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.