My Life in Mackintosh
by Crinckly-Mack
Part 1
My earliest memory is of leaving my grandparents' house to walk home with my mother - it was, I am sure, before I began school, which would make me 4 years old. My mother is in a mackintosh, and so am I! Mine is, I recall, red, with a hood. It is a girl's mackintosh, but not, I think, bought for me because of my fetish, as it is too early for any love of rubber on my part to appear unusual for a boy. I'm sure it was just an economical way to keep me dry in the rain, as we never had a car. My mother erected her own hood, and then mine, and then we set off. I actually found, recently when clearing my mother's house for her to go in a home, a small photo of me in the mackintosh in our back garden. It's b/w, of course, but I can see that the lining of the hood is much lighter than the outer colour - perhaps the lining is yellow.
This was a very ordinary memory indeed. Not so, the next one!!
I might have been at school by this time, but I am sure I was still in my red girl's mackintosh. I was being given a ride on my grandfather's bicycle. At one point he had to stop and dismount to wheel the bike down a path through a spinney. At the side of the road, on the verge, sat a boy, several years older than me. Behind him was a tent. Not the usual sort of tent with poles and guy-ropes, but a tall, narrow cone-shaped tent of a stiff yellow material, which just stood on the ground with no other support. It was wide enough at the bottom for the boy to sit inside it, and tall enough for him to stand upright in it. There was a narrow slit up one side, which would have ended at a standing boy's mid-chest, thus the standing boy could not have seen out. I have always assumed it was stiff rubber, to have the effect on me that it has, but in reality I don't know what it was; it might have been a very heavy duty oilskin, for example. For me however, ever since, it has been "the Tentboy's" (that is how I think of him) "stiff, pointed, yellow, rubberised Tent". My grandfather addressed the tentboy "That's a splendid tent you have - does it keep you snug and dry in the rain?" the tentboy said it did, and he took it with him everywhere. "Last week I went for a walk across the fields. I was about to turn back when it began to rain heavily. I had to stand in my tent for 6 hours until the rain stopped." You can imagine the effect this had on me - just thinking about being trapped in a rubber tent for 6 hours!! "Shall I show you how I bow into my tent?" the tentboy asked us. "Yes, please" we replied. What exactly happened then I am not sure - my recollection is of the whole tent, with the tentboy inside it, bowing up and down, over and over again, for several minutes at least. At one point the tent seemed horizontal on the grass, then the bottom was off the ground while the tip of it repeatedly touched the ground; finally the tent was upright, but bowing frantically forwards to an angle of about 45 degrees. When finally it stopped, the tent boy stood proudly inside it, with his knees slightly apart. What had he done? He must have initially knelt to insert his body into the horizontal tent, and then bowed up and down in that position; then stood up, but bowed over in a crouch with his body up to his waist inside the tent so that he could touch the tip of the tent on the ground; then stood up with the tent held off the ground so as to bow forward from the waist as far as he could. All I can think is that he was performing a practiced ritual as exciting and arousing to him, as it was for me to watch him. I dubbed his frenzied movements "tentbows". All my childhood, I longed to have a tent like that and to perform tentbows repeatedly in it, especially to any girl in a rubber mackintosh, whom I met, by way of a sort of "ritual worship"! Of course, I never did, and it has always been a puzzle to me why I should feel this "tent fetish" so strongly - I've never heard, or read, of anyone having a similar compulsion. However, much later in life, I did meet an obliging lady (not my wife), who let me perform repeated tentbows to her while I was dressed in a single texture mackintosh cape and hood, with a second cape on top, the collar of which was fastened over the top of my head, with the buttons done up down my back; that, however, is another story, for later!!
I wonder, has anyone else come across this most singular of fetishes? Does anyone else recall seeing such a tent in their childhood? Does anyone know what it might have been made of?
My next memory is of a visit to the house of my other grandparents, which was shared by my maiden aunt. I was often sent round to visit them, by my mother. They were out when I arrived and my aunt was catching up on housework. She invited me to play and I asked if I could go in her bedroom. She had finished cleaning there, and said yes. Hanging on the back of the door was her single texture mackintosh, of bright red silk or taffetta. I looked longingly at the rubber lining, and then buried my face in the lining to revel in the fabulous odour. Then I could resist no longer; I took down the mackintosh, and, taking off my sandals and socks, sat cross-legged on the bed. Then I tossed the mackintosh up in the air so that it fell on top of me, with the rubber lining inside, smothering me utterly. I sat there in ecstacy, breathing in the musky odour that we all love so well. After about an hour, "What are you doing in my mackintosh?" came my aunt's voice. "I'm sorry, auntie, I'm pretending it's a tent. Is that alright?" "Yes, of course. Are you a boy scout?" she replied. "No", I cried "I AM A TENTBOY!!" To my glee, she addressed me as "tentboy" for the rest of the day, and I repeated this experience on several later occasions.
After this, memories are vaguer for several years as I progressed through primary school, although I have some of trying on the mackintoshes of my 2 older cousins, and my mother's discarded mackintoshes. I fell in love of course with any girl at school who wore a rubber mackintosh, and would stare longingly (and, to them, rudely) at each one; one in particular, called Diana (no, not that one!) wore, more frequently then any other girl, a red mackintosh with hood, that had a criss-cross pattern of black lines across it. I stared at her almost permanently, and she actually dubbed me "Starer"!
My next significant "mackintosh memory" involved one of my mothers old mackintoshes, a dark red one. It was early in the summer holiday before our last year at junior school, and at that time most of my contemporaries and I seemed to be reading a children's version of "The Three Musketeers", and we also studied at school the basics of the English Civil War, i.e. cavaliers and roundheads. Many of our games involved wearing cloaks of one sort or another, often just a school gaberdine with only the top button done up, and arms not in sleeves. I took my chance! I crudely sewed up the sleeves of my mother's old mackintosh and wore it as a cloak; it reached down to just above my ankles. No-one commented on this, to my great relief, and I enjoyed many a wrestling fight in it with one of my fellows. Two of these were brothers, the older being my age, and the other, who had the same Christian name as me, about 18 months younger. I was always being goaded into fighting my namesake, and one day I did so, in my cloak, giving him quite a beating. This was in their garden and their mother saw our fight. She was furious at what she saw as bullying on my part, and, rushing out of the house in her own dark green mackintosh (I think she'd just returned from an errand), she seized me, sat down on a garden bench, laid me across her lap, and gave me a furious spanking. I did not struggle, partly because her mackintosh was open, and I sucked the lining up against my face! After a few minutes, I think she realised she might have gone too far in spanking another woman's child; she stopped and said she would not tell my mother about my bullying fight, provided the matter were left there, and she made me promise not to fight my namesake again. I promised, although I foresaw that the goading to fight would be bound to continue. It did! A day or so later while playing in our cloaks on nearby open fields, I was challenged. "I won't fight, because I promised your mother" I said. "Then you're a coward for not fighting!" I was told. "Alright, I'll fight, but I won't resist." "Then you're a cissy for losing to a younger boy!" Then I had a brainwave. One thing I had discovered about my mother's mackintosh was that the detachable hood could be buttoned on backwards, with the rear buttonhole on the small top button of the mac, and the front hood buttonholes on the single rear button below the back of the collar. Also, the tapes could be tied in the nape of the neck, to complete the smothering. I had often done this to myself in the privacy of my bedroom, pretending to be the "man in the iron mask", although the "boy in the mackintosh hood" was perhaps more apt. I said to my tormenters "What if I fight, but with a handicap? Then I won't be a coward, or a cissy." "What handicap?" was the response. I explained about the hood, and offered to fight with it on back to front. "I'll be blinded, and find it difficult to breathe. We'll be equally matched in any fight". This was accepted and I hooded myself, trembling with aroused excitement. I stood waiting for my namesake to grapple with me. His brother however knelt down behind me, and my opponent pushed me backwards to topple over and fall onto my back with my legs flailing in the air, and my cloak spread wide as I threw my arms out to check my fall. I felt my opponent drop onto my chest to straddle and sit astride me and he then seized my wrists and pinned them to the ground either side of my head. He proceeded to bang my wrists against the ground, chanting in time with the bangs "Down with you, boy in the Mackintosh Hood"! I lay helpless, with my knees drawn up and my legs spread wide to stretch my short trousers, so that the no-one could see the bulge in them; I endured, and submitted to a totally humiliating defeat which lasted well over 2 hours. Similar fights with my namesake continued every few days throughout that holiday, but no-one, thankfully, realised just how much I adored my humiliating defeats, and how excited and aroused I became during these fights.
Part 2 Age 10 - 13
I ended my first episode at the end of the school holidays before my last year of junior school. After all my repeated defeats and humiliations in my red cape and reversed hood, I began to relish "mackintosh fights". Previously I had always been too timid to provoke a fight, and avoided them at all costs; even once when I had annoyed an older girl at school and she pinned me by the arms against a wall and said "I'm fed up with you! Do you want a fight?" How I wished later I'd accepted this challenge and leapt into a playground fight, even though neither of us was in even a gaberdine mac, let alone a mackintosh.
