The Mad Capper

I may be a fetishist, but I am not a fetish fascist. I am equally fascinated by fishnet stockings, body stockings, waist garters, garter snakes, pantyhose, fire hoses, high heels, low heels, knee boots, combat boots, elbow gloves, biker gloves, G-strings, apron strings, string bikinis, training bras, training wheels, leather vests, leather masks, frilled collars, metal collars, fuzzy slippers, fuzzy dice, wispy negligees, lacy lingerie, leashes, lashes, earrings, lip rings, nip rings, ball gowns, and ball bearings. But what I really go wild for is bathing caps.

A wet woman in a skull-tight cap brings out the fiend in me. I want to get down on the tiles and start steaming. I want to switch on the shower massager and start squirting. I want to fetch a bath towel and start rubbing. Then I want to find a razor and start shaving.

I suppose it was my college dorm experience that gave birth to my compulsion. Alternate rooms were co-ed, but bathrooms were separate. Whenever I spied a female student running from shower to bedroom, my heart pounded. If she was wearing a Latex hat, my blood raced. I was not interested in panty raids. Instead, I instigated bathing-cap forays. "Come on!" I would say. "Let's hang some scalp hats on our belts!" Needless to say, my fellow bookworms were not so easily excited.

Just as needless to say, women I meet these days are not so eager to plaster their hair. I've tried stalking the aisles in Bed, Bath and Beyond. I've tried taking dates to the water ballet. I've tried saying, when my partners were showering, "Please, keep your head dry and your hair out of the drain!"

My efforts have mostly ended in the toilet. So I remain thirsty for bathing-cap action. I know that if I get lucky, I'll be able to snap on the Latex, buckle the strap and keep the lid on.

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Gag Kisses

Only at a bondage convention would you see two young women sitting on a display table with their hands locked behind their backs and strips of adhesive tape stuck to their mouths. Only at a fetish trade show would you notice that the pieces of adhesive tape have red lips painted on them, as if to suggest that these women's mouths aren't really covered over, but are somehow present, at least in idea. Only at such a kinky gathering would your eye be drawn to the hand-lettered signs hanging from the women's necks, reading: "Gag Kisses, $6." And only then would you know that you are at an esoteric event, not at a party of friends, and not at a family dinner. For you would see two women so engaged in humiliating behavior that you almost would not be able to believe their level of enthusiasm.

You would hang around in the hope of getting a vicarious thrill by watching some twisted dude shell out six bucks for the privilege of pressing his lips against the painted adhesive tape. But you would see no one buying, because the notion of gag kisses would be so passé as to not turn a single head in the throngs of polyamorous passersby. And you would walk away and come back a few minutes later to find the gag kiss price marked down to $5 from $6. Only then would you feel sorry for those two women, but only for a moment, until you saw the humor in the cheapness of a gag kiss. But then you would understand that you can't laugh, because that's what a vanilla sex person would do, and you, after all, are a chocolate sex person.

At that moment you would see a woman, a devotee who probably was recently tied up, maybe fondled, but certainly mortified herself, buying a kiss from each of the two gagged ladies. And only then would you wonder why you do not have the cojones to do the same.

©2007 by Rusty Cuffs

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Rusty Cuffs is the pen name of a New York-based writer who has published work in Blue Food and Oysters and Chocolate. His e-book, Sex-Fiend Monologues, is available through Renaissance E-Books.