Pulled from the Closet
Dave and I grew up together. Same age, same school, same circle of playmates. We lived on the same street and even on the same block. Early on I realised that he wasn’t quite like the other boys we played with. He was gentler, cried easily, but wasn’t ‘soft’, he just didn’t like fighting, or unfairness. It wasn’t as if he was small or weak — he could run, and jump, higher than almost all of us, and when it came to games like cricket or football — everyone wanted him on their team. Then puberty caught up with us, and the difference in interests became a lot more obvious … It was a difficult time for me, not least because I started getting obvious erections at the most inappropriate times. And it got worse as puberty advanced because my cock seemed to be getting a lot bigger than most guys — noticeable if anything got my ‘attention.’ I found girls attractive, but I ‘liked’ boys as well, and had to be careful in changing rooms and the showers not to show it. Just to complicate matters, I discovered a liking for latex and began to fantasise about have sex in rubber …
It was bad enough for me and a number of others, but a miserable time for Dave. He was ‘different’ and there as no way for him to hide it as he developed.
It was more than his build — he had an athletic body — it was in his rather effeminate gestures. He loved to dance, took up ballet and his gymnastic ability in physical training at school showed it. While some of the boys drifted away, I stayed friends with him. I enjoyed his company. In truth, I was attracted to him even then, but … My mother wasn’t keen on him, using the same derogatory terms some of the bullies used, and which our Pastor inferred. Names like ‘shirt lifter’, poofter … and girly-boy. That was always accompanied by injunctions to avoid letting him ‘interfere’ with me. From the Pastor it was all hellfire and brimstone. Apparently even holding your penis to take a piss risked spending eternity in Hell …
My father was always the gentler of my parents. Our relationship was good, but he wasn’t into ‘sports’ and neither was I. There was always tension between him and my mother, and it got worse as I reached my teens, and his death — apparently suicide — when I was just about to start university, turned my world upside down. It also left me as the sole target of my mother’s desire to be in control of everything. And her religious ideas. Her favourite Pastor gave me the creeps and as for the lawyer she engaged to settle the legal mess my father’s death left …
It made me very careful about my own feelings when it came to anything sexual. I find some men more attractive than women. Perhaps just a little more so. The trouble is that I’ve spent most of my life to date doing my damndest to hide my orientation and my fetish. I’ve always fantasised about having sex with another man, though not exclusively. But in my imagination, it usually involves some form of bondage and definitely some rubber. Having first learned what boys who liked boys were called from very derogatory references, and witnessed the treatment and the derision boys who weren’t manly enough, or were too ‘girly’ got … So I’d buried my own feelings, and done my best to avoid being identified as a ‘homo’ for all of my childhood, and all through my teens and it had become a habit. Yes, I still fantasised, and I trawled the internet to satisfy my craving for rubber and man sex, but I’d built a public persona as a defence, and guarded it well.
Dave went off to university after finishing senior school some distance away, I took a commercial course at our local college, my father having died, my mother suggested she needed ‘a man around the house’ — and anyway I could get the qualification I needed locally. I could do a diploma course and later the degree and an MBA later. After all, I’d be joining my mother, two uncles and a cousin in business anyway. I earned my qualification, and started work, then enrolled part time to gain Chartered status.
I’d been working for the family accountancy firm for two years when Dave came ‘home’ and began working at a local laboratory that did a lot of police work, his field being forensic examination and analysis. He made no secret of being Gay, unlike me, still doing my damndest to conform to my own, and the churches, idea of sexual normality. Working for the family firm, now controlled by my mother, a very strong woman of very definite ideas, didn’t help, and nor did having to work alongside a cousin who was everything I was not. There was a sense of tension in the firm, and I soon realised that my uncles didn’t get along with my mother, but she was the senior partner …
None of it was helped by having grown up as the only child, only son, of my parents that everyone ‘expected’ to marry and produce grandchildren. My father’s death meant I was now the focus of her world. Now I got regularly from my mother ‘when are you going to marry a nice girl and get married? I’d love to have some grandchildren …’ Her church was one of those that thought ‘Gay’ was the same as devil worship and there were constant battles over my reluctance to accompany her … I’ve never had the courage to actually have sex with anyone, male or female. Yeah, I know, twenty-five and still a virgin. Go ahead, laugh …
With Dave’s return, our friendship picked up more or less where we had left off. Dave had changed and so had I, but he’d grown in confidence where I had not. We often met at the swimming pool, and sometimes at the marina where I kept my boat. He often teased me about my wetsuits, my taste in swimwear, and my denials of any gay inclination. Then he dared me to take a risk.
