Starting a blog - let's see where this goes.  I hope to post videos, stories, personal thoughts and anything that strikes my fancy.   Let's start with a great story.

Rubber Life Part One by Slick xxxslick@msn.com

Jack had found little action in the states and decided to answer an ad in a foreign personal that catered to more serious fetish interests. Little did he know that the ad was to result in him traveling to London on such short notice. The ad read:

SERIOUS RUBBERMAN WANTED FOR INTENSE LATEX SEX. SAFE AND TOTAL RUBBER. NO LEATHER. I'VE GOT MORE GEAR THAN YOU EVER WILL BUT YOUR ADDICTION AND DEDICATION TO RUBBER IS WHAT'S IMPORTANT.

A phone number followed, Jack checked the white pages for instructions on calls to England. 0 11 the city code, the number... he dialed. He figured with the 6 hour time difference it would be 8 p.m. there, an OK time to call, not too late..

Although he dialed, he was surprised when someone answered. The voice on the other end was short and serious. Basic questions about Jack's build, age, interest in rubber, the man supplied an address and asked for two polaroids in gear of his choosing, to be sent Courier Express plus one of him in plain clothes in the same setting holding the front page of the a major newspaper like the New York Times to demonstrate the photos were current. If he couldn't pull together two outfits of rubber, he wasn't a serious rubber fan and should wait until later in his fetish to contact the man. Also, a convenient time he would be home two days later for a response.

Jack thought about the ad the entire next day at work, he was completely distracted and had to sneak off to the john to jerk off at one point if he was to get anything accomplished. He was only too happy for 6 o'clock to roll around so he could head home. The guy was serious enough to place an ad, he hoped it wasn't some old perve who just wanted pictures of guys in rubber. He'd had enough problems with personals in the States and the way people lied or just never responded, or didn’t own any gear. One time he had had even had someone send him his OWN picture downloaded from the web claiming to be respondent’s photo!

He showered and toweled dry, walking around the apartment naked while he set things up, satisfied with the glimpses he'd catch of himself in the mirror as he walked by. First, the polaroid on a tripod he had borrowed from a friend. Then he cleared away an area of wall so there wouldn't be anything else in the photo but him. Opening the closet and trunks he kept, he laid out all of his gear and started to make three piles, two were what the outfits would consist of and the rest went into the third, all of it to be sorted and repacked later. Just handling the rubber with it's faint smell got him distracted. Maybe he'd play with a lot of it before he packed it away.

He talced up a crotchless leotard and stepped into it, his cock stiffening from the smell and feel of the thin latex conforming to his trim body. He then stepped into a pair of tall black waders he had purchased from a warehouse. He put on medium length rubber gloves and a basic rubber hood. Wiped smooth with a damp towel, he proceeded to rub Armorall all over the rubber until he shone and then applied a light spraying of Silicone since he knew it photographed better when the rubber was really polished. He looked in his mirrored closet doors and smiled. He had worked on this body and it was the envy of many. He was built. You had to keep yourself in shape, the competition was just too strong. He was 5'10 and 180. Not too much, not overdone, very proportional with a firm flat stomach, strong legs with corded thighs and round calves he was particularly proud of. His pecs were darkly haired which he liked and a trail led down his abs. It was really manly, yet he could be smooth as a whistle in his rubber without having to shave off his hair - that could be saved for another scene. His ass was tight and round, the whole package was nice. The only thing he shaved were his balls and his biceps, he liked the way the round muscles of his toparms contrasted with the hairy forearms. When you were hairy all over you just looked like a beast.

He took several pictures in this outfit, frontal, back, bent over, sideways. They were all right. He would try something else. His body was already damp and sweaty from a combination of nerves and the warm room. He liked his codpiece jeans the most because just wearing them made him hard, and he loved the way other guys looked in them. He slipped on thick Arctic boots-heavy short rubber boots with a tread that looked really butch and a side layer that inflated with air for insulation, and tucked his jeans in. A basic T-shirt, a chest harness over that. This time he'd try the inflatable hood which was sure to get him really horny and show that he liked a little domination and sensory deprivation as long as rubber was involved. The tight feel of the rubber all over was making him nuts, he wished he could live like this, working out in the gym in rubber, he began to fantasize about a rubber gym, all the hot muscle studs in rubber shorts, tanks, maybe a few guys like the trainers in full suits, hell it's a fantasy - maybe in gasmasks with rubber straps encouraging all the guys to do more reps...

