This is another post from a few years back, but it’s always fun, and I’ve had several requests to repost. Here you go!
DISCLAIMER: If you have a latex allergy, you should not read any farther. If you do, don’t come bitching to me. The following deals with mature subject matter and is suitable only for consenting adults. By reading farther, you agree that you are both an adult and you consent to reading adult material. There are inherent risks to using latex rubber in the manners discussed below. The two largest risks are hyperthermia and allergic reactions, up to and including anaphylaxis. Read and follow all directions and warnings on the container. Your mileage may vary.
In my life, I’ve done some pretty wild things with my partners. Oh, not just in the bedroom…the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, the hall, the garage, the backyard, the car, moving motorcycles, Sears, city parks, museums, schools, Vons…you get the idea.
The other day I saw something in a shop that caught my eye…Liquid Latex. It came in a bunch of colors and was packaged in paint cans. The idea is that you can paint the stuff on your skin and it sticks, like paint, but it’s flexible so it doesn’t crack. The little pamphlet that came with each can said you could paint on your clothes. If you’ve seen the Mummy movie, you’ve seen latex used in this manner. Hollywood does it a lot.
This had, I thought, some interesting possibilities. Besides, I’d never done that before.
Since Jack and I were having an “us night” and sending the kids to stay with Maria (my housekeeper/chef), I soon left the shop with several cans of latex and some brushes and went back to the hotel.
Jack had some things to take care of, and that gave me about three hours to get ready. I practiced a little on my arms and legs, and I found the process amazingly easy. I just painted the stuff on and it dried (OK, technically it cured) to a thin, flexible coating. The directions suggested several thin layers, and to use more layers where extra support is needed, like around the breasts. Maybe I was a bit obsessed with following the directions, but I stuck to them to the letter.
When I felt like I had enough practice, I started on my “pants”. I’d picked a blue denim color that, when cured, looked just like brushed denim jeans. I started at my ankles and using long strokes, I painted all the way up my legs to my thighs. At the risk of getting off track, I have to put another couple of warnings here…first, running a cool paintbrush full of latex up my leg tickled! I was twitching and jerking like crazy! Second, it’s more than a little bit of a turn-on…I found myself fantasizing that the brush was a tongue.
About the time I was ready to start on the top part of the pants, I wondered how I was going to do this alone. How could I reach my ass well enough to get a good, even coat of latex on me? I studied one odd brush that the shop owner had sold me. It had a pivot in the middle of a long handle and another pivot just above the bristles. Ah-ha! That’s how!
OK, the guys reading this won’t understand, so you boys may want to skip down to the next paragraph. I suspect that there are like five women on the planet who don’t think that their ass sags just a little. That’s why we buy various types of support panties. Guess what? In this deal, there aren’t any panties, support or otherwise! The directions said to “…lift the area or tense the muscles before applying the latex. Then release the tension after the product has cured.” So, I pulled a chair over in front of the big mirror in the suite’s bedroom and rested my ass on the back of the chair. Then I painted the top half of my butt and waited. I put on, as the directions suggested, five thin layers before I moved. When I stepped away from the chair, the latex held everything right where I wanted it. Amazing stuff!
Back with us, guys?
Before I go on, I need to say that if you want to do this for your lover, you need to shave or get a good wax job. If you can afford it, go get the hair removed with a laser. This is for two reasons…first, just imagine pulling the latex off if it has all your hair embedded in it. Ouch! Second, no one wants to see fuzzy rubber. I had the laser work done several years ago, so no worries for me.
I hope I don’t need to give an anatomy lesson here since we’re all consenting adults, but in case you don’t know, between a woman’s thighs and waist there are a number of areas of rather complex curves, ridges, valleys, creases, and folds. The trick is to get the skin as flat and smooth as possible. This involves pulling with one hand while painting with the other. Just as above, you keep the tension on until the rubber has cured, and all is well. Now, some of that grabbing, pinching, pulling, rolling, and all the rest is done on the tingly spots. And I thought the brush on my legs was a turn-on!
