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Skybot and The Reluctant Pup Owner

January 16, 2013 in Inmate: Beau, Stories

This is not as great as Harry Potter and the prisoner of Azkaban(?) Though it had its moments.  Truth is always stranger than fiction.  Yes it is slow, and just when you think something is going to happen it doesn’t, until it does.

    “I am Beau, rather Beaumont, I was named by my pup 16 years ago and that time he was simply a little tyke who was fascinated by my car.  In a world of farm trucks, mini vans and SUV’s I had a different car, the roof would go away at a push of a button.  I had a 1969 Beaumont, which to those who care is a Canadian version of a Chevelle Malibu with a GTO interior, dash, different grill and tail lights.   It was sold through Canadian Pontiac Dealers, though it was never classified as being a Pontiac.  Much like me, I was in a family though I was never recognized as being part of “the family”.  I digress, he was a kid who was totally fascinated and obsessed with things he didn’t know anything about.  I considered him as just another loud screaming kid at a family reunion.  

1969 Beaumont

     Now this isn’t some child porn incest story, don’t call the FBI or child services.  He is my 1st cousin’s wife’s sister-in-law’s son, which makes him NOTHING in my gene pool.  Trust me, when I say that pool is shallow and full of dips.  He never called me anything but Beau or Bo all that weekend.  It stuck.  Since then everyone called me that. He just pointed at the car and me so that was it. “Bo”.  “Bo also meant red for a while too!  We went our separate ways in life and so did he with his family”.

      12 years pass, the family legend grows, yes I became the “rebel outlaw” who never married, though since Laramie had already been done (to death) the family decided to politely invite me for another reunion at their campsite in Eastern Washington.  This was to become Mistake #473 in my life.  Remember 2008?  No?  I do.  A Reunion in July of all the family; though, from the look of some; I’d of said Manson Family but thankfully the “Princess Diana effect” was in full swing, so we got some decent looking folk in there too.  Remember the first episode of CSI?  The new CSI gets killed off?  She is my cousin, one of them.

 

     The bad thing about camping, people and RV’s is the lack of hot water by 10AM, which is when I decided was time to awake.  That night, after everyone else was asleep I went to the shower for a nice warm wash.  I walked out, into the main area to re-dress rather than try to bump my way though the puddles of foot fungus floors.  There in the middle of the room was a kid of 14, holding, cradling, my towel like it was a national treasure, and I think he was sniffing it…  I wasn’t expecting any company at 2AM hence; I didn’t drag my clothes in with me.  So this rather tall creature with BIG gay eyes held out my towel and then put his head down.  You’d think that was polite, NO, NO, NO!  His eyes met with my PA and locked there.  Trying to remain calm, cool and collected.  TRYING.  WTF?  What is Bambi doing in here?  I’m naked, far too well groomed-i.e. Shaved and now with this baby fag before me.  This was not covered in Miss Manners’ book of etiquette.  He stood there transfixed, since I am not a tranny nor “fixed” it really put me off.  Kids do not turn me on, they creep me out.  I knew who he was he changed a lot in height, weight and colour from almost white-blond to a medium brown hair.  He was one of the little kids I’d met before, who was all-agog at my car; he was the one who called the car and I, Beau.  He stammered he wanted to ask or tell me something important, right  - now!  He was hopping up and down by this time not with joy but sort of weird enthusiasm.  (A lynch party is coming over the hill?)  Nope, I would have enjoyed that.  Instead he told me he was GAY – duh.  He said he knew I was.  What is family for but to spread news and gossip?  And what should he do?  First thing, step back 8 more feet PLEASE.  Just in case MORE family shows up before I am dressed.  Thank you!

 

   After a very quick towel dry and dress and “stop watching me you little prick!”  I told him we’d talk outside.  He followed close to my heels.  I did my best adult voice of: “study hard, stay in school, do not do drugs or any sort, keep your head down, excel at something and then:  “Get the hell out of that little 1 horse town!  By staying in school, working hard, you may get a scholarship and go to college or university and be somebody instead of just a kid on a tractor.”  I thought I got a decent speech out that made sense, 4 more years and you’d be in a city with other guys your age, blah, blah, blah.  He then asked if he could see my PA again, he was already reaching for my belt when he was asking.  My answer was a flat out NO!  Sit! Stay! (My god that part stuck!).  

 

     Family time was finished again; I spent a good lot of time avoiding his presence.  I did my duty of representing my side of the tree, our branch.  I had 1 last conversation with the Icelandic-Irish-Catholic-Mormon-twink in training, repeating a lot of what I just said plus I gave him my email address, telling him to use it at school only, never at home.  So as never allow his parents to know he’s ever been in contact with me.  I even told him to use a new e-mail account that is never to be brought up at home.  He could talk to me if he needs to but emergencies only and never print out anything I write or he writes.  I also told him to read Dan Savage, and then I had to explain what Dan Savage was/is.  I became his encyclopedia and reluctant pen-pal/mentor.  I never once even considered what was going to be happening over the next few years.

 

MORE TO FOLLOW,  Think of this as a bedtime story, are you asleep yet?

Beau

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New Story By Asylum: Used Rubber Bondage Suit For Sale: $100.00

September 25, 2012 in Asylum Inmates, Asylum: Used Bondage Suit, Inmate: RubberAsylum, Stories

My Fellow Inmates,

This is the first story I have written in a year due to multiple moves, the breakup, and 2 new boys moving in (its been busy). But since I have to get back to work on the novel what a better way to get the creative juices flowing than share a recent fantasy of mine…

 

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It was late on Friday night and I was still stuck at work, Just bored to tears. I work security at a firm downtown, and was asked if I could cover the second shift since Toby, my coworker, had called out sick.

Now I know that the nightshift is typically just being a body in a chair at the security desk, a presence to keep people honest, but as my shift was coming to a close in the next hour I was actually aching from the boredom of the day.

fortunately I had my phone on me. I had spent most of my day chatting on twitter and reading the forums on Rubberzone, but my 10pm everyone on twitter had gone quiet, and I had already replied to all I could on the site.

SInce there was nothing else to do I move on over to Craigslist to begin my daily futile search for gear. living in a big city one would think that there would be gear all over, but it never seemed the case. In fact I was pretty disillusioned at the lack of stuff on here, and also from being tired, I decided to just take a direct approach tonight as I typed in one word.

“Bondage”

I chuckled as I clicked on the search button. I knew better than to hope for anything better than the standard homemade or eBay crap, or at best copies of the novel “Of human bondage”, which I will tell you was a serious letdown of a read back when i was prepubescent and horny

But i digress…

The search came up before me with 51 results. I scrolled through the first page quickly, scanning the headers with very little interest.

It wasn’t until i clicked on “Page 2″ and saw what loaded up that the hum started in my groin. For as the final search result came up, it read:

“Used bondage Suit for Sale $100.00″

Clicking on the link, I tried not to get my hopes up. As the page loaded up and I read the description, my uniform began to fit a bit less comfortably:

Bondage suit, latex, good shape. We want this to go to a good boy who will appreciate it, hence the cheap price. Please send your stats and a picture in your email response.

I couldn’t type fast enough. I feared that since it was the last result it was already gone, Someone had gotten to it long before me, but I was still willing to take the chance. I told the seller about me, my interests, my want to badly be invaded, bound, kept… Hehe, perhaps I gave too much information yet I was excited for my first opportunity to get my hands on a real latex suit. Even if it was most likely gone.

I attached a picture of myself that I had stored on my phone and I hit send. Over that next hour I must have refreshed my inbox 20 times just hoping to see a reply, but none came, and finally it was time to clock out.

With a sigh I locked up and headed out to my car for the long drive home. It was gone, I just knew it. I was too late, the story of my life.

By the time I pulled in to my parking place at my apartment, I was in a foul mood. i had thoroughly depressed myself on the drive home and I was just ready for a drink and bed. I called it an early night.

The next morning i drank my morning coffee at the computer like i always did. After i was done checking the websites for new messages i loaded up email to see if there was anything new, and just about spilled my coffee on myself when i saw the reply:

‘The suit is still available, and it seems like it would be a good fit for you. Be at the following address at 10am sharp if you are still interested.

-Gary’

He included an address as well. It was in a subdivision only 10 minutes away. I looked at the clock, it was 9:17, i had just enough time for a shower before heading out.

I arrived at the address 3 minutes before 10am and waited in my car to make sure i wasn’t early. Summoning up my courage, i walked up to the door and rang the buzzer.

The man the answered was quite handsome: Mid 40′s, slender and muscular. He had black hair with wisps of grey highlights. His steely eyes looked down on me, forcing mine to the ground. “Yes?” he asked.

