Throughout the whole of my time spent on this Earth, from place to place and generation to generation, there has been but one mantra which has transcended my vast array of experiences. The deep-rooted spiritual ideal of a soul bound by the skin has encapsulated the core of my being, and it has allowed me to reach pinnacles that no human ever could.
It is our skin which determines our shape; its many creases and contours are what grant us freedom to adapt to the shapes of the natural world. It is our skin which invokes our touch, but through that touch we can with our mind’s eye also taste and smell far more than with just a nose or a mouth.
Ergo, if we were to take on properties of a shape which was not human, we would continue to orient ourselves in perfect fluidity, undeterred by whatever we had become. As I settle into the shape which will become my eternal prison – a seemingly ordinary pair of shoes – I revel in the freedom of being eternally able to smell and taste by touch alone.
In this penultimate moment, the absolute submission of my will and surrender of my soul to euphoria is both terrifying and erotic. As my consciousness ascends to a point of true clarity, I cannot help but reminisce on where my journey first began.
I was but a fair maiden in my twenties during the summer of 1874. Hailing from a family of witches, we held the guise of traveling performers along the territories of Europe. I had picked up the art of contortion from my travels in the Far East, incorporating it into my many routines.
August ninth: a showing in Berlin called for me to make a more creative use of my talents. For an audience of five hundred, I was to give a niche performance in the most immodest of ways. I recall standing on a pedestal twenty feet high, my body covered from head to toe in olive oil, completely naked. Magnesium lanterns had been lit all along the circumference of this makeshift stage, white fire reflecting off the oil to make my body look like a glistening diamond. And as I sat, placing my ankles behind my back, my tongue made contact with my womanhood to the shock and awe of men and women alike.
It was far from my first experience with this type of pose; yet the feeling of becoming, if for but a moment, a work of sexual art seemed to fuel my desires like never before. The heat of the fire, the smell of my sweat mixing with the olive oil, the taste of my lust dripping from my hips to my lips… all of it culminated into a powerful climax, and amid my ecstasy I could feel the desire wafting from the throng of onlookers. As I swallowed one last time, unfolded and took a bow, I knew I wanted more.
Each day I took to my art, yet as the autumn came, I could not seem to transcend the limits of my human shape. My bones could only curve so much; my joints could only stretch so far. I grew frustrated, and so I decided that I would cast aside my human shape by any means necessary.
Rubber and latex were becoming more and more popular in Western fetish circles. However, the clothing which could be made at the time was rather lackluster in durability and design. It was then that a spark of inspiration enveloped me, and I began research into a spell that would merge rubber itself with my body.
And then, toward the end of October, I had completed my preparations. In the dark of night, I stole away from my family and made way to an abandoned cabin in the German countryside. Before long, I was stripped bare in the cabin’s washroom. Pouring buckets of molten latex into an iron tub, I submerged my body within the heated liquid and chanted the spell.
“Emitte spiritum tuum testa cum fieret abstractio amplectere et superextendam in regnum inanimatis…” As the spell began to manifest, my body become overwhelmed by a heat which absolutely dwarfed that of the rubbery compound I lay under. As the heat spread throughout my body, I could feel it in my breasts, my womanhood, my legs and feet, spine and lips. I craved touch, and longed to be caressed from head to toe. Yet when I tried to touch my body in such a way, I found myself unable to move.
Minutes wore on, my body seeming to flatten into little more than a singular layer of tissue. It was as if my organs had all merged with my skin, and the liquefied latex slowly began to layer itself either side of my essence. As I became more and more crushed and distorted by the material, I found myself fading in and out of consciousness, as if my perception of the world was being muffled against my will. I could still taste and smell and touch, but I couldn’t clearly perceive what I tasted, smelled or touched.
As morning broke over the horizon, I somehow regained my mental coherence, and tried to assess what had happened to me. Yet as I tried to lift myself from the tub, I continued to feel myself slipping, unable to get a grip on the iron surface.
What’s going on…? To my dismay, as my sight returned to me, I realized that I was nothing more than a puddle of latex! I could see in any direction, including inside myself, but I had no shape to orient myself in space! I needed to solidify, but I couldn’t figure out how.
I lay there in that abandoned cabin for several days. I knew that the performing troupe wouldn’t come looking for me, and had very likely moved on to France by now. I was on my own. The heat of my body had started to break down the iron of the tub, corroding it and mixing the flakes of metal with my goopy substance. That’s it!
Thinking quickly, I chanted another spell, and the iron tub corroded at an even faster rate, coating my entire essence in metal. The molecules of my body began to bind to the flakes, and within a few hours, the semblance of a shell had begun to form, encasing me and giving shape.
Shaking the tiredness from my soul, I stood up for the first time in nearly three weeks. My reflection in the window told me more than I could ever have realized. My skin had regained its fleshy color, but glistened as if permanently shined. The softness and silkiness of my complexion made me appear closer to eighteen, and my body was adorned in a red skirt with matching corset. It was as if my mental image of myself had influenced my physical self, and I realized quite quickly that I could appear any way my soul desired.
