Adventures in Rubber: Chapter 1
by Dr. Hevea
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
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
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
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
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
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
"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
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 his chest, looking down at him feigning 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.