Adventures In Rubber
Chapter 1 -
Jason was getting frustrated. The embroidered jacket was chafing, the bar
scotch he'd ordered was watery, and he was sweating in the rubber pants. What
the hell he thought, I may as well enjoy my drinking, if I can't enjoy the
bloody party. He poured his drink into an abandoned margarita, and caught the
bartender's eye. "Double shot of Macallan, neat," he ordered. The bartender,
a bored-looking gorilla in a nun's habit, said, "Top shelf is four bucks a
shot," waited for his reaction, and when he said nothing, turned to pour.
Jason had come to the Hallowe'en party alone, as a last resort, knowing full
well he would most likely remain alone. He looked around the party, noting the
many couples that had formed since the masquerade dance had begun. It looked
like yet another lonely night out of years of lonely nights.
Earlier, things had looked promising as several attractive women had shown
interest in his flashy costume. But right on cue, his insecurity had caused
him to stammer, to blurt meaningless and silly things, and one by one, they had
disappeared into the crowd, only to be glimpsed later hanging on the arm of
another, apparently more confident man, or in some cases, woman. It was hard
to tell, with some of the costumes.
Shit, why couldn't I have been born gay, he thought. At least, there seem to
be a lot more men here than women with a fetishistic bent.
His hopes rose again when a young woman in an outrageous blonde wig and 1920's
flapper dress walked up to him with two glasses of champaign.
She looked like a gangster's moll from a movie.
"Hoy they-uh," she said. He grinned. She even had the accent down pat.
"Hey, baby doll," he said in his best imitation of Al Capone.
She frowned slightly then brightened. "Oi loik ya cawstume, where'd ja foind
it?"
Once again, he tried to concentrate on what he would say. She was a knockout,
he just had to get it right this time. For the seventeenth time tonight, he
heard a friends advice in his mind. "Just be yourself.
People can sense when you're putting on an act." He tried to relax. He
dropped the "gangster" accent and smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner.
"Well, I rented the jacket, hat and shoes, but I already had the rubber pants.
Where did you find that outrageous wig?"
Thirty seconds later, he stood morosely wiping champaign from his jacket,
amazed to discover that not only had her accent been real, but the wig was not
a wig, and her head was as empty as her glass was now.
She was
not The Woman.
'The Woman' was a sort of fantasy he'd entertained since puberty.
He sat down at the cash bar, and thought back to his high school days, to his
first and only great love.
When he was about sixteen, and noticing girls in a big way, he'd made a pass at
the sexiest red-headed girl in school, Mandy. This was a bold step for him,
since he'd always had trouble talking to girls. It was discouraging, actually,
for his swim-team body and cute looks tended to attract quite a few potential
dates and even bed-mates. The problem was that Jason Stewart was not just a
jock. He was smart, and he knew it, and he just couldn't relate to 99% of the
girls at school, despite the urging of his percolating hormones. To be sure,
there were a few smart girls at his school, but they dressed like bag-ladies,
and their personal grooming habits would have shamed a wino. There appeared to
be no females there with good looks, good taste, and intelligence in the entire
city of St.
Louis.
Moreover, his social skills seemed somehow lacking when dealing with girls-
they seemed to him almost an alien race, with quite different needs and goals
than he. Due to an early divorce, Jason had grown up without a father, and
somehow his mother had never graced him with any dating skills.
After two years of unsuccessful attempts at conversation with empty-headed
Madonnawannabes, and a few aborted dates, he overheard a conversation between
his chemistry teacher and Mandy Rafool. She was discussing the relationship
between what she had learned in physics class to the current discussion of
valences in chemistry. He would never have imagined! He had seen her around
for quite awhile and like every other guy in school had been fascinated with
her pretty face, tight jeans and sweaters, and astonishingly mature body. And
like every other guy in school, he had noticed that she was conspicuously
without a boyfriend. But he'd assumed from her good looks and her retinue of
bimbettes that she was yet another bimbo herself. She was two years older than
he, a senior, a cheerleader and she seemed like a daddy's-little-girl type who
never lacked for anything, yet he had fallen hard, and he resolved to win her
heart.
For the next six months he secretly bought all the magazines the girls at
school seemed to worship, and studied. In Seventeen, he learned how a 'real
cool dude' walked, talked, and dressed. In Young Model, he read about the
things every teenage girl supposedly wanted in a boyfriend.
