Where'd hangdog go?

I don't know if anyone from my haunts on EFnet would think to look here, but just in case, I'm likely to be pretty scarce for a while due to the holiday madness and other commitments. If anyone's looking for me, drop me a line; the address is in my complete profile (link at right).

Shasta, California, 1892

John and Charles Ruggles were lynched in 1892 for stagecoach robbery and murder in Shasta County, California. They were hanged from a harness; the method by which the harness was hoisted is not immediately apparent, unfortunately.

Story: Shutterbug

[I wrote this one in the late 90's, when cameras had film not pixels. Noose photos with a digital camera would be a lot easier to get away with than film, but why start rewriting things now?]

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's Charlie. How are you doing?"

"Fine. What's up with you?"

"Not much. Say, listen, I have a question for you."

"Shoot."

"I'm wondering if you could take some pictures of me with your Polaroid."

"Uh oh. Polaroids. Some of those kinds of pictures. What for?"

"Well, I want to send a special picture to someone I've been writing to."

"OK. What kind of picture?"

"Let me tell you in person. When can we get together?"

I told him we could get together on Saturday afternoon. So three days later I showed up at his door with my Polaroid and a couple boxes of film, which he paid for.

"So tell me about it," I asked.

"Well," Charlie started, "I answered this ad in Drummer from this guy who said he was into hangings. We've written a few times and now he wants to see a picture of me."

I knew about Charlie's hanging thing for a while. I was surprised when he told me because I had never met anyone else who was interested in nooses and such. He had been real nervous, but I reassured him that I wasn't bothered by it. In fact, I said I could see how it could be interesting. Which is a gross understatement to me—I've liked to think about hanging and nooses for years. Still, I was a little concerned. "You thinking you guys might get together?"

"Maybe. I know what you're thinking. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"OK. So what about this picture?"

"I thought if I could get it to look like I was about to be hanged, and sent him a picture of that, he'd get a real kick out of it."

"How are you going to do that?"

"Well, I have the rope, just got it yesterday." Charlie pointed at a coil of half-inch rope over on the table. "Plus I have rope for my wrists, and I've had a hood for a while. I know the spot a few miles out of town in a woods that no one ever goes to. Plus there's a bucket around here somewhere. All you have to do is set me up and take the picture. Oh, and get me down too, of course."

"Of course." The idea was real exciting to me. We had played bondage games before, so I knew I'd enjoy tying him up. I could feel my cock grow as I thought of the possibilities. "You look excited about this," I said noticing the bulge in Charlie's crotch.

"Yeah, I guess I am. And you know, maybe we can play around out there ourselves afterward."

"You do know how to get me interested," I said, thinking that's just what I wanted to do. "When do we go?"

"How about now?"

We grabbed the rope, hood, and bucket and threw them in my car. We drove a ways out of town and he directed me down some dirt roads until we came to a secluded place to stop the car. Then we hiked into the woods for a few minutes and came to a big old oak tree. Charlie stripped off his shirt revealing his beefy hairy chest. He set to throwing an end of the hanging rope over the tree branch. The other end was already tied in a noose. When the free end made it over the branch, he set the bucket up underneath the noose. Then he had me get him ready. First I tied his wrists behind his back He looked so good like that, standing there bound, my cock was already getting nice and fat inside my jeans. I couldn't resist reaching around him and running my hands over his furry torso and arms. I had him step up on the bucket then, and I could just barely reach to pull the hood over his head. When I got the hood arranged, I reached for the noose. My cock jumped, excited by the heft of the 7-turn knot. I pulled it over his hooded head and placed it around his neck. "You gotta pull it snug, so it looks real," Charlie told me. So I pulled it tight, with the knot behind his left ear. "Ooh, you've done this before," he said. "Nope, I've just been listening to you too long," I replied. I went to tie the rope off on the tree trunk, pulling the noose a little bit tighter as I did.

I stood back and looked at Charlie, bare-chested, roped, hooded, and noosed, ready as if he really was going to drop. It occurred to me that he must have really trusted me to ask me to put him in this position, because he sure had no way out now except when I untied him. But then I had never told him how much I would enjoy this. Noticing how big the bulge in his jeans was getting, I said "I'd better get the picture now, before you shoot your load already." I grabbed the Polaroid and quickly snapped two pictures, one for Charlie and one to mail. "That's only two, get one for yourself if you want," he said, so I did. Then I started thinking. "Let me try something," I said. I went over, loosened the noose, then pulled off his hood. Then I put the noose back on. "Maybe he wants to see your face too."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." So I took three more pictures while Charlie put on his best condemned criminal look.

"Hey let me see these, I can't wait till I get down." I showed him both poses and he was smiling ear to ear. "Man they look good. They're so fucking hot, it's a good thing my hands are tied up."

"Let's give him a real show," I said as I opened Charlie's jeans and pulled them down around his ankles. His cock sprung out when I let it loose, hard as rock and dripping pre-cum. I got three more pictures, then one more as close as I could of his hairy crotch. "Time to change film," I said as I left him standing there to get the spare roll.

When I came back he was staring at me, his eyes full of lust. I looped the camera around my neck and started feeling his belly, cock, balls, ass, inside of his legs. He moaned, and I thought sure he was ready to shoot anytime. "You got any more poses you want me to shoot?" I asked.

"No, man, I'm ready to play."

"OK. But I got one more I want to try." I gave his cock one last squeeze and walked over toward the tree trunk. I grabbed the rope between the trunk and the branch and pulled on it firmly.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"We need a realistic shot."

His expression turned from lust to panic. He started to say "No, don't" but I pulled on the rope enough to raise his weight some. Then I kicked the bucket out from under his feet and let the rope go. Charlie dropped a few inches but stayed about a foot off the ground, the grass sufficiently far away from the toes of his boots. He began struggling to pull his hands loose. The noose already was causing him a lot of pain, judging from the look in his face. He made a couple of agonized-sounding wheezes, then his kicking and struggling finally caused the noose to close off his windpipe completely. I got one picture of him, then put the camera down and undid my pants so I could pull my own rock-hard cock out.

