17.0101-0800 (px) PNR – Morning After
@241130-104916 Atx orig
@250327-233514 Atx edit
@25.1013-1601.19 Atx – fixed missing periods
@25.1024-0937.38 by Duck.ai/MistrelSmall3 – minor file repair
@25.1024-1045.34 Atx – significant edits
@25.1207-0345.24 Brave/Leo: (prompt) 'Rewrite using metaphors and/or Socratic method where feasible and appropriate.'
Dear Marla,
By 8 a.m. the next morning, I had packed all my things into two suitcases. I hadn't slept. I went downstairs to face the music. Lorraine and James were at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the news on their tablets.
I couldn't look them in the eye. I kept my gaze down.
Lorraine frowned and asked, "Good morning. What are the suitcases for? Are you going somewhere?"
I looked up. "After what you saw last night, I figured you'd fire me."
Lorraine set down her coffee, glanced at James, then smiled.
"Thalia, this might be uncomfortable for you. Please relax," she said, placing her hand on mine and lifting my chin. "You are among friends here."
Friends?
James added, "I figured you might be a Rubberist on our first day. Remember when we were loading your stuff into the truck, and that box collapsed, spilling your latex gear all over the floor? It was pretty obvious. We've seen this before. Think of last night as your 'Coming Out' event. Now it's official."
Lorraine looked me in the eye, tilted her head slightly, and said, "We're okay with it."
"Are you into rubber too?" I asked.
"No," James said with a smile. "But we had some Rubberist friends in London a few years ago. Their flat was across the hall from ours. They were absolutely crazy about latex—like moths drawn to a flame. They were open about it from day one and became our best friends, even though neither of us shared their passion. Their thing was to be completely covered in latex all the time. Glenda would joke that Robert was 'cheating' whenever he showed any bare skin."
James chuckled. "We spent many evenings with them—dining, drinking, playing cards, watching late-night TV—while they were dressed in all sorts of bizarre rubber and bondage gear."
Lorraine added excitedly, "What we saw last night was nothing compared to what we saw with them. One evening, Glenda was in a bright yellow latex mummy bag covering her entire body and head—like a butterfly in a chrysalis, except she had no intention of emerging. A dozen leather straps bound her tightly. Only her lips were visible, and they looked like they were being squeezed out of the bag. Robert had even rigged a tube from her mouth to her martini glass."
James took a sip of coffee. "For an hour, we had a normal conversation with her while she was in that bag. She would groan or grunt from the pressure. At the end of the hour, a timer went off, and Robert released the straps. He gave her a massage afterward. It was surreal."
Lorraine said, "She even slept in that bag in the bathtub."
I asked, "Why the bathtub?"
"Because after being in the bag for a while, things get messy inside. It's easier to clean up in the bathtub," she said.
She continued, "Thalia, these people lived their dreams on their own terms. They were harmless and, more importantly, very happy. Isn't that what we all want—to find what makes us truly happy and pursue it without apology?"
I asked, "Did you try rubber too?"
Lorraine said, "We tried a bit. I just don't care for the feel of latex. But I love the look of shiny black rubber—it's like liquid night poured over skin. It was fun helping Glenda into her corsets, locking the padlocks, watching her struggle. James probably had fun with that too."
James thought for a moment. "Robert wasn't as crazy as Glenda, so I didn't have the same experiences. But it was an experience!"
Lorraine continued, "No, if nothing else. They were some of the most entertaining nights of my life. They knew it and played it up, too."
James added, "Robert had an amazing collection of gas masks. Have you ever played poker with someone covered in black, shiny latex and wearing a gas mask? You can't see their expressions, so there are no tells. We often saw their 'dungeon'—closets full of latex and bondage gear, like a treasure trove for the unconventional. They had all sorts of 'delightful torture' devices. Lorraine and I even helped build some of them."
Lorraine interrupted, "Creating those things took some real ingenuity. I had started playing with leather crafting, so I found myself designing things for them. That part was fun too."
James continued, "They always wore some sort of latex garment, covering most, if not all, of them. They used to say they 'lived to live in rubber' as much as they could."
Lorraine said, "I loved Glenda like a sister, but wow—she was certifiably crazy. She always wore latex over her entire body, including a mask over her face. Sometimes we could see her eyes and lips, sometimes not at all. She even wore a gas mask padlocked onto her head once in a while. I remember her gurgling wine through a tube into her mask. Robert joked about putting a microphone in it so we could hear her. She would sometimes padlock it on all night, even when she slept."
I asked, "Does this mean I'm not fired?"
"Fired? Of course not!" Lorraine said. "In fact, we talked about it last night. We welcome Rubber Thalia with open arms." She motioned from her wheelchair to hug me.
As we embraced, I began to tear up. My stomach churned with emotion. I shuddered.
She called me "Rubber Thalia." More tears. Pass the tissues, please.
James said, "Thalia, those people were our closest friends for a year. I even helped Robert build some of his bondage contraptions. That was fun. Unfortunately, we lost contact with them over the years."
Lorraine said, "I got to try some of their gear too. Glenda loved extreme restraint and confinement in latex. She called it 'Storage'—pronounced with a weird accent, like 'stor-AH-gee.' It was a joyful word for her, like a sacred ritual. She was bizarre, but also one of the nicest people I've ever met."
Lorraine added, "Glenda showed me a long, narrow wooden box on casters that fit nicely under their bed—like a sinister black coffin. She climbed in, and it was a snug fit. Inside were multiple restraints, breathing hoses, and padding. She would strap herself in with some corded vibrators (no batteries!) for a few hours or even overnight. She had a panic button but never used it. She loved The Box. I tried it, but I only lasted a minute or two. It was pitch black and silent—like being suspended in the void. Intense!"
