	             ____________________________
                    |                            |
                  /)|     KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF    |(\
                 / )|         DIRECTORIES        |( \
              __(  (|____________________________|)  )__
             ((( \  \ >  /_)              ( \  < /  / )))
             (\\\ \  \_/  /                \  \_/  / ///)
              \          /                  \          /
               \      _/                     \_       /
                /    /                         \     \
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	This part of my collection offers a very wide variety of stories. o
o  They have been submitted by people from all over the world.  Also from o
o  alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order to this     o
o  section of my collection,  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                                   o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to be typed o
o  therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s a lot more fun to  o
o  browse around and find 'little' surprises,  and topics that you might  o
o  not have even thought of looking for. I hope you enjoy your time among o
o  Kristen’s book shelf directories.                                      o
o   	Lest we forget!!!  This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o  and should not be read by minors.  Thank you, Kristen Becker           o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

                            Adventures in Rubber
                                     by
                                 Dr. Hevea
  
                                  Chapter 1
                                 part 1 of 2

  Jason was getting frustrated.  The embroidered jacket was chafing, the bar
scotch he'd ordered was watery, and he was sweating in the rubber pants. 
What the hell he thought, I may as well enjoy my drinking, if I can't enjoy
the bloody party.  He poured his drink into an abandoned margarita, and 
caught the bartender's eye.  "Double shot of Macallan, neat," he ordered.
The bartender, a bored-looking gorilla in a nun's habit, said, "Top shelf is 
four bucks a shot," waited for his reaction, and when he said nothing, turned 
to pour. 

 Jason had come to the Hallowe'en party alone, as a last resort, knowing full 
well he would most likely remain alone.  He looked around the party, noting 
the many couples that had formed since the masquerade dance had begun.  It 
looked like yet another lonely night out of years of lonely nights.  

 Earlier, things had looked promising as several attractive women had shown
interest in his flashy costume.  But right on cue, his insecurity had caused
him to stammer, to blurt meaningless and silly things, and one by one, they
had disappeared into the crowd, only to be glimpsed later hanging on the 
arm of another, apparently more confident man, or in some cases, woman.
 It was hard to tell, with some of the costumes.  
 
 Shit, why couldn't I have been born gay, he thought.  At least, there seem
to be a lot more men here than women with a fetishistic bent.

 His hopes rose again when a young woman in an outrageous blonde wig and 
1920's flapper dress walked up to him with two glasses of champaign.  She 
looked like a gangster's moll from a movie.
"Hoy they-uh," she said.  He grinned.  She even had the accent down pat.
"Hey, baby doll," he said in his best imitation of Al Capone.  
She frowned slightly then brightened.  "Oi loik ya cawstume, where'd ja foind
it?"

 Once again, he tried to concentrate on what he would say.  She was a 
knockout, he just _had_ to get it right this time.  For the seventeenth time 
tonight, he heard a friends advice in his mind.  "Just be yourself.  People 
can sense when you're putting on an act."  He tried  to relax.
 He dropped the "gangster" accent and smiled in what he hoped was a winning
manner.  "Well, I rented the jacket, hat and shoes, but I already had the
rubber pants.  Where did you find that outrageous wig?"  

 Thirty seconds later, he stood morosely wiping champaign from his jacket,
amazed to discover that not only had her accent been real, but the wig was
not a wig, and her head was as empty as her glass was now.
She was not The Woman.

 'The Woman' was a sort of fantasy he'd entertained since puberty.  He sat
down at the cash bar, and thought back to his high school days, to his first
and only great love.

 When he was about sixteen, and noticing girls in a big way, he'd made a pass 
at the sexiest red-headed girl in school, Mandy.  This was a bold step for
him, since he'd always had trouble talking to girls.  It was discouraging,
actually, for his swim-team body and cute looks tended to attract quite a few
potential dates and even bed-mates.  The problem was that Jason Stewart was 
not just a jock.  He was smart, and he knew it, and he just couldn't relate 
to 99% of the girls at school, despite the urging of his percolating hormones.
To be sure, there were a few smart girls at his school, but they dressed like
bag-ladies, and their personal grooming habits would have shamed a wino.  
There appeared to be no females there with good looks, good taste, and 
intelligence in the entire city of St. Louis.

