"I dunno, it sounds pretty creepy."

I was walking the halls with my best friend Ben before classes the next day. Ben was the best. We were about the same height, but he was dark-haired, with deep penetrating eyes, and a very confident manner. He occasionally wore glasses which he didn't really need, I think because it made him look so damn cool when he slowly took them off and ticked them into his shirt or jacket pocket. I had just told him about my adventure with Rick the day before. I was still bouncing from the rush of it. I could barely keep my feet on the ground.

"What's so creepy about it? Name one thing about it that's creepy."

Ben looked at me as if I were an outpatient at a lobotomy clinic. "Some old guy you don't know, who you've never even seen before, takes you into his apartment to dress you up in his clothes and take pictures of you. No, nothing creepy going on there."

"He's not that old. And he didn't "take me into his apartment". I was invited, not kidnapped."

"So he's what then, 40? 45?"

"No way! Rick's maybe 26, 27. 28 tops."

"Okay, so this guy who's just a few years shy of being twice your age lures you in front of his porno camera and seduces you into stripping and then dressing up--"

"It wasn't porno! Jesus, where are you getting porno from?? His model cancelled on him and I just happened to be there. It was an opportunity where I was in the right place at the right time. And I changed clothes in the bedroom. With the door shut. Behind a screen."

"Yeah, you just HAPpened to be there just at the time you'd be collecting for your paper route and at that preCISE moment his model just happens to cancel. What an unbelievable coincidence. He probably rehearsed it. You were set up."

"I made eighty dollars. For less than two hours of work. That's more than forty bucks an hour."

Ben rolled his eyes. "So now you're a well-paid teen gigolo. That's gotta be a dream fulfilled."

I elbowed Ben as I sneered, "Puh-lease! I posed for some farming magazine. I looked like I was selling canned corn or something, not pleasures of the flesh."

Ben jerked to the side and then pushed me away, one hand firmly on my shoulder. "Christ, do you have to walk so close to me all the time? I can hear you just fine from over there." He jabbed a finger past me, to emphasize I should move a few feet away.

I sidestepped to widen the space between us. I hadn't noticed, but maybe I was getting in his face. "Look, he was really cool and he had shitloads of sci fi artwork from jobs he'd done, Star Trek, Doctor Who, tons of it."

"Doctor Who? Really? Tom Baker or one of the others?". Ben suddenly seemed interested in more than sarcasm.

"I didn't take notes. I'm just saying he was really nice, he paid me, and he said if his publisher likes the photos--and if his regular model gives him any more shit--he could have me pose again. Like as a superhero." I started to bounce again. I couldn't help it. "Benji, I could be a fucking superhero! He could draw me in one of those illustrations as a superhero!"

Ben's eyes darted back and forth as I spoke, fearful that other kids would be staring at me. At us. He quickened his pace as we rounded the next bend. "You can be too fucking perky sometimes, man."

Ben stopped outside his algebra classroom. "Mrs. Belmonte's. This is me." He shifted his books to his other hand and took off his glasses, slipping them into his shirt pocket. "You better watch it. For all you know this guy could be some kind of psychotic child molester."

I smirked, shaking my head. "I appreciate it, but I didn't get that impression. He was really cool. And if he asks me to pose again, I'm going back."

"Mark my words", Ben said, "You do and your next costume will be a metal G-string and a spiked dog collar. Later." He went into class and took his seat, exchanging smiles and nods with some of the other kids. He took his seat and gave me one last glance before I left for Lit class. He flashed a half-smile my way and I smiled back. He was really looking out for me. What a wonderful friend.

The opening bell pierced the air and I sprinted down the hall to first period.

The door to number 37 swung wide, making me jump just as I was about to drop that day's edition on the mat. "There's the man of the hour!", Rick said.

"Geez! You scared me!", I gasped.

"They loved 'em."

"Who did? Loved what?"

"The editors. The client. They loved you."

"Come again?"

"I overnighted the country boy photos. They got them this morning, and they absolutely loved 'em. My editor wants you to model again. Are you interested?"

I was not only interested, my head was spinning. I imagined myself as one of those old-time sci fi space cadets or perhaps a high-flying superhero. I tried not to sound too eager, but didn't quite pull it off as I said, "When?"

Rick smiled. "See you after you finish your paper route."

And my paper route was finished in record time.

I knocked once on Rick's apartment door and opened it a crack. "Rick? It's me, Dickie. Can I come in?"

From inside came his voice with a slight laugh, "Hell yes, what do you think I'm paying you for??"

I grinned, and walked in to find Rick spreading out yesterday's prints all over the dining room table. "Check these out", he said around the pen he clenched in his teeth. I dropped my empty paper bag onto the floor and approached. "Sit, sit down", Rick instructed. I eyed the overflowing table with the display of photos atop various binders, manila folders, and scattered pens and pencils. The debris overflowed onto the chairs, which were occupied with art director's catalogs, portfolio pages, rolls of film and computer discs, among other things. I raised one eyebrow and shrugged, not knowing where exactly to sit.

"Oh, right, right, right", Rick said. With a sweeping hand he shoved all the stuff off of one chair and pushed it aside with his foot. He patted the seat. What the hell. I sat.

