He took it eagerly into his room and spread it out. It was mounted in a hoop folded into quarters that sprang into circularity when released. Open, it resembled—here the image was suggestive in more than one way—an enormous condom. The diameter was a little over two feet, or, he was sure, the correct amount to make a total area of exactly four square feet.
He contemplated its level gloss, so thin it was easy to miss the film entirely except for the defining circle, and marveled that this represented its unstretched state. Too bad he had not been able to obtain a sample at the company; but this way was better, in spite of blisters, lost car, and shut season. No one would know what he was doing until he had what he wanted.
Zether set the hoop on the floor, stepped into it, and lifted. The material came up around his shoes and cuffs neatly, stretching to fit. It seemed soap-bubble fragile, but he knew it was stronger, weight for weight, than any stone or steel or nylon. The specifications implied that it could not be punctured even by a driven spike; it merely stretched until the thrust had been alleviated. It was thus theoretically possible to protect nails or rivets from rust by hammering them into material coated with apfi; the film would remain intact between nail and support, cutting off most moisture. Provided the lack of friction didn't make a problem. Only a semielectrical tool that acted on the atomic structure could hole it, and the tool cost a good deal more than the fabric.
He let go, and it dropped back to the floor with the hoop. How had Ella fashioned a permanent noncollapsing suit of it?
The door opened, and Ella entered in her normal habiliment. Think of the devil! Apparently the concept of personal privacy or prudery was foreign to her; or maybe such ethics were suspended during shut season. He'd really have to watch it.
"Why, Mr. Zether!" she exclaimed, flouncing her tresses prettily. "Are you trying to put it on over your clothing? That'll never work."
He had only been experimenting, but didn't protest. "How do you make it stay in place?"
"By closing the loop, of course," she said, touching her necklace. He saw that it was made of the same material as the apfi hoop. In fact, it was an apfi hoop, mysteriously convoluted. "Here, I'll show you. Take off your clothes."
He was a trifle slow in complying, so she assisted him. The notion of this buxom and too available young woman stripping him to the buff began to have its natural effect, but then he remembered the cynical aftermath—popped into a tissue—and the impulse died. He preferred his lovers totally nude, somehow. And he was wary of that second leg. It sounded as though local custom decreed that two acts of physical love constituted grounds for marriage, and he was definitely not ready for that. First he meant to nail down his fortune; then he would worry about domestic matters.
"Now, step into it," she directed, and he put his bare foot into the circle. Spiderwebs clasped his toes, tickled the sole; he repressed the urge to jump away. She drew the hoop up around him, jiggling it so that the apfi fit snugly around both legs, remaining taut between them. The excruciatingly gentle contact ascended. It was like standing in a bath filling with lukewarm water. He felt it enclose calves, knees, thighs—and now the sensation was definitely erotic. No accident, that, he was sure; she was doing her unsubtle best to make him react as she addressed his groin. He fastened his attention on the image of a strongbox full of hundred-dollar bills until the apfi reached his waist; that was what he was fighting for, after all.
She made him elevate his arms, and the fabric enclosed them also. The elasticity was remarkable! Finally the settling motion stopped, and he felt no more, except for the areas where body hair held it out from his skin. He'd have to shave his torso all over to have a really snug fit: a disadvantage. She did something obscure to the hoop, and it contracted around his neck in a loose necklace like her own, preventing the suit from sliding off. He was dressed.
He flexed his arms and legs a little dubiously. The principal characteristic of the suit was its lack of characteristics. Only occasionally could he feel points of tension, and these disappeared as the apfi shifted to compensate. It was a second layer of skin.
"And I always thought the emperor's new clothing was a fake!" he exclaimed. "Obviously it was an early apfi suit."
But had the emperor had the opportunity to appreciate its erotic qualities? Even a layer of only one molecule should impair sensation somewhat—but the super-smooth surface would add back much of what was lost. Had added back; no wonder he had exploded in that first encounter with Ella! This was sex with an intriguing difference.
A bell rang. "Oops, someone in the lobby," she said regretfully. "I have to run." And run she did, excitingly.
He still felt naked, so he donned his regular clothing over the apfi suit. Underwear, socks, shoes—it all fit perfectly. It was as though the suit didn't exist, except that he thought it made his blisters more comfortable by alleviating the slight abrasions of the socks. Good.
He felt distinctly warmer, and realized that the material's insulating properties were being manifested. The suit alone was comfortable, in normal interior temperature; added clothing became too hot. That explained why Ella and the others wore nothing else, inside. Probably the people who ventured outside wore apfi under their clothing, as he was doing now, when it was cool, and skipped the apfi when it was hot. Or skipped the clothing.
Fortunately its gas porosity prevented skin suffocation. Sweat would pass upon evaporation, and air could contact the skin in a limited way. Yes, apfi made an excellent all-purpose suit, particularly for an activity like swimming; he'd have to mention that in his report.
Report? What was he thinking of! He'd make no report at all until he had acquired control of the patent, if any. He could become a billionaire!
He descended the stair and left the hotel without seeing Ella again. Just as well; she was almost too helpful, as though he were already her possession.
It was cooler outside. Dusk was approaching, and in this mountain country the extremes of temperature shifted rapidly. Burning days and frigid nights—excellent for apfi. Yes, he was becoming more and more enthusiastic about the product. He had searched for some liability, something that would detract from its sales potential on either practical or esthetic grounds, some catch that would wash out the dream, and found none. This thing would make ten billion!
In the street he passed a blonde in an enticingly tight sweater. He peered at her, trying to determine whether she did or did not wear an apfi suit underneath. Not even any webbing between the fingers showed, yet....
She gave him a direct glance. "You appear to find me attractive, stranger," she murmured. "I am wearing my suit, and my husband's away on the road crew, so if you'd like to—"
"Uh, no thanks," he said hastily. "Just admiring the scenery." And he removed himself from the vicinity, leaving her perplexed.
The enormity of it! If just eight years of apfi had made sex a communal activity in this isolated, probably conservative village, what would it do to the nation in a similar period? First the intemperate youth groups would discover its sexual wonders and make it a symbol of the times; then it would spread to other levels of society. The beatniks, the beardniks, the radicals—how far would they go, how rapidly, granted the freedom of the suit? And after them, the great mass of "decent, law-abiding" people the politicians claimed to cater to. It would be a revolution!