1
A black Frank Green cup sat next to a keyboard. Steam danced as it rose out of the void left behind by its highly saturated, matte blue lid overturned a pencil’s length away. A small hand with closely trimmed, unpainted nails reached out, and Abby took a sip of her coffee.
Scent of strawberries. Light cocoa. A finish of black tea.
She set the cup down and refocused her attention to the computer screen before her. The quick tapping of her keyboard echoed out in a thick, tom-like rhythm. Nails trimmed tightly to the bed hammered entire worlds into existence as the evening sun cast the last light of the work week across the office space. Beams of orange burned across the room in thick lines in one final hurrah. Abby took another sip of her coffee.
Like a reluctant child, the end of the week had pushed and pulled against time’s calling – Friday seemed to wander about, lost in the aisles of some cosmic supermarket. Like a reluctant child, Friday chose instead to be mischievous and insufferable, eluding Abby’s grasp yet teasing her from afar. But like a reluctant child, Friday came back to her, however unwillingly, at the week’s end. Abby took another sip of her coffee.
Friday.
Her chair creaked excitedly, its ailing joints jittering and squeaking beneath the wagging of her free leg. The last of her colleagues had left an hour ago, and she’d finished her day’s work hours before. Now came the inevitable wait – the glimpse of forever that tested her at the end of every week. She glanced out the window and willed the Earth to turn quicker; for the horizon to sooner hide away the sun. A socked foot nudged a large gym bag nestled under her desk. Abby took another sip of her coffee.
Somewhere on the desk her phone vibrated and lit, unnoticed, lost to the drumming of her fingers as words poured out of her, somehow represented by the questionably-tangible specks of black light against white reflected in her dark chocolate eyes. The writing was her experience made real. Her life stored and set aside for future access. In it she judged. She judged the people around her, the world she lived in, and events that unfolded. But most of all, she judged herself. Every truth stung like a rotten vegetable splitting against skin. She was both pelter and pelted. She was judge and jury and she was the prosecutor and the prosecuted. Abby took another sip of her coffee.
The typing came to a halt. The girl leaned in, pushing her glasses up to better study the text on the screen. Words moved her mouth subconsciously as her mind processed what she’d written. A quick click; three backspaces. She studied the text and cocked her head. A click; four curt taps on the board. Abby took another sip of her coffee.
A blur of key presses and shortcuts advanced her text cursor to a new, blank page as Abby finished the last of her coffee.
A silver Prius pulled into the aquarium’s garage, speeding quietly by the seemingly stationary line of tourists and students streaming out of the complex. It navigated the tight ramps of the car park, before swiftly inserting itself into a reserved lot next to an unmarked door in a quiet corner of the 2nd deck.
A girl in her mid-late twenties stepped out. Her plum-colored shirt clung to her body. A security card clipped to the hem of a full length skirt read “Alison”, its white and blue palette blending in perfectly with its batik-dyed backdrop.
Ally pulled a messenger bag and a small leather-bound book out of the backseat, before fumbling within it, hands rummaging roughly but inquisitively. She produced a thick keychain and locked the Prius with an attached transponder before isolating a smaller metal key. She quietly unlocked the door beside her and entered the complex.
The door opened into a long corridor, and her skirt fluttered as a blast of frigid air poured out into the garage. She let the door close unlocked and began to stride quickly down the corridor.
Had she more time she would’ve taken the first right, out into the public area and through the open ocean tunnel exhibit – it was a long detour which paid its time in atmosphere. She loved the blue glow of the tank, and the lazy drifting of sea life that surrounded the walkway. But there’d be time for that later. She swung left into a stairwell and ascended, navigating the bleak corridors swiftly.
The cheap fluorescent lights bathed the aquarium’s back-of-house a sickly green tint. Pipes lined the walls of the corridor, and the linoleum floor quickly gave out to a catwalk providing access to more pipes running underfoot. The stench of salt and algae grew stronger with each stride, and the corridor finally ended at an ethereal blue light beckoning from beyond a metal gate, left ajar. A sign welded to the grate read “Fresh Main, Access B”.
