The Rubber Genie

Even hidden away in the wardrobe my mackintosh can exert its influence.

I go into the room, I am compelled to slide back the door.

It is there: long, shimmering in the half light.

It stands alone, masterful & strong. For the moment quiet and still.

The bright red cotton surface has a wonderful sheen to it, it draws my hand like a magnet, to stroke, slowly, tenderly, a wistful feeling washing over me.

It is beginning to work its spell. My breath quickens slightly, the mac commands me to go further in, to explore, for the real magic is still hidden.

My hand is undoing a button. It seems like someone else's hand, I have no control over it, it moves inside. Suddenly, my fingers touch it, the force shoots out, through my hand, up my arm, straight to the very centre of my brain. This has happened hundreds of times before, but each new time it is still a shock. My hand moves over the rubber membrane, for that is where the magic springs from, it feels so cool & smooth. Wonderful! Thrilling!

I take the mac down from the rail. I know that I am letting the Genie out of it's bottle again, but I can not help myself. I put my mac down on the end of the bed and it shows me another facet of its magic, the rustle of rubber, that sound, soft & swishy, but with the power of a symphony played by a full orchestra. You want to hear it over & over again.

Suddenly I am taking off all my clothes. That's the power of the Rubber Genie. That's what it can do to me. I can feel myself being sucked in, it is going to envelop me. There is a lump in my throat, I swallow hard, it will do what it wants to me, and I am powerless to stop it. The mac is my master. It must be obeyed. I will do as it dictates, for it will hold me to ransom. In exchange for my total submission it will show me all of its secrets, it will impart to me every last thrill, every last drop of it's magic.

It is a deal that I can not turn down. As the Genie knows! He laughs at me. He's got me. He will play with my body.

The mac speaks to me, "Carol", it is saying, "pick me up, hold me, hold me close". So of course I pick it up, hold it against my skin. All my nerve endings are so alert in anticipation, my skin, so smooth, feels extra sensitive & hot. I hold the mac next to me, I can feel the cool cotton through every part of my body, I hug it tightly, my lovely mac, my lovely adorable mac.

Holding it over one arm I undo the rest of the buttons, its wish is that I put it on, and of course its wish is my command. I slip my arm into the long rubber tunnel that is the sleeve. Immediately I can feel the cold rubber against my warm skin. I open my mouth, a half gasp, air rushes in, a nervous breath. I pull the mac up onto my shoulder, feel the rubber, cold to my back. It stabs me, takes my breath away. My instinct makes me pull back, but the fabric follows me, stabs me with its cold again. It is painful, but of course also something else. There is a thrill, a whole wonderful feeling. The heart quickens, the pulse races.

Pulling the mac over the other shoulder I slide my arm into the second sleeve. Lifting the mac I shake it until it comes to rest sitting squarely on my shoulders.. There is again that crescendo of rubber music filling my ears.

The mac is now resting its full length against my body. It comes down almost to my ankles. The Genie is releasing the full cold into my body, icicles down my back. The rubber shivers across my bottom and front, exciting it into a kind of heroic defiance. For a few moments my head is thrown back. My mouth is wide open but I can not breath! The Genie has taken my breath away.

The mac torments me like this every time. It is torment, but at the same time it makes me feel - terrific! It makes me shiver, from the cold, yes, but also in another way. A weird sort of way. That clammy cold rubber sends a tingle up and down my spine. Torment perhaps, torture even, but a torment I want to undertake time and time again. Does that make sense?

Slowly, breathing returns, the mac begins to warm me where it touches. There are still small stabs of cold around my legs but the worst - the best? - is over.

One by one I button up. I like to do this standing in front of the full length mirror, watching myself, watching my mac's every move, feeling its every ripple. I pull the strong stiffened belt in tight around my waist, in just the way the mac demands. The prong can just be persuaded into the last but one hole. I pass the end into the loop behind me. Pulling the mac down, I move it this way & that, making sure that all the creases are in the right place, the hem is straight, the full skirt evenly distributed on both sides, the epaulettes sitting squarely on my shoulders, the loose yokes hanging down properly at the front.

The mac rustles as I turn my back to the mirror. I turn my head to see that the yoke at the back hangs properly, the inverted pleat straight. Bending down I remove my matching red shoes from the wardrobe & place them on the floor, once more I feel the rubber, dry, & cool, brush my bottom, that noise again, the mac is playing with me. I step into my shoes with their small chunky heels, comfortable, but good looking.

The rain outside is calling me, and it is as if the mac itself knows. Its will is that I should go out in the rain. It is after all its natural home, its natural business, out there in the rain, protecting me. The mac is talking to me again. "Pull up your collar Carol! And tuck you hair inside! We don't want you improperly dressed , my girl! "

I do as I am told, my mac has spoken.

"Now fasten your top button. And where is your rain hat?"

I look around on the top shelf of the wardrobe. There it is. Red cotton on the outside & red rubber inside, just like the mac; a two-inch wide brim all around. I put it on, making sure that my collar is tucked underneath. Hat and mac match perfectly, & of course when the mac is going out, the hat simply demands to be taken along too.