At the start of our last year a new boy joined our class. His name was David. He was as tall as me, but plumper, with a pleasant round face. What really attracted him to me however was his shorts, and his mac! We mostly wore grey short trousers in a rather rough worsted; David's however were smoother and had a blue tinge to them - they were also a little longer; his mac was the real treat. Permitted colours were navy blue, dark brown and grey. Most macs were single breasted and just below the knee in length. David's grey mac was double breasted, usually buttoned right up to the neck by his mother, and long - nearly down to his ankles - with very full skirts, and the usual rear vent. Even though it was not rubber, I loved to see him in it, and envied him. I went out of my way to be a "good friend to a new boy", and we became "best friends" very quickly. I was often able to introduce my red cloak and hood into our games together, and I especially loved "playfights" in which he pinned me down in my cloak while wearing his mac. I suppose I had a sort of "boy-on-boy crush" on him, and several times, when we were happily rolling about on the ground in a fight, I felt that he had the same bulge in his trousers as I did. Looking back, I wondered why his mother would have put him in such a long mac, when it was his last year at the school, and it was highly likely that the uniform of any secondary school would be different, so that he wouldn't get the chance to "grow into it". Perhaps however it had been passed down the family from an older boy, and was too good not to wear.
The autumn term progressed and just before half-term most of the boys sat an exam for private scholarships to the local direct-grant grammar schools. I won one and became a bit of a "child-celebrity" - Diana, the girl in the red mackintosh who had dubbed me "starer", even began to choose me as her dancing partner! Bliss!
At the time, I was growing out of my current mac, a dark brown one. My grammar school mac would be navy blue, so, to save money, my mother bought me a new navy mac that I could carry on wearing when I changed schools. Therefore, it was really long on me, as long as David's, and, to my (secret) glee, although single breasted, it had very full skirts. Not rubberised, but nearly as good, and feeling snug and secure in it, I began involving myself in frequent playground fights, even with some of the rougher boys, who were happy to fight with me and triumph over me out of jealousy over my scholarship.
One afternoon while walking home through the same spinney near which I'd met the tentboy in his tent, we began a leaf throwing fight, with David and I on the same side, of course. David threw some leaves at a boy called Brown, who was taller than us, slimmer than David, and stronger. The leaves he threw must have included a lump of wet leaves stuck together which flew straight at Brown and hit him in the face. David could not have intended this, but Brown was furious and rushed at David, shouting "I'll get you for that!" David stood in his mac awaiting his fate, and I recall the skirts of his mac "shimmering", as if he were trembling in fear. Brown ran at David and put his hands on David's shoulders to drive him backwards. David, his own hands on Brown's shoulders to fend him off, was forced rapidly backwards, the skirts of his mac flapping frantically. Then it happened! David caught his left heel on a tree root and fell over backwards with Brown forcing him down. He landed on his back, and as he did so, his legs flailed in the air, his right leg straight and vertical, but out to the side at about 45 degrees and his left bent at the knee, but at 45 degrees the other way. I thought his lovely shorts might split! The skirts of his mac were kicked up into the shape of a fan, like a raised peacock's tail. This image of David's "going down to defeat in his mac" is etched on my memory. As David kicked out, someone shouted "Gosh - look at that!", and we all hurried over to stand around watching the fight. David lay helpless, his body arched over his satchel, his trousers and the crumpled skirts of his mac in the grass and leaves, and his wrists pinned to the ground by Brown who triumphantly straddled him. David's cap had fallen off and he lay with eyes tight closed so he did not have to look upon his smirking conqueror. After a few minutes Brown asked another boy, the older brother of my namesake, to rub leaves in David's face to complete his "punishment" - "See how you like leaves in the face!" he said. After 5 or 6 handfuls had been rubbed in a defenceless David's face I could contain myslf no longer. With an arousing "rush of blood to the head", and emboldened by being in my own new mac, I shouted "Leave David alone! Two onto one isn't fair!" and seizing some leaves myself I rubbed them into the brother's face, and then pushed him over so that he rolled in the leaves. "You'll pay for that, mackintosh boy!" he cried. I think this was the first time I had been called that, and it might have been because of my red cloak and hood rather than my new long mac. He rushed at me and I was driven back just like David, with the same result. I tripped and fell onto my back with my legs and the skirts of my mac kicking up into the air; my opponent landed on my chest and I could see the skirts of my mac over his shoulders, as he seized my wrists. Like David, I had no chance; I meekly, but excited and aroused, submitted to my fate as my namesake rubbed handful after handful of leaves in my face. After a few minutes the watching boys all moved off to continue playing, but our conquerors pinned us down for over half an hour. At last they got up and walked off leaving us to pick ourselves up, brush all the leaves off us, and walk home slowly and somehow even greater friends in our shared humiliation. The memories of this episode have been with me and aroused me ever since, and still do so now, as you will gather from the length of my narrative of it.
The school year progressed, without a great deal more real excitement. I did on one occasion "rescue" Diana who was losing, in her mackintosh, a fight with one of the rougher boys. I grappled with him to make him release her and he then of course, turned on me as
Diana fled to the girls' toilets. I got quite a thrashing in my mac, before the end of playtime rescued me, but it was all worth it when at the next playtime, two of Diana's friends grabbed me and led me into the same girls' toilets where Diana thanked me with the first kiss I ever had from a girl!
I also recall several occasions when I was smothered with a mac over my head by another boy - a common "trick" at the time. With my arms trapped all I could do was kick out at my attacker's legs and feet; a couple of times this led to my being wrestled to the ground and pinned there for the rest of that playtime.
Sadly, Diana, and, indeed most of my fellows, including David, failed to follow me into grammar schools when the 11-plus results came out. Diana had a particularly hard time in eventually avoiding a really rather rough secondary modern, and we drifted apart even before we all left the school.
I then began at grammar school. As a new boy and "at the bottom of the pile", something of my timidity towards fighting returned and I tried to avoid confrontations, or drawing attention to myself in my mac, still much longer on me than those of my classmates. There were 2 notorious bullies however, and eventually they turned on me, and cornered me behind the bike sheds. If I had not been in my mac on that occasion, I might have obeyed their orders to "kneel and kiss my shoes", but, emboldened, I went "head over heels" into a fight, by thumping the smaller bully in the eye! I went down with the bigger on top of me, and although I wrestled as hard as I could, knew I stood no chance, especially when the other got over the shock of my punch and joined in. I was saved from a more serious thrashing by the bell to end breaktime. The next breaktime, I made sure to don my mac, even though hardly anyone else did. I walked past the bullies and looked them in the eye - something I'd never have dared without my mac - but to my relief, they ignored me and left me alone after that day. Early in the next school year, they both got expelled, so were gone by the time I appeared in my "crinckly mac", in my 3rd year. The only other fight I especially recall, involved the elder brother of the Brown who had defeated David. As I arrived at school, first thing, there was a heavy layer of snow and slush on the playground. Brown and a number of other older boys seized me and forced me down into a grovelling position on my knees with my legs and short trousers spread wide and the skirts of my mac spread out either side of me and behind me, lying in the snow and slush. They stood around me, actually on the skirts of my mac. Two of them held my arms up and behind my back, and one of them put one knee on the small of my back me so that my trousers (and the inevitable bulge in them!) were actually pressed onto the ground in the snow and slush. My nose was rubbed in the snow and more snow was pressed down my neck. I tried to wriggle but could not escape until the assembly bell rang to release me. Fortunately, my beloved mac was not too soiled by its treatment!
The rest of that 1st year, and, indeed, most of my 2nd year passed with no particularly memorable "mackintoshings"; I still had at home my red cloak and hood, and when I was alone for any reasonably long period of time, I put them on in my bedroom, but being careful to ensure I was never caught doing so. Eventually, however, my mother threw it away. Sightings of girls in mackintoshes got fewer and fewer, and my "starings" began to turn to girls' school uniforms. I loved to see the more ornate and feminine styles of gaberdine mac, and the heavy woollen flared skirts, especially the grey ones of girls at the poshest of the schools in the city and the surrounding towns. When summer came, the full skirted summer dresses enchanted me, especially the pale blue dresses of the girls at the poshest school, and one of the "nearly as posh". I talk in more detail about this other passion in two of the "Letters to the press" in the "Rainwear Letters" section of the website.
I had obviously made new friends at my new school -with one, I shared an interest in trainspotting. He lived on the other side of the city, and although sometimes his father (a shift-worker) could drive us to a suitable spot, we usually went by bike, and to the main line that ran past the city on my friend's side of it. One day during the summer hols at the end of our 2nd year we got back to his house just as unexpected rain began to fall. I had no cycle cape (in any case, mine was a horrible oilskin one!) or other protection with me.
My friend's mother suggested I stop there for tea and ring home to say what I was doing; they did not have a phone in the house, so I had to walk about 4-500 yds to a phone box. How to avoid getting soaking wet? Then, wonder of wonders, I saw, at the back of a coat stand in their hall, an old pale green ladies mackintosh, with darker green rubber lining!!! I thought it would not look too peculiar to ask to borrow this as an emergency raincoat, and she agreed, also offering my friend's old green cubs' cap for my head. Trembling with excitement I rustled into the mackintosh, buttoned it up to the neck and fastened the belt tightly; it was long, nearly down to the top of my short socks, and as I rustled happily to the phone box I relished the way the rubber lining caressed my bare legs. As I stepped out of the phone box, I saw a group of local boys and girls, and was transfixed to see that one of the girls, wearing a gorgeous hooded mackintosh in yellow, with a pattern of criss-cross black lines, was being pinned down in a fight with one of the boys - how tempted I was to involve myself, and try to rescue her. However I knew tea would ready and waiting for me at my friend's, and the girl, protected from the wet in her mackintosh and with her hood up did not appear to be being beaten-up, and so I left, although I think I heard a few shouted comments on my ladies mackintosh. The next week, using a complex stratagem, with which I won't bore you - basically, turning up on the wrong day - I found myself at my friends house with rain starting, only his mother there, and she about to go out. I asked if I could again borrow the green mackintosh, and this time I also spotted a matching sou-wester style rain hat; I said I could return mackintosh and hat at a later date, but I was told it was an old one, and there was no need. Oh, what bliss, as I hurried off down the street! I was alone in an area of town where I was unknown, and I had the whole day for adventures in my mackintosh!! I strode in the rain back to the location of the phone box, and as it temporarily eased and stopped, I encountered the same group of boys and girls, including the girl in the yellow mackintosh and the boy who had been pinning her down. I turned to him with a reckless challenge "If you want to fight someone in a mackintosh, don't fight a helpless girl, fight me!!" He needed no second bidding and as the girl put her hands over her face in horror, I went down on the wet pavement, with the boy on top of me, wrestling to save myself from a thrashing. We rolled over and over until we reached a verge of long grass at the edge of the road, where he straddled me and pinned my wrists. The skirts of my mackintosh lay crumpled in the grass, and I drew up my knees, with legs spread wide, in what I had come to regard as a gesture of submission. I lay there helpless for over half an hour, until my conquerer, having been reminded to go home for dinner, got up off me; most of the group walked off with him, but to my glee, the girl in the yellow mackintosh came over and helped me to my feet. "Are you hurt? It was wonderful of you to fight for me!"
