Humbled, I salute you.

I just discovered Rubber Canuck's thoughts on some of the reviews regarding the weekend. Particularly, mine. His post is very enlightening, and I highly recommend you to read it. It offers a clear window into the side of Rubbout we don't often think about.

It's now almost 5 AM, and its been bugging me all night, so I'm going post this as soon as it's off my chest. Consider this an open letter.

I feel a bit guilty. And that's probably because I am guilty; of being ungrateful.

The review was hard for me to write, because I've always been a stalwart supporter of Rubbout, at least in so far as that I never really had anything but praise for it. I didn't pull any punches, and in retrospect, I somewhat regret it.

Obviously, for the enormous amount of time and hard work you, Rob, and Doug have put into Rubbout, my words must have felt like a slap in the face. To feel your work is unappreciated is never a good thing. It obviously bothered you, and that bothers me. That's not what I wanted. But, I made stupid assumptions, I spoke without knowing, and without consideration. For that, I sincerely apologize, to each of you.

I've always cherished Rubbout, and would be loathe to ever see it falter. My words were, indeed, harsh, but you were correct; I did mean well. I know that you can't please everyone, and so I should have been more understanding. Although, rather ironically, it seems that what you envision for the future of Rubbout is something I'd like to see. I'd like to help, if I can.

I know (more now, then ever) that organizing Rubbout is a massive undertaking, requiring great personal strength and sacrifice. I am humbled. And I salute you.

Again, thank you.

(I have edited the review.)

Pups love crotch.

And knocking you right in the balls.

I had the fortune of meeting Rouki and his friends last year at Rubbout 20. I had a lot of fun watching their crazy puppy antics, and the equally amusing reactions of random spectators. You can imagine the hilarity of watching a busload of people gawk as they pass by.

I'm not really into puppy play, though it looks like a very fun and, perhaps, liberating experience. I'd like to give it a try. Can you say Rubber SWAT puppy? I think I'll start with a more anthropomorphic approach to begin with. Taking a page from Rubberdawg, I'll be of the two-legged, beer-drinking variety.

However, I think there's a mental disconnect in my brain. I'm trying to treat them like a dog, and yet they're as smart and independent as I am. If I remember correctly, there were two basic personalities that I witnessed the most: Horny, lovable Lassie. And horny, mischievous mirror universe Lassie. And I say Lassie because, just like the TV canine, the rubber pups can understand every word you say. "Timmy's stuck down the well?"

When confronted with Evil Lassie, during my brief time as handler, I wasn't sure what to do. Are you supposed to be the laid-back owner who can't control his dog, or the hard-ass trainer pulling on the choke chain? It probably really depends on the puppy. And that's probably something you should sort out beforehand. I suppose ultimately, its a little of both. The gracious master who allows his pup to playfully run amok, but lays down the law as soon as he becomes "displeased". I hope to learn more about the scene during this year's Rubbout.

I look forward to being around the pups again! See you all in April!

I drive the cruiser, he sniffs out the perps. We tried it the other way, but it didn't work.

Equipment check! Cock that weapon!

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.

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!