It's not a dress

For Christmas, my wife got me a really expensive watch. It was very cool, but it was not really something I would use. (It was a very specialized, nerdy watch.) With her permission, I returned it and used the money for something...a little different.

I had an inflatable suit once. It ripped and I sent it out for repair, at which point I never saw it again. Since then I've wanted to get a latex garment of some sort. My wife suggested latex sheets, but we both realized they would be a nightmare to clean and care for, plus they were super expensive. She does not want to get latexwear right now, but we both realized...well, if it's my fetish, why don't I do it? What could I get that would let me feel that lovely sensation of pressure and stretchiness that only latex provides, particularly around my midsection, but something that could still be worn during The Act? The answer, I was rather surprised to learn, turned out to be a dress.

Now, because I am a straight male and feel I am already sufficiently strange enough, the concept of buying and wearing a made-to-measure latex dress is something that immediately makes me want to change its name. It's...a tunic. Yes, a latex tunic. Or perhaps a very long t-shirt, because that's what I was thinking of and realized, yeah, that's what ladies call a dress.

I contacted Nimue of NimuesLatex.com after seeing her amazingly reasonable prices, wide color variety, and noting that everything was made to measure (which, when optional, is always something you should get--while cheap, off-the-shelf latexwear is usually ill-fitting and therefore not much fun). And so, four months later, this arrived:



That's a Short Tank Dress in .43/.50 weight Pearlsheen Purple (color selected in part by spouse). The custom color and weight meant the order took longer, but it's worth waiting for exactly what you want, right? And with two custom elements (color and thickness), it was still only $140. Hot damn. I was expecting a rounded neckline instead of a V but I don't really mind, and I don't think I specified.

It doesn't look like a dress, right? It kind of reminds me of the new style of NBA jerseys. And Iverson don't wear a dress.

Work with me here.

Protoblog

You kids and your computers. Imagine my horror when I recently located my old journal (which was the boy's way of saying "diary" in the early 80s) and realized, wow, I'd been blogging since before there were blogs. It's all incredibly embarassing, filled with song lyrics, self-doubt, things that happened at school, geeky outbursts that I thought were cool, girls I had crushes on and weird, melodramatic self-assessments. But it was interesting to see me dance around the inflation thing because I only spoke of it vaguely. I was always afraid of someone else finding the thing and reading it, so I never wanted to give too much away (but wow, look at all the other embarassing stuff in there...would anybody have even noticed the inflatable stuff?). There is one reference to a "fetish" and one reference to an "ultimate turn-on" and that's about all I could find. The rest was just pure growing-up-in-the-suburbs nonsense, no deep thoughts or shocking revelations.

I'm going to destroy this journal, probably by fire. It's a big reminder of the awkwardness that everybody has when they grow up, but I have the experiences; I don't think I need the document anymore. It's one of those things I never wanted to keep but never wanted to get rid of. But it's just time to move on and stop beating myself up about what a dork I have always been.