Ally crossed the threshold and into a room the size of a small basketball court. A large circular pool of water dominated the middle of the room, a catwalk laid across its diameter. Racks of diving equipment lined the far wall, though its gear was scattered haphazardly in random clutters around the area. She carefully crossed the room to the far corner, avoiding the puddles that threatened to throw her into the pool. She descended a small ramp hidden along the wall and stopped by a door a floor down.
She stepped out of her sneakers and set them by the doormat, next to a significantly larger pair of Crocs. The hollow door echoed loudly as she rapped it with her knuckles. Not waiting for a response, she swung it open and stepped in.A black Volkswagen Scirocco inched along the carpark. Abby peered over its steering wheel and out into the yellow light haphazardly thrown across the garage in uneven, irregular splotches. A cigarette dangled out of her mouth, unlit. The car smelt of vanilla and lemon.
The labyrinthian layout of the garage confused her the same way every week. But she still quickly found her prize – a silver Prius parked in a corner of the 2nd deck. She carefully reversed her sports hatch next to the hybrid and cut the engine. Her heart hammered against her esophagus and her stomach grunted empty. The high tide in her bladder urged her to hurry, but she mentally returned a resolute “not yet”.
She stepped out of the car and lit her cigarette. Like a ticking clock, the tchik-tchik of the VW’s cooling engine echoed in the otherwise silent garage. Abby’s head buzzed with her writing. The sins of her past and present stood above her in her head, and she looked up to them in quiet contemplation. Her writing offered no relief, serving only to strengthen the demons that tormented her. It painted over the abstract sketches of her insecurities in thick, permanent black. She took another drag of her cigarette.
Rough. Toasted but with a complex flavor. Mild head-rush.
The events that would soon follow played out in her head, and her legs twitched in anticipation. She wrapped a hand around her waist and pictured herself pulling the gym bag out of the back seat and locking the door. The keyring in the side pocket. The card in the Prius’ glove box. She took another drag of her cigarette.
Smoke rose slowly around her face, crystalizing invisibly into her boy-short hair and simple clothes. She took another drag of her cigarette.
She could no longer wait. She took a final drag and discarded the long stick of unburned tobacco, stomping it out in the same motion. Immediately, she rendered her thoughts reality, equipping herself with her gym bag. The weight of the bag was a lot more real than she’d remembered but she ignored it. She fished in its side pocket and pulled out a keyring. The Prius unlocked with a happy chirp and she pulled a security card from the glove box. Today she was “Jane”. Both cars locked shut as she let herself into the complex.
‘Down the corridor. Swing a right. Follow the signs to the ¡Viva Baja! showspace,’ Abby did as she remembered. The expanse of the Open Ocean tank that enveloped the walkway above her breezed by as she marched on. A standing ad for the “upcoming Life on the Edge exhibit” caught her attention briefly and she followed the arrows to the left, circling around a room filled with screens and interactive displays left cold and dead in the night.
The slight spillage of blue light beneath her caught Ally’s eye, and she looked up from a world of hastily sketched marine life and landscapes of distant cosmic oceans. From the control room easily three stories up, she watched her friend wander into the space, face drawn longingly to the immense cylindrical tank before her. The tank, empty weeks before, was slowly filling up with a range of international inhabitants. A school of small, bright yellow fishes drifted by the light, casting a long shadow that swept slowly across the empty exhibition floor. A slam. Abby had disappeared.
Ally stepped out of the control room and into her sneakers by the doormat. The Crocs were no longer there. She rose out of the control room and unlocked a door nearby. She opened it and the rising sound of feet stamping metal echoed out from below.
The first thing she saw was her smile.
Ally stepped through and let the door close behind her. The two greeted with a quick embrace and one took a lit cigarette from the other.
They sat in the stairwell, sharing the cigarette and the day’s stories. One made a sarcastic comment about something inane and both shared their first genuine laugh of the day. No one rushed for anything and neither checked their watches. The aquarium disappeared around them until there was nothing but their experiences and the slow inevitable countdown of the shortening cigarette.
And then it was over.
Abby crushed the cigarette beneath her feet and stood, eager to continue to the night’s main event. Ally followed closely behind her. The two exchanged a few words before Abby disappeared to the toilet and Ally descended into the control room.Light flooded the freshwater tank’s access area and Abby dropped her gym bag on a bench. The zipper slid open loudly and she fumbled around inside, pulling out a smaller, rectangular cloth bag closed with a drawstring. A full-face gasmask emerged next, followed by a small orange tank of compressed gas. Finally, she pulled a small plastic tube, wrapped in a thin plastic bag, out of the side pocket.