I watched him dangle, his silent fight against the noose making him bounce and twist. His face was a deep purple and his bloodshot eyes bulged out from their sockets. I saw his tongue poke out between his lips. Finally his cock started shooting ropes of cum, which arced into the air and landed past his feet. The last few spurts ran more down his legs. I was too hot but held off. I looked up at his eyes but they were dull and glassy and I knew he was unconscious. If I left him there much longer he'd be dead. That thought excited me more than anything ever had. His struggles began to wane. I saw that and went over the edge. I shot load after load of cum on his legs and twitching feet. My orgasm was so strong I had trouble standing up. When I could see clearly again Charlie was hanging still. There was no sound other than the breeze in the trees, the same breeze that made him swing slightly back and forth. Piss started to dribble from his cock and run down his legs. I debated, then decided to take one more picture of Charlie's dead body dangling before me. Then I gathered up the bucket, his shirt, and the empty film pack and hiked back to my car.

They found him about three days later. I'm glad I got the pictures when I did instead of when they found him. I still pull them out every once in a while, and those pictures still gets me hot. Especially that last one of him with his head angled funny because of the knot in the noose, his darkened face and bulging eyes, naked with his pants around his ankles, hanging lifelessly with that big hard cock still sticking out into the air. Too bad I never got that other guy's address, he might have enjoyed these too.

Self-Pic

Unlike some other kink and fetish interests, nooses are hard to self-photograph. This is a photo of me wearing a noose that used to be on my old site. It's a Polaroid and about thirteen years old, which doesn't help (lots of color shifting going on), and it's cropped to hide the fact that the camera was held at arm's length. I still like it, mostly because of the nice thick rope—3/4-inch manila. It's the rope that inspired the "Buying Rope" story, in fact.

Telephone poles work, too

George Witherill ran afoul of the good citizens of Canon City, Colorado, in 1888, and wound up decorating a telegraph pole. I'm kind of surprised at how well-dressed the mob is here.

Photo: Say cheese! Uh, maybe not...

Damn paparazzi....
(Kansas, 1894)

Story: Mark and I

I was out at the park on a day off last week. It's a big park but most of the visitors stay near the picnic areas. Out on the trails it gets very remote. That's where I went to go exploring. It was a warm day, not too warm but warm enough for my outfit: a tanktop, cutoffs, and hiking boots. It wasn't long before I stripped off the tanktop and stuffed it through a belt loop, so I could feel the sun and air all over my torso. I'd been out for about an hour or so and got to a part of the area I hadn't seen yet. It was very pretty, with lots of big old trees, a few different kinds. At one point, I looked into the woods from the trail and saw something not quite right. It looked like a person, but naked, and unmoving. I had to go look.

The closer I got, I could see it was a guy with tousled hair, average height and, yep, buck naked. I could also see he was hanging from one of the old oak trees back here. My heartbeat increased as I got closer. Finally I was in front of him. The knot in the rope was slightly off-center behind his head, which caused his head to dangle down at a slight angle. His eyes were open and staring empty down toward the ground, and his mouth was slightly open. Along with his shaggy hair he had a short, untrimmed beard that hid the noose slightly. I could still see how the rope was dug into his neck pretty deeply. He had nice meaty shoulders and his torso was lean and tanned, with a good bit of chest hair that led down to his crotch. The fur there surrounded a thick uncut cock whose head was just peeking through the foreskin; the cock dangled in front of a tight pair of balls. His hairy legs dangled free, still showing off good musculature even though they were relaxed. His feet were about a foot and a half off the ground, toes pointing down but nowhere near close enough to the ground to do him any good. A three-step ladder lay flat on the ground slightly behind him.

What should I do? Maybe I should get him down, but ... well, it looked like that wouldn't help him a whole lot. He was awful still, just dangling from a good thick rope tied to a stout branch. I looked back up into his face, which was utterly calm like he was asleep with his eyes half-closed, totally relaxed. Yeah, this fucker was dead, all right.

I looked around. We were alone back here. It was even too far for most human noises to reach, so I could hear a few birds, though none very close, and the breeze in the top of the trees. A pile of clothes was on the ground by the tree trunk. It didn't look like much more clothing than I was wearing myself. His buck-naked body looked fine, although the color was a bit off from the usual human flesh. I couldn't help but look at how his cock arched over his furry balls. It was the sort of cock I liked to have in my mouth.

Before that thought got any further, I walked around to see his backside. His hands were cuffed behind his back, resting just above his hairy ass. I let my eyes trace the lines of his muscular back up to the neck and shaggy head, then up the rope to the branch where the rope was looped and tied. The branch was about two feet over his head. The cuffs made me start thinking about whether he might've been murdered here. But that hadn't been my first thought, since I'd been known to put cuffs on myself too. I had a thought that maybe I could go check the pile of clothes to see whether I could find a wallet or anything. But as I moved so I could see his front side, I caught another view of his angel-lusting cock.

"Shit, dude, that looks so good..." I said to myself quietly.

"You don't know the half of it," I heard. That shocked the shit out of me. I looked around.

"Don't worry, man, you're OK." Somehow I knew whose words those were. I looked up, and the dead dude's face was still the same. How the fuck he was speaking to me, I don't know. Maybe it was telepathy or something.

"You did it yourself, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah. Been going back and forth for a while... today I decided, what the fuck."

I didn't know what else to say, except "Cool." Then, "How long've you been here?"

"I got back here around noon. Took my time setting things up. Was still kind of waffling, I guess. But I got on the ladder and got the cuffs on, that kind of sealed things for me." I just listened, kind of staring at his slack, furry belly. "After that, I took a few deep breaths, just soaking as much up as I could.... then took the last step."

"Must've been something," I said.

"It was ... fucking amazing, hanging from this rope, feeling myself spinning. Didn't hurt like I thought it would. I had maybe a minute when I could really feel what it was all like, strangling and dangling and all... then it felt like I was having an orgasm, and I blacked out."

"But now you're talking to me," I replied, though he wasn't really talking.

"Yeah... I kind of came to, only now I could see ...myself, hanging from the tree. I was twitching and jerking, even though my eyes were dull and I didn't have any hope. Then there was one more jerk, and my body just hung limp and stopped moving." He paused. "Eight minutes, it was all over."

"Dude."

"Yeah. Now I'm fucked, but I don't care."

"No coming back now."

"Nope."

I finally worked up a little courage and reached up to stroke his bearded face. Then I ran my hand down his chest to his belly.

"How does it feel?"

"Oh," I said, "well, you're still a little warm. Feels fine."

"Go further."

"Further, huh?" I knew what he meant. I let my hand fall into his crotch fur, kind of stroked his cock, reached under it to his balls. I cupped his balls gently as if I could hurt him. I couldn't help staring at his meat, though. Goddamn, what a cock.