For sailing, and sometimes for swimming, I wore wetsuits. I had several, some more snug fitting than others, and often wore nothing under them. Dave often teased me about my liking for wetsuits, and it became a bit of fun between us. He looked good in a wetsuit, and always made a point of telling me how good I looked in rubber.
Then, out of the blue, he challenged me to try wearing a different sort of rubber suit … I hesitated, but he was determined, and kept up the teasing until I finally agreed to try a suit of his choice. On one condition, I’d try it in private, and then decide whether or not I would accept the rest of his challenge — to wear it at a small party for his birthday.
I knew I was taking a huge, and potentially life changing, risk letting Dave dress me in a skintight latex suit? Sure we’d been friends since before starting school. We’d lived in the same block, gone to the same parties as kids, played in each others gardens. I’d always known he was ‘different’, and yes, I sometimes fantasised about ‘playing’ with him, a favourite being handcuffed together and wearing something rubber … but never allowed myself to admit any sexual element to our friendship and never, ever, anything ‘fetish’ about it …
So when he’d suggested I come to a party he was having wearing rubber, my thought had been that he meant a wetsuit …
“Thanks for coming, Jim.” Dave greeted me holding the door to his detached house, inherited from an aunt, so I could enter. Shutting it behind me, he took my Barbour jacket and hung it on the hall coat rack. “And for agreeing to try something special.”
“I’m still not sure about it, Dave …” Following him into the living room, I explained, “I know I said I’d try this rubber suit you’ve had made, but … I mean, okay, I wear wetsuits for sailing and that, but …”
I couldn’t bring myself to admit that, yes, I found the prospect exciting, even sexually so, but that meant admitting I was exactly what I have spent almost all my life denying … Worse, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to conceal my arousal. Just getting into it would be what I so often fantasised about.
The suit, in it’s box, was definitely no ‘wetsuit’. This was black latex, and came with all the accessories. Gloves, bootees, hood …
“Don’t worry, Jim. If you don’t enjoy it when you’ve tried it, we’ll say no more about it.” Indicating the carefully folded rubber in its box, he smiled, “And if you do, we’ll need to have a long overdue talk …”
“Dave, you know I’m not …” I still couldn’t bring myself the admit that I was ‘Gay’. Even admitting that my wetsuits were my attempt to indulge my taste for rubber and disguise my liking for it …
“So you keep telling me, Jim.” He gave me a wistful smile. “So let’s test it …”
The suit was tight, but the rubber elastic. Even with lubricant it was a struggle to get it on, but finally I stood, my cheeks burning in embarrassment with my rampant erection signalling my arousal.
“Looks like you’re finding this fun,” Dave joked, groping my now latex covered butt teasingly.
There was no longer any hope of denying that I am turned on by rubber, and I was now wearing my wet dream of a rubber suit in the presence of, and in physical contact with, a good looking guy I found sexually attractive. I had since we were kids, but could never bring myself to admit it. The attraction had grown stronger as we’d entered puberty and he’d grown into a willowy, almost feminine teen. Now in our twenties, he’d become more masculine, but even more attractive.
“Damn it, Dave.” I protested. There was no denying that I was finding the tight, body moulding latex erotic. The fact my cock was rigid and standing at twelve o’clock through the opening at my crotch, my cut ‘head’ on show. “I agreed to try this for you in private, but I didn’t know it was this … revealing. Okay, so I find it … exciting, but it doesn’t mean I’m happy appearing in public like this.”
“Okay, Jim,” His arms slipped round my waist and he held me in a gentle hug, his chin on my shoulder as he stood behind me. “If you’re really not into this …” His grin was a little lopsided. “I guess we can forget the idea.” His lips brushed my shoulder gently. “But I have to say you look absolutely fucking stunning in it — even better than you do in a wetsuit.”
“It feels bloody good …” Turning my head, I gently butted his. “I know I’m being fucking stupid, but, well, you know I’ve never really accepted … and I’ve always tried to hide it … Wetsuits were a sort of compromise with myself … but this …” I grinned. “Well, there’s no way this can be mistaken for a wetsuit, and it sure as hell shows off my tackle.”
