Monday, December 3, 2018

Accidentally Practicing for 24 Hours in a Sleepsack

Photo Credit: Rocket, Object: Rubberfreak

Yep, I'm still sleepsack obsessed after all these years… Maybe more than ever.

A goal that I've had for a long time (probably more than 10 years) was to do 24 hours in one.... After either avoiding it or failing to schedule the time for it it finally happened in February of 2018. In some ways I think I was afraid to fail.

I guess I may as well start at the beginning of the events a full year prior that precipitated the actual attempt.

In 2017 I’d done some various challenges/goals — 3 weeks doing every night in a sleepsack, then another longer run of something like 5 weeks in it every night for bed. All of this started with just kind of seeing if I could do it night after night and get better at it. I blame MakoGimp for putting the idea in my head to begin with in December of 2016.

Pretty quickly we learned that my bathroom cycle just does not allow a full, unbroken night of continuous sleep. This ended up requiring MakoGimp to often let me out of the sleepsack once a night to use the bathroom and then reinstall me. Lots of broken sleep for that one, but he bore the burden with stoicism and enthusiasm.

Despite the difficulties, we were pretty committed to the idea, up to and including taking my leather sleepsack on our Atlantis cruise and roping it to the bed to sleep in every night. I’m sure our room attendant was wondering what it was all about (though he was very professional and a pretty nice guy).

Once I’d done the 3 week and 5 week run, we collectively got the idea in our heads to see if I could do more than half of the nights for the entire year of 2017.

It seemed like an insane goal, but I thought ‘Why not?’.

That's how MakoGimp ended up sleeping more nights on the floor of my room on a mattress, with me nearby on the bed in, securely roped down in my sleepsack than he did at his own apartment. Thanks to MakoGimp, Rocket, Chicagogear, Johnnygear and anybody else I forgot, I managed to spend right around 192 nights in 2017 securely sleepsacked for bedtime (bathroom trips notwithstanding).

To be honest I got pretty damn good at sleeping that way. I’m normally a notorious insomniac and something about the tightness of the whole thing seemed to calm me down and help me sleep. By the end of the year it got to the point that I’d sleep better in it than I would sleeping normally, almost to the point that I’d depend on it to get to sleep.

Something about that is pretty appealing for a sleepsack obsessed fetishist…

In February of 2018, I realized that if i was *ever* going to have a shot at a successful 24 hours in the sleepsack, this was it. After half a year of nights in the thing I was as practiced as I could get — we scheduled a slot of time with Rocket and MakoGimp and just like that, the date was set.

 To be continued... I'll share the experience itself, and probably a bunch of things (some intuitive, some not) that I learned along the whole journey.


Wednesday, November 28, 2018


Wow, now this takes me back!

Tuesday, November 20, 2018

A Little History

I found this story that I wrote up 5 years ago lying around on my laptop. I'm positive it was meant for this blog, and I've recently wanted to rekindle this site - so here you go.

I am a 31 year old gay fetishist, and this is my origin story.

As long as I can remember, I've been into bondage. Probably moreso than anything else in the early days, because it was easy to come by. The list of movies I watched just to see guys in hospital restraints and straitjackets could stretch on for pages. My parents thought I had an interest in escape artistry. In retrospect, I think they were just trying to rationalize my fascination with restraint.

As a young preteen, like many budding fetishists, I used to play tie up games with my best friend. Nothing too involved, but usually some tape or rope eventually turning into an escape challenge. I have many fond memories of a too-big shirt used to sit in my dresser that my friend and I would use  by wrapping the arms around and tying them in back as if it were a straitjacket. It was actually pretty effective, considering the medium.

Early on I amassed a collection of what could be considered my 'gear'. I quote that because none of it was purpose built bondage gear. It was the most ragtag collection of items that could be manipulated into restraint that there ever was. Leather belts, bits of chain, cheap handcuffs from the carnival, bandannas, pieces of rope from the hardware store, tape, winter mittens and gloves, even velcro straps from my rollerblades. These were the items I had at my disposal and I put them to use with a single minded purpose.

