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I stride purposefully as the weight of my wetted clothes drags with each step. The thinness of the material now sodden with rain grows ever heavy as it shows what little is underneath. Of course I expected the sun to keep shining as it had done earlier. Little did I expect the merest shower let alone a full deluge. I had dressed purposely lightly in a thin cotton dress so that the July weather would not stifle me.
I deliberately and stupidly wore no bra so that the humidity normally experienced at this time of year in a hot city would not be unbearably uncomfortable beneath damp elasticated straps. The same applied to my panties that I thought would be equally irritating. Quite wrongly, because of the knee length of my dress, I doubted their absence would be noticed.
There is no point in sheltering from the rain. No point in stopping so that I might draw more eyes to me than I was already doing. As it is I cover my wobbling breasts with my right arm and shield my now highly visible mound with the other hand. Normally I would walk up a city street and attract few eyes if any but today there are many eyes darting about my body. I am soaked from the head to my upper legs. I can feel my cold wet bottom and the ‘V’ of soaked wet cloth against my mound. The skirt of my dress is slowly getting wetter and is clinging to my thighs.
As I stop to cross another road I see my reflection in a shop window. My dress looks pink and not cream with small blue geometric patterns as it had done when I put it on. Of course the pink was me, naked underneath. I looked naked I could feel that my back and buttocks were also wet and naked. I began to wish it is a dream and that I would soon wake up. But it isn’t a dream and I can’t end this nightmare. The people are beginning to crowd around me. Umbrellas drip huge cold droplets of water on me and although there are murmurs I cannot make out what is being said. My hair once perfectly groomed is now sticking to my shoulders covering my ears making a further barrier to disparaging remarks. Either that or I am unconsciously blanking out the sounds of others.
At last the ‘walk’ notice lights up but not before I feel a hand on my bottom. I knew it isn’t accidental because it is a cupping handful and a finger slipps up the crack of my bottom pushing the wet cloth between my cheeks and missing my womanhood by a fraction of an inch. I had no time to see who it might be only time to pull the cloth back out again as I walked. While doing this a grinning oaf pushes past me and crosses in front of me making me stop. His hand thrusts between my legs as other pedestrians push past oblivious of his actions. I feel his fingers grip my pussy hard as if he has the right to do so because he could see it. His grin turns to a more sinister one as he motions with his tongue his true intention. “Fuck off” I shout which attracts the attention of those about me. However seeing I am practically naked they quickly resolve that I am also mentally unstable. I receive that look, not of pity, not of empathy with my obvious dilemma, but fear that I am contagious. No fear of that as everybody in that street has an umbrella and a sensible mackintosh.
I continue to walk and the rain bounces up from the sidewalk stinging my legs as is does so. Another street to cross and eight more blocks before I get back to my hotel. I take the time to pull the wet dress off me which allows me some privacy beneath its folds. However it is short lived as the rain pelts down on me, assisted by a gusting wind. A taxi goes past close to the curb and a large puddle of rainwater is blasted upwards and soaks the remaining dry areas of my dress.
My full frontal nudity is obvious in the reflection as I walk towards the window. I imagine I see someone inside the shop looking at me. Staring at my naked body and leering at me like a seedy peep show. As I move past the shop door the same figure comes towards it and is waving me inside. I paused for a second and then I move forward two steps, stop turn and go inside. I guess I could see that he has a towel in his hand and I realise that it is one of those shops that sells pillows, cushions and towels among other household things. I wonder why it is only when you get out of the rain that you suddenly feel the wet. He hands me the towel and the first thing I do is dry my dripping face and hair. As I do so, I realise form my reflection in a mirror that my helpmate is getting a really good look at my wetted boobs through my see-through dress. I casually lower the towel to my chest and pat it slowly while the length of the towel covers my other indiscretion below.
“I suppose you are wondering why I am out in the rain with nothing but a dress on?”
“Why I don’t appear to have any money, or a means of carrying money?”
“Oh – okay.” Either I am missing a trick here or he’s a simpleton. Anyway the towel is a much welcomed assistance to my recovery.
“Here, you can put this on and take off your wet clothes.” He passes me a thick towelling bath robe.
“Thank Trabzon Escort you.” I say and for the first time I let my eyes meet his, but briefly because I feel so embarrassed.
