brounderconstruction: he was a stone that’s what his friend would tell him. that he was a ston

brounderconstruction: he was a stone that’s what his friend would tell him. that he was a stone hard. heavy. immovable. it would take tremendous strength to budge a stone. for many, it would be a feat impossible without a tool. a crane, a plow, a modest lever. it was beyond his physical capacity of course, but the mind, the mind was so much stronger. it was what moved the body, bent the skeletal muscles to a will. for the mute, fast-twitch fibers of the body, the mind had all the heat and pressure of a volcanic upheaval: psychic energies on par with the geothermal forces which reshaped the earth could throw and shatter stone water a droplet of water and he was in the present again. staring at the tile. the smoothness of each porous square. the grit of in the recesses of each line of the grid. listening to the sound of falling water. to each droplet coalescing at the faucet. echoing in the wide, white basin of the sink. building up. dropping. splattering one        two                three                          drop water, his friend had said, dripped down the edges of stone. a single droplet of water could do nothing to the integrity of the stone, of course. mountains, to the eyes of man, were symbols of the eternal and the unchangeable. but to the realities of the earth, mountains were amorphous: no different than sand dunes shaped today by the fleeting whims of a gust of wind. no man could map the topography of the sand anymore than he could the clouds in the sky or the waves of the sea. all things that rose would eventually fall. from every height there was always a steep plummet down and his friend would smile in that way he had some’d call it knowing, and dismiss it without notice. inside of him, it conjured up a contradictory juxtaposition of feelings that somehow registered deeply. a strange menace in the curvature of his lips negated by the warmth in his eyes  always told his friend whenever he was showing him out, buddy you’re a head trip, now get outta my sight before i call a psych ward that’s who he was in the beginning, at least. only a friend. without being able to articulate exactly why, this man had begun to feel like something more as the months continued to pass. more than a friend. not quite a mentor. someone special, though. he found himself feeling as though he were privy to some strange confidence. that some eerie tenderness had overtaken him, and his new companion was endowed with a respect he felt himself subtly poised to earn that wasn’t like him. he wasn’t a pleaser. he didn’t care what sort of image he projected, but with his permanent scowl and wiry strength, he often felt it was something like a junkyard dog. a form fitting t-shirt and some jeans was good enough. his friend told him he needed to take better care of himself. that if he dressed with some self-respect, other people would starting treating him with a little as well. yeah, yeah, he heard it all before. like he was gonna blow a couple hundred to dress like a menswear mannequin, wearing clothes only fit to stand around in over cocktails. he needed to move. just picked up rugby and was havin a blast with his new bros. beside, who the hell was he trying to impress? he dropped outta school and went into the trades because he was fucking sick of having to impress people. wrote great essays, but he never managed to actually say anything. last couple years he found himself with a newfound appreciation for the ease and directness of straight talk. the grace of clean prose. modern greats like hammett, chandler and ellroy. on the off-chance he found himself slipping back into his old habits of indulging in obscurantist bullshit or needlessly flowery gibberish, he wanted to fucking slap himself and yet he found himself there at the store not more than two days later, running his fingers over the shoulders of the jackets. feeling the heft, the weight, the quality of the shirts. i mean, he’d look good in anything. obviously. but he had to admit, he did look good in this. maybe a little better than good. hey it’d be nice to have something like this around for uh… formal occasions. yeah. any one of his asshole friends could be getting married soon. they’ve all been so committed for so long. one of the stiffs in his extended family’d probably drop dead any day now. had an aunt he was pretty sure was on life support. be nice to have something nice to wear. be pretty cool if somebody thought he looked good he was so excited about looking good, in fact, he just happened to wear his new threads the next time he expected his friend to drop by when he opened the door, a quiet smile played over his friend’s face. the subtle ray of joy on his otherwise phlegmatic features gripped something southeast of his innards, and he found himself, with a reserve that fogged his vision with a chord of emotional dissonance, trying not to clasp his hands in excitement; trying to hide his face as he smirked with pride and that was when his friend has said you could really use a trim and he looked up, aware of the silence of the hallway. yeah, maybe. i guess?  he was always a scruffy guy. dudes and chicks alike dug the beard. all natural. wild man look. especially since he started hitting the gym so hard last summer, and built up a neck and shoulders that made him look like a 70′s linebacker with his long hair. speaking of, they’d just come out of a harsh goddamn winter, and he kept most of it under a beanie anyway. that was smart. he had to stay insulated. i mean, sure it was getting warmer out now, but…  he looked damned good. who was this guy to tell him otherwise? he changed the subject, but something in his face remained pensive that night he found himself staring into the mirror, on the one hand still admiring his suit, but weighing that against the simple, now obvious fact that he looked like a fucking caveman. what the fuck had he been thinking trying to dress up like bond when he was obviously goddamn rambo. thought for a moment he might just rip the damn