"No, not really and I was glad to - you look so pretty in your mackintosh. Why was he fighting you?"
"I was his elder brother's girlfriend for a bit, and he was always jealous. He tried to force me to kiss him, and as I struggled I kicked him really hard, and he wrestled me down and sat on me. He said he wouldn't let me up unless I promised to kiss him. Fortunately I had my hood up because of the rain, so I stayed snug and dry on the ground. Then his mother came by and was furious with him. She boxed his ears and made him promise never to attack me again, so I'm safe now, but I'm just as grateful to you for fighting for me"! Then she asked if I wanted something to eat, because she intended to buy some chips. I had some money with me so we pooled it and bought a large bag of chips at a local chippy. Then Susan (that was her name) led me to a nearby backstreet where bomb damage had been commemorated by small open area with grass, paths, and flowerbeds, with a shelter in the centre. The rear alcove was invisible from the street, and we went there to eat our chips, just as the really heavy rain started; we knew that it was most unlikely that anyone else would join us. After finshing eating Susan turned to me and said, with a saucy gleam in her eye "Do you want to lie underneath or on top, and do you want my hood up or down?" Clearly I was in for a real adventure! "Underneath please, and your hood up". We lay down on the bench, and her hood on top of my rainhat cut off almost all the light. We kissed for some minutes, and then she broke off to ask "Do you know how to really kiss?"
"I don't think so"
"Open your mouth slightly"
I did and her tongue slid into my mouth; so it was, as we blissfully rustled our mackintoshes, that I learnt, at the tender age of nearly 13, how to snog! Also, I had recently myself began to "grow up", and I was so excited and aroused that the inevitable occurred in my pants as we wriggled happily together. We stayed there for 3 blissful hours unitl it all had to end. Susan told me that before the end of the next week, her father's employers were moving to another location a long way away, and her family were going as well. Thus we never again met, and I have only the wonderful memories!! I rode part of the way back home on the bus, picked up my bike where I had left it and cycled the rest of the way with the mac in my saddle bag. To my horror, my mother, who was always "poking around", found it a few days later and demanded an explanation. I explained about the "emergency" in which I'd found myself, due to getting my dates wrong. "Why didn't you tell me this? The coat must be returned"
"I didn't think it was important. Mrs ****** doesn't want it back." "Then it must be thrown away", and to my chagrin, it was.
Part 3 Age 13 - 19
At the end of the last part, I was about to start my 3rd year at grammar school, and had just lost the green mackintosh I had wangled out of my friend's mother. A few days before the start of term, I was listening, during the evening, and, so, in my pyjamas, to a radio programme on an extension set in my parents bedroom. My mother had just acquired what became, I think, her last rubberised mackintosh. It was pale green on outside, but the rubber backing was covered by a cloth lining - not really my sort of thing at all! However, thinking my mother was downstairs, I could not resist trying it on, and sitting in it to listen to the radio. "What on earth are you doing in my raincoat?!" came my mother's voice. Horror!! I was dumbstruck! "Were you cold?" Thank goodness - a way out! "Yes, I was. I'm sorry - it was the first coat I saw!" "Take it off!" She handed me my father's dressing gown instead. I'm sure, in fact, that she did not see my "attachment" to mackintoshes as what would in those days have been almost certainly called a perversion - she was a very pure and innocent person. I think she saw it as a failure to grow up. A day or so later we were due to go into town to buy, I expected, my first pair of long trousers for school, but when we got to the outfitters, to my horror, she asked for another pair of shorts; clearly I would have to wear them for the whole year! My protests where ignored, and not only did I have to accept them, but also wear them out of the shop! Worse (or, from one point of view, better(!)) was to come. I was marched into the ladies outerwear dept. of the towns biggest store; clearly my mother had "done a recce", because a darkish, but obviously not navy, blue mackintosh, with a pale blue rubber lining, was produced, plainly intended for a petite lady, but, thankfully, as it was double-breasted, it could be buttoned up the boys' way. It was, however, very long, and, like David's mac, nearly down to my ankles, with a very full skirt, and, unlike David's mac, with an ample rear pleat rather than a vent. With very mixed feelings, I rustled into what was clearly intended as my new school raincoat for the coming year, and probably several years after that! The mackintosh was purchased, and I was told to keep it on to go home.
I have already described, in general terms, in "Letters to the Press" - "Fights in my Mackintosh", what happened to me in the playground, and I won't repeat it, save to say that, with two exceptions, my numerous fights never led to much more than humiliating public pinnings-down. Those two exceptions have however lived with me like David's (and my) defeat in the leaves. Both were towards the end of the Easter term. The first was in the changing room of the old pavilion between the playground and the sports field. A taller, stronger boy was taunting me as we changed back into our uniforms. I was nearly fully dressed, and had on my mackintosh, and my satchell, but with the only the top buttons of my mackintosh done up. I rushed at him carrying my football boots as a weapon in one hand. He punched me in the stomach, and as I bent forward in reaction, he seized my head and clamped it under his arm. He grabbed the wrist of my hand holding the boots and dug his fingers into the tendons until I dropped the boots. Then he began punching and kneeing me; we had recently come across the Latin phrase "Vae tibi", meaning "Woe to you" and he shouted "Vae tibi, Mackintosh Boy!". Then, as I flailed at him rather feebly, he seized my mackintosh, and pulling it from under my satchell, pulled it up over my head so that it hung down to the floor between us; he did the same with my blazer. To protect myself as he again began kneeing me, I drew up my arms, folded, under my chest and stomach, and put my hands over my face to protect it. Then, as a sort of "comfort", I seized folds of my mackintosh and buried my face in them, revelling in the sweet musky odour, even as my beating continued. His raising knees collected my mackintosh as he drove them into me, with loud rustlings. Then, with a shout of "Down with you, Mackintosh Boy", he drove me backwards and down onto the muddy floor. I fell onto my satchell, and tipped over so that my knees, spread wide, came up onto my chest, under the folds of my mackintosh, which, inside out, now covered me. I felt his weight upon me, and a rain of punches followed, culminating in my head being pounded on the floor. Fortunately, the crumpled folds of my blazer beneath my head softened the impacts, but I may still have passed out briefly. As I "came to", I realised he had got up off me, because I heard him say "Leave him there - don't help him, the cissyish Mackintosh Boy!" I lay there under my mackintosh, until I could not hear any one moving about, and then I slowly pulled my mackintosh and blazer back, and, after trying to brush the mud and dirt off my pullover, blazer and mackintosh, did up the buttons and left school for home.
On the walk home, having missed my usual bus, I met Liz, the girl who, the following summer term was to wear the gorgeous stiff petticoats to which I refer in "Letters to the Press" - "Ups and downs of School Uniforms". I told her of my thrashing, and she was very sympathetic. In fact, she told me of an encounter, the previous summer before her family moved to our street, in which two boys from my school had tried to "rugby tackle" her while she was wearing her blue dress and stiff petticoats; she had fought them but ended up being pinned down. The thought of being a girl in a fight in such a gorgeous dress and petticoats fascinated me, but although I asked her to describe her feelings during her fight, she rather evaded answering, and, looking back, I can't help thinking she might have more excited at her defeat than would have been thought "seemly"; certainly she seemed to revel in her triumph over me in our playfight, when she smothered me in her pretty petticoats.
For several days after my thrashing, there were rumours round the school about "a serious fight in the pavilion", but I flatly denied the fight, and this following of "schoolboy's honour" definitely increased my standing with my own class, such that disparaging references by them to my mackintosh mostly stopped.
