Let me preface this by saying I watched a lot of Westerns and Gladiator movies as a youngster. Like the line from Airplane!, why yes, I do like gladiator movies. My first man crush was Robert Conrad in “Wild Wild West” (looking back, there was a lot of bondage in that show). I didn’t care about the stories so much as watching handsome, muscled men either scantily clad or in cowboy boots and leather being tied up in some form. Even before puberty, my kinky side was asserting itself (we will get into when that first happened in another story). There were two scenes that I vividly remember. One involved our cowboy hero in his black boots and leather vest, having been captured by Indians, being staked out, spread eagle in the desert. Left in the sun, the rawhide straps that bound his arms and legs were drying out and contracting, causing him to be bound tighter and tighter and tighter. I don’t remember how he escaped. I didn’t care how he escaped. I didn’t want him to escape. I wanted him to be me. The second scene that is indelibly etched in my mind was from one of the aforementioned gladiator movies. In this one, our hero (blond, smooth, muscly, and half naked), was undergoing the movie version of crucifixion. I can picture now the ropes binding him to the cross, his arms stretched with the weight of his body, sweat glistening off his smooth chest. 12 year old me found this rather exciting (50 something year old me still does). Precocious youth that I was, I got it into my head to recreate these scenes. I didn’t know what bondage was. I just knew I was excited by it.
Both of my parents worked and I was essentially a latch key kid. My older brother was already driving and rarely at home until dinner time. Mix one part horny adolescent, one part kinky fucker, one part home alone, and you just know something is going to go down. I grabbed a couple of belts from my father’s closet, went into the bathroom, looped the belts around the shower door frame at the top, slid my arms and legs in, and creamed my pants for the very first time (and no, I did not touch my dick). Okay, not exactly creamed…it was my first orgasm and the pump hadn’t been primed yet. But, holy shit, I had never felt anything like that before. I didn’t even know exactly what had happened. I asked my brother, and he told me I had “climaxed” (he read a lot of Penthouse Forum). It was intense and wonderful and I wanted to do it again, and again, and again
Unfortunately, I found that the simple scenario that was used to accomplish my first Big O didn’t work for the second. Over the next few weeks, I devised ever more complicated scenarios to reach orgasm. Luckily, my father had a lot of belts in his closet. The final time involved creating several loops from the frame onto which I climbed and then I slid my legs through to the knees and arms to the elbows, allowing myself to be suspended upside down and swing back and forth until I shot (yes, and by this time, there was actual jiz). Must have been quite the orgasm, because afterwards I hung there not knowing how to get myself out until the entire shower rod/frame system came crashing down with me still attached. I don’t think my parents really believed it just fell by itself. What was clear was I needed to find a better way to accomplish my goals. One time, my cock had rubbed against the shower rod as I was getting into my ever more complicated contraptions, and it felt good and I came (picture me with both thighs in the belts rubbing my cock against the shower rod). Shortly after, I figured out that I could just think about my fantasies and rub one out. I mean, most NORMAL boys figure out how to masturbate early on. I didn’t. I came from bondage and I thought that was what I needed to continue to do. I didn’t really ever play with my cock until after I had already come from self-bondage. It never occurred to me. Thank god I figured it out eventually, but it wasn’t as good and I still get very hard whenever I’m tied up. So, if anyone has some stakes and rawhide, hit me up.
-Doc