thing right off, send the buttons flying, tear the tie straight down the middle with a long, satisfying rip then he took a breath, like someone who wasn’t a total dumbfuck it’s whatever. he wore it once. he saved the tags. just like mom always did. knew a girl who had one of those guns that could reattach em. tomorrow he’d return the damn thing and not piss away a couple hundred bucks like some moron not that they’d take it. they could tell it’d been worn. this was a classy ass establishment, not the second hand store where’d used to buy his school clothes. not that those uppity bastards took returns either on the way back out though, he couldn’t help but admire a nice pair of clippers in the men’s care aisle. i mean, you know what? summer was coming up. his beard was thick. he’d sweat like a motherfucker if he kept it. and hey. there was gonna be sun everyday now. could work on a tan. get some d, build up his t. all the hairs were getting in the way whenever he’d eat anyway. pretty fuckin sick of having to brush the stash to the side twice a day, beat crumbs or wipe grease out of the tangle. not to mention he looked like some dumbfuck lax bro whenever he tried to wear a ball cap with all that hair all sticking out. wasn’t some dumb college kid anymore, he was a grown ass man and should start looking like it straight down the right side of the scalp came the first line. he smiled at himself in the mirror. no way back. no half measures. gotta see this through to the end. did the other half of the scalp next, and worked his way down the sides. strands fell down his bare back and chest, stiff and itchy like the hair of a horse’s tail. leaning into the motion, the buzz of the motor reverberating in his ears, he felt the sensuality of the motion as the clippers descended in a long arc. admiring himself and his new mohawk, he ran his palm in circles along the vault at the back of his skull, savoring the sensation of short stubble on bare skin  brandishing the clippers in the mirror, he did a lil travis bickle shtick because that was movie was rad, even if he did sort’ve resent it in the past for not having the cultural penetration of scorsese’s other classic, the better, weirder, criminally underrated after hours. that movie was the first time he’d ever seen two dudes in leather making out. he wasn’t quite sure why that moment stayed with him over all the other wacko shit that happened, but hey. human mind is weird. unconscious. dreams. shit doesn’t always process correctly once he checked his watch and realized he’d been fooling around too long, he destroyed the hawk, and hopped in the shower. his suit was hanging dry cleaned in his bedroom the mound of clippings still sat in his sink when his friend had come over again, matted by droplets from a leaking faucet oh wow, he said. you look so good with a buzz, buddy. didn’t i say you would?  didn’t i? well, i always thought it. you look so clean and fresh. and i never noticed what a strong jaw you had under that rat’s nest you had on your face part of him wanted to say not to disrespect the beard, but how could he? his friend was right. he looked good this way. better than good. not a mathematical genius or anything, but he liked to think a better than good suit plus a better than good trim on a better than good guy was a pretty fuckin high net positive. i mean, that’s just basic finances gosh, his friend had said, you’re so chiseled now you even look like a stone that made him smile, him being the stone. he was tough. he was resilient. he was hard in more ways than one. haha, whaddya expect, man? dude like him’s got energy to burn. the dick’s got a mind of its own. these things happen just thinking about being like the stone made him wanna relax again. made him wanna settle into the comfort of his chair and return to that place he often saw when he was feeling this level of calm. not a care in the world. not a thought so blank in the shower every morning, as the hot water ran down his body, he could see the stone, sitting in some hazy grotto by the sea. the water was running over its surface, and with it he felt the warm touch of each gentle rivulet and his friend was speaking, as he somehow always did, about water only a comparatively small fraction of the earth is land, you know. more than rock, the earth is mainly water. at the farthest depths of the ocean, the pressure would crush a man alive, but we’re not going to go that far. the oceans are so deep and so vast, but in many places we could swim in the shallows, floating there in the serene and calm, watching the sunlight rippling on the surface. is that too far as well? we don’t have to push out there if you don’t want to. why not sit here on the beach with me and feel the waters lapping at our feet? the power of the tide so gentle on this beautiful sunny day do you see the sand? the tiny shells and fragments of gravel carried by the tide? do you know what that is? that, again, is math, my friend. time plus pressure equals progress. a single droplet of water can’t do a thing to a stone, but many droplets, over a long enough time, can turn a stone into rubble. see each tiny rock dropped off by the current? that used to be part of a larger rock. used to be a larger rock. a majestic cliff side. a mountain peak far above the ocean. how far it must have traveled from home. the things it could tell us if it could speak or see. it’s come almost as far as you, my handsome buddy how much smaller has the stone gotten since we last spoke? it must be close to half of its original size by now. you’re all there still, of course, but in a different form now. the force of the water isn’t strong enough to carry any of you away, just enough to make it settle at the base, growing into a pile of gravel in the soft, warm sand. feel how the water isn’t running off the gravel like it is the stone? oh no. the water is running through the gravel, caressing each and every curve and recess at once. the more you allow yourself to be eroded, the deeper and more intense the pleasure you’ll allow yourself to feel. why, just imagine how good