 Moreover, his social skills seemed somehow lacking when dealing with girls- 
they seemed to him almost an alien race, with quite different needs and goals
than he.  Due to an early divorce, Jason had grown up without a father, and
somehow his mother had never graced him with any dating skills.

 After two years of unsuccessful attempts at conversation with empty-headed
Madonnawannabes, and a few aborted dates, he overheard a conversation between 
his chemistry teacher and Mandy Rafool.  She was discussing the relationship
between what she had learned in physics class to the current discussion of 
valences in chemistry.  He would never have imagined!  He had seen her around 
for quite awhile and like every other guy in school had been fascinated with
her pretty face, tight jeans and sweaters, and astonishingly mature body.  
 And like every other guy in school, he had noticed that she was conspicuously
without a boyfriend.  But he'd assumed from her good looks and her retinue of 
bimbettes that she was yet another bimbo herself.  She was two years older 
than he, a senior, a cheerleader and she seemed like a daddy's-little-girl 
type who never lacked for anything, yet he had fallen hard, and he resolved to 
win her heart.

 For the next six months he secretly bought all the magazines the girls at 
school seemed to worship, and studied.  In Seventeen, he learned how a 'real 
cool dude' walked, talked, and dressed.  In Young Model, he read about the 
things every teenage girl supposedly wanted in a boyfriend.  In Cosmo, he
discovered what sort of sex 'every' sophisticated, mature woman 'wants to 
have'.
And, finally, after screwing his courage to the sticking point, he'd asked 
her for a date.

 She'd accepted!  Actually, when he first spoke to her she'd laughed and 
walked off with her friends, but then right after school, he had found her 
sitting on the hood of his car.  She told him she was sorry, that she'd 
actually thought him cute when they first met, but his inept approach had 
'forced' her to rebuke him, lest her girlfriends think her 'easy'.  
Considering how she domineered her peer group, he thought it more likely 
that she only feared a loss of control, but didn't dare risk such a rebuke.
He was in love... or lust, which was about the same to him at that age.
 
"Well, aren't you going to drive me home?" she'd demanded.  At last, he had
thought to himself, a girl who takes the lead.  As they talked, sitting in his
car in front of her house, he discovered with delight and a certain relief
that she did have a brain after all.  The vast majority of the attractive 
girls, at least, seemed to believe that brains and education were anathema to 
becoming a model, which every one of them except Mandy seemed to want.  
She told him she was getting straight A's except in Home-Ec, which she 
loathed, and that she had already decided to become an investment broker!  

 He asked her why she had no boyfriends, why she had picked him.  Her reply 
astonished, and then warmed him.  It seemed that she too, was turned off by
empty-headed football jocks suffering from what she called testosterone
poisoning.  She seemed surprised and delighted that he was on the swimming
team, yet was also an intelligent student.  Then she shocked him by revealing 
that she had not only dated a few of those football jocks, but had sex with 
several, and found them to be boring, self-centered lovers.  
At his stunned look she added, "Oh, don't look so shocked.  There's nothing
wrong with having sex early, although you could never prove it by those
immature fools I run with.  I'm not stupid, I use condoms, I play it safe.
 Besides, I've seen the way you look at my body, you know damn well you'd give 
your left arm to get in my pants..." here she reached over and squeezed his 
crotch, nearly causing a minor traffic accident, "...and who knows, maybe you 
will, if you're good to me."

 Jason's brain was yelling, "DANGER...DANGER, Dr. Smith!  Cockteaser ahead!"
but he suppressed its voice easily and told himself she really meant it- she
was just a very bossy girl...er, woman, he corrected himself.

