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.