Try this sometime…go out to Home Depot and buy the softest 1-inch paintbrush you can find. Go home and strip off, and then sit down on a chair and spread your legs as wide as you can get them. Reach down with one hand and stretch the skin out to get rid of as many of the folds and such as you can. Dip the brush in cool water and pretend you’re painting yourself. And try not to scream.
After I caught my breath, I saw that I now wore what looked like a VERY tight pair of jeans. I used a tiny brush and some white, silver, red, and yellow latex to add a few details like pockets and a zipper, and the illusion was complete.
I figured the shirt would be easier than the pants. I was wrong. OK, it really wasn’t any harder, but the shirt was as least as difficult as the pants, and the problems all centered on my boobs.
Remember those five women above who don’t care that their ass sags? Well, those same five women are also the ones who don’t want perky tits. So, I was back to the idea of using latex for support.
The chair wouldn’t work for this because it was too high, and the same thing went for the dresser. I grabbed a suitcase and put it in front of the dresser, and after a little experimentation, I added two phone books. That put me at the perfect height to kneel on the suitcase and phone books and rest my boobs on the edge of the dresser while I painted the top half of my tits. Sounds simple enough.
Breasts are a lot more…something. Flexible? I don’t know. Anyway, my ass looked perfect—both cheeks at the same height, symmetrical, and smooth. My first try on my boobs ended up with my right nipple pointed at the ceiling and the left one pointed off to the right someplace. My tits looked like Marty Feldman’s eyes!
After a couple of more attempts with results that would have made Dr. Frankenstein proud, I figured out the problem…if the layers—and remember we’re talking several thin layers here—are not exactly the same thickness on each breast, the boobs will have different levels and directions of support, and so will end up pointing in different directions. I had a 1978 Dodge whose headlights did that. The reason I didn’t have a problem with my ass is simply that my ass is mostly muscle. Boobs are mostly fat. Guess which one is easier for the latex to deflect in undesired directions.
I took a deep breath, slowed down, and focused. In two more tries, I had it. And we’re talking some serious perkiness, too! And that brought up another question…would an erect nipple poke through the latex?
I did a little test by painting the same number of layers on the Formica counter in the kitchenette, and then carefully peeling it off. I held it tight and pushed with my knuckle. I knew my nails would cut the rubber, and I hope my nipples are softer than my fingernails, even when my nipples get hard. I had to push very hard to rip through. Good enough.
I finished the shirt in yellow, added some trim and such in blue, black, and hot pink, and stepped in front of the big mirror for a full view.
It looked fantastic! The color of the “jeans” was perfect, and it fit like glove…a latex glove. The most amazing part was that unless you looked closely, the “jeans” and “shirt” really did look like actual clothing, and that was in the fairly bright light of the hotel room. I only considered for a few moments before I grabbed my TTY and called Jack.
I told him I wanted to have a couple of drinks and that I would meet him in the hotel bar. He said he’d like that and would be there in about forty-five minutes.
I put a few finishing touches on my clothes, and slipped on a pair of black shoes with 4-inch heels and straps around my ankles. I then turned my attention to accessories. I grabbed my little black purse since I didn’t have a pocket to put my passport and credit card in, slipped on my rings and bracelets, and then considered for a moment. Last year, Jack bought me a gorgeous necklace. It’s platinum with an emerald the size of a small doorknob hanging on it. The stone rests precisely between my breasts. I put the necklace on, touched up my makeup, and headed downstairs.
I got a few stares from men as I made my way to the bar, but I’m not sure if I got more stares than I would have otherwise. The waiter showed me to a table and I waited for Jack. No one tried to hit on me…this bar wasn’t a gin-joint, but a high-class operation. That’s not to say that I wasn’t getting a few looks. At least I was until Jack came to the table and leaned to kiss me.
Jack’s six-feet-ten-inches tall and weighs about 245 pounds. Not many men have the balls to stare at me when he’s around. Oh, and he’s armed…heavily armed.