"I'm not gonna stop you, now, am I?"

I looked up into his dead face. What the hell... I lifted up his cock and touched my lips to it. The tip tasted a bit salty. "That would probably be the stream of piss when I blacked out, what's left of it," he said. I didn't mind. I first wrapped my lips around the head, letting my tongue play around his foreskin for a while. Then I slowly took the shaft in, sucking it so far my nose was in his pubes. His scent was pretty strong, real musky and sweaty, and that turned me on. Of course sucking his cock didn't make it harder, but it filled my mouth just fine. I sucked it hard, and somehow pulled some juices out of it. My own juices were leaking from my cock, which was poking out the leg of my cutoffs. While I sucked I pulled him against my body, and his legs brushed against my crotch.

I lost track of time. But eventually I let go of his manhood and just grabbed him in a hug with my face resting against his chest.

"You liked that?"

"Yeah," I said, and I felt like a fuckin' pervert.

"Don't worry about it, man. I'd have done the same thing."

I held him for a long time. I was thinking about ... things. "You really better off, you think? Killing yourself like this?"

"You wanna find out?"

I couldn't answer for a long time. Was I really that curious? I couldn't say that I hadn't thought about the whole noose as a sexual aid thing before. I had thought about it a lot, in fact. Even wrapped a rope around my own neck a couple of times while jacking off. Never did it like this dude though.

"You probably aren't gonna believe this, but I brought two ropes -- wasn't sure which one I'd end up using."

"Naw, you figured you'd get some company, didn't you?"

"Heh. It's over there under my clothes." You could even use the cuffs - the key is in the pocket of my shorts over there. What the fuck."

The silence went for a long few moments. "What the fuck, yeah." I said.

I let go of him and went over to the clothes pile, and under everything there really was another rope coiled up. It looked like about ten feet long and maybe a little thinner than his rope--twice as thick as clothesline, though. It even had a noose tied in it already, not a hangman's knot with seven turns, but a simple slipknot -- it would work for sure, anyway. Then I rummaged through his shorts over by the tree and found his wallet first. His license inside gave me his first name, Mark. I put the wallet back in its pocket and then found the handcuff key in another pocket. Returning to Mark, I took the cuffs off his wrists. Then I got up and went back to where the ladder lay on the ground, and set it up a couple of feet from him. Climbing the ladder, I tossed the long end over the branch, adjusted it so the noose dangled in front of my face.

"Make it so you have to stretch up a little to get your head through it," Mark suggested. "You won't drop so far." I did that, then tied a square knot around the tree limb. I stepped down to get a look at the empty noose dangling, waiting for me. I was breathing pretty hard because of the excitement.

"Hey, should I get naked?"

"Dude, it's your party. But yeah... you'll look better naked."

I stripped off my boots, and shorts, with my tanktop still dangling from the belt loop, and put them in a pile next to his. "That's more like it," Mark said. It turned out we were going to be facing each other. I looked at his dead body and groped my fat cock and balls and grinned nervously, realizing how I would end up just like him very soon.

I stepped up on the ladder... reached up and grasped the noose... took a minute... then slipped it over my head. I snugged it around my neck. Involuntarily I swallowed and felt the rope against my Adam's apple. It felt good, actually. I adjusted it slightly so it nestled above my Adam's apple. Goddamn, I was excited. My cock was dripping even though it wasn't quite hard.

Cuffs... one was around my left wrist already. If I put the other cuff on, that'll be it. There won't be any other way out, than the way the last guy wearing this noose went.

"Go on, man. You want it, you know it."

"Yeah." And I fumbled with the cuff, finally getting my right wrist encircled behind my back. Then I tossed the key behind me and it landed in the grass. I was committed now, unless someone walked by. About that time, it hit me how fucking big this was, how I was about to snuff myself, just like Mark did a couple of hours ago. How I was going to be found hanging here, dead and cold and stiff and naked, by some hiker or park ranger. And just how much I really wanted that.

"Thing with this place," he said, "when I found it, I knew I never wanted to leave. I was coming here regularly for months. I knew no one else every came back here. Just this one suicidal fucker, me. Well, and you, too."

I stood on the ladder feeling a soft breeze caressing my naked body. With my hands cuffed behind me, there was a strain in my shoulders to go along with the cold metal biting into my wrists. I wished I could see myself like this. I looked over at Mark and saw everything, though. My heard thudded, excited and scared and aroused. I never wanted anything more in my life than this, right now.

"It'll feel better in a few minutes. Do it."

I took a couple of deep breaths. I looked down, saw my belly, my cock, my feet, and the grassy ground under the ladder.

"Do it!"

I pushed with my toes, and the ladder fell back behind me to the ground. The rope caught me quickly after I dropped maybe three inches. I'd just fuckin' hanged myself. I felt like I was floating, and the woods spun slightly around me. The rope had a hold of my neck hard, and I knew it was killing me, but it didn't hurt, really. I tried to take a breath, and it took a lot of effort to pull the tiniest amount of air through my constricted throat. The only noise I made was a gagging sound when I tried to say the word "Fuck!" I kicked my legs a little, mostly so I could spin a bit. A buzzing noise started in my ears, getting louder and louder.

Then I felt it... it was like a blanket coming over me. The woods started getting darker and my thinking got fuzzy. I was blacking out. That made me panic, and I started struggling. But by then it was too late. My body tried to fight, but my brain faded away while I heard the words "let it go.... let it go...." and I did let it go. It felt like I was cumming, only a hundred times bigger than ever, and then it was over. I felt my head drooping forward, and the last thing I saw was the ground as everything went black. Suddenly I could see the scene. I watched my body struggle, trying to get loose from the murderous rope, and then slowly give up the fight and relax into the noose's hold. It kicked one last time, and then piss streamed from my fat cock down my legs and onto the ground, mixing with Mark's piss there. The woods were quiet. My naked body dangled next to Mark's our toes pointed toward the ground, fat cocks dangling between our legs. My tongue poked out slightly between my lips, lifeless eyes staring at the ground. In a few hours, we'd both be cold and stiff.

I could feel Mark's presence. "Awesome, eh?"

"Yeah," I said to him. "Fuckin' awesome."

A more formal hanging

Another hanging from the nineteenth century, but one planned out in advance unlike the other photos I've posted. My guess is that the drop this gentleman took probably did not break his neck, since he only dropped three feet or so. (Wish I had more information on some of these pics, but when you get them from the Internet you can't ask for a full bibliography.)

