Someone To Love

Someone To Love
By Rubberking
©2003

Rose felt the rain pattering down on her hood and felt like crying again. But tears wouldn’t come any more, she’d used them all up for the moment it seemed.
Biting her lower lip, she sat on the bus-stop bench and waited for the transit to arrive. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. She had no one waiting on her at home anymore, now that mama had passed away a month ago. She felt adrift, more so than she had in her whole, miserable life.

Life had been hard for her, and had dealt her a bad hand from the beginning. Born underweight, she’d been plagued with medical problems of many sorts from the day she emerged, not even crying, from her sickly mother’s womb. She’d been told she’d spent the first three months of her life in an incubator, depending on tubes for everything from air, to nourishment, to fluids. Unable even to experience a human touch the whole time excepting changes of her tiny diapers, her first contact with the world insulated by the nurses rubber gloves and lying on a rubber sheet under a tiny woolen blanket. Her birth almost cost her her mother’s life and there were to be no brothers or sisters to share her life with afterwards, already she was alone.

As she grew, her mother’s frequent sicknesses meant that she more often than not was cradled in the arms of strangers, never really bonding with her own mother, though her proud father doted on her whenever he found the time between work and trying to look out after both her mother and herself at home. She remembered his craggy, softly smiling face as he would take her from the nurse’s gloved hands and cuddle her, letting her feel his rough, stubbly face as he smiled and whispered to her until she’d fall asleep and be tucked into her tiny bassinette where he would watch over her until he retired for the evening. His was the first non in-tactile intimacy she enjoyed, his sour breath, his rough hands and furry arms and raspy flannel shirts. Whatever loss of imprinting she’d been denied, she attached to him and to the many nonsterile things he did and wore.

At three, still sickly, he’d dress her in little rainsuits and tiny rubber boots and take her fishing and walking, though her mother feebly protested against it, in the rain and snow and along the beaches and in the forests, teaching her about nature, her world and about so many other things besides. Her mother put her in little dresses, tights and cramped shoes, treating her as if she were one of her many dollies. She demurred because it pleased her mama, but the itching was horrible to bear. Her father noticed the redness and took her to the doctors, who said she had a sensitivity to cotton and many man-made textile materials, and advised him and his wife that she needed to have crèmes rubbed on her and suggested they buy her latex attire to cover her sensitive skin until she could grow inured to the sensitivity and hopefully resume wearing normal attire as she got older.

This suited her mother, already sickly, since rubber sheets, aprons, boots and shoes were already prominent parts of their home-life. Her mother sat down with her, looking through specialty catalogs of fashions and had Rosalyn pick out her own clothes to suit her tastes and needs. The little kids in the neighborhood teased her about it sometimes, but since they were young, it hardly became an issue until she started school.
Then her hell began.

Still unable to tolerate normal attire for more than a few hours at a time, smeared with unguents under her little latex clothes she wore under her outer cloth attire, from the first moment she entered kindergarten, they teased and picked on her for her being different from them, pushing her down in the play yard, tossing fluids on her and dancing rings around her as they chanted hurtful things about her until she cried and curled up in a little ball until they’d lose interest and go away, leaving her hurt and sobbing, never understanding why they had to be so mean.

Her father would pick her up in the afternoons, and she’d latch onto him like a lifesaver and cry and cry as he tried to sooth her and then they’d go home and everything would be better, far away from pain and hurt and awful children. She’d climb into bed with mama, under her mothers rubber bedsheets and be warm and safe there. Sometimes daddy would join them and that was when she felt the safest in the whole world. She was a model child, even for a girl. Always respectful, kind, appreciative, kind and helpful, a bright and pretty little bird, her father called her. 

