Don't know if it counts,
This goes back to my college days. I had this close relationship with a girl—not quite dating, but more than just friends. You know, that stage where the air between you feels tinged with a soft, pinkish glow, full of possibility.
One day, we had to dress up in formal attire for a class presentation. The weather had been unpredictable all week. As we walked across campus, still buzzing about how our presentation went, a light rain started to fall—not too heavy at first. Feeling a bit playful and romantic, I thought, it’s summer, it’s warm, why not lean into it? So, we decided to stroll through the rain, like some dreamy movie scene. But the rain got heavier, and instead of romantic, we ended up soaked and disheveled, laughing as we ran for the nearest building.
Even in our soggy state, we couldn’t stop giggling. That’s when I glanced down and noticed her light blue blouse, now drenched, clinging to her skin. Since it was summer, she hadn’t layered anything underneath, and her black bra was completely visible—every detail, even the delicate lace stitching on the cups, stood out crystal clear. My eyes drifted lower to her slender waist, the wet fabric turning semi-sheer, teasingly revealing her curves. I caught myself staring, almost forgetting to blink, my cheeks warming with a mix of awe and bashfulness.
Being a gentleman, I slipped off my jacket and d****d it over her shoulders. After all, she wasn’t my girlfriend yet, and I wasn’t about to let my mind wander to wanting her exposed like that.
There’s just something about a black bra under a wet shirt—whether it’s sweat or rain making it see-through, or just a naturally sheer top. And when it’s a thin white blouse with a black bra faintly showing through, it’s enough to make you lose all self-control.
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