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ALMOST A GONER by William Boreham

I'm not sure how the topic came up, but it was around the time of some MP's death, that someone mentioned he knew someone who had accidentally asphyxiated themselves while performing a 'kinky' sex act.
Surprisingly, two others also had fairly vague connections with someone who had died in a similar fashion. Now let's see, there were only nine of us in the dressing room at that time, so extrapolating that percentage to the general population - Jesus Christ! a few million must be in danger!
Nonsense of course, but I got to thinking then that there were probably a lot more than we imagine who pay the ultimate price for their particular little fantasies.
The corpse is usually found by a relative or friend who is shocked or bewildered by the scene and will rearrange it or remove the obvious evidence. The police don't know too much either about the autoerotic scene and will usually record it as a straightforward suicide.

I never joined in that particular conversation and obviously they never realised they had been showering with someone who had almost croaked himself trying one bizarre version of the 'ultimate' thrill.
Sometimes remembering some of the tricks I've got up to in the past experimenting with self bondage, a cold shiver goes down my spine and I wonder what on earth possessed me at that time.
They say a hard cock has no conscience - it also hasn't much common sense either.
My particular weakness was rubber hooded pump-up gags.
Head fully encased in tight rubber, with only two small air holes in the nose area, the temptation to give the gag just one pump too many was almost irresistible.
And then if wearing it, one trusses oneself into a difficult to escape from self-bondage; all in all - a recipe for trouble. I didn't mess about with those electrical and mechanical devices that I read some enthusiasts use and even had I wanted to, I don't think I could. After carefully reading all the detailed instructions those enthusiasts wrote - I still usually couldn't make sense of how they worked! Melting ice was also another popular tool and one or two who have got more faith in the Post Office than I, posted the keys of their manacles off, addressed to themselves, before securing themselves up!
No, being an ex-sailor I was quite at home with rope bondage and with hooks and pulleys could manage some painfully tight and effective bondage. I wasn't completely stupid as I certainly never experimented with hanging by the neck or total suffocation fantasies, but before I congratulate myself on that, my interest in extreme gagging could be almost as dangerous.
Time and time again one would read about how dangerous some, especially inflatable, gags were.
That didn't deter me; considering the gags that could be bought commercially in this country pathetically inadequate, I used to make my own, usually utilising a considerable length of a sizeable dildo.
Incidentally, I have to snigger with disbelief at movies these days when a strip of duck tape across the lips is considered sufficient to silence a person.
As for autoeroticism, I once received by post a simple rubber hood that encased the head and I was intrigued to find it had no air holes at all. Who'd wear this? Naturally I pulled it on to find out what sort of sensation I would get and I must admit, for a short moment there was a sort of erotic thrill.
But of course, it could only last for a very short period and I quickly decided there was no future for me in that particular scene.