During her endless days when not in school, she helped her near-bedridden mother about the house and played in her fathers garage and if outside, in his underground cinderblock bomb shelter left over from the fifties where he kept his fishing and outdoor gear and swimming and diving equipment, playing dress-up in the oversized waders and skin-diving suits and many other things he kept there, his collection of military gasmasks fascinated her and she loved the odd sounds and noises everything made as she pretended to be monsters from space and other things she watched on her parents new television, endlessly watching science fiction movies and educational programs her father liked to watch about diving and fishing. She thought little about the rubber and latex things she wore, it was all a normal part of life to her, but she noticed that other children and their parents didn’t wear such things and that reinforced her sense of ‘otherness’ and difference from other people.

She made a few friends amongst the neighborhood children, all girls, and they played together and had fun, but always her attire made her stand out and as she became older, her friends all went away it seemed. Her first year of regular school was even worse than her kindergarten  years, she was underdeveloped, tiny and even though she could tolerate wearing a cotton or silk dresses for longer and longer periods over her pale skin, she still had to wear latex tights and long-sleeved shirts under her clothes if she didn’t want to itch like crazy or break out in suppurating rashes. At home, in her room, she ran around naked and enjoyed the freedom of being bare-skinned, but most of the time she just wore her little frog-girls suits and didn’t worry about it. At school, the other girls and boys were incredibly mean to her, nicknaming her “Rubber-Rosalyn, the Martian mistress” and harassing her whenever there wasn’t any adult present to stop them bullying her.

This continued throughout her school years, causing her no end of grief. Then, one day when she was about eleven, she was out walking in the rain, and met a little boy out in the downpour, also walking around aimlessly, dressed much like she was, in a bright yellow rubber rainsuit, yellow rainboots and a big rubber rainhat. Curious, she went up to him and said hi.

“Hello.” He said back. “My name is Bill Richards and we just moved here from British Columbia, that’s in Canada. What’s your name?”

Thrilled that he hadn’t run away, and actually wanted to talk to her, she replied with a little smile. “Roselyn Crieft. I live down the street. Wanna play with me?”

“Sure.” He said, smiling back at her. “If you don’t mind playing with boys. Everything’s so different here, everyone too. I’d like someone to play with, if you’d like?”

Feeling warm at his attention, she grabbed his hand and she took him on a tour of the area, showing him lots of neat things, big flooding creeks, how the carousel in the flooded kiddy-park covered in water when it rained and they found crayfish swept out of their holes and played with them, and many other neat little things she knew about from her endlessly lonely days of hiding from the other children in the wilderness areas around their neighborhood. He took her to his house, and she met his parents and they liked her right off. His mother even commenting on how cute she looked in her little rain-gear and floppy hat.

He showed her his collection of toys and games and later they snuck out and he showed her some his fathers own frogman’s outfits in the garage, he was very proud of his father who was a professional underwater welder and diver. They played happily until dinner was called by his mother from the back porch, who saw them trying to sneak out of the garage and laughed that if they weren’t careful, he’d have her looking like a space-monster before long. And so began her first real friendship, and later, her first romance, with little Bill Richards. But all that came later, as we shall see. She made her way home, skipping, and as happy as a lark.
As soon as she was home, she confided in her mama that she’d met a new friend, a boy, a boy like her. Tolerantly, her mother approved, and called Bill’s parents up after dinner and had a long talk with her father, and all the parents seemed to approve of the budding friendship.

After that, if she wasn’t home, she was over at Bill’s or Billy’s as his parents called him, though he never called himself that, and so she didn’t either. And they had great fun together, flopped down in front of Bill’s parents awesome new color TV watching movies, reading from both their parents large collections of books, playing with toys or sports equipment from their fathers garages, playing silly games and generally have fun.

