Mackintoshes and me.
Posted: July 31st, 2016, 9:04 pm
I'm the new boy on here (joined yesterday) and I'm thrilled to find so many fellow spirits on this amazing site. There are many different shades in the waterproof rubber spectrum and I thought I should at least put on here just where I fit into the great scheme of things.
I have been excited by mackintoshes from my earliest memories (over sixty years ago) and, like so many, my actual experiences began as a little boy being naughty and secretly playing with myself standing near a hanging rubber-lined mackintosh. The odour, the cold, smooth feel and the slight ripple-ropple every time I touched the magical fabric gave me almost frightening pleasure when I knew someone might walk in at any moment. I was, of course, the only boy in the world (!) to be so affected and the incredible fetish continued to be enjoyed in secret for many years until, in my teens at grammar school, I discovered otherwise. The uniform list at the school for boys in the third year upwards, included under "outer wear", navy blue gabardine coat or full length off-white riding mack (Moss Bros or similar) both belted. I never knew whether or not our headmaster got a special rate at Moss Bros. for mentioning the brand but he certainly wore a big Moss Bros. Mackintosh himself! I don't think I knew exactly what a riding mack was but I instinctively knew which I wanted. Guess which one I was lumbered with! I have to say the majority of boys had the gabardines but several of the older boys/young men liked to wear the "grown up" mackintosh and, on a wet day, the prefects' common room could smell like a tyre factory! Our cloakrooms had no shortage of single-texture cycle capes and overtrousers with wellingtons standing along the walls and I spent many a happy time working my way through them, feeling and smelling the gear. Like the older boys' proper mackintoshes, some items were very grubby and had a strong rubber smell - these suggested a great deal of wearing and even perhaps having been handed down from father or older brother and excited me most. My family lived in a village and I cycled everywhere in the district. In my early teens, I was finally equipped with fawn rubber-backed cape and overtrousers and the die was cast. Cycling in short trousers under the overtrousers was a real turn on as the trousers bulked and slapped around my legs as I pedalled. In my bedroom I would pull the overtrousers up over my naked body and, when I was sure everyone else was in bed, bury my head inside the cape and under the bed clothes. It was a dark and sweaty pleasure but the greatest one I'd known. I began to wear the overtrousers every time I cycled and once, in hot sunshine, my Dad told me I'd be more comfortable if I took them off. While I searched for an excuse, my Mum said they would at least keep my shorts clean so, on they stayed.
Once I'd sampled wearing riding mackintoshes and an uncle's Belstaff "Black Rubber Senior" storm coat - that was it and I've enjoyed untold numbers of mackintoshes ever since including countless of my own.
I wonder how many members used to go to shops selling mackintoshes just to try one on - and sometimes be fully secured into it - before we had the means to start acquiring them for ourselves. In different towns and in the days when many outfitters and surplus stores sold mackintoshes, it was a stimulating activity. The assistants sometimes went to much trouble explaining features and insisting on buttoning and belting me into a particular mackintosh while others, knowing a sale was unlikely, would be very brief and routine about it. I wish I'd known then what I know now as more than one sales assistant's eyes lit up at the mention of a mackintosh.