In Cosmo, he discovered what sort of sex 'every' sophisticated, mature woman
'wants to save'. And, finally, after screwing his courage to the sticking
point, he'd asked her for a date. She'd accepted! Actually, when he first
spoke to her she'd laughed and walked off with her friends, but then right
after school, he had found her sitting on the hood of his car. She told him
she was sorry, that she'd actually thought him cute when they first met, but
his inept approach had 'forced' her to rebuke him, lest her girlfriends think
her 'easy'. Considering how she domineered her peer group, he thought it more
likely that she only feared a loss of control, but didn't dare risk such a
rebuke. He was in love... or lust, which was about the same to him at that age.
"Well, aren't you going to drive me home?" she'd demanded. At last, he had
thought to himself, a girl who takes the lead. As they talked, sitting in his
car in front of her house, he discovered with delight and a certain relief that
she did have a brain after all. The vast majority of the attractive girls, at
least, seemed to believe that brains and education were anathema to becoming a
model, which every one of them except Mandy seemed to want. She told him she
was getting straight A's except in Home-Ec, which she loathed, and that she had
already decided to become an investment broker!
He asked her why she had no boyfriends, why she had picked him.
Her reply astonished, and then warmed him. It seemed that she too, was turned
off by empty-headed football jocks suffering from what she called testosterone
poisoning. She seemed surprised and delighted that he was on the swimming
team, yet was also an intelligent student. Then she shocked him by revealing
that she had not only dated a few of those football jocks, but had sex with
several, and found them to be boring, self-centered lovers.
At his stunned look she added, "Oh, don't look so shocked.
There's nothing wrong with having sex early, although you could never prove it
by those immature fools I run with. I'm not stupid, I use condoms, I play it
safe. Besides, I've seen the way you look at my body, you know damn well you'd
give your left arm to get in my pants..." here she reached over and squeezed
his crotch, nearly causing a minor traffic accident, "...and who knows, maybe
you will, if you're good to me."
Jason's brain was yelling, "DANGER...DANGER, Dr. Smith!
Cockteaser ahead!" but he suppressed its voice easily and told himself she
really meant it- she was just a very bossy girl...er, woman, he corrected
himself.
She turned out to be a rather forceful lass indeed. Fortunately for Jason's
grades, she shared no classes with him, but when they passed in the halls, she
surreptitiously blew him kisses, or licked her lips lasciviously when no-one
was looking. She insisted on meeting him after school every day, and that he
drive her home. He lived for those drives, as they talked about their
passtimes and interests, the other kids at school, and frequently about sex.
She seemed quite knowledgable on that subject, and astonished him with her
frank, technical descriptions of what seemed to him bizarre yet tantalizing
acts.
Finally, on Friday, she informed him that he would pick her up at seven that
night to go to Angelo's for dinner. Angelo's was a restaurant & nightclub,
rather pricey for kids their age, but his part time job at Radio Shack had
allowed him to save a tidy bundle. He felt a moment of pride at being able to
wine and dine the sexiest girl in school.
It was rather a relief actually, not having to worry how to persuade her to go
out with him. All she required of him was a "yes".
When he picked her up, he discovered that she challenged the conventions of
fashion as well. He got to her house early and after waiting nervously on the
porch for several minutes, he rang the bell precisely at seven o'clock. She
opened the door within seconds, and breezed right past him toward the car. He
could only stare after her in shock. When she realized he wasn't following she
turned, staring back at him with hands on hips, looking at him silently as if
to say, 'Well, aren't you coming?' He continued to stare for a moment, than
slowly walked up to her, his expression of slack-jawed astonishment slowly
turning to one of frank admiration as he boldly looked her up and down. The
temperature of the warm June night suddenly rose several degrees.
"Buy you a drink, senor?" The voice at his shoulder snapped Jason back to the
present. A huge woman, no, a transvestite, in a tight red flamenco dress was
standing next to him.
"Umm, no thanks. I mean, no offense, but your eyes are the wrong color for
me." The flamenco dancer pouted and flounced away. Jason sipped his scotch,
closed his eyes and thought back to that first, incredible night.
