Noose selfie

That's me. Can't you tell? A reader suggested photos of myself with a noose, and this one just happened to get into my camera. Yes, I know the knot isn't behind my ear and the rope is slack, but ... if only I knew another kinky photographer to help out here.

Dreams

Every once in a while, I'll actually have a noose dream. While sleeping, I mean; thought I'd better clarify that. Usually I'm nude and in a fairly large and empty basement with gray cinder block walls and exposed beams, and I'm trying to work out a way to wrap a rope around my neck and play before anyone else comes down to the basement. This scene has played out a few times, but I've never been noosed up so far.

The one I had last night was a little different. I seemed to have been hanged already, and I was lying on the floor, nude. Someone was coming over to me (I think he was nude, too), and I was trying to decide whether to be dead (or maybe play dead) or try to get up, and I chose the latter. I woke up then, so I don't know how that scene would've played out. I don't have noose dreams all that often, which in a way is surprising because of how many times nooses figure in my fantasies.

In fact, erotic or kinky dreams of any sort don't come to me often, unfortunately. I had another one last night, though. I was walking along a pier or breakwater at night with a high school friend (one who I'm pretty certain is not kinky or queer in any way), and we were both in leathers and boots. He got ahead of me with another friend, so I got to the bar alone. In my dream it's the Detroit Eagle, but the scenery doesn't exactly match the real bar (as happens in dreams). I walked through the place, got a beer, saw guys I know, and enjoyed the feeling of my leather and boots.

This Eagle had a leather shop off to the side, so I went there to browse. It was packed with shirts, pants, chaps, and accessories, and it was almost like a leather surplus store. On one wall were shelves of boots, and I particularly remember U.S. army "Mickey Mouse" winter boots, huge ones in sizes 33 and up. (That's U.S. sizes, mind. My feet are large and the size number is only 15.) No, I didn't buy any.

Eventually I needed to piss, and I went to a toilet in the back. There was a sign that implied that I should leave the door open, so I did, and someone came to watch while I pissed. This didn't turn me on, but I didn't stop what I needed to do. And that's about where that dream ends. No nooses, but that's OK. The dreams have kind of left me horny all day, actually. That's probably why I had to write about them here.

Number 5

New story! I started writing this years and years ago, and forgot about it until this year, when I finished it up.

"Fourth young man dead in woods." I must've read that article a dozen times. Another guy was found naked and hanging from a tree a couple of miles outside town in a secluded wood lot. He was about 21, good-looking according to reports, hands bound behind his back with rope, probably sexually assaulted first. Just like the guy last month, and the one before that in the next county over, and the first one. The sheriff was talking as if he had a serial killer on his hands. The first guy's car was left at a rest area out on the highway. This last guy was probably picked up hitchhiking. Everyone was getting a little scared and all the authorities urged people to keep an eye out for strangers.

Like I said, though, I memorized the article, watched all the TV coverage. And it haunted my dreams at night. I had just turned 22 and had been frequenting the rest stops or hitchhiked for tricks for a couple of years now. It could have been me the killer picked up. I stopped going to rest areas for a while. Too many police anyway.

But I kept having these hot dreams and I'd wake up with my heart pumping with fear and my dick rock hard. In my dreams, it WAS me — me the killer picked up, raped, and strung up.

After about a week of this, I knew that anything I obsessed about that much, maybe I wanted it. What the fuck — my job wasn't that good and my friends had all gone to college or moved away. So I went back to cruising rest stops. Since it had been a couple of weeks, the attention was off the killer in the press and the sheriff's office. The rest stop was quiet still. The first couple of days, nothing. The third day, I could've had a blow job in the men's room by this older guy I'd seen before there, but I turned him down.

I skipped the weekend, figuring there'd be too many tourists. I called in sick on Monday and headed back toward the highway again. I parked at the far end of the rest area 40 miles south and waited. After a half hour of flipping the radio dial, just when I was thinking I would have to leave to avoid looking like a vagrant, a van drove in and parked a few spots away from me. The driver gave me a look. A good look. He got out and went to the men's room. I waited a minute and then followed.

It has been so long since I posted anything new here, you probably just about gave up on me. Maybe you thought I was dead, even. Probably got myself hanged from a rope somewhere, left there by a guy who I should've checked out better before I said I would play with him. My crotch took over when he said he'd help me out with my noose "problem." He helped me out, all right, up to a point... but when I was hanging from the rope, that's when he decided he was done helping. He watched me kick, watched me try to grab at the rope, watched my cock bounce around, then watched me slump and give in to the noose. Then he walked away to let someone else find my hanging dead body.

Or ... not.

Fortunately (I guess) I'm still here. Unfortunately, the foregoing is about all the finished writing I have for you. My fingers are crossed that my writer's block goes away soon. Or else, readers might have to get together to make me pay for the lack of new stories.