When school started, she feared going back, unable to cope with the teasing. But Bill stood up for her, personally leading her into school in her new dress, now that she could stand wearing it for an entire day, looking like any normal little fifth-grade girl. Though Bill was small himself, he was wiry and his father had taught him well about self-defense, and when one of the bullies tried to push her around, he knocked the stuffing out of him, earning himself a suspension on his very first day at school. Bill seemed so strong, and kind, that Rose felt all warm and funny inside, she had her mother excuse her from the rest of the day thru the office just so she could go home with Bill and explain to his parents what had happened and that it was all her fault really. Luckily, they understood and seemed quite taken to seeing her in a cloth-dress for a change, and asked her about it as she unconsciously scratched, a rash already popping up from the contact-dermatitis. They seemed concerned about it, and after she’d gone home, her father went over and they had an ‘adult-talk’ about her condition, Bill told her the next day, this time back in her suit under her normal clothing.

One day she was horrified to find herself bleeding from her lower body, and her mother heard her cries and shuffled out of bed and into the bathroom to find her sobbing and covered in thick, gooey, coppery smelling blood that she couldn’t get off her hands and had rubbed into her face in her horror. Her mother put her in the tub and washed her, blood still trickling down her thighs, and explained about menstruation and that she was a woman now, and showed her about pads and tampons and gave her cookies as she gave her “The Talk” about her changing body and what it meant to her life. About boys, and something called Sex and how babies were made and born and about the cycle of life.

She herself was attentive, but she had these painful cramps in her tummy and mama told her that was normal and to expect this and the bleeding every twenty-eight days or so, and to keep a calendar of her periods to keep track of it in case something went wrong so they could tell the doctor. She also made an appointment with a Gy-no-call-i-gist for Roselyn and told her she would go with her because daddies were uncomfortable about things like this. Her mother hugged her and kissed her and said she was now a woman and that great things were going to happen for her. It was the closest her and her mother had ever been that afternoon, with the cookies and milk and Women’s talk. But her tummy still hurt and her chest felt strangely puffy and sore…

The lady-doctor had been nice, even if she touched her in ways mama had told her no adult was supposed to down there. The lady explained about the soreness in her chest, saying that soon she would develop breasts like her mother had and like all women had, they were for feeding babies and that they felt nice and made boys notice you. Rose didn’t care about that, she already liked Bill and didn’t want to be noticed by other boys, they scared and frightened her, and most other girls did too.  The doctor gave her a stack of pamphlets to read and some pills for the cramps and her mother bought her ice-cream on the way home and that was fun.

A month or two passed, and her chest was sore all the time, but now she had these big, puffy mounds growing there, and the other girls poked fun at her because not only was she growing them, but her skin-rashes came back with a vengeance and she couldn’t go out for gym wearing a frog-girls suit without them mocking her horribly and so she sat on the sidelines, again wishing she was more like everyone else instead of being a freak like she was. Sometimes, especially around her ‘time of the month’ she cried for no reason and felt either oddly detached or really, really down and though she knew this was because of her period, that didn’t make her feel any better at all. Bill was her constant companion, her bestest friend. He never made fun of her, even let her cry against him when her moods swung wildly and held her hand and talked to her when she was down in the dumps. Things were changing with him too though, he was getting bigger and was growing muscles and his voice started cracking, making him embarrassed to talk sometimes, so she talked for him to spare him like he did for her when she needed it

One day, when they were walking home from school in the rain, she felt a strange urge to kiss him and did, and then they kissed and kissed and wound up under a tree kissing and holding and stroking each other. She felt all hot inside and while she was kissing him, she felt down his pants and did a bad thing and touched him between his legs, and he groaned as if in pain. She drew back, afraid, but he kissed her back, held her hand there and she felt him shudder and then relax like after doing something hard like lifting a heavy box or something and he just smiled and kissed her.

“What happened” she asked, still feeling all hot inside and not knowing why, but knowing she’d done something she shouldn’t.

“I donno, but I feel all wet and sticky in my underpants now…” he replied, and opened his coat and pants to show her that it was true. There was a lot of whiteish, sticky goo in his underwear, she touched it and his stiff little thing and he groaned and more goo came out the end. She tasted it, it was a little salty and actually tasted pretty good to her. But they both knew they’d done something they weren’t supposed to and quickly zipped him up and they went home and said nothing more about it then. She asked her mom about it, and her mama got a strange look on her face and asked how she knew about that?