For their trip to the club, she had worn an outrageous shiny rubber miniskirt
in hot pink that fit like a second skin. If that wasn't enough, she had topped
it with a tight-fitting jacket of white patent leather, accompanied by fishnet
stockings and pink patent spike heels. She wore no blouse under the jacket,
and if she wore a bra, it must have been quite low-cut, as her burgeoning
cleavage was plainly displayed in the neckline.
His first reaction was that she looked like one of the hookers on Main Street,
or a heroine from a B-grade movie, although unarguably sexy!
"My god Mandy," he said, "you look delectable!"
She grinned a wicked grin. "Yes, I know. I take it then that you like my
tastes."
She even sounds like a b-grade movie, he thought. He convinced his eyes to
stop exploring her body, to meet her gaze. "Mandy, I LOVE the way you
look...it's just that... I guess it's a bit of a shock. At school, you never
wear anything more provocative than a tight sweater...do you dress this way
every time you go out? Don't you get a lot of flack from your parents?" He
realized he was gushing and shut up, coloring slightly.
She smiled wryly at him and ticked off her reply on her fingers.
"First: I dress the way I dress at school in order to identify with those
little idiots who follow me around like puppy dogs. I give them something to
look up to, they give me a certain cachet of respectability, helping me to get
on the cheerleading team, the school newspaper, the yearbook staff, student
council, and so on. That stuff looks great to college scouts, after they
finish examining your test scores, of course. "Second: no, I don't always
dress this way when I go out, only when I want to reduce my date to a drooling
blob of lust." She grinned mischievously.
"It's working, believe me," stammered Jason,
"..third," Mandy interrupted, "no, my parents don't mind much at all.. you
should see some of the things THEY wear. "and fourth, are we going to dinner,
or not?"
During dinner, while his head was reeling from her fantasticly clothed figure,
her slightly musky cologne, and two glasses of wine, she whispered to him in no
uncertain terms what she expected of him later. Jason was in pubescent heaven.
His erection had not subsided since she'd opened the door, and she certainly
wasn't helping with her thoroughly lurid account of the things she wanted to do
to him. If she weren't so straightforward and bossy, he thought, I'd think she
was the biggest tease of all time.
By the time dessert had arrived, she had removed a shoe, and was massaging his
uncomfortable bulge with her toes, the concealing tablecloth keeping their
secret. When she put her shoe back on and began squeezing his crotch between
both heels, he thought he would explode. He didn't want to cream in his pants,
but he didn't want to make a scene, either. The whole time, Mandy kept up a
stream of innocuous conversation that for Jason, became increasingly difficult
to follow.
When they got to the car, she leaned back against the car, inviting him into
her arms. For a few seconds, Jason hugged her gently, as if afraid she would
break. He kissed her hesitantly, just before they both threw decorum to the
wind, each grabbing the other fiercely, smothering each other with their
mouths, their toungues. Jason squeezed her ass and pulled her tightly to him,
marvelling at the unusual feeling of the smooth, pliant latex covering her
muscular cheeks. Mandy responded by pushing her hand down his pants. Jason
felt her hand around his erect shaft, and suddenly knew that they would not be
getting home at the hour he'd promised his mother. He drew his head back,
looked her in the eyes. "I think we'd better go somewhere."
Mandy had him drive to the outskirts of town to an abandoned farmhouse she knew
about from some previous amorous adventure. The entire way, she was melted
against him, rubbing his skin with her hands, and distracting him from driving
in general. Soon she had opened his fly, and had scooped everything out.
Jason tried to think of something to say, but was overcome by the unique
sensation of SOMEONE ELSE handling his cock, softly squeezing his balls. He
tried to concentrate on the road, but when she pulled him into her mouth, for
the second time that week, he almost drove off the road. "Ah! ..ahhh" was all
he could say.
"Relax," she said, releasing his cock for a moment, "you drive the car, and
I'll drive you." She again bent to her task. During a moment's clear thought,
he realized she was quite good at it. Every time he felt ready to come off,
she either slowed down or stopped altogether, moving her attention and tongue
to his balls, or neck, or earlobes. Only once did she come up for air, to give
directions.
When they finally arrived, Jason pulled out a large picnic blanket his mother
kept in the trunk, "for road emergencies". He'd decided that this was a road
emergency. In seconds, Mandy had him down on the blanket on his back, her legs
astride his hips, and her hands pressing his shoulders into the soft earth.