Getting into the suit had been difficult. The rubber was quite thick, but very elastic, and the only opening beside the reinforced hole through which my erection and scrotum now showed, was the face hole in the hood. A short zip between my butt cheeks pressed against my manhole, partly concealed by being pulled hard into my crack by the latex moulding itself to my butt. I hadn’t believed it was possible to get into it through the face opening, but with my body very well lubed, and Dave holding the opening wide, I’d worked my legs, my feet already in the latex socks that would double as ‘slippers’ with my toes individually sheathed, into the ‘body’ and then into the legs. The next battle, again needing help, had been to get the torso up my body and my arms, again with my hands already in tight gloves to my elbows, into the sleeves. The snap, as the suit slipped over my shoulders, and tightened around my neck had been both a relief and a surprise.
Dave had fussed around me making sure the latex was smooth and everything properly aligned, with my erection standing proud and fully on display. I’m ‘blessed’ with a long penis, and even ‘off’ it remains fairly substantial. The suit made sure my cock and balls were accessible and displayed through the crotch opening, but there was a detachable codpiece —that made my tackle even more prominent and obvious. Finally he’d eased the attached hood over my head, adjusted the fan opening and stood back to admire the suit.
“I guess you could wear a pair of rubber shorts instead of the codpiece … It’ll sort of disguise the codpiece …” Dave offered, his disappointment plain in his voice. “I was sort of hoping …”
“Look, now you know why I’m always so shy of anything like this and in a changing room.” Tapping the waiting codpiece, I added, “This ‘interesting’ codpiece will make this,” I flicked my long cock, “a bit too obvious.” Putting my hand between us I found his erection straining his jeans. “I turn you on like this?”
Pushing his jeans restrained member into my hand, he whispered, “What do you think, Jim. Damn it, you’re the hottest man I know … Please, just this once … Please, will you wear it for my party? For me? It’s just a small group. It’s my birthday … The others will all be in rubber as well …”
His tone was pleading, and I found myself torn between wanting to rip this suit off, get dressed and run away, and wanting to surrender, stay in this fantastic suit and surrender to my sexual desire … Turning in his arms, I put mine around his waist. Our erections touched and it was like having an electric current pass through us.
“I want …” His expression reached into me, sent a ripple through my mind, sent a surge of desire directly into my cock. Kissing his mouth, I whispered, “Okay, you win, but if I’m going to do this, I want a reward.” Biting his earlobe, I continued, “I’m outing myself if I do what you ask, and it’s going to cost me …”
“I know it isn’t easy for you, Jim. I know what your Mum will say … but only you can decide what you want in your life. It’s your decision …” He sighed, his arms tightening. “I want you permanently in my life. It’s what I’ve wanted since we first met … My partner, my lover, my man … I’ll do whatever you need to help you escape the closet and stop living in this sort of half-life of yours, always hiding, always trying to hide …”
“I know, Dave,” I whispered, kissing his lips. It felt really good to be in his arms like this, to have his body pressed to mine, to want … “But it terrifies me. It terrifies me to think about the sneers, the remarks, the friends I’ll lose if they know about … and I really don’t know how I’ll break it to my family … My mother will go fucking orbital if I …”
“I understand all of that, my love. I’ve been through it. Fletch and his gang weren’t the first to ‘out’ me … Been there. Done it, got the fucking teeshirt …” Returning the kiss, he added, “And I didn’t have a lover supporting me. We were still at school remember? And I was outed by Fletch in Year Eight. Everybody knew I was a ‘homo’. Remember that? Remember all the fights I got into?”
“I’m not likely to forget.” Squeezing him to me, I said, “I’m not proud of the fact I didn’t try to stop some of them …” Pausing I looked into his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”
His smile spread. “Forget it. I coped — and I got my revenge. You were always the one that comforted me when it got too much. Remember when you found me hiding in the toilets after I’d got a good thrashing from that oik Fletcher and his chums? I was wondering how to kill myself. You sat me down, cleaned me up and took me to the school nurse — and stayed with me until my Mum came and fetched me.”