Rose tried to explain about what had happened and her mother looked worried and told her she should wait until she was older to play like that with little Bill, that other adults would get upset if they knew what they’d done. Mama told her that kissing was all right, but not to let any boy put his thing inside her, or she’d have a baby and that would ruin her chances of going to university when she got older. Then, smiling wistfully, mama told her that boys could be very persuasive in trying to get their ‘Penis’s’ into girls, because it felt good for them too, and that mama knew she’d felt all hot because that was her body trying to make her want to become a mommy herself. They then had a talk about ways to please a boy without doing sex, one way was what she had done without meaning to, called masturbation. Girls did it too, and it felt really good, but not to lose her head and have sex because she and Bill were too young yet to be grown-ups. 

Daddy came home not long after and seemed pleased to find mama and Rose spending more time together. He wondered why they both smiled so strangely at him after he’d said this and the ladies just laughed coyly.

Summer came, and the mounds on her chest were still very sore and very big and so she went to the doctor again. The lady doctor was kind again this time and took some measurements and some blood and scraped the outside of one breast making Rose hiss with pain, then went away for a time. When the doctor returned, she told Rose and her mama that she had a big-sounding condition that meant that she was going to have very large breasts indeed for one so young and that the doctor hoped her body would grow into them, but that for now there was nothing she could do beside give her some de-sensitizing cream to help with the soreness and to keep wearing her suits and using the skin creams too for the time being and suggested to her mother that perhaps she was ‘grown-up enough for her first brassiere?’

Her mother beamed, and even though tired and wan, took her on her first shopping trip ever for women’s things. She found out quickly that she couldn’t wear one of the things that strapped around her small chest for very long, and that the salesladies were amazed that she had such a big ‘rack’ for such a tiny girl, but they took her measurements and fitted her out with a size 24-D cup and told her mother where they could order latex ones in her size from a custom maker once her mama had explained about her skin problems. One of the ladies called it ‘kinky’ and she asked her mama what that meant on the walk home.

Mama explained that often, when people wore something like latex it was called that because people often had things called fetishes, meaning that they liked a certain article of clothing to be worn by their ‘lover’ or boyfriend in her case or that a boy or man might wish her to wear something like that and that it would make them feel all hot like she’d felt when she was kissing Bill that time. In fact, most people that saw her that didn’t know about her condition might assume that she had a fetish for the latex that she wore and slept on at home, so she should be careful about telling people she didn’t know about it or that they might think the wrong thing about her.

“But mama, do I have a ‘fetish?’” Rose asked, she didn’t want anyone being mean to her and thought she now understood why she’d been picked on so much. She didn’t want to be this way, but she couldn’t help it, it was her body that had done this to her!

“I don’t know honey.” Replied her mother. “Do you like wearing your rubber things?”

She thought about it, then said morosely. “I like the way they feel, does that make me a freak mama?”

“No dear.” Said her mother, hugging her as they walked up their front steps. “You’re not a freak in any way, you’re just a little girl who likes wearing what she likes, just like any other little girl does. Understand?”

“I think so mama. Can I take the bra off now that we’re home, it itches…” she replied, scratching at the sides.

“Of course dear. But if you get much bigger, you’ll need to wear one all the time or your back will hurt, ok? I’ll order you some in the morning from the catalog if you’ll look thru it and pick out some styles you like, fair enough darling?”

“Yes mama, I will.” She promised 

Things were changing all around her, and she didn’t like it. Whenever Bill saw her these days, he turned all red in the face and acted all funny around her, and often stared at her growing chest for long periods of time, making her vaguely uncomfortable. They were becoming an item in any case, and now the girls that had teased her came to her and asked her for advise on how to attract boys, but she had no idea what they meant. Others seemed jealous of her and were very mean to her, calling her “Rosie rubber-boobs” and other hateful things, she just ignored them for the most part. Other boys though were starting to stare at her with that same hungry look in their eyes that Bill had and several times, Bill got mad and beat them up, getting himself in trouble again and she felt just awful about it.