"You're a virgin, aren't you?" she asked softly, smiling gently down at him in
the pale moonlight. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't break her gaze.
"Umm, yeah," he answered sheepishly.
Softly, she stroked his face. "Heyy.... heyyy," she cooed, "it's alright!
Everyone's a virgin some time in their life. You just sit back and enjoy the
ride. If you feel like doing something, say so, or just do what comes
naturally. Now then..." She squirmed backwards enough to get at his belt and
stood suddenly, unceremoniously yanking off his pants. "There! Now we're
getting somewhere," she exclaimed, grabbing at his underwear. When she had him
totally nude he protested, "Hey, wait a minute, I'm not wearing a stitch, and
you're still dressed! That's hardly fair."
Mandy stood astride Jason's chest and looked down at his eager young face. He
looked like a kid in a candy store. She feigned a hurt expression. "Don't you
LIKE the way I'm dressed?" She ran her hands over the thin shiny patent
leather covering her breasts, turned to face his feet, giving him an excellent
view as she carressed her latex-covered derrier.
"Er, well, I didn't mean..."
"And besides," she added, bending to look at him between her knees as she
positioned herself above his head, "I'm not wearing any panties." So saying,
she knelt astride his chest, pinning his upper arms under her shins, and
squatting directly over his face.
Jason had actually dreaded this moment. Although a virgin, he was by no means
ignorant, and through his reading and by the coarse jokes and bragging told in
the swimming team locker room, he had surmised that cunnilingus was a
distasteful and unpleasant experience. All that changed in the next thirty
seconds. As she lowered her crotch over his face, she began stroking his erect
cock, occasionally leaning forward to tongue and partially suck on him. He was
eager to return the favor. He sniffed cautiously. A melange of scent
surprised his nose. The smell of the latex miniskirt, now hiked up around her
hips was reminiscent more of certain pipe tobaccos than the smelly innertube
rubber he was more familiar with.
This was mixed with a new smell, musky and rich, not unpleasant, but...
strange, with a hint of some musky cologne. He suspected she had scented
herself here as well. Encouraged, he reached out with his tongue, exploring
the pink flesh hidden in the hair. She tasted much the same as she smelledhe
decided that the boys on the swim team must be crazy or liars, because he was
already beginning to like it.
As his tongue made it's first tentative entry into her hungry sex, Mandy
moaned, backed up into his mouth, and bent further to take him completely into
her mouth. Jason bucked his mouth and tongue against her and into her, having
only a fleeting instant to thinkI'm doing it! At last, I'm actually doing 69
with the best girl in school! before the rising heat in his groin became a
pulsing fire that swept through his mind, leaving only peace and a growing love
behind it.
"Hey buddy, if you're not gonna drink, how about letting someone else use that
stool, huh?" Jason awoke with a start from his reverie, realizing his daydream
had become that lucid, remembering sort of sleep-dream. He looked up at the
hard hat that had spoken, realizing that the deep voice belonged to a huge,
muscular woman dressed as a construction worker. She had one meaty fist
clamped around the wrist of a fierce-looking smaller woman sporting a green
mohawk, the other around a huge can of Buddweizer.
Jason blinked and said, "Uh, I was just leaving." Sometimes, he thought
heading for the other end of the bar, discretion is the ONLY part of valor.
As the saddening memories of his lost love returned, Jason hailed the
bartender, who had been replaced by a six-foot tall pink elephant, and ordered
another shot of the Macallan. Wistfully, he thought about that first night of
blazing hot sex, of exploration and learning. He remembered that at one point,
Mandy had been lying back, knees in the air, while Jason, his hands lifting her
ass, lapped and sucked hungrily at her pussy.
Essentially they were waiting for Jason's plumbing to recover before having at
it again. Mandy had suddenly lowered her legs, tucking her ankles into his
armpits, and pulled her skirt down around his head. When he started to back
out to see what was wrong, she urged, "No, keep going," and pulled him to her
with her ankles. Jason, his head squeezed between her muscular thighs and the
tightly stretched skirt, his nose assaulted by her strong musk and the aromatic
scent of the rubber, set to with renewed vigor, and soon found his tool
hardening again.
It had been an incredible night, and he had learned a few new skills, too.
