Hothardhat rubber bondage

My Rubber and Bondage Life

By Hothardhat

Hothardhat’s rubber and bondage life, and its development over the years, is a bit of a saga. Like so many rubberist life stories, this one began in early childhood. It is an oft-told tale, usually revolving around yearning to pull on a pair of dad’s knee-high Wellies or some such activity. Well, this narrative is not much different. Dad always purchased his rubber boots at the local Army-Navy store. There are not too many of those around any more. Dad would sometimes go into one of these emporiums of all things delightful to a five year old budding rubber fetishist (hothardhat not yet understanding these impulses).

Dad typically marched in there to get stuff for hunting and fishing. No matter Dad’s objective, son Darren (Hothardhat’s real-life moniker) would insist on going along, just to breathe in all the wonderful smells found there. Yes, those places exuded the most delicious aromas of rubber and leather. There before Darren would be 16 inch high olive drab pacs (as they were called), thigh length hip boots and even chest waders, the ultimate. Yes, those were, indeed, wonderful stores.

There were times little Darren would sneak into his father’s closet and poke his stick-like legs into the big rubber pacs. And then try to shuffle around the room with these oversize boots almost falling off his feet. He had no clue as to why he was doing this. It just was fun, and he was inexorably drawn to these items.

Years went by. And Darren, as a tween, had a paper route. Such occupations existed at one time, with customer delivery on a bicycle. Well, Darren by now had developed full-blown fantasies about rubber. He incessantly thought about wearing rubber boots, especially during his daily jerk-off sessions. Never a thought about little Mary or Jane in his classroom, or even Bill or Jack. It was always the boots. Darren was totally intent on wearing rubber boots as much as possible, and the paper route became a methodology for doing so, in an ostensibly plausible manner. He pestered his parents more and more frequently to buy him a pair of hip boots, which, in his narrative to them, he most certainly needed because, as he pedaled along in the rain, delivering newspapers, his jeans were getting soaked. Okay, his parents thought, the kid might have a point. They got him the hip boots. Needless to say, Darren was ecstatic. And forthwith, he wore them every day there was even a hint of rain in the clouds billowing across the sky.

The only modification that Darren made to typical hip boot boot-wearing fashion is that he pulled the boots on first, so that he could feel the rubber next to his skin, and then the Levis went on over top. No worries that the jeans still got soaked in a downpour; he was happy as a lark as he now was encased in rubber up to his crotch. His mother, who was a bitch on wheels, was incredulous about her son’s crazy way of wearing the boots for which they had spent good money. This was the subject of much argumentation, and so Darren tried to effect both donning and doffing his boots out of her sight.

At times during this period in Darren’s life, the topic of the polio epidemic of the 1950s would be discussed. My mother would exclaim that she was very fearful during those times, before the development of the Salk vaccine. Occasionally Darren would see pictures in various magazines of people consigned to lives spent in iron lungs. This was of intense fascination to the kid, and served to encourage the budding perviness that was to relentlessly develop. Darren just wished so hard, every day, that he could be one of those lucky people who got to spend a lifetime totally encapsulated, and with only their heads extending outside their metal prisons, totally unable to do anything for themselves. Every night when he lay in bed, he would think and think about these people, and would wish so hard to be one of them. He was not your average child.

To return to the all-important topic of rubber…Well, it is absolutely transparent that the urge to encase oneself in ever-greater quantities of rubber develops inexorably over time. Thus, no longer happy with solely wearing hip boots, Darren began to lust over wetsuits, made of thick hot neoprene, and which could cover his entire body. But how to get one. Darren was only a fair swimmer and, as a fourteen year old, had exhibited no interest in diving. But he did have a Sears catalog, and there they were, for anyone to purchase, those erotic garments made of thick rubber. On a whim, he sent in an order, paid for with paper route proceeds. It was 1/4 inch neoprene, 2 piece, but with no beavertail. Also he got a hood, gloves and booties. He didn’t even think ahead as to how he was going to pick up his newly purchased dive gear at Sears, when it arrived. But he certainly had the sense to not have it delivered to the house, as his mother thought nothing of rifling through his closets and drawers, and would, absolutely, have quickly opened any large mysterious packages addressed to Darren.

Knowing nothing was sacred in his room or with his name on it, this was definitely a problem. By some miracle of the gods, the day the suit arrived at Sears, Darren had picked up the phone call from the store, and he enlisted the aid of a close friend, who had just gotten his driver’s license, to take him to the Sears Pick-Up to get the precious rubber.