I just had to exploit it.
Lying against the wooden floor of the washroom, I placed my ankles all the way down my back, something I couldn’t do when human. My tongue effortlessly reached my womanhood, but I desired to go deeper. As I pushed my face against my hips, my opening seemed to stretch with ease around my face, and before long, I could feel my muscles closing around my own neck. I lay there, saturated in boiling hot wetness, swallowing mouthfuls of my own juices as my climaxes erupted in a nonstop domino effect!
At some point I could hear myself screaming between gulps of hot sex, but I was too enthralled by my own pleasure to pull away, let alone unfold. After thirty minutes of earth-shattering orgasms, my rubber body melted into a puddle once more, a way to tell my mind that a break was needed. I have never… felt anything like this…!
In that state of flawless beauty, I embraced the privilege which had been granted upon me, and decided that I would transcend every conceivable limit with my new body. Making haste from the abandoned cabin, I set my sights east toward the Russian Empire. That’s when I met her.
By the spring of 1875, I had found a new performance family to call my own, and donned the stage name Latexa, the Goddess of Liquid. My specialty was completely liquefying my body and being poured on or in another person. My partner for these performances was a slender woman named Oribella, who could also contort her bodies in ways most humans couldn’t.
Oribella was the one who understood me most, and we quickly became lovers. It was through her that I learned the full extent of my abilities. In the nights, we would lay together in bed, passionately kissing each other’s smooth, flexible bodies in all sorts of perverse poses. Then, as I melted around her body, I would cover her from the neck down in my glistening rubber, tenderly sucking against her breasts, her crotch, her legs and back. As she perspired from the heat of our lovemaking, I found that I could absorb it and savor both the scent and taste of it.
As our sessions grew more intense, I started to become more mischievous, posing her body and then hardening my rubber to hold her in place. From minutes to hours, her body would be rendered immobile like a doll in any configuration I desired. As I sucked against her skin and caressed her most intimate areas, she would beg for release, beg for climax, and beg to saturate me in her cum. Sometimes I would give her permission, but some nights her cries would go unanswered, the torment overwhelming her senses until she fainted inside me.
Before I knew it, doing all of these things had changed not just my desire, but my sense of self. I remember one morning laying in bed after Oribella had just finished bathing. As I watched her reach for her undergarments, I felt compelled to stop her. To this day, I still know not what the trigger had been, but I uttered those five words that would begin an even greater perversion…
Could you wear me today?
There was no sexual desire, no mischief or games. It was simply a thought to become clothing for a day, and see what it could be like. With a nod, Oribella set the garments back down. I focused on the shape I desired – a pair of black tights, pink dress, and ivory heels. I think that was my first time being multiple garments at once.
With a nervous breath, she took my tights and put them on first. I could smell the soap she had used while bathing, which was only slightly masking her own fragrance. Her skin was like velvet as it slid all the way into me, allowing me to contour to her shape exactly from her hips to each individual toe. Next was the dress, which flowed down her shoulders and waist before coming to rest over the tights. Finally, the heels she slipped over her feet, and I was ready. Grabbing her purse, she headed out into the town plaza.
I did my best to remain silent and motionless. She caught on quickly, and soon forgot she was wearing me altogether. I could see and hear everything around me, and I felt each clack of my heels against the ground. Amazingly, I felt no discomfort, nor did I really feel arousal at first. That experience felt almost spiritual to me, as if I had transcended my original self and existed only as a sensual being.
The more she walked, the more her body would perspire, and the more saturated my rubber would become. It was alluring, intoxicating, and I desired the ability to respond, yet the desire to be inanimate was even more encompassing. The euphoria continued to manifest with no way to release my pent up desire. All I could do was feel more, smell more, taste more; was I going mad? How far could I go? How far should I go?
When we returned that night, she disrobed and as I returned to human form, I climaxed instantly without any stimulation at all. It felt as if I had been fucked for hours and hours, which perhaps was an apt expression for the day’s events. Oribella held me in her arms as I passed out then and there.
I awoke the following morning feeling rather eager to try again. Oribella was apprehensive but agreed nonetheless. I took on the same outfit as before, and instructed her that I would not turn back until she commanded me to with a certain spell. For all intents and purposes, I would be treated like clothing in entirety. The day passed rather monotonously, and as she took me off a second time, she remembered my instructions and tossed me in a basket with her other soiled linens.
I could smell her other outfits so clearly. Her sweat, her wetness, and even some more unmentionable odors had all collected and permeated this haphazard mess of garments, and the next night, another outfit was thrown on top of me, torturing me even more. On the third day, I was pulled from the basket with her other garments and thrown in a basin to be washed. I could feel the water saturating and filling me, the soap cleansing me, and the air flowing through me as I dried in the afternoon sun. Each step in the process of being worn and washed slowly eroded my mind, and by the third time I was washed, my memories became very, very fuzzy.
“…back… turn back…! I want my friend to turn back!” I felt my rubber begin to rearrange itself against my will, and my consciousness slowly awoke from its spiritual slumber. As I sat up, clutching my forehead, I looked around. Oribella was about ten feet away, crying as she clutched random garments in her arms.