From that day forth, he had developed a special affinity for Mandy's style of
dress: high heels, tight fitting, yet revealing jackets and blouses and skin
tight dresses. His lover had quite a few sexy outfits, including several made
from leather, or shiny, stretchy plastic, and a purple latex sheath dress that
looked as if it were painted on. He especially liked the look and feel of the
rubber outfits. She even had a pair of black bicycle shorts made of latex that
she insisted he try on.
The unique, clingy, slightly restrictive sensation had made him instantly hard,
and when she rubbed up against him in her purple rubber dress, he surprised
them both my suddenly coming in his pants.
The smooth, stretchy material seemed to be the ultimate in second skin,
emphasizing the shape of the body, smoothing imperfections, and even offering a
kind of isolating protection from the weather. He looked everywhere for items
made of it, but to no avail. To be sure, latex dresses and rubber pants were
shown off on perfect bodies in various fashion magazines from time to time, but
all he found locally were rubber kitchen gloves.
Finally, he asked Mandy where she had gotten her rubber items.
"Why," she giggled, "do you want a dress for yourself?"
"No," he lied, "I think I prefer rubber dresses on you. I thought I'd get you
something new, but I can't find anything."
"Oh, my dad bought some of it for me when he was in New York, I don't know what
store. Then I found mom looking through a catalog from some British company,
and I just asked her to order some things for me, too."
Jason had wondered what sort of parents bought teir daughter rubber miniskirts,
but kept his thoughts to himself.
For seven months, they were inseperable, despite the accusations from his
mother that Mandy "looked like trash" in her wild, sexy outfits. When Jason
told his mom who Mandy's parents were, and what neighborhood they lived in,
that was the end of that.
He did finally get to meet Mandy's parents, and received several clues about
Mandy's maturity and free lifestyle. Both parents were highly paid
professionals, mom a mathematician for an engineering firm, and dad a nursing
instructor for a local university hospital. They were smart, they knew their
daughter was too, and they were apparently very open minded about her
sexuality. Their only iron-clad rules concerned her academic performance, and
her health. Jason learned that they were the source of Mandy's uncommon but
sensible fixation on what she called, "safe sex".
Only once did Jason glimpse anything unusual about the senior Rafool's. During
one weekend visit to Mandy's house to get her help with some schoolwork, Jason
went to the kitchen to grab them some Coke's. On the way back, he passed the
garage door which had been left ajar, and from which some rather frantic
moaning and grunting was coming. Upon peeking through the gap, he was greeted
by the sight of a large black mummy suspended by chains from the garage roof.
The bag looked like leather, and covered the body within it from scalp to toes.
It was liberally equipped with straps and buckles that had been drawn tight,
making the entire form-fitting arrangement quite taut. Nonetheless, it was
quirming enthusiastically, and he noticed a wire dangling from the bag that
trailed off to his right.
Then he noticed, at the edge of his view, a pair of crossed legs belonging to
someone seated just out of sight. The legs had on an extraordinary pair of
knee-high boots with high platform soles, whose spike heels must have been a
foot long! Above the boots, the legs were dressed in something skin-tight,
red, and very shiny which he suspected was rubber.
Shaking his head in amazement, he quietly returned to Mandy's room without
telling her what he had seen.
Of course, thought Jason, it was to good to last... Mandy's mother had been
hired to a lucrative position with a think tank in Washington, DC., and the
family moved away within a month. It happened with hardly any notice, and
Mandy and Jason were crushed. They spent days saying goodbye.
For almost a year, they wrote constantly, and once Mandy's parents payed her
airfare back to St. Louis. They had a few precious days together, fortunately
during summer school break, which they spent seeing movies, shopping, and
enjoying wild and imaginative sex.
Before she left, Mandy told him that if he couldn't come to Washington, she
would be looking for another partner to spend her life with. Although he knew
it was only fair, having it out in the open drove home the fact that he had
lost her. It was years before he tried dating again.
Years later, in an adult book store, he found a magazine dedicated to
"fetishists". The pictures of women (and men!) in corsets, rubber, and high
heels were tantalizing and a kind of relief, as he had imagined that his
fascination was unique. He bought it and went home to look up the word,
"fetish". It fits, he sighed to himself. I suppose I'll never find another
girl like Mandy. Inside the magazine, he found page after page of amazing
photographs. And the clothes! Every page showed men and women in the most
delicious rubber costumes imaginable. There were rubber dresses, rubber
shirts, long rubber gloves and stockings, in every color one could want. There
was even a severe-looking rubber corset that compressed one happily suffering
woman from her neck to her ankles! Moreover, the people were doing the
strangest things! As he drooled over the steaming scenes, trying to figure out
the straps, hoses and other paraphernelia, he noticed a tiny ad in one corner.