At seventeen, something significant occurred in the most unlikely situation. I visited a "bog standard" barbers for a haircut and, unusually, decided to ask for a shampoo as well. It was small and basically a one man operation with a lad helping at weekends. To cut to the chase, Dennis, the barber, remarked at length about my Moss Bros. mackintosh when I hung it up. It was the "...you can't beat a proper mackintosh..." type of comment. Once my hair was cut, he removed the maroon, nylon cape and ushered me into a small cubicle alongside. An armchair faced a big old wash basin and a tall mirror which showed a big hair dryer standing in the back corner. He produced a different cape and draped it over me and the chair, it was a fawn rubberised cape and smelt quite strongly. Cue to behave normally and say nothing! When he'd washed my hair, he towelled it, combed/brushed it into my style and opened a drawer to take out a big, brown hairnet. Before I could react, he was tying it over my head and putting ear protecting pads inside the net over my ears saying "I don't want your ears burning under the dryer". My first thought was relief that no one else could see me. He wheeled over this huge metal hood on a stand on wheels and then brought the black and silver hood down over my head. He patted me right in the groin, smiling and put some motorbike magazines on a table and saying he'd check on me in a while. The dryer whirred into life and soon started to heat up, it was almost down below my eyes and the smell of hot metal was quite strong as it got hotter and hotter. It was a very strange sensation and I did wonder how long I'd be left at the mercy of this machine. I noticed in the mirror that my face was becoming very red but also that the cape was rippling wildly in the downdraught. The smell of warm rubber began to mingle with the heat and I felt I was tenting my trousers under the cape. He did return, mercifully, but not before I was sweating profusely and when he lifted the dryer off me, he remarked that I'd done very well - and said some chaps don't like it at all but he thought it gave the best results. My jacket and shirt smelt of the cape and as I left the shop, I struggled with the realisation that I'd enjoyed the whole experience. There had been an element of bondage in that I couldn't easily have wriggled out of the hair dryer and a hint of a heat fetish in secretly enjoying being left to cook. Neither ever became as important as my love of rubber but certainly provided an extension to it which I've often incorporated when playing with mackintoshes ever since.
At 24 I went to live and work in London and soon discovered just how widespread the love of rubber really was. Answering a few ads. in Exchange & Mart and getting into conversation with guys who initially complimented me on my mack when on the tube or walking in central London. Several friendships were forged during those early years and some wonderful experiences were to follow. Many solo sessions to this day but also some breathtaking play with like-minded guys to the present day. I have a large collection of mackintoshes and rubberwear in double-texture, single-texture and SBR. Now retired and time's my own, I even bought an old professional hair dryer to be able to replicate what Dennis started all those years ago. Mackintoshes smell so differently when caught in the sun, near radiators or - believe me - worn under the dryer! Although most mackintoshes are ventilated, I still like to sweat under rubber when it smells its stongest and activity can make it ripple-ropple furiously.
A few like-minded friends visit from time to time - often married guys who can't do much at home - and several of them love the "heat treatment" which is just as well as they are usually secured to the chair by at least one additional mackintosh belt.
It's pleasure of a high order and stumbling on this site and discovering this community so recently has extended the pleasure still further.
Nick
I have been excited by mackintoshes from my earliest memories (over sixty years ago) and, like so many, my actual experiences began as a little boy being naughty and secretly playing with myself standing near a hanging rubber-lined mackintosh. The odour, the cold, smooth feel and the slight ripple-ropple every time I touched the magical fabric gave me almost frightening pleasure when I knew someone might walk in at any moment. I was, of course, the only boy in the world (!) to be so affected and the incredible fetish continued to be enjoyed in secret for many years until, in my teens at grammar school, I discovered otherwise. The uniform list at the school for boys in the third year upwards, included under "outer wear", navy blue gabardine coat or full length off-white riding mack (Moss Bros or similar) both belted. I never knew whether or not our headmaster got a special rate at Moss Bros. for mentioning the brand but he certainly wore a big Moss Bros. Mackintosh himself! I don't think I knew exactly what a riding mack was but I instinctively knew which I wanted. Guess which one I was lumbered with! I have to say the majority of boys had the gabardines but several of the older boys/young men liked to wear the "grown up" mackintosh and, on a wet day, the prefects' common room could smell like a tyre factory! Our cloakrooms had no shortage of single-texture cycle capes and overtrousers with wellingtons standing along the walls and I spent many a happy time working my way through them, feeling and smelling the gear. Like the older boys' proper mackintoshes, some items were very grubby and had a strong rubber smell - these suggested a great deal of wearing and even perhaps having been handed down from father or older brother and excited me most. My family lived in a village and I cycled everywhere in the district. In my early teens, I was finally equipped with fawn rubber-backed cape and overtrousers and the die was cast. Cycling in short trousers under the overtrousers was a real turn on as the trousers bulked and slapped around my legs as I pedalled. In my bedroom I would pull the overtrousers up over my naked body and, when I was sure everyone else was in bed, bury my head inside the cape and under the bed clothes. It was a dark and sweaty pleasure but the greatest one I'd known. I began to wear the overtrousers every time I cycled and once, in hot sunshine, my Dad told me I'd be more comfortable if I took them off. While I searched for an excuse, my Mum said they would at least keep my shorts clean so, on they stayed.