Story: Buying Rope (Part 1)

Man, was I nervous as I pulled into the parking lot of the army surplus store on the outskirts of town. I always got a little excited going there, because they had lots of interesting stuff there. Not just army surplus, though that was a big part of their stock. They also had camping gear, hunting and fishing equipment, and rugged outdoorsy clothes and boots. I could spend an hour in there looking at stuff, even if I didn't buy anything. They did get enough of my money, though; over the last couple of years I've bought a backpack, some camping gear, combat boots, and a pair of camo pants. I was wearing the pants and the boots today, too.

Yeah, I liked buying the camos. They fit just right and I actually threw a partial woody in the darkened fitting room (there was no light fixture, but the partial door let in just enough light to see, and gave just enough privacy). And then the boots, naturally, gave me trouble - I actually wore a jockstrap that day to keep any boners in check. But I was going to a dusty corner of the store today where the rope and other yard goods are kept. I knew exactly what I wanted rope for. And I was going to have to ask a clerk to help me get it. Good thing I had a jock on this time, too.

I sat in the car after I parked it in the store's lot for a while, trying to get myself calmed down. They sell the stuff, I reasoned. There's lots of reasons for people to buy rope. Even thick rope like I'm looking for. Besides, I'm not going to do anything extreme with it. Just play it cool and it'll be OK. They aren't going to ask any questions.

Finally I got out of the car and went into the store. The smell of the place hit me as I opened the inside door - musty, mostly, from all the surplus stuff that had been kept in army warehouses before the owner of the store got his hands on it. Visually, it's a jumble of a lot of different displays, things hanging on walls, stuff on overflowing shelves. Guns and compound bows down on the left, behind the counter where the ammo is; jackets and overalls on the back wall; in the middle aisles flannel shirts, jeans, work clothes, and hats; camping gear and surplus on the right. Way in the back were the boots, the fitting rooms, yard goods, and the ropes. There weren't many people in here today, not like on weekends or especially close to hunting season.

I sauntered around the store, looking at different things, hoping that the floor staff wouldn't come up and ask to help me - even though I needed one of them to cut the rope, of course. I browsed through combat uniform hats, pouches that clip on to belts, canteens, daypacks. Slowly I made my way back toward the ropes and canvas and netting.

Everything was on big rolls or spools hanging on a couple of racks. I looked at the canvas and netting - they also had vinyl, if I wanted that. Then I turned and looked at the spools of rope. Nylon, both the really stiff kind and the softer braided kind, from 1/8th inch to 1 inch. Some of that looked OK. Not so much the stiff nylon; that looked like it would hurt way more than anyone would want. But the softer braided nylon ropes were nice. The thinner ones, 1/4 inch or smaller, I could see someone tied up with a few coils of that, white loops holding wrists and ankles tightly. Nice. Too much of that kind of thinking was going to stretch my jock out a bit. Next to the nylon ropes were hemp ropes, from 1/4 inch to 1 inch. The naturalness of hemp really appealed to me. There was a big spool of 5/8 inch hemp with about two feet dangling. I picked up the dangling end. It's soft, if a rope can really be soft... I mean not too scratchy, and flexible. Not like the 3/4 inch rope next to it that looked really stiff. This one, though, bet it would feel real good around my neck. God, how much would I need anyway, I start thinking....

"Can I get ya something?"

I looked up, trying not to look startled but he had actually surprised me. I kind of knew this clerk. His name was Scott and he's about 22, 23, average build, with a store-logo t-shirt and cargo pants on. I think he helped me find the boots, actually.

"Yeah. Think I'll take some of this," I said, trying to not sound too suspicious.

"Sure thing. How much?"

I looked at the price sheet on the wall for a second, but there was no way I was going to be able to calculate how much x feet would cost with my brain going spastic from the nerves. Besides, I needed 15 or so feet of it to do what I wanted, regardless of how much it cost.

"About 20 feet," I replied, padding my estimate.

Scott pulls on the end of the rope. "Sure you don't need 25 feet?"

"Um, yeah, better go with that." I looked at him, wondering why he asked that. Probably a standard question; always better to have a little too much for a project than not enough. I started feeling a drip from the end of my dick, even though it wasn't as hard as it was getting before Scott showed up. Scott measured about 25 feet, then got out a saw to cut the thick rope cleanly and quickly.

"This is a good rope. Good for most loads, won't stretch hardly at all," Scott said as he coiled up the rope. "Easy to tie knots in, too." Scott ran a piece of masking tape around the coil on one side, then on the other. On the second one he wrote the length and the price.

I nodded. "That's good to know."

"Definitely don't want the knots coming loose on you before you want 'em to." He looked up at me as he handed me the rope, and our eyes actually locked gazes for just enough time to where I started getting nervous again.

"Nope, sure don't," I replied in a kind of quiet voice, trying to keep it steady and calm. I wasn't exactly sure what Scott was up to. He was looking attractive to me, though. I'd noticed that before.

"Anything else I can get you?" he asked.

"Nope, think I'm all set," I said. Actually I wanted to spontaneously disappear, bill paid in a flash, so I could avoid further scrutiny.

"How are those boots doing for you?"

"Oh, yeah, they're great." I stuck one of my feet forward to show I was wearing them, which he probably had already ascertained. "Perfect fit, really comfortable."

"Looks good, man."

Scott reached into a pocket and pulled out a card. He scribbled something on the back and handed it to me. "If I can do anything else for ya, just give me a call."

I looked at the card. The front was the store's business card. The back was a phone number from a different phone exchange. I nodded and put the card in my jeans pocket. "Thanks Scott. See ya." I headed for the front, to pay for the rope.

The cashier just bagged it up in a large, thin black plastic bag, told me what to pay, and didn't make any comments, of course. A few moments later the rope was in the trunk of my car and I headed for home, trying still to calm down and also trying to figure out what Scott had been up to.

I parked my car at the apartment and took the bag inside, glad that I didn't see any of the neighbors. In the bedroom I took the rope out of the bag and looked at the coil. Twenty-five feet of 5/8 inch thick hemp rope was pretty heavy. I cut the tape off and let it uncoil at my feet. I held one end, and realized that I would have to do something to keep the ends from fraying or unraveling. But mostly I turned the rope over in my hands to feel it. I even made a loop, then held on to where the ends of the loop crossed over so I could se what the loop would look like if I had made a slipknot and opened the loop big enough to stick a head through.