it’s gonna be once you’re eroded completely? chipped and worn. gravel. pebbles. sand. you’ll still be you, of course. still all be there. but changed. when you’re sand, i can feel you running through my fingers. sculpt you into any shape which i desire. you wanna feel that way all the time, right? i know you do here’s what’s gonna happen, buddy. you’re gonna find yourself now more  and more intrigued by rubber the smell. the gloss. how it looks on other men rendering them slick. anonymous. idealized he contours of the male body rippling under the sheen of tight, black rubber leaves you in awe. just the sight of it makes you go blank you’ll find yourself drawn to it. wanting to touch it. feel it. watch other men fucking in it. you’ll find yourself on what you’ve so eloquently called the weird side of x-tube again. you’ll browse fetish shops. get excited whenever you see it in movies. nothing’s going to seem at all out of the ordinary because you’re going to take this one step at a time, as you always do. maybe you’ll even forget. put it out of mind. just think of it as a weird and shameful indulgence you do every now and again. that’s up to you, buddy. you take this at your own pace but maybe things will get a little weird after awhile. maybe you’ll be a little too excited to put on a condom next time you’re out chasing tail. maybe come halloween you’ll be a bit indignant about having to take off your mask, just like a little kid would be. maybe you’ll find your dick is getting hard next time you have to change a tire. i can’t tell the future. i’m a hypnotist, not a psychic. what i can tell you is that we’ll get to place where together, you and I, we’ll go out on a little excursion. to a quaint little place downtown, where’ll you’ll get a chance to meet some real rubbermen. it’s okay if you think it’s weird, buddy. that’s just social conditioning. you’ll be a bit shy about admitting you have this interest to me, even though it was my idea. you’ll play it off like you’re more curious than anything. you’ll want to ask questions to the other rubbermen. get to know them. find out what all of this is about. the things they say are gonna resonant with you. you’ll ask leading questions to feel out what i think about you getting involved in rubber, and of course i’m your friend and i’m going to be encouraging. we’re going to get to a place where you’re going to want to to buy a piece of rubber clothing for yourself. maybe a jock, maybe a pair of shorts. i bet you’ll be so excited by the prospect you’ll just wanna spring for a full rubber bodysuit right away, huh buddy? and you know what? it’ll look good on you. you’ll want to tell me all about it and send me pictures because you know i’m open minded and supportive and won’t think less of you for your strange new hobby. you’ll look and feel good when you wear rubber under your suit. and by then you’ll have so many suits to wear, you’ll be in them everyday. my handsome, stony faced buddy with his suits, his buzz, and his rubber. it might be the middle of summer, but you won’t care. you’ll wear your rubber to work. while out with friends. even to family gatherings. you’ll be stay hydrated of course, and stay out of the sun if you have to, but this is gonna be your life from now on, so you’ll be sure to take whatever precautions you need to remain healthy and vigorous. because the truth is, you’re gonna love rubber so much, you’ll even wear it to the gym. under a hoodie. joggers. whatever you gotta do to stay discreet. i mean, if you really want to, that is. maybe you’ll cheat and try to wear some long-sleeve compression shorts and tights over the rubber and see if anyone’ll notice. maybe it might not always wear convenient and you’ll just go in a sleeveless tank and a rubber jock, but maybe a part of you’ll want em to see what you’re becoming, huh? that you’re becoming more of a good, blanked out rubber jock for me, right buddy? it’s going to feel so good, your dick’s going to get hard just thinking about rubber. and the moment it touches your skin? oh buddy, that’ll be bliss. you’ll feel so good and so right in the embrace of tight rubber. sealed in. encased. you won’t ever want to take it off. you’ll just know that you belong in rubber, and just as it’s refreshing to feel the cool of the wind and the warmth of the sun on your freshly buzzed scalp, it’s gonna be uncomfortable to be trapped in your rubber for so long. you’ll be sweating pretty much constantly. oh yeah. you’ll feel the sweat running down your arms, your legs, your rippling chest and pecs. every moment of every day. especially when you’re pumping up your muscles and growing swole for me in the gym. but that’s comforting in its own way, right? you’ll feel just like the stone. slowly eroded. bathing in the heavy industrial smell of the rubber, in your own manufactured stream of constant, running water now on the count of three, i’m going to wake you back up. you’re only going to remember another pleasant conversation with me, and continue to find yourself more willing to agree with my opinions and comply with my directions you know that rubber is what you like now. that there’s nothing wrong with being just another dumb jock. if somebody treats you like, or ties to dismiss you as a dumb jock, it will only reaffirm that this is who and what you are. it’ll make you will feel a surge of pride knowing this is exactly what you’re supposed to be. what you need to be. it might even make you want to go sniff a tire or lick the sole of a boot, just to tide you over until you work up the confidence to buy yourself a proper rubber suit. you can’t help it. that’s just how much you love rubber. from now on, being a jock and loving rubber are linked within your imagination. smelling rubber makes you want to work out and dumb down. working out and dumbing down makes you want to wear more rubber. it’s a vicious cycle, and you know that its inescapable the water isn’t just filling up the grotto now. the tide is going to swallow up the land and carry you away now wake up good blank rubber jock  -- source link

More pics about