It seemed like she’d gained some strange power over boys and it made her totally uncomfortable, mama said it wasn’t her fault and that it was because the boys were themselves becoming men and had to deal with men’s hormones and not to worry about it and just be her sweet self and she’d be fine. Something else had happened too, when she’d started changing, she often felt all hot and if she touched her private parts, she’d find them wet with secretions that came from her vagina, often she’d rub herself and she’d feel all tingly and nice and more of the wetness would coat her busy little hands and she daydream about Bill kissing her and doing things to her body and she’d shiver and shake like a leaf and something would feel like it was building up inside her until she’d have to bite her lip and bury her face in a pillow as the tension would release and she’d collapse, feeling all mellow and satisfied like after eating chocolates or ice cream. This hotness happened at strange times too, riding a bicycle, jogging and especially after she’d been kissing with Bill. Mama said it was her body experiencing sexual pleasure and trying to make her want to make a baby, and to be careful not to have sex but to enjoy it as a wonderful, private thing of her very own.

She went to the library, and started reading about sex and how it worked and what to do and not to do and how a girl got pregnant and what a girl could do to keep that from happening, she learned about the pill, and prophylactics and more about how to satisfy a boy without having intercourse. To say that Bill was pleased seemed an understatement, when she explained all this to him and then offered to help him, you’d have thought she’d given him the best gift in the world, and in a way, perhaps she had. Whenever they found time and privacy, she’d masturbate him with her hands and let him hold and play with her breasts and body, and often she reached a climax with him, showing him how to touch her to make her feel good too. She liked the taste of his sperm and on really special occasions, would give him fellatio by sucking and licking on his big angry-looking red-topped penis until he’d orgasm in her mouth and smiling, she’d drink it all and feel very satisfied indeed.

Her sixteenth birthday came, and her mama got out of bed long enough to arrange a big party for her and other girls her age with the help of the other mothers and there was a big boy-girl dance afterwards. She actually managed to wear a nice dress for the entire evening without itching and the underthings her mama gave her to wear actually made her feel extra special and grown up like a fully grown woman. The heels took some getting used to, and she found she really liked wearing something that allowed her to be nearly as tall as Bill who’d shot up hugely overnight it seemed to the both of them. He looked so handsome in his suit and dancing with him made her feel safe and protected and very, very warm and damp in her silken underwear and actual stockings like mama wore when she dressed up, like tonight. Mama looked so happy, and cried on her daddies shoulder most of the night. She was glad they seemed so happy, she hoped she and Bill could be like that someday. She was happy too.

A year passed.

Life can be cruel, and she knew this but you don’t think about it until something awful happens to you personally. Daddy was at work and had some pains in his chest and before the ambulance could get there, he’d collapsed and died. After the funeral, mama just took to her bed and seemed to have died inside herself, though she was still breathing, eating and talking. Rose took over for daddy as best she could, taking a job at the local café, looking out for her mama and making sure she ate, but her own spirit flickered and sputtered and almost died in her own heart. She lost interest in everything, her grades slipped and though Bill did everything he could to help and comfort her, she wasn’t the same person any more. Then his father took another job in another state and they had to move away, and though Bill wanted to stay, his family needed him too. In the end, they spent a night together, had sex for the first and last time, with protection. And she let him walk out of her life.

She finished out her senior year with a B average, but her grades meant that she couldn’t get a full scholarship to the local college and so she let that dream go as well.  Her skin had finally cleared up fully, but she still wore her latex attire around the house and under her work uniform for the sad comfort it gave her, she’d developed her fetish throughout her life and it was all she felt she had left that was something of her very own. Daddies insurance left them well enough off, but that didn’t mean anything when he was gone and mama was almost too weak to talk to her anymore, sinking under the loss of lost love. Rose fed her like a baby for almost a year, had to put her in diapers so she didn’t mess herself and soon had to call in a nurse to help take care of her until daddies lawyer one day told her that it was in mama’s best interests that she be put in a rest home, and that she should ready herself for the worst. Mama was dying. 

