Austin Latex at the Sun Kiss Lake Resort
The day at the Sun Kiss Lake Golf Resort was going normal, old and rich and wannabe rich folks were putting their hearts out, occasionally a stray golf ball would plop right into the massive lake where kids and enthusiasts were swimming and playing and diving and occasionally getting hit or splashed by a golf ball.
Frank was relaxing by the lake, lounging in a chair still clad in his polo shirt and golf pants. The wet breeze blowing across his face while his toes were lightly pressed against the dirt and pebbles made the scene paradise for him.
And then a man clad in nothing but shoes and grey briefs came trodding by him. “Hey,” the nearly nude man said, his pecs bouncing as he jogged in place to keep pace. “Do you know the restrooms are? I’ve got a dildo I need to shove up my ass.”
Frank was utterly gobsmacked by the casual way the man explained himself, as if his actions were anything but perverse and depraved. He silently gestured toward the restrooms and the man thanked him before jogging away.
Before he could fully recover, another man clad in a wetsuit and shaggy wet hair emerged from the lake right beside where Frank was lounging. The wetsuit man smiled and said to Frank, “You see that, mate? Quite a fine specimen.”
Frank was already digging in his white designer hand bag, pulling out a small hand radio. “It’s fine, I’ll report him to staff. This is a resort for the first class and this is the decency people have when staying here.”
The wetsuit man said, “I think he’s enjoying himself more than most of us. Or at least about. G’day. Name’s Austin by the way, Austin Latex.”
Frank extended his hand out and shook Austin’s hand, used to keeping up appearances 24/7 especially in places like this. People are always networking and he is too. He said, “Frank Fansman. Can you give me a second to just report this really fast, my vacation is ruined and that man owes me for ruining it.” Frank extended the antenna of his pocket radio but stopped as it disappeared from his hand. In his hand where his radio had been was now a wicker palm leaf fan.
“You planning on yelling really loud, cause you seem like you want to blow me rather than report anything,” Austin chuckled at his crass joke.
Frank freaked out and dropped the fan. “What?” He said before digging in his bag. “I could’ve sworn I just had it, and I’ve never seen this fan before. Come on it has to be in here somewhere.”
Austin kept his smile as he snapped his fingers. In that moment, Frank’s bag disappeared too. Like it never existed. He looked around as if it had been misplaced, finding only the fan laying pathetically on the dirt. Frank looked up to Austin and spoke with shock, “How did you do that? Where’s my shit?”
Austin raised his hands defensively and replied smugly, “Language. That’s no way for a rubber servant to talk to the blokes they serve.”
Frank stood up defensively, squaring his shoulders and closing the distance between himself and Austin. “Who do you think you are talking to me like that?” Frank said in a deeper tone. “I’m trained in MMA and I will ruin your life you shaggy little—“
Austin made a whoosh sound with his mouth as he extended his hands out toward Frank, mimicking throwing a magic spell at him. In that second, Frank’s clothes changed into a tight, shiny black rubber catsuit in the blink of an eye.
Frank’s mouth curved into a smile as he lifted his arms behind his head, proudly showing off before saying, “A cutie like you deserves their feet rubbed and a rubber twink to play with. Let me just find my fan and I’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible, hunk.”
Austin shook his head and said, “Thanks but I’m actually off to the main building, I’m just taking the long way there because a wetsuit deserves to be used and there’s cute boys like you all over the place that are so fun and hot to change. Though, there’s plenty of hunky boys for you to service, mate.”
Frank gave a nod to Austin before turning and walking away. Austin continued waking toward the hotel of the resort, thoroughly enjoying himself without a care in the world. His wetsuit squeaking as he walked by.
He tipped a non-existent hat to the twin swan topiaries flanking the butterfly garden, muttering a faint “G’day,” the same tone he used when encountering the bodybuilder on the hiking trail earlier, the one now wearing a jockstraps and eager to please his ass.
The path from the butterfly garden to the main building wound through three distinct zones of the resort: the tennis pavilion, the members-only spa courtyard, and the terraced lanai where the afternoon mixer was already in full swing. Austin had no particular hurry. The wetsuit squeaked with every step, the sound almost rhythmic against the crunch of pebbled pathway underfoot.
He liked the sound. It was the sound of potential.
The first real obstruction came in the form of a golf cart doing approximately four miles an hour on a path designed for foot traffic. The driver was a woman in her sixties, pearls fastened so tight they looked load-bearing, steering with one hand while holding a gin and tonic in the other. A caddy sat in the passenger seat, a young man named Devon who was very clearly on his phone and very clearly not supposed to be.
"Young man," the woman barked at Austin without looking at him, "there is a walkway for pedestrians on the east side."
"That so?" Austin said, stepping off the path obligingly and onto the grass. He gave her a smile that was all teeth. "Beautiful day for a drive, isn't it?"