A vintage image from the early ’70s! One of my first wetsuits — a 3/8-inch-thick, skin-out steamer. Picture was taken at the famous James Bond’s apartment. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

That night Darren was under the covers with rubber over his entire body, and with just his head peeking out, which, needless to say, was not covered with the rubber hood he had purchased. He tried to sleep, but OMG the horniness in a teenager’s body cannot abide this level of excitement. By midnight he was about ready to explode, and relief had to come one way or another. When that happened, off came the suit, and was stashed away in an adjacent unfinished room where it was easy to hide the rubber in the rafters. This immediately became the nightly procedure. There were a few close calls when Mother Dearest came up to his room long after he had gotten himself into the suit. But Darren always had the covers pulled up tight around his neck, and, thankfully, he was never ever caught. Could anyone even have come up with an explanation, not sounding wholly crazy, that would possibly have somewhat satisfied his dumbfounded parents?

The fetish grew. It became all-consuming, it seemed. This was a very ambivalent time in his life. He fully realized in his later high school years that his total disinterest in girls was a significant indicator that he was gay. Indeed, it was a time when there was still profound disapproval of this alternate orientation. And certainly there was even more negativity regarding the realm of fetishism. Darren initially tried vanilla gay sex, and that seemed to lead him nowhere. Gay bars were no fun, vanilla sex was no fun. Darren was a bit depressed and confused. And, in truth, he sometimes pondered: Am I really even gay? Why don’t I like the stuff that other gay dudes seem to like?

All he thought about was rubber, rubber, rubber. And being forever sealed up in it. This encasement scenario also played a huge role in his predilection for hard hat diving gear  He obsessed over the heavy metal helmets, canvas or rubber dive dress, the heavy lead boots and weight belt used by commercial divers. He wanted so bad to be sealed up in one of those rigs, to feel the intense weight of the gear, to have the face plate closed up tight, to breathe the stagnant air within the sealed helmet, and to be forced to walk wearing this massive suit. And then one day it actually happened.   He found an ad in a gay magazine from a James Bond, who indicated he liked heavy dive gear. That was a long time ago, and Bond did not have the huge dive gear collection he amassed in later years. At that time Bond had one helmet and no canvas dive suit. But we made do, and had an incredible time.

A primitive version of hard hat bondage, circa 1972. James Bond had acquired a helmet, but hadn’t yet found an affordable dive dress. Nevertheless we concocted a quite incredible scene. I was placed, standing, in the bathtub. He then directed a constant flow of water into the helmet, so that the water level was just below my nose, with my head even tilted back. The combination of the warm water lapping at my head and the greatly reduced pocket of humid, dank air inside the helmet, made for an unforgettable experience, especially for a very young guy realizing for the first time his most profound fantasy —hard hat bondage! (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

Wow, now he knew what it meant to be gay. Or at least Darren’s version of gayness.

Shortly thereafter Darren met Paul, the great love of his life. He and Paul were together for decades. During that time period he greatly expanded his gear collection. He loved being encased in layers of hot, sweaty rubber. Such a total turn-on for him, to feel all the heat generated by thick wetsuits and drysuits, one over top of another. That then begat his huge interest in hazmats, primarily the heavy rubber version, which he could use as a top layer, and make him broil inside. They also were wonderful for breath control, just trying to get some air through multiple lengths of hose connected to a gas mask or custom hood. Few gear scenes made him more horny that swimming in sweat encased in six layers of rubber, including a wetsuit, heavy arctic-weight drysuit underwear, a drysuit, a couple lightweight Tyvek hazmats, and lastly a 20-pound, heavy-duty encapsulating rubber hazmat. That was the ultimate for him.

A different combination of layers. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

On rare occasions he would visit with James Bond, who now had lots of heavy gear. He greatly enjoyed one of Bond’s many diabolical bondage scenarios, which was to stick someone in a complete hard hat dive rig including a 50-pound pot helmet, then close up the faceplate and watch the guy suffer with an ever-decreasing air supply. He loved being one of those dudes.

Hothardhat in hard hat bondage, circa 1980, courtesy of James Bond, widely known in the gay rubber community and now, sadly, deceased. Arms are sealed inside the canvas dive dress, and the face plate is tight shut, with no external air supply. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

Eventually his kink room, which had started life as a second floor bedroom, became totally filled with rubber suits, sleepsacks, Vac-Sacks, all sorts of custom hoods as well as gear from Studio Gum, RubbersFinest, MD-Latex and other well-known rubber kink suppliers. There was no longer space to do any play sessions there! So, an unused plant potting room in the basement was completely remodeled to create an additional playspace. Now the African violets are transplanted out in the garage, and they are perkier than ever.

