So will I ever meet the rubber clad, high heel stomping goddess of that first Skin Two magazine I bought? If I can't have her, do I want to be her? Do I want to drool over myself? I don't know, but taking pictures of myself, the actual act of taking pictures, really turns me on. So does looking at the pictures. Who or what am I creating in my mind while doing so? What about rubber and leather turns me on? I don't know, but rubber-clad-me just wants to have fun. And if you got a problem with that, fuck you.