Story: Buying Rope (Part 1)

Man, was I nervous as I pulled into the parking lot of the army surplus store on the outskirts of town. I always got a little excited going there, because they had lots of interesting stuff there. Not just army surplus, though that was a big part of their stock. They also had camping gear, hunting and fishing equipment, and rugged outdoorsy clothes and boots. I could spend an hour in there looking at stuff, even if I didn't buy anything. They did get enough of my money, though; over the last couple of years I've bought a backpack, some camping gear, combat boots, and a pair of camo pants. I was wearing the pants and the boots today, too.

Yeah, I liked buying the camos. They fit just right and I actually threw a partial woody in the darkened fitting room (there was no light fixture, but the partial door let in just enough light to see, and gave just enough privacy). And then the boots, naturally, gave me trouble - I actually wore a jockstrap that day to keep any boners in check. But I was going to a dusty corner of the store today where the rope and other yard goods are kept. I knew exactly what I wanted rope for. And I was going to have to ask a clerk to help me get it. Good thing I had a jock on this time, too.

I sat in the car after I parked it in the store's lot for a while, trying to get myself calmed down. They sell the stuff, I reasoned. There's lots of reasons for people to buy rope. Even thick rope like I'm looking for. Besides, I'm not going to do anything extreme with it. Just play it cool and it'll be OK. They aren't going to ask any questions.

Finally I got out of the car and went into the store. The smell of the place hit me as I opened the inside door - musty, mostly, from all the surplus stuff that had been kept in army warehouses before the owner of the store got his hands on it. Visually, it's a jumble of a lot of different displays, things hanging on walls, stuff on overflowing shelves. Guns and compound bows down on the left, behind the counter where the ammo is; jackets and overalls on the back wall; in the middle aisles flannel shirts, jeans, work clothes, and hats; camping gear and surplus on the right. Way in the back were the boots, the fitting rooms, yard goods, and the ropes. There weren't many people in here today, not like on weekends or especially close to hunting season.

I sauntered around the store, looking at different things, hoping that the floor staff wouldn't come up and ask to help me - even though I needed one of them to cut the rope, of course. I browsed through combat uniform hats, pouches that clip on to belts, canteens, daypacks. Slowly I made my way back toward the ropes and canvas and netting.

Everything was on big rolls or spools hanging on a couple of racks. I looked at the canvas and netting - they also had vinyl, if I wanted that. Then I turned and looked at the spools of rope. Nylon, both the really stiff kind and the softer braided kind, from 1/8th inch to 1 inch. Some of that looked OK. Not so much the stiff nylon; that looked like it would hurt way more than anyone would want. But the softer braided nylon ropes were nice. The thinner ones, 1/4 inch or smaller, I could see someone tied up with a few coils of that, white loops holding wrists and ankles tightly. Nice. Too much of that kind of thinking was going to stretch my jock out a bit. Next to the nylon ropes were hemp ropes, from 1/4 inch to 1 inch. The naturalness of hemp really appealed to me. There was a big spool of 5/8 inch hemp with about two feet dangling. I picked up the dangling end. It's soft, if a rope can really be soft... I mean not too scratchy, and flexible. Not like the 3/4 inch rope next to it that looked really stiff. This one, though, bet it would feel real good around my neck. God, how much would I need anyway, I start thinking....

"Can I get ya something?"

I looked up, trying not to look startled but he had actually surprised me. I kind of knew this clerk. His name was Scott and he's about 22, 23, average build, with a store-logo t-shirt and cargo pants on. I think he helped me find the boots, actually.

"Yeah. Think I'll take some of this," I said, trying to not sound too suspicious.

"Sure thing. How much?"

I looked at the price sheet on the wall for a second, but there was no way I was going to be able to calculate how much x feet would cost with my brain going spastic from the nerves. Besides, I needed 15 or so feet of it to do what I wanted, regardless of how much it cost.

"About 20 feet," I replied, padding my estimate.

Scott pulls on the end of the rope. "Sure you don't need 25 feet?"

"Um, yeah, better go with that." I looked at him, wondering why he asked that. Probably a standard question; always better to have a little too much for a project than not enough. I started feeling a drip from the end of my dick, even though it wasn't as hard as it was getting before Scott showed up. Scott measured about 25 feet, then got out a saw to cut the thick rope cleanly and quickly.

"This is a good rope. Good for most loads, won't stretch hardly at all," Scott said as he coiled up the rope. "Easy to tie knots in, too." Scott ran a piece of masking tape around the coil on one side, then on the other. On the second one he wrote the length and the price.

I nodded. "That's good to know."

"Definitely don't want the knots coming loose on you before you want 'em to." He looked up at me as he handed me the rope, and our eyes actually locked gazes for just enough time to where I started getting nervous again.