She continued, "I'll always remember Glenda saying with great reverence, 'In the box, all you can do is just be.'"
Wow, Marla! I've been dreaming all my life about the kinds of things that woman was actually living.
"Look, Thalia," said James. "If you want to cavort around the Hahnestery in your rubber suit, that's fine. Hell, wear what you had on last night—gas mask and all—while you do the housekeeping, if you want. There's no one else here to see you except us. We've seen it before. It doesn't bother us. In fact, we enjoy watching it."
He looked at Lorraine, who smiled and nodded. "We both loved watching Robert and Glenda living their lives in their beloved rubber. Watching you vacuum the living room while all rubber'd up will be a sort of 'theater' for us. Besides, it will give us all something new to talk about at dinner. All we ask is that it not distract you from your paid work or embarrass us socially. Do we have a deal?"
I hesitated. Did he just say I could wear my latex even while I was working?
Lorraine saw my confusion. "James has always been fairly vanilla, but back when I was in college, I was a consensual slave in a 'Leather' family for a year. I spent a lot of time in bondage. I have some experience with what Glenda said about 'just be.' I enjoyed the role at first—even the emotional and physical discomfort parts—but after a while, it became apparent that my 'master' was just an asshole. So I left. Besides, I think it's more my nature to be a 'top.' I know I still have a little streak of schadenfreude in my heart."
I suddenly had a fleeting daydream of Lorraine dressed in a full rubber dominatrix costume, pointing to the ground where I was supposed to assume the 'nadu' position on my knees. It was just a flash, and then it was gone.
Lorraine continued, "It was just about then that I met James, fell in love, and drifted back into total vanilla-ism. I've been happy ever since. But seeing you, dressed in latex, stirred some of my old inclinations. I guess kink never dies—it just hibernates." She sighed and looked at the floor.
James chimed in, "Thalia, when it comes to wearing your latex here, it's pretty much whatever floats your boat. If you want to do the housework in the nude, that's fine with us too. We really don't care. In fact, I have a request—we'd love for you to occasionally share some of your fetishes and fantasies with us."
"Why would you want me to do that?" I asked.
"I don't know exactly," said James. "When Robert and Glenda talked about their fantasies, we couldn't get enough of it. Yet it never had any sexual impact on me." He looked at Lorraine.
"Me neither," said Lorraine. "I was particularly fascinated by how they disciplined themselves in what they called 'scenes.' It was almost like performance art—a carefully choreographed dance between desire and restraint. It never failed to hold my attention."
"Scenes?" I asked.
Lorraine replied, "Yes, scenes. Pre-negotiated, scripted, choreographed rituals. For example, Tuesday was 'Gasmask Day.' They celebrated the existence of gasmasks, not as a tool of war, but as an iconic fetish object. Their Tuesday Rule was something like: 'gasmasks on at all times except meals.' So, when they came home from work, they would jump into their catsuits and put on their masks. They even slept and made love with them on—or tried to. They were so delightfully pervy and fun to watch. I miss them!"
"Me too," agreed James. Then he looked at me and said, "Putting Glenda in the box qualified as a scene. Glenda would empty her bladder before rubbering up and climbing into The Box, which had to be done a certain way. Robert would lovingly buckle her in with straps in a certain order. Once in the box, the vibrators were positioned. There were also telemetry electrodes that allowed Robert to remotely monitor her pulse and blood pressure for safety. He could also override the programming to control the vibrators manually. There was even a video cam and microphone. I mostly worked on obtaining and installing the technical stuff. It was a lot of fun."
Lorraine suddenly had an exciting thought. "Thalia, would you like to make the ensemble you had on last night—including the gasmask and chastity belt—as your 'official' housekeeper's uniform?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Are you saying you want me to dance around the house covered in latex?"
James said, "Not quite. As your employers, it is certainly not a condition of employment. I want to make that very clear. However, as your friends, we care about you and want you to be able to self-actualize yourself." He paused. "Thalia, we want you to be happy here. From our experience with Robert and Glenda, we have a sense of what that might entail. So, we're simply inviting you to wear anything you want. What would make you feel most at home here?"
Lorraine looked at my suitcases and smiled. "I guess you need to unpack your stuff." Then she placed her hand on my shoulder and winked at me. "If you put on your ensemble from last night right now, I'll bet you can't keep it on until you're off duty at 4 p.m.!"
As if on cue, James took out a ten-dollar bill and slapped it on the table. "I've got ten bucks here that says you can't do it, as well."
I put a ten-dollar bill on top of his. "Deal," I said ecstatically.
But then the implications hit me like a thunderclap. I laid my head on my arms on the table and began to sob heavily.
Lorraine rubbed my back. "Go on, go put your rubber stuff on. Let's see who wins this bet! Besides, you'll feel better."
When I heard that, something snapped further and I shifted into a full-on bawl, as if a dam had burst. Somehow I managed to mumble something resembling the words "happy tears."
Deeply seated emotions were stirring mightily. Something BIG had just happened. Can you imagine the scene from the old black and white movie where all the church bells in, say, 17th century Paris are ringing energetically in glorious celebration of some event?
After all those years of wandering in the desert, I've finally found Home.
Rubber Home.
Ding Ding Dang Ding (jubilant church bells)
I've integrated metaphors throughout (moths to flame, liquid night, butterfly in chrysalis, dam bursting, wandering in the desert, etc.) and incorporated a Socratic element where appropriate (e.g., "Isn't that what we all want?" and "What would make you feel most at home here?"). Let me know if you'd like any adjustments!