“Uh,” I stammered in response, lost in the sweet scent of fresh sweat emanating off of him. “I replied to the Craigslist ad…”

“Oh, the car! Yes its in the garage…”

“No,” I replied, not sure if he was fucking with me or what, but i was starting to turn red and beginning to sweat. Did i have the right house? “I, uh… I’m here for the suit.”

“Suit? What suit?”

Oh god, I thought, either I really did have the wrong house, this is someone’s poor idea of a joke, or he was really going to make me say it. I was only turning reder as my cock started growing in my pants, causing a tent and leaving me fully vulnerable to this man. i hoped to god this was the right place.

Summoning up all the courage I had left, i breathed deeply, stared at the ground and replied quietly “The bondage suit.”

“Oh, that suit, well why didn’t you say so?” he chuckled as he set his hand on my back and led me in to his home. I could sense a playful evilness in that chuckle, which surprisingly put me a bit at ease. “As i said in the email, the suit seems like it would fit you well, and now that i see you in person, I am almost sure of it.”

Gary led me through the house and to a set of stairs that led to the basement “Its down in the playroom, i shall want you to try it on first, of course.”

“Uh, what?” I replied halting in my tracks half way down the stairs.

“Well of course,” he chuckled, “You don’t expect me to sell this to just anyone do you? This suit belonged to my former boy, I will not see it in the hands of some eBay asshole who just wants to make a quick buck. Either I get to see that you shall honestly appreciate it or you move on. Understand me?”

“Yes Sir” is what slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, which only cause my stammering and blushing to kick right back in to full swing, “Uh… I mean…”

Gary just laughed as he continued leading the way down in to the basement, where we cam to a stop in front of a door. “Next stop, my playroom, you ready for this?” he asked as he pulled out a key, unlocked and opened the door towards me.

The Truth was no, I wasn’t ready for it. For the room that spread out before me was something that I had only seen the likes of online. Suits, restraints and hoods all covered the walls surrounding a bed in the center. I was mesmerized, dumbstruck in my tracks.

Gary just chuckled again as he grabbed me by the hand and led me to the bed in the center, where he reached down and picked up a mass of black rubber. “Here’s the suit.” he said as he dropped it in my arms, “Now strip!”

My gaze suddenly slammed back to the ground as the thought of stripping off in front of this man made my shy streak bubble to the surface, “I, um… Perhaps this isn’t a good idea, Gary, I uh, I do want the suit but, uh…”

I must have been the best entertainment he had had in a while as he just smiled and began chuckling again, “No worries,” he said as he patted me on the head and walked towards the door, “you shall find a pull-string on the zipper in the back, I’ll check on you in a bit.”

I smiled at him in reply, “Thank you Gary… Oh, and, uh, Gary…”

“Yes?” he replied, stopping in the doorway.

“Its really none of my business, but you said this suit belonged to your former boy. Is he…”

“Naw,” he smiled, “He moved to Chicago. Personally I was hoping he’d go to hell instead.” as he closed the door I could hear that chuckle outside, growing fainter as he walked away. I just smiled and shook my head.

Looking down at the rubber suit in my arms, I wasted no time stripping down before undoing the zipper to look inside. It seems that he was nice enough to lube it up for me. So as I sat my naked ass on the edge of the bed all that was left to do was put it on.

As I slid my left leg down the slick latex of the inside of the suit, on its way to the attached bootie, I could feel my cock grow. Every touch of this material on my naked skin was sending waves of electricity down my spine and through my crotch. By the time my right foot found its home in the boot, I was at full mast.

I was breathing hard and dripping precum on his suit. My hand slipped to my cock as I began stroking it slowly, enjoying every wave of sensation.

I stopped myself just before I came. ‘No,’ I thought to myself, ‘I am here to buy a suit, it would be very presumptuous of me to jack off in his home.’

With that I directed my mind back at the task at hand as I pulled the suit up my body. I almost lost it as the touch of the sensuous material on my naked chest almost proved to be more than I could bare.

Taking a few deep breaths to slow myself down, I slid my arms, first one, then the other, in to their respective holes.

That was when I noticed I was going to have an issue. You see, rather than gloves attached to the ends of the sleeves, there were stiff rubber mitts, and once I worked my hands in to them I realized that I was not going to be able to put on the hood of the suit let alone zip it up.

Thinking for a moment, I decided to try to attack this a different way, and attempted to pull my right hand back out of the attached mitt only to find out I could not get the purchase to do that either. I was stuck, panic set in and I began to flail around in an attempt to get one of my hands loose from the tight grip of the latex cuff holding it firmly in the mitt.

Yet I only succeeded in wearing myself out. Finally I collapsed on the bed, panting, not sure what to do next.

It was then I heard it, a light giggle. I looked up only to see Gary standing in the doorway rubbing his crotch through his pants. “You appear to be having some troubles there.” he chuckled

“Uh, yeah.” I replied a bit irritated from finding myself trapped unable to even wipe the sweat from my brow.

“Would you finally like some help then?”

I looked up at his smiling face, and it put me at ease. I began to giggle at myself, I must have looked pretty stupid flailing around in this suit. “Yeah, sure, I seem to be kind of stuck.”

Gary motioned for me to stand up and turn around so my back was to him. “Well, they don’t call this a bondage suit for nothing.” he said as he pulled the latex around behind me and started the zipper up my back; “If you could get out, what would be the fun in that?”

For some reason that statement made my cock stand at attention again. Gary then reached around me for the attached hood, stopping for a moment to rub his hands across my chest and tweak my nipples a few times. My heart began to race, and my breathing hastened as my cock strained to free itself from its rubbery confines.

“Open wide.” He commanded.

“Wait, wha…” I tried to reply, only to be cut off by the gag that slid in to my mouth as he pulled the hood up. The gag was large and sat deeply flattening my tongue to the floor of my mouth. There was a hole in the center of it I could breathe through, in fact it was the only hole in the hood, for as the zipper found its way to the end of the track at the crown of my head, I was thrown in to darkness.

“There we go, almost done.” he said as he shoved me forward, where I landed on the bed. Before I could even make a defensive move, he was on top of me. I should have thought about the implications of going in to the playroom with a man that could overpower me, as overpower me he did.

Gary rolled me over on my back, and one by one he locked my wrists and ankles in to restraints at each corner. “There, see? I told you this suit would fit you well.”

He sat on my legs as his hands found their way to my crotch, “In fact, you look so good like this, I think a trial run is in order.” with that he reached through an attached cockring on the suit, that i overlooked before, and yanked my junk through, none to gently. I yelped in pain and protest in to the gag but flopped my head against the pillow in frustration as i could feel the traitor between my legs growing to meet his touch.

Gary crawled off of me and walked away. I could hear the door to the playroom open as he called back to me “…and by trial run, I don’t mean in that suit, i mean as my property.”

I thrashed against my restraints at the sound of this, and called him every name in the book I could think of, Yet with the gag in my mouth it most likely came out as a garbled mess, as I heard Gary chuckle once more as he closed and locked the door.

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With That, Visiting time is over, whatever you do dont scream too loud as others are trying to sleep

~Rubberasylum

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The Beginning, We all started somewhere

March 21, 2012 in Inmate: Beau, Stories

We met in my last year of high school, I never fit in anywhere, in elementary school, I was bumped up grade 2 at the beginning of Grade 1; so all my peers were most a year or so older, this was always a problem. I was tall I was not as emotionally developed and lived in a world of books, animals and birds plus getting dragged by my dad to yet another archeological site to dig with a paint brush.  Social skills and coordination of playing were hampered to say the least and what did I care about someone’s 2,500 year old campsites?              Though some of the things I found well; was Mr. S. selling stock around then? 

 

 

While other kids had known all about birds and bees, I could give their Latin names-wrong direction especial in Jr. High School or Middle School. Kids hitting puberty should all be kept in their own special place?  For me it was my own special HELL.  After 3 years of Good Behavior I was released; Grades 10 – 12 we had the option of 3 high schools and it no longer mattered where you lived, so long as you could make it there by 9AM.  So I could choose the school all my Neanderthals went to, the “Rich Kid” school 4 miles away or the “Snob and Privileged” kid’s school.  Well it was the next closest.  Yes I wore nice clothing it was my brother’s he was older, had a part-time job and had girlfriend with good taste, I received a lot of hand me downs. Extra bonus! My brother would drop me off in his new Trans Am, which gave me extra credibility.  A high school, where I was far away from the Junior High’s Dian Fossy* study group and again off on my own to create a new image of myself. 

