Not an especially explicit or raunchy caption today, sorry, I was just pondering the origin of the FUNbag system. Turned out way longer and rambly than I expected, so maybe give this one a miss.
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I’d hired three hours at a crash test track to run trials of the prototype. It was a new type of airbag, one capable of encasing a driver in a protective shell in a collision. A technician helped rig up the test vehicles, prying out the standard airbag from the steering column and installing the prototype. The driverless car was lashed to a cable and trundled down the track into a bollard fast enough to activate the airbag system. As hoped, the prototype deployed perfectly each time, leaving me to scrape the flesh-coloured silicone away from where it had wrapped itself around the headrest.
After the trial runs, the time had come. A real test on a real, living human. Hopefully they’d still be a living human afterwards. It was my prototype - I wasn’t going to risk anyone’s else’s life. He buckled me into the driver’s seat
It was a low speed collision, unlikely to cause injury with or without the new device, though in my head it felt fast. My heart was pounding fast as the car crunched gently into the bollard at 12kmh, my body braced for the anticipated double impact.
The airbag deployed explosively as designed, a semi-liquid silicone projectile splattering against my upper chest and face, bursting apart into a loose, flapping humanoid skin that wrapped about me, snapping tight like an elastic band to encase me tight in a fraction of a second. As the car recoiled to a halt, I opened my eyes, staring out through the glassy eyeholes of the artificial face adhered to mine.
The technician had quite a fright when he came to extract, even more so when I threw my arms round him in excitement. My invention worked!
“So what do you think?” I asked him excitedly later, as I packed away my equipment. The skin fit so snugly I’d forgotten I still wore it.
He scratched his stubble as he examined me from head to foot, sucking air through his teeth. “Doesn’t it seem a little… sexual?”
The doll-like face plastered over my own hid my look of surprise. “‘Sexual’?”
He pointed at my chest. "The tits.”
I stared down, cupping the orbs adhered to my chest incredulously. "The…? These are self-inflating, high-energy impact absorbers utilizing sophisticated nanofoam. Their size and softness absorbs and disperses the impact forces. There are men at NASA who would kill for a chance at my patents and you think these are… breasts?” I shook my head.
“Hey, I’m not saying it won’t make you money. Some of the wealthiest pacific rim nations will love this thing, the crazy bastards.” He pointed. “What about the dumptruck ass?”
“The rear cushions mitigate jarring of the spine. They reduce vertebral fractures by 67% in computer models,” I exclaimed, grabbing the plush rear of the suit indignantly.
“Sir, what you’re looking at here is the future of automotive safety. Not a sex toy! It will survive anything and everything the road throws at it, shields against blunt force and abrasions, is impervious to cutting and piercing injuries, and insulates against corrosion by acidic and toxic substances.”
“Does it have a name?”
“The Fully-Encapsulating Ultradurable Neoskin Deployment System. Or FEUNSDS for sho-”
“FUNbag,” the technician grinned. “Trust me. They’ll call them funbags.” I fumed within the skin at the thought! He frowned. “If it’s so invulnerable… how do you get it off?”
“Oh…”
I tugged at the skin. The rubbery flesh stretched slightly, showed no sign of tearing, only to snap back hard the moment I let go. I pulled harder at the front-mounted impact absorbers. They simply sproinged back into place. The technician joined in, perhaps a little too eagerly, grabbing huge handfuls of the front and rear impact absorbers, pulling and pawing at them futilely.
“I’ll go get my tools…” the technician chuckled.
With a muffled sigh, I slumped in a seat to wait. It’d been my hope the invention would bring me respect. Already it was the object of mockery. My scheduled slot had expired and, as I sat there glumly, they were already preparing the next tests. Three engineers appeared, hauling down crash test dummies from their racks.
“Alright, we got a family hatchback. Somebody grab two kids, a boy and a girl… then we need a baby dummy, a male aaaand the mom.” His gaze fell on me. “Looks like someone already got this one out for us.”
The calloused hands of one man seized my neck. The other grabbed my legs, the two of them hauling me none-too-gently out onto the tarmac towards an awaiting Ford Focus. “Um… e-excuse me… I… I think there’s been a-” I croak through the fist choking my windpipe.
“These dummies get more realistic every year,” the engineer grunted, tossing me down hard on the passenger seat and lashing the seatbelt between my vast front impact absorbers. My ‘husband’ was strapped into the driver’s seat. My voice froze at the sight of the damaged carapace of the crash test dummy - scratched, burnt, its head half caved it.
“I, um, really don’t think I belong…”
“Alright, Larry, they’re buckled in. Let ‘er fly!” the engineer roared.
The acceleration crushed me back into the seat, the car screaming down the tarmac headlong into a concrete slab, buckling and concertinaing on impact like a paper cup into a twisted mass of steel.
It was only at the end of the day, as they dragged me from the wreckage of my eleventh crash and realized their mistake, that my invention received the respect it deserved. There wasn’t a scratch on me.