“H-Hey…” I waved at her, pulling away the bra which had fallen onto my hair.
“L… LATEXA!!!” She lunged toward me and hugged me as tight as she could. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen! I’m an awful friend!”
“Wh-What are you talking about? And… Why do you look so tired all of the sudden?”
“I forgot… I forgot the spell to turn you back! I couldn’t face you… so I left you as a garment and tried to forget you! I’m so sorry!”
“Oribella…” Holding her close, I kissed her on the lips. “I had the most wonderful time being worn by you. In fact, I’m sure I could have stayed on you another two months, no problem!”
“Two months…? Latexa… Oh, Latexa…”
The somber tone in her voice was my first indicator that something had in fact, gone very wrong. “How long… has it been, then…?”
“I’m so sorry…”
“Shh, it’s okay! Just… how long…?”
She looked up at me, her lip quivering. “Years… Seven years…” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. What I that were mere months had stretched on for magnitudes longer. “I wore you as much as I could… And then slowly I forgot even what outfit was you… I’m so ashamed!”
“Oribella, stop!” Flustered, I slapped my hand against her cheek, causing her to freeze. “I loved every second of it and I could feel your love for me every time you used a part of me! You are not a bad friend and never will be! Please, forgive yourself! You deserve to be as happy as I was for all this time! Please, Oribella…”
I decided not to become clothing again. Though I still looked to be in my early twenties, Oribella was in her thirties now and aging fast. The troupe had continued in my absence, but the anguish had left my lover physically weakened, and soon she had given up her role in the troupe to someone younger. I decided to quit as well, and using our combined savings, we migrated to Germany in 1895.
In a way, Germany was where it all began, and where it all ended. I spent the years tending to her every need, loving her and caring for her as she continued to deteriorate. And then on Christmas of 1899, she confided in me one last time.
“Latexa, you and I have experienced things which few humans will ever come to realize, wouldn’t you say?”
I smiled at her. “Do you have any regrets?”
“Not at all,” was her reply. Her eyes were glowing in a way I hadn’t seen since her younger years. “I don’t think I will live long after the new year, so I have a request.”
“Yes? What is it, Oribella?”
“At midnight on New Year’s Eve, I want you to turn me into a stone statue.”
“WHAT!?” I exclaimed in absolute shock.
“When you told me how happy you were, a part of me became angry. I was happy to see you alive, but bitter that my struggle had largely been in vain. And then when you stopped being clothing altogether, all I could feel was guilt. I felt like I had wronged you because I didn’t understand what you had become.
“I want to learn what being inanimate is like. And I want to carry on as the contortionist I always was. Therefore, I want you to make me a contortionist statue, and let the public admire me for generations to come.”
As I stood there, staring deeply into those sapphire eyes, I knew I would have no way to say no. Inside I knew the experience would be wholly different from my own, that she would feel and see and interact with the world in a way neither of us could predict. Yet she was driven and determined to make it work, all so she could free me from my transgressions and liberate me to be clothing again. Oh, how I love this woman.
I made that promise, and in the first dawn of the twentieth century, Oribella had become stone by my hand. She was donated to a botanical garden in Munich. I was alone once again.
The decades which followed were ones of spiritual solitude. As I traveled to the Americas and reveled in rubber ecstasy, I always made sure never to get too close to my lovers and wearers. My life had become a series of scenes, where I would seduce a random stranger, show them the world of witchcraft, leave my mark upon them, and disappear. Word of my exploits began to circulate, as more and more humans decided to have the spell cast upon them in secret. Some of them even turned inanimate on day one, often to be worn eternally by their own lovers. I always questioned whether I was doing the right thing.
Every Christmas, I would return to Munich to see Oribella’s statue. I would also renew the protective magic I placed around her, which kept her intact as global war obliterated the country twice. Every time I came to her, I could feel her happiness still resonating from the statue, permanently contorted and reveling in the sensation of being stone yet also rubber in her own way.
Eventually, even the novelty of traveling the globe had worn off. By the 1970s, I had ceased using the rubberization spell, though others had created imitations. By 2000, thanks to the magic of the internet, the spell had cemented its place in history, and my existence was no longer on anyone’s radar. It was as if I had become a ghost.
I suppose I should spare the hyperbole. As of August 2024, I declare myself legally dead. I have no possessions of sentimental value, and I care not what the German government does with the leftovers. I’ve suffered long enough, and the time has come to embrace what I really am: a goddess bound by the ecstasy of object permanence.
There is a contortion academy in Ukraine which bears my name, surprisingly enough. As I become a pair of lavender colored flats, I asked them to nominate one freshman from the honors group to wear me until graduation, and then pass me down to the next.
I guess for some reason I’ve just always resonated with the foot, given how much time humans spend walking and being active. An eternity of sweat and dreams – this is the culmination of everything I’ve ever desired: a never ending cycle of touch, taste and smell, from person to person, and generation to generation. For this is the shape my skin has taken.
There is no better way to exist.