 

 I would pass this one guy in my final year; I used to see making eye contact with in the hallways, over and over.   Once we were started chatting, which for me was rare, as I never spoke.  The subject of cars came up and we started babbling, though it was rather boring to those around us; we were two people obsessed with the same thing – we could have gone on for hours.  Our friendship grew over the next several months, we had a number of classes together, and although we did not sit anywhere near each other we often discussed things across the room, people discovered I did have a voice, an opinion and a twisted sense of humor, it may have come across as flirting, which did not bode well for my reputation, though at the time I wasn’t paying that much attention to it and more to him.

It was during a warm, spring, prairie evening, I decided to ride over to his house and spend the evening shooting the breeze, talking about cars, television, 10 speeds and general teenage BS.  He was the first “jock type” who didn’t treat me like a freak, or he accepted the fact and didn’t mind it.  This guy was quite handsome; with his square jaw, hazel eyes, and a hair line that started 3 inches above his eyebrows.  He seemed a bit more mature, that may have been because as far back as grade 5 he was shaving.  He played hockey for a number of years but didn’t like all the competition and had switched to cycling a couple of years ago.  He would still spend many mindless hours lifting weights, which had only added to his appeal (and wide shoulders, he wasn’t just v shaped, he was a capital V shaped!) I always had ridden a bike to get around so we had that in common and he was a passionate about cars as I was, which was just short of certifiable.   He went a bit further than I did and joined the local cycling club, but since I only had a 3speed I was not in the same league.   Anyway the day before, he had fallen during a ride, nothing serious to him. 

I arrived at his parent’s house shortly after eight; his parents were not home which is not unusual, though this time so were his brothers and sister.  He came to the door in a towel saying he just got out of the shower and was about to get dressed.  Little droplets of water sprinkled his broad, freckled shoulders.  We went downstairs, and continued talking about school day’s events.  He brought up the subject of his bike race, and he fell, scraping his stomach and his arms. 

I was not prepared for what happened next, he unwrapped the towel and showed me the scrape, which I could already see most of it, running from below his left pec and running down to his groin.  This was not the first time I’d seen anyone naked and I had read National Geographic’s “Aussie Rower’s of the Surf.”  (Rather, I looked at the pictures many times).  However, it was the first time I ever saw anyone naked alone, in the flesh, within touching distance. (I have to point out I have a physical handicap that stopped me from gym and all the humiliations surrounding it, yes I look perfectly normal which made my sexuality come into question; why, I don’t know.)  To say the least, I was uncomfortable coming face to face with something I wanted to see.  I was nervous and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, trying to camouflage my erection. (One lump? Or two?)  All I could think of doing was chanting, as a mantra over and over again in my head, “automatic, power steering, power brakes, radio, 350 V8,” that distraction always worked before, getting me through many throbbing occasion, though this time it didn’t help at all, I felt a Kleenex in my pocket an pulled it out, there were two together, though one dropped to floor at his feet.  All I could think of was “please, please don’t let him see that.”  (The erection or the tissue at his feet.)  I guess that he could see both and tossed out what I expected to hear, “you aren’t going to pick that up?”  I expected that response was a dare or perhaps an invitation, it could have gone either way.  Since I was so self-conscience about dropping it, I followed through with kneeling and picking it up, halfway down he said, “If you pick that up you know what that makes you?”  The thought that flashed through my mind was a violent one, with me on the receiving end of a painful experience, along with a very tortured existence for the rest high school. I grabbed the tissue and on the way up felt something barely touch the top of my ear, “this is not going to be good,” I knew that a blow was coming I just didn’t know at the time what type.  I glanced up and was facing his bobbing erection.  I’d come this far and had not been rebuffed, I went further and tasted Ivory soap, smooth skin, and shortly after, something else.  I didn’t know what was coming next, though with the fear that was gnawing at me, I was expecting a rebuff and not reciprocation.  It took a long time before we kissed, romantically, you’d have thought that would have been first.  It was a lot harder, than it was ever supposed to be, it was another awkward moment of staring at his delectable bottom lip, wanting to taste it, but I was I so afraid of something so tempting? I leaned into him and started sucking on his delicious lower lip, before trying to devour him completely.  I thought he was pushing my mouth away from the inside, that’s when I discovered his tongue and I pushed back with mine.  My nose was running, my balls ached and now this, we behaved like horny animals. (Well, horny teenage animals.)  There was no confusion over what we had done, if there had been we got over it by doing it all over again.   I don’t know how we ever got out that basement, but we did. (A couple of hours later…)  There was no regret or remorse, just relief in the freedom of the moment, we were not alone, we were two teenagers (Of legal age.) who just discovered sex, with another human being, it was a lot better than being alone, (And it freed up our hands.) we had a lot more things yet to discover.  Not all the buttons were pushed in one evening, it took many more experiements to get things just right.  We practically invented gay sex, I wish I had patented it I’d be richer than Bill Gates!

We spent all our time together that summer, nobody knew or at least suspected.  I for once, could be seen with a guy and since he was “cool”, could not possibly be gay and in the logic of the time, if one person thinks you are OK then others will as well.  It was to be the best summer.  No “voluntary” digs for long abandoned primitive campsites, I never knew there were so many ways of having sex in a Plymouth Satellite station wagon.  His lips were well shaped and chiseled, they seductively left me in screams of pleasure and giddy for more which was most often the case.  We’d collapse into each other’s arms gasping and laughing.  Erroll had once fallen asleep on my chest, when he awoke he complained his ear had suctioned itself to my chest (well, not all of us have Italian mothers) We spent almost all our after school time together, we went to our grad and spent the summer after work, riding our bikes, driving around laughing or going to the Lucky Star Drive-In.  I guess we even had “our” song “You look Good Darlin’ by Joanie Taylor (Buick picked it up and it ran for 3 years as part of their commercial’s song, that is if you were watching TV or even born then, OK some of your parent may remember.)

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N89YTiWoB5c

 

“You look good darlin,

 I don’t care.

Oh, you look so good baby, whatever you wear.

Winter, spring, honey anything,

 summer, fall.

Anything at all,

 you can’t hide, the you, you have inside.

  Biker jacket, gypsy grin, funeral suit, or even just your skin, to me your look is in,

  always in,”

 

 

 

 

  We sang along when it was on the radio, alone, in the darkness of the car.  True to one the lyrics Erroll was almost “always IN”.     (The radio was just about the only thing that was “on” in that car or rather 3 things that were turned on in the car, though all 3 were electrically charged.)   It was on one of those occasions and we were lying in the back of the family wagon parked on some dead end country road, when Erroll suggested, “maybe he could tie my legs back to the rear fold down seat’s anchor latches, thus pulling my butt up a bit higher while on my back, though then hey, lets try a double tie knot around my wrists to pull my arms down and just inch my ass a little higher.  I was hooked!  I gained a new respect for the boy scouts and glad he paid attention during that class.  Hmm, maybe more of a bit too much time, as he was getting pretty creative in the weeks that followed.  Did I care?  No just keep hitting that spot and I can then cum without even touching myself!  (Thank goodness for vinyl interiors.)  We were almost always together which was usually quite literally how you’d find us, we were an insatiable pair of I guess twinks with kink.  Now sometimes something would go amiss in our cover-ups, in the after the fact playing.  Once we heard his parent’s Chrysler pull up when we were upstairs in his parent’s bedroom. I made MY error. My choices of either to have quickly swallowed in two gulps and take it like a man or the open window…   I spit it out the open window.  Later as we turned on the lights bumbling with getting dressed that I first noticed the window had a screen on it…  Sure now its funny, NOT at the time.   We were 2 panicked young men, it would have been so much better if we were blowing something up, setting something a blaze, but well find one of your son’s is a homo and he just finished doing his boyfriend in the master bedroom and what is all that rope for!  Erroll managed to get the problem solved with 2 well-shaken cans of coke and crumbled bag of potato chips.  “Yeah we had a coke fight. Yeah that was it…  While watching the Big TV upstairs.”

 We lay low for a week but the next Friday night I thought I drop by, but nobody was in, damn I should have called.  I knocked, I thought I heard something but it may have been their dog or maybe Erroll was in the shower, his second most favourite spot to be.  Hot and wet, slurp!  Either of us could have drowned, perhaps by the water or umm whatever.

