Saturday, January 31, 2009

St. Peter Don't call me cause I cant go... I sold my soul to the Rebel...

My Fellow Inmates,

I have been thinking, and I will tell you now, that is never a good thing. One question keeps popping up and that is "why"... Why read my blog and follow the insane threads that I tend to tread in my never ending quest for a concise thought?

Why follow me down he rabbit hole just to hope that by the time I finally end up taking a breath that my machinations served any other purpose than to just waste fifteen minutes of your life...

Could it be that I am trying to distract you while my hit squad enters your abode and sneaks up behind you with a syringe aimed for its mark; dripping in anticipation of sliding home in to the moist warmth of you subcutaneous tissue?

Perhaps its because I am an incurable case who is trying to take others down with him... A lost soul, who gave of himself to the Rebel many many years ago.

And with that I mean "Rubber Rebel".

Now before you picture me under our illustrious host who is kind enough to offer this space for us to all gather, not that I would imagine that he would argue mind you, I should mention that the Rubber Rebel I speak of is the magazine that was printed from 1994 - 1996.

I am truly sorry for anyone who does not know the volumes of which I speak, as if you were to try googling it, only very little information comes up. No other American magazine to date has embodied the rubber bondage community in the same way. Later on the same editors came out with Vulcan America magazine. Sadly it just wasn't the same.

I will be completely honest here. No other influence shaped my life and helped set me on the right path than finding Rubber Rebel when I was 16 years old.


This was back in the days when first avenue south in Seattle earned the seedy reputation that it held. There was a store called Fantasies Unlimited, that sat right across from the pike place market. The bottom floor of this shop was your standard everyday porn store, but what made this place special was the bondage shop that sat upstairs.

They had all sorts of high quality gear that my young mind could not even fathom. From electro gear to rubber... it was to be a haunt of mine for many years to come, yet it was the first time I ventured in there that will always stick in my mind.


You see a straight friend from high school tagged along with me one day when I was SUPPOSED to be going to religion school, he had told me that there was this store he wanted to show me, and as long as you minded your business, they didn't card you.


So we parked in a garage that from the smell of it also doubled as a restroom for transients, tucked cigarettes behind our ears to make us look older, and entered the shop. I was not prepared for the world that hit me. He wanted to show me the store upstairs where "Sicko's" could buy twisted stuff, but I was drawn to the magazine rack.


There sat a periodical whose cover featured an amazing picture of a faceless rubber diver. Not fully understanding why, as previously I had only had bondage and random gear fantasies, I picked up the magazine and with a trembling hand I flipped through page after page of full coverage rubber and bondage pictures.

I knew then that this was one of those "Sick" gay magazines, as it was all men featured, yet the following week, when my friend was no longer with me, I bought it anyway as I told myself that it was such an amazing magazine that I would just overlook the gay part... yick! Heh...


That day I also bought a tiny, and I do mean TINY plug... My body knew what I was after even though my brain was unable to admit defeat yet. As I got on the Ferry Boat, on my way back to the Island where my parent's home was, I slipped the small phallus down in my pants very carefully so the people beside me wouldn't see what I was doing. Sadly I didn't realize at that point that a virgin ass was not going to allow entry that easily to an unlubed rubber plug... so I used force... lol, and ouch...


So as I sat on the painful little thing trying to figure out what the draw was as my ass burned, I flipped through the Forbidden fruit of a magazine that I had picked up. As I read an amazing story about a guy taking a vacation to a friends home for play. He was covered in layers of dive gear, then thick bondage mitts were locked on, a helmet was added, he was secured to a bondage board, his air was turned off and he was forced to suck every last breath of air out of the suit while he got a crotch massage.


Sitting there on the ferry, out in the open, cars on all sides of me with families in them, I pulled my dick out and jerked off all over myself. I then raced home to continue the read of this amazing piece of literature, by now telling myself that obviously the gays knew how to make good porn, but of course I was still straight... *Cough*


As I opened the magazine again I hit a second story, about a guy who went cave diving with a group of divers and they came up in a underwater cave that had an air pocket and dry ground. There he was restrained and the intake to his mask was connected to the Dump Valves on their suits where a mixture of piss, cum, and sweat began to fill his mask. He was required to drink fast in order to keep the levels below his nose so he could still breathe.

While reading this story my poor unprepared mind gagged a few times at this thought... Yet my hand never slowed down on my swollen dick who loved the thought of this kind of treatment...


Beyond the amazing stories, pictures, and the fact that Aquala sold modified suits through the magazine as well... This is a piece of American rubberist history that sadly seems to be lost at this moment. I reached out to the original publisher for copies, yet he only has a few left and doesn't wish to see them go.

This is a magazine that needs to see the light of day in digital format. Yet there still is nothing like being able to hold that hard copy... The smell of the ink, the knowledge of the forbidden fruit hid under the bed, and what would happen if your parents found it...


We all have to find our path, some of us take longer than others... I had my path slap me across the face...


Thank you to the publishers of Rubber Rebel, we all can only go through those tough teenage years once... You will always hold a special place in my heart.


With that visiting time is over and the guards grow antsy...

Take care, and what ever you do don't scream too loud, others are trying to sleep


Rubberasylum

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