She opened the cloth bag and pulled out a glossy bundle of black, a garment folded and unrecognizable. She held it out and let gravity reveal its form. It was the torso of a woman – a black, latex suit rendered in reflective ebony. Where the arms and legs should be, the rubber turned inward, each limb turned inside out and extended into the body. The neck finished in an open-faced hood.
Abby reached into the suit’s only opening, her free hand uncapping the plastic tube on the bench. She squeezed a clear liquid into the mask and body, before pushing her arm into the reversed limbs to spread the gel around evenly. Eventually satisfied, she pulled each limb outward, unfolding the suit completely – it had no zippers and few seams. Its attached gloves and socks meant that the only gap in the material existed around its occupant’s face. This was set aside.
She turned her attention to the rack behind her. She pulled a yellow oxygen tank out from the rack and checked to make sure it was full. She released some gas before turning her attention to the small orange tank she’d brought with her. She released some of its content and a musky, tea-like fragrance mixed with the room’s lingering smell of algae. She produced a rubber harness from her bag and secured the two tanks together. Expertly, she connected a series of pipes and tubes that mixed the airflow from both tanks to her desired ratio. The final output was a long tube with a screw mount at its end. This too was set aside.
Her hands trembled and her leg ached to be shook. Abby found herself craving another cigarette, but the temptation of what was to follow was too great. Instead, she stepped out of her office clothes, folding them neatly and returning them to the bag on the bench. Her undergarments quickly followed and the cold air of the holding area tickled her skin, coaxing a tingling wave of goosepimples across her naked body.
Seated on the bench, she reached for the suit and held it by its face. Without much conscious thought, she gathered the fabric in a ring with her hands, pulling the suit’s legs into a rolled bundle before her. Her breathing was shallow and intermittent – it always was. Automatically, she lowered her foot into the inky black hole before her, jelly lubricant squishing into an even layer between her toes and around her ankles. Alternating pressure between her thumb and forefinger, she slowly pulled the latex taut up around her calf and knees, careful not to catch the rubber with her nails.
She stood and gathered the fabric once again and slid her thighs into its silken embrace. Her hands ran up her legs, smoothing the rubber out across her skin and ensuring its fit. They then reached behind her buttocks and gathered the loose material hanging just under her crotch. Pulling tightly, she sat herself down into the rubber. She exhaled slowly, relishing the sensation of latex applying itself to her sex. The miniscule face aperture of the suit cinched her waist tightly and restricted her breathing, now growing quick and insistent. Whether because of the excitement of her situation or the exertion of getting thus far, she did not know nor care.
By this point, the tightness of the suit allowed her to simply guide the fabric into place, at which point its elasticity gave it the life to pull its oily surface on around her, consuming her slowly and of its own accord. She directed the rubber over her meager breasts and pulled it tightly up into her armpits. She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut as she contorted her shoulder forward, pushing her arm into the opening around her chest. Her back twisted and she quickly found her sleeve. Her free hand coaxed the rubber around her arm, forcing the air out in a cold hiss around her shoulder. She repeated the action with her other arm until the suit pinned both to her side, face hole stretched tightly just above the middle of her upper arms.
Taking another breath, she wiggled her shoulders and slowly raised her arms. The latex was well lubricated and it crept up and around her arms slowly but surely, as if inching toward her inevitable consumption. As it cleared the widest curve of her shoulder, it suddenly accelerated, its oily maw quickly-yet-gently closing tightly around her neck and sealing her in. Her gloved hands reached up to gather the loose fabric around her neck, and with relative ease, she unraveled the hood and pulled it over her head, shuddering in unspoken fantasy as the opening closed tightly around her face.
Abby stood still, eyes shut. The outside world was impossible to properly comprehend as her body was taken by the surreal floating sensation that came with the outfit. Her second skin held her in a tight, impermeable embrace; yet the layer of lubrication prevented it from ever truly touching her, and so the suit slid across her body constantly, mirroring her movements and rubbing her with a slight delay, like kinesthesia on reverb. Pockets of air gathered around her waist and joints, and, without opening her eyes, she reached to smooth them out, guiding each bubble upward and outward. Air escaped easily but none could enter back into her sleek rubber skin. With each stroke, waves of sensation rippled across her body, and the suit adhered tighter against her body, shrinking around her slowly but decisively.
