| Love Those Rubber Boots Man !! - 50 |
| Boots amongst the ruins |
| Now that I am grown-up, I still like to walk around in the countryside wearing rubber-boots. But I never entered a forbidden area again, because I did not want to be arrested by the police for doing so. Peeing or jerking off into rubber boots seems to be more common then I ever thought. I recently read an article in a German gay magazine which said that among gay feet fetishists, it is very common to wear rubber boots that are filled with pee. Personally, I never dared to pee or ejaculate into other peoples rubber boots (except for this one time), because I am too afraid of being caught. But I sometimes fancy being a young lad working on a farm and peeing into the other farm hands' boots or having them peeing into my boots. |
| I found your story about sneaking into forbidden places, wearing black clothes and rubber boots very interesting. This is something I have done as a kid, too. Me and my friends, we were a "club" oder "gang" who enjoyed sneaking into the ruins of old houses, farms, factories or WW2 shelters, wearing self-made combat uniforms and, of course, rubber boots. Rubber boots were crucial for going there, because you never knew where you were stepping onto or into, especially when it was dark inside the building. |
| My friends (all boys) and myself took a particular pleasure in doing so. It was some premature male cult, dressing in martial clothes and doing forbidden things. And we felt soooo male! However, at this age, we were far from being sexually mature, so we never went any further with our male rites. And by the time we were mature, my friends lost their interest in these purely male activities and preferred to hang out at places were girls could be met. And these were certainly not some old ruins where you had to wear rubber boots to be able to enter. |
| The first Wellingtons I remember wearing belonged to our village blacksmith 50 years ago. They were size 12 adult size and I was 5 years old. I loved playing in them. My mother bought me a pair of wellingtons which I hated. They were Black shiny ones and I wanted the macho men�s ones, so I could turn the tops down. I was thirteen and still at school. As so as I started work I bought a man-size pair and wore them everywhere as I lived in the countryside. |
| I moved to London in 1970 and rarely saw any boots except on building sites, where workmen wore lovely muddy boots I would love to have had. My father was a coach driver and took me with him on his coach one day with a fishing party. It was midwinter and snowed most of the day. We were asked to call in all the fishermen and someone suggested I went out in the snow and blew the whistle to call them in. I had no boots so someone loaned me theirs. I wanted to try a pair of waders but no-one would let me so I made do with a turned down pair. |
| Then one day I was in the city when there was a big hole in the road, and I saw, left by the roadside, a pair of waders. I went back, late in the evening, and they were still there, and I did the unthinkable, and stole them. From then on I have accumulated wellies and passed them on whenever someone needed them. I am now nearly 55 and have three pairs of wellingtons and a pair of waders, which I bought last year from Littlewoods catalogue for �25. My wife thinks I'm mad but I love my boots. |
| My Wife thinks I'm mad but I love my boots |
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