"Tell me", Rick said, "that these are not fucking incredible."

I looked over the multiple 8x10 glossies of myself in bumpkin costume. The framing, composition, lighting, and color was absolutely exquisite. I aspired to be half as good as this guy with my own art projects at home and at school. There was just one problem that I could see.

"I look so...cute", I said with disdain.

"Well, that's the point, champ. You were supposed to look like a Saturday Evening Post cover circa 1942 come to life. And you did splendidly. They want another series right away, and they want you in another costume."

"Another" costume. I liked the sound of that. Time to look a bit more buff and manly and a little less wholesome and unspoiled. "Do I get to be a superhero?", I asked.

"That", said Rick with a raised finger, "is still Jason's province, if I can ever get him to show up. For you we have something special. Follow." Rick led me out into the living room and threw down a large cardboard box with delivery labels plastered all over it. "This was sent here rush today. We found a place just 45 minutes out of town that carries these. Go on, open it."

I lifted the lid and looked in at what seemed to be a shiny black tarp. I looked at Rick questioningly. "Go ahead, take it out", he encouraged me. Gently, I lifted the costume out of it's box. It was very, very smooth and cool to the touch. As it cleared the box it unrolled to the floor. It was a shining pair of jet black rubber bib overalls, with wide buckled belts where the shoulder straps would be. This was definitely not a superhero costume, but it was nothing Norman Rockwell would be caught dead painting, either. Not unless Norman Rockwell ever worked for the 1940's equivalent of Bound & Gagged.

"Ummm...", I said, trying to sound hesitant all the while the mere look of this thing was giving me a zipper-busting bulge down below. "I don't have to wear a spiked dog collar or anything with this, do I?"

"No", Rick said, "I'm not that kind of photographer. But you do get to wear this." He hefted the next item from the box, an equally black jacket not unlike a denim barn coat, also of sleek rubber. He grabbed the last two items out and set them proudly on the floor before me. A pair of tall black rubber knee boots so shiny I could actually see my reflection in them.

"So I'm a farmboy again, but this time I farm...what, rainwater? Only during the monsoon season?"

"You're getting warmer", Rick grinned. He then produced a large yellow hardhat from a nearby prop bag and plopped it on my head. "You're a sewer worker! You farm sewage!"

I jumped back, still holding my shiny new overalls and jacket. "What? No way! Are we, like, going on location for this shoot??"

"We didn't need to drive out to farm country for the last one, did we? It's for a catalog and an accompanying article about families who pass on this undesirable job from one generation to the next and what a cheerful lot they are for taking on such a thankless job and yadda, yadda, so on and so forth."

"So I won't have to wade through sewage?"

"Not this time."

I grabbed up the boots. "Then I guess I'll get changed." I tried to keep a casual pace as I walked to the bedroom, but I could feel myself starting to trot, even while sporting a huge boner. I had to get a move on, lest I start ripping off my clothes to get into costume right in front of Rick.

I closed the door quickly, tossed the outfit onto the bed and stripped out of my street clothes faster than I think I ever had. My briefs caught for a second on my erection, but soon I had them off and stuffed into a pocket of my jeans. No need for Rick to know I'd gone starkers before suiting up by leaving them lying around.

Rapidly, since I didn't know how much time I had, I spread the overalls and jacket out onto the bed and lay down on them. I inhaled sharply, moaning intently at the feel of the cool, gleaming rubber against my skin. My dick was throbbing as I slowly rubbed my arms back and forth over the jacket sleeves. I then braced my palms against the bed and slid my body up and down over the whole suit. It was all I could do to remember to exhale.

All my young life (at least since I hit puberty) I'd dreamed of a suit like this. Well, not exactly like this, but made entirely out of rubber. I fantasized about some water-related catastrophe striking our small town. A dam breaking, an unexpected tsunami, a flash flood, that called for the women and girls to be shipped off to higher ground and all the boys who were left in school had to don waterproof uniforms to be worn not just in class, but 24/7. For our own safety, you realize.

I felt something wet down below and pushed off from the bed to see a sticky stream of precum trailing from my little guy (not so little, but you know what I mean) to the overalls, marring the beautiful shine of the bibs.

"Oh, shit!" I leapt off the bed and grabbed some kleenex from the nearby dresser and frantically wiped the tiny smear off. One screw up like that and I could kiss this dress-up goldmine goodbye. Time to put this thing on.

I jumped into the overalls with the intent of buckling up quickly, but stopped short when I felt the interior rubber crotch make contact with my own. "Huuuuuhhhooooaahh..."

There was a sharp rap at the door. "You okay in there? What's the holdup, buddy?"

"Uh, um, I'm just having a little trouble with these buckle straps is all. They're kinda different from what I'm used to", I said lamely.

"You want a hand?"

I looked down at the tented protrusion at the front of my bibs, jabbing outward, silently crying out, "Hey, look at me! Look at me!" I fumbled with the buckles, forcing one strap through the silver clasp and finding the notch that fit snugly. "No, I'm okay!", I hollered back. "Oh, there it is! There she goes, I got it! Be right out!"

