The late afternoon sun warmed the shingle beach of a secluded cove just west of Bognor Regis. Debbie stood at the water's edge, the gentle rhythm of the waves washing over the toes of her sturdy, brown knee-high boots. She wasn't dressed for swimming, not in the conventional sense. A long, dark denim skirt flowed around her calves, and a simple white cotton shirt was tucked loosely into its waistband.
A small smile played on her lips. This wasn't an accident; it was an intention. Taking a breath, she stepped forward. The cool shock of the English Channel swirled around her ankles, instantly soaking the leather of her boots. She paused, savouring the unusual sensation the resistance of the leather yielding to the water, the coolness seeping through to her socks and skin.
She waded deeper. The hem of her denim skirt met the water, darkening immediately as the fabric drank greedily. With each step, the water climbed higher past her knees, swirling around her thighs. The denim grew heavy, clinging possessively to her legs, its texture transformed from stiff to pliable, its weight a comforting presence pulling downwards. The skirt billowed slightly with the movement of the water, then settled against her again, a sodden embrace.
When the water reached her waist, she stopped. The white shirt, initially floating on the surface, succumbed quickly. It turned translucent, plastering itself against her skin, outlining the curve of her back and the line of her shoulders. The feeling was intense the cool water saturating the cotton, the fabric clinging where moments before it had been loose, the weight of her clothes anchoring her gently in the shallow waves.
Debbie closed her eyes, tipping her head back slightly towards the sun. She felt the coolness of the water-logged denim and cotton against her warm skin, the unexpected weight of her attire, the gentle tug of the tide against the heavy skirt. Water sloshed inside her boots with every small movement. It wasn't about swimming or getting somewhere; it was purely about this moment, this feeling the strange, delightful friction of wet fabric against skin, the complete saturation, the surrender to the water while fully clad. A sense of quiet joy, simple and profound, washed over her, as immersive as the sea itself. She stood there for a long time, just feeling, the heavy, wet clothes a tangible connection to the cool water and the quiet peace of the cove.