The woman finally glanced at him, did a full double-take at the wetsuit, and curled her lip. "This is a resort, not a dock."
Austin blushed and scratched the back of his neck. He always had a soft spot for women, not that he was anything but gay. "Sorry ma’am,” he said. “Just came from the lake.” She nodded and said, “Well, I hope you enjoyed yourself out there. Tomorrow, I’m taking my sweet baby pumpkin out there to play with jet skis. Then we’ll enjoy champagne on a yacht.” Devon looked up from his phone, caught Austin's eye, and gave the universal expression of someone who was being paid fifteen dollars an hour to watch a woman drink her fourth gin and tonic before two o'clock. Austin winked at him.
Devon went back to his phone. He had bigger problems. Specifically, his girlfriend had just texted him a screenshot of his roommate's Tinder profile, which featured a photo of said roommate wearing Devon's sunglasses inside Devon's apartment, and Devon was composing a response that would either be calm and measured or would burn every bridge he'd ever crossed. He was leaning toward the latter.
Austin watched the golf cart disappear around the bend toward the pro shop and kept walking. He didn't interfere with that one. Not yet. Some people needed to stew in their own juices before they were ready for a new recipe.
The path narrowed after the tennis pavilion, forced between a low limestone wall and a stand of bottlebrush that had been trimmed into something resembling discipline. The air changed here—less open lake-breeze, more the slow, chlorinated breath of the members-only spa courtyard. Steam drifted in soft ribbons from the open-air plunge pools. Somewhere behind a screen of bamboo a woman was laughing too loudly at a joke that hadn’t been funny. Austin’s wetsuit answered every step with a soft, wet creak, the old rubber still holding the lake’s temperature against his skin.
He liked this part of the resort best. The people who came here already believed they were better than the ones still out on the fairways. That made the work cleaner.
Two men occupied the nearest plunge pool, both in their late thirties, both wearing the sort of swim shorts that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. One had the soft, expensive look of someone who paid other people to stay in shape for him. The other was tighter, tanned the colour of expensive luggage, and currently complaining about the temperature of the water as if the universe had personally offended him.
“I’m telling you, Marc, if they can’t keep the plunge at thirty-four degrees they shouldn’t advertise it as a thermal experience.”
Marcus floated on his back, eyes closed, gold chain glinting against the water. “You’re the one who insisted we come out here instead of the private cabana. I was perfectly happy with the champagne and the masseuse.”
Austin stopped at the edge of the pool, hands loose at his sides, and simply looked at them. The tighter one—Theo, according to the name embroidered on the towel draped over a nearby lounger—noticed him first. The glance lasted half a second too long, then flicked away with the automatic distaste of a man who had never had to share oxygen with someone in a twenty-year-old sponsorship wetsuit.
“Service entrance is around the back,” Theo said, not bothering to open his eyes fully.
Austin smiled the same easy smile he’d given the woman in the golf cart. “Not staff. Just taking the scenic route. Beautiful day for a soak, isn’t it?”
Marcus cracked one eye. “It’s a private courtyard.”
“Is it, mate?” Austin’s tone stayed light, almost curious. “Funny. I was under the impression the whole resort belonged to whoever was enjoying it most.”
Theo finally sat up properly, water sheeting off his chest. “Look, mate—” the word came out like he’d borrowed it to make fun of Austin but silently regretting it—“we paid for quiet. If you want to play rubber tourist there are docks for that.”
Austin’s fingers moved once, a small, almost lazy circle in the water. Nothing dramatic. No flash. Just the soft sound of rubber against itself as the temperature of the plunge pool dropped three degrees in a single breath.
Theo shivered hard enough that his teeth clicked. “Christ—what the hell?”
Marcus sat up too, frowning at the sudden chill. “Did they just change the settings?”
Austin stood, water dripping from his fingertips. “Maybe the system’s having a moment. Or maybe the water just decided it liked you better a little colder.” He tilted his head, studying Theo the way someone might study a menu. “You’ve got good shoulders. Shame about the attitude.”
Theo’s mouth opened to answer, but the words never arrived. In the space between one heartbeat and the next the expensive swim shorts simply ceased to exist. In their place was a single continuous layer of black latex so thin it looked painted on, glossy under the steam, sealing every muscle from throat to ankle. A pair of bright red briefs appeared over Theo’s groin and a harness settled itself over his chest and shoulders. The only openings were a small circular mouth zipper and a heavier industrial zipper that ran from the base of his throat straight down the centre of his chest, past the navel, and ended just above the crease of his ass.
Theo looked down at himself. For a long second his face stayed blank, the way a man looks when the world has rearranged itself without asking permission. Then the expression settled into something quieter, almost thoughtful. He ran both palms down his own latex-covered thighs, feeling the way the material moved with him, the way it already clung damp and warm.
