This tub ain’t big enough for both of us
Hi guys! So, if you’ve been following my other blog Hannah’s Braindump you’ll be aware that I had some sad news about one of my old university friends last week. I wrote a long blog post about him and the time we spent the night together, but then decided it wasn’t the right time to post all the intimate details. You can read the whole thing on Patreon or sanitised version on Braindump, but the tl;dr of it is that we were really close friends but both too shy to make a move, until I eventually did and then he took a job in Australia and I never saw him again.
So you’ll understand that I wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate my birthday last Friday. Instead of wild partying I spent the day at home, curled up on the sofa with Barry the cat, watching old TV shows. My flatmate Gabi, though, had other ideas. I was enjoying my quiet, uneventful evening when she came crashing in with a box of wine and two huge takeaway pizzas. “Did somebody order a birthday?”
Bless her, I knew she meant well but I wasn’t in the mood. “No,” I told her, “no birthdays here. You must have the wrong house.”
Gabi put her birthday goodies on the coffee table and sat down beside me, causing Barry to leap off my lap and scamper away. “You still upset about Danny?”
“Oh, Han.” Gabi put her arm around me. “I know it’s an awful thing, but dwelling on it won’t achieve anything. I’m sure Dan would have wanted you to have a good time on your birthday.”
My instinct was to counter with a dramatic shriek of “You don’t know what Dan would have wanted!” but I knew she was absolutely right. She took the wine into the kitchen and returned with two full glasses. “I’d like to propose a toast,” she announced, handing me a glass. “To Hannah, on her twenty-mumblemumbleth birthday…” This made me laugh, properly laugh, for the first time in ages. “…and to living for the moment.” We clinked our glasses together and set about demolishing the wine and pizza mountain.
When it comes to living for the moment, it’s fair to say that Gabi has a head start on me. In my Braindump post I talked about brain lunges, those moments when you’ve been bottling something up for ages, scared to say or do it because if the potential consequences, until your brain just eventually says “to hell with it” and just comes out with it. For someone like me, who doesn’t trust her judgement and likes to carefully weigh up all her options, brain lunges are an occasional embarrassment. For Gabi, they’re a way of life. Sometimes she just comes home with unexpected pizza and wine, other times she’ll do completely unexpected things that surprise even her.
Despite my misgivings, by the time we’d seen off most of the pizza and all but the dregs of the box of wine, I was feeling a lot better. In fact I was just hitting my stride when the wine ran out1. As we each nursed our last glass, Gabi went strangely thoughtful and quiet.
“I know I said tonight was about you,” she said at length, “but do you mind if I ask you one more thing about Danny?”
I swirled around the remaining wine in my glass and downed it. “Go for it,” I invited her.
“I don’t like to pry,” Gabi began, “but I’ve always wondered… remember when you went to that gig with him and you ended up staying over at his place?”
“Uh-huh…” I drained the very last dregs from my glass.
“And we had that exam the next day, and you came swanning in at the very last minute, totally buzzing, and aced the exam?”
“Ha… Well, I passed the exam. God knows how.”
Gabi took another sip of wine. “You never explained why you were wearing his clothes. I remember I asked you at the time, and you said you’d tell me later, and you never did.”
I sighed inwardly. “Are you sure there’s no wine left?” Gabi didn’t answer, she just handed me her glass. I took it, downed the contents, and told her all about my one proper date with Dan. Again, the tl;dr: he was too much of a gentlemen, I got fed up waiting for him to seduce me so I took the initiative by joining him in the shower.
“You… you…” Gabi spluttered with laughter and searched for the right word. “But you’re so… I mean… I can’t imagine you doing that, just stripping off and barging in on him!”
I tried to take another drink of wine, forgetting that my glass was already empty. “I wasn’t naked,” I admitted. “Not at first, anyway.”
Gabi stared at me for a very, very long time while she tried to work out what I meant. “Have I got this right?” she asked at last. “You got in his shower with your clothes still on?”
My inhibitions dulled by the wine, I told Gabi everything. Yes, I got into the shower fully clothed. Yes, that’s why I had to borrow his clothes to go home in. Yes, it turned him on. No, not exactly like a wet T-shirt contest. And from there the conversation spiralled out of control as I ended up confessing everything, about how I’d enjoyed getting wet in my clothes since I was a kid, how it turned me on and how it turned lots of guys on too. Encouraged by the alcohol and Gabi’s apparent interest, I fired up my laptop and showed her a few websites. Not mine, obviously, but a few of the classier wetlook sites out there, as well as some YouTube videos with huge numbers of views.
