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.

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