“You can change in the staff rest room. I’ll show you where it is.” He leads me past a multiplicity of household items, doorknobs to drapes and everything in between. It becomes clear to me that the shop is a kind of hi-tech hardware and general store. As I follow I search for anything that can be considered a change of clothes, but the nearest I could find to this is a kitchen apron. Although this would cover my front it would definitely leave my bare ass totally exposed and so I disown that thought.
He opens the door and turns on the light as I enter.
“I’ll leave you to it.” He says and as he leaves he carefully closes the door. Alone in a strange room I look around me and note that it has a coffee table with magazines tidily stacked in the centre; which immediately indicates that a woman must work there too. It has four matching chairs, a coffee bar, a sink and a cupboard door next to it. Near the sink I see four mugs on a wooden tree. I take a deep breath and drag my clinging dress over my head and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor with a sodden slap. Totally naked I feel more vulnerable somehow and the thought races through my mind the interrogation I might receive from the police as to how I managed to put myself in this situation. My eyes dart towards the door to ensure that it is secure then I notice above it a security camera no doubt to monitor workers on a break. Resigning myself to the fact that it was too late to prevent such an obvious ‘You Tube’ catastrophe I look straight at it and wink.
“Are you okay in there?”
I wonder how long he has been outside the door. Did he consider coming in and taking by surprise? If he did how could I explain my lack of clothing? Why wasn’t I wearing underwear? I quickly put on the robe and tie the cord. I pick up my wet dress, open the door and step out. “Well I can’t put this on again, It’s ruined.” I say.
“Well maybe it needs drying, that’s all.” He says. My thought at this time is that he is obviously an expert in women’s cotton dresses. My sarcastic inner voice knows no bounds. No, I know the dress has gone completely out of shape as the weight of water has stretched the material beyond return. I imagine that after drying the hem at the front will be longer than the back and the once pretty neckline will gape so hideously that not even a tee shirt will save it. “I’ll get rid of it, don’t worry.”
I stand there looking down at my feet. “Now what?” I ask, not knowing quite where to go from here.
“Well you can’t go outside in the robe.” He pauses for a second. “I know, wait here a moment I will be right back.” He enters the staff rest room and I hear the sound of a door open and close. He returns with a black mackintosh. “You can borrow this; it belongs to Jane – my work colleague.” He continues, as he hands it to me and anticipates my next question. “She won’t miss it as she’s on vacation in Florida.”
I go back into the staff room and put it on. It’s a little tight but I feel it will be fine to get back to the hotel in. I re-emerge and he is standing looking at me with a smile.
“There you go.” He says, as if completing a perfect sale.
“I don’t know quite how to thank you.” I state and my sincerity is real.
“You can thank me by having dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“I can’t, I fly back to Heathrow tomorrow.” I say, slightly disappointed that I had to. “Hey, what about tonight?” I blurt out, “my treat.”
“Sure – what time?”
“Look I have to be honest with you, I am having dinner with our co-pilot and the purser and I can’t get out of it, so you are welcome to join us.”
“Flight attendant for BA. We’re meeting in the hotel bar at 8.30 for a few drinks.” I look at my wrist for the time but I remember leaving my watch in the hotel room. “Do you know the time?” I ask.
“Four twenty five” he responds as he rotates his wrist a gazes at his blue dial Rolex.
I wonder what a guy who wears a $4000 dollar watch is doing working in a store.
“I am at The Crown Plaza Hotel just off 5th at 33rd Street going west.”
“I know it,” he states “you will need some money for transport although I doubt if you will get a cab in this rain.” He hands me a ten dollar bill which I carefully secret in my pocket. I am beginning to think that I like this guy. But, tonight I am going to have Mark the co-pilot so I win my bet with our captain. He will be a nice distraction for Annabel who also had designs on Mark and whom I know has a bet with one of the stewards. Apart from the boredom of the flights and waiting on some pretty snooty first class passengers the flight crews are usually highly sexually charged, sleep around quite a bit, despite being married and when relaxing really know how to party.
I am about to leave when I realise I do not know his name. “I don’t Trabzon Escort Bayan even know your name, and you have been so cool.”
“Will – Will Hunting.”
