If you can't follow yourself, who can you follow?

Is it pathetic to follow your own blog? Over on the right in the little applet for Followers, I added myself. Actually, I'm just trying to figure out how the follow function and Friends Connect work. I'm a bit confused by it, as it seems to use "follower" and "member" the same way, but maybe not. I'm sure I'll figure it out, even if I have to break down and ask someone about it. :)

This comes up because I discovered a blog called Depictions of Death, which kept me entertained quite a few hours in the last couple of days. I'm not quite all about nooses, you see. While I was viewing the depictions, I chased down a lot of help files trying to figure out the ramifications of following and Friend Connect and such. The blog content was, of course, much more enlightening.

Somewhere in the help files, it was said that one should mention when one sets up the widget to solicit followers, so if you've been here (as you seem to be now) and you want to come back, you can click the handy button to the right.

I guess this post also serves to indicate that I'm still around, since it has been another long gap between posts. There's a new story cooking in my febrile brain (bet you've heard that before...) that I hope to start writing soon.

Almost too far

The summer after my freshman year of college, I was 19, unemployed, and bored a lot. My family lived out in the country and I spent a lot of time by myself roaming the fields and woods nearby. One warm afternoon, I got the idea to explore an old abandoned barn a fair distance away from the house for some fun. It felt a bit forbidden, and I had to cross a bit of open field to get there, but once inside I couldn't be seen.

The front of the barn was pretty bright, with a concrete floor, big sliding doors left open and gaps between the planks of the walls. I saw a bucket and a pile of hay twine along with some other junk. There was a cinderblock wall with rungs set in like a ladder, to get to the loft, and to the right of that was an entry to a smaller room that was pretty empty and led to another small room with a high window opening. Back to the main area I saw a bigger opening to the back of the barn, which had a dirt floor and was darker, but had exposed beams where the floor of the loft had rotted. Cooler, and a little spookier.

I went back toward the front with an idea. I'd mostly wanted to just jack off, but I got the idea to jack off in a special way. I had already been tying things around my neck for years. My favorite implement for this was a rubber inner tube. Even when I attached it above my head, I had never been off the floor; just stretched the inner tube tight so I got some effect from it. I didn't have the inner tube today, but I did have a 1 1/2-inch leather belt.

I got the bucket, which was metal and black and about a foot and a half high, and a little of the twine and went back into the second of the little concrete block rooms. The ceiling beam had a couple of big metal staples sunk in deep. I figured I could run the belt through one of them, but how to keep it attached above my head? That's where the twine came in. I looped some of the twine through a belt hole and could reach the second staple so I could tie it. (It's amazing the logistics one can get into with this "hobby.")

So, I set up the black bucket under the beam. I got naked, piling my clothes up on the concrete floor behind me. Then I stepped up onto the upturned bucket. I was already excited. I looped the belt around my neck with the long end coming through the stout buckle, then through the first staple, the one I'd actually be dangling from. Finally I tied the doubled-up twine to the second staple.

I didn't want to kill myself; wasn't even thinking of that. I just wanted to have fun and get off. My dick wasn't completely hard, probably because I was so scared/excited, but it was dripping. I was also a little concerned that I would get found, so I wanted to get to the next step. I figured I'd get hard once I did. I reached up and held the beam, then dangled one foot off the bucket... slowly let go of the beam... while the other foot came off the bucket.

Everything held. I was hanging!

For about 10 or 15 seconds. Then I panicked. I reached up to the beam and pulled myself up enough so I could get my feet back onto the bucket. My legs were wobbly, so I held the beam for a minute or so to keep steady. The belt-noose loosened immediately so I wasn't in any danger. After a couple of minutes I was calm enough to untie the twine and get down. I sat on the bucket, still a little wobbly. I realized I hadn't gotten off yet, so I rubbed one out just to get the release. Eventually I got dressed, but I lingered around the barn a little while just to let any marks or redness around my neck fade. (I'd had problems with visible marks before, but didn't have them this time.) As I left I put the bucket and twine back where I'd found them, and I headed back across the field and through the wooods shaking my head at what I'd just done.