He said something about how nice I looked, but as far as I could tell, he was talking to my chest. We ordered drinks and I told him I needed to go to the ladies room. Obviously I didn’t. Think about it…I was completely encased in rubber. How could I possibly pee, even if I had to? I’d end up looking like a water balloon! I really just wanted him to get the full view.
I used The Walk on him as I left the table. You girls know the one I mean. You guys have seen it, too, and you always get all goofy over The Walk. Models use it all the time. It’s a slight crossing of the centerline of the body with the foot at each step. The Walk causes a woman’s ass to move back and forth, her hips to snap up and down as she walks. Guys love it.
As I stood in the restroom waiting for a little time to pass, I realized that Jack’s attention and fascination was exciting me, too. The downside was that I was afraid to touch myself for fear of ripping the latex. The same thing applied to letting him touch my “clothes”. I wanted to dance with him, but I know where that would go…at best, they would make us go back to the room. At worst, the hotel management would toss me out on my rubber-encased ass.
I watched Jack’s face as I walked back to the table, and his gaze kept moving from my boobs to my hips and back again. When I sat down, he just stared into my eyes for a few minutes and he looked like he was trying to speak. He finally managed something about how my day with the girls went. I told him it didn’t matter because I hoped the night with him would go even better.
We had a couple of glasses of wine, and it was obvious that Jack was worthless for conversation. I normally sit next to him when we’re out someplace, but I wanted him not to be able to get me out of his field of vision and I had to come up with a way for him not to touch my “clothes”. While the latex looked good, it felt like rubber, not cloth, and that would ruin the illusion. So I sat across from him and played footsie with him under the table.
I knew those heels would come back to haunt me. I wanted to kick my shoes off so I could run my foot up and down his leg easier, but that’s not easy to do with strap-on shoes…the heel kept getting caught on the chair legs and braces. I would have loved to rest my foot on his chair between his legs and wiggle my toes, but that’s not a safe place to put a four-inch spike heel! I had to settle for other ways to hold his attention.
As we held hands across the table, I would play with his fingers and draw little circles in his palms with my nails. Every so often, I would lean over and kiss his hand. That was a great opportunity to lick and suck his fingers, too. Jack kept squirming in his chair. I think I was making things “hard” for him. I love teasing and flirting with Jack, and I love the fact that I can have that kind of effect on him. Jack likes to be the big, tough macho man, and when I can reduce him to a babbling idiot, it makes me feel good.
Being able to bring him to his knees is kind of fun. Actually, it’s more fun for me to be on my knees, but I digress.
That’s right, guys…we like to have you so distracted and disoriented that you can’t even talk, at least if the reason is your fascination with us. Now, I can only speak for myself, but if you regularly get to that point over me, I won’t be the least upset when, once in a while, you get that way over another woman that we happen to see. We have an old saying back in the Ozarks…
I don’t care where you get your appetite so long as you come home for dinner.
I had just enough control left to know that the scene was going to degenerate rapidly. It wouldn’t take much for one of us to slam the other across the table and…well, you know what I mean. I gave Jack my best seductive smile—and it’s pretty damned good—and suggested that we go back to the room. He didn’t argue.
We walked to the elevator holding hands. I love to hold hands. In my mind, for reasons I don’t even pretend to understand, holding hands is as intimate as kissing and making love. Go figure. On the other hand (no pun intended), if a guy holds my hand “right”, he’ll get kissed. Usually, kissing leads to sex. And Jack really knows how to hold my hand right. We were making little motions to each other with our fingers, and that may be the hard part for those of you with hearing to understand…
Being totally deaf, I use sign a good deal. Jack also knows sign and he learned a long time ago so he could communicate with me. As we walked along holding hands, we were signing to each other. It started off innocent enough. I said something like, “I love you” and Jack replied, “Not as much as I love you.” After a brief round of who loves whom most, even our signing degenerated…
Melodee: I want to chew your pants off.
Jack: Can I tell you what to do after you have?
Jack: Why not?
Melodee: Because you’re not going to have enough breath left to talk.
Jack: You’re a bad girl.
Melodee: Yes. I should be spanked.