The second serious fight came at the start of the last week of term, at a lunchtime. Normally, the playground was patrolled by the prefects, but they were in a meeting to discuss some new disciplinary practices which the headmaster wished to adopt. The Deputy Head had drawn up a roster of teachers instead, but being, very rarely for him, off sick, this was not implemented. Thus, there was no supervision that lunchtime. My lunch sitting was the first of 3, so when I finished, there was still a hour or so before afternoon lessons began. I had just donned my mackintosh when I was seized by a group of boys and dragged to a part of the playground mainly hidden from the main buildings and where the tarmac surface was really broken up, rough and gravelly. There, I met a boy, younger than me, and shorter, but known to be a strong and rather vicious fighter. With many other boys watching - most of those not at lunch, in fact - he leapt on me and I fell to the ground, legs kicking out and with the skirts of my mackintosh flailing, with him on top of me. I realised that my ordeal would not be short-lived and I began to fight as hard as I could; normally there would have been shouts of "fight, fight, fight" but there was quiet among the large audience. Over and over we rolled in the gravel and dirt and I was getting a real beating, being underneath most of the time with my head clamped under my opponent's arm; however, I did manage to pull up his blazer, so that his shirt and vest were all there was to protect him from the gravel and rough ground; I was snugly protected in my mackintosh, which although single texture, was of quite a heavy cotton. His shirt however got badly torn. Periodically we lay still, drawing breath, and then carried on writhing, wrestling and punching; we fought for well over half-an-hour, and as my strength was giving out I began to fear the worst; this only however increased my level of arousal until just before the fight ended, I came to a climax. Then someone shouted "Here come the Pre's (prefects)" and he leapt up off me and was rushed into a nearby toilet to clean himself up - I think he borrowed a friend's pullover to cover up his torn shirt; I only needed to brush down my mackintosh. Once again there rumours about my fight, this time more widely as nearly half the school had watched it. I was summoned before the headmaster, but flatly refused to admit to any fight, let alone to identify the other boy - everyone knew "the mackintosh boy" was involved - even when threatened with the cane for fighting. I was in the end spared this, but, again, my upholding of "schoolboy's honour" gained me respect and the playground fights virtually stopped. It was during the following, summer, term, that I had my delicious fight with Liz, submitting to a pinning down under her gorgeous stiff petticoats, as described in "Ups and downs of school uniforms", and above.
At our school, the boys in the top two classes, who were expected to do well at A level, did a limited number of O levels after only 4 years. I was one, and the advancement to the 5th year added to my seniority. I was at last allowed to wear long trousers, and as I grew taller, my mackintosh looked less unusual. I had had my last fight! I went into the 6th form, did very well at A level, and then passed Oxford entrance to do law. In fact, as I was young for my year (birthday in mid-summer) I asked to go up the year after and thus had what would now be called a "gap year", except it was nearer 18 months! I stayed long enough to be made a prefect (good for the CV!), and took every chance when on playground duty to talk, in my mackintosh, to one of the young lady teachers at our atttached prep school, next door. She once complimented me on my mackintosh, and I fantasised frantically about being seduced by her - as usual, no luck! Nor, now, did you ever see a girl in a mackintosh. I did take on a couple of dates, a girl from the posh school with the heavy grey woollen flared uniform skirt, but of course, she never wore it out of school, and what she did wear was uninteresting to me; also, I found out she was part of a set to which a number of the rougher boys at my school belonged, including those who had sat on me, and I suspect she was no virgin, which mattered in those days! After leaving school, I did two jobs - the first, from that Easter until September as a labourer in the municipal park. I tried to "chat up" another girl from the same school, as I fell in love with her uniform of pale blue dress as she walked to her bus through where I was working, but although she was very happy to stop and chat, as I "drank in" her lovely dress, she told me she had a boyfriend away at university, so no luck there! I did, however have one arousing experience in the park; from some distance I saw a girl, probably in her mid-teens, and smartly dressed in a maroon and white pencil-skirt suit and heels, wrestled to the grass and pinned there by a boy. As she went down her legs kicked in the air, although restricted by her skirt, and as she lay there she drew up her knees in her skirt. After some time she was allowed up, and brushed grass from the back of her skirt. What is was about I don't know, but I have always wondered how she felt. Frankly, because of my "fight fetish" I longed to be her!!
After my park job, I went to a temporary job in the Legal Department of the local Town Hall, where, of course there were many women workers. Again I longed to find a girlfriend, but in vain. By now my beloved mackintosh had perished and been discarded. At least the experience of being the most junior member of a legal office meant that in future years, as a qualified lawyer, I tended to treat junior staff with rather more respect than many of my fellow professionals!
Part 4 Age 19 - 21
I ended my last "chapter" as a clerk in the local town hall, before going up to Oxford to read law. Even though my 18 months employment did not lead to any success with girls, it did give me funds - to buy a motor-bike; to have driving lessons (no-one in my immediate family had ever driven, let alone owned a car); to pass motorcycle and car tests (both first time, within 4 days!); then to buy my first car, very pleasing! For the first 2 terms, nothing of real mackintosh interest, except that in an army etc surplus store I found a fawn rubberised cotton cycle cape. It was a cheap one - no glued and taped seams - but I was able to cut the lower part off the front so that front and back were the same length, and unpick the front seam, to make a "3/4" length cloak.
Then, in the summer term, came perhaps my biggest "rubber revelation". Previously, and hard to believe, I genuinely believed that I was the only male (perhaps even in the whole world!) who loved rubber mackintoshes! Part of my terror at being exposed was that I feared I was "queer" (no euphemism like "gay" in those days!); my reasoning was "Only girls and women wear rubber mackintoshes. I want to wear them. Therefore I must want to be a girl, and my "watching" passion for pleated and flared skirts and flouncy summer dresses only strengthened this possibility. Therefore I must be homosexual." There are of course, as I have known, now, for a long time, any number of non-sequiturs in this reasoning, but as at 19 just out of school......? However, back to the narrative - I became a keen member of several student enthusiast clubs, and in one of them, I was invited to become an officer in my 2nd year, when no exams meant you had more time. I attended committee meetings the previous term, which usually took place in a flat shared by three of the senior students who ran the club. While waiting one time, I idly picked up a copy of "Penthouse" and began reading the letters. One instantly caught my eye, entitled "Getting a Man Down". It was a confession of a man of rather puny build, that he was turned on by being straddled and pinned down by a female - "My wife often does, clad only in bra and panties". He recalled how, at school, girls "sat on me triumphantly for hours" and how, later when an adult, while out on a walk with one of these girls, he had dared her to do it again, which, easily, she did, and "her knowing movements quickly bought me to a climax". He described how his wife's stronger friends often pinned him down, and how one of them, a lesbian police officer, had not only defeated him - "the strongest woman I ever fought!" - but then, with his wife's eager help had bound him helplessly hand and foot, and then confined him to the spare room, while she and his wife spent the night engaged in lesbian sex in the marital bed!! WOW, and twice WOW!!!
That, however, was just the start!! The next letter, clearly carrying on from ones in earlier issues, WAS FROM A MAN WHO LOVED SEEING GIRLS IN RUBBER MACKINTOSHES! Not only that, but the one after that was from one "A C Goddard" of Richmond, Surrey, WHO HAD A SHOP SELLING MACKINTOSHES TO THOSE ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THEM!!!! WOW, WOW and thrice WOW!! Not only was I not alone in my love of rubber, but there were enough of us that someone could make a living selling rubber garments. This was a real "road to Damascus" moment, and, like St. Paul, my life changed for ever!! I still, however, kept my fetish(es) to myself!
Later, during my summer vac, I had to do some revision and went to use the library of a new university being built near my home town. Although it still had only a few law books, it did have one set of law reports; also, I came across an obviously American book "Sexual Behavior(sic) and the Law", and I looked in it to see if there was anything on fetishes. There was one chapter, which I read, avidly. It quoted rubber raincoats as an example. It talked of the cause in terms of relationships with the maternal figure, and suggested a desire to submerge one's personality in the maternal figure. I didn't accept this at the time, but over the following years I thought deeply about the source of my fetishes. Also, I have read many comments on this conundrum, most recently, of course, of club members. I can only speak as a man, with a very powerful rubber fetish (so powerful, in fact, that even the word "mackintosh", if spoken, chanted, or written, can excite me intensely), and a possible fetish, of lesser power, for pleated skirts, and summer dresses over layers of stiff petticoats. I believe that a male may well acquire such a fetish at a very early stage of his life, perhaps the first months, weeks, or even days. They perhaps arise if and when a male baby fails satisfactorily to bond with his mother, such that he bonds with something else instead, either a material, such as rubberised fabrics, or an object, such as a mackintosh, skirt, or, often, shoes, worn by his mother. I cannot help wondering if those for whom the search for a bond is visual, become "watchers" and those whose search is by touch, become "wearers".
From what I have gleaned over the years, mainly from asides spoken by my late father, I clearly had a difficult bonding, if indeed, I had one at all! I would not feed at first. The reason was quite simple but not quickly recognised, until spotted, and cured, by an "old-time" semi-retired GP. In the meantime however, I recall being told, the hospital gave my mother drugs, perhaps experimental, supposedly to make her milk more palatable. All this did was give me a massive bout of infantile eczema, with which my mother had to deal in a way most painful to me - Dad said I "howled the house down" - and while nursing me she would almost certainly have had to protect her clothes, probably by a rubber apron, as the most commonly in use at that time. If any male baby had good reason not to bond, clearly I did, and, to be honest, I have never felt that I have had a properly loving relationship with my mother, even now when she's in a home, in her 90s!
This explanation might also apply to my "skirt/dress" fetish, if indeed that is what I have, as I was born in a July, but my problems may have lasted into the autumn/early winter.
I don't know how acceptable my speculations are, within modern psychiatry; they may rely too much on the ideas of Freud than is currently the norm. I would love to know however what a qualified psychiatrist makes of them. None of the above, of course, would seem relevant in the case of a female fetishist. All I can say is that Tony G, who should surely have known, reckoned there were 5,000 (if not more) males to every female! Was he correct?
Thus, returning to the analysis in the American text-book, whilst I do not accept it as it stands, I do feel that a fetish arises from a desire to bond with the mother, which, for some reason, fails to occur, so that an attachment forms to an object instead. Also, if the "submerging" is equated with "identifying with", for example, a girl in a mackintosh, or, in my case, a girl, or even another schoolboy, being defeated in a fight, then I detect some truth. The article also suggested that fetishists have very strong emotions, and that certainly applies to me, from anger, to compassion.