“You’re kidding – like Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting.”
” Yeah – but I am no mathematical genius.”
“Oh so what are you then?”
“I am a doctor – trust me.”
“Where have I heard that before?”
“It’s true, but not the medical kind.”
“A small form of research then.”
“I work with yeast as a eukaryotic cell, mitochondrial DNA.”
“You lost me at eukary – what’s – it…”
“Eukaryote” he completes the word I am struggling with. “It’s a kind of wind tunnel for the human cell.”
“Hmm,” I feel am becoming interested in what he has to say. Now that I have got to know him a little better I am beginning to like his face and his mannerisms. He isn’t that much taller than me and he needs to put on a little weight but I feel I am being attracted to his calming influence. I get a nice warm feeling that envelopes my body and puts my thoughts on a plain of almost non-thought. This blank calmness is how I envisage meditation to be. I am aware of my body as I get a numbing tingle down to my feet. It’s like drifting off to sleep but I am also aware of being conscious at the same time. I realise that I hadn’t felt that way since I was a child when male friends of my father took an interest in my drawings. I could feel my eyelids half close as he continues to explain the life cycle of the cell he is researching. Perhaps it’s his voice? I find it mesmeric as he continues to talk.
…I am doing my post doc at Princeton.”
“Princeton – that’s a long way to go isn’t it?” I state rather obviously.
“No, not really – I fly down during semester.”
“Fly to Princeton – how can you do that? I had no idea there was an airport near there.”
“They have an airfield; Princeton has its own flying club.”
“Yeah, I have held a private pilot’s licence since I was eighteen. I got a little Cessna 414A twin turbo.”
“So what are you doing working in a shop?”
“It belongs to my sister…you are wearing her coat. I’m only looking after it while she is away.”
Suddenly all becomes clear. The watch, the Ivy League education, the Cessna airplane. He’s loaded and at this I feel my face redden, embarrassed at such a mercenary thought.
“I’m Danielle.” I extend a hand to a man that has already seen the best part of me through my rain soaked clothing. We shake and I repeat “Eight thirty…”
He interrupts “Crown Plaza on 33rd and fifth. I’ll be there.”
I leave him and I can’t prevent my head from turning and looking at him again as I walk away. I pass a newsstand and then return to buy some gum and change the ten dollar bill. One thing I have learned about New York is to have the right change for the subway. I descend the steps and head towards the small ticket kiosk. The reception is terse as always, no eye contact and despite quickly putting the correct change on the counter the black girl still has to say “cumawn I ain’t got awll day lady.” And in a blink has discharged a ticket that I fumble with and immediately drop to the grimy wet floor. I bend to pick it up and I am suddenly reminded that I may have flashed to the passing crowd, the coat being so short and tight. But there is no fear of that here in the bowels of the city. To get out into the light is their one desire. There is no eye contact anywhere so my indiscretion goes completely unnoticed.
I head for the sign that says ‘north’. It isn’t long before the train arrives. I stand directly in front of the door as it slows to a halt. With a begrudging swish it opens before me and I wait for passengers to alight. As the last person steps onto the platform I move forward but already a serge of people from both sides push past me and enter taking up the few vacant seats and leaving me to stand. The car moves and I have to hold onto one of the vertical handrails to prevent myself from falling. At the next stop a few get off and more get on which means I have to move further into the carriage. Almost immediately the train lurches and I quickly reach up to catch another hand hold. This is my undoing. The coat is so tight, the sleeves so short and the hem mid thigh when standing normally; now that I have raised my arm, stretching to reach the rail, the hem has lifted about eight inches and the front has opened. A man in his late sixties is sitting within inches of my exposed groin. On seeing this unexpected treat he gives out a ‘woof’ and immediately attracts the attentions of adjacent travellers. The woman to his right looks at me and turns away without expression. The man on his other side is also expressionless as his eyes move from my mound slowly up to my face. His eyes look at mine for a brief moment before returning to my nudity. His eyes are now glued to my crotch as I shift uneasily in a pathetic effort to ensure my labia are out of sight. Escort Trabzon My free hand attempts to close the gap without success. After another stop I am able to move to a seat some distance away from the three who have witnessed my embarrassment. I sit down and realise that by doing so causes not only the gape of the hem but also gaping between each button confirming that I had not a stitch on beneath this ridiculously small mackintosh. I resort to standing again but this time near a vertical handhold.
