Is that you get to see wet boys.
mmm…wet boys, with their wet hair and rain dripping from their chins and wet shirts sticking to their wet chests.
mmmmm
jarbaby
The opposite, of course, is that there’s something erotic about a woman in wet clothes, too. So, jarbaby, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…
So I look outside this morning when I’m getting ready for work and it looks like it’s going to storm. Like a smart commuter, I think, “Wow, I better bring my umbrella today.” As I’m on my way out the door, I snag my big ol’ golf umbrella – the thing’s about fourteen feet in diameter and could cover a small European nation. I love that umbrella. It’s misting a little as I’m walking to the train station, but not even enough to get you wet. I don’t bother using the umbrella.
As the train pulls into Franklin Park, it begins raining. Not too hard, but enough that you can hear it pattering off the roof of the train. No biggie, I think – I’ve got Super-Umbrella! I’ll stay dry!
Train pulls into Union Station, I begin walking towards the Madison Street exit. At the exit, there’s a backup of people waiting to walk out onto the sidewalk. Is there an accident? Is the sidewalk closed? Why the hell are all these people just standing there? I push my way through the crowd in inimitable Dave style, using elbows and shoulders to my best advantage. They’re standing there because it’s raining outside. Big deal! It’s RAINING! Not like you’re gonna melt, people – out of my way! I shoulder my way outside and put up my umbrella. I hadn’t realized just how frigging HARD it’s raining. My God, it’s coming down. Fifteen steps down Madison Street, and I realize the backs of my calves are soaked. Dammit. Ten more steps, and I realize the front of my pants is wet. The rain’s blowing g*ddamn SIDEWAYS and is sneaking in under the umbrella. I accelerate my walking pace, in order to try to get to the office as fast as possible.
Ten more steps. I notice my back’s wet. Aw, crap. The rain’s coming in sideways, left, right and diagonally. My briefcase is soaked and is now dripping. My entire body, with the sole exception of my head, is completely soaked. I may as well have brought a swimsuit instead of the umbrella.
I’m now sitting in the office. The air conditioning on my wet body is absolutely freezing. Every time I take a step, I squish, because there’s water in my socks and shoes. I’m soaked and cranky.
I hate Illinois weather.
On the upside, it WAS kinda like a wet T-shirt contest out there… I haven’t seen so many sets of headlights since the last automobile auction I attended. 
So.
What exactly are you trying to do to me here?
Army surplus rain coat with hood - 6$
Bright yellow umbrella - 8$
Old sneakers (adj. for depreciation) - $0
Fording ankle to knee-deep puddles that flooded my neighborhood while giggling like a maniac all the way to the train station?
Priceless.
And the hot wet boys are mighty nice.
I wish I was as smart as Magdalene.
Maybe then i’d still have a hairstyle right now.
One of the few things in life that I absolutely deplore, besides bananas, is being wet. If I had my druthers I wouldn’t even take a shower… I’d just be steamed clean. The feel of water-droplets on your skin… ugh… <shudder> G-d, I hate that. You should see the mad way that I try to get dry when I get out of the shower.
Sorry to dissapoint jarbaby. I do like watching a really hard storm tho’… from the dry warmth of my room.
You read it here first, people.
Oh, nuthin’… just sharing.
And I wish I were as smart as magdalene, too… then I wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for my clothes to dry out. But damn it all, it wasn’t raining that bad when I left home – I didn’t know it was gonna rain this badly. You hear me? I DIDN’T KNOW!!! Damn you, cruel weather!
Poop.
Well, it’s not raining on this side of the Great Lakes (yet… it is very cloudy). Last week, though, we had a storm blow through with torrential rain, the kind that bounces a foot off the ground because it hits the ground so hard. I happened to have popped across the street to the Starbucks in the bookstore opposite my office building to meet a former colleague for a coffee when the rain started. As I stood under the overhang outside of the store, watching the torrential downpour with dismay, I noticed a rather sodden looking woman picking her way across the building river of water in the middle of the street. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her clothes were stuck to her body. A white suit (probably cotton, by the looks of it). Completely transparent. Her undergarments were suffering a similar fate.
Needless to say, her face was crimson, and she was holding her shopping in front of her in a vain attempt to cover herself. I was mortified for her (or at least, the part of me that wasn’t busy ogling her… :)). So, jarbabyj be happy that it’s just your hairstyle that you’ve got to worry about.
aahhh, it’s just rain. I don’t even own an umbrella. Nothing wrong with getting a little (or a lot) wet. Of course, I don’t have an office to be on my way to, so I can take my time and walk around in the rain.
