Second Skin: Why I Slip Into Latex Before I Dance

It always starts with a little ritual.

I lay the latex out on my bed like a lover waiting for me — deep black, gleaming under the soft light. Just looking at it sends a current through my body. I know what’s coming. I know how it feels. And I crave it.

First, a whisper of silicone oil on my skin, cool and slick between my palms. I massage it onto my legs, arms, torso, breathing deeper with every pass. My perfume — Comme des Garçons Blackpepper — waits patiently by the mirror, but this comes first: preparing my body for its second skin.

Sliding into latex isn't fast. It’s a slow, delicious struggle.It takes time — sometimes fifteen, twenty minutes — of inching it up my thighs, over my hips, feeling it clutch at me, greedy for every curve. I stretch the material gently over my arms, my chest, smoothing out every tiny ripple until it shines like wet ink.

And when it finally snaps into place — tight across my waist, my breasts, my shoulders — I feel transformed.

There’s nothing else like it.Latex doesn't just hug your body. It possesses you.Every breath feels deeper. Every step, more deliberate.I look at myself in the mirror — glossy, sharp, unstoppable — and my heart races. My skin tingles beneath the tightness. The air feels cooler, every movement more alive. I feel dangerous. I feel divine.

I pull on my spike-studded shorts next, strapping the garters against my thighs. They bite a little — just enough to remind me who I am tonight. I adjust the suspenders over the slogan stretching across my chest:I ❤️ DADA.And I do.I love Dada because it laughs at seriousness. It smashes expectations. It's wild and playful and unapologetic — exactly what I want to be.

Makeup comes next: bold black liner, deep red lips, skin powdered to a matte glow. Sharp, severe, a little cruel. My hair perfectly sleek, my eyes daring anyone to look away.

And then... the perfume.One press of the bottle against my throat, my wrists. Blackpepper blooms instantly — spicy, woody, dark and strange. It weaves itself into the latex, into the night I’m about to live.

When I finally walk out the door, every inch of me feels charged.The latex creaks quietly as I move. I love that sound — a secret language between my body and the air. I feel like a walking flame, something too bright, too slick to touch.

Going clubbing in latex isn't like going clubbing in "normal" clothes.Normal clothes hide you.Latex reveals you — the real you, the fantasy you, the you that you’re too shy to unleash by daylight.

In latex, I'm not a person anymore.I'm an idea.I'm art.I'm pure, raw energy.

And tonight, I'm ready to set the dance floor on fire.