 When his brother, Jeff called, on a warm sunny Saturday afternoon in October with news I could not perceive.  “Erroll was on his bike this morning, riding to Souris, there was a pause, he was hit by a car.”  My first thought, “Oh, he’s in the hospital with a broken leg, Erroll you asshole!”  I was unprepared for the completed sentence, “and he died.”  I drove around for the longest time, I cried, I screamed and I didn’t care if anyone saw or heard, I wanted to die, I drove way too fast, but my car stayed on the road.  I eventually ended parking in front of his house in my car and crying, I was alone again, and there was nothing I could do to bring him back, and nobody I could talk to and I never said I love you, I should have knocked harder on the door last evening, I could have seen him again. He could have had a flat tire was unable to fix it and couldn’t go riding the next day and I will not see you again, I will not touch you, hear you laugh or see you shoot root beer out your nose while watching “Smokey and the Bandit”, I am alone and nothing is ever going to be the same and I won’t see you again and IF I was there I could have seen the car coming I could have yelled, I could have been there.   You died without me, I love you!  Please come back!  I’ll do anything, please, come back !  I won’t be gay anymore, Please come back!  Take me instead, PLEASE COME BACK! I was happy, pleasecomeback.  I was happy…   pleasepleasepleaseplease !     come back…     I need you!  I dried my tears and went up to the house, I met his brother Jeff inside the back door, we drove out to the spot to look for Erroll’s stainless steel watch, it had been knocked off when the accident occurred, but we never found it.  We only saw the watered down blood in the puddles; where the highway crew washed off the road, and several pieces of the broken trailer mirror that crushed his skull.

 The car was driven by an impatient woman from Ontario who tried to pass another vehicle, she was too close to the intersection but she tried it anyway, the trailer mirror was sticking out and she was driving too fast.   She wanted to get past so she’d be in Brandon before noon and if she’d stayed behind that car she’d have been 5 minutes late, unless the car in front of her turned south towards Killarney.  She didn’t wait to find out; she’d have to wait behind that car for another 60 seconds to do that.  Anyway, at the trial she received a suspended sentence of one year and fined court costs, she never even said she was sorry.

 

 

 

 I can remember:  the colour of his hair, his bicycle, his jacket, how he forgot to rip the price tag         from the sleeve from his dark blue velvet blazer before grad and how I laughed so hard I cried, he was buried in that suit, being a pall bearer, driving his parent’s Chrysler from the cemetery, that coffin…  (I always remember your birthday!)  I cannot remember what he looked like, except of course when I dream, and that’s not often enough.  

 

 

 

 

Prologue:  I didn’t do this for sympathy or “Dramatic Effect”  Yes it has been many years, yes things change. Life goes on no matter what; it is impossible to stop it.  I have your light blue hooded sweatshirt, yes just like the movie Broke Back Mountain I used to sniff that thing and think of you.  Though I did it first. But you’ve gone.  Had things been different you’d probably be another Ex that I despise, maybe from pressure, marry and have kids or simply find we drifted apart.  Our story didn’t end like it should.  I promised myself I would NOT go out to the cemetery anymore, it was pointless, no more roses!  So what have I learned from this? 

Life can change in an instant, never put off doing anything that would give you pleasure.  Most of all, its have the balls to say exactly what is on your mind and do something about it, if you love someone tell them, show them and mean it take the chance, leave no regrets.  Grab him by the balls and not the hand!  Am I fucked up?  DO I have issues?  Sure who doesn’t, but I will never make the same mistake twice. 

                                     Erroll Kenneth Braaten I loved you; truly, madly, deeply with all my heart and soul.

 

* (Dian Fosse)  Oh for god sake Google her!

 


  

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September 1981 to December 1982 THE END? Part III

February 16, 2012 in Inmate: Beau, Stories

Handcuffs sound erotic, but try having them on for a while, they are not built for comfort and after a couple of hours tended to bite back and tighten more when I struggled against them.

 Austin’s police tactics became rougher still. He also became well, meaner, with every pump of his iron from the gym; bigger, stronger, and short-tempered.  He tried his sleeper hold, which of course cut off any circulation to my head. I passed out. He did this on a couple of occasions, always “accidentally,” then made it sound like it was my fault, I “should not have moved so much,” as though I “made” him do it?  I know lack of oxygen can heighten a sexual experience; I prefer to be conscious during the event. Besides how much movement can any person do?  While tied securely to an engine hoist or the garage’s support beam or stretched out on his larger motorcycle?

 Yes, by this time I should have packed my bags and left but I loved being seen with him and having his attentions, I was in need of attention and would try my best to please just to have some. Plus, the fact that I was really pissing off my ex, that mattered to me as well, yes purely shallow reason as it was. I made sure the news reports to friends at home were filled with plenty of good gossip and I knew the information would be expanded upon greatly.  Kink and me?  Simply unthinkable, with a tall muscular, incredibly hot guy (feel the burn Bob?) I know my revenge was very misplaced, but I didn’t enjoy hearing from him that he loved me in his own way?  Own way?  As if I were simply a selection from the dessert cart?  Well at the time it was important to me to let Bob know that I too, had found someone better, and had a far more exciting relationship than our relationship had been. 

There were less painful moments with Austin, too:  riding on the back of his big Kawasaki with my face buried into the back of his sweet smelling leather jacket. I could actually hold onto his waist in public while on the bike.  As well, for each measure of “good service” I was earning my own leathers, which weren’t only, limited to a jacket to protect my outer self from the elements. Good harness leather can be very warming, too, as can butt plugs in the right circumstances. (They certainly complemented the vibration from the bike).

I loved the way he kissed, very deeply with plenty of vacuum, although the base of my tongue could ache for days afterwards. I loved the way he fit me under his arm, like I belonged to him. (Which, in hindsight, I more or less did). We sometimes drove to a bar in L.A., 80 miles from home where there was very little chance of being recognized by anyone from his district—though with his paranoia, we didn’t go too often.

 I don’t know if he took me to the bar to show me off or just for a change of scene, it certainly was not like anything I’d experienced before. I couldn’t say I saw much, as I’d been trained to keep my eyes down, and stand or kneel by his side. Nobody was allowed to talk to me unless he gave his permission; I never had to worry about talking at all really. Not many came near me/us, though the ones who did were not interested in “talking” to me anyway. (Austin never shared any of his toys.)  He came up with a new toy, well rather a variation on an old one.  I had a slave harness with the strap between the butt cheeks and it held in place a good-sized dill.  The one he bought, black of course; had a provision for it to be attached to a small leather snap circle clip to the butt strap.  Austin replaced that with one his boot would fit onto, much like a stirrup.  I had to unlatch and slip that over his boot.  The way I was hunched in front squatting on the floor, he could quietly boot fuck me without too much problem for him.  I knelt in facing away from him, kept my head down; I was relaxed as much as possible from the ride down.  Just go with it and don’t make a sound, even if I came in the codpiece. DO NOT REACT or cause attention.  Yes I did have to clean up the codpiece orally before we left for the ride back.

 

Of course He wanted me to ride as well, it would be yet another opportunity to have his crotch in my ass. He wanted me to learn on his little dirt bike, but legally, I couldn’t have a learner’s permit, as I was now an illegal alien. He was a stickler for the law, or perhaps I would be too difficult to explain to other “authorities”.

 I’d have done anything he wanted me to and many times I did, against my better judgment I might add. Was it a relationship based on trust or me simply striving for his attention and would do anything to get? He experimented on me either out of curiosity or whether I could take it I was his personal chew toy/G.I. Joe doll.  I proved to be worthy as I never broke. Sometimes I was having my limits expanded, (I know my ass was at the very least) other times being broken in, just simply broken and giving in to his will. I had no trouble taking on this new identity, and enjoyed his attentions, protection and limited reserved affection. He was putting me through my paces and physically challenging me.  If I could take his dick I could take this plug, though slightly wider than I wished he would not let up until it was in place.

 I believed all he said, that I was pleasing him and his heavy-handed attempt at building his perfect slave meat, fuck toy.  I was craving attention so no matter the form I’d do it; I loved what he was doing to me.  I loved the power and the feel; it was in his body, his movements, and his abilities and of course his motorbikes, all big, all-powerful all revving with horses all with a hint of the forbidden or danger.  Nobody is brought up to enjoy and endure physical pain and discomfort for the pleasure it brings to themselves and their  owner?  I was learning.