I remembered all too well. And the stick I got for ‘looking after the dirty little fag’. Fletch and his chums had tried to pick a fight with me over it. More by luck than any skill, I’d evaded their favourite trick — one grabbing you from behind so the others could punch you — by stamping hard on the grabber’s foot. He’d released me screaming I’d broken his foot and I came out swinging. Fletch had caught my shoe in his crotch, and his henchman had walked into my haymaker. A teacher had seen the whole thing, so when we got hauled before the Head, the story wasn’t one sided — except about the reason for the fight. Dave’s beating hadn’t been mentioned. I got warned about fighting, Fletch’s chum got to walk on crutches for a couple of weeks and limped for a lot longer, the other had a black eye, and a swollen nose — and I made sure Fletch and his gang never got another opportunity to try their luck with me.
But it also taught me to never reveal that I was a ‘poofter’, ‘bum boy’, ‘cock sucker’ or any of the other cruel and unkind epithets hurled at Dave and one or two others in our all boys school. And, by and large, I’d managed to keep my ‘gay’ side undercover. It hadn’t been easy, since, as I said, I’m higher on the Kinsey Scale toward the ‘Gay’ end, than on the Heterosexual end. Guys in wetsuits, Gay porn, and rubber … the attraction online was far stronger than anything involving females.
Now it looked like I was going to have to make a choice. Accept that I am Gay, have a fetish and make my life with Dave … or continue hiding my fetish, hiding the fact I find guys a lot more attractive than girls, turn my back on a guy that is making clear what he wants, and which means my having to embrace the Gay lifestyle, label, and all the shit that goes with it … And now we were holding each other in an embrace, my raging erection leaking precum onto his jeans as I stood in a latex suit …
“Damn it, Dave …” Applying my mouth to his, I started a kiss. His lips parted and he let me tongue him. “I’m no hero, I never was … and I’m too damned scared to admit I’m doing this, too damned scared of being caught, of my mother’s reaction …” I kissed him again, my cock demanding relief. “Better take me somewhere comfortable and show me how a guy makes love with another guy … I’ve never …”
“Thank you, Jim,” he sighed contentedly, resting his head on my shoulder. “You’ve no idea how much … I’ve dreamed … It’ll be a pleasure to show you …” Straightening, he released me, taking my hand. “Come, my darling, and I’ll show you everything …”
“Take it slow … I’m likely to shoot just thinking …”
“Then we’ll take it slow … and if you … don’t worry. If you’ve never … it happens, but it’s not a problem.” Grinning he kissed me again. “We’ll take time out to just enjoy getting to really know each other …”
In his bedroom we took our time. His clothing ended on the floor, and draped over the door as it was discarded. There was no need to speak any longer. Our mouths were too busy kissing and our hands exploring each other spoke far louder than words, but, as I was afraid would happen, I shot my load as soon as he touched my over excited member. He sensed it, and clamped his thumb against my urethra just below the opening in my glans, smiled, and before I could move, had my pulsing ‘head‘ in his mouth and sucked my cum down greedily.
I was still getting my breath back as he changed position again, wrapped me in his arms as we lay on the bed, and pulled me tight to his body.
“Relax, my darling. Just relax. That was beautiful — you taste fabulous. Now relax, and in a little while I can show you just how beautiful making love with the right man is …” The kiss silenced my apology, and before I knew it, had become a really passionate and demanding exploration of each other. He took his time and worked gently, never letting me express doubt or disappointment until eventually I was hard again.
“Now, my gorgeous rubber dream, want me to show you what it’s like to have that gorgeous member of yours enjoyed by a lover?”
“If you show me how …” His kiss cut me off, “To do it for you …”
“Then turn on your side to face me,” he began to change position. “I’m going to enjoy you, while you explore mine …” His swollen head touched my lips and I tasted the dribble of precum. “Just copy what I do to you …”
It wasn’t easy, but I did my best. Clumsily at first, unsure of what I was doing, and trying to give him at least as good an experience as he was giving me. The taste of his penis was different, as was the scent of his crotch. His precum was, like my own, salty. Focussing on copying his efforts on my cock, helped distract me from the tremendously pleasant sensations he was creating in my member, and helped me hold out longer than I’d thought possible.
His ejaculation took me by surprise, and made me gag, but I swallowed quickly, rewarded by several further spasms even as my own member erupted.
For a while we didn’t move, then, very carefully he changed position and we were once again face to face. Kissing me gently, he asked, “See what you’ve been missing?” He kissed me again. “It gets better …”
“It does?” Smiling, kissed him. “You smell … good, and you taste … better.” Kissing him again, I asked, “Were you serious earlier? You really want me to be ..?”