Gabi sat for ages, taking it all in. “I know where there’s more wine,” she finally announced, seemingly apropos of nothing.
She scooped up the glasses and went to rummage in the kitchen. Despite the alcohol-induced bravado, I felt a bit foolish, but when Gabi returned with refilled glasses, she sat back down on the sofa and swung herself round to face me. “So, where do I start?”
“Eh?” I looked blankly back at her.
“If it turns people on, I want in on it. Us lanky ginger geeks need all the help we can get.”
I couldn’t agree with that, I was sure Gabi didn’t need any help in that department. I’d always been jealous of her tall, slim figure and her natural red hair. As an average brunette, sometimes I can actually feel myself fading into the background when I’m standing beside her.
“So what’s the best way to do it?” she continued. “Do I just plunge straight in, or what? Do I have to take anything off? Am I allowed to take anything off?”
“Well…” I wasn’t sure how to answer her. “I suppose it’s down to personal preference, really, I mean, if you’re trying to seduce someone you might just want to put on something flimsy that’s going to go see-through, but if you’re doing it for your own pleasure, for the fun and naughtiness of getting your clothes wet, then I find the best thing is just to get right in with whatever you’re wearing. Just make sure your phone isn’t in your pocket.”
Gabi laughed. “You’re good. I feel like I should be taking notes. You should set yourself up as some kind of consultant.”
“Do you think there’s a lot of call for a wet clothing consultant?”
“Well, I’m employing your services, aren’t I? Here’s your fee.” She passed me a glass of wine. “So does it actually work? I mean, you see it all the time in films and on TV, people get caught in the rain and suddenly they can’t keep their hands off each other. Whenever I’ve been caught in the rain it’s been horrible.”
“Well…” I sipped more wine. “It worked for Danny, but that was a means to an end, I mean, he was such a gentleman there was no way he was ever going to undress me without being put in the ‘Let’s get you out of these wet clothes’ scenario. But it doesn’t always work. You’d think it would, but the only other time I’ve tried it, when I was living with Simon in Newcastle, I came home one day and found him in the bath, so I climbed in with him with everything still on – shoes, coat, the lot – and he just gawped at me as if I’d gone mental. So… I guess it depends on who you’re trying to impress. Some people just don’t get it. But a lot do. And, in all fairness, Simon was a twat.”
Gabi cackled with laughter, and the conversation came back to ground on which I was more comfortable: critiquing our terrible old boyfriends. We explored this avenue for a while, but the wine was beginning to take effect and I found myself struggling to stay awake. It had turned out to be a good birthday after all, but I had to take my leave and go to bed.
I didn’t sleep very well, kept having weird dreams and waking up before they were resolved. Eventually, about 10:30, I gave up trying to go back to sleep and was forced to stumble to the kitchen for several glasses of water and a couple of painkillers. “I’m never drinking again,” I thought, knowing it wouldn’t be true. I stumbled back to bed, my head full of stale wine and regret. Vague memories of last night kept stabbing me in the head. What the hell had I admitted to? Oh shit, I’d told Gabi all about my wet clothes fetish, hadn’t I? Jesus, what was I thinking? I pulled the covers over my head and hoped everything would go away.
At some point I must have drifted back to sleep, because the next thing I knew it was lunchtime. Feeling slightly more human, I pulled on a T-shirt and plodded to the kitchen for more water. As I breakfasted on leftover pizza and started making coffee, I slowly became aware that Gabi was calling my name. “Hannah! C’mere!”
Gabi’s voice was coming from the bathroom. I wasn’t sure what I’d find in there; the parallels with the time I “accidentally” walked in on Danny having a shower weren’t lost on me. But as I walked in, there was Gabi, in the white shirt, knickers and black tights she’d had on the day before, lying in a couple of inches of water in the bath. “Am I doing it right?” she asked.
Once I’d got over the surprise, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Not really,” I giggled, “but if it feels good to you, go for it!”
“I’m not sure.” She wriggled about a little and poured a handful of water over her shirt, which clung obediently to her chest, making it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra. “I feel like I might as well just be naked.”
I tried to remember what I’d said last night. “Remember I told you it wasn’t just a wet T-shirt contest? Some people might go for that, but if you’re going to do it properly, it’s all about the naughtiness. What’s not on show is just as important as what is.”
With some effort, Gabi sat up as best she could, hanging her long legs over the side of the bathtub. Her soaked black tights glistened in the light. “Show me how you do it,” she cooed, indicating the space she had vacated in the tub.