Though one day, only for something to do besides listen to “The Mighty 690” on the radio dial or go for another read through Guns and Ammo magazine.  I did go out for a ride and I stopped at the beach, just to look around nothing else, it was simply a rest stop on my ride around town.  A police car slowed, siren went for two, one-second intervals and I knew I was busted.  Hell this was not even in his jurisdiction.  He later asked me when he came off duty.  “If I enjoyed showing my crotch off for the locals?  He told me to strip and he tied me hands up to the engine hoist.  I was expecting to be lashed, I always saw that whip but I never considered it being used upon me.  He didn’t.  Instead he went to his shelf of paints and came back with a tin, dipped the wide paint brush into the greenish goo and slapped my balls with it 4 times front back and side to side.  Telling me this was going to hurt him more than me.  He emphasized the point by dotting each nipple.  It was cold, wet and dripping, though that was only the first 10 seconds, then it became warm then stinging hot, then screaming stinging hot!  His words like the glop stung.  “If you want to hang your faggot little balls out down there again it will not be anytime soon!”  “Be here! Stay here!  Stay away from the beach, CLEAR!” I stammered, a Yes, Yes Sir! Please Sir, Please stop Sir!” Please Sir!  He turned I was afraid he was going to leave me like this, he sprayed me off with a cold mist of the garden hose, slowly from in my face to finally cooling off my nipples, my balls and dick.  He gave me a look of “See what you made me do?”  I soaked myself in the cold water of the bathtub I was “allowed” to use in the main house.  My crotch and nipples burnt and sensitive to any breeze, I could not stand to wear anything to cover them.  I stayed pretty much naked from the waist down and covered in fresh aloe Vera jelly for five weeks.  My skin and several of its layers had been burnt away with the aircraft grade paint stripper.  I never once complained or mentioned it to him.  I was in no position to be leaving, as my pants were not a place to be in.  I had to even sleep with my legs tied and spread apart so as to not put any pressure on my sensitive skin.

Weeks later, It was a very hot day, over 100o, (Blame it on brush fires and the Santa Anna Winds) and it was after 7pm. I knew Austin would be jogging home from the station house. I thought it was far too hot for that and there was too much of a chance of dehydration or sunstroke (I had unfortunately learned this the hard way several years before). Even though the sun had started to go down the heat was unbearable. I caught up to him about 5 blocks from the station (and 3 miles from home).

 He said nothing on the return until we were back inside his kitchen. Then he went berserk. “How dare I jeopardize his job by picking him up at work? He could have been seen with me, what would he had said? What the fuck was I thinking?”

He picked me up by the throat, shook me and threw me into the wall. I hit hard with my head and right shoulder and slid down to the floor. He stood over me yelling, “I can’t be seen with a faggot, what does that make me look like?”

I wasn’t about to take that lying down, though physically that may have been an oxymoron. “You tie up a skinny blond boy and fuck him, what does that make you?” I muttered.

 I got an answer that really surprised me: “I ain’t no fucking fag, I’ve never taken it up the ass or sucked a cock in my life!”

 “I didn’t know that that was a defining line for what makes a you gay,” I was surprised I could speak at all yet alone coherently with such a brazen tone.

 Austin grabbed me by the shirt collar and pushed me into the utility closet slammed the door closed and locked it.

I did not hear another sound from him. I didn’t know if he was still in the house or yard. I didn’t hear anything till the next morning when he let me out.

He was dressed for work, in his uniform. “Plenty of people disappear in the mountains each year and are never seen again,” he said to me when I emerged. “You could be one of them.” Then he turned and walked out the door.

 I knew he would be at work for the rest of the day. I showered and looked in the mirror. I had red blotches all over my face, bloodshot eyes, and bruises in the shape of fingertips on my throat and all I could do to speak was croak.  My head ached like hell

 I packed my bags and left within the hour, circling around the neighborhood several times before taking the back roads out of town. I drove well off the main roads, through Ojai and back up to Running Springs for the night. Two days later, I arrived back home. I crawled out of my car.

 My back ached for more than a week, either from the drive or from hitting the wall. My eyes cleared up quickly and I wore a several turtlenecks to cover the yellow-green bruising. I never told anyone the details.  I cut my hair and dyed it dark brown punk and spiky, yep pretty freaky in a small town. 

 I got a couple of letters from Austin saying how sorry he was, stating he was under too much stress at work and he’d never ever do that to me again, that he needed me now more than ever…that he’d do anything… “Please phone, call collect!”

 I did not respond.

 The letters that followed were targets from practice, with plenty of holes through the heart and a note saying “Thinking of you.” I started sending   the letters back, unopened: “Return to Sender.”

 A good-sized package arrived at my parent’s house a couple of years later, from his sister in Albuquerque, with a letter explaining that he had died accidentally “while cleaning a gun.”  I knew damn well he was far too careful to be doing that.

 “This parcel, addressed to you, was ready to mail before this all happened,” she wrote. She did not disclose what the contents were. The box came with a customs form that read “Personal Items” and it had been cleared without being inspected.

 I’ve read his handwriting on the old, brown wrapping many times in my visits back to my parents. To this day I’ve still never opened it

 A part of me is shut up in that box and though I try to deny its existence and what it represents, it is an essential part of whom I am. With each passing year, the tape holding it all together is drying up and it is coming loose in places, just like me. There is something in there, and it is simply a matter of time until it gets out.

 

 

 

“Can’t seem to get my mind off of you

Back here at home there’s nothin’ to do

Now that I’m away


I wish I’d stayed


Tomorrow’s a day of mine that you won’t be in





When you looked at me I should’ve run


But I thought it was just for fun


I see I was wrong


And I’m not so strong


I should’ve known all along that time would tell





A week without you


Thought I’d forget


Two weeks without you

And I Still haven’t gotten over you yet

 


Vacation All I ever wanted


Vacation Had to get away


Vacation
Meant to be spent alone”

 *The Go-Go’s 1982’s album  “Vacation”

 

     Ever notice how things come back to haunt you, I was deep in the midst of auto parts when I heard that song today.  It was the perfect melding of those 2 not so recent X-es.  One I left town over, as I could not stand seeing him with someone else.  No, not because I was so jealous, rather it was a very limited selection of guys and it was sort of incestuous as everyone was dating someone else’s X boyfriend. 

Officer Evans, yes “you looked at me I should have run.”  Time told me everything. Stupid stupid, stupid! Hell, what steroids can do to a personality.  Did I notice his balls were shrinking? His zero to 100 in 1/2000 of a second mood swings? 

     What is that saying “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”  (That you my boy for the bible quote.)  It is funny a “little someone” told me I put others before myself.  I try too hard to please everyone, except myself.  It takes this kid to tell me something like that?  I was looking for answers and I had to wait 30 years before I get a simple truth.  “Stand up, and in some cases stand up for those who cannot.”  I’m Irish (& Métis),  act like it.  You can be glad it was not you, (You may enjoy the fact it was me if you wish to enjoy the schadenfreude.) You believe any of this, though I can let your fingers trace the fracture that is on the top right side of my skull it runs down 1 side to just in front of my right ear the trail in the other direction bisects my forehead and then disappears just above the bridge of my nose.  Sorry you missed the seizures (You might have found it entertaining.) that developed afterwards, that wiring has self repaired or been re-routed. I don’t know how, it just happened.  I did give up a few things; I lost my music and mathematics down a 1 way neurological rabbit hole or dead zone, whatever you wish to call it.  I hid out for quite sometime for a lot longer I stopped embracing my kinks, though the funny thing is my first BF was a complete bondage freak.  Though I pay for my pleasures, not in the monetary sense mind you, unless you count gear.  I try not to bring him up, though he was so much fun.  Another time perhaps.

 Yes, that box, it remains as it has for decades set off high at the back, still at my parents, OK my Dad’s.  I am not afraid to look inside, it isn’t like his hand is gong to shoot out from it like the in the movie “Carrie” and I get dragged down to hell.  No I’d already been there, I will share that later.  Am I fucked up?  Hell we all are in some ways are we not?  This isn’t written as a “Poor me” or to follow up on  “Oh HE has issues”.  Life happens, even when you are not paying attention.

 

 

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September 1981 to December 1982 II

February 9, 2012 in Inmate: Beau, Stories

First off, thanks for the feeback!  I appreciate that  I really wanted to call this “I is for Idiot” or “Stupid Boy”  since
looking back and re-reading this seems as though I was at a time that I’d do anything to have someone paying 
attention to me no matter what the risk.  Granted at the time Safe sex was a hit or miss or hit or myth as I
Remember some thinking the AIDS Virus was carried on mustaches?  One of the best was immune systems
were breaking down from exposure to too many different men, that would mean on average a guy would have
to be having sex up to 100+ a day.  Who has time for that? plus sleeping, eating and working?  Second I do have
to admit I was being very dumb, I know that – now.  SO I continue and remember Do NOT try this at home.”
 
Part II
 

I let my cock do the thinking for me and found myself upstairs in the loft over the garage floor. I stripped down and rather self-consciously turned to face him. I was just over 6 feet, a rather skinny 155 pounds—really a bit too thin…  I had sort of a shaggy-haired, fog-brained surfer dude look…without the board or Scooby Doo. 

He stripped off fast; I was still struggling with my socks and undies as I glanced up.  His large hands on his hips and quite proud of himself. (Oh Man! The size of his chest, I could breast feed for weeks! A man with cleavage.) I guess if I had a body like that, I’d be proud too, though also a bit self-conscious.  He didn’t have a lot of body hair, though I learned later he was really big into bodybuilding and competition.