It was a company that sold all these wonderful things!
Fortunately, Jason was working in the computer field, and had a good-sized
income, or he would have gone broke within a year. He ordered a few rubber
goods from that first company, and subscribed to a magazine they mentioned. He
was still getting over the shock that there were other people out there who
loved rubber as much as he! In the magazine, there were advertisements from
other companies making everything from anoraks to zoot suits, out of several
different kinds of rubber.
He had immediately reached for his checkbook.
Over the years, he built an impressive collection of rubber goods, from tight
women's dresses, to men's "blue jeans". But through it all, despite his best
efforts, he could find no-one to wear any of it with, or to share his growing
interest in bondage. Oh, he dated, and socialized, but he never found anyone
to share his secret desires. Just once, he had dared to mention his fetish to
a woman he had been dating for some months.
They had made love a few times, and she had proved quite conservative-almost
boring, Jason would have said. But she did seem to enjoy dressing sexy,
although more for looks than the feeling of the clothes themselves, so he
casually mentioned that he would like to see her in a dress he'd bought for
her, and when she agreed, he brought out a rather plain sheath dress in shiny
black latex. It fit her well, but she complained that it 'felt weird', and
wouldn't wear it again. He never dared to bring up the topic again. After
they stopped seeing each other, he resigned himself to a lonely life of
masturbation and fantasies.
Attending tonight's Hallowe'en party was a half-hearted attempt to get out and
see the local nightlife. He'd noticed, over the last few years, a subtle trend
toward a 'trashy and flashy' look in fashion, and had begun to have hopes of
finding a lover who shared his tastes. He had debated for hours what to wear
to the party, balancing the requirements for a costume against his desire to
"come out" in something kinky. In the end, he settled on renting a Spanish
toreador outfit worn with his own black rubber knickers, and a simple domino
mask.
It took all his courage to wear the pants, too.
But as he pulled the stretchy, shiny latex over his legs, he realized it didn't
matter what people thought, tonight was Hallowe'en! Tonight was the one night
he could wear anything at all without fear of ridicule or outcry. He revelled
in the tight, smooth feel of the rubber jeans. To hell with it, he thought,
I'm going to enjoy myself tonight!
At the party, which was hosted by a local radio station, he was greeted by a
delightful array of leather dresses, spandex pants and skirts, and other sexy
costumes. But as he danced with various partners in turn, he realized that to
these nervously laughing people, they were just costumes, and none of them
would likely wear such things to the office.
There was no lack of spandex, plenty of cheap imitation leather, and a fair
amount of real leather, but not one bit of rubber was to be seen. Eventually,
he sat down at the bar to rest and console himself with a drink.
Now, after two stiff scotches, he had become positively soggy with nostalgia.
So, as he sat sweltering in his sweaty costume, feeling utterly alone in his
perversion, he was overwhelmed to see two women walk in, wearing what appeared
to be mostly rubber costumes. And what costumes!
The first to enter, a tall redhead with an impossibly exaggerated hourglass
figure, was wearing what looked like a cross between a form-fitting jacket and
a corset, made of black patent leather. She possessed the smallest waist he
had ever seen. Below that, a skin-tight glossy hobble-skirt flared around her
ample hips, compressing her legs together from waist to knee. Judging from its
smooth, shiny texture and its fluid movement as she walked, it was made of
thick latex rubber. On her legs, she wore knee-length boots with six-inch
heels, that laced all the way up.
Her companion, a shorter brunette, was dressed in a classic french maid's
uniform, complete with white doily, except that her uniform was made entirely
of rubber. She had on long black latex stockings with lace garters showing
just under the hem of her skirt. His eyes grew wider. On her feet were a pair
of cruel looking patent leather ankle boots with 6- inch spike heels, and heavy
ankle straps attached to each other with a sturdy little chain. They seemed to
be giving her trouble, because she faltered a bit as the pair walked
