It is very odd writing about this subject whilst sitting on the balcony of our villa in Greece in a little sun-dress but it is the current Kink of the Week topic and so despite the fact that I am currently sitting out on the most beautiful warm starlit evening, let’s talk about getting wet in the rain.
I totally get it; the excitement and exhilaration that comes with stepping out into a downpour and just letting it drench you. The way your clothes stick to you, your hair clings to your face, or maybe if you have a private garden the chance to experience it naked would be very tempting.
It is a trope that appears in thousands of Hollywood movies and many a romance novel. The hero or heroine arriving bedraggled and forlorn on the doorstep only to be ‘rescued’ into the warm embrace of their lover is a scene that has been played out in numerous different permutations. It even features at the end of one of my favourite movies, Four weddings and a Funeral, where Carrie (Andie MacDowell) turns up at Charles’ (Hugh Grant) house and they profess their love for one another and vow to never get married as the rain pours down their faces and soaks their clothes. It is wonderfully cheesy.
So I get it, there is something very evocative about it that works in stories, particularly when it comes to movies. The idea of getting wet in the rain with a lover is one that is endlessly portrayed as being exciting and romantic, with clothes sticking to bodies, arms wrapped round one another, sheltering in doorways or so engrossed in that kiss that they are oblivious to the weather around them. Then there are those moments of finding shelter, or being offered a blanket while the clothes dry, hot drinks and crackling fires. It is the perfect rescue for the sodden character.
“I opened the door and there she stood, her hair plastered to the side of her face, her t-shirt so wet that it cling to the soft curves of her body and her eyelashes decorated with tiny little beads of water that glistened in the moonlight. I was so happy to see her there that I stepped out into the dark wet night with her, draw her into my arms and kissed her as the rain washed over the both of us.”
See, it fits perfectly. In fact next time I write some fiction I might just slip in some rain action but the reality for me is that fiction is where the rain belongs because I fucking loath the stuff. I have written numerous times here about how much I detest the cold, wet climate in the UK. The weeks and weeks of grey skies, the lack of summer and the length of winter are my nemesis. I am more often than not cold. I spend most of my life wearing one more layer than everyone else. I constantly have cold hands and feet. I firmly believe that I was not built to live in the UK. Here in Greece, where the land throbs with heat, here is where I am comfortable and so I guess if on one of these hot and sultry evenings the heavens opened well then maybe the idea of getting wet in the rain might just appeal to me. Maybe then, if it was hot enough I could enjoy it for what it was but otherwise, just all the no.
There is nothing about it that I find to be sexy or exciting. (unlike thunderstorms) Oh there is something lovely about lying in bed and listening to the rain against the window but getting wet in it? You have got to be joking. In an indirect way it even features on my hard limits list as ‘not doing anything that makes me cold’. I have even stopped play both at home and at play events because I am too cold. In fact there is an event that we now no longer attend unless it is summertime because the room was always too cold for me.
Now I know that summer rain is a thing but sadly, my lizard blood requires a constant source of heat to keep me happy and summer rain in the UK feels like a horribly cold shower to me and there is absolutely nothing sexy about that as far as I am concerned. You are never going to find me trying to drag him out for a clandestine romp in the rain no matter how much I can appreciate its potential for wild eroticism or tender romance for me it is best left to the realms of fiction and maybe the odd photograph.