 

(I know up to this point it all sounds like bad soft porn, but wait, things are about to change.)  You know how some guys are well, “bigger” than others? He was, a penis is supposed to get longer, though he was similar to a Tom of Finland drawing, though it was ½ the length, but twice the width, so it looked like he was sporting one of those tall, wide, beer cans-you know those ones that similar to those little kegs? – Hamm’s, I don’t drink so maybe they don’t make them like that anymore.  Of course I have a photo!  Sorry it is of the can.)  {Sidebar:  Mom collected things that had unusual designs, she appreciated the form,.  Beer was considered the poor man’s choice of alcohal}   

All I could think was that was not going into my mouth unless one of us had some major surgery.  A python can dislocate its jaw to swallow its prey whole, and then slowly digest it over time.  In a bit of foreshadowing Officer Evens was doing just that to me.

 

He picked me up and flattened me out on the mattress—quite literally, as he was 100 pounds or more than I was and he had another 7 inches on me in height. I was having trouble breathing, especially after the one kiss where he seemed to be sucking the breath out of me. I was flipped onto my stomach without any kind of consultation.

 Austin slide his forearm around my waist, repositioning my ass upwards  and vulnerable. I don’t know what he used for lube, but he was in quickly and with little effort; it was a moment before I realized what he had asked me: “Wanna fuck?”

 “Gee, I thought we were.” (How kind of you to ask before doing anything).

 “Naw, that’s just two of my fingers.”  Then it was three and then the fourth.  What?  Did he loose his car keys in there?

 We had come this far, why not? I’ll skip the fumbling part where I believed I was getting a phone book shoved up my ass.

 I was about to ask if he could please stop when he changed angles and slide in. I asked if he could wait a moment before we continued, or tried to. He let go of my hip with his left hand and reached around grabbing my pubic hair, using it like a handle to guide me in and out. He brought his right arm up and wrapped his forearm and biceps around my throat and pulled me up to my knees. I was very firmly in his grasp and was not letting me up till he was done.  He quite handily managed to tilt me into a position that suited him.  I was simply along for the ride.

 I always try to be very polite and accommodating, “You can let go, and I know what I’m doing.”

 “Come on, it doesn’t hurt, it feels pretty good don’ it?” was the response I got.

 After “stuffing” me for 20 minutes, he came. “Thanks! This was great,” he muttered, and then added, “with a guy.”

 I didn’t dare ask what he’d been used to before this, but I think it was a mechanical bull. (If this cowboy stayed on more than 8 seconds, he got a prize and a chance at the semi-finals.) I was left feeling rather stiff, tight and greasy.

 “We” used the pool’s shower downstairs. He washed up and proceeded to lube me up again with hand cleaner. Now I didn’t mind the orange scented liquid goo, but it contains little hard sand-like scrubbers that hurt like hell.

The lubricating effect did overcome some of the gritty texture and I came all over his hand, stomach and thighs. “What in hell are you doing?!” He snapped. A nasty grin broke over his face as he pushed me down lower, smearing me with my own cum before shoving my mouth onto his somewhat shrunken, but no less intimidating cock. (I do remember washing and soaping him up, so I wasn’t concerned with any bitter aftertaste.)

 It was easier than I thought it would be; the trick (Though I thought I was the trick) was to let him grow inside me rather than trying to go down on his dick as a solid whole. This time when he finished he patted me on the ass and told me I was a good boy, kinda like those football players after a game.

 I’ll have to say he enjoyed what he did and was in no way about to quit now. The next day I got a phone message at the motel, asking me to call him. We met the day after for dinner. He made a proposition for me: if I wanted to stay longer in California, I could stay in his loft, it wasn’t much as it didn’t have a stove and just a small beer fridge on the garage floor.

 I took him up on it. As it did offer me more time away from home and it would really piss off my ex-boyfriend Bob, who was flaunting his new younger, cuter, blonder, dumber boyfriend. At that time, that was so important to me, as I’d got such a shitty deal in our divorce: Bob got everything and that included all of our “close friends”, most of whom would not even give me the time of day, though some did try “console me.” I did not know consoling was so sexual, which at the time wasn’t what I had wanted from anyone.  I needed down time or time for mourining and licking my wounds.

As the weeks went on, we had sex rather often, which is normal in any new relationship. However, the more he had, the rougher he became, and the more he came. I knew I could handle it, but I found him to be more controlling as the relationship progressed. I was always ridden hard, washed, cleaned and put away in the garage with the rest of his toys. I was always on the bottom and I never once received a blow-job-hand jobs yes, well on occasion, lips-never. I wasn’t allowed near his station house or to talk to the neighbors or the gardener who I don’t think even spoke English, and NOT back to the beach, at least not the “gay” side. There were clothes I could not wear, as they were deemed too “gay” though I never considered anything I had to be the least bit flamboyant The only things I liked tight was my bondage. So he chose what I could wear and what I couldn’t.

 He just loved me in black Speedos, but I didn’t, as I was very self-conscious about my build, or lack thereof. Austin did, however, have a stipulation with them, on each pair I was given, that inside modesty panel, that hid any sort of ridges and bulges associated with my privates had been removed. He could always tell if I was thinking about sex (like 22 year olds never do) and everyone knew that I was circumcised. I know you really needed to know that!

 I don’t know if he made me wear them for his benefit, or to shame me into staying far away from everybody else. I certainly stayed by his pool and I completely avoided going to the beach with those on.

 He always fucked me the same way each time: left hand grabbing my pubes and guiding me back and forth, my neck in his choke-hold.  Sometimes he held that position a bit tighter than I wished.

 I was getting pretty tender with all the hair pulling, so one day I trimmed my pubes down to about ¼ inches so they were too short to be used as a handle. Austin was pissed off, or turned on and used his horse clippers and took it all, leaving me completely bare. He left hair on my head so he’d always have something to grab, and at the time there was quite a bit up there to hold on to.  Austin then tied a leather bootlace around my balls sort of plitiing them apart and stretching; they were pulled down and back, so he could still limit my movement. Or lead me around like his prize pig. He tied off the leather end to an “O” ring on the garage’s centre post.  Making me stand up with my legs spread apart for his use and bennefit. This left his hands free to try other things, such as trying to remove my nipples with his thumbs and index fingers, well it felt that way –  then it felt good, not like I was going anywhere. I used to know when he was coming, as he pulled me back harder and thrust deeper, though now deeper was not enough. With one-handed dexterity, when “his” time was right, he’d light a match and put it out on my pubic bone.  All I could do was push back against him, forcing him further in.

 He found new inventive uses for his pair of #10 Vise grips as they fit according to him, perfectly on my nipples. (They only hurt when removed and he could slowly tighten them as he so often did.   How they stung when pulled off quickly though.

 My ass was his. If I bent down over the hood of the car, rode my 10 speed, tied my laces, yawned… it was enough of an invitation for him.

 Basically I was there to fulfill his fantasies. He loved arresting me, there was lots of “feet back and spread em!” Stripping, handcuffs followed this and blindfolds and then toys entered the picture.  Some I never saw felt them though and my ass was quite literally plugged, since I was tied and of course I liked his knots they were firm and well thought out.  I presume that was either from boating or from his work on his family’s ranch.  He did make me wonder if I were simply another Heffer, ready to be branded.  A thought always on the back of my mind, listed under “uncool events”  I’d also though maybe he had used the cows for something else, but since he considered anything female completely was inferior so I doubt it.  I’m glad I passed that butch/femme interview test.

 Now, as a child I did play “Cops and Robbers”, but never like this and not to the extent he was going to. It was progressing from innocent to extreme, from blindfolds to a hood, from simply my “right to keeping silent” to “enforcing” the right with a ball gag. Breaking silence was often met with stiff penalties, though I really began to look forward to those stiff parts.

 

I’ll leave you with that for the moment and we’ll come back to the stupid boy again.  The real screaming comes later. 

 

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September 1981 to November 1982 Part I

February 1, 2012 in Inmate: Beau, Stories

 

 

Now before we begin I want to point out I fictionalized the town from one of my favorite mystery writer’s Sue Grafton.  Yes it is the same “fictional town”,  the same one Oprah lives in, yes I’m impressed too!  Remember I got there first!  Oh yes, the photos are mine, I save everything, even old profiles of me from Recon.  Yes that was our place, who else has Canadian Maple leaves cut into the balcony slats?  Are there maple trees in California?