Returning to college next autumn, I began to notice small ads in the press for South Bucks Rainwear, and Sealwear Couture. I wrote for the catalogues, and ordered a "drizzle cape" from South Bucks; as it happened when it arrived I was disappointed to find it was pure rubber and not single texture, and returned it, saying, (laughably!) "my sister didn't like it"! Who did I think I was kidding!! I then however changed my mind, and re-ordered one, and a "full circle" poncho as well. From a Sealware sale I acquired my first mackintosh since my school days, in black single texture satin with male buttoning. On occasions, when meeting a girl at night in her own college, I would wear this mackintosh, and I would sometimes go out in my car late at night, and take a walk in a deserted spot wearing both capes.
Also, now that I had my own small collection of rubber clothes, I began to find ways of using them to give myself "the ultimate pleasure". I had, of course, enjoyed the sensation before, but only when the length of a fight or level of humiliation involved had aroused me. I will not go into detail about how I aroused myself, as that almost certainly breaks "school rules"!
I still enjoyed little success with girls, although I did spend one very happy hour or so in the back of my car with a secretarial college girl (a vicar's daughter!) who wore a black woollen cape, which was "in vogue" at the time; I did not have the nerve to wear one of my own capes to be with her. I tried to become her boyfriend, but my shyness hindered me, and the relationship did not last long.
What did last however, and how(!), was my devotion to Weather Vain, following my first visit en route to the Motor Show at Earl's Court - I was still so paranoid about exposure that I explained my visit to Richmond as being to park to use the underground for the rest of the journey. I remember walking past the shop two or three times before "plucking up the courage" to go in, but, when I did, what an "Aladdin's Cave"!! Tony was very good; not recognising me, he asked if it was my first visit, and when I said yes, he just left me to it. For nearly an hour I tried on a succession of of mackintoshes and capes, all, at that time, ladies', revelling in the sight, feel and odour of the rubber, and parading myself, and "twirling", in the mirrors. I could not, then, afford to buy any of them, sadly, but Tony, thankfully, seemed to understand! I left with profuse thanks and promised to return - that promise I kept, as I shall go on to describe in the next episode.
Part 5 Age 25 - 29
At the end of my last "chapter", I had, in my last year at Oxford, discovered the wonders of Weather Vain. I duly graduated and then went to Guildford to study for the solicitors' final exams, before embarking on articles of clerkship with a big firm in London. During the break between Oxford and Guildford, I met, by chance on a walk, a girl to whom I began to talk. We went out a few times, and I wore my mackintosh when with her; she noticed and commented on the detachable hood. Once I wore one of my capes over my mackintosh; also I tried to get her into a wrestling fight, so that she might pin me down, but she wasn't interested.
During my 6 months in Guildford, not a lot of "mackintoshing" occurred, although once when I asked my landlady, a cheerful maiden lady, if she could sew a button back on my black mackintosh, she said, to my pleasure, "This is a nice mackintosh" and that I should wear it more often, although I was still wary of doing so as an ordinary garment. Also, I acquired an SBR "stewardess" poncho from South Bucks.
I finished the course and took the exams. To be nearer work, I moved to digs in New Malden, where the wealthy householders employed a French housekeeper. Unlike many stories/fantasies in Weather Vain's magazine, however, she never seduced me, although there was one weekend evening, when the other 3/4 tenants were all out, that I felt I could have kissed her and been welcomed; shyness again!!
It must have been about this time that Valstar gangster macs began to appear, which of course enchanted me even though they were not my favourite single texture. Most of the girls I saw wearing them seemed to be married, or, like two girls I met at the local church, who wore them, to have steady boyfriends; I doubted however, that the women I saw were wearing them because of a partner's fetish. I did go out, again briefly, with a girl who wore a Valstar "Miss V" and we seemed to be getting on quite well. However, she then went on holiday, and when she got back, virtually ignored me. I assumed she had met someone else.
I had a longer, if more distant friendship later with an older girl, woman really, who lived in my home town, and who was wearing a pink Gangster when I met her on a train. We had several dates when I came on visits to my parents, but I don't recall her ever wearing her mac, although we did have a number of pleasant sessions on the back seat of my car. Also, she sometimes came on business to London, and, although this jumps forward several years, we once spent a long afternoon in my then flat, petting heavlly, although not "going the whole way" - she was of the pre-liberated generation. Looking back, I should probably have told her of my love of mackintoshes, and I doubt she would have been fazed by this.
There was also, a year or so later, a girl in the East London town hall where I practised for some time; she occasionally wore an off-white double texture mackintosh, calf length and double breasted. I took her out for a drink one lunchtime, but all my efforts to form a lasting relationship met a brick wall.
It must have been about this time that my mother, for some reason, bought me a Gannex. It certainly was not something I would have bought for myself, not only because of its "Harold Wilson" connections, but also it was far from my favourite style of single texture, although it did give off a faint rubbery odour. I can't remember what happened to it, which, perhaps, says it all!
Returning to my time in New Malden, I began to go regularly to WV on Saturdays, hoping, of course, in my naivete, that a girl would come in to buy a mackintosh, and I might then get to know her. No such luck, of course! I carried on my visits after my landlords sold up and I moved to Wandsworth Common, renting digs twice, then my own flat. Towards the end of my time in the 2nd digs, I bought what was, at that time at least, my most important item from WV; it was a mackintosh-cape, with a voluminous double thickness hood, of single-texture rubberised "nylon-cire", ankle length, and very full - I could lift up my arms inside it on both sides to the horizontal - which made it very (and blissfully!) heavy on me. The cape had been made for a special order, but the man who ordered it had not come and collected it, after 3 months; after I had tried it on several times I could resist it no longer and bought it. Thus, like the girl in the Barbara Mackintosh story, I acquired my "rubber genie"! I also bought a pair of long, "directoire style" gold (!) satin underpants!!
I hung the cape on the back of the door to my room, and, rather as I had intended, my landlady asked what it was - I told her it was a "walking cape"! My landlady was, perhaps, in her middle 40s, and single, although she styled herself "Mrs"; she had a pleasant face and was quite slim, and was generally an outgoing character. Once, she went out shopping and it began to rain heavily. Thinking she had no umbrella, I put on my black mackintosh, and an SBR peaked cap , and went out carrying my umbrella. When we met, I saw she had one, but she was still grateful for my kind thought. Later she took several pictures of me, which I still have, in my mackintosh, and, also, in my mackintosh and fawn cape. On one occasion, on my way through London to go to my parents for a break, I gave her a lift into the West End, and, as she got out of the car, she said "Don't be away too long - I shall miss you". Was there a hint of a sexual invitation there? I didn't know; if I made an advance which was unwanted and could have given great offence, I would then almost certainly have to move out, and so, yet again, I did nothing.
However, at the time, one of my favourite stories in WV's magazine was of a lodger, who manages to put himself in bondage in a cape, with his wrists handcuffed behind him, the keys to which he has tied to the strap round his ankles so that he could release himself. His middle-aged landlady is described as "after anything in trousers"! One evening she enters his locked room, using her pass-key, and finds him at her mercy; revelling in her good luck, and in her power over him, she takes possession of the keys, dresses herself in one of his collection of mackintoshes, and then straddles him, sits astride him and "takes her pleasure of him". Helpless, he has no choice but to "return her love". Then, finding the rest of the house empty, she smothers him in the mackintosh and drags him off by his feet down to her flat in the basement, to keep him as her perpetual prisoner and source of pleasure.
Oh how I wished, and, indeed wish (!), this could happen to me, and I longed to be so captured in my new cape by my Landlady. Hence, I hoped she would demand that I put it on to show it to her, and in my excitement, I might just have hinted at my own feelings, but she did not ask. Then her family required her to accomodate a nephew who had to re-locate to London, and she had to ask me to leave. I went into a very expensive (to me) flat just round the corner, but then moved to a smaller one, a studio flat, in a big house in Wimbledon Park. My flat was one of only two on a side staircase (servants' quarters, perhaps?), the door to which opened onto a secluded part of the large front garden and onto a separate narrow driveway rather than the main drive to the front of house. Also, the other flat was rented by someone who worked abroad, and needed it only as an emergency pied-a-terre in the UK. In fact, the only time I met him was when he vacated it after about I'd been there about 18 months. As a result, I realised that I could, in the small hours of the morning, go for a walk, naked in my cape, with, of course, my hood well up and forward. I had to pluck up the nerve, but, when I did, the pleasure was indescribable. The houses in the road were all large and set back, and only a few cars passed me at that time of night. I found an opening onto a nearby golf course, and I could wander there for hours.
As it happens, the first time I thought of going out for a "capewalk", I could not pluck up the nerve, and stood in my porch for 5-10 minutes before going back up to my flat. As I entered the hall (previously the landing of that floor), I saw myself silhouetted by the moonlight in the mirror on a large old wardrobe. Ever since my encounter with the tentboy, I had longed to have a "stiff pointed yellow rubberised tent" and to bow repeatedly in it, to a girl in a mackintosh (of course!). In my cape, with the hood up, I realised I seemed to be in a pointed tent, and my fantasy took control of me; I bowed to my own image, over and over again, until, exhausted, I dropped to the floor, lay face down with my hood crumpled over my face, and made certain movements until the inevitable occurred. I then got up, removed and cleaned my cape and fell into bed, where I slept till about 10am that morning. Now, I had my tent, knew how to "tentbow" and all I needed was the mackintoshed lady of my dreams. She, however did not appear until nearly 10 years later, as I go on to relate in Pt 6!!
At this time, my usual holiday was to drive to and round the highlands of Scotland, enjoying the glorious scenery; I took my cape with me and, if I found a walk in an isolated area, I could walk in my cape.
