Frogmen are hot.

I think frogmen are uber hot.

One of the very first websites that I came across as a youth, was the homepage of a rubberman named ncapsul8. His website was filled with images of men in heavy rubber diving gear and hazmat suits. I was in love, instantly. Better still, his website had a very horny selection of videos, showing guys in great rubber gear getting worked on while in bondage. That was new and exciting for an impressionable young man. Moaning into a full face mask, the hiss of air, the creaking as heavy rubber gloves grope your straining erection until you climax into your rubber suit.

Ultimate. Hotness. In the age of dial-up, well worth the wait.

So, is it a surprise that frogmen turn me on? Not really. I drooled over issues of National Geographic, and longed for the day that I would be able to afford the great gear that I wanted so badly. Alas, that kind of gear is expensive. And not exactly something I could pick up at the local dive shop. But still, I hoped, I planned... I got a job. And eventually, eBay appeared, and finally my dream was within my grasp.

But what is it about a frogman that makes a rubberman's cock stir? The gear? Of course. The suit, whether heavy duty, designed for safety and protection or skintight. The specialized equipment, allowing a person to work and play underwater. The mask, transforming the man into a diver, nay, a frogman. The total protection from the elements, and encapsulation by their equipment. Being in the water, but immune to it. But the man inside is also important. There is the implication of hardiness, toughness. After all, the original frogmen were soldiers.

Source: The Frogman's Homepage.

When I think of a frogman, I picture a man, covered from head to toe in thick rubber. His face is concealed behind a dive mask; his breath is deliberate as he breathes from the air tank weighing him down. His feet are flippers, and his hands are thick gloves. Strapped to his body is equipment designed to keep him safe and allow him to work. He is strong, brave, and even a bit mysterious. He's an explorer, a savior, a worker, or a soldier. He's got a job to do, and the water is no match for him. In fact, he's in his element.

And then, back in the locker room, he has wild gay sex with his dive buddy while in gear. Hah!

Do you like frogmen, like I do? What makes it hot for you?

Source: Ning DiveGear group (defunct).

Faceless Goons: Subverting the Trope.

So, what's a trope, you ask? Well, its a literary device. More broadly, tropes are "devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations." They can be thought of as fictional stereotypes of people, places, things, pretty much anything.

Examples? When an evil villain takes the time to explain how his fiendish plot will work. That's a trope called "Evil Gloating", standard fare in any Bond movie. It's stupid, right? But it serves a purpose. It's a contrivance that allows the story to play out a certain way.

How about in every Steven Seagal and Jean-Claude Van Damme movie, the hero encounters death at every turn, but against all odds, is unhurt? That trope is called Plot Armor.

I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with gear fetish. I'll bring your attention to one particular trope: Faceless Goons or more accurately, Gas Mask Mook. Star Wars' Stormtroopers and Halo's Spartans (such as Master Chief) are examples of the Faceless Goons trope. The British SAS, and their tinted S10 gas masks are a prime example of the Gas Mask Mook.

Longshot as "The Chief"

I find this trope to often be very sexy, in the visual sense. Guys in gas masks, helmets, tinted goggles, etc. The examples of this trope are everywhere in the gear fetish scene. I love gas masks, and part of that is because of the bad-ass anonymity that it provides, as well as the alien and, indeed, dehumanizing quality that it imparts. There is a sense of dangerousness and a lack of limits. When I wear my full gear, I feel that I am, at least in part, role playing a character.

And although I enjoy this trope, I often hate this trope. Because when it's used, the hot gear wearing guys (usually) die. Why is it that in so many movies and video games, the cannon fodder are depicted as faceless masses? It's simple: so you don't feel bad when the hero (sometimes you) kills them all. That way, you don't think of them as people. And yet, this does not work on me. Perhaps it's because I find them so often sexy, that I can empathize with them, despite their dehumanization. They are still people, behind that armor, behind that mask. I know, I am one.

And so, as much as I love the liberating and powerful feeling of anonymity, I also love to subvert it. I buck the established norm for Gas Mask Mooks. Faceless Goons have a bad reputation, not that it's completely undeserved. But I'm different. I'm bad-ass, but I'm the good guy. I look cold, but I'm warm and fuzzy. I'll kick your ass, but I'd also like to fuck it.

It should come as no surprise to us perverts, that the perversion of this trope is equally as sexy as the trope itself.

The teddy bear, not so much.
 

Snuggable tactical decoy.

Mmm... rubber aprons.

It's not exactly your standard rubber accessory, I know. I'm not entirely sure what turned me on to rubber aprons, but I can only speculate that it was a number of reasons. This is not your mom's "Kiss the Cook" apron.

A rubber apron is impenetrable and protective, so right away there is a protective gear connection. There is also an implication that, wearing such a piece of gear, you will be engaged in messy activities. Piss, cum, and lube splatter and drip from its thick, shiny, rubbery surface. It's heavy duty gear for heavy duty action. It doesn't say sexy the way a catsuit says sexy. It says sexy by saying "I'm going to work on you. And you're gonna make a mess." Now, that's hardcore.

It also conceals and shields the body, the way other loose fitting gear does. The male form is recognizable, but altered; hidden from the eye, just enough to allow the mind to imagine the straining hard-on within. It is a tease to see the subtle bulge of a cock, stowed away, but ready with a flick of a wrist.

Or, maybe I'm reading too far into it. Rubber aprons are big pieces of wearable rubber, enough said.