Jack: You wiggle too much. Maybe I should tie you up first.
Melodee: Promises, promises.
Jack: You’ll see.
Melodee: I’m going to hold you to that.
Jack: I’d rather you hold you to me.
Melodee: Slut! Tell you what, when I’m done with you, if there’s anything more you want, just ask. If you can.
Jack: That’s scary. Exciting, but scary.
Melodee: Like skydiving.
Jack: No, that’s fucking dumb.
Melodee: Next time I do a dive, come with me and we’ll see if I can get you off before we pull the chutes.
Jack: How high are you planning to jump from?
Melodee: I don’t know. You don’t fall far in twelve seconds.
Jack: You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?
Melodee: Not in a million years.
Jack: It wasn’t my fault! You’d been driving me crazy and teasing me all day!
Melodee: C’est moi?
Just as we reached the elevator, I realized that there was little chance of getting to the room with my rubber suit intact. I wasn’t done teasing yet! Luckily, a handful of other guests came and waited for the elevator at the same time, and we were well behaved to our floor.
When we reached our suite, Jack swiped the card-key and we went inside. I flicked on the lights and did a little turn in front of him. I asked if he liked my outfit.
Jack frowned for a moment. “I don’t remember ever seeing that top in particular, but it looks great on you.” He grinned. “Did you have to lie down to get those pants zipped?”
I smiled back. “I didn’t zip them at all.” I pulled the dining room chair away from the table and put my foot up on the seat. I grabbed the edge of the latex at my ankle and peeled off a strip of rubber about an inch wide and ten inches long.
I can’t really describe the look on his face. There were traces of confused puzzlement, awe, and delight. He said, “What the fuck?”
I stepped closer to him and took his hand in mine, and then placed his palm on my left breast. That’s nothing unusual, by the way. He reacted by squeezing a little, and then snatched his hand back. Jack stuttered a couple of times. “Is that rubber?”
I couldn’t help chuckling a little. “And nothing else.”
Jack moved slowly as he touched me, exploring my body with his fingers and tracing the latex “clothes” I wore. When he moved his hand down my stomach and between my legs, he frowned hard. “Those aren’t clothes.” His eyes went wide. “That’s painted on!”
“Yep. Do you like it?”
“Melodee, you’re fucking nude!”
“That depends on your definition of nude. But yes, while it’s not a requirement, you usually do fuck nude.”
“You were out in public in the nude! Are you crazy?”
I put on my best pout, and it’s as least as good as my best seductive smile. “I thought you liked this and I hoped you’d find me attractive.” I had to turn my back on him to hide the grin.
He took my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him so I could read his lips. “Baby, I do like it, and I always find you attractive. Never forget that.” Jack made a few motions with his mouth like a fish on the bank of the river gasping for air. “But this was a little over the top, don’t you think?”
“I thought it might excite you.” I ran my hand across the front of his pants. “I think it did.”
Jack trembled a little. Then he noticed a small yellow thread hanging out of the neckline of my “shirt”. “What’s this?”
One thing the directions for the latex said that I haven’t mentioned is the idea of putting a thread under the latex so it’s easier to remove. You pull the thread and that cuts the rubber so you can peel it off in sheets. You have to tie a knot in the thread every few inches so it doesn’t just pull out and you need to stick it to you with drops of latex before you paint over it. None of this was a big problem. I took a thread, put in the required knots, and looped it around my boobs in a figure eight and then up to my neck. When I painted the shirt on, I left the end of the string hanging out, and later trimmed it to about half an inch long.
I just smiled. “Pull it and see.”
Jack tugged at the thread, and it did exactly what I hoped it would do…the string came away from the latex, leaving a fine slit around both breasts. He smiled and slowly peeled the rubber away, leaving my boobs exposed.
Things sort of get a little fuzzy after that. Jack forgot that he was upset about me wearing the latex out in public.
Oh, and remember when I was worried about my nipples poking through the rubber when they get hard? Well, that didn’t happen, but something of Jack’s was more than hard enough to rip a couple of strategic holes in the latex.