My stop arrives and I leave the train and quickly walk to the nearest steps leading to the light. As I come out of the subway the downpour seems greater than before. Before long and as I head towards my hotel, cold runs of water start to tickle their way down my torso. I enter the hotel doors and take one of the elevators to the reception floor. I stand dripping and looking at my state in the mirror. A cold bead of water trickles down between my breasts across my abdomen: tracing a straight line towards my carefully waxed mound. It crosses with the aid of gravity unhindered to end up on the tip of my clitoris where it lingers momentarily before dripping to the floor. Its unique travel goes unnoticed by all the other drips falling from the hem of my coat. Other small streams of water channelled by the uplifted collar find their way downwards tickling as they do so and running down my legs in an effort to rejoin in a single puddle beneath me.
The elevator doors eventually open. I walk the fifty steps towards the reception area. I retrieve my key and head to my room. As I pass the bar I see that it is already busy with uniforms from various airways using this hotel for their crews. At my room at last I enter and let the door close behind me. I discard the coat and walk directly to the bathroom. After a warming shower I emerge revitalised wearing the hotel robe and with a towel around my head in a neat turban. I am glad that I brought another dress with me. This one I saw at the airport and although expensive I couldn’t resist it. The top was plain and accentuated my boobs nicely. The skirt fitted my hips perfectly and because of the lightness of the material it followed the curves of my bottom and just dipped inwards in the important places. The only problem was that it would be spoiled by the VPL. So a quick decision is made and despite the trauma of today I decide to go commando again.
Two hours later my hair is washed, dried and looking better than normal and I have to put this down to the rain as the hotel shampoo is mediocre at best. I look at myself in the full length mirror and I have to smile because this little black number is truly stunning. I put on a pair of black patent leather high heels. I guess that Will and I will be about the same height now and leave the thought it at that. I put on my watch and note the time…8.35. I put in single pearl earings and a pearl necklace to finish off the effect.
I grab my black pocketbook and door key and head for the bar. I can’t help but catch a glimpse of my reflection in every mirror I pass. I feel good and I look good and I just cannot stop smiling.
I am fashionably late, Mark and Annabel are talking next to the bar. I immediately eye her up and down to see if she compares. A quick checklist is ticked off as I run from the floor upwards: cheap shoes, thick ankles, white tights ‘yuck,’ dark blue dress, a bit heavy in the hips, boobs around her waist, hair up and pulling on her cheeks. No, I have absolutely no competition there. As I move up to them I kiss Annabel on the cheek and place a cool hand on her back. Then I kiss Mark who is wearing his usual suede jacket that has become shiny at the elbows and around the collar. I feel Annabel’s eyes as she runs them up and down me.
“I had no idea we were going anywhere posh tonight.” She states, obviously to make me feel uncomfortable for making an effort.
“You’re right Annabel, looking at you two, I feel positively overdressed – perhaps I should run up and put on a pair of jeans and ‘T’ shirt?” I notice out of the corner of my eye that Will has been sitting some distance from the bar and is now heading towards us. “I’ll just nip up and change, I won’t be a minute.”
“Hi Danielle.” His familiar voice rang out.
“Oh dear too late.” I shrug my shoulders and give a kind of wry grin to Annabel. I then introduce Will to my colleagues. “This is Will, my only friend in the whole of Manhattan. Will, this is Annabel my closest girlfriend and colleague and this is Mark our co-pilot.”
After the usual small talk covering hopping the pond and what do you do and all the getting to know you type of bull, where nobody is really listening, I ask, “So, do we know where the others are going?”
“Villa Mosconi in the Village.” Mark says. “We are going just around the corner to a really good steak house, I booked a table at nine – we’re going be late, let’s move guys, are you coming Will?”
“If you’ll have me?”
“Oh goody, I’m starving.” I am really pleased that Will is wearing a very nice lightweight suit. He hasn’t gone overboard by wearing a tie and the striped blue and yellow lining inside his white shirt contrasts nicely against the dark grey of the jacket. His presence has semi-formalised the occasion and presented me with an excuse to stay exactly as I am.
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