In my self bondage days the hogtie was a favorite of mine. Easy to get into with some ingenuity, relatively easy but somewhat time consuming to get out of. The perfect scenario. Tie myself up, wiggle around a bit, and eventually spend some time turning myself loose. I spent many afternoons squriming around on the floor in either the bathroom or my bedroom until I eventually released myself.

One day, while everyone was out of the house, I had myself bound to an end table in the living room. In my squirming to free myself, I began to feel something down in the crotch area. Having not experienced this before, it seemed to me that I may be about to pee. I thought maybe I had made myself nervous or scared and that was the reason for the sensation. Somewhat put off by this, I hurriedly released myself.

This did not stop me from practicing my art though. Before long i was back at it in full force, and experiencing the same feeling during my activites. Eventually one day I had myself into a particularly excellent hogtie, and was having a bit of trouble freeing myself. In my enthusiastic squrming and wiggling around I began to get the feelings again. In a panic, I tried to quickly free myself, but I was too late.

I had just experienced the first orgasm in my life, and I experienced it while in bondage. This was the moment that has directed my entire life sexually. For the next year or more, I spent my self-bondage hogtied and squirming myself into bliss on the floor of various places around the house.

It may sound strange, but somewhere near the first hundred orgasms in my life were hands free orgasms, squirming in bondage. I attribute fixation and fascination with restraint, and near inability to have vanilla sex mostly in part to the formative years and activites I participated in sexually.

Around the age of 14 we got the internet. Having only had access to bulletin board systems before, this opened a whole new realm of possibilities for me. I could look at photos of bondage and restraint any time I wanted, and with a few clicks I could learn more about anything that interested me.

From this stemmed my early interest in rubber and in chastity. There were not too many resources for either of these back then, but a few that stick out for me were the early rubber lists and groups, and of course Alatarboy's chastity website. I spent many hours poring through the images and the stories on all of these sites.

Around the time I got in high school I did what every good hot-blooded guy my age did in the small community I grew up in - I got a girlfriend. She was a short little punk girl, and in retrospect was quite boyish actually. We shared an interest in metal bands and playing guitar and we got on massively. Another interest we shared was bondage - I had found myself a budding dominatrix, and spend the next few months getting tied and teased and exploring things a bit deeper on the bondage and sex standpoint.

Sadly this was not meant to last, and we broke up after a relatively short bit of time. This experience left it's own impression on me, and I went back at the internet pages and forums with a renewed vigor. In my binging on photos and stories I began to notice a trend - The photos I tended to fixate on were of guys bound in various restraints. I tried to rationalize to myself that it was the restraint and the situation that appealed to me, and the guys had little to do with it.

It still took a couple more years of soul searching before I finally gave in and realized that my interest was as much in the guys that were bound (or doing the binding) as it was in the gear itself. It was a complete package, and I could not deny it any longer.

I was bisexual, I was a guy that linked girls and guys, and for the most part I was ok with that. I was still a little bit put off by certain things at that point (the idea of giving a BJ or getting anal), but I could handle the fact that I had some bit of sexual attraction to guys.

Eventually I turned 17, I had my own car, I had the internet and I had some independence. Through some nice friends who I had been chatting with recently, I managed to begin talking to a guy named Bill. He lived in the suburbs of Chicago and was about 30 years my senior. He seemed like a nice guy, came with references and wanted me to come visit some time. There was no pressure, we could have pizza and talk, or if I wanted we could do something more interesting.

Mustering my courage, I eventually set a date with him to come visit. I still remember the details to this day. It was a Tuesday, I was supposed to arrive around 6pm and the street address of the house is burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

Having driven the 100 miles from my home town to his place in the suburbs of Chicago, I found myself sitting outside his place. I still didn't know what to make of the situation. I had made sure to tell someone where I was going, and when I would check back in. I left my wallet in the truck, which to this day I do not understand what I was trying to accomplish, but my mind was racing.