The device that nearly 'done me in' as Eliza (Dolittle) would say, rather ironically was something completely outside my usual area of sexual experimentation.
I sent off for a catalogue from a chappie who made all sorts of rubber contraptions, smothering, gagging, bondage, you name it - most of his designs coming from customer specifications.
I was really fascinated thumbing through the pages - what an unbelievable imagination many fetishists have.
Most of the creations were of little interest to me, but one contrivance caught my eye, one of his best sellers.
It was shaped like a giant man sized condom\\. Made of heavy double layered rubber, one slid inside it, the open end extending just beyond one's feet and the teat part obviously covering the head. Inside the head part was a rubber gag with a small air hole through it and there were two small air holes where the nose should be. It was made to measure and would fit quite tight so your arms were pinioned down each side of one's body.
Now inside where one's hands would naturally lie were two squeezy air bulbs which one would pump and pump up the air in between the two layers. That would compress the inner rubber skin tightly against your body (and head) rendering one helpless in tight rubber bondage. There was a sort of tube inside within access of your hand that one could unravel to let air out fairly quickly, but it seemed that most of the enthusiast just lay there until the device naturally deflated taking hours even if one didn't keep pumping!
I'd seen some similar looking devices at a couple of professional mistresses I'd visited.
“How d'you know he's breathing?” I asked one.
She pointed to a rubber tube running from the device to a rubber bag. “When that bag is blowing up and down, he's breathing.”
Heaven knows why, curiosity maybe, something different? Whatever it was, I went ahead at bought the damn thing - and it wasn't cheap either. Imagine all the antics trying to slide a tight giant condom down over your body. One stood by the bed during all the shaking movements and when it finally covered you - you flipped over onto the bed. I had a couple of dry runs and found it was a bit of a struggle to get it off as well. At last, I figured I was ready and laying there, started pumping.
Now I suppose to an aficionado, the rubber starting to tighten against the flesh all over the body, would have been quite a thrill and he'd start getting excited, big erection and all the trimmings.
I didn't feel any erotic sensations at all, in fact I felt more anxious and uneasy than excited.
I'd pumped quite a lot of air into the thing, when there was a sort of a pop in the head section and I lost my nose air holes!
The only air I was getting now was from the thin hole running through the gag - and sucking desperately away, that didn't seem at all adequate!
Had I have panicked at that moment and hyperventilated, I'd have been a goner.
It took every bit of self control I had to lie there and stay calm.
Unnaturally sucking in bits of air and trying to exhale sufficiently through the hole, I pulled at the 'quick' release tube. As any one who has tried to get air out of any inflatable can imagine, the bag didn't deflate quickly or completely.
The inner skin still felt tight against me and I only really had one attempt to struggle out, because as soon as I left my 'air-hole' I was without air until I got out.
As I'm writing this, I obviously made it, but only because panic and fear gave me super-strength and I fought my way out of it like a maniac.

That was the last time I ventured into that particular area of BDSM.
There were versions of the 'shroud' as I called it now, without the head part and that's the one I should have ordered.
But I also realise now, I'm not enough of a rubber fetishist to have ever got any great thrill or pleasure from those sort of contraptions.
Even deflated it was a big heavy thing and I decided to sell it just to get it out of the way.
I sent an advert off to Time Out ( a British magazine) and, to my surprise, they rejected it! I always thought they were supposed to be broadminded! Then I tried my local newspaper.
Carefully wording the advert, they obviously didn't perceive the 'kinky' aspects of it and they duly ran it.
A week went by and I heard nothing.
Looking again more carefully at the advert I saw why - they'd ran the wrong phone number!
I phoned up the number in the advert and was answered by a very irritated female complaining about all those 'weirdo's' phoning up about the 'rubber thing' she was selling.
For some reason she didn't identify me with the weirdo's and we had a sympathetic conversation.
“You're so right miss, there are some strange people out there.”

One chap was so desperate, that guessing the paper must have got the number wrong, actually dialled all the combinations of that number and eventually got to me.
Over the phone I could certainly tell he was a prospect as he told me he got his kicks by wrapping himself up in a rubber dingy and pumping it up! When he arrived though, I was dubious because he was short and overweight and the garment had been made to measure for me.
He wasn't at all deterred,
Three times with considerable help from me he forced himself into the garment.
As there was a connection on the outside for a foot-pump, I could pump it up from the outside very easily.
And three times I heard muffled screams from inside to get him out quickly!
It was an even greater struggle to get him out each time after I'd deflated it, also from the outside.
God, the sweat that poured off him.
I showed him the catalogue and suggested he had one made to measure himself, but for some odd reason, he just didn't seem interested going down that route\\. No, he wanted mine and off he went apparently quite happy with it.

I used to occasionally wonder how he got on with it.
He had told me his wife wasn't into 'that sort of thing' and he had to keep most of his activities secret - so no help there.
I couldn't see how he could have used it on his own, but then I suppose a true fetishist will always find a way.
I wonder though, did he become another statistic?
The wife sitting at the table.
The food opposite going cold.
Where on earth is he?
He hadn't gone out, and yet she could find him nowhere in the house.
And what on earth was that huge, long inflated rubber 'bag' she saw lying very still on the floor of his den?
Spooky - I'm just glad it wasn't me.

almost_a_goner.txt · Last modified: 2015/03/05 06:47 (external edit)