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.)