BOOTS AND THE MAN WHO WEARS THEM

I am 35 years old today and I have decided to write you a little about my life.   The story of a 
gay Breton.   I am 1.83m tall and weigh 74kgs.   I have short crewcut brown hair, blue eyes 
and I am not bad at sport (body building, mountain biking and tennis).   I knew very early on 
that I was not like my friends ; girls left me cold.   I only had eyes for the hunky booted guys 
who populated the coorner of the cokuntry where I lived with my parents.   I will not tell you 
where as thjey are still living there.

When I say “booted” that is because I was already fetishistic.   In fact for as long as I can 
remember.   I remember that at the early age of 4 or 5, while my father liked, from time to 
time. To go to have a drink in the only bar in the village, I like to go to secretly touch the 
boots of the farmers leaning on the bar.   When they saw this, I ran to hide myself and that 
made everyone laugh, but no-one made the least allusion to such a desire.   I remember 
also, at puberty, putting on my father’s boots in secret.   I also had my first real orgasms.   
Decidedly I was truly different.

My adolescence was sad and secret as I was sure that I was on my own, quite aware that I 
was one of those “degenerates” as they were called by my circle of friends.   After the 
Baccalaureate, I decided to go to Paris for my further education.   I had no money and it was 
hard to keep going but what a joy to be able to live out my sexuality.   I fucked like a 
madman, anyhow and almost anybody, in the backrooms, the saunas and in the open air at 
night.   I quickly haunted the leather bars of the capital ;  these were the type of men that 
attracted me.

While I working for some years in an architect’s office, I got to know Erwann, a Breton like 
me, but from Morbihan.   I fell in love immediately - big, reddish brown hair with almost black 
eyes, beautiful large muscled torso, hairy ……. And on his feet, beautiful workman’s black 
rubber boots already well used.   We were at K…..   Several minutes later we were necking 
in the backroom and shortly after I came between his boots while I caressed them madly, his 
large cock pushed down my throat.   Erwann and I got together very quickly.   I can say we 
were in love,   We did not stop fucking that night in bed and I had difficulty going to work in 
the morning.   It was during our furious session that I discovered, little by little, Erwann’s 
fondness for latex, rubber and ……. Piss games.   All that was new to me.   I was in love and 
I had the man of my dreams ; I followed his fantasies without asking too many questions as 
that excited me.

Erwann possessed a crazy collection of boots and waders of all sorts, but also  complete 
rubber outfits, suits and ….. gasmasks.  These, at first, shocked me as, for me, they rather 
had the tendency to make me think of chemical warfare.   Erwann spent all his money on 
these, importing them from Holland or Germany.   We paid for memorable parties, 
sometimes for entire weekends of excitement, to go to the backrooms or to Austerlitz to fuck, 
without counting the vodkas and the poppers.   When there are two of you and you are in 
love, you do things which in cold blood are not repeatable.   I had some rubber masks made 
with zips for the mouth and eyes, or a funnel ….. Do I have to spell it out ?   I loved to drink 
Erwann’s piss not because it was my fantasy but because it was HIS piss.

A year later, we started frequenting the clubs and cruising areas more regularly.   Other guys 
started to participate in our games.   I followed as I was in love.   And then, it was not 
because Erwann was leading me in the ever increasing spiral of his fantasies that he did not 
love me any more.   It was because I had started to lose my grip.

Erwann got back in touch with previous lovers who were part of this “latex” group.   Our 
apartment became the place of orgies, sometimes more than 10, exclusively concerned with 
black rubber.   Full of guys with masks, some of them entirely rubbered from head to foot 
and tied up, others in the process of pissing over them, of fucking, of licking rubber and 
plugging themselves with monstrous cocks.   I am not going to lie; I took great steps.   Like 
the time when Erwann succeeded in fisting me with his black rubber gloved hand, while I 
sucked a cock, which was also covered in moulded rubber and the other guys wanked my 
cock and worked on my tits.   Just before cumming, while groaning with pleasure, one of the 
orgy-lovers pissed over me.   Or the time I found myself naked, a big dildo stuck in my arse, 
stretched out on the ground in the middle of aboutg eight guys with muddy boots.   I 
remember having caressed and licked until my tongue became irritated these boots which 
had walked all over me.

On Sunday midday, dull with fatigue and alcohol, I got up.   I looked at myself in the 
bathroom mirror ; a nightmare.   I started to cry and I did not know why.   Or rather I did ; for 
more than 6 months Erwann and I did not fuck together any more but always in the company 
of other guys.   I became aware that I he did not love me any more and perhaps I did not 
love him any more either.   I realised that if I was a boot fetishist it did not mean that I was 
bound to be into rubber, piss. gasmasks and everything else.   I understood that if I loved big 
rubber boots, I was dreaming even more about the guy who was wearing them.   I had always 
been searching for a big booted man, open, likeable, natural,.   I was not looking for many 
guys or for a strong fantasy.   That Sunday I took the decision to leave Erwann.   A week 
later he went back to his house with his collection.

I knew the loss,. the weight of his absence, the sleepless nights without Erwann to snuggle up 
to.   But I felt relief.   I did not make any value judgments.  Erwann had his way of living his 
life, I had mine.   Since then, I have not met the man I am looking for.   I will well know that 
he is not in Paris that I will find him.   Here they are posers, they do not have the simple, 
direct, natural virility that I am looking for above everything else., before looking at …… the 
boots.   Nor in Brittany.   I came from there and it is a veritable desert.   Am I condemned to 
love only those heteros who cross my path, without any hope ?

Gil, 35 years old
Letters GAY, No 85, Nov 97