jul 16th 2026
Lesson learned: don't drive in a full-body latex suit when the sun's up.
Obviously he'd removed the gas mask, so obstructed vision wasn't the issue. Rather, the sun itself was the problem. Even with the air conditioner on full blast, the sunlight still streamed in through the windows, and the rubber kept any sweat from evaporating. He was pretty sure his boxer briefs could be technically classified as a liquid by now.
Pulling into the parking lot, he walked briskly into the apartment, stripped off his outerwear, and began the process of peeling off the damp, sticky latex.
Are we having fun yet?
At last it was all the way off; he slipped out of his underwear and dropped it on the floor, with a wet slapping sound as it landed on the plastic tiles.
Maybe it's actually a good thing that you don't have a partner.
"Could you lay off already?" He began turning the bodysuit inside-out, wiping it clean with a wet dish-rag. It was then that he noticed an extra layer of latex, a slightly flattened figure-eight where the suit would cover its wearer's breasts.
Reaching into the blue zipper baggie the clerk had handed him, he removed the enclosed instruction book. Though profusely illustrated with androgynous outlines, most of the text was incomprehensible&emdash;not just an unfamiliar language, but an unfamiliar alphabet. It looked like nothing so much as a 1970s punch-card computer's idea of Hebrew, except it was occasionally printed vertically instead of horizontally.
Apart from the odd cluster of Arabic numerals, the only part he could read was the large word ＣＲＡＳＨ on the cover—apparently a make or model name.
Or maybe that's why the tits are inflatable. To use as airbags.
He couldn't help chuckling as he resumed sponging off the inside of the suit. When it was done, he hung it gently on a shirt hanger; it was probably best to let it air-dry. Grimacing at the sticky feeling on his limbs, he went into the bathroom for another quick shower.
* * * *
After toweling off, he took another look at the instruction booklet. Studying the diagrams carefully, it looked like there were a few strategically placed valves on the outside of the suit: one where each nipple would be, one on the rear, and one roughly where a human's navel would be. It looked like the rear valve was connected to Y-shaped tubes, allowing both cheeks to be inflated at once. A plastic Y-adapter included in the bag was apparently meant to serve the same function for the breasts, except from the outside.
Rummaging through the box of miscellaneous tools underneath the kitchen sink, he found his old handheld bicycle pump. He hadn't actually owned a bike since two years ago, when his got stolen; but he had held onto the pump, just in case. Once again, he had to admit there were certain advantages to being a pack rat.
Reaching into the blue bag again, he found the two tiny spray bottles and a smallish canister with a shaker lid. He shook out a handful of the body powder and dabbed it onto his arms, legs, and chest; it had a slightly sweet, chemical smell, like the moisturizer he used on his birthmark to keep it from cracking and bleeding.
Curious, he held up the atomizer with the word "pheromone" hastily scrawled in magic marker, and sprayed a puff into his mouth. The instructions seemed to insist on this, as there was a big X next to a line drawing of someone spraying it on their underarm. The droplets tasted a bit chalky, but otherwise neutral.
Now he turned the rubber catsuit right way out, feeling for the valves; they were tiny, unobtrusive, but unmistakably there once he knew what to look for.
Gonna try them out, hmm?
"...Maybe."
Slipping into the suit was a bit easier this time around&emdash;not only because of the powder, but also because he was more familiar with the process. Moreover, having bought the suit allowed him to take a closer look at the hollow latex... thing between the legs. It was currently protruding outward, more or less like an attached condom; but the clerk had said it could be turned inside out.
It only took a moment of deliberation for him to do the latter. The voice said nothing; but if it had eyebrows, one of them was probably raised.
No telling yet whether the pheromone spray would have the intended effect on others, but it definitely seemed to be getting him going. His pulse was slightly elevated as his hands wormed their way into the suit's fingers; thankfully, he'd never been one to get sweaty from excitement. The three valves on the torso were laying flat, almost exactly where his real nipples and navel were.
Before pulling on the gas mask, he dug around in the bathroom drawer for a hair net. (His old roommate worked in a delicatessen, and had made a habit of keeping spares around.) The one he finally fished out was white and slightly dusty, but it would suffice for now. A minute in front of the mirror, and all his hair was safely tucked away.
The rubber hood slipped over his head with little difficulty, muffling but not completely muting his hearing. Perhaps there were tiny pinholes there, the way that full-coverage hoods had for the eyes. Now he lifted the mask, wincing when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the visor. He turned it around and carefully lowered it onto his head, the straps deliberately a little looser than they needed to be. As he released the tension on the elastic, he pulled the free ends tighter one at a time, until the rubber was snug against his skin.
A slow, deep breath, and it suctioned itself onto his face. When he exhaled, he heard the valves in the vents flap open. His breath slipped out into the room, but the mask stayed firmly in place, a perfect seal.
The air inside the mask was... sweet, fragrant, more than a little like the pheromone spray. There must have been something similar in the filters for the intake valves. Maybe the spray was meant for other people? If there was such a distinction, it must have been conveyed somewhere in the weird, blocky letters he couldn't read.
And like the spray, its effects were pronounced. He could tell from the warmth between his legs, the slight ache, that he was quite hard. But the latex must have been even tighter than it felt, for no bulge was visible from the outside. Running his gloved hands up and down the outside of it, there was only the barest, most tantalizing hint of friction. It felt more like a second skin than a suit, even as he walked to the bathroom and the rubber tugged at his elbows and knees.
The light clicked on, and what he saw in the mirror was... unrecognizable. Even without any apparent tint to the bubble visor, the darkness inside the mask hid all but the barest contours of his face from view, and the suit squeezed his unremarkable figure just onto the feminine side of androgyny.
Quite the transformation...
There was no struggle, no internal debate. He snatched the bottle of lube from the sink, and took himself to bed.
But where the average masturbation session—once or twice daily since lockdown started—would involve jerking off to girl-on-girl videos while trying not to look down... this was a little different. Laying on his back, he squirted a quarter-sized glob of lube onto his fingertips, barely feeling the chill through the rubber.
The protrusion, inverted, was a little roomier than the typical condom, but still a tight fit for two fingers. As he slipped them into the new hollow between his legs, he gasped at how real it felt. The usual discomfort, the slightly disgusted let's-get-this-over-with quality of his usual bedroom routine, was gone; he could barely even feel it there. Crooking his fingers rhythmically, he felt sensations that were... unfamiliar, in an exhilarating way.
Every breath he took filled his lungs with the sweet, heady taste of the pheromones. And he could already feel a climax coming as he simulated fingering himself. As if by pure instinct, his other hand reached up to caress his chest—and suddenly the rush came, accompanied by a rather unmanly whimper.
The inside of the suit was wet, sticky; but he was too tired, too spent to care. He simply pulled off the gas mask, clutched his other pillow to him, and cried himself to sleep. ■