Once I'd sampled wearing riding mackintoshes and an uncle's Belstaff "Black Rubber Senior" storm coat - that was it and I've enjoyed untold numbers of mackintoshes ever since including countless of my own.
I wonder how many members used to go to shops selling mackintoshes just to try one on - and sometimes be fully secured into it - before we had the means to start acquiring them for ourselves. In different towns and in the days when many outfitters and surplus stores sold mackintoshes, it was a stimulating activity. The assistants sometimes went to much trouble explaining features and insisting on buttoning and belting me into a particular mackintosh while others, knowing a sale was unlikely, would be very brief and routine about it. I wish I'd known then what I know now as more than one sales assistant's eyes lit up at the mention of a mackintosh.
At seventeen, something significant occurred in the most unlikely situation. I visited a "bog standard" barbers for a haircut and, unusually, decided to ask for a shampoo as well. It was small and basically a one man operation with a lad helping at weekends. To cut to the chase, Dennis, the barber, remarked at length about my Moss Bros. mackintosh when I hung it up. It was the "...you can't beat a proper mackintosh..." type of comment. Once my hair was cut, he removed the maroon, nylon cape and ushered me into a small cubicle alongside. An armchair faced a big old wash basin and a tall mirror which showed a big hair dryer standing in the back corner. He produced a different cape and draped it over me and the chair, it was a fawn rubberised cape and smelt quite strongly. Cue to behave normally and say nothing! When he'd washed my hair, he towelled it, combed/brushed it into my style and opened a drawer to take out a big, brown hairnet. Before I could react, he was tying it over my head and putting ear protecting pads inside the net over my ears saying "I don't want your ears burning under the dryer". My first thought was relief that no one else could see me. He wheeled over this huge metal hood on a stand on wheels and then brought the black and silver hood down over my head. He patted me right in the groin, smiling and put some motorbike magazines on a table and saying he'd check on me in a while. The dryer whirred into life and soon started to heat up, it was almost down below my eyes and the smell of hot metal was quite strong as it got hotter and hotter. It was a very strange sensation and I did wonder how long I'd be left at the mercy of this machine. I noticed in the mirror that my face was becoming very red but also that the cape was rippling wildly in the downdraught. The smell of warm rubber began to mingle with the heat and I felt I was tenting my trousers under the cape. He did return, mercifully, but not before I was sweating profusely and when he lifted the dryer off me, he remarked that I'd done very well - and said some chaps don't like it at all but he thought it gave the best results. My jacket and shirt smelt of the cape and as I left the shop, I struggled with the realisation that I'd enjoyed the whole experience. There had been an element of bondage in that I couldn't easily have wriggled out of the hair dryer and a hint of a heat fetish in secretly enjoying being left to cook. Neither ever became as important as my love of rubber but certainly provided an extension to it which I've often incorporated when playing with mackintoshes ever since.
At 24 I went to live and work in London and soon discovered just how widespread the love of rubber really was. Answering a few ads. in Exchange & Mart and getting into conversation with guys who initially complimented me on my mack when on the tube or walking in central London. Several friendships were forged during those early years and some wonderful experiences were to follow. Many solo sessions to this day but also some breathtaking play with like-minded guys to the present day. I have a large collection of mackintoshes and rubberwear in double-texture, single-texture and SBR. Now retired and time's my own, I even bought an old professional hair dryer to be able to replicate what Dennis started all those years ago. Mackintoshes smell so differently when caught in the sun, near radiators or - believe me - worn under the dryer! Although most mackintoshes are ventilated, I still like to sweat under rubber when it smells its stongest and activity can make it ripple-ropple furiously.
A few like-minded friends visit from time to time - often married guys who can't do much at home - and several of them love the "heat treatment" which is just as well as they are usually secured to the chair by at least one additional mackintosh belt.
It's pleasure of a high order and stumbling on this site and discovering this community so recently has extended the pleasure still further.
Nick
