Right now the air is really, really dry — low dewpoint — and I’m feeling it in my shorts. There’s something about dry air that does that to me, and maybe to everybody else — don’t really know. I do know that on days like this, there’s a freshness, and vitality, and lively energy in the air that makes people say, at minimum, what a nice day it is. What they probably really mean, though, is what a nice day it would be to spend in bed, going at it like crazed marmots.
When the air is dry, skin feels like it’s at its peak of aliveness, like the natural order of it is to be touched, caressed. I remember an evening once, when I was just entering puberty, when the air felt exactly like this and I was outside in the dark, in our back yard, and I felt so — randy, without knowing what that was — and so I took off my clothes and let the air caress me. At the time I had not yet discovered other options — did not know what to do with such desire — yet it remains one of the signature erotic events of my life.
There’s something about the way skin feels in this weather that’s just heavenly. Your skin tingles. And when your hands glide across her body — because they are completely dry, there’s no sticking, not even the slightest resistance as you caress her, just pure electricity jumping back at you. The only moistness is exactly where you want it. This is exactly why silk feels so good — caressing her body through silk imitates caressing her body without it when the dewpoint is low.
By contrast — think of those hot, muggy days and nights. Personally, I can’t stand being touched in that weather. I don’t care how sexy you are, my skin just seems to naturally repel anything and everything. And caressing? You can’t caress — your hand just sticks to her skin and pulls it with you when you try to move. And when you’re in the thick of it, body to body, you’re either slipping around in a slick of sweat, or you’re stuck to her like a vinyl shower curtain. Either way, you gotta really want it.
That’s why I love air conditioning.