Now for those of you thinking there he goes again off to the fetish shop to find a yet unattainable piece of deviant this or that to reach Nirvana, or off he goes sneaking out to the local munch to mix and mingle with the leather and pain crowd yet again but at least he knows not to wear white this time, or perhaps even outing an alternative lifestyle a bit again or participating in some St. Louis based kink convention like Spanksgiving. (Google it I didn’t make this one up)
I give you this. There is not a good Fetish shop in this town, if there is dime me in since I’ve been here 4 years and can usually find one in any city in the first 30 minutes. So far no such luck and trust me it’s not for lack of trying. Gay men may have Gaydar but I seemed to have a highly developed sense of Kinkdar. No kink shops here thank you very much, and the Pizza sucks, damn puritans.
But while out the other night in a shop that caters to my completely obsessive new fetish that includes “specialty” shoes and body lube the nice girl asks me as I stare mindlessly at their wares.
“Do you have enough rubber underwear?” The pretty, rail thin little blonde asked again since I didn’t answer the first time. This is the same girl that few months back was obsessing perhaps unhealthily over my feet more than an old lover with a foot thing ever did. I was quite concerned at the time. But somehow I got over it.
Now I’ve been asked about a lot of things by women I don’t really know but about owning rubber underwear until that point hadn’t been one of them. I love Latex, but not me in latex. Women in latex very sexy, me in latex well, not so much so.
I stare back at her ” I don’t think so” knowing damn well I didn’t own any for any purpose. There are a lot of things I don’t own leather pants for example are for rock stars and gay bikers for example. OK I’ll give you hunters if you are referring to brush pants.
She points out that they have both boxers and briefs that were obviously in plain sight somewhere in my soul I’m grateful she didn’t point out a thing option. Perhaps she assumed looking at me that I was blind or at least visually impaired from some acquired illness or jerking off incessantly. I must have had that diseased masturbator look about me for a few moments there.
“Keep in mind they run a little small” She added then showing me the ones that were only rubberized in the dead center portion of ones nether region and how the rest was “comfortable lycra”. I picked up what I came for body lube to keep from chaffing as I sweat and decided to pass on the new additions to my wardrobe. When it gets colder out I’ll worry about freezing my balls off and getting frost bite on my member but not quite yet.
Great running shop and based on how lame this town is it is the first place I’d been to that sold anything rubber that was wearable by anything other than my car. But still it’s not the same without them selling baby powder to put it on with and black beauty to make it shine.
The next morning arrives and as I head out into the 27 degree weather and I start with the body lube, it’s cold out and personally I can’t stand chaffed nipple so going from north to south I end with the arches of my feet and then head out to find an assortment of people in everything from short shots and teensy weensy tops to people bundled up for an artic expedition.
Now I’ve always been one for edgy phrases of bold declarations like, leather daddy, it’s only kinky the first time, or my personal favorite “Rope Slut”. Most were in tights, the men included even though it was not the ballet or Peter Pan but my favorite was watching 4 lithe little numbers pouring out of a car that on the back window that had written across it “FAST GIRLS HAVE GOOD TIMES”.
In a fashion that is true to myself I found a position near the front and conversed demurely with the “fast girls” as they contorted themselves into a variety of positions fit for the karma sutra if it was published by Nike. Scantily clad they stood there apparently so thin that their bodies had become immune to climatic changes and freezing weather.
Then it happened the gun went off, the mad dash began and once again I failed to keep up with the fast girls, ahh the story of my fucking life. I could always get a fast girl but I could never really keep up with her after a while and away she went off into the distance with me still chasing after her ass, in this case quite literally. Why should running be any different?
For more than a few minutes I watched and tried like hell as they pulled away from me more and more with each quick bounding stride. And that’s when it hit me the girl in the store was not trying to sell me rubber pants to keep my Willy from freezing this winter because she cared. It was because with a single glance and few words she had me pegged as slow. Bitch! Moral of the story never trust fast girls.