Check-in

It's been a few months since my last post, so I thought I should post in case anyone is checking in to see if I'm still around. The last few months have seen me working on other, somewhat more sedate things. Lately I've worked on more noose stories. I revised the story "Mark & I" that was posted here a while ago (link is to the original version). I'm trying to figure out the best way to share the new version, whether I should remove the old one or just keep both here. And I wrote a new story based on some artwork posted to the Gaynoose group on google. The new one needs a reading and probably revising; I just finished the draft this week.

The other bit of news I have is that a couple of months ago I tried to post a photo to my Recon account, but they bounced it, presumably because it violated their terms of service. Recon updated their documentation to spell things out more clearly, and they have certain rules because it's located in the U.K. that wouldn't apply in the States. I can accept that... if it weren't for all the other noose photos I see that are a bit further across the line than my rejected one was. I'm not complaining, because I don't want someone there deciding to go after everyone. I'll post the one they rejected here, and the best part is I can explain that I was laying in bed, decidedly not dead, holding the camera in one hand so that the rope could be seen. It wasn't even that tight, really. I mean, I could breathe and everything.

Story: Hung Bear

Written in summer 1995

I got the letter from him in June. He was the first guy to write to me from the Hangman's Noose Club. It was a short note, but effective I almost orgasmed reading his fifth paragraph:

The type of person you and I need to meet is one that will do exactly what the other person wants no more, no less. I would always respect your wishes and go only to the limit set in advance, but I could also go all the way with you (and vice-versa) and enjoy watching that big man body stretched and hung nude, cock and balls swaying in the breeze. I would see the big guy shit, piss, and come all at once. I'd let you swing about two hours, cut you down, and bury your ass face down in the earth.

My heart was pounding and my dick was hard by the time I finished the letter. I wrote back right away, trying to match his letter's tone. A couple of letters and a phone call later, and we had a date.

The night before I got the plane tickets, I re-read the letter, calmly for once, realizing this was a guy who wanted me and he wanted to kill me, to see my big furry body dangling from a tree limb. And I was going to play with him. I couldn't get the image out of my mind of my big furry body hanging from the tree, slumped shoulders and drooping head and feet.

The next day I bought the ticket. One way.

Story: Curiosity...

This one was published in the reincarnated Noose Letter from Dragon Publishing, volume 1 issue 3, in 1996 under the byline of "Member B0018." It was later republished on the now-defunct Gay Male Hanging Site, but the author was listed there as "anonymous."

I found him about 3:00 as I walked down the trail a few miles off the road in a remote part of the park. The sun was warm, giving a hint of what the Texas summer would be like, but it was still pleasant since it was only February. I couldn't believe it when I saw him, but as I got closer I could see it was true. The guy was hanging about a foot and a half off the ground, a half-inch rope connecting his neck to the tree branch overhead. Very much dead. His hands were tied behind his back. He wore only a pair of weathered brown leather cowboy chaps and his boots--his shirt and pants were gone. He hung almost motionless, except when a light breeze came up he'd sway and spin a little.

Seeing him like that was a gruesome sight, and I didn't want to get too close, but then I didn't want to not look either. I glanced around to make sure I was alone, then moved in a few steps. His skin was a pallid gray now, and his face was darker, probably from hanging here strangling. His chest was hairy and the fur was thick around his crotch, where his cock was pointing out erect and his balls were pulled up tight. I'd heard a man could get hard and maybe even shoot as he was being hanged, but I never expected to be able to confirm that. Around behind, I saw his back was hairy too, a little less so on his nice round ass which was framed nicely by the chaps. His wrists were rope-burned from his unsuccessful efforts to get them free before the noose killed him.

I raised my head and looked past his sloping shoulders and stretched neck to follow the noose up to the branch he dangled from. The rope went from there back down to the tree trunk, where it was looped around the trunk and tied off I circled back to look up at his bearded face, his eyes still bulging and his tongue poking out slightly between his blackened lips. Bet he was a good looking feller before he strangled. "Poor fucker," I said. He didn't say anything back.

Story: The Biker

This one was published in issue 5 of the zine The Noose Letter in 1995; this was the version published by Winter Publishing (I was member 023), before Dragon Publishing took it over (where I was member B0018). I honestly haven't really looked at it in a few years.

I'm going down this highway in Montana doing about 70 on my Harley. The engine's just roaring along like some big contented cat, and I'm riding in full leathers: jacket, vest, chaps over my jeans, harness boots. I'm wondering if this is something how they felt a hundred years ago traveling by horseback across these plains. I've been on the road for three or four days, me and my bike alone, and I feel like I could stay out here forever. Except that right now the summer sun has me cooking underneath my jacket and I'm a little bit horny too.

So I pull the bike off at the next wide spot in the road for a break. It takes a while for the ringing in my ears from the wind noise and the bike noise to die down. I pull off my helmet and jacket and let the air cool my furry face and chest. Boy that feels good. My cock and balls are still vibrating from the ride, and when I brush my hand over my crotch it feels like they want to come out and play. I see a path from this roadside to a small grove of trees off in the distance. Leaving my jacket and helmet with the bike, I take off down the trail. On the way my left hand spends most of its time under my vest scratching my chest and playing with a nipple or two, which makes me feel better and better.

Until the trail bends and I see something dangling from one of the trees. A minute or two closer I stop dead in my tracks. That's a man hanging from the lowest branch of a tree on the far side of this patch of woods.

Unknown rope stretcher

My source for this image claims that nothing is known about this former rope-dancer. (But then it claimed that the image of the guy strung up in the photos I posted on March 8 is of Big Jim Long, and it's not.)

I just realized that the Killin' Jim Miller image I posted last month was already posted before, dammit. I probably deserve a flogging; hangin's too good for me. (Oh wait, I'd probably like that, too.)

Killin' Jim Miller et al.

Left to right: Jim Miller, Joe Allen, Berry Burrell, and Jesse West, hanged by vigilantes in Ada, Oklahoma, April 19, 1909.

Killin' Jim Miller didn't drink or smoke. He just liked killing people. He was alternately a murderer, a sheriff, and a hired killer. But he was caught, and when it looked like he might find a way to get off, good citizens took the law into their own hands. The other three lynched with Miller had hired him to dispose of a rival of theirs. (Some info from here and here.)

The real Big Steve Long

As promised, here's Big Steve Long, strung up in Laramie, Wyoming with two half-brothers in 1868. This image is from a carte de visite and on the back was scrawled the following legend:

L to R
1) Gunfighter - Big Steve Long
2) Con Moyer.
3) Ace Moyer.

A lynching in Laramie, Wyo.
- 1868 -
Con & Ace were Founders of Laramie, Wyoming!

Two views and a check-in

Dunno who this guy was; the filename on the .jpg said it was Big Steve Long, but apparently that monicker belongs to another unfortunate hombre (maybe I'll post that pic next, though I never liked the quality of the copy I had). Whoever he was, he sure had a lot of folks present to wish him well on his journey....


Although, as is often the case, they were just fair-weather friends, and they left him to continue on alone.

***
Sorry for the silence here in the last couple of months. My mind has been wandering elsewhere, though I've had this blog (and its inspirations) in the back of my mind all along. There may be a new story at some point, if I can get it out of my pen.