 She turned out to be a rather forceful lass indeed.  Fortunately for Jason's
grades, she shared no classes with him, but when they passed in the halls, she
surreptitiously blew him kisses, or licked her lips lasciviously when no-one
was looking.  She insisted on meeting him after school every day, and that he
drive her home.  He lived for those drives, as they talked about their
passtimes and interests, the other kids at school, and frequently about sex.
She seemed quite knowledgable on that subject, and astonished him with her
frank, technical descriptions of what seemed to him bizarre yet tantalizing 
acts.

 Finally, on Friday, she informed him that he would pick her up at seven that
night to go to Angelo's for dinner.  Angelo's was a restaurant & nightclub, 
rather pricey for kids their age, but his part time job at Radio Shack had 
allowed him to save a tidy bundle.  He felt a moment of pride at being able to
wine and dine the sexiest girl in school.  

It was rather a relief actually, not having to worry how to persuade her to go
out with him.  All she required of him was a "yes".

 When he picked her up, he discovered that she challenged the conventions of 
fashion as well.  He got to her house early and after waiting nervously on the
porch for several minutes, he rang the bell precisely at seven o'clock.  She 
opened the door within seconds, and breezed right past him toward the car.  
He could only stare after her in shock.  When she realized he wasn't 
following she turned, staring back at him with hands on hips, looking at him 
silently as if to say, 'Well, aren't you coming?'  He continued to stare for 
a moment, than slowly walked up to her, his expression of slack-jawed 
astonishment slowly turning to one of frank admiration as he boldly looked
her up and down.  The temperature of the warm June night suddenly rose several
degrees.

"Buy you a drink, senor?"  The voice at his shoulder snapped Jason back to the
present.  A huge woman, no, a transvestite, in a tight red flamenco dress was 
standing next to him.  
 "Umm, no thanks.  I mean, no offense, but your eyes are the wrong color for
me."  The flamenco dancer pouted and flounced away.  Jason sipped his scotch,
closed his eyes and thought back to that first, incredible night.

 For their trip to the club, she had worn an outrageous shiny rubber 
miniskirt in hot pink that fit like a second skin.  If that wasn't enough, she 
had topped it with a tight-fitting jacket of white patent leather, accompanied 
by fishnet stockings and pink patent spike heels.  She wore no blouse under 
the jacket, and if she wore a bra, it must have been quite low-cut, as her 
burgeoning cleavage was plainly displayed in the neckline.  His first reaction 
was that she looked like one of the hookers on Main Street, or a heroine from 
a B-grade movie, although unarguably sexy!  

 "My god Mandy," he said, "you look delectable!"
She grinned a wicked grin. "Yes, I know.  I take it then that you like my
tastes."
 She even sounds like a b-grade movie, he thought.
He convinced his eyes to stop exploring her body, to meet her gaze.
"Mandy, I LOVE the way you look...it's just that...  I guess it's a bit of a 
shock.  At school, you never wear anything more provocative than a tight 
sweater...do you dress this way every time you go out?  Don't you get a lot of 
flack from your parents?"
He realized he was gushing and shut up, coloring slightly.

She smiled wryly at him and ticked off her reply on her fingers.
"First: I dress the way I dress at school in order to identify with those
little idiots who follow me around like puppy dogs.  I give them something to 
look up to, they give me a certain cachet of respectability, helping me to get
on the cheerleading team, the school newspaper, the yearbook staff, student
council, and so on.  That stuff looks great to college scouts, after they
finish examining your test scores, of course.
"Second: no, I don't always dress this way when I go out, only when I want
to reduce my date to a drooling blob of lust."  She grinned mischievously.

"It's working, believe me," stammered Jason,
"..third," Mandy interrupted, "no, my parents don't mind much at all.. you 
should see some of the things THEY wear.
"and fourth, are we going to dinner, or not?"