Suddenly I was 14 again, nervously telling my best friend at the time about my “hobby” and daring her to try it with me. Except this time it was my friend urging me on. It felt weird, but in a good way. “Hang on,” I told her, as I went to her bedroom and scooped up her discarded bra and skirt from last night.
“Put these on,” I instructed her.
Gabi pulled a face. “Really?”
I checked the washing instructions on her skirt; it was washable, so it was fair game. “If you’re going to do it, you have to be committed.”
Stepping out of the tub, Gabi unbuttoned her shirt and peeled it off. Not wanting to look, I busied myself running more water into the bath as, without drying herself off, she put on her white bra and pulled the damp, clammy shirt back on. She made a face as the wet cotton clung to her arms and generally misbehaved as she tried to pull it back into shape. Then she wriggled into her skirt, a short black asymmetric number with a diagonal zip across her left thigh. I knew it was one of her favourites and I could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced about getting it wet, but as she felt it settle against her wet tights, she began to smile. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she giggled.
Before she could change her mind, I turned off the taps and stepped into the tub, feeling the familiar rush of excitement as the water soaked into the cuffs of my black leggings. Gabi followed suit, soaking her black tights again. Carefully I sank to my knees, as did Gabi. She caught her breath as the hem of her skirt rested on top of the water. “Oh, this feels so wrong,” she gasped, “but… I like it!”
Mindful of the lack of space, I sat down with my legs underneath me, allowing the water to reach my waist and soak through my leggings and knickers. Gabi was more hesitant, reluctant to fully soak her favourite skirt, but slowly she allowed her bum to enter the water. She giggled excitedly as the water settled over her lap and her skirt soaked it up.
I wasn’t sure what to do next, as we clearly couldn’t both be fully submerged at the same time. “This tub ain’t big enough for the both of us,” I sang. “Stand up a minute.”
Gabi struggled to her feet and gasped as the water poured out of her drenched skirt, leaving it clinging tightly to her hips and thighs. “I was wearing this in the office yesterday,” she howled.
“Now you’re getting it,” I smiled, as I stretched out my legs and slid backwards to immerse myself fully in the water.
“Your glasses!” Gabi gasped as I went under. “You’ve still got your glasses on!”
Surfacing, I took them off to wipe the water out of my eyes, and put them back on. “Well, of course,” I said, slicking back my hair. “I’ve still got all my clothes on, why would I take my glasses off? In fact, why did you?”
A torrent of water gushed out of my clothes as I stood up, Reaching behind where Gabi stood, I retrieved her glasses from the shelf and popped them back on her face. She bit her lip as she took in the sight of me in my soaked outfit; my plain black T-shirt and leggings now glossy and plastered to my body, showing the shape of my body and the outline of my underwear while still revealing nothing. “My God,” she said at last, “Simon really was a twat. How could anyone resist you looking like that?”
I wasn’t entirely sure where this was going. “Your turn,” I said, blushing.
Slowly, Gabi sat down, allowing the water to rush back into her skirt. She ran her hands over it, as if taking in the new experience. “I feel so wanton,” she giggled. Then she slid down into the tub, soaking her shirt and her long red hair. Fully submerged, she opened her eyes and started to laugh, surfacing quickly as gasped for air, half choking, half laughing. “Oh man,” she wheezed as she got her breath back, “what the hell are we doing?”
Still laughing, she slicked back her wet hair, wiped her glasses on a towel and put them back on. I helped her to her feet. We stood there looking at each other, in the bath, both dripping wet. Then Gabi turned to look at herself in the mirror, running her hands down her body to squeeze the excess water out of her clothes and primping herself so that her now see-through blouse hung just right over her shiny black skirt and allowed just the right amount of bra to be visible through its translucent embrace. She stepped out of the tub to get a better look, leaving wet footprints on the carpet from her sodden tights. “Why did you never tell me about this before?”
I shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d understand,” I mumbled.
She turned back to me and, stepping back into the tub, wrapped me in an enormous hug. “I understand,” she said. “Thank you.”
The hug went on so long I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, and I don’t think Gabi was either. Eventually she let go, wrapped a towel around herself and got out of the tub again. “I, er… I need a few minutes,” she said, trotting off to her bedroom, still in her wet clothes. What she did in there I don’t know, although I can hazard a guess.
I took a couple of seconds to gather my thoughts. I hadn’t meant to out myself as a wetlooker, but I think it went as well as I could have hoped!