Trainers that pushed you, forced you down on the bench strapping his legs to the supports and his chest bound down in rubber so he couldn't escape, -"Now get started, you're not 
going anywhere until you've done 4 more sets" the guy in the motocross suit looming over him, distracting him until the trainer straddled his head reached down and grabbed both tits through his tank, pinching roughly "You want a reward? You want to play with all these rubber muscles? Work for it."

He had to stop the imagery and pump his cock, he closed his eyes and let the image return, -- the trainer image, full black rubber on a muscle stud, controlling him, big muscled thighs dipped in slick smooth rubber, a body that pushed out of it's confining rubber while the rubber squeezed the muscles back in. Damn, this would have to wait, he had to get the photos done and mailed tonight. He went back to the pictures and tried a few more. It would have to do, he was out of instant film and it was getting late.

He wrote a short note to include with the picture. Jack didn't think a note was out of place. He wanted to reconfirm the basics he had told the guy on the phone. What if a bunch of guys had answered the ad? He didn't want to get things confused. He put his stats, a short paragraph about how he loved rubber, total rubber, especially enclosure and playing with other guys in it. Hadn't had much luck here finding guys into it and thus his response to the ad internationally. The rest he'd let the pictures tell. He threw a sweat suit over his gear and drove to the late drop-off for rush parcels. He’d have to wait two days to hear and he was already anxious.

THE CALL

He jumped every time the phone rang that night hoping and waiting for the call. He snapped at his sister, hung up on a friend and waited. The call came 15 minutes late.

"Hello?" 
"Hi. Jack Brisdon?" 
"Yes?" 
"How'd you take the polaroids, you got a buddy?" 
"No, I set the timer on automatic and used a tripod." 
"They're good, you're a lot more than I was expecting. Not many rubber guys out there who are serious." 
Jack's heart was pounding. "Uh, yes. I know what you mean." 
"Do you have a valid passport?" 
"Yes." 
"When can you take vacation time?" 
"Um, well, how long are we talking about..." 
"Soon as possible. Doesn't have to be for long. You free this weekend?" 
Jack figured nothing was as important as this, he'd cancel anything. It was Monday night... 
"Sure, I guess" 
"No, don't guess, are you free this weekend?" 
"Well, yes but I mean, I thought you lived in England"" 
"I do." 
"Well, I wasn't planning on a trip, I don't know if I can afford a ticket on such short notice like this..." 
"Never mind that, I wouldn't ask something stupid like that. I'm paying. You're more than I thought the ad would produce. A hot rubber guy was the whole point of the ad. It'll be a little hard on you traveling, what with a round trip over a weekend to London and the time difference. You'll basically just be here for a test as it were, some rubber play. No time to site-see, this is a serious trip. I'll cover everything, you'll be staying here. Your tickets will be at the airport. I'll call you back and leave a message as to what airline and the flight number once I can arrange it. Do you have a fax at home? 
"No, sorry." 
"Well then, basically dress comfortably for the trip and don't worry about bringing gear with you. On short stays customs can be a problem since they wonder if you're a courier or something. If you've got anything special or particular, go ahead and bring it but you don't have to. I've got everything and then some. Otherwise, just get some rest and I'll see you Saturday." 
"OK, but how will I know, I mean you don't even know my face." 
"I've arranged for that. I'll have a car pick you up at the gate, the driver will be holding a sign that says Mr. Slick, he'll get you here just look for that sign. 
"OK" 
"I'll get the airline information to your phone machine tomorrow, the ticket will be at the airport since there isn't time to get one shipped. Relax and get some sleep, you've got a busy weekend. Bye."

Jack could hardly contain himself. His mind was racing. Was this a nut? If it was a hoax, well, he hadn't canceled anything this weekend anyway. Christ, if it was true the guy was paying his way over to London! Well, if it wasn't a round ticket, he wouldn't go. If it was, he'd take his credit cards and if he didn't like the looks of the driver, he could back out of it. After all the driver didn't know what he looked like either. Yeah, that would work. Nothing to really worry about unless he went with it and who knows, maybe this was for real. It was too good to be true. He hoped the guy wasn't gross or something, never really thought to ask him any questions. Oh what the hell. Nothing ventured nothing gained and things here certainly hadn't panned out in rubber much for him. The guy was paying for the tickets after all. Must be pretty well off since anything on short notice like this was expensive.