During dinner, while his head was reeling from her fantasticly clothed figure,
her slightly musky cologne, and two glasses of wine, she whispered to him in 
no uncertain terms what she expected of him later.  Jason was in pubescent 
heaven.  His erection had not subsided since she'd opened the door, and she 
certainly wasn't helping with her thoroughly lurid account of the things she 
wanted to do to him.  If she weren't so straightforward and bossy, he thought, 
I'd think she was the biggest tease of all time.

  By the time dessert had arrived, she had removed a shoe, and was massaging
his uncomfortable bulge with her toes, the concealing tablecloth keeping
their secret.  When she put her shoe back on and began squeezing his crotch
between both heels, he thought he would explode.  He didn't want to cream in
his pants, but he didn't want to make a scene, either.  The whole time, Mandy
kept up a stream of innocuous conversation that for Jason, became increasingly
difficult to follow.

 When they got to the car, she leaned back against the car, inviting him into
her arms.  For a few seconds, Jason hugged her gently, as if afraid she would
break.  He kissed her hesitantly, just before they both threw decorum to the 
wind, each grabbing the other fiercely, smothering each other with their
mouths, their toungues.
Jason squeezed her ass and pulled her tightly to him, marvelling at the 
unusual feeling of the smooth, pliant latex covering her muscular cheeks.  
Mandy responded by pushing her hand down his pants.
Jason felt her hand around his erect shaft, and suddenly knew that they would 
not be getting home at the hour he'd promised his mother.  He drew his head 
back, looked her in the eyes.  "I think we'd better go somewhere."

 Mandy had him drive to the outskirts of town to an abandoned farmhouse she
knew about from some previous amorous adventure.  The entire way, she
was melted against him, rubbing his skin with her hands, and distracting him 
from driving in general.  Soon she had opened his fly, and had scooped 
everything out.  Jason tried to think of something to say, but was overcome by
the unique sensation of SOMEONE ELSE handling his cock, softly squeezing his 
balls.  He tried to concentrate on the road, but when she pulled him into her 
mouth, for the second time that week, he almost drove off the road.  "Ah!  
...ahhh" was all he could say.
"Relax," she said, releasing his cock for a moment, "you drive the car, and
I'll drive you."  She again bent to her task.  During a moment's clear 
thought, he realized she was quite good at it.  Every time he felt ready to 
come off, she either slowed down or stopped altogether, moving her attention 
and tongue to his balls, or neck, or earlobes.  Only once did she come up for 
air, to give directions.
 
 When they finally arrived, Jason pulled out a large picnic blanket his mother
kept in the trunk, "for road emergencies".  He'd decided that this was a road
emergency.  In seconds, Mandy had him down on the blanket on his back, her 
legs astride his hips, and her hands pressing his shoulders into the soft
earth.  "You're a virgin, aren't you?" she asked softly, smiling gently down
at him in the pale moonlight.  Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't break 
her gaze. "Umm, yeah," he answered sheepishly.
Softly, she stroked his face. "Heyy.... heyyy," she cooed, "it's alright!
Everyone's a virgin some time in their life.  You just sit back and enjoy
the ride.  If you feel like doing something, say so, or just do what comes
naturally.  Now then..." She squirmed backwards enough to get at his belt and
stood suddenly, unceremoniously yanking off his pants.  "There!  Now we're
getting somewhere," she exclaimed, grabbing at his underwear.  When she had
him totally nude he protested, "Hey, wait a minute, I'm not wearing a stitch, 
and you're still dressed!  That's hardly fair."

 Mandy stood astride his chest, looking down at him feigning a hurt expression.
"Don't you LIKE the way I'm dressed?"  She ran her hands over the thin shiny
patent leather covering her breasts, turned to face his feet, giving him an
excellent view as she carressed her latex-covered derrier.
"Er, well, I didn't mean..."  
"And besides," she added, bending to look at him between her knees as she
positioned herself above his head, "I'm not wearing any panties."  So saying, 
she knelt astride his chest, pinning his upper arms under her shins, and 
squatting directly over his face.

                                                    ( to be continued )