She got a call late one night when she was asleep and took a taxi to the rest home as fast as the driver could get there, it was time. The doctor held her hand and told her a lot of medical jargon for what was happening to her mother and in the end, left her in the tiny room that smelled like urine and despair and she sat with her mama for the last time, holding her cool hand and crying until she thought she would die of the pain. About the time the sun rose, mama was gone. She hadn’t stirred or fought or spoke a word, she just gave a little sigh and quit breathing and living and being. Rose lay down in the bed with her cooling body and held her mama and stroked her hair, wet with Rose’s tears until the nurses came and gently took her away from there and sent her home in a cab. The entire day passed while she sat numb and bereft and feeling what it was like to be totally alone for the first time in her entire life. Words didn’t encompass the event, it was like a hole open and bleeding in her soul. She was alone, no family, no one she really called a friend, no one. Her boss didn’t even call for two days and then only to tell her she could pick up her final paycheck whenever she wished. Yea, kick a dog when she’s down why don’t ya… 

Rose, the minister and daddies lawyer were the only ones that came to the simple grave-side service. The cleric talked about life everlasting in the kingdom of heaven, but she was inured to the concept. All she could hope for was that somewhere, mama and daddy were together again and happy, she knew however that she was not. The very next day, she started hunting for work again, idle hands and all that, her father used to say…

She was tired of waiting tables though, and the office work bored her silly. On her way home every day, she passed by the Adult Mega-complex and often, smiling slightly to think that people actually got paid to take their clothes off and show their bodies, she’d watch the hawker and the little teaser-cam of the strip-shows from outside. Next to this building, was an attached Adult-bookstore.

One day, she got up the nerve to go inside and have a look around, after all, what did she have to fear from naked bodies?

There were a handful of men, trying not to look at her she noticed, and one or two couples and even a scattering of women in here, looking at the magazines, sex-films and adult toys. The place was remarkably clean and modern, not what she’d expected at all. She walked along the glass-fronted cases, shaking her head and giggling at the huge selection of vibrators and other sex toys when a tow-headed young man looked over the raised counter from above it’s raised base and looked her up and down in her rubber trenchcoat, new catsuit and Wellington lady-jane rainboots and asked if he could help her or if he could get one of the lady-clerks to assist her in looking at anything?

“No, that’s fine. What does this one do, that looks cute?” she asked, pointing shyly at a purple and clear-skinned vibrating dildo with a cute little bunny on the side and purple beads inside.

The man pulled it out and flicked a switch on the remote, the bunny started dancing wildly and the shaft started twisting and moving the beads around under the clear skin, it went Reeewwweeeeewwwweeee loudly as it stirred and wiggled and twisted in the half-chuckling man’s hands and unable to help herself, she laughed loudly and tried to cover her face, delighted.

 Leaning further over the case, the man looked her up and down again, and stunned her by asking straight out. “Tell ya what, employees get a fifty percent discount, how would you like a job Miss? I need another female clerk, and frankly, you look the part. Rubberist, right?”

“eeer, I donno. I do need a job, but…”

“Pays twelve-fifty, but for you, I’ll bump that to twenty an hour, plus time and a half for overtime, and you can dress as you like. Whatta ya say?” the man offered.

Still undecided, she asked. “Like this?” she said, motioning her hands up and down to show her attire.

“Sure thing. Any way you like, and you make your own hours as long as it fits into the shift-calendar. Beside, people like you get a draw, something we can use this time of year, and you’re a woman besides, double draw, haven’t you noticed? You’re hot-stuff ma’am! Come on, you’ll like it and I make a good boss, ask any of the other ladies, they’ll tell ya.”

“People like me?” she said, perplexed.