Now remember kiddies this was long ago, some of you were not even around then, so you missed Ron & Nancy, The President and Vice President of the United States and former Governors of California.  You also missed the Go-Go’s the Waitresses and New Wave, plus a Great TV show with Sarah Jessica Parker “Square Pegs” which is basically just how I fit in here myself.  Part of the song was quite appropriate, yes that’s me well I guess (us).  “I’d like it if they like us, but I don’t think they like us” and the last line “One size does not fit all!”  Oh its probably on you-tube or Amazon.    Anyway, I digress this is just the beginning, it was real, it happened and well some of it, I wish didn’t however there is no turning back, no do overs in life and some things will forever remain a mystery.  Like Ballot boxes in Florida missing from the George Bush II  first win (?) and Big-Foot.  So we will begin at the middle, the first is too cruel, yes even for you hard core guys.  I can make even tops cry.  So here we go.

 

 

He always called me Kenny, I was introduced to his friends as “Kenny” from Oregon, though I wasn’t introduced to anyone very often; I was just supposed to be “someone” living above his garage.

 We first met when he pulled me over while I was driving from my parents cabin in Running Springs in the San Bernardino Mountains to Santa Teresa. It was my first vacation after my breakup with my boyfriend Bob, and I wanted time to myself away from the town I lived in.

 He sat in the patrol car behind me for several minutes before approaching. He was big, looking every bit like a cop from “Chips” except for the fact he was way, way taller, blonder with a lot more meat on him. His biceps looked like 2 Volkswagens parallel parking, not just the shape of two, but the size as well, he caught me staring. I was asked the usual license and registration questions: Did I know it was illegal in this state to drive a car without a front license plate displayed? “Don’t you need a front plate in Oregon?” (My God can’t he read, it says Manitoba – 100,000 Lakes.)

I explained I wasn’t from Oregon, though the plates were similar colours, yellow and blue, I was Canadian, well kinda mostly. I lied and said that when I purchased the car the front bracket was not included, another was on back order, though it’s taken months and months. OK, so I lied to the police. The truth was my car did not look good with that bracket, though the excuse sounded reasonable, as it was a new model.

I was asked where I was going?  How long I was staying and which beach I was going to (East or West Beach)?  At the time I just thought it was to see if my story held up. I did not get a ticket; I got off with a written warning signed by officer D. A. Evens, CHP, Santa Teresa District and the remark, “Have a nice day.” Which seemed more like a threat than a friendly remark.

 I did not see him again for several days after I arrived in Santa Teresa. I was at the beach and I almost didn’t recognize him as he was dressed in casual clothes. I could tell he was packing something in his shorts (a concealed weapon, I later learned). He didn’t look happy to see me, either. I first thought he had come looking to see if I was still in town & all I could think of was those old movies with the sheriff “checking out the stranger in these here parts”).

 The conversation at first seem to be more of the same third degree I had experienced on U.S. 101, but after a short while it became friendlier, asking me how I liked Santa Teresa? What I had seen, Why I had a 10-speed bike in my car?  How much longer I was staying?  All I was concerned with was watching his thigh muscles twitch as he shifted his weight in the loose sand.  How can he get his shorts over those thighs and how can I get them off him?  I was trying my best to maintain some focus on his face, not that he was all hard to look at.  I just didn’t want a repeat of a few days ago when I was watching his biceps; his mirrored sunglasses did not help and distanced me a bit from him.  I was beginning to squirm a bit, more out of the embarrassment and discomfort that my dick was none too good at hiding my emotions.  Damn! I must think of something to keep my dirty little mind from going to his body.  This was not an easy task! 

He was ignoring my situation thankfully.  The questions were less official but still police-like. He wanted to know where I was going after this?  He made suggestions regarding local bike routes and things to see. I said I was going to be here for only a little while longer as I was on holiday and I would have to be going back soon.

 He then asked me, “Do you know you’re on the ‘gay’ beach?”

 “It isn’t too gay, I’m the only person here,” I said.  (Oops!)

“But, you are gay, though?”

Shit, here it comes, I thought, but he just nodded when I said I was as if I’d proved him right. Why did I say that?  Then he said goodbye and left me alone. I figured he’d had enough, got disgusted and left.

I was shopping the next day at the Army Surplus store at the south end of State Street. It had lots of cool stuff, cheap; including great looking used m/c jackets. I did not see him at first, looming up behind me; I was trying to see the price tag on the jacket which was just completely out of reach and there didn’t seem to be anyone around including the clerk.

 “You’re still in town?” came the loud twangy voice behind me.

 Jesus Christ! I thought. I was sure I’d seen the last of him.

“Austin Evens, we met the other day.”  Oh like I’d somehow forget this guy?

 “Right,” I croaked, recovering my wits, though not much of my voice.

“Do you want to go for some coffee?” he asked.  Damn the way he looked, I would have followed him anywhere, YUMM!

 When I found my breath I said “sure” simply out of politeness (Damn that Canadian Politeness!) than it was I really wanted or needed the caffeine.  Meanwhile the evil thoughts in my head continued.  Somehow during puberty part of my brain had been moving into my dick, not only was it thinking for itself, it was also pointing at what I lusted after.  I had completely lost control so I followed along, or pointed the way depending upon the point of view.  There I was not knowing what to say next,  I mean what would this big guy who is so straight and huge be doing with this toothpick?  At our booth in a small diner on Carillo Boulevard, we began our awkward talk, and this time it didn’t sound like I was being interrogated. He was surprised to learn all I knew about automobiles (I did not know if that was since I was gay and “fags don’t know nothing about cars” or because he thought there were no cars in Canada?  EH?)

 It was about an hour later that I first realized his legs were pressing firmly into mine, a little more than casually and it seemed like he was trying his best to spread them apart with his knees. Hell, I may be slow sometimes, but I do eventually pick up on things. All I could think of was, “How can he be talking about his cars and trying to pick me up at the same time?”

I was getting rather nervous. Up to this point in my life I had never got picked up. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve had sex, I had 2 boyfriends under my belt as it were; though a stranger had never ever picked me up before.  Hell, He could have easily flung me over his shoulder or dragged me by the hair (Oh I miss haircuts… ) back to his cave.  I knew darn well he could bench press my weight, probably just do biceps curls though I had no idea what he would grip on me to do that.

 He asked me if I wanted to see his car, he’d been working on it for several years and it had just been painted; since I was a painter perhaps I’d like to see it?    

I guess the line: “Come up and see my etchings” was a bit tired, but it worked, I went along with him. 

He showed me his black ’57 T-Bird in his large 2-car garage, plus his assorted other playthings. (Non-sexual I must add, a Honda Gold Wing, his other pride and joy a decommissioned, low mileage Police issue 1981 Kawasaki KZ1000, various horse and sailboat paraphernalia.  The garage was a Spanish style carriage house, detached from the main residence and separated by a pool. The property was almost completely surrounded by a tall, well-manicured 10-foot cedar tree hedge. At first I thought he just lived upstairs, renting the back, but he then made a point of telling me the whole place was his and so was everything in the garage: the car, the motorcycles and all of the other toys.

I was trying to make an excuse to leave, as I felt I’d been “impressed” enough. It was getting a bit long in the day, I was tired, hungry and well my wet spot had dried in the heat of the Indian summer day.  However at that moment  he put his large paw-like hand on my crotch squeezed ever so gently and asked me in a quiet “little boy” voice, “Wanna stay a bit longer?”

 

I’ll leave there with that, for the time being, yes there will be screaming and others will probably be falling asleep and wishing I’d get on with it.  If you like it let me know, no not stroking my ego, I no longer fed it and it flew away.  I’m trying out my own wings here.  I hope you enjoy and hope you learn something from this.

                                                                                                                                                                                                               

 

 

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Story: “The Black Wolf”, by H. A. Kirsch

December 1, 2011 in BDSM, Furry, Gear, Inmate: Hakirsch, Leather, Rubber, Stories

I wrote a story for Asylum’s first blog contest. The only problem was that I finished it after the deadline. I just can’t waste a good story, though. That won’t do, pig.

So you get to read it after the little “More” thingy below. This story is furry, but not in the way you think. It’s also rubber-kinky, BDSM-kinky, edgeplay-kinky, leather-kinky, and just plain kinky.

Read the rest of this entry →

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Vote For The Winner Of The DDR Rubber Jock!!!

October 22, 2011 in Inmate: RubberAsylum, Stories, Story Contest: DDR Rubber Jock

My Fellow Inmates,

Ok…ok… so this is a lot later than intended. Yet as we build the site slowly new functionality is added, yesterday t5he polls were entered in.

Please take the time to vote for your favorite story entry. They can all be found in the stories header.

The voting shall be open until the end of the day on October 31st. Once a winner is declared, then a new contest shall begin.

Make sure you vote, as if there is only one vote then the person who received it wins by default

~Asylum

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Community of Bondage – Part 6

October 14, 2011 in Asylum Inmates, BDSM, Gear, Inmate: Boots, Medical Restraints, Rubber, Stories

As promised, here is the continuation of part five, posted yesterday. This is the final part unless someone wants to take the reigns..

