Fetish Stories: The Paranoid and the PVC

The girl I've been dating finally invited me to her apartment tonight after three rounds of shots and arguing over whose apartment we'd be spending the night at. She's a nice girl, and both her perfect 10 body and quick wit keep me entertained. I felt like maybe she could be the one.

I'm a little weird about relationships, though, and I have to find out everything about the girl before I can commit myself. Everything within means, anyway, which usually includes me snooping around her apartment when she's otherwise occupied. I know, it's a deplorable thing of me to do, but it's a compulsion. I just have to know.

We stumbled into her apartment at around three o'clock and she instantly took control. She practically pushed me into the bedroom and immediately got to work. Fantastic isn't a strong enough word to describe that wild bout; she knew what she wanted and she knew exactly how to get it. Two hours later I was exhausted and almost at a loss for words. She had almost literally worn me out, but I wasn't about to let that stop my insecurities.

She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower. I knew it was my chance, I felt it in every little obsessive bone in my body. I pulled my boxers back on and cautiously made my way to the kitchen to begin reconnaissance. First I went through her opened mail to make sure there were no letters from old lovers or maybe even hate mail, then I checked the pantry and the closet to make sure she wasn't the messy type. So far so good.

I crept back to the bedroom for my last crusade against heartbreak: her bedroom closet. I never really liked investigating my girlfriend's closets because that part really did feel like I was sneaking around, usually a woman's most personal things are in their closet. Quite a few of the women I've dated have had boxes full of old love letters stuffed in there, some had novelty toys, and others were filled with piles of dirty clothes. With her tenacity in bed, the second choice seemed the most likely, but her beauty made choice one seem plausible as well.

My first impression of her closet was something along the lines of shock over how huge it was. It could have easily been mistaken for a child's bedroom if it were not for the clothes racks lining the walls. My second impression was wonder over exactly how much clothing she had, it was like four people's closets stuffed into one. She could probably wear a different outfit everyday if she wanted to. I walked into the closet inspecting every inch of the shelves and racks to see if there was anything worth noting until my eyes met with an entire section of shiny black in the back corner.
I wasn't really sure how to react to the things that were in the corner of that huge closet. There were several articles of clothing that were sort of rubbery and didn't seem like they would be very comfortable at all. Along the wall on the floor there were several pairs of boots and high heeled shoes that were just as uncomfortable-looking as the clothes I assumed they were meant to be paired with.

At the time I was really startled, from the looks of things she was some sort of spy. Maybe for the Russians, after all in the movies the Russian spies were always beautiful women who wore skin tight clothing just like what I was seeing.
I was foolish, I know, but I'd never seen anything like this before besides in those spy movies. I was suddenly scared she was going to torture me for information or something. I decided it was time to get dressed, get out of there and go into hiding for a few weeks, but when I turned I was met with spy-woman staring me in the face.

I dropped to my knees, begged for forgiveness, begged for my life, swore that I didn't know where the government funneled all of their funds into, swore I'd never talk badly of the motherland ever again, and even said she could have my credit cards if she wanted. I just didn't want the Russians taking me into captivity and doing unspeakable things to me.

Okay, I admit I'm a little paranoid.

Through the whole rant she just stared at me like I was some sort of loon, which only fueled my mania. When I'd run out of pleas she laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard, tears were running down her cheeks from laughing so hard. Then came the words that changed my life forever.

?What are you talking about? You didn't know what I was into?? She asked me like I was the dumbest man on earth, and I felt like it. She walked past me and picked a familiar plastic-like dress off of the rack. It dawned on me that I really was the dumbest man on earth, ?Have you ever seen a woman wear something that looks like this in public,? she pointed towards a pair of shoes on the floor that were also very familiar, ?I bet I'm the only person you've ever seen wear something like these, aren't I??

The rest of the night was spent with her explaining to me what exactly she meant and how she was not, in fact, a spy. The black section in her closet was not spy gear but rather her personal stash of PVC-made outfits. What that exactly means I couldn't even tell you know, I never cared to look into it. Whatever it was, she enjoyed it. And for three years, I enjoyed her enjoying it. And for another five years I've enjoyed my current girlfriend enjoying it. I have a feeling I'm going to be doing it for a long time.