Damn, I could feel my crotch getting tight and a little damp. I felt like I was in trouble, almost. And then I thought of Scott, how we looked at each other when he was talking about how you don't want the knots to come loose when you weren't ready for them to.

I held the rope in my left hand and with my right groped my cock and balls through the tight camos and jock strap. I was going to have spunk in my pants if I kept this up.

I put the rope down so I could strip off my t-shirt. Picking up the end of the rope again, I let it snake up my crotch, belly, chest, till it got to my neck. The rope made a loop around my neck, sliding all the way around and crossing over in the back. It was a little rough to the skin across my throat, but the thickness felt real good. Too good.

I looked to the right into the full length mirror on the closet door. Me, shirtless in tight camos and black boots, rope around my neck embracing my skin, running down my bare chest... a couple of quick thrusts against the hand at my crotch, and my cock was shooting spunk into my jockstrap. The spasms subsided and left me weak in the knees, so I lay on the bed, rope loose but still draped across my throat and torso.

Guess it's laundry day, I thought as I felt the wet spot cooling on my skin and seeping into the crotch of my camos.

Nooses and horses

Too bad Killin' Jim Miller is cut off in this pic, since the caption indicates he's the star here.

I'll probably post a story in a day or two.

Another historical pic

Someone actually posted this image to a bear newsgroup once years ago. Well, he is bearded.... It also appears in The American Frontier: Pioneers, Settlers & Cowboys 1800–1899 (Smithmark, 1992), along with a few other photos of strung-up desperadoes and lots of other words and pictures about the West in general.

Frontier justice

Wish I could give more information about this scene. I first saw this photo in a book at the local library back in the early 1980s. The title of the book was Frontier Justice but I don't remember the author or any other details other than it was about keeping the peace in the early days of the American West. I eventually got the digital version of the image from somewhere on the Internet.

Story: Followup to "Motorcycle Suicide"

Written in June 1998 as a followup to a story published in the last issue of the Hangman's Noose Club's Nooseletter. The premise in that story is, a guy puts on as much leather as possible, goes riding out on his motorcycle to a remote spot, has a little fun, and then manages to get himself strung up. This story takes place the next morning. The guy didn't have a name in the original, so I named him Bill; the other characters are completely invented for this story.

Rode out on my Harley, up to highway 99. I knew where I was going, because we'd been that way before a couple of months ago. The day was warming up, and I knew it would be hot so the jacket stayed in the saddlebags. But I wore the rest of the leather I brought—vest, chaps, gloves. Made the turnoff by about 10, down that road to the second turnoff onto the dirt road. I had to work harder to keep the hog upright on the less-than-ideal surface but I was following fresh car tire tracks so I knew I was on the right trail. A mile or so into the remote woods I came to the clearing, and there he was. So was the deputy.

After shutting down the bike I dismounted and walked to where Buck was standing, looking up at the leather-clad figure dangling from the tree. "That Bill?" Buck asked. "Well, I guess so," I said. "At least that's his leather." He was fully leathered, from head to toe—leather hood, jacket, gloves, pants, boots. The only things he wore that weren't leather, at least as far as I could see, were the cuffs around his wrists and the rope around his neck. Even the strap holding his ankles together was leather.

I circled the body, getting a little closer as I did. Strong smell of leather, lighter smell of piss.

Buck did analysis. "He must have climbed up on the bike to do it. You can see the kickstand is sunk in a little more than it should, and it's about the right distance away. Don't know how the hell he bound his legs and kept his balance." Buck looked around the clearing, saw the flask and the gas lantern near the bike. He picked up the flask and sniffed. "Wine... must have had himself a party."

I found a small plastic bag with a couple of seeds and very little bits of dried weed. "Yeah, I guess," I said.

We both stood there silent, listening to the wind, listening to the creaking of the rope. Every time I looked at Bill's leathered corpse my cock grew another inch, snaking down the inside of my jeans. Didn't seem right, but I couldn't really help it, nor did I really want to.

"So why'd he do it? You have any idea?"

I shook my head. "I don't know of anything bad that happened to him or anything. Message on my machine just said he was going to do it. He probably knew he was going to get my machine when he called... guess it was around 10." I was just pulling up to the Eagle around 10 for a night of drinking and hanging out with the guys, and I didn't check the answering machine until I had to piss some of it away early this morning. "Maybe he figured he'd been thinking about it too long."

Buck nodded. "We'll have to do the investigation, of course. See what's back at his house."

Silence again. I was beginning to wonder if we shouldn't get the coroner here, or else I was going to end up with a full hard-on and the urge to do something with it. I could already feel the dampness in my jeans from where my cock had lengthened.

"Fuckin' shame, you know," Buck said. "Taking the one-way trip like that, never gonna enjoy it again."

I finally looked over at Buck. He had a nice bulge going in his uniform trousers, and one hand resting on his belt.

"How long before the coroner gets here?"

"Figure a half hour at least. He's moving slow today. 'Specially since I haven't called him yet."

I took the initiative and got down on my knees in front of the deputy. I knew that no one else would be out here, and I know he knew that. Buck unzipped his fly and released his meat. I snuffled in the deep musky odor of his crotch, then slowly wrapped my lips around his cock. Buck moaned softly. He was facing Bill, and maybe Bill would've been looking down at my bobbing head if he wasn't hooded. I was unbuttoning my own fly while I sucked to get some air for my own hard cock. Buck had his fingers in my hair, lightly holding onto my head and keeping my face impaled
on his rod.

"I'd want to do it on horseback," Buck started in a low voice. "Caught by a posse, beaten up and hands tied behind my back, sitting on the back of a nervous horse with the rope around my neck. The five of them watching me sweat... fuck yeah... then the leader swats the horse... and he spooks... runs out from under me... and I slide off the back of him and swing... and the posse watches me struggle and kick, trying to get loose... and when I stop struggling, they ride away... aw fuck...

Buck was getting into it now, fucking my face good. He held on to my head and I held on to his thighs and sucked hard. He rewarded me with his blasts of cum shooting into my mouth, and I buried my nose in his crotch fur to make sure I got every drop. He was panting when he was done, and I held his cock in my mouth as long as he let me, till he pulled slowly out.

My own cock was still hard and dripping. I remembered something from my vest pocket. I pulled out a three foot length of 1/4 inch rope and handed it to Buck.

"What's this for?" Buck asked.

"What do you think?"

