My Long Rubber Weekend 3: And on the Third Day…

Part 3: And on the Third Day…

9: Routine tasks in Rubber

With the commitments to vanilla friends, that had already been planned, taking up most of the day, I do not return to the house until nearly 18:30. I now have serious rubber withdrawal; and go straight to the bedroom to dress; collecting my washed rubber from the main bathroom on the way. With no hesitation, as I knew exactly how I was going to dress tonight, I quickly put on the 3 catsuits and the thin gloves with the grip pattern on the fingers.

However, this evening I reverted back to the Westward Bound suit as the first layer. I then put of a latex swim cap and another modified Russian gas mask, this time with clear lenses, and an attached hood with a back zip and sealing flap to make it air tight. I then selected a 3 & a 4 litre rebreather bag and a couple of lengths of tubing. To start with, I screwed the smaller bag directly onto the mask leaving the small air vent open. From observing B dressed like this, I have estimated that with this kit on, you are rebreathing about 70% of your air with each breath. I now started the extensive task of clearing up various rubber items and generally putting the house back into a tidy state for the start of next week.

Confined within my layers of rubber and with the rebreather bag having its effect I soon have copious amounts of sweat trapped between my flesh and the first layer. I am also getting very hot, breathless and excited. I focus on my tasks, stopping now and again to remove the bag and take a few breaths of much needed fresh air. I work steadily and methodically, getting hotter and hotter in all senses of the word. As I work I can hear that the weather forecast has not let me down. What had been forecast as bad news for all those poor people, unaware of the joys of rubberism; but is excellent news for rubberists, has happened; it is pouring with rain. I hurry to finish clearing up as much as I can, as I am anxious to enjoy my fully rubberised walk outside.

10: Garden delights in Rubber

After I have finish putting away most of the rubber gear back into its normal cupboards & boxes, I put on some cloth socks, as I know that my hunter rubber wellingtons will not slide over rubber socks with their cloth lining. I then attach a long hose to the mask, and reattach the smaller bag. The hose will make it easier to find the bags air tube stopper when I’m out in the wet and dark. I carry the larger bag with me. This second bag has an attached tube and a closable air tap at the end of the bladder, not such a safe piece of kit; but lots of fun. I take a deep breath and close off the bags vent, so now I have no fresh air at all. My first aim is to walk downstairs, put my boots on, and get ready to open the conservatory door before I release the air vent.

I only just make it, and as I arriving welly booted at the conservatory door, I yank the air vent open, squeezing the bladder to push out the now totally exhausted air so I can gasp in fresh. Then, when I have recovered I open the door of the conservatory and step out into the pouring rain.

This really is serious rain, the sort that causes floods further down the valley, yet even though my body is wet through, the rain can make no inundation into me; as I am perfectly protected in my warm moist layers of rubber. I am just aware of it beating against me, running impotent to cause any effect down my sleek shinny flanks and bouncing off my hooded gasmask.

I make my way over to the lower patio and sit down in one of the chairs. This is a totally secluded spot, even if we ever did have unannounced visitors, and were rubbered up, or had some rubber friends to stay, we would never be seen here unless we chose to be. It is peaceful, just the rain, the rubber and my breathing. I’m outside yet isolated from the familiar environment of our acre or so of formal garden. But I want to see if I can walk from the river boundary across the lower lawn and back up the steps to the house, without having to touch the normal world, even with the alveoli of my lungs.

So after about 30 minutes I leave the safety of the patio and walk carefully down the bank past the greenhouses towards the lower part of the garden. Although I will be walking uphill on my sealed breath return, I will be able to aim for the lights of the house. At the moment walking into the pitch black valley with my gasmask lenses steamed up, I am almost blind. It takes me some time, how much I do not know, to in effect feel my way to the river boundary, which at this point is post and rail, and thankfully not rubber tearing barbwire.

This is it; I remove the smaller bag and hyperventilate. Then I quickly screw on the 4 litre bag and checking that the air tap is in the close position, I start to walk directly towards the house. I try to keep my breathing as slow and even as possible, but just over half way to the house I start to loose my breathing rhythm and begin panting rapidly. I don’t think I am going to make this, so I decide to sprint, as I am now close enough to the house to be able to see better, despite the inside of the gasmask lenses now running with water.

Don’t miss the patio steps! I don’t, and almost crash into the conservatory door frantically unscrewing the rebreather bags tube from my mask. I suck in great lungfuls of air coming rapidly down from my mild apnoea high. I open the door and walk into the conservatory; the rain crashing on the roof is almost deafening, even with my head so comfortably protected in its rubber layers.

I sit back in an easy chair in the conservatory, and put the smaller 3 litre bag back on my mask, I then opened and shut the air valve as my pleasure demands; and it is now very demanding. I squint out into the dark garden through my misted lenses. I have to decide if I shall go up to my rubber bed and complete my perfect evening; or leave that consummation until another of my heavy rubber weekends, and just wait until I can fully rubberise my beautiful B again after her imminent return?

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04.07.13