“Yeah, rubberist’s, right? Hey, we like any sexual orientation around here, and yours is rare, and by law we have to support your lifechoice and lifestyle, right? The mag’s about your group are all in the back row, so I’ve seen ya before, and you look right, not like a dressed-up stripper or a housewife just out to throw her husband a curve, you look like a lifestyler, am I right?” He said, looking askance at her.

All Rose could think was, huh?

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to sound dense, but… you called me a ‘rubberist’ and I’m actually a fetishist, and I’ve never heard that other term before. Could you show me what you mean? Please?” she inquired, still perplexed.

“Sure thing, give me a sec to come around…” the man said kindly.

He took her to the back of the store, the few milling patrons parting easily and one tipped a hat to her, all smiled like she was pretty or something, and stopped before a bank of shelves that held fetish magazines and books and picked a copy of a large-sized magazine called, as he’d called her earlier, Rubberist and handed it to her to look at.

Oh my god, she thought, I never knew, I thought I was alone mostly in this… but no, the book was filled with pictures of people dressed as she was, some even wearing full body-covering suits with masks attached to they’re suits and things she’d only seen in passing in the catalogs her mother had given her. “Here ya are, you’re one of them, right? It’s your lifestyle, right?” asked the man, smiling broadly. She nodded, stunned that he’d known her through this type of literature, it wasn’t pornographic, just good clean latex-wearing people having a good time, and there were fashion-style magazines too, though there were a few of those porno-type too on the shelves nearby.

Gathering up copies of everything he had, she turned to him, gave the man a smile and said. “You’re sure you want to hire me? I can run a register and have experience dealing with the public and I’m a good worker, if you’re sure about this?” 

“As a heartbeat Miss. Come on in the back and we’ll get the paperwork started.”

She took the job, the man’s name was Burt Ward (a la Batman and Robin, he said) and she started that day, sitting at the counter, reading the books and Magazines thru the day and assisting customers. To her surprise, she found that she was considered a protected minority due to the recently enacted laws protecting homosexuals, though she made it a point to tell him she wasn’t like that. Burt laughed and said it didn’t matter, looking like she did, she could sell soap to Fijians and not to worry about anything.

For the next three weeks, she worked the counter, only a few people asked her a few questions about what she wore or where they could find something like that and she’d explain about growing up with her condition and where to order the catalogs she ordered from, but mainly she did the same job as any clerk in any store anywhere for the most part, and she was made welcome by the entire staff, she was happy again, and accepted. But she was still lonely, a few of the patrons would ask her for her number from time to time, but she wasn’t interested in that kind of relationship, she wanted something like what she’d had with Bill. Her new vibrator got good workouts, but it wasn’t the same by any means. The other women at work nodded understandingly, saying that it was tough all over to find a decent man, and sadly she agreed.

She took to crying again in her loneliness, and that brought her back to where she was now, sitting on the bus-bench, mopping her face with a tissue that was falling to pieces, just like her. 

It was still raining, the pitter-patter drumming over her trenchcoat, hat and boots, but she was still dry underneath, except for her eyes that is. She hardly noticed when a man walked up and sat a little ways down from her on the bench, then coughed to get her attention, finally she looked up. The man was craggy-looking, square-jawed and dark-haired, in need of a shave, but he was smiling kindly and was trying to offer her his handkerchief. He was also dressed in a heavy rubber storm-coat over high boots or waders and a so’wester hat, the rain rinsing down his coat in rivulets.

“Here Ms., you look like you could use this…” he said conversationally as she smiled slightly and took the bit of cloth to dab her face with. “Thank you.” Rose replied, picking her head up and giving him a grin in thanks along with her words.

‘Say,” the man said, scooting a little closer. “Do you like long walks in the rain? I know a little place down in the park by the creek that the rushing water looks great by, would you care to see?”

Getting to her feet, she extended her hand, saying in reply. “I know just the place, let’s go… my name’s Rose by the way. And I’m a Rubberist, nice to meet you.” 

    Fin.
 
 

22.10.04