Buck grinned. "Turn around," he said. I faced Bill. Buck looped the rope around my neck while I stayed kneeling, right hand wrapped around my hard cock. I held my left hand behind my back. Buck tightened the rope a little. "Aw yeah Buck," I said, and my voice was already a little raspy. I stroked slowly because I knew I wouldn't take long if I wasn't careful. "You're gonna strangle me, huh?" Just talking with the rope wrapped around my neck was arousing. "You wanna make me struggle and black out, Buck."

"Yeah, fucker," Buck replied tightening the rope. I could feel my face getting warm, but I could still breathe. "I know you like your friend up there hanging from the rope. Know you wanna join him."

"No man, don't kill me man..." I wasn't struggling yet, but panic was beginning to rise.

Buck tightened the rope a little more. "Figure you oughta be hanging from that tree too, huh... let you kick your life away at the end of the rope in your leathers... " His voice was sounding rough and almost scary.

"Please... don't strangle —"

Buck bore down even harder and cut me off in mid-word... I watched Bill's body start to swing again—no it was the tree and the bike and everything else beginning to spin as I tried to gasp. I pulled furiously on my cock, fighting
the urge to fight against Buck. and finally my cock exploded cum all over the ground ... just as I felt blackness start coming over me...

I woke up panting, laying on the ground, with Buck kneeling next to me, the rope on the ground. All I could do is pant, and I barely heard him as he talked to me, saying something about not being out too long and how much I shot. When I finally calmed down and just lay in the dirt, Buck sat next to me and kind of held me. My neck hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

"You think you oughta call the coroner now?" I asked, my voice still sounding like the rope was tight around my neck.

"Yep, I guess," Buck replied. A couple of minutes later he got up and went over to his car, switched the radio on, and called in the suicide. I got up, a bit wobbly, dusted off my leathers, and by the time Buck was off the radio I was there grabbing him in a bear hug. Tears welled up as I thought of Bill being dead, and Buck understood the sniffling and held me tight for a long time. Finally we broke the hold. Buck offered me his white handkerchief, but I already had my black bandanna out to wipe up the stray drop running down my cheek.

We gathered up the evidence we needed to, and Buck set to taking photos with the little digital camera he kept in his cruiser. It was all pretty business-like by now. About 20 minutes later the coroner showed up. "Ed Bates, this is Jim, he found the body," Buck said by way of introduction. I recognized Ed, barely, from one of the bars a week or so ago. We smiled, little smiles considering the circumstances. The way he handled the scene told me he wasn't completely spooked by the possibility of an autoerotic suicide. When it came time to cut the body down, I had the honors of catching Bill owing to my bigger size. That was a hard thing to do, catching him and laying him down on the ground. The coroner worked the noose off, then he removed the hood only to find that there was another hood on underneath. Once that hood was off, we could make positive identification. Then it was into the body bag for Bill for his trip down to the morgue.

The rest of the day was doing paperwork, notifying people, and planning for what had to come next. The next few days were hard, but Buck called a few times and we got together for a beer a couple of times, though we didn't play at all.

A couple of weeks later a package arrived, return-addressed from the county coroner's office. I opened it up, and under a note signed by Ed Bates was the outer hood Bill was wearing. The note said simply "Figured you might want this—Ed."

I held the hood for a while, looking at it, feeling funny about having it, wondering how far Ed's interests went with all this... finally I slipped the hood over my head. In the darkness I imagined Bill's last breaths trapped inside the leather as my hands got busy with my instantly hard cock.

From the photo archive

I found this photo on a postcard in a card shop years ago. On the back was this caption:
"A Well-Hung Dude
After his girlfriend ran off with an aluminum siding salesman, Butch just hung around the cabin listlessly."

Army surplus gear of a specialized nature

I bought a body bag from a military surplus store, must have been twelve or thirteen years ago now. Not because I expected to need it very soon; besides, the coroners office probably does not expect one to supply one's own body bag, anyway. It just looked like fun to have.

It's about eight feet long, three feet wide, and has maybe an eight-inch gusset (I didn't measure, except for the length, so I'm guessing). It looks like it could hold two if they were small and friendly or perhaps if they were dead. It also came with a plastic bag for a liner (but only one of those), big enough for the unlucky occupant of the bag:

Zipping up the bag around the person might not make for a very interesting photo, but then again maybe it does. Depends on your interests, I suppose.

They'd probably take the gas mask off a guy who had to be put in the body bag for reasons beyond his control. For me, it was just hot to have both the mask and the bag available for fun. I bought the chemical-biological gas mask at the same time as the bag.

(All photos done on self-timer, October 2008.)

Story: Deadman's Gulch

I had been riding since the sky was still pink down dirt roads, two-lanes, and some interstate. Usually I like riding, but not when I'm feeling like I'm running from something -– ain't no way to relax on a ride like this one. I figured I was a half a day ahead of the two thugs who're tailing me -– I don't even know their names, though I know who sent them. Half a day wasn't enough, and I figured I have to come up with something quick or I was gonna run out of road.

I stopped to gas up the hawg about sixty miles back. By then, it was late enough to be warming up. So I stripped off the jacket and t-shirt, so I was riding in just my weathered dusty leather jeans and scuffed boots. If nothing else, feeling the sun on my back and the wind against my hairy chest made me feel good. I noticed my cock had stretched out a bit after I took off the tee, snaking a little ways down my leather clad thigh, unfettered by underwear. Not hard, but it wouldn't have taken long to get it that way. No time, though, and I got back on the bike after stowing the clothes and getting a quick look at the map. Off in the blanker areas of the map was a thin gray line and a couple of dots with labels like Deadman's Gulch and Poker Ridge. I thought that might be a good spot to head towards.

I set out down the highway, took a turn and then another turn onto a smaller paved road, traveling away from the highway. The farther I went, the fewer signs of modern civilization I saw. The pavement ran out after a few miles and the dusty road twisted and turned. I had to slow the bike, both to keep it upright and to keep it from kicking up too much dust, in case the other two were closer than I thought.

Of course, that's when the bike decided it would start acting up. The engine started missing, getting choppier than usual. Made it harder to keep the throttle steady at the slow speed. Finally we chugged to the top of a low rise in the road, and that's where the bike stopped completely. I managed to steer it off to the side of the dirt path that was pretending to be a road, into a shady patch provided by some scrubby trees.

In the sudden silence, I sat on the bike, boots on the ground, just holding the bike up. I couldn't believe the engine would crap out on me now, in the middle of the fuckin' prairie with two bastards tracking me down. I tried the starter a couple of times but the engine never caught. Something with the fuel line or carb, I guessed. Something that would require tools and time to tear stuff apart. I put the kickstand down and got up to stand next to the bike.