She stood slowly, each motion evacuating more air out of the suit. Carefully, she slipped her shoes back on. The latex grew tighter with each step she took toward the door, and she had to take a moment to gather herself before bringing a gloved fist against it.Ally wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d stepped back into the control room, but she was sure that each week the knock came earlier and earlier. She opened the door to the control room to a vision in black. Her friend stood before her swathed in glossy black rubber, appearing somehow naked yet fully clothed. She grabbed her packet of cigarettes and rushed out the door, following the woman-like alien up and into the stairwell it had come from. Something stirred inside her as the light danced on and off of the figure she tailed.
A cigarette was lit once more and the duo shared the stick. Ally watched silently as Abby performed standing calisthenics, stretching herself and the rubber. Every week she would watch her stretch and pose, and every week she would wonder why. But the otherness of her situation; there was some strangeness in the air that kept her mouth shut, daring not to ask nor question the process. She settled instead for silent observation.
The cigarette reached its end quicker than before.
Ally followed her friend out into the holding area once more and took the mask in hand. It had no straps nor harnesses. She reached into the gym bag and produced a tiny jar. The screw lid had an attached brush and the liquid within reeked of acetone and thinner. She ran the brush across the rim of the mask. Its surface glistened with each stroke, but as the solvent dried it left the rubber mottled and matte. She repeated the process around the latex framing Abby’s face.
Ready?
The suit was completely airtight by now. It had shrunk into every crack and crevice of its occupant’s body, and it was no longer clear where the latex ended and Abby began. A thin, uniform layer of lubricant allowed her body to slide around within its skin, and Abby stared blankly ahead, distracted and unable to properly focus on anything but the ceaseless touch of rubber. It served as a constant reminder of its own presence and it shaped and lifted her body just as she gave it form.
Abby nodded.
She squirmed about unconsciously against the tightness of her skin as her friend brought the mask up to her face. She took a long breath and held it, feeling for the rim of the mask as it pressed firmly against the rim of her suit.
She drew a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
The acrid smell of solvent burned her nostrils as she drew it in and she relished the sensation.
She could no longer smell algae.
The mask shifted. Ally was tugging it. Her suit shifted with it.
She ran her gloved fingers along the impenetrable seam.
No way out.
The mask shifted. Became heavy.
Grinding noise. Plastic against plastic.
Inhale.
Tea and herbs.
Shifted in her skin.
A hand on her waist.
She leaned into the touch, sensation amplified by the latex.
Followed its guidance.
The hands shifted to her shoulders and gently pushed down.
She sat. Opened her eyes.
Blue.
Her head began to spin as the vapors took hold.
A soft moan escaped her lips.
A hand closed around her thigh.
She shuddered, hips bucking.
The latex pulled tightly between her legs.
Her leg was pulled toward the rim of the pool, dangling above the water’s surface.
Yellow and orange held before her.
She took the harness.
The void called to her.
A hand rested on her back.
A thumbs up.
A push.
A splash.
Weightlessness.
The silent rumble of water.
The heady aroma of tea and herbs.
The caress of latex.
The touch of rubber.
A moan.
Epilogue
Ally leaned back in her chair. The flimsy wooden thing creaked as it balanced on its hind legs. Her left hand bobbed up and down, as the held pencil scratched at her leather-bound book. She was bathed in blue, seated in the center of the vast empty exhibition floor. Beside the chair sat a few balls of discarded sketches around a white Frank Green cup. Next to it was a small bottle of solvent. She swatted briefly at her sketch before holding it up to study it next to its model.
Before her, the tank stood tall and immense. Within it floated a strange creature swathed in black. It took the shape of a human female, and she watched mesmerized as it danced within the tank, suspended weightless and free, two streaks of orange and yellow trailing behind it. She watched as it writhed, as if trying to get away from its own skin. Watched as its limbs explored its body, holding itself tightly. Watched as its back arched and its head swung back, suspended in water.
Ally continued sketching.