sweater, boots, even my underwear were thoroughly drenched. I had no dry clothes to change into. I’d have to go home dripping wet. I didn’t care. Below the surface I undid the zipper of my jeans and allowed my fingers to slip inside, lightly brushing the soaked cotton of my panties.
“Miss,” the flustered salesman stammered, “if you’re not going to buy the hot tub I’m afraid you’ll have to get out.”

Back again…

Underwater words

Hi guys! I’m really sorry, it’s happened again, hasn’t it? I promised I’d be around more this year, I know. Short explanation: around Christmas my mental health took a turn for the worse. After “just dealing with it” for years I finally gave in and went to the doctor, who put me on pills that basically turned me into a zombie and robbed me of any kind of creative impetus whatsoever. After six weeks or so of that, I decided I’d rather try and put up with the depression and anxiety than stare blankly at the wall all day feeling nothing, and then the whole Covid-19 thing hit and now everything is weird and scary and I need some kind of routine and normality.

So, while I work back up to the level of writing I used to be capable of, I’ve invented a new genre. I call it “100 Word Wetlook” – the idea is to tell a wet clothes story in exactly one hundred words. My intention is to do one a day over on my Patreon, and post the best of them here a couple of times a week. There’ll be a special thank you for my Patreon backers too, because I’m constantly amazed to find that I still have some.

Stay safe, stay indoors, wash your hands, all that, and I’ll talk to you soon!