After sitting outside his house for probably 30 or 40 minutes I finally collected myself and walked up and rang the bell.

There was no going back, now he knew i was there, and he was coming to the door. We were at least going to meet whether I had second thoughts or not.

He answered the door with a friendly smile and asked me to come inside. I had seen photos before, but it was different in person. He was a shorter guy with black hair, and he had a mustache. I'm not sure what I had imagined, but here I was with this fatherly gay man, and was suddenly at my ease. This was not some scary monster I'd made up in my head, it was just another guy that enjoyed some of the things I enjoy.

We sat on the couch for quite some time and talked. The topics ran the gamut of everything -- life, college plans, music and of course fetish. After an hour or so he offered to order some pizza and rang the delivery place. A bit more small talk while the pizza arrived and we had the measure of each other and I was feeling pretty comfortable.

Once the pizza had arrived and we had eaten, I found myself getting nervous again. This was the part where he was going to suggest that we do something besides talk. I was in a near-panic. What would he want to do? What had we talked about? What had I agreed to?

My mind raced as I grasped vainly for bits of our previous conversations from my memory. Like most hormone ridden teenagers, I wasn't quite sure what I may have suggested or agreed to in my libido infused chats.

Finally the question came: 'Would you like to check out the gear??' he asked.

After a brief moment of internal struggle, I answered that I would definitely like to see the gear. He led me upstairs to his bedroom and opened a closet.

There spread before me was the biggest mass of leather and bondage gear I could have imagined. It was literally spilling off of the shelves.

'See anything you'd like to try?' he asked.

I gingerly reached out and touched one of the objects of my fantasies and fixations - it was a leather straitjacket on the hanger right in front of me. I was speechless, and I couldn't formulate any response to him. He gently nudged me aside and pulled the jacket down off the hanger and handed it to me.

I spent probably 10 minutes inspecting the jacket and looking over every detail. I was enamored with the jacket and the idea of trying it, but I was far too nervous to ask.

Picking up on this, he grabbed the jacket from me, unbuckled the back and presented the sleeves to me.

'Go Ahead' he said.

I was completely on autopilot. I stripped naked and stuck my arms in the sleeves and stood statue-still while he did up the straps. When he was done I tested the bonds and found it to be very restrictive. He sat me on the edge of the bed and asked how I liked it.

We spent a few minutes making small talk, me in the jacket and him standing over me.

Finally he asked "You've jumped into the deep end, maybe you would like the full experience?". I agreed. In a short time I found myself on the bed with my ankles cuffed to the posts, gagged, blindfolded with a ball parachute on.

He spent the next hour teasing me slowly and giving me time to come back down from the brink. As time went on and I became more comfortable, I began to relax and experience the sensations. I was no longer nervous, and I had never wanted to get off so bad in my life.

Eventually, mercifully he pushed me over the edge to an explosive orgasm, one of the most memorable of my life.

No longer horny and now fostering doubts and some guilt about the whole experience, I quickly got released, dressed and on my way.

In retrospect, I was probably rude and ungrateful, and I've suffered the same treatment at the hands of curious young first timers. Knowing how I felt then and being on the other side of the experience, I can't help but laugh a bit at the irony.

I share this as an example to others who are considering indulging their fantasies and allowing themselves to be who they are.

I am a 31 year old gay fetishist. I no longer identify as bisexual and personally find that it was a stepping stone from my socially imposed 'straight' status to who I really am. I am out and open with most people about my fetish and sexuality to any who ask.

Routinely I find myself approached by younger curious guys who want information, advice or an ear to listen about their difficulties coping with being a gay or bisexual man, or a fetishist.

My experiences and the people who I met early on are what helped me learn to be and accept who I am.

I can only aspire to be a similar influence on others.


Dedicated to the first man I ever had fetish play with: Bill S. 1952-2012.