Friday Night he was at the airport, he had left a note at home JUST in case something happened but otherwise hadn't told anyone he was going to England, just away for the weekend to do some thinking. There was the British Airways counter. He waited in line wondering. He had called the airline right after he found the message on his machine after work. Yep, there was a ticket in his name for Friday night, returning late Sunday night. Shit, he'd be late for work Monday but maybe that was all the guy could get. This was all pretty fast after all.

"Jack Brisdon, I'm picking up a ticket?: 
"Certainly, can I see an I.D.?" 
Jack presented his driver's license 
"Yes Mr. Brisdon, are you checking any luggage?" 
"Um, yes, just this bag. I'll carry on the knapsack." 
"Fine sir" the clerk fiddled with the computer. "Here you go, Gate 14 have a pleasant flight. You should have told me you were traveling first class, the shorter line is there. You’ll find the ambassador lounge en route to the gate."

Jack looked at the ticket. First Class! Damn, this must have cost a fortune. 
"Well I’m just so tired I guess I wasn’t thinking." And he headed to the lounge Well, I guess he's a nice guy or I'm about to be sold into slavery somewhere, he nervously joked to himself.

The flight was easy, his nerves had been so strung since Wednesday that after two vodka martinis he fell asleep. He was awakened by the stewardess who advised him to reattach his seatbelt, they would be landing soon. Jack looked out the window and saw suburbs of London below. He was already here, his heart rate started climbing as he straightened up. He realized he badly needed to pee and wanted to clean himself up a bit before they landed. As he got out of his seat he saw sitting directly behind him a particularly hot number who gave him a cursory glance and returned to his laptop typing furiously. Geez, what a hunk, Jack thought. The business suit was tight in the arms and he had a sexy bruiser kind of dace with a dark mustache and intense blue eyes. He headed to the john and washed up. Returning to his seat he tried to get a look at the man's face again but the guy was staring out the window. Jack resumed his seat and thought about the weekend.

The plane landed uneventfully and they were soon deboarding. Jack looked for the guy behind him but he had already left his seat somehow. Maybe he went to the john at the back of the plane. Shit, he's probably straight, but you never know. He left the plane and went to get his luggage, the few rubber things he really wanted to bring with him that fit perfectly. The guy couldn't possibly have something that would fit like custom and he wanted to show off his body as much as possible to make the best impression to this rich fetishist. Jack had packed his codpiece jeans, a super tight long sleeve T and a zipback hood he liked to wear when he jerked off.

Waiting for the luggage he noticed the passenger from behind him, he was at a phone booth on the other side and caught Jack's eye, then scanned the room and turned away, continuing his conversation. Hot businessman, maybe he'll be on my return flight. If he'd stared at least a minute at me then I might wonder but he's just all business. Jack got his backpack and went to the taxi area wondering where the car service could be. He had forgotten he would have to go through Customs and wondered how long this would take, double-checking he hadn't dropped his passport which was zippered into his coat jacket pocket. Customs was a breeze for a change and he was soon outside.

SLICK the sign said in neatly printed black graphics, Jack approached the man who smiled and asked if he was Mr. Slick 
"Yes, yes that's me. You're to take me somewhere?" 
"Yes, I have the directions. Do you have more luggage?" 
"No, just this." 
"Fine. The car's right outside, let me take that."

With that the driver led the way out the doors and just past the curb, putting the bags in the trunk and opening the door. It was a sleek black town car with a driver partition and tinted rear windows. Jack got in and the driver took his seat and pulled away. The partition was fully up, making conversation impossible. He sat back and realized there was a large, charcoal gray envelope on the seat he hadn’t noticed because the leather interior of the car was the same color. On it were the letters . Jack Brisdon, Confidential Business Material. He practically shredded the envelope like some TV episode trying to get inside.

The driver does not know you or myself and only has directions to the house. Other than that, he has no idea what this is so asking him questions is useless. To him this is a routine business pick-up. When you get to the house you are to let yourself in the side door on the first floor, the keys are enclosed. I hope you’ve slept. You should place your things on the table, take a shower and use the enema items provided in the bathroom. When you are finished you are to pick up the phone and press the intercom button. There is no need for you to get dressed. Fold this note and put it in your pocket now so you don’t leave it in the car.

Jack’s heart was racing. Strangely, he was getting hard too but his stomach was doing flipflops. He sat back and wondered, watching the various streets of London pass by outside his window.