This period was probably the high point of my life so far in mackintoshes. By now, I had qualified, and of course my income rose substantially; I was able to afford more of WV's wonderful garments. I acquired a 2nd cape, of red satin backed with black rubber, in which, with hood up, I once, late at night, went for a drive in my car, and a walk along a country path - I was so excited, I waved to other drivers, who may well have thought me a "girl looking for a good time"! Also, WV now stocked mackintoshes with mens' buttoning, in royal blue, and I acquired one, along with some blue rubberised nylon trousers, intended I think as golfing overtrousers.
After 2 years of renting that flat, I bought my first on mortgage, in a modern block, in Kingston; I had 2 or 3 "cape walks" there, but the way out to the road was much more public and visible, and so I had to confine myself to "living in" my cape in the flat during the evenings. However, I usually got very excited, very quickly, with the consequences that can be easily imagined, after which the excitement passed and I took it off.
By now, although I had still not succeeded in finding a girlfriend, I was enjoying a full social life with a small but close-knit circle of friends, mostly Oxford graduates like me, with whom I shared a variety of "normal" enthusiasms. I admitted my fetish - although perhaps not the full extent of its hold over me - and no-one "turned a hair". I suppose I should have expected that from close friends, but it was still to my great relief.
Then, in November 1976, another major "mackintosh milestone" occurred. I remember the date well, because it was when I bought my first "ordinary" mackintosh - that is, one from an ordinary shop, not WV, and apart from my school mackintosh. By now I was working in a small legal section of a large company. Opposite our office was a "male boutique" (you couldn't really call it a mens' tailers), called "Take 6". One day, as I passed, I saw in the window a RUBBER MACKINTOSH!!! It was fawn, knee length, and with epaulette and wrist straps. I could not resist it! I went in and tried one on; another man, slightly older, joined me and the story he told me had me really excited! He was having an affair with his secretary, who, unlike his wife, tolerated his fetish, indeed said she liked the odour of rubber from her days wearing a mackintosh at primary school, where she had loved the protection it gave from the weather. They played a game. He would call her into his office and stand behind the door holding his mackintosh. When she entered he would throw it over her head, smother her in it and hold her to him while they enjoyed a "play-struggle". Sometimes they would fall to the floor; often he would get under the mackintosh as well for a passionate snog. If it was late, after normal working hours, they might well make love. However, the day before our meeting in "Take 6", disaster! He had called in his secretary, but, as she was about to leave her office, she had to take a phone call! When therefore a female entered his office, it was not her, but the tea lady with his morning tray of coffee (he was fairly senior in the company)!! Swish, clasp, SCREAM!! As she put her hands up to protect herself the coffee went everywhere, including all over his mackintosh, ruining it. Fortunately, with his secretary's help, he was able to pacify her, and persuade her to keep the secret of their "game", in return for a healthy bribe! It also meant, of course, having to buy a new mackintosh!! How I envied him, although in some ways I also envied his secretary - how, I wondered, did she feel as the mackintosh smothered her? I would have loved to have known.
From this time on, my "life in mackintosh" became more an interweaving of seperate strands, rather than a series of chronological events, to which I will turn in the next episode.
Part 6
As I explained at the end of the last episode, from the time when I bought my first "ordinary" mackintosh for daily wear, my "Life in Mackintosh" tended to become rather an interweaving of strands, than a chronological series of events.
"Rubber Relationships"
The most important of these, of course, was my marriage, a few years after I bought my first "office" mackintosh, although, in fact, as things ended up, it became not really a "rubber relationship" at all! I met the lady who was to become my wife, at a company "do". From the first I was open about my fetish, at least as to my enjoyment from seeing girls in mackintoshes, and wearing my own as a normal garment. My wife was in no way fazed - she tended to think, as many strong-willed women do, that all men are, in some way, odd, and, perhaps, rather to be pitied!!!
We were engaged quite quickly, although in the end it was about a year after we met when we actually married. From the outset my fiancée was prepared to indulge me in my "mackintoshing" habits, wearing my red cape to go with me in my blue one, and as a present for her first birthday after we met she accepted a fawn mackintosh from WV - she wore it quite a number of times to the office, and the girls in her team all praised it and asked where they could get one!!
However, as our time together went on the most astonishing (to me) thing happened. As we got to know each other better, and share our lives together, I found not just that I didn't need to indulge my fetishes, fully to love her - I did so without them - but I actually began to feel that I didn't want to involve her! I wonder if the shame/guilt complex associated with my fetishes meant that I did not want to "spoil" our relationship, or the "ordinary" love and affection which I felt, and still feel, for my wife? Perhaps, the striving to "identify" with someone in rubber is diminished or ruled out when the person is your own spouse - it is also odd, to me, that I feel nothing when my wife wears a calf-length pleated skirt, which when worn by any other woman, especially a pretty one, would have me in ecstasies. Is it "too circular" to try and identify with someone so close to one? Is this aspect of my fetish peculiar to "wearers", as opposed to "watchers"? I know that when I am dressed only in my beloved pure-rubber cape and hood, together with my newly fashioned "smother" face-mask hood, I feel as though I am not really a person any more, but more of a "rubber-mackintosh-thing", a total slave to my "rubber-genie" as described by Barbara Mackintosh.
I don't understand this, and I don't know if any other club member can help me? Don't get me wrong; I am not worried about it, because our marriage has been a loving one, with its ups and downs as you would expect, for the past 30 years; there must be some sound foundation to it!! I feel that, as long as I take care not to have the true, enormous depth of my feelings for rubber exposed, I am very happy with the status quo, especially now that I have discovered the wonders and pleasures of the website.
My second "rubber mackintosh relationship" was nothing else but!! It began some 3 years or so after our marriage. I had to appear at an inquest, held not far from where we live, into the death of an elderly man who had been struck by one of my employer's vehicles. Representing the family was a tall, slim, stunningly pretty lady barrister, who, in accordance with the unwritten dress code for lady barristers at the time was wearing a gorgeous "just below the knee", black, heavy flared skirt; it had a double sewn hem, just like a schoolgirl's skirt, and looked in fact, like a black version of the grey "posh school" skirt I had adored as a boy. I fell in love at once!! I shall call her simply LB, because even her Christian name on its own might enable her to be identified, against the background of the later events I must relate, in order to describe the course of our professional and personal relationship. Without going into details, the inquest ended amicably, because the cause of death was underlying ill health related to alcoholism, and not, directly, the accident injuries at all. Thus I was able to invite LB to lunch at a nearby pub I knew, and we then went for a walk in a nearby park. I had, at the time, considerable freedom in the way I conducted my practice for my employer, and I was able to decide to instruct (i.e. consult or engage) LB in relation to all my insurance-type claims work. My employer's business had a heavy technical, even scientific, aspect to it, and I justified the instructing of her, by saying that a woman barrister would not be afraid to ask even elementary questions, which a man might not. I also justified my choice of her by saying that, at that time, there were far fewer women at the bar, and to succeed they did have to be better than a man; this meant, to take a purely mercenary view, that I could "buy" better ability and experience for a lower level of fees. I quickly arranged to take her to lunch near her Chambers in the Temple and told her clerk I would be sending her work. At that lunch I was able to introduce my fetish into the conversation, and LB was not only not fazed, but she actually seemed fascinated by it. I gathered she had had, and was still having, a somewhat "bohemian" lifestyle; she had been at a girls' grammar school that was both famous for academic success and notorious for the independance of mind and feistiness of the pupils! LB seemed to have
experimented far more than I ever would have in her experiences in life, and to have been far more active sexually than I had. She had met someone who had a shoe fetish, and had hundreds of women's shoes on shelves round his bedroom, and she also told me how one night she had had her shoes stolen by a shoe fetishist who later appeared in court! She was clearly capable of taking my mackintosh fetish and its associated fantasy rituals in her stride. I also told her of my longing to be defeated in a fight, straddled, pinned down and humiliated, especially by a beautiful girl like her, and, to my delight, she seemed more interested in my fantasies, than repelled by them.
One night shortly after I had thus opened my heart to her, she featured in a dream of mine. I dreamt that I had had to take a tent - a normal canvas camping one with poles and guyropes etc - to the coast of Essex. I met her there - in my dream she was my girlfriend - and pitched the tent in a field. A "hells-angel" type character appeared in the tent, and LB was forced to bend down and go into the tent, wearing her lovely black skirt, to submit to him in a manner which totally humiliated her, and me, as I watched as her helpless boyfriend; the sidewall of the tent was partly tied up, and I could see in as she lay down, drawing up her legs in her skirt to offer herself to him. I told LB of this dream, and I do think it rather intrigued her; she asked, knowing that strange things excited me, if there was any significance in a tent. I said yes, but not that sort of tent, and I proceeded to tell her the whole story of the tentboy, his tent, and the "tentbows" he had performed; she again seemed intrigued, and when I went on to say, excitedly "If only I had a stiff pointed yellow rubberised tent, I would stand in it before you and give you many tentbows!!", she smiled and said "We shall see; perhaps you can"!
Several weeks after this we were able to co-ordinate our work diaries so as to be able to meet early in an afternoon at her little terraced house in N London - she was living there alone at the time. The idea was that both she and I could say, she to her clerk and me to my office, that it was not worth going back to chambers/office after an earlier court appointment, and I could arrive home a bit later as a result of being delayed at court. It was the first of quite a few such meetings over the next few years. We came, for reasons that will appear, to call these trysts "tentings". The first time LB pinned me down, she said "You are my prisoner, mackintosh man!", and I replied, remembering my numerous playground defeats, "I'd rather be your "mackintosh-boy" , or "TENT-BOY""! Thus she always called me that. All our sessions were different, so I shall merely describe a typical one.
