Losers, I thought. Rubbermen - sad losers who couldn’t see how horny and masculine it was to wear black leather. Probably couldn’t afford real gear I thought to myself. Then He came over to me in the club. Looked me up and down, from my tall Dehner boots to my Muir cap. Taking in all of my leather, all of my other might and superiority. I put my pint down, and He reached out and grabbed my ungloved hand. It was instant. I saw things clearly. As they should be. I pulled off my other glove with my teeth, and let drop to the floor. I reached out and stroked the Rubber on his chest. Instantly the energy of Rubber increased in my mind, wiping away all my thoughts. Only Rubber mattered. Just Rubber. Black, shiny, latex. I pulled Him closer, tighter. Bent forward and used my tongue to caress, to worship His Rubber. To show that I was committing myself to Rubber. Only Rubber. To my Rubber God. My Muir cap fell off and hit the floor. Unwanted, unmourned. Eventually He led me out, His Rubber encased hand holding mine as we walked towards his car. Frightened that He would let go, and deprive me of the most wonderful feelings I’d ever felt…
As you can see, my fears were groundless. I stand here now, in my Rubber. My body encased in the acme of attire, my mind entirely devoted to Rubber, presenting myself to all who see me as a Rubberman. I’m not a loser, I’m a winner…
