gimp – CASE FILE 2022-G225
4 years ago
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
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.
-rf
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.
-rf
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Sadness
I hate to come back to blogging this way, but I think its important. Please get help if you are feeling suicidal. If you know someone who needs help, try to make sure they get what they need. This is hitting too close to home. We are a small community and we need to help each other through things, we also need to know that we can lean on our friends for support.
Last night a close friend of mine took his own life.
He was a great guy, an awesome friend and one of the rare people who could regularly put a smile on my face. He was also an active member of the gear community and regularly contributed his time at events.
When something happens like this, it puts so much of the detail about your life and interaction with the person in perspective.
To someone who is in a place so deep and dark, you can be a life line. Any interaction you may have with them is a way to help gently guide them back from the edge. Be part of their life if you can, and just be there to listen, or to sit quietly and be together.
If you know someone who is struggling with depression or in a dark place, reach out to them. The healing process can be long, but it starts with getting them help.
Rest in peace - I'll miss your inappropriate jokes and brutal honesty. I'll miss having my friend who learned to skate and to play hockey with me - that time meant a lot to me.
I hope you find peace and never look back.
-rf
Thursday, March 6, 2014
Goalie Gimp
This is where you store goalies when they aren't in use. Rocket likes to spend the night in this cage frequently.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
A Preview from a Recent Weekend With Rocket
Several weeks ago, Rocket and I went and had our first play weekend together both as subs. As strange as it sounds, this has never happened before, as one of us is usually topping the other.
Here is a nice photo from the weekend (I did not get to try the chair, but I am dying to):
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Fetish Photos
Recently I bought a new camera - I have been putting it to good use taking play photos and videos. Rest assured I have many hundred photos to share. Here is a nice preview to whet the appetite
Is this thing still on?
So yes, I've decided to start blogging again. I had some unexplainable depression for awhile, and that caused me to draw inward a bit, but I'm feeling well again. A lot of the folks who read this blog on a regular basis have been prodding me to get back to it, and finish the story I started, so here we go...
My Kidnapping Part 2
As it turns out, they were asking if I was ready to take a ride in the car. After releasing me from some but not all of the restraints, I was lead back up the somewhat treacherous stairs into the house itself.
There was a bit of a production of trying to cover me up a little bit for modesty (apparently rubber kidnappings in residential areas is a bit of an attention getter in some places -- who knew?). My memory of some of this is a bit fuzzy, but I do distinctly recall it being somewhat comical. It really is quite difficult to put a coat and shoes on someone who is hooded, cuffed, mitted and hobbled.
Once that was done, I was led very carefully back out of the house the way I'd come in. As I was put into the back seat of a car I realized it was not the car I'd arrived in, nor did I recognize the voice of the person that was driving it. It sounds mundane, but it's really quite disconcerting to find yourself suddenly at the mercy of an unknown person. It certainly gets the mind racing.
After a short drive with many turns that seems like it took forever (the mind races when you're driving god knows where and restrained), we came to a halt. Straining to hear the voices outside the car, I realized that Damian and his partner had come along, though I couldn't make out what was being discussed.
Abruptly the car door was opened.
"Ok, we're going to do this fast, do you understand?" said a voice.
As I was helped up from the back seat, I found myself rather unceremoniously being hustled a short distance and through a doorframe (which I only sensed by bumping into it).
"Step up", I did so, "Again", "Again", "Again" and so it went on for what seemed like quite a few steps.
A few twists and turns and I was guided up in through another doorway. As I entered the room, I bumped into something directly ahead just as I heard the door slam behind me and latched ominously.
Finding myself alone with my restraints, I figured I should explore my incarceration as much as a hooded, mitted gimp can manage.
With some trial and error I found that I was in a padded cell that was maybe 2 feet by 3 feet, with plenty of room to stand up. There seemed to be plenty of attachment points built into the cell at regular intervals.
As time dragged on, all I could hear was the whine of the ventilation fan built into the cell, and my steady breathing inside the hood. My mind considered the possibilities, but really could not come up with an explanation for where I was or what was going on.
Finally I wedged myself into the cell with my knees on the door and my butt on the back of the cell and settled in for what could be a very long wait for whatever might be next.
In the next installment I'll reveal the destination and what happened next.
-rf
My Kidnapping Part 2
As it turns out, they were asking if I was ready to take a ride in the car. After releasing me from some but not all of the restraints, I was lead back up the somewhat treacherous stairs into the house itself.
There was a bit of a production of trying to cover me up a little bit for modesty (apparently rubber kidnappings in residential areas is a bit of an attention getter in some places -- who knew?). My memory of some of this is a bit fuzzy, but I do distinctly recall it being somewhat comical. It really is quite difficult to put a coat and shoes on someone who is hooded, cuffed, mitted and hobbled.
Once that was done, I was led very carefully back out of the house the way I'd come in. As I was put into the back seat of a car I realized it was not the car I'd arrived in, nor did I recognize the voice of the person that was driving it. It sounds mundane, but it's really quite disconcerting to find yourself suddenly at the mercy of an unknown person. It certainly gets the mind racing.
After a short drive with many turns that seems like it took forever (the mind races when you're driving god knows where and restrained), we came to a halt. Straining to hear the voices outside the car, I realized that Damian and his partner had come along, though I couldn't make out what was being discussed.
Abruptly the car door was opened.
"Ok, we're going to do this fast, do you understand?" said a voice.
As I was helped up from the back seat, I found myself rather unceremoniously being hustled a short distance and through a doorframe (which I only sensed by bumping into it).
"Step up", I did so, "Again", "Again", "Again" and so it went on for what seemed like quite a few steps.
A few twists and turns and I was guided up in through another doorway. As I entered the room, I bumped into something directly ahead just as I heard the door slam behind me and latched ominously.
Finding myself alone with my restraints, I figured I should explore my incarceration as much as a hooded, mitted gimp can manage.
With some trial and error I found that I was in a padded cell that was maybe 2 feet by 3 feet, with plenty of room to stand up. There seemed to be plenty of attachment points built into the cell at regular intervals.
As time dragged on, all I could hear was the whine of the ventilation fan built into the cell, and my steady breathing inside the hood. My mind considered the possibilities, but really could not come up with an explanation for where I was or what was going on.
Finally I wedged myself into the cell with my knees on the door and my butt on the back of the cell and settled in for what could be a very long wait for whatever might be next.
In the next installment I'll reveal the destination and what happened next.
-rf
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