When we entered her house I would put on rubber from head to toe - my long rubberised satin knickers, my rubberised trousers tucked into rubber riding boots, my blue WV mackintosh as a shirt or tunic (or, even, dress!), then my "office" mackintosh, and, finally, my long, voluminous, blue mackintosh cape; LB would usually wear my long red rubberised satin cape, which looked utterly fabulous over her lady barrister's black skirts - she had a pleated one as well as her flared "schoolgirl" one, and, later a calf-length flared cotton one like a summer- or "prom"- dress (bliss).
We might begin with a glass of wine and then she would stand in front of me with the cape held out away from her body. "You will kiss my skirt, tent-boy!" she would say; I would kneel at her feet, put my hands out through the arm-slits of my cape, gently take hold of the hem of her skirt, and bring it to my lips. By now, I was in a sort of trance, practically mindless, and I kissed her skirt over and over again, while she slowly pirouetted before me, draping her cape over me. When I had kissed the hem of her skirt all the way round, I would straighten my back and bury my face in her skirt at thigh level, at which she would wrap me tightly in her cape and hold my head to her.
After a time she would say "Time for tent-bows", remove the cape and put it over me with the collar resting on the top of my hooded head and, after I had stood up, do up the press-stud fastenings, often down my back; the increasing feeling of restriction aroused me. By this stage, even if not before, I was truly mindless and in the grip of mackintosh. Over and over again I would throw myself down in a bow, legs bent and spread, my body horizontal pointing at her. Eventually, exhausted, and sometimes hardly able to breath in my "tent", I would sink to my knees. Removing the red cape and putting it on again, LB would push me over so that I lay helpless on my back, and then straddled and sat astride me, with my arms trapped inside my blue cape, pinning me down as if I were defeated and humiliated in a fight. I could not of course resist, nor wanted to, and we would remain like that for as much as a whole hour, while she teased me and revelled in her triumph over me. Sometimes she would offer the hem of her skirt to my lips inside my hood for further kisses; sometimes she would bend forward just far enough to brush my lips with a kiss, mainly to tantalise me; sometimes she would cross her arms and lean on my chest, smiling triumphantly down into my hood, rather as, in "Batman Returns", Catwoman does to Batman in the scene on the roof - my favourite, of course, in the whole film!
Our "tentings" continued, about every 2-3 months, for a couple of years; I got into the habit of leaving my rubber clothes in a wardrobe in her spare bedroom. Fortunately no-one else found them there although once, when we both forgot to put them away, they were still on the bed when LB's local cleaner came in to clean - we enjoyed sharing rather excited speculation as to what she would have thought! Another issue which excited us was the fact that all the rest of her chambers (that's the barristers who share the same address) were convinced we were having an affair - an "ordinary" one that is; little did they (fortunately!) know!!
After a year or so, LB accepted a proposal of marriage from another (wealthy!) lawyer. I had, of course, to remove my mackinoshes very quickly from her house, but our "tentings" continued even after the marriage, because she continued to practice, and I could visit her for consultations on my cases at their home; we "tented" on a landing where we could not be seen from outside the house. Once, when builders were in, we went for a walk on a nearby common, but were restricted to a lengthy, and delicious, pinning down.
Then they moved well out of London and LB ceased practice. Before they left, my wife and I invited them for Sunday lunch. To my surprise, my wife liked her a lot, but couldn't stand him - she thought him boring and self-centred!! It should have been the other way round!! In any event, that was my last contact with LB for several years (apart from family Christmas cards!). I then left my job at employer A, in rather fraught circumstances, into which I'd rather not go in detail, but which, if I was to turn to my wife for her sympathy and support, obliged me in my own mind, to confess to her the "rubber-romps" with LB. At least I could say, and, unlike Bill Clinton, truthfully, that I had not been unfaithful. To my relief, and gratitude, I got that support, and my wife forgave me my "straying" - in some ways she was, I think, relieved that I was assuaging my fetish without involving her, and with someone she liked, and who could be trusted to be discrete, and not "kiss and tell".
I quickly got another job, this time with a company where virtually all my practice was court work, covering most of south-east England. Shortly thereafter LB and her husband moved back nearer to London, and invited us for Sunday lunch; my wife's assessment of each of them, and her like/dislike, was confirmed!! I told LB of my job change, and that my wife now knew of our romps, but had not been troubled by our relationship. What this second move by LB meant was that she was now quite close to one of the courts I attended regularly, so that there was a chance I could meet her while in the vicinity.
Then came the bombshell! I was looking after our children at home one evening while my wife was out, when LB phoned. She and her husband were divorcing - my wife was not surprised when I told her, as she had never understood what she had seen in him! LB needed to return to practising law, and would I act as a referee and sponsor? I did, of course, and she began to work for a firm in a town near to where she now lived. Now I could meet her when at court in the area, and although we could not re-live the full "tentings" of the past, I could still get immense pleasure from just being with her again, perhaps for lunch, in my "office mackintosh". If I went by car, I could use a secluded place I found to dress up in my all-rubber outfit, apart, of course, from the voluminous cape! The pub we would usually use for lunch was mostly used by visitors to the town, and was sufficently "anonymous", that my odd clothes were, if noticed, not likely to lead to trouble! In winter I would tuck my rubberised trousers into my riding boots under my mackintosh, and in summer I would wear shorts under my mackintosh, once again savouring the caress of the rubber lining on my bare legs. Usually, after lunch, we would go for a walk and there were the odd more secluded spots where she could pin me down; once, she attacked me by surprise (twice!) and caused my legs and mackintosh to kick out and fly up into the air, just as had happened to David and to me in our fights in the leaves.
I always told my wife that I was to meet LB, and her main concern was that I obtain all LB's latest gossip - my wife found LB's character and activities rather fascinating!! Consequently, when I ceased practice, I was still able to travel over to see her, and, after getting my senior railcard, I could go by train, which was less effort than driving; I would take a selection of rubberised items with me. The latest time we went for a walk at a new place. I wore my latest mackintosh over shorts and LB wore my "preserved" fawn mackintosh. I took with us my old black mackintosh; it was a day of squally showers, and we sheltered under the black mackintosh, frequently stopping for long passionate kisses with the mackintosh smothering us (bliss!!). We reached a secluded spot and she pinned me down and lay on top of me for over a hour. We talked, kissed, and periodically she would smother me in the black mackintosh until I could no longer breath and had to beg to be released. It is about time that I visited her again, so this strand of my life in mackintosh is still, hopefully, an active one!
My only other rubber relationship was with a lady expert witness, who we instructed to help us prepare one particular aspect of our cases - I shall call her EW. From the first time we met we flirted with each other and clearly we both enjoyed ourselves, although she did have a long term lover. She, like LB, was, if anything, intrigued by my fetish. A chain of events occurred - too complicated to describe in full - whereby I found myself able to pay her a fee, lawfully recovered from another party, when the accounts of her practice showed the fee had been waived. I suggested she pay it into a seperate account, and she could spend half of it buying me a new mackintosh!! We both admitted to a sense of daring and excitement at these manoeuvres, and she was delighted to buy me my mackintosh; it was the first of the two for which I went back to WV. We bought it together, but, although he tried, the new owner of WV was unable to persuade EW to buy one for herself!! It was, however, the only occasion when I was allowed passionately to snog with her, to celebrate the purchase. I told my wife how I had been able to acquire this mackintosh, at hardly any cost, and, again, she did not mind. Subsequently, I bought a matching black sou'wester style rain hat by mail order, and EW agreed I could have it delivered to her office; her PA opened it by mistake (!), but luckily was very discrete!!
Since ceasing practice, I have never had the occasion to meet EW again, so this chapter of my mackintosh life has come to a close, as does this chapter of my submission, and I now move on to Pt 7.
Part 7
Having dealt with my "rubber relationships" in Pt 6, I turn now to the other strands of my life in mackintosh.
"Office" Mackintoshes
From the day in November 1976, when I bought the "Take 6" fawn mackintosh, until I ceased practising nearly 30 years later, I wore to work from autumn through to early summer, and even in summer in heavy rain, one of a series of "office mackintoshes", that one being the first. It was followed by another from Take 6, but in black: a fawn one from Reiss (both of these were knee-length): then a series of mid-calf double-breasted mackintoshes (which I could button "the men's way") from Mulberry, the maker/retailer of luxury leather goods; one was fawn, one white, and one black. I also bought a single-texture brown riding-style jacket with a grey rubber lining that I wore often as "ordinary" casual wear; then a calf-length, beltless black mackintosh from Liberty - this was a single breasted ladies' one but the covered buttons made this less obvious; and then, finally, I "came home" and bought a series of two, both in black, from WV. The later of these I still have, for ordinary wear. As will have been noted from the story of my relationship with LB, I have "preserved" several of the earlier mackintoshes, which I keep in an old suitcase in the boot of my car, neatly folded in plastic bags, where they do not deteriorate from exposure to the air; I have read with interest the posted letters about how rubber mackintoshes can stiffen and perish, but, perhaps, be restored.
Mackintoshes I have Met
I have already described my reactions to the Valstar Gangster and Miss V macks I saw in the early 70s. They seemed to be something of a passing phase. Most of my subsequent sightings, however, were if anything more exciting because they seemed mostly to be of my favourite single-texture mackintoshes.
