My Fellow Inmates, Observers,

This is a story from my past. It’s a bit old, clearly, as James is no longer with us. Yet, this is my first experience, which he was kind enough to document. The photos are his, the story is mine, the experience is something I will never forget.

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My first encounter with Rubber was something I don’t think I could have fully appreciated at the time. Certainly now I do. Then I knew very little about the scene. I was just fresh into college at the time having finally escaped my family. I was 19, horny, and living in a dorm in Milwaukee with a Roommate who was more concerned with football than his girlfriend.  I didn’t really know how big of a player that James Bond was, despite his extensive Gallery on Rubberzone, my main connection to anything that went “squeak” at the time. I just assumed he was a cool guy. I assumed a lot back then. I was naive, and luckier than a victim who survives an avalanche.

 Before I had met James, I had been in contact with him online. That was the only way, to that point; I had been able to touch the rubber community at all. Either way, I managed to organize an encounter with him. He happened to be traveling through the area just as I was to return to school from my short winter recess at home in Minnesota.

 I arrived in Milwaukee in the evening. It was dumping snow. Nearly half of the city’s annual snowfall had decided to come down that night, and I was worrying that the plans I had made weren’t going to work out. Still, after a phone call, James assured me he would be at the train station to pick me up, despite the hefty amount of wet snow that had fallen on the city.

 I remember walking out of the train station and into the snow that evening. I’ve always loved snow, myself. It was quite beautiful, minus the slush-fest in the pickup area at the train station. Massive flakes were coming down, coating everything they touched in seconds. I spotted James at the far end and got in his car.

 The drive back to the hotel was mildly harrowing in a small sedan in about six inches of freshly accumulated snow. The roads had been driven on, so it was packed down a bit. Even still, we were sliding all over the place for about a half an hour on I94. Thankfully the roads, by then, were fairly empty. The storm had driven most people off the road and into their homes.

 At this point I was getting rather excited. James was talking about trains, a topic that had begun at the train station and hadn’t ceased until we got to the hotel. I didn’t mind of course. The stories were interesting. In a way, they had kept me more relaxed, my mind less on what was going to happen. Of course, it didn’t completely stifle my anxiousness.

 The hotel room was a welcome break from the storm. It was warm, small, simple, and comfortable. It had a single bed, a chair, a table; it was a classic, cheap, Midwestern hotel room. Not Spartan, but not luxurious. I don’t remember how long it took me to get out of my clothes and into rubber. That part didn’t take long though. I ended up in a catsuit with attached boots. A gasmask was wrapped about my head, a hose with a valve attached, my arms were strapped behind my back, and rope crisscrossed my torso enveloping me in this new, wondrous land of coverage I had never experienced. Those of you who know rubber understand, but those of you who don’t hopefully will. It was just about everything I had imagined, and a bit more. Of course, being the young bastard I was, and still am, for that matter, my dick had managed to get pretty hard almost immediately.

 I was lead to a chair quite promptly and told to sit. I obeyed, of course, happy to be further immobilized. Within minutes foot upon foot of rope bound me to the chair. I wasn’t going anywhere any-time soon. Damn if I wasn’t happy as a clam.

I’m sure James had noticed my excitement. My dick was turgid, and had, so far, been left to hang in the air like some fleshy flag-pole. That didn’t last much longer either.

 Being my first time in rubber, in bondage… really, doing more than just plain old sex, I am sure James went very easy on me. I remember gasping at the first strokes along my dick, and the first time anyone had ceased my airflow for any amount of time. I know I got off easy. I don’t think I spent much time trying to gasp for air, though it certainly was enough for a first-timer.  Not long after the first strokes, and gasps, I a rope snaked around my cock and balls, another around my mask, tightening everything up all the more.  I was in nirvana.

 And so it went, for at least an hour. I was bucking against the ropes as he teased me towards the edge, sporadically ceasing my ability to obtain oxygen, putting me into a new place I hadn’t yet been. It was unreal. I had finally begun my journey into rubber, and it was quite the leap towards my fantasies.

 Eventually I came, and the hand didn’t stop. I squirmed, experiencing an entirely new sensation I wasn’t overly familiar with.  I don’t remember being tortured very long with my hyper-sensitivity, but for me, it had been enough.

 The mask came off, though I remained tied to the chair. I rolled my head back, a shit-eating grin plastered across my face.  James wasn’t quite done with me yet either. A few minutes later I found myself hog-tied on the bed in a leather mask. Unfortunately this didn’t last very long at all. My inability for repeat performances was getting in my way, not to mention I was having some sinus issues at the time that were making it nearly impossible to breathe normally in the sort of mask I was in. It was an imperfect ending to the scene, but my expectations had been overly exceeded.

 Afterwards James was kind enough to take me out for a dinner. The dinner itself was simple, and good, but what really stuck with me was something he said to me before I returned home to my dorm for the night. He told me that I needed to be careful about who I met online. Clearly, he was a big name guy, had lots of friends and connections, and he was well known. I trusted him easily, but perhaps too easily. Had he been someone with ulterior intentions, that night could have been my last. It’s unlikely something bad would have happened, but really, when someone has a valve to your air supply, your life is literally in their hands. Out of all the things I took from that night, it was perhaps his cautionary words that really made the biggest impression. The entire evening had really been a fundamental lesson in Rubber BDSM… Play smart.

-With that, I am going to gag myself and masturbate in the corner–and please do scream louder; It makes me hard.