Hi Guys!

So this is my first blog post, so please be gentle with me..!

Since I've been on this wonderful site, I have given a lot of thought to the psychology of fetishes, my own and those of others. Early experiences are key, clearly, and in terms of my own what comes to mind is a memory from my school days.

I want to add at this point that anything I write on this blog will be the truth/ what really happened unless I specify to the contrary. And what I'm writing about occurred from age 16, not younger.

So I went to an all girls Church of England school. I actually really loved being there, it was quite strict with a lot of rules and traditions and being a naughty, rebellious girl I took a huge amount of pleasure in breaking them all. I had a couple of very serious crushes on school friends of mine, one was a vicar's daughter called Louisa and we would walk around school holding hands and write one another love letters. Very unfortunately the relationship never progressed any further than that, unless you include my own imagination, where her hand would slip under my skirt and caress my thigh in assembly, perhaps even brushing a finger against the white cotton of my school underwear.
One particular school tradition invented by the pupils themselves was what happened on the last day of term in year 10, when the GCSEs were all over. In the summer of 1992 I was able to experience that for myself. Everyone knew it was going to happen, and there was a palpable sense of excitement in the air, culminating in the first girl running into the playground from the girls bathrooms with two full bottles of water and gleefully pouring them down my blouse, soaking the apple green cotton to my skin and making me gasp.And that is how it would begin, all of us girls bundling into a huge water fight, either chucking bottled water from our school bags over one another's heads, or running back and forth from the bathrooms with bottles replenished. There would quickly appear from the bags of the more prepared, a full arsenal of weapons, particular favourites being flour and eggs..the eggs were hurled at the chests and backs of girls, or cracked over the heads, the flour coming next and misting the air with powder, then creating a sticky, messy paste with the water in the hair of the unfortunate victims.
I vividly remember on that hot Summer afternoon, the sense of pure exhilaration, laughing till I couldn't breathe, feeling the chill of the water in the heat of the sun, my hair sticking to my face and my blouse and skirt a sodden mess clinging to my skin. Beyond that sense of freedom and fun though, there was the sweet tingle of arousal, the sense of power of running towards plain faced, sensible Louisa with her sweet brown eyes and soaking her blouse so that her small, enticing breasts were outlined through the wetness. I was legitimately allowed to destroy her and there was nothing she could do.. There was a sublime sense of power to that, along with an intense sense of frustration that it could go no further.

So that was my memory.
And I think I still feel that sense of freedom and exhilaration from water and mess. The sense of silly fun, with an undercurrent of simmering sexual tension. I think that's wam in a nutshell.