I pull the wrist straps tight and I am weatherproof! A final look in the mirror. The mac now has me completely incarcerated in its long flowing surfaces, its folds of smooth rubber. I am its captive completely at its mercy. I can feel great butterflies flap deep in the pit of my tummy,. What does it have in store for me out there in the pouring rain? What will it do to me today?

The door swings open, I am on the threshold, framed in the doorway. And suddenly so vulnerable! I swallow hard, a lump sticks in my throat. I am wound up tight like a coil spring, trembling just a little: very, very warm. Where the rubber is held close to me, under my belt, where the mac rests across my front or touches my back, I can feel it beginning to run with wet. My upper body is beginning to be bathed in perspiration, wetness that cannot get out past the belt, past my collar or wrist straps. - And this before a single drop of rain has even landed on me!

Below my belt where the air can circulate freely, the rubber remains dry, cool and smooth, it caresses my skin, wonderfully.

With the heat the rubber begins to smell more strongly. It is a smell that turns my tummy over and over! My nostrils are full of it. I love it! It can turn my legs to jelly.

Out there in the wide world people are going about their business. No one seems to see the Genie standing over me. No one knows my secrets, only my beautiful raincoat knows - knows what it is doing to me , knows that I am so vulnerable, with only the beautiful thin layers of cotton & rubber protect me.

This makes a bond between us, a wonderful, enduring bond: in truth, a love affair...

I place my trust in the mac. It will take me where it wants, push me out into the pouring rain, but keep me safe, protect me, keep my secrets hidden beneath its swishing rubber folds.

But there is a fear in my mind. Haven't I let the Genie out? What games must I now expect? What dicing with pleasure and fear?

The time has come, I step forward, the door clunks shut behind me, the game is on. I feel light headed, a little dizzy. The first large drops of rain spatter against me, darker red circles begin appearing on the cotton. I can feel a dull thud as the rain drops hit me. Below my belt, where I am open to the elements, I feel the cool breeze swirl high up around my legs. It's a reminder of my vulnerability, the first dice is thrown, for a second it brings the fear from the back of my mind to the very front. What if I should be discovered, what would I do or say? I have no idea, and it seems to me that having no idea is the real fear. The fear becomes an aphrodisiac - perhaps I want to be discovered! Is that what I want, what I really really want - or is it just the Genie trying to confuse?

I shiver for a moment. I thrust my hands deep into the smooth rubber lined pockets, hunch my shoulders a little against the rain. I feel great, shivery, that same weird sort of feeling that always comes over me. The rain is really coming down and the dark red is now spreading quickly across the cotton surface. I adjust my rain hat to prevent drips down the back of my neck. Walking along the pavement, my heels clicking on the slabs and the swishing of the rubber loudly announce my presence. A man is walking towards me, the Genie rolls another dice. Will he look at me? If he does will he tell? Surely he must! The fine cotton moulding fabric hardly obscures anything!. My walking slows as he comes towards me. I almost stop breathing. I am looking down to avoid eye contact. I shy away towards one side of the pavement in a half-attempt to hide.

He passes by.

I am tempted to look behind me. Did he turn to look at me? But I resist.

I walk on, my breathing resumes, not quite normal though, snatched and a little fast, but still, that's one over on the Genie. I am left with perspiration on my brow, despite the cooling rain.

The dark red patches have now completely overrun my mac. No dry areas left that I can see, indeed about my shoulders and down the yokes the fabric glistens wet, as the cotton becomes saturated under the onslaught. Only the thin rubber membrane is protecting me now. Inside the skirt the rubber still feels dry, smooth, and by now cold. It caresses my legs wonderfully, breathtaking. My upper body is now completely bathed in perspiration. I can feel it run down over my skin, it gathers around my waist where the tight belt will not let it pass, but whereas once the perspiration felt warm against my body, now, cooled by the wet cotton it strikes chill. The cold wet rubber attaches itself to me, holding me, kissing, tugging at me as I move. I shudder all the way down into my shoes. It feels so breathtakingly wonderful, at one with my rubber mac, like a close friend, protecting me, looking after me.

If anything the rain is now coming down even harder. I catch a reflection of myself in a shop window. The cotton fabric is now completely sodden, shiny wet with the rain. Water is now running down the raincoat, off the hem. I can see this woman reflected in the glass. Is that me? It's like I am looking at someone else. I can see this picture, this poor woman, standing there in her soaking wet raincoat, water pouring off her, she looks defenceless, humiliated, dripping wet.

The Genie is making his final play.

"Yes Carol, that is you!" He is laughing. That is me! The realisation flashes through my mind. Me! Dripping wet, as wet as wet can be! - But! - the rain has not penetrated my defences! My lovely mac has kept the rain out, my lovely red rubber has protected me to the end! I hug myself, it feels gorgeous wrapped in my cold damp rubber, and the warmth in the cold, the warmth that has been building, - now it flows.

The loud laughing sounds, the mocking sounds of the Genie echo around my head. He thinks he has won! - thinks he has reduced me to quivering jelly. Indeed he has. But that is what I wanted him to do! It is I who have won...

He cries out, the sound dies away, his force spent.

He is once again corked up tightly in the bottle.

Until the next time, when I am drawn to the wardrobe.

01.08.07