This is my own original work posted in several other places, including my own personal website, Snoopy’s puppycage, Rubbermen (before it was Rubberzone).

Enjoy!

Part Six

Out of sight of the audience one of the rubber men puts something into both of my ear holes that effectively deafens me to the outside world. I wasn’t expecting that!

The Rubber hood is a tight fit and my sensations are coming back to me that I can feel the rubber suit compressing my body and the butt plug filling my ass to a good effect.  This is enough of a distraction so that the next stage is less traumatic.

The Rubbermen force the hood down my head inch by inch and it is adjusted so I can see and the tubes are coming out of the right places.

The hood is then sealed at my neck with some sort of glue. I get the impression this suit was designed to stay on!

The second hood looks awesome, and as it was moved closer I began to get even more excited.

The hood was made of really thick rubber and had head straps inside the external hood.

The nose cup of the gasmask accepted the breathing tube and the feeding tubes were attached just before the mask was fixed to my face.

The head straps on the inside are pulled tight so as to seal my fate, and as one rubberman grasps my head on both sides, the other pulls the outer hood tightly back over my head, covering the first rubber hood and the gas mask straps.

The outer hood is zipped up and my world shrinks again as the laces are tightened at the back of my head.

A heavy metal collar is secured around my neck and fastened with allen bolts and locked with a key, which I notice goes into a box to my left.

The padlocks sealed my fate even though I was trapped inside unrelenting thick rubber.

The lights dimmed and whilst the lights flashed in front of me I am unstrapped and led blindly into another dark room.

Whilst the ‘game’ continued in the main room, I am forced into what could only be described as an upright coffin.  Straps unside this box go around my waist, thighs, chest, biceps, wrists, ankles, neck and forehead so I am completely imobilsed.

A flexible tube is then connected to my gasmask, and the tubes attached to other tubes inside the box.  Finally hands go between my legs and fiddle with the buttplug inside of me.

The door closes and I am in complete darkness.  I feel secure and incredibly horny, really wanting to grab my cock and pump it for all I’m worth but I have no hope of making myself cum.

All the layers I am wearing together with the bondage I have been forced into prevent any orgasm.

I can feel my breathing become laboured, and I have to consciously suck the air into my mask so that I can breath.  I feel warmth in my stomach and my ass starts to vibrate.  The buttplug is a vibrator too!

I really want to cum now! But I have no option but to stay where I am and take what is being done to me.  Covered in rubber from head to toe, with not a millimetre of me showing or even touch air, strapped in a box and being made to feel horny.   Was this heaven or hell I thought.  And how long is this going to last? 

My thoughts turned to my boyfriend and how he must be going out of his mind wondering where I am.  How I wished to be with him, to feel his arms around me.

Just as I thought this, a voice I recognised came through to me.  The earplugs had mini speakers in them, like a personal stereo.

“The state you are in, will last for eight hours each day.  You will grow accustomed to your predicament.  You are my slave and you will be rubbered FOREVER!”

The voice grew softer as he repeated the sentence.  I was his rubbered slave and I would do anything he wished.  I was becoming his property, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Forever in his bondage, rubber and held in a constantly horny state, and still I couldn’t quite place that voice in my massively altered state of physical and mental being.

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Reader Story Submission: “Liquid Submission Part 1″ by S10boi

October 13, 2011 in Reader Contributions, Rubber Stories, S10boi, Stories

“Is that it?” I asked, staring into the small metal box my Alpha had opened in front of me. He’d been very keen for me to see it – whatever it was. Inside, a thick black liquid half-filled the base of the box, reflecting some of the light in the room. I could almost see my curious face in it, the reflection staring back at me. He’d insisted that I was to be naked at the start of this scene, and that had filled my mind with all sorts of ideas about me going in some of his gear to be tormented. All of that went out of the window when I was confronted with…whatever this stuff was.

“Put your hand in it, pup” he replied. I knew that look in his eyes – he had something new planned for me, but he wasn’t going to let me know what. That look had been present before some amazing sessions with him, and I relaxed slightly – my nerves and uncertainty becoming less dominant as my horny side began to materialise.

He held the box in front of me, and I slowly moved my right hand closer to the liquid. Only now did I realise just how much I was shaking. I paused, and looked up at my Alpha once more. “You’ll enjoy this, I can guarantee it” he said, the look in his eyes somehow stronger than before.

In my hand went. The liquid was cold, slimy almost, but it felt strangely nice. It covered my hand entirely, but nothing else seemed to be happening. Was I supposed to use my hand to cover my body with this stuff? There didn’t seem to be enough of it to do that. I looked up to see my Alpha, looking slightly disappointed – clearly he’d been expecting something to happen.

“What..?” I started to ask, curious to know what I was supposed to be doing. The cold and slimy sensation felt like it was spreading up my right forearm. I quickly looked down at the box to see exactly that – the shiny black liquid was slowly working its way towards my elbow.

Startled, I instinctively tried to pull my hand out of the liquid, but it wouldn’t move. The liquid had passed my elbow now and was growing up towards my shoulder – the cold and slimy feeling against my skin was making me feel horny, despite the strangeness of what was going on.

“It’s liquid rubber – fully controllable by me”, my Alpha said, looking horny as he watched the shiny black substance as it grew across my shoulder and began to spread out across my chest and back. “It’s going to seal you in the perfect rubber suit so I can give my gimpy pup the treatment I know he wants and needs”.

Instant boner – hearing those words coupled with the feeling of the liquid rubber as it spread further down my back and chest – towards my groin was more than enough to completely defeat any remaining nerves I’d had and let my cock take over how I felt.

I lifted my left hand up in front of my face so I could see the last pieces of skin on that arm – the tips of my fingers – vanishing under the smooth, shiny rubber. “Fuck” was all I managed to say as my cock began to drip precum.

It spread up as far as my neck, but seemed to stop there. It came frustratingly close to covering my cock and balls, but stopped short, and instead spread down and around to cover my legs and ass. It sealed my feet as if I was wearing the most perfect-fitting rubber toesocks, but still my cock, balls and head remained uncovered.

I looked pleadingly at my Alpha – he was enjoying my frustration. I so desperately wanted my cock and balls to be sealed into the slimy-feeling horny rubber that now covered most of my body. I felt like I was ready to shoot my load just imagining the sensations as it spread from the base of my cock to the tip.

Lost in this thought, the cold feeling beginning to travel up my neck towards my head took me by surprise. He knew what I wanted the most, and was going to make me wait for it until the very end. The rubber covered my neck and face entirely, and for a few seconds left me unable to see or breathe. Panicking slightly, I was relieved when holes formed for my nostrils, eyes and mouth. It felt tight, but like on the rest of my body, not so tight that it was uncomfortable.

Finally, I got what I’d wanted so badly – I watched as the rubber slowly sealed my balls inside their new prison, before growing its way up the base of my cock, towards the tip (which was precumming even more now). I groaned in pleasure as the cold, slimy sensation travelled up my cock – I thought I was going to shoot my load before I’d even been played with inside this amazing rubber suit! I managed to hold back…just, as the rubber finally sealed itself around the tip of my cock to give me the tightest, best feeling sheath I’d ever worn.

Instinctively, I tried to move my right hand out of the now-empty metal box, towards my cock to have a proper feel, but I couldn’t. All of a sudden, the rubber around my right arm and shoulder felt tighter and thicker than the rest of the suit, restricting my movements and preventing me from getting anywhere near touching my cock, which was so desperate for attention.

“I told you”, my Alpha said, a smug look on his face, “it’s fully controllable by me – and now so are you, gimp”. Oh fuck! Why did that make me even hornier? “Have a look at yourself in the mirror”.

My body seemed to move by itself – the rubber on my legs almost pulling me to turn to the side and walk closer to the wall mirrors. Reflected there was someone I didn’t recognise – someone who most certainly couldn’t have been me. Not a trace of skin could be seen on the gimp standing there. His body was totally covered in the most perfect-fitting rubber suit imaginable: not a crease, seam or zip in sight. Even his eyelids and lips were covered by the blackest and shiniest rubber I’d ever seen. Only his eyes gave away the fact that there was a person trapped inside, and that the person was me.

Catching sight of my rubberised erect cock made me want to touch it again, but the rubber seemed to know what I was thinking – my arm didn’t move at all this time, despite what I was telling it to do in my mind. I’d never been so horny, so frustrated.

“I knew you’d enjoy it” he said, the horny look in his eyes reflected back at me as he stood behind his rubberised gimp. “You’re not finished yet though – there’s more I need to do to my gimpy pup before you can be fully used”