I cursed myself mostly in my mind, though I let a couple of curses come out loud. These last few weeks had been one mishap after another. Now I was going to have to take the engine apart out here with only a few tools, and with a couple of killers on my tail. Maybe not killers, but then who knew what could happen if they caught me out here all alone on the lonesome prairie. I figured the first thing I should do is look for a hideout. I thought I remembered a ghost town was near here, Deadman's Gulch I thought.

I walked a little way down the road, around a curve, and sure enough saw a building -– a low, weathered gray shed with a bad roof. A bit further beyond that was a grassy overgrown patch of land with white markers -– the closer I got, I realized it was the town cemetery. I walked toward it into the weeds. There were short irregular rows of inscribed wooden grave markers with dates back in the 1880s and 90s. At the outer edge was a row of crosses, whitewashed and weathered, with no names on them. Seven of them. Whoever they marked were long forgotten, I guessed.

I heard crows off in the distance. The breeze picked up and rustled the tall grass. I walked on toward a larger clump of buildings that was the town itself.

I turned a corner round one of the ramshackle buildings and saw a gallows standing toward the side of a town square. "Fuck," I said to myself. I'd only seen a gallows in pictures before, always old pictures. I always thought they built gallows when they needed 'em and tore them down when the hanging was over. But maybe Deadman's Gulch was a town with a steady supply of outlaws. Still, the town had to have been abandoned for some 80 years now....

I walked a little closer to check it out. The platform was around ten feet or so high with the crossbar about eight feet or maybe less above it. Sure dominated the center of the town. The wood was weathered and the bolts and other hardware were dark with rust, but it all looked solid -– more solid than most of the houses I passed. The rope hanging from the crossbar didn't look too old or rotted either.

It took me a minute to realize how strange it was that there was a rope tied into a noose dangling from the crossbar. It was like having a loaded gun around. "Their liability insurance must be paid up," I said to myself.

I decided to climb the stairs to get a better view of this dusty old ghost town. The stairs creaked some but held under my weight. I wondered how someone with tied hands would've done with these stairs, because they were kind of steep. The platform itself was solid with only one or two creaky boards. I looked around at the town, eye-level with the second story of the bigger buildings and the roofs of the others. From up here I could just about see the road where my bike was sitting, just a glint of chrome through the trees. I walked a little closer to the front and crossed onto the part of the platform that dropped out when the hanging happens -– the footing gave a little bit but held. I decided to not press my luck and stepped back one step off the trap. I glanced up at the noose. It was a rough looking half-inch hemp rope, the knot itself a fat seven turns. It dangled at almost face-height for me.

I turned around -– and almost ran into someone. "Oh -– shit -– sorry 'bout that -– didn't see you come up...."

"No harm done." He was a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black duster coat, black Stetson, boots, and what I saw of his pants were dark too. His face was a little weathered, probably recently shaved, but the lines were still sharp and his eyes were dark and intense. I was surprised by the stranger's sudden appearance, and I had to say, "I was, um, just admiring the view" even though he didn't ask. He just nodded. There was silence again except for the sound of my boots on the platform as I stepped, a little nervous as I felt like I'd been caught at something.

"It's kind of strange there's a gallows here, huh? Like, I never thought of them as a permanent building, y'know?" I asked the stranger.

"Deadman's Gulch had more than it's share of desperadoes come through," the stranger said in a low, rough drawl. "This gallows got a good bit of use."

"Huh." I took a couple of steps toward the center of the platform and looked out over the center of town. "Lots of entertainment for the locals, then, on hanging day...." I trailed off wondering how the stranger would take that comment. He wasn't offended.

"The square would fill up. They'd be standing back as far as the mercantile on the right there." The stranger pointed to a two-story building a few hundred feet away.

His air of authority impressed me. "You seem pretty well-informed," I said.

He replied with a nod. "It was rough times around here. Lots of outlaws and shooters. Law enforcement had their hands full. But they got control in the end. Had to hang more than a few bad men, but they did it. You passed by where they ended up, coming up here."

I thought back to the weathered unnamed crosses in the cemetery. "Must've been something for an... an outlaw, standing up here, knowing what was coming, you know," I said, quietly.

Stranger paced a little, letting silence add to his story. "Some of 'em fought, most of 'em were resigned. A few even were relieved."

"Relieved?"

"They knew there wasn't much future in the path they were on, prob'ly figured it would end here anyway, if not in this town then in some other town. This ended up giving them whatever they couldn't get to on their own. Peace, maybe."

I just nodded. Stood looking down at the weathered wood of the platform. Felt a breeze brush past my bare chest. I suddenly remembered the two guys on their bikes somewhere behind me, looking for me, and quickly glanced out over the horizon. Nothing there but grass and scrubby trees, and my bike that wasn't running.

The stranger walked up next to me, looking at me like he was sizing me up. I looked back. His air of authority was stronger now. He looked me in the eye, his eyes piercing from under his black Stetson, like he was trying to read my mind or see into my soul.

"Why are you here?"

I kind of shrugged, and started to say something like "I don't know," but I got caught in his stare and stopped. I took a moment and when I spoke my words almost surprised me. "I guess I'm running out of places to go."

Stranger kept staring into my eyes. I could've taken him if I tried: he' was big but so was I and I could be mean sometimes. But it was as if he had me hypnotized or something. It was a long few minutes. I was getting full of both fear and, I don't know, a dark excitement.

I watched the stranger take something out of the pocket of his duster. It was a length of rope, quarter inch thick. He moved behind me and reached for my right wrist. He looped the rope around the wrist, then methodically reached for my other wrist. When he was done, my hands were bound tight behind my back. I hadn't resisted at all.

He came around to the front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders. The pressure he exerted made me walk towards him, out onto the center of the platform, next to the noose. When we stopped, he kept his hands on my beefy shoulders, then ran them down my arms, stroking them as if to calm me. I realized I had to look up at him now. By his binding my hands, my head tilted down like I was submitting to him, which I guess I already had. I looked up into his face, and he looked back.

"This is the part where other men prayed," the stranger said.

I nodded, but I was unsure -– I had been so long away from the church I wasn't sure how to pray. The stranger let me just stand silent, head down for a minute.

