Surrounded by her Barbie Doll collection, Mouse looked around for inspiration. A Barbie book signing in her Barbie store attracted a lot of attention, and even though she would be in the background, she wanted to stand out. Not too elaborate but topical. Yes, Queen Elsa was perfect.
Mouse showered, dried herself thoroughly, powdered the white latex catsuit, and slipped into it. She liked the feeling of the rubber sliding over her skin and the way it fit perfectly and embraced her. It was not 100% correct for Elsa with gloves and a high neck, but she needed to cover up and insulate her skin as much as possible.
Diagnosed with an unusual sort of Atopic Dermatitis at age four, she had to live in a sterile environment at home and cover up as much as possible outside. If any part of her skin was exposed to air for more than just a minute, it burned. When she was small, she was clumsy, fell a lot, and damaged her latex clothing over her legs and hands. Her parents got her used to layer, and now she could not have it any other way, even when asleep. At times, especially in the beginning, it was a bother. Her parents distracted her with Barbie role play.
Like her deceased mother and her mother, Mouse was skinny to the point of anorexia. She ate 2,500 calories a day, a man’s recommended intake, she did not put on any weight. When she hit her teenage years, Mouse noticed that she was losing her Barbie waist, so she stopped eating. It was a difficult time for her parents because of her need to remain in a sterile environment. They conceded to her demand to wear a corset. But, aside from a reasonable length of bony leg and her Barbie waist, Mouse was skinny, breastless, and shapeless, but this was good for her. Mouse loved layering and felt a love-hate sort of pleasure the more clothing she put on.
Over her base layer gloved, footed, high necked white latex catsuit, Mouse drew on a pair of white brush-fleeced winter tights, then another and another. She ran her hands among her legs, feeling the softness and warmth of the tights. She had to keep them from webbing, so next came Mouse’s boob leotard, also with a high neck but short sleeves. It had teenage-sized breasts built-in, giving Mouse the semblance of femininity. Finished with her underwear, Mouse went about becoming Elsa.
Mouse looked at the snow-white sheer bodystocking with lace featuring over the chest and neck. Then she looked at a snow-white latex catsuit hanging in the wardrobe. She debated with herself which to wear but found herself in the latex catsuit before she knew she had decided. Rubber was an obsession with her now. Sometimes, especially so many layers over her fingers, she wanted to rip it all off, but then, she hated it when she did not wear it.
Mouse sat at her dressing table and worked in the barrier crème, noting the time. She lived in twelve-hour increments. That is when the crème wore off, and her skin burned. She drew on a latex hood over her bold head and another skin-colored hood and tucked it in. Eleven hours fifty-two minutes.
After washing her latex-covered hands, Mouse drew on a sheer white slip, the Elsa dress, white boots, white gloves, and the custom blue-purple Elsa coat which is her favorite. She pulled Elsa’s purple latex belt over her head and down to her waist, feeling the comfort of the additional firmness. Mouse was almost ready, except for her Elsa-hair. Blue eye contacts and her Elsa-cloak, and she stepped before the mirror.
Mouse hated her naked body but loved her Barbie look. Yes, it was a manipulation of a woman’s figure, but at least people didn’t call her Anna-Rexia to her face as they did in school. They could tease her about being Barbie as much as they wanted.
Down two flights of stairs, collect her bag with her foot thermoses and to the front door. Mouse opened the airlock and stepped in, and waited for the seal to reinflate. She opened the outer lock that looked like an ordinary door on the outside then unlocked her safety door.
Not a lot of break and entry in her area, but if someone did break the house’s seal and let normal air in, Mouse could be in trouble. The massive air conditioner with her special air filters in the basement would need several hours to filter her house’s atmosphere clean. Mouse would have to shower every few minutes, remain in the bathtub, or encased in latex. She slept wrapped in latex, just in case, but really, she could not sleep in anything else. Mouse closed the doors and walked down the five stairs, then turned right towards her store.
People knew her and about her particular likes, but they also knew Mouse ran a book shop with fantasy, sci-fi, and children’s books. She lived in a conservative suburb and was the accepted statistical inevitable weirdo. If you can’t see a weirdo anywhere, perhaps you are it, and Mouse was it for her neighbors.
Some accepted Mouse as she was, but none did more than look at her asconce. Frank looked at Mouse with kind eyes as he ate his bacon and eggs at his open window. Mouse waved to him, and he waved back. Frank was the closest she had to a friend.
Mouse arrived in the shop on time and opened it. It would be a long day with Matilda quitting for a better job. It would have been better if she stayed the extra week for today’s book signing, but she did not. It was fair. Mouse could not pay like the large book shop two blocks down, Trundle, Trundle, and Dormister International Books.