"Time's a wastin' ", Rick said, his voice fading back into the living room as he returned to his camera.

I tended to the next buckle and then stepped into the boots. I took a deep breath as my feet touched the cool rubber. No pause for playtime, Dickie, let's move. Wither that hard-on. Think of road kill, full bedpans, pimply-faced girls, anything. Into the jacket. I snapped up the jacket all the way to the top of the collar and fastened the sleeve cuffs. It felt wonderful.

I turned to walk out to do the job I'd been asked to do, but caught myself in the full-length mirror by the closet door. Ohhh, I looked incredible. It was me, but I was all shining and black and rubber, and beautiful the way I caught the light...

I had to touch it.

Just one little touch. Nothing major, no full-blown damn-the-torpedoes jack-off fest, but I just...had to...touch it. Gently, I pressed the flat of my palm against the front of my rubber crotch. I let out a low groan. "Ooohhhhhhh, MAN--!" My legs buckled a bit and the room seemed considerably warmer. I looked into the mirror and saw the bed behind me.

The big, soft, comfy bed. And my snug, shiny, black rubber suit. Two great tastes that taste great together.

Leaping backwards, I launched myself onto the bed and landed on my back with a major bounce. It was glorious. I flopped my arms down at my sides and just reveled in the feel of the bed against the suit, the suit against me, me against the suit. Ohh, I would never take this thing off. No, I would live in it. I would set up residence in my happy new rubber uniform and receive mail here. Please forward all correspondence to: Dickie the Horny High Schooler, c/o the Beautiful Rubber Suit, 6969 Comfy Bed Way. I breathed in, I breathed out. I wriggled my toes inside the boots. I rubbed my chest through the jacket. I touched the legs of my overalls to my thighs. Lightly, so as not to set anything off.

Yeah, Rick, I'd be right out. But until then, this thing I had with the suit was going to be the start of a beautiful relationship.

Rick walked into the room as I lay in my new suit making snow angels on the bed soft bedspread. I sat bolt upright as the door opened, blurting out, "I was just about to come out! I was just sitting here! I just pulled on my boots! I had to sit down!" I took a breath. "To pull on the boots!"

Rick leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. He just stared at me.

"I wasn't doing anything", I said without conviction.

Rick smirked, then slowly pursed--and unpursed--his lips. "Dickie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you by any chance not wearing any underwear under that suit?"

I gulped. "Mmmmmmaybe."

"Maybe you are or maybe you aren't?"

"The first one." I fidgeted a bit. That wasn't too smart, since the suit rubbing against me just got me more worked up.

"So you are wearing briefs under that?"

"No. You said are you not wearing any underwear, and I am. Not wearing any."

Rick shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"Rick, I didn't mean to do anything wrong, honest. I was just, this suit, it feels so, I've never worn anything like this, and I was only, I was only--"

"Getting excited by wearing it? In your nether regions perhaps?"

The suit still felt fantastic, but my excitement in the ol' nether regions was drooping fast. "You don't sound too surprised about it."

Rick walked over and sat down next to me. "Not really. I saw how you looked when you wore those rubber farm boots yesterday. How you obviously enjoyed it. I figured there was something else going on than just a deep enjoyment of dressing up." He looked me in the eye. "You like rubber?"

I blew out a big breath and kicked my feet a little. "I like rubber." I felt as if I was in a confessional, or was fessing up to some mischief I'd been caught at in class.

Rick just rested his hands in his lap. "So tell me about it."

"What, seriously? You want me to just--?"

"How long have you known?"

"About the whole rubber thing? Since always, I guess." I told him about the pair of red rubber boots with the big button-fasteners on the side I wore as a toddler, how I tried to wear them long past the time I'd outgrown them. I mentioned my dad's old lace-up clodhopper snow boots that were all thick brown rubber inside and out, and how I'd sneak them out of the basement and wear them when no one was around. No socks. Just the cool rubber against my bare feet. Through it all he sat and listened, nodding here and there, looking more like he was following along to a checklist rather than that he was waiting to condemn me.

"So you know what it sounds like you are then, Dickie?"

"I don't know. A pervert? A whack job?"

"The term I was going to use was rubberist."

"What is--? No way, you just made that up."

Rick raised three fingers. "There is such a thing, scout's honor. All it means is that you are a person who receives enhanced pleasure from physical contact with rubber. That's all."

"So I'm not a pervert?"

"You are if you start forcing this little aspect of yourself onto others against their will, or wearing rubber bras and panties to church, I'd imagine. But no, I'd say you're not particularly perverted, Dickie."

I fell back onto the bed, arms spread out at my sides, both relieved and relishing the feel of the suit again. "Phwew! Thank God. 'Cause this thing does feel fucking fantastic."

Rick swatted my chest. "Watch the language."

"Sorry."

"But be careful. Good as it feels, you can get addicted, just like with any other outside substance that brings you pleasure. If you start craving rubber gear and can't control your need to wear the stuff, then we've got problems. So you promise me that you'll let me know if you ever get too worked up about it, okay?"

"Will do."

"Then let's go take some pitchurs." He patted me on the arm and we were off to the camera.