His big dream was to own a bondage box, and now he finally had the space to house one of these bulky items. He will forever be indebted to the fellow who created “The Box,” as Darren is not the handiest person with plywood, nails, vinyl and foam, all of which are big “must haves” for any bondage box of good repute. This particular box has an insert that turns it into probably the most claustrophobic space ever created. With this insert about eight inches of thick foam padding rest above the victim, with four inches of the same foam on the floor and sides of the box. He loves that the space becomes extremely hot over time, owing to the very limited air volume. Breathing is through a hose from the victim’s hood or helmet, through a port in the box wall, and thence to the outside environment. The subject can be pinned motionless in there with the integral O-screws, and the amount of available space is approximately 2.5-by-6-by-1-foot high. The box, of course, is padlocked tight shut, and there is absolutely no escape for anyone unfortunate enough to be sealed in there.

Bondage box closed but not padlocked — yet. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

Bondage box open with a victim inside. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

Round about this time Darren made the acquaintance of a pleasant dude in upstate New York who owns an iron lung in absolutely perfect running condition. This is most likely the only lung in the United States that is used solely for kink purposes. He has been lucky enough to spend about 30 hours in this lung, including two overnight sessions. A totally incredible experience, to have the lung take over his breathing, and to be sealed inside it, except for his rubber-hooded head, while the rest of his body is encased in bondage gear, such as a sleepsack. Total helplessness with even his breathing controlled by a machine.

Iron lung lung, open. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

Iron lung, closed. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

His collection has continued to build. At times he would go through a buying frenzy of multiple Studio Gum and MD-Latex custom suits …

Hothardhat incarcerated in an Iowa jail (see MeninChains.com). Sealed inside a Studio Gum prison suit with double-layered hood. Heavy wetsuit underneath the prison suit, as a first layer. Intense heat and sweat. Inner hood has integral blindfold and inflated gag. Rebreather bag for restricted breathing. Fist mitts, heavy boots, shackled and chained to cell wall. (Image courtesy of SeriousMaleBondage.com)

 

Chained in a cell at the MeninChains.com jail. Sealed inside a heavy rubber totally encapsulating suit with nose holes only made by Studio Gum. Fist mitts and straps ensure no escape. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

… as well as kinky hoods of various types. He loves thick heavy rubber, the better to sweat in, and this includes 20-pound, 2mm

Chained to the MeninChains.com dungeon floor in my MD-Latex 2mm thick hazmat suit. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

and 4mm

Still shot from the Men in Chains internet movie ‘Appleville: The Strain.’ Hothardhat is securely locked inside a 20-pound, 4mm thick encapsulating latex suit, with a heavy wetsuit underneath. The intense heat and sweat just has to be dealt with, hour after hour, there is no alternative. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

custom suits by MD-Latex. Also a one-inch-thick incredible bc inflatable helmet from RubbersFinest, which is truly a torture device, as it is so thick that when it inflates all the pressure flows downward onto the head of the victim.

Close-up of a couple of my Studio Gum and RubbersFinest hoods/helmets, including a custom 1-inch-thick inflatable hood. (Photo: Hothardhat)

 

The passing of his spouse brought about ineluctable grief and loneliness for the first several months But afterwards his new friendships with so many wonderful men, including guys associated with the jail featured at the Men in Chains and Serious Male Bondage websites, have brought about the realization that a new, but much different, happy life can be forged. He has had many fun experiences including “acting,” as it were, in various bondage videos. What a hoot! Darren has done many things he had not anticipated in his former life. And more recently he has met a wonderful guy with whom he hopes to continue to experience and discover the incredible world of rubber and bondage.

 

Metal would like to thank Hothardhat for this true-life story and for sharing the pictures. You can contact Hothardhat — and see many more pictures from him — on FetLife. Also watch for him on Serious Male Bondage and at Men in Chains, where he goes by the name Dakota Duke!

5 thoughts on “My Rubber and Bondage Life”

  1. Hey – great real life story – sounds just like me – I started just the same way when I was 14 – and don‘t know where to put all the gear now.

  2. Loved this well written personal story. One does not have to be gay to appreciate having a rubber fetish. I have much of the same fetishes and know there are many others out there who share them.

  3. Great to hear how you worked your way through your kink and got so many fantastic experiences. One lucky guy !

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