Have you turned on the TV lately? Some cars are completely submerged on the Eden Expressway. They are rescuing people with boats.
Mmmm…hot wet boys. DAMN!
Are they cute?
The rescuers are cute in that “Adventure Boy Fireman Rescuer” kind of way. Maybe I should get a job with FEMA.
Did I tell you about the fire station near my house? I walk by on my way to work and stare at them through my dark glasses. Beautiful burly muscular firemen with dark hair and rippling muscles, plus a few older firemen wth salt & pepper hair and wiry frames and the wisdom that only experience can bring.
I just want to take this opportunity to let everyone know that I am brilliant (okay, not brilliant, just very lucky to work in an ultra-casual environment).
At the first sign of rain this morning, I put on a rayon-jersey skirt and slip-on non-leather sandals, with bare legs. My umbrella kept my top half dry, and my bottom half dried within ten minutes once I got into the office. Everyone else here is still shivering from wet pants + arctic air conditioning. Ha and ha.
On the down side, our ceiling at work is leaking copiously. But not by me! Double ha!
Rain-related story - when I used to work for an employment agency, a candidate walked in absolutely soaked from a huge storm wearing a long-sleeved white dress shirt & tie - no jacket, no undershirt. Every detail of his upper body was readily apparent - tattoos…chest hair…three or four gold chains…and a spare tire (sorry, jarbaby). Plus, he smelled like wet dog. I had to leave the room to laugh 'til I peed.
Count me in on the love of rainstorms and women found therein. There’s almost nothing hotter than a pretty girl in the rain, especially if she’s enjoying being in it.
One of my longest running (despite being thrice fulfilled) fantasies is making love to a beautiful woman in a torrential downpour. From the kissing and foreplay as we both get completely drenched to the complete abandon of penetration and the act itself as sheets of water fall from the sky and slap back off the ground beneath us, there is very little I have found to be more thorougly erotic.
Damn, I guess I’ll wait a couple of minutes before walking across the office to grab another cup of coffee.
So I’m walking back from the cafeteria and I notice some clouds rolling in over the tarmac (I work inside airport property.) Being the clever man that I am, I decide it might be best to take a cautionary attitude and go close my car windows and sunroof.
Having chosen to do this, I have to board a shuttle that will take me to the guard-house, the other side of which are the parking lots and, of course, my car. Upon boarding the shuttle, the first sprinkles begin to fall.
“Go,” I think. Nothing.
"Go," I think again as the rain begins to from up. Nothing.
Fckin’ GO GO GO you stupid cow!* I’m willing her with all my mental powers to close the doors and start the damn thing as the rain begins to come down in, and this is the only appropriate word, torrents.
Lazily, the driver, secure in the first bus (three buses, two in tow, I’m in the second one,) activates the door closure and begins to move. I swear to you, in the nine months I’ve been on assignment here, that was the slowest drive one of the pricks has ever made on the circuit.
Arriving at the guard-house, it’s coming down in buckets. My car, a mere 150’ from the entrance, is surely being penetrated by the jet-fuel-exhaust laden pellets of rain as I hurriedly cruise through the metal detectors and growl off the guards warning, “You’re gonna get wet out there!”
Sprinting in my black Bacco Bucci loafers, charcoal Paulo Solari suit and grape linen (I don’t know what, but it’s Italian, too) shirt, I did indeed “get wet.” I made it to may car in just under 3.2 seconds, but some the damage had already begun: the first drops were forming up on the rim of my sunroof and the inside of my passenger-side window had the fine sheeting action thing going on.
After buttoning up my vehicle, I had to make the return jog to the guard shack, this time it too a mere 4.7 seconds (I walked the last 50’.) Needless to say, by the time I got on the shuttle (a different one) for the return ride, I was saturated. Of course, the driver (a different one) pulled right off. Of course, as I get back to the round-about where the shuttle stops, the rain does, too. Sunuva…!
So, now I’m sitting here in my cube, amused by the timing of your thread, water dripping from a lock on my forehead and the A/C cooling my body giving me pleasant tingles of goose-bumps.
I shouldn’t be reading such threads at work.
But boy does this one make me smile.
FallenAngel - I gotta try that!
Snicks
Snicks, when you try it and experience it for yourself, I’ll gladly accept your “Thank You” email.
Happy Drenching.
Angel