Years later, when I got started "researching" the topic thoroughly, I ran into several descriptions of the effects of hanging. A detail from that day in the barn came back to me when I read about how easy it is to accidentally pass out unexpectedly, and if you see the surroundings start to darken you're just seconds away from passing out. I did have the beginnings of this darkening. As I was beginning to pull myself back up on the bucket, I remember that my vision was beginning to get kind of brown around the edges. I figure I was just a few seconds away from being one of those "accidents" you hear about from time to time. I have to admit, I have had hot fantasies about that experience with just one minor change.

But I didn't want to kill myself, really. I just wanted a little fun.

Another three months...

Guess I'm not going to get the blogger of the year prize, huh? I know I said the last story was Part 1, which implied there will eventually be a Part 2 and maybe more... thing is, I've written the ending (in fact, I wrote that first) but haven't gotten around to writing anything to bridge part 1 and the end. Sorry about that.

Some of the reason is, see, I go through spells where I actually am not obsessed with nooses and such. So I don't get any writing done. Lately, I have returned to that obsessed state, but the outlet has been IRC more than anything. Not only that, there are new story ideas bouncing around in my head—different ways to hang a guy, mostly, but sometimes other fantasies. Lately I've been playing with an especially delicious fantasy about burial alive. When I get focused on writing, that one may make it onto paper. (Paper! How old-fashioned! But I can use paper in bed, useful for when I'm wanking at the same time.)

Anyway, I'd like to get some more writing done, which is a start to actually getting it done. Don't give up on me yet.

New story: Part 1

Here's part one of the new story I mentioned in my last post. I don't know how many more installments there will be. I have the last half written, thanks to the white heat of horniness, and now I'm writing toward it from the beginning.

I met Jim online (of course) about three months ago. He had nice looking photos and appealing stats — late 20s, 5'11", good build from working out some but not freaky, hair in all the right places, and a slightly bigger than decent-sized cock. The text said he liked "doing creative things with rope that leave me breathless." I just figured that meant he liked bondage a lot, which was perfect for ome since I liked it too. I sent him a reply. He wrote back the next day indicating he liked my profile as much as I liked his, and a week later we were having a get-to-know-you coffee.

We hit it off pretty well. He was friendly and pretty open and, well, pretty damn attractive. Throwing caution to the winds, I invited him back to my place to try out some rope. He enthusiastically said yes. A half-hour later, his clothes were folded and Jim was naked, kneeling on the floor, and wearing some of my best rope around his wrists, chest, and ankles. His mouth was stuffed with my cock, and he was moaning and sucking awfully well. I came up with an idea to prolong things. I gently pulled out, reached for a short length of quarter-inch rope, and slowly circled it around his neck, holding it in a loop with my hand behind his neck. It was pretty forward of me and I wouldn't have done it ordinarily, so I watched him carefully. Was he going to freak out?

"Yesssss..." he said. I tightened it just a little. He half moaned, half sighed, and his cock jerked.

"So that's what you meant by 'creative things with rope that leave you breathless'," I said with a slightly evil smile.

"Mm-hm," was all he said, but between that, his pointy nipples, and dripping meat, I knew I'd hit on something. I tied a quick slipknot in the rope and pulled it a little tighter than before. Then I stuffed my hard prick down his gullet again. His gagging and sucking got me off real quick. Then I knelt in front of his bound, kneeling body, jerked his noose even tighter, and grabbed his cock. It only took about fifteen deliberate pulls on his rod to get it to shoot a big mess on our knees and the floor.

Then I untied him, helped him up into bed, and we lay together for a while. And had a little talk.

Apologies for the lack of posting here. (November, huh? How time flies....) There's nothing to be concerned about on my end. I just haven't had a lot to say. Recently I started a new story that I'll share here soon. It's turning out to be a long one, so I think I'll post it serially as an experiment. I ended up writing the second half first, the half with the really good stuff, of course, so I have to write a bit more first before I post that part. The first installment should be up in a day or two.

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.