I knew what was coming. But I still gasped a little bit when I saw him reach for the rope. He opened the noose slightly and slipped it over my head. He slid it around to the left and tightened it so the knot was a little in front of my left ear. The rope was a little scratchy and rough, but not as bad as I would've expected. He had snugged it good and I could feel the constriction.

When he first pulled the knot tight, my dick jumped, starting to grow in the dark confines of my leather jeans. And it kept getting fatter and harder as he finished making adjustments and took a half-step back. "Fuck I didn't think it was true," I said softly.

"What's that?"

"Nothin'." I was embarrassed to say now. The stranger grinned, the only time I'd seen him break the seriousness of his face. He knew what I meant. I grinned too, and that little bit of humor actually made my pecker go down a little. I was still scared shitless, though. Wasn't sure my legs were going to hold me up. I was really aware of the rope circling my throat, waiting to snap my neck and snuff me out.

The stranger's expression became grave. "Any last words?"

I guess if you'd asked me yesterday I would've said that was the corniest line in any western movie I ever saw. I thought carefully and then said quietly, "Take care of my bike. It's been good to me."

The stranger looked at me and then nodded.

We just looked at each other, him looking somber more than just his dark clothing could've done on its own. I knew he knew I was scared -– I was shaking so I couldn't completely hide it -– but I was doing my best to take this like a man. It was way more humane than what I could've looked forward to from those two bastards who'd been chasing me since Chicago.

The stranger turned away and I heard his boots clomp across the platform behind me. Even though I knew where he was I felt totally alone, standing on the trap with my hands tied and the noose snug around my neck. Was I really going to die here, hanged like an outlaw in this ghost town? My thoughts raced in a panic. There was nothing I could to. I let the stranger tie my hands behind my back, then let him put the noose on. In a way it was like I chose this -– it was either this gallows in the midday sun, or those two thugs chasing me. Well fuck them, wherever they were. My legs shook so bad out of fear, by my nipples were hard as I felt the sun stroke my shoulders and chest for the last time, and that goddamn perverted wet spot in the crotch of my leather pants-

A noise broke the stillness of the air -– like a latch -– then the floor dropped out from under my boots.

I fell.

By instinct I wanted to grab for something but the rope held my hands tight so all I could do was drop. I think I gasped or cried out... the wind rushed by me almost like I was on my hawg only without brakes...

And then a truck hit me, centered on my neck, and everything was flooded with a brighter-than-white light.

Slowly I came to... Surprise-not dead-can still think-but I can't feel anything, it's like I'm floating...open my eyes... whitish haze around me spinning... breathe? Can't make my chest work... still spinning... see a crowd of ... naw couldn't be... town watching me... feels like I'm cumming... as I slide into the white nothingness....

*****

The stranger watched the half-naked biker dangle from the rope. His boots hung about sixteen inches above the dirt and twirled as the rope spun the dead man slowly to the right and then to the left again. The force of the stop at the end of his drop caused his leather pants to slide down, so the stranger saw all of the biker's slack belly to the top of his crotch fur. Inside those jeans, the biker had a hard cock -– they mostly do when the rope snaps their neck right, especially the way this one seemed already primed for it. Whether he shot his wad, the stranger figured he'd bury the biker with that secret. Not that he wasn't curious. Being a hangman as long as he was made him kind of a student after the novelty wore off of the process. The leather was going to hide wet spots -– the hangman had seen other guys go out with soaked jeans near their rather prominent crotch bulges. When the biker spun far enough so that the hangman had a profile view, he could see the nice bulge in those leather jeans.

Another man walked the dusty street up to the stranger. This one was shorter, younger looking, and wore faded work jeans, boots, and shirt. He stood next to the stranger looking at the dead man for a minute or two in silence.

"Another customer, huh?"

"You saw the whole thing?"

"Yep, from over there," he said nodding to a two-story building a few yards away with a window on the second floor that had a good view of the gallows.

"He was running from something, Jake. Dunno what..."

"Didn't see fit to ask, eh?" Jake said. "Give him that speech about how some folks want it to come to this?"

The stranger nodded. "I'm beginning to think that almost might be true."

A couple more minutes passed. The breeze made the biker spin slowly, then the rope twisted him back the other way. Both men knew the biker had been there long enough that he was dead for certain. The hangman went up to check anyway, walked up to the hanged man, put his ear real close to his chest to listen for a heartbeat, close enough to get a good whiff of the dead man's scent of drying sweat and leather. The hangman looked up into the biker's face, which was cocked at an angle by the noose. The eyes were open and staring blankly, and the jaw was slack as if he was in mid-breath.

"This one looks peaceful-like... like he's sleepin', almost," Jake said looking at the biker's still corpse. "How long you gonna let him hang there?"

"Long enough for you t'dig his grave, I 'spect."

Jake took that as an order and a half-minute later he headed off to get a shovel. The hangman set to thinking about where he was going to put a motorcycle.

Two days later, a pair of rough-looking men on motorcycles rode into Deadman's Gulch. They slowly steered through the outskirts into town, avoiding the puddles left from the hard overnight rain. Stopping near the center of town, they spied the gallows, standing unoccupied just as the whole town seemed empty. They cut the engines and stood, looking around, listening. "Fuckin' shit," the one on the right said. "He gets away, we're screwed." The other one just nodded.

They stayed for something like five minutes, and though they didn't get off their bikes they could tell that there was no one around. After exchanging disgusted glances, they started up and motored out to the northwest. They passed the cemetery on the edge of town, barely noticing the ragged rows of headstones and the eight weathered wooden crosses in the back. After another few minutes, the engines were far away and the only sound was the cawing of crows in the trees and the breeze blowing through the tall grass.

The obligatory introduction

Let's see, where do I begin... Once I had a website with stories I have written, some photos, and some links. I took it down about a year ago, partly because I was switching ISPs (it was on my ISP space at the time) and partly because I was a bit nervous about what was there. But the stuff in that website is still a big part of my life, well, my inner life at least. So I'm going to give it another go with this blog.

The stories all had something to do with nooses and men who were wearing them, described in a sexual way. This blog will go in that direction too. Best to get the shocking stuff out of the way first, eh? There'll be a mix of stories and, how to say, more personal notes. Some other items that you may encounter include leather, boots, rubber, hoods, bondage, and related kinky fun things and activities. I may even expand to write stories in which all the characters survive in the end. What a novel concept. It'll be all guys, though, because that's what I like best.

The profile will get filled in eventually. Suffice it to say that the last paragraph reflects my fantasies and some parts of reality. You can decide which is which.