My heart leaped into my throat as the door behind me opened, and I jabbed instinctively at the hotkeys to minimize all my windows, hiding all the evidence of my embarrassing hobbies.

"Hey, remember what we said about knocking bef-" I began, turning to face my sweet but forgetful roommate.  I stopped short and stared.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," said the leggy woman who'd entered.  This slim dark-haired beauty was not my roommate...her name was Plum Tanaka, she was entirely fictional...and I hadn't written any of this.  I glanced suspiciously at the pill bottles on my bedside table.  "I did knock, though...you just get too into your work," Plum continued.  Except it seemed, for the moment, that she was my roommate, since that line could've been taken right out of her mouth.  I decided to play it cool for the moment.

"Oh...sorry, yeah."  I laughed awkwardly.  "So what's up?"

"Just back from August's...I have to shower quick and then run to work, but I wanted to check in with you first.  I'm meeting Teeleigh and that crowd right after, so I won't be home until late.  You doing ok?"  From August's, huh?  That explained a little of this, anyway, but I remained wary.  The Jester suits had been fun, but a little harrowing, and Plum's story wasn't exactly a fairy tale...

"I'm good.  Have fun tonight...if I go to bed before you get in I'll use earplugs, so no worries."

"Are you sure you don't want to come?  We're going to drink way too much and apparently Teeleigh wants to tell ghost stories, you know how she is with her theme nights.  Come on, I'm forcing myself to go out, you should too, it'll do you good."  Forcing herself, huh?  She must be trying to be responsible with the new suit...she'd managed to survive her first encounter, but I supposed long-term it could still be a lotus-eater trap.  I shook my head in bemusement, but the character posing as my roomie took it as a refusal, and sighed dramatically.

"Fine...but I'm not going to give up, you know..."  I smiled.

"Neither am I.  But I appreciate the effort."  Plum sniffed and then swayed off to get ready, closing the door to my bedroom behind her.  I wondered where this was going...even if I had gone with, I'd just have been bored by a night of drinking with Plum's friends, and-

I noticed she'd forgotten her overnight bag.

I approached it warily, then changed course and picked up a cardboard poster-tube leaning in the corner of the room.  Mildly better armed, I moved over to the bag and poked at it suspiciously.

Nothing happened.

Ever so slowly, I reached for the bag's zipper, then yanked it open in one swift move, jumping back with the cardboard tube held in both hands like I was a samurai.  My breathing was rapid and shallow, half nervousness, half excitement.

The bag remained docile, though there was a hint of muted reflection from a black material now visible inside.  I poked at it with the tube, but it, too, showed no sign of unusual properties.

"Bye Jax, have a good day!" I vaguely heard Plum call out from behind the door.  I might have asked her things about the suit, and exactly what she and August had been doing all weekend, but by the time this occurred to me, I'd already heard the front door closing behind her.  I decided not to try calling her...I didn't really know her number, and calling my real roommate's number could be awkward if that didn't translate properly.

I wasn't sure I really wanted to do this.  Imagining myself in a situation of erotic peril was one thing, but past experience had shown me that coming close to genuine peril was a really quick turn-off.  Still...opportunities like this don't come along every day.  In a sudden impulse, I reached out and grabbed the suit, closing my eyes.  After a moment, I slowly peeked one eye open.

Again, nothing had happened.

Weird.  Maybe this had just been a quick jaunt into hallucinatory fantasy, and with Plum gone, reality was reasserting itself?  And yet here was the suit.  But examining it superficially didn't show any unusual properties...it was ordinary black latex.  I pulled it completely out of the bag and shook it out.  There was something that struck me as odd, though it took me a moment to place it.  The suit was my size.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Plum's slim 6'2" frame and my own decidedly shorter, more blocky and puffier silhouette didn't share a lot in common.  Yet the suit appeared to be sized to accommodate me.  Perhaps it had always been that size, and had stretched magically to fit Plum?  Or, more likely, since I was physically touching the thing, in reality I'd simply ordered it for myself and not an idealized fictional character, even if I didn't remember doing any such thing.

Memory-lapses aside, that was a little more exciting.  An actual latex suit!  I wasn't sure how I'd afforded it, but for all I knew I was moonlighting for extra cash and had forgotten that as well.  On very rare occasions, a handful of the frequent surprises mental illness affords turned out to be pleasant ones.

I dashed into the bathroom and took the quickest shower ever, leaving the suit draped over the sink.  Despite my eagerness, I took my time drying myself off, and carefully applying a little baby powder to the interior of the suit and then a lot to myself.  I'd read somewhere that corn starch was better somehow, but I didn't have any and wasn't about to go out for some now.  I returned to my bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me.

I thought about whether or not to dig into my naughty drawer and add an appropriate accessory, considering the premise under which I'd "discovered" the suit.  But after a moment's consideration, I decided I'd leave that as a fantasy for the future, and let my first latex suit experience be "pure".  Considering how excited I was, I doubted I'd need anything more than the suit itself and my hands.

Even with the baby powder, getting into latex is more like wrestling with a recalcitrant raincoat than the seductive process I'd romanticized.  But seeing it gradually take shape up my legs, my hips, transforming me from what I am into a far more smooth, uniformly-colored version, still had my heart racing.

Constrained somewhat by my personal reality, the attached hood's ovoid shape was maintained with foam inserts.  There were nearly-invisible but ample perforations near the mouth and nose areas that would allow for air flow, and the latex over the eyes was smoky rather than opaque, so I could still see for safety, though it'd be difficult.  Taking that into account I made a few preparations first...I dug out a bottle of lube from my naughty drawer and found an older pair of panties I could use as a rag.  Then I fashioned a pull-string with a shoelace and a paperclip, getting it into the zipper-pull behind me by feel.

I took one last deep breath, dabbed at my already-sweating forehead with a tissue, then craned my neck downward and awkwardly tugged the hood into place.  My warm breath, not entirely ushered out by the perforations, swirled up my cheeks intoxicatingly, and I realized I was only a hair away from orgasm already.  As quick as I could, I found my pull-string and twisted my arms around, forcing my shoulder blades back as far as I could to bring the edges of the suit together, then pulled the zipper closed, trying to balance speed against risking damage.

The pressure around me, my breasts and sex embraced none-too-gently, sent me directly over the edge, and I grabbed my dresser to catch myself as my legs seemed less interested in supporting me.  But it was a quick one, and after a couple quiet moans I straightened up from a twisted half-crouch, laughing softly at myself.

Taking advantage of my current, but likely brief, state of satiety, I fumbled my way to the lube and panties I'd set out, and began to shine myself liberally.  It was almost like I was painting myself into existence...the slightly dull black through the smoky membrane covering my eyes was nearly invisible, but as I polished each area with lube, it shone and glistened enticingly.  I actually found myself just staring for a minute at one of my legs as I turned and flexed it slightly, marveling at the effect.

Once I'd finished, even doing my best yoga impression to get my back, I moved to the closet and opened it so I could admire myself in the mirror that hung on the inside of the door.  And admire I did.  I think I actually cried a little bit, at how different, how desirable I looked, even as the featureless oval of my head stripped away any sense of recognition of myself.  Or maybe because of that.

But tears aside, I was enthralled.  I resolved to stay in front of the mirror as long as I could stand before, as I expected, moving directly to the bed and teasing myself silly.

Of course, I didn't have a double-mirror, so I hadn't noticed that during my Narcissus-session at the mirror, my pull-string had fallen off, nor that the seam for the back zipper itself had somehow vanished invisibly into the suit.