My current rubber apron is from Polymorphe, based in Montreal. I bought the apron from the local Priape store, which stocks Polymorphe rubber wear. They are undoubtedly one of my favourite makers of rubber clothing. While their selection isn't as large as many European studios, the quality is excellent. And best of all, they chlorinate the rubber, giving it a silky feel and a natural luster.  I also own a sheath, and sailor front jeans from them. Worth every penny.

The apron is heavy, long, and well made. Chlorinated and unlined, the supple rubber feels like a dream on bare skin or gliding across your tightly suited body.

The bulge.

The grope.

The wank.

From head to cock to toe. Chlorinated rubber heaven.

Rubber is collectable.

It's collectable. Like coins or old comic books.

Sadly, the golden age of rubber products is over, supplanted by polymers and high-tech fabrics. You can see it everywhere. Raincoats are made of PVC or Gore-Tex. Gloves are made of Nitrile or vinyl. Hazmat suits made of Tyvek. Even "rubber boots" are increasingly not-rubber.

I suppose that its inevitable, and understandable. For as much as we love latex and rubber, it just doesn't stand up to the ingenuity of man. Better, faster, stronger. And cheaper.

Look at all the vintage gear from a bygone era that we covet. Avon drysuits. Drager hazmat suits. Black Diamond rain gear, to name a few. These rubber products are obsolete, and will probably never be made again. How many were made, used to destruction, and then discarded? They are increasingly rare, and thus, collectable.

I collect some of that gear when I can, because its the type of heavy gear that makes me horny. Its rarity makes it all the more desirable. But that desire comes at the price of knowing that I may never own another like it. And that other rubbermen like myself, may never experience its pleasures. So, I covet my rare pieces of gear. I try to take care of them, and use them gently. With luck, they will bring years of enjoyment.

I once wrote a story about a rubber drysuit. The drysuit was owned by a rubberman, and it reveled in the attention and care that its owner bestowed upon it. It was happy in the knowledge that it would live out its days safe and appreciated.

That's how I sometimes see gear collecting. We fetishists are the rubber equivalent of an animal rescue shelter. Saving gear from a undignified fate, and giving them a good home.

But there is hope out there beyond just conservation. Aquala still makes arguably the horniest rubber drysuits. Viking and others still make rubber drysuits for commercial and industrial purposes. There are a few makers of rubber raincoats, such as Nat's. And I've even seen an online rubber store making replica rubber hazmat suits for the fetishist in mind (they've since disappeared, but I still applaud them). And many of us have probably seen the surge explosion in the popularity of rubber boots, particularly Hunter wellies.

And of course, there's always latex. Fetish rubber is more accessible than ever. Should we thank society for opening their minds? Or the Wachowski brothers for The Matrix? Whatever the reason, rubber fetish gear is here to stay.

But please, treat your rubber as a companion, and take care of it.

Suiting up in my vintage hazmat suit.

When I say rubber...

So, this is a blog primarily about rubber, and rubber gear. Now, when I say 'rubber' what I really mean, of course, is 'rubber fetish'. But what does that really mean?

Now, I'm going to assume you know what a rubber fetish is... and if you don't, you can Wikipedia it. What is it, in a more philosophical manner? I guess what I really mean, what does my rubber fetish mean to me?

Any serious rubberist has pondered this question before. Should a person arrive at an answer, it is a unique and personal understanding of one's sexuality.

What is my rubber fetish to me?

It is what defines my sexuality. Sexually, I'm a rubber fetishist, above all else. I have other fetishes that affect me, strongly, but rubber is the big one. Rubber, in nearly all its wearable forms, stirs within me a potent sexual desire. I sometimes wonder if a non-fetishist can truly appreciate the pure sexual attraction that is triggered within me.

I wonder, because I've know no other attraction. From my earliest sexual memories, rubber has been in my thoughts. Rubber boots on the playground. Rubber gloves in the kitchen sink. My memories of my first sexual acts of self-discovery have me staring at the rubber boots of classmates as I pleasured myself discreetly.

So, one can see why my rubber fetish means so much to me. It has been with me almost all my life. It is sometimes a hard companion to have, but it never fails to satisfy. As a teenager, I felt shame in my strange attraction. Being different and not conforming to the expectations of society and my parents. Compound upon this the realization that I considered myself gay. It seems a recipe for disaster, but I think I got off easy, to be honest.

Being attracted to rubber and accepting my attraction to men in rubber was eased by the knowledge that there were others around the world that shared my feelings. And as guy friends got girlfriends, I delved deeper into the fetish world available to me via the internet. I learned of catsuits, wetsuits, drysuits, hazmat suits, a smorgasbord of hot rubbery gear. It all looked so good, and it felt right for me.

Again, I think I got off easy. I was a nerd in high school, so it was a foregone conclusion that I wouldn't have a girlfriend. And here is where the potency of my rubber fetish became apparent. I wanted a boyfriend. But not only did no prospective gay males present themselves, I came to realize that to be sexually attracted to them, they had to be wearing rubber. Even the most sexually virile porn-star was a mere shade compared to a hairy, overweight, middle-aged rubberman. Although the same man, out of rubber wasn't particularly appealing, neither was the strapping young lad. Unless they were wearing rubber gear. Unfortunately, similarly aged rubberboys were not in high abundance. How much easier it would be to be attracted to a regular guy. The absurdity of wishing I was a regular homo, didn't change the fact that my boyfriend, lover, would have to be a rubberman like me.

So, here I am now, years later. And my rubber fetish is still going as strong as ever. I don't wish I was normal anymore. Not even a normal gay guy. I am what I am, and I accept, love, and celebrate that. Rubber brings me a happiness and fulfillment. To deny it, to circumvent it, is to ignore a defining part of me. I am a rubberman.

I hope you are too.

Tactical gear and rubber. A favourite!