Across the pond

Girl in wet jeans and top

Hi! This is my first “If I Was Your Girlfriend” post, suggested by one of my lovely Patreon backers who came up with this scenario…

I have just bought a house with a fish pond in the garden. No fish in it of course, but yesterday I cleaned it a little from leaves and plants in the water. Well I did not want to get my hands dirty, so I had garden gloves on. They got dripping wet of course in no time. The water was really cold, but with the water cleaned up a bit, ooooh I just needed to know how deep it was.

I had dark blue jeans on, blueish sneakers and a t-shirt. My shoe hit the water, slowly turning dark, but the water did not go in. I dipped my heel down and suddenly I could feel the cold water rushing into my shoes. I could write more, but long story short, I stood in water to my knees, I felt so naughty šŸ˜›

If you were there with me, I would have called for help, probably saying something like I tripped and felt in, and I needed you to pull me up šŸ˜‡

And of course with you near the water, I would pull you in surely having us both wet together šŸ˜€

Well, we’ll see about that! šŸ˜‰ Here’s my take on the scenario, hope you enjoy it!

ā€œYou have reached your destination.ā€

I’ve never been to this part of town before, but the sat nav assures me I’m at the right place so I park the car and get out. Your text message inviting me over was a bit vague and I wasn’t sure if it was a proper housewarming party, or if it was just going to be the two of us. Either way, I kind of wished I’d gone home first to change into something more formal than these tatty-but-comfortable jeans and loose fitting white top, but I was out when I got your message, so I bought a bottle of celebratory champagne and dropped by on my way home.

Checking my phone again to make sure I’ve got the right house number, I walk to the front door of your new house and ring the doorbell.

There’s no answer.

I ring again, but you still don’t come to the door. That’s strange, you told me you’d be here at this time. I take a sneaky look in the window. Looks like you’re still in the process of moving in, lots of boxes still to be unpacked, but no sign of you.

Out of curiosity, I decide to take a look around the back of the house. Sure enough, there you are, in the garden. But… what are you doing?

As I get closer, I find I’m not mistaken, you really are standing up to your knees in the fish pond, fully clothed, getting your jeans all wet. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, we both know about each other’s love of wet clothes, but still, I wasn’t expecting to see you getting wet outside rather than in the bath or shower.

You’re facing the other way so you still don’t know I’m watching you. I could sneak up behind you and get in the pond with you, soaking my jeans and shoes too, but the water looks a bit too cold.

ā€œHi, you alright?ā€

Startled, you turn around. ā€œOh, er, hi… I was just… er… cleaning the pond.ā€

ā€œUh-huh.ā€ I look disbelievingly at you. The bulge in your jeans hasn’t gone unnoticed. ā€œChecking the depth of the water, yeah?ā€

ā€œThat’s right.ā€

You know I don’t believe you, but I don’t mind. I dip my hand in the water and gasp slightly. It’s even colder than I’d expected. You hold out your hand. ā€œHelp me out?ā€

I know you far too well to fall for this trick, but I’ll play along. Setting the bottle down on the ground, I take hold of your hand. I know you’re going to try to pull me in, and when I feel you tug on my hand I push back and send you flying backwards into the pond with a huge splash.

Laughing, I wait for you to surface. By now I’m resigned to getting a soaking anyway, because I’m expecting you to climb out of the pond and wrap me in a big wet hug. I’m anticipating feeling your body against mine, the wetness of your clothes soaking through my own jeans and shirt. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t change into a more formal outfit. But when you do reappear above the water, it’s only briefly before you sink back under.

Now I’m worried. Is the pond deeper than I thought? Are you in trouble? Or is it an elaborate trick to get me in the water? It’s just the kind of thing you would do. But I don’t know what’s on the bottom of the pond, you could have caught your foot in something, you could have injured yourself falling in. What do I do?

You surface again, gasping for air and just able to faintly shout for help before disappearing into the water once more. Reaching out, I grab your hands and try to pull you up, and you take that as your cue to pull back. I should have known better, but I’m caught off guard and topple forwards into the pond with a huge splash.

It’s dark and cold as I go under. I feel a rush of emotions: anger that you pulled me in; foolishness that you caught me off guard; grudging relief that you’re not drowning; the first traces of fear that I might be, as the frigid water envelopes me and my lungs want to gasp for air. Then I realise it’s only knee deep and we struggle to our feet.

The water pours out of our clothes as the air pours into our lungs. My heart is pounding, mainly through fear, partly anger, but I can’t deny there’s a bit of excitement creeping in as I take in the sight of you in your soaked T-shirt and jeans. I can tell you’re getting excited too as you look at me in my drenched state, my white shirt now completely see-through and clinging to my body, the grey vest top underneath now on full view, and the outline of my bra visible under that. I’m going to focus on the anger for now though. ā€œYou idiot, you nearly drowned me!ā€

ā€œWhat are you talking about?ā€ you ask, innocently. ā€œI saved your life!ā€

ā€œYeah, right. I was trying to save yours!ā€

ā€œThen we both owe each other a thank you.ā€

You wrap your arms around me and kiss me. I do the same to you, grateful for the body heat. Our kiss becomes more passionate and I feel your hands start to roam across my back and down to the wet denim of my jeans. I press my body closer to yours, feeling your excitement pressing against me, then suddenly realise we’re standing in your back garden, soaked to the skin, and anyone could be watching.

ā€œWhy don’t you show me your bathroom?ā€ I suggest, coyly. ā€œWe could thank each other a lot better in a nice warm bathā€¦ā€

River of dreams

The river

I took this photo yesterday, a crisp but bitterly cold January morning. Walking along by the river, I thought about a comment someone had left on my blog, about how he was in the habit of getting wet in lakes or rivers whenever he felt like it, and how I should just do the same. Obviously he’d never been to Musselburgh. If I’d gone in the river yesterday I don’t think I’d have made it back to the car without freezing solid. But it seems that the idea stayed in my subconscious. Let me tell you about the dream I had last night, which I promise is 100% true and not made up for click bait… » Read more

The lure of the sea

Girl on beach

To warm you up at the start of the long, miserable slog through to spring, here’s a story from last summer. I started writing it at the end of August, like a traditional back-to-school “What I did on my summer holidays” kind of post. Not exactly the kind I would have dared write when I was at school though!

So, against my better judgement, I got talked into going camping. It’s never been something that appealed to me – when I go on holiday I like little home comforts like beds, toilets, floors, that kind of thing. This summer, though, my cousin Marianne convinced me to go and spend a week in a tent with her and her kids. We were never really that close when we were younger, but Marianne split up with her long-term partner around the same time I moved back up to Scotland, so we bonded over our individual personal problems. One evening she came round to my place for tea[note]Wine.[/note] and sympathy, and ended up convincing me to go camping with her. I agreed partly out of sympathy, as otherwise she and the girls wouldn’t have had a holiday this year and I felt they deserved one; and partly out of guilt as it was Marianne’s daughter Eilidh who I nearly killed in the black ice incident before Christmas. And, I suppose, partly out of relief and gratitude that they still trusted me to drive them anywhere.
» Read more