It’s nine o’clock on a heatwave Sunday morning, and I am dressed in rubber, sitting in the sunshine that streams in through the landing window. I wear two layers of black wigan, the inner one worn inside out to have rubber next to the skin. A pair of slim, shiny jeans are covered by a second flared pair which fit snugly together. Two macs are similarly worn to give a double layer of wigan, the outer being a heavy riding mac. Rubber wellington boots, of course!
This weekend I am enjoying my new hood which I sewed together during the heatwave. Making your own hood and mask is full of the joys of anticipation. The pleasure mounts until the moment arrives when you first tighten the straps round your head and pull the mackintosh material against your cheeks. I have completed by enclosing encasing rubber outfit with long latex gloves worn under the macs, sou.wester and goggles.
What are my feelings after the first hour in the sun? Small things strike me. I can feel how hot the riding mac is through my latex gloves. Inside the hood heartbeats sound loud. After an hour rubber feels permanent. It grows on me. I don’t want to loosen a single strap.
I enjoy a wonderful variety of scents and smells. The riding mac is distinct from my mask. I can tell them apart. Moving about brings out the scent of the under mackintosh which is an old one with a sour strong scent. The occasional use of water can produce a whole new range of sensations. I’ve sponged my coat and sou’wester and all to get them really wet. Suddenly I am cool, The mackintosh is shiny wet. The smell is of wet rubber, pungent and beautiful. Then the sun dries me out. Back come the hot rubber scents, heady and sweet. So I reach for the sponge again!
My mask-hood wraps right round my head, detaching me from the world somewhat. Eyeholes and breathing holes are provided, but my mouth is firmly covered. No drinking or eating is allowed in this! And no phoning either. I did a quick release act with the straps to answer a wrong number this morning. Were we the local pub? As I strapped the rubber back again I thought of some unprintable answers.
After being encased for hours the pleasure of black mackintosh deepens. There’s only one thing better than an hour in rubber, and that is five hours in rubber!
– JAY (London)