"Nope, sure don't," I replied in a kind of quiet voice, trying to keep it steady and calm. I wasn't exactly sure what Scott was up to. He was looking attractive to me, though. I'd noticed that before.

"Anything else I can get you?" he asked.

"Nope, think I'm all set," I said. Actually I wanted to spontaneously disappear, bill paid in a flash, so I could avoid further scrutiny.

"How are those boots doing for you?"

"Oh, yeah, they're great." I stuck one of my feet forward to show I was wearing them, which he probably had already ascertained. "Perfect fit, really comfortable."

"Looks good, man."

Scott reached into a pocket and pulled out a card. He scribbled something on the back and handed it to me. "If I can do anything else for ya, just give me a call."

I looked at the card. The front was the store's business card. The back was a phone number from a different phone exchange. I nodded and put the card in my jeans pocket. "Thanks Scott. See ya." I headed for the front, to pay for the rope.

The cashier just bagged it up in a large, thin black plastic bag, told me what to pay, and didn't make any comments, of course. A few moments later the rope was in the trunk of my car and I headed for home, trying still to calm down and also trying to figure out what Scott had been up to.

I parked my car at the apartment and took the bag inside, glad that I didn't see any of the neighbors. In the bedroom I took the rope out of the bag and looked at the coil. Twenty-five feet of 5/8 inch thick hemp rope was pretty heavy. I cut the tape off and let it uncoil at my feet. I held one end, and realized that I would have to do something to keep the ends from fraying or unraveling. But mostly I turned the rope over in my hands to feel it. I even made a loop, then held on to where the ends of the loop crossed over so I could se what the loop would look like if I had made a slipknot and opened the loop big enough to stick a head through.

Damn, I could feel my crotch getting tight and a little damp. I felt like I was in trouble, almost. And then I thought of Scott, how we looked at each other when he was talking about how you don't want the knots to come loose when you weren't ready for them to.

I held the rope in my left hand and with my right groped my cock and balls through the tight camos and jock strap. I was going to have spunk in my pants if I kept this up.

I put the rope down so I could strip off my t-shirt. Picking up the end of the rope again, I let it snake up my crotch, belly, chest, till it got to my neck. The rope made a loop around my neck, sliding all the way around and crossing over in the back. It was a little rough to the skin across my throat, but the thickness felt real good. Too good.

I looked to the right into the full length mirror on the closet door. Me, shirtless in tight camos and black boots, rope around my neck embracing my skin, running down my bare chest... a couple of quick thrusts against the hand at my crotch, and my cock was shooting spunk into my jockstrap. The spasms subsided and left me weak in the knees, so I lay on the bed, rope loose but still draped across my throat and torso.

Guess it's laundry day, I thought as I felt the wet spot cooling on my skin and seeping into the crotch of my camos.

Nooses and horses

Too bad Killin' Jim Miller is cut off in this pic, since the caption indicates he's the star here.

I'll probably post a story in a day or two.

Another historical pic

Someone actually posted this image to a bear newsgroup once years ago. Well, he is bearded.... It also appears in The American Frontier: Pioneers, Settlers & Cowboys 1800–1899 (Smithmark, 1992), along with a few other photos of strung-up desperadoes and lots of other words and pictures about the West in general.

Frontier justice

Wish I could give more information about this scene. I first saw this photo in a book at the local library back in the early 1980s. The title of the book was Frontier Justice but I don't remember the author or any other details other than it was about keeping the peace in the early days of the American West. I eventually got the digital version of the image from somewhere on the Internet.

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.

From the photo archive

I found this photo on a postcard in a card shop years ago. On the back was this caption:
"A Well-Hung Dude
After his girlfriend ran off with an aluminum siding salesman, Butch just hung around the cabin listlessly."

Army surplus gear of a specialized nature

I bought a body bag from a military surplus store, must have been twelve or thirteen years ago now. Not because I expected to need it very soon; besides, the coroners office probably does not expect one to supply one's own body bag, anyway. It just looked like fun to have.

It's about eight feet long, three feet wide, and has maybe an eight-inch gusset (I didn't measure, except for the length, so I'm guessing). It looks like it could hold two if they were small and friendly or perhaps if they were dead. It also came with a plastic bag for a liner (but only one of those), big enough for the unlucky occupant of the bag:

Zipping up the bag around the person might not make for a very interesting photo, but then again maybe it does. Depends on your interests, I suppose.

They'd probably take the gas mask off a guy who had to be put in the body bag for reasons beyond his control. For me, it was just hot to have both the mask and the bag available for fun. I bought the chemical-biological gas mask at the same time as the bag.

(All photos done on self-timer, October 2008.)