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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."