Blow-up dolls

As a child, i used to sneak into the upstairs hall closet to fish out a handful of sterile latex gloves from the supply my mom insisted on keeping in the off-chance that one of us rambunctious kids would incur a wound and need immediate in-home surgery. Safe in my room, i'd layer these rubber mittens over my hands, then go to sleep for what was a very restless slumber. A deep desire to find my extremities somehow transformed into rubbery appendages would wake me up frequently throughout the night. Come dawn, the only thing i would find would be thirsty, pale digits with pruney fingerprints once i sloughed the gloves off.

I can identify at this early age a fascination with creating a second skin, one that i could slip in and out of for those moments i didn't want to be recognized and instead experience life as a different person. For the entire day following one of these sleepy time metamorphosis campaigns, the heavy thick odor of latex penetrated my nostrils whenever my hands neared my face. Upon each whiff, i was reminded of my fixation on alteration, and gradually over time, a hard-coded trigger developed in my subconscious. Any time i encountered this odor, whether lying horizontally prone in the dentist's chair or helping blow up balloons for a birthday party, i retreated a little to my sanctuary where modifying the body and mind provided protection and strength. I had no concept of this playing into my sexual formation or that an entire industry of magazines, clothiers and gatherings existed.

Out of college, i'd just gotten back from a stint overseas, and found myself working my first office job, stationed in front of a computer for most of the day. I'd not had much opportunity to wade in this new digital body of water we know now as the Internet, and not having a modem or even a computer at home, the magical window that opened every time i clicked on the Netscape icon on my office workstation instantly aroused my deep hungers. These were the Old West days of online surfing, where few rules existed (and one certainly did not yet hear stories of consequence brought by exploring this medium), which meant companies who provided their employees unlimited access didn't know from content filters meant to intercept their drones' lascivious requests. In a matter of days of starting this job, i'd crafted queries in Altavista that searched for all items dealing with "second+skin+transformation". The results of which quickly punctured my worker bee innertube, letting escape any levels of productivity i may have offered. This and the extensive browsing trail of mine Netscape captured made my rather quick dismissal from this job a foregone conclusion.

What i found in those early cyber days went far beyond any single source of visual influence i'd encountered. Not only was i seeing simple articles of clothing re-made with latex, but i was finding entire head-to-toe suits that people wore, and they did this in the raw daylight. It's odd that of all the aesthetically pleasing fashions i gorged myself on in these wide-ranging surveys, it is the most bizarre and eccentric uses of latex that i can still recall.

The oldest memory i have of those early information superhighway cruises was a bloke named "Mr. Blow-up". He kept coming up in nearly every search i made. If you haven't seen this sort of stuff before, it's just brain-jostlingly odd - it was certainly for me when i first saw it. This fetish is referred to as "inflatable rubber", and the 'bottom' is placed inside a latex enclosure that has an inner and outer sheath, creating a self-contained envelope that when filled with air expands, and compresses over the person's body part within the device. It took awhile for me to grasp exactly how this would accomplish a number of fascinations that i had. At first i grappled with the idea of whether or not i wanted to be inside one of these latex cocoons. Over the years, i have tried on numerous rubber uniforms and outfits, out of mere curiosity, and i've even pulled on hoods and masks completely entombing my head. My visceral reaction to self-administering this pliable bondage has never come anywhere close to when i've applied it to a willing female partner.

As i began to explore and grow the dominant pillar of my being, the existence of inflatable latex gear sounded off alarms that indicated i could accomplish multiple fantasies with one application. It has been well-established that i enjoy transforming girls into toys like this one:

This is the model 1016 from Insex. She is swathed in thick (5 mm) medical-grade black latex which in conjunction with the color goes very far to wash away any vestiges of her human form. From her bald head all the way to her club-mitted hands, she is an object, hung before you in a way that begs for your lustful attention.

Further along in my searches, i was introduced to vacuum beds:



In this clip, you see a girl already encased in a catsuit, increasing the number of crushing layers by slipping inside a vacuum bed. As much as i care to avoid identifying "Eureka" moments for myself, when i reflected on inflatable latex, i kept coming back to the idea of entombing the girl in a second skin, and then compounding that by pumping up the dehumanization with a grotesquely inflated shell. When i looked at the bulbous larva writhing on the floor, i could project the same pleasurable imagined conversions i made as a child onto this female who was surrounded by pungent rubber perfumes, but also sizzle with the thrill of transforming her into an un-human form.










I present again the idea of inflatable gags as another application of the versatile material of latex. Clearly, that is not all that is on display in these FetishNation photos, but what grabs me about these are the full body transparent latex suit that circumvents even her face. Her near unconscious expression viewed through the yellowish tinted material gives the illusion of entrapment and suspension. The over the neck corset only serves to accentuate the immobilization of freedom, and the plunger dangling from her mouth adds a wicked mechanization that further degrades the girl into an objectified form.

I leave the reader with this final assertion about these forms of bondage. Outfitting someone like this eliminates any possibility of penetration. The girl in all of these examples truly exists as an untouchable and thus instantly more desirable and precious possession. What grabs me about this as i pull these examples from the pornographic stores on my computer is the absence of traditional smut in the images. It isn't about sex and orgasm, but this flawless second skin i pursued as a child. I'm seeking - i will ALWAYS seek - to make the perfect retreat, the perfect subject, the perfect doll.




***Part of Cowgirl's 12-hour feed on Insex***