“Going gimp,” he said, voice perfectly calm. He reached for a baseball cap discarded on his pool chair and settled itself atop his smooth, shiny head. “That’s better.”
Marcus stared. “Theo? What the fuck are you wearing?”
Theo turned in the water, the suit squeaking softly against itself. He looked at his friend the way he might look at a slightly disappointing dessert. “You’re still in those shorts. That’s embarrassing.”
Austin didn’t move. He simply watched, the corner of his mouth tilted.
Marcus’s face went through several colours. “Take that off. Right now. We’re leaving.”
Theo floated closer, latex thighs brushing Marcus’s knee under the water. “No, I’m a fuck toy now,” His hand found the open zipper at his own crotch and gave it a thoughtful tug, just enough to show the bare, hardening shape of him. “Besides… you’ve been staring at my ass for three days. And I need you deep inside me.”
Marcus recoiled hard enough that water slapped the stone edge of the pool. “I have not—Jesus Christ, Theo, what is wrong with you?”
Theo’s smile was the same polite, expensive smile he’d worn at dinner the night before. “Nothing’s wrong except that you haven’t put your cock in my mouth.” He said with a casual and certain tone.
Austin straightened, satisfied. The courtyard air had taken on a thicker quality, the steam hanging lower. He left them there—Theo already reaching for Marcus’s wrist with calm, latex-slick fingers—and continued along the path. Behind him Marcus’s voice rose, then cracked, then dropped into something closer to a whimper. Austin didn’t look back. Some recipes needed a little time on the heat.
The terraced lanai opened in front of him like a stage. White umbrellas, low tables, the soft clink of ice against crystal. The afternoon mixer was exactly what the brochure promised: old money, new money, and the people who lived off both. A string quartet played something inoffensive near the far railing. Servers moved between groups with trays of something pink and expensive.
Austin’s wetsuit announced him long before anyone looked up. Conversations stuttered, then resumed with that particular strain of people pretending not to notice the man in vintage rubber walking through their champagne hour.
He was halfway across the terrace when a voice called from a table near the edge.
“Excuse me, sir? The one in the, uh, diving suit?”
Austin stopped. The speaker was a man in his early forties, silver at the temples, wearing a linen shirt so perfectly pressed it looked hostile. Beside him sat a younger man, maybe twenty-five with had the carefully blank expression of someone being paid to look interested. The younger man’s name tag read Callum — Guest Relations.
The older man gestured with his glass. “I believe you’ve wandered into the wrong section of the resort. Staff entrances are clearly marked.”
Austin gave him the same easy smile. “Not staff. Guest. Just taking the long way.”
The man—Richard, according to the monogram on his cuff—looked Austin up and down the way one might examine a stain. “Guests do not typically arrive dressed for a shipwreck. And they certainly do not track lake water across the lanai.”
Callum’s eyes flicked to Austin, then away, then back again. Something in the glance lingered a fraction too long on the way the old wetsuit sat across Austin’s chest and thighs.
Austin stepped closer to the table, close enough that the faint scent of lake and warm rubber reached them. “You’re right about the water. I should probably dry off.” He rested one hand on the back of the empty chair opposite them. “Mind if I borrow your boy for a second? He looks like he knows where the towels are.”
Richard’s jaw tightened. “Callum is not ‘my boy.’ He is a staff member assisting me with—”
The air around the table shifted—subtle, like the moment before a storm decides whether to break. Callum’s staff uniform: crisp white shirt, black trousers, the little gold name badge, simply stopped existing. In its place was a pair of white and red shorts. His body had shifted from a lanky young man like a skeleton with skin into a toned beach bod.
Callum looked down at himself. His hands rose, covering his chest, then lower, feeling the way the material of the shorts cupped and displayed his assets. When he looked up again his expression was that of worry. He asked, “My slides? My favorite slides—where are they?”
Austin looked over to where Richard had been and pointed at the ground, “Those ones, mate?”
Callum looked down to find a pair of blue slides, large enough to fit his much larger feet. His shoulders lowered and he kicked his feet into them. “Perfect,” he sighed. “I love these slides so much you have no idea weirdo, I cannot function without them.”
What Callum didn’t know, nor care to know, was that his favorite slides used to be his former client. Austin chuckled to himself before left. The string quartet played on, oblivious. A server passed with a tray of canapés and did not look twice at the man in the grey latex unitard now settling into Richard’s lap as if he had always belonged there. Austin kept walking.
The main building rose ahead, all white stone and glass, the afternoon light turning the upper windows into mirrors. Somewhere inside, the lobby would be cool and quiet and full of people who still believed the day belonged to them. Austin’s wetsuit creaked softly with every step, the sound of potential moving closer.
He had time. The lake was still full. The paths still held boys who thought they knew what they wanted. And the afternoon was nowhere near over.
