It's raining again outside.
Since my laundry won't dry, I head to the usual laundromat with heavy steps.
Listening to the rain hitting my umbrella, I can't suppress the ache deep inside my body that started that day.
At first, it was just a lapse in caution.
Getting wet in the rain on the way, my blouse clung to my skin, and I fell into a deep sleep enveloped by the sound of the dryer's rotation—that was the end of my luck.
Men watching my body, wet and translucent.
Men peeking at my body through the gaps in my loose loungewear.
I was devoured as they pleased, my pantyhose torn, my underwear stolen...
Sex, being thrust into like crazy while my voice was drowned out by the roar of the dryer.
I should have been defiled, yet now, every time it rains, I can't stop my crotch from becoming damp and hot.
"I wonder if anyone will come today..."
I mutter to myself, so much so that I start tracing my own arousal; I'm already a captive of that damp heat.
By the time the laundry is dry, I'll return to being the "beautiful me" and blend back into the city.
But inside, I'm still damp and wet with the sensation of those men.
Hey. If it rains again, will you find me here?