“Yes.” His arm pulled me closer. “Jim, I’ve wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to share my love, my fetish and my bed with you since … forever. Remember when we used to wrestle?”
“All to well …” Kissing him again. “I felt your … excitement, and was afraid you’d feel mine … My father warned me about that, and what it meant …” Grinning, I continued, “And you know what? I don’t give a shit anymore.” Poking his chest, I added, “Now I want to see you in rubber like me, and I need a drink … Then we can talk about your party.”
“You got it.” Kissing me, he grinned. “I’ve got an identical suit — you’ll have to help me into it.” His hand found my now flaccid member. “Put the codpiece on while I get my suit ready …”
It was just as well it was a Saturday. Having got Dave into his suit, the afternoon was spent, so we had a light snack, some wine and then Dave gave me a lesson on giving a partner head. The scent of latex and the memory of the beautiful experience of making love accompanied me home. It was after midnight when I clambered into bed, still savouring the taste of Dave’s sex and his cum and taking care not to disturb my mother.
Any hope of sleeping late was shattered, as was a beautiful dream of walking along a river bank hand in hand with Dave, both of us wearing the incredible rubber suits and enjoying our contact, by my mother.
“You’ll be late, IF you’re planning on taking me to church.” She stood in the door, her eyes sweeping the room. “What’s that smell? Where were you all yesterday afternoon? When did you get home?”
“Late, and I hadn’t intended going to church today.” I snapped, annoyed. Dave was right, I needed to grow up, carve out my own life, and be my own person. “What smell?”
“It smells terrible,” she sniffed. “Like rubber …”
“Then it probably is,” I shot back. “Look, I’m not going to church. I had a very good day yesterday with a friend, and now I’m dead tired.” I could sense the ‘sermon’ coming, and cut it off. “Mum, I’m not going to change my mind. I’m not going, and I’m thinking about getting my own place as well.”
It didn’t stop her. I got the full tirade, including how disappointed she was that I hadn’t ‘made an effort’ to show interest in the firm, marry, produce grandchildren, lacked commitment to the church, hung around with unsuitable friends …
That was the clincher. She’d finally pushed my self-destruct button.
“Fine. I’m a lousy son! I get it. So I’ll tell you right now. I’m Gay. Always have been, always will be! And the Pastor can stick it up his arse. He probably does anyway!” I saw her shock changing to fury. “Before you say anything else — I resign from the firm, and from the family! I’ll be out of here by the time you get back from Pastor Arsewipe’s latest hate rant. Make sure you give him my latest lack of commitment!”
Flinging off the duvet, I stood, naked, and began to grab my clothes. She began to protest about ‘indecency’ and I cut her off.
“No, I don’t care anymore. I’ve had it with all the damned pretence. If you’re going, go, if you want to stand there and shout at me, go ahead, I’m not listening.” Facing her, my briefs now in place, I stopped her dead as she started to invoke my father … “Don’t you dare … You know why he drank, you know why he wiped himself out in that suicide. So don’t tell me how disappointed he’d be in my behaviour.”
Dragging on my shirt I began to empty draws into my travel bag —after tipping out all the work papers and files I’d been working on.
“You can’t …” she began. “I forbid it!”
“Too fucking late! I’m of age — bloody over age!” I spat back. “I told you! I resign. I’m leaving immediately. Keep the fucking pay, you’re always complaining about the cashflows. That’ll help it.”
She tried a different tack. “You can’t just walk out of your home … where will you go?”
“A motel, a hotel? Who cares — it’s not your problem anymore.” I managed to close the travel bag and the backpack I’d stuffed with my personal stuff and grabbed an armful of clothes from the wardrobe. My wetsuits were, thankfully, in the garage, next to my runabout. “Right, that’s it, I’m out of here.”
Pushing past her, I struggled down the passage, dragged open the door into the garage and tossed everything into the boot of the car, added my wetsuits, slammed the boot, operated the garage door, and climbed into the car, leaving her standing, her expression a mixture of shock and anger.
Reversing out of the drive, I turned toward town out of habit, and drove away. I had no idea where I was going, I simply needed to get as much distance as possible between me and what I’d left behind me. Pulling into a rest stop on the outskirts of town I sat in the car and took stock. First I needed somewhere to stay, get some coffee, some sleep and some breakfast. A part of me said, ‘go to Dave, he’ll take you in’, but I knew that wasn’t the right way to start our relationship.