The earliest which I recall must have been between 1975 and 1977, when my office was in central London - it may have been before I acquired my first fawn office mackintosh. As a worker in the local borough, I was entitled to use their public library, which I did on a regular basis, for books to read while commuting on the underground. One lunchtime I went in and saw, to my delight and amazement, a young woman sitting on one of the low window-sill type seats under one of the windows - she sat on a fawn mackintosh which was spread out on the seat either side of her. I couldn't help myself. I sat down on the same seat, but as far away as I could, so as not to appear threatening. I had grabbed a book, which I appeared to be reading avidly, but my eyes were glued to the lining of her mackintosh. She seemed to be taking notes from the book she was reading, and I assumed she was a student. After about 5 minutes, she put aside the book and put her papers in a shoulder bag. Then she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her mackintosh, stood up, swept her hair back outside the collar, and shook the mackintosh so it hung straight down; it rustled, and I nearly died!! As she walked to the exit, I followed at a discrete distance, and I suppose I thought of approaching her outside, and engaging her in conversation - I was, after all, unattached at the time. However, she had to stop at the counter, and, as I couldn't discretely stop to wait for her, I left, with much regret.
My next encounter was in the High Court in London; my office had, I think, moved by then out of London itself, and I am sure I was in one of my earlier office mackintoshes. I saw, waiting outside what is known as the Judge's Chambers, a young woman in a gorgeous white trench-coat-style single-texture mackintosh, unbuttoned. She had what were clearly files under her arm and was accompanying a barrister; obviously she was a solicitor's clerk. I sat down on a bench where I could see her clearly, and pretended to read papers of my own; as ever, I wondered if I might be able to arrange things so I could engage her in conversation, but, sadly, not. Her barrister, seeing me sitting there came over and asked if I had a case before the Judge? I said no - I was waiting for someone. I added they were late, and if they didn't come soon, I would give up waiting. After a few more minutes, when they had not gone in, I looked at my watch, and left. This episode had a sequel; a few days later, I was crossing Lincoln's Inn Fields, when I met what at first I thought was the same girl in her mackintosh. It wasn't, but by coincidence it was a young lady solicitor with whom I was engaged on a case, wearing an off-white double texture mackintosh! We began to talk, and I boldly asked if she wore it because of the wishes of the man in her life? She clearly knew what I meant, but said no. She had bought it in a riding shop and liked riding clothes - as I knew she was politically very left-wing, I have to admit that surprised me. She complemented me on my mackintosh, and asked where I'd bought it. I asked if she had time for a coffee or quick drink, but sadly she didn't. Some months later, after the case had settled and we were sorting out the costs before a "Master" (a sort of "junior" judge), she appeared wearing a grey single-texture mackintosh with a black rubber lining, but, as she was with the costs clerk from her firm, no chance, again, of a private chat. As it happened, I did meet her again some 10 years or so later, on a case for my new employers; she had divorced her husband from the time of our earlier meetings, but now had a child with a new partner. By now, I had long since met LB, and felt no compulsion to try and start a "mackintoshed" relationship.
The story of the next mackintosh I encountered, began when I saw the white riding mackintosh from Aquascutum in one of my wife's women's magazines. It was, I think, the mid-90s and I was working in central London. I therefore was able to go along to Aquascutum in Regent Street one lunchtime. I found my way to the ladies' coats etc department, and, to my delight, was approached by a very pretty, slim, young assistant, who wore a uniform of dark blue blouse, dark blue pullover and "just below the knee" length, dark blue, box-pleated skirt. She looked lovely. I asked about the mackintosh I had seen in the magazine, and she led me to a quiet corner of the department, and showed me the mackintosh as in the photo, but, even better, in yellow, indeed, virtually the same yellow as the tentboy's tent from my childhood. She turned to me "Is it for yourself?"
"Yes."
She helped me into it. "It has lady's buttoning, does that matter?"
"No, not at all" and I couldn't help adding "That makes it, if anything, nicer! The colour is just that of a stiff rubber play tent I loved to stand in as a small boy" (something of an exaggeration, of course). I twirled in front of a mirror, and "drank in" the image of myself so happily mackintoshed; we talked and I found out she was a recent graduate seeking a career in retailing. I nearly bought it, but the fact that it was so feminine a mackintosh in my eyes held me back - the old guilt complex rearing its ugly head again! I said I had to think about it, and after she had taken the mackintosh from me and re-hung it on the rail, I thanked her profusely for her assistance and left. However, I could not just leave things there, and a few days later I just had to go back. This time, I had to look for the same assistant, and I found her standing in a small group, being addressed by a senior staff member - some sort of training perhaps. I caught her eye, and she left the group and came over to me.
"Would you like to try on the yellow mackintosh again?"
"Oh, yes, please".
Again she helped me into it. I again flaunted myself in it, and we talked. I found out she had a boyfriend (I'd have been staggered if she hadn't!). Again I longed to buy the mackintosh, but something still held me back, and once more with profuse thanks, I took it off and left. I still couldn't stay away and went back again for third time. This time everything was different. The rack containing the mackintoshes had been moved to a main aisle, right opposite the pay-desk. Although I found the same assistant, and she again helped me into the mackintosh, she then said she had to see someone and almost immediately she returned, an old "haridan" of an assistant came over close to us, and, although she never looked at me, I could almost see her ears twitching to overhear any conversation I might make. Looking back afterwards, I reasoned that after my second visit the assistnat could have been questioned about me, and perhaps I had been marked down as somehow undesirable because of my interest in a ladies' mackintosh. In any case, I took the message and fled, never to return!!
The remaining encounters I recall, were much briefer. One night on a bus crossing Waterloo Bridge to catch my commuter train, I saw a girl in what I was sure was a rubber mackintosh, walking over the bridge. Once off the bus at the station, I hurried to the concourse by the big main entrance - I had some time to wait for my train. She appeared, and clearly in a rubber mackintosh - black, unbelted, with a long rear pleat running down from the collar and a short "cape" over each shoulder. I think this is called a "coachman" style. She went onto the platform for my train!! I got on after her, but could not reasonably take a seat next to, or opposite her; I sat on the other side of the carriage. Sadly she took off her mackintosh, and folded it to put on the luggage rack; also, she had not got off by the time we reached my station, so I had to leave her there. I obviously looked for her in the following days, but never saw her again, at least, not in her gorgeous mackintosh!!
The next encounter was in a lunchtime near my office. I saw her first, walking the other way, talking to what I took to be a work colleague; I had to "walk on by"! She wore a lower-calf length dark blue single texture mackintosh in what I would call an "exaggerated trench mack" style; the "gun-flap" was large, full, and hung down to the waist, the rear "cape" was slashed at an angle, and there was a long rear vent, rather than a pleat. She wore it opened and unbuttoned. I could not get her out of my mind, so, about 30 mins later, I went out to see if I could see her again; there she was walking in front of me in the direction of my office!! I followed, caught up with her and, screwing up my nerve, asked her if she would mind telling me where she had bought her mackintosh. "At a shop in Winchester" she replied in a neutral tone; my "courage" evaporated, and with a brisk "Thank you", I hurried on so as not to appear in any way threatening. However, I just had to follow this up, and obtained from "Yellow Pages" a list of ladies' boutiques in Winchester. I rang each one in turn and eventually one of them thought they recognised my description of the mackintosh as having been sold by them, and I was told it was made by "Mandy Marsh" of Manchester. Some months later I happened to be in court nearby and visited the shop, but they no longer stocked it. So all I have is the memory!
The third mackintosh I especially remember was also in a lunchtime near my office - a lady in a long "maxi" length grey mackintosh, which had "panels" of different colours. The long rear pleat was red, the collar, I think, blue and the shoulder epaulettes and wrist straps yellow. She seemed to be shopping for something and went in a men's shop. I followed and approached her to ask where she had bought her mackintosh. She said in a riding shop in Cirencester, In fact, I seemed to recall that might have been where the lady solicitor said she got hers. The "lady in grey" did not seem to mind my approach, but she was clearly in a hurry, and I had to let her leave me.
Most of my encounters at this time were also at lunch-time. One began on a bus I boarded to go to Oxford Street. At the next stop a girl got on wearing a long fawn single-texture mackintosh. The bus was quite full and both of us stood at first, but after another stop we were able to sit down. I asked if she minded telling me where she had bought her mackintosh? She told me at Joseph Tricot, a shop near Bond Street. We talked further and she told me she was about to go to Australia for 6 months; I tried to nerve myself to ask her to contact me on her return, but I was afraid to.
Once I saw a girl in a black single-texture mackintosh with a brown cord collar, walking along High
Holborn. She went down the steps of the tube station. She did not, as I expected, go through the barrier but stood near it, clearly waiting for someone; I dare not do the same lest I be conspicuous, so I went on and waited at a bus stop. She did re-appear, with a companion, but on the original side of the road.
Another encounter in High Holborn concerned a tall girl in a red "Drizabone" style "drover's" mack, that I was sure was double-texture rubber. I asked if it was and she said yes. I ascertained she was from New Zealand - without making making the common faux-pas of assuming she was from Australia. Again, I imagine I would have thought of asking her, say, if I could buy her a coffee or a drink, but I don't think I did, perhaps thinking that she might have been less tolerant of someone fascinated by her mack, although to judge by the "Rubber and Rope" website, there seem to be lots of Antipodean "impermeaphiles".
There have been in addition a number of more fleeting encounters with ladies in mackintoshes, but nothing of extraordinary interest.
The Present Time
This really brings me up to date and to the end of my "impermeabiography" (how about that for a made-up word!!). I now, Lorraine, have your wonderful website to entertain me, and my cape and hood to revel in whilst I look at it. The cape is royal blue, ankle length, and made from pure rubber sheet, with a voluminous hood. I actually still prefer single-texture to rubber sheet, but the rubber sheet seems to be much more hard wearing and not prone to perishing. Apart from the cape-hood, I also wear a smothering, "face-mask" hood, made from an old mail-order rain-hood, to which I have added eye-slits.
I hope to visit LB for more romps in the coming spring or summer.
Crinckly-Mack.
THE END
SHOP | CLUB FOYER | CHILLOUT ROOM | ASK LORRAINE
