I am lost. I know it. I've known since yesterday when I got a bloody nose at work. I was walking out of Fred's office with some typing that he wanted done and Bam! Daniel opened the door and slammed me right in the nose. Jesus, blood was pouring all over my shirt and I was immediately dizzy. They were both telling me to put my head back and stop the bleeding, but I couldn't. As if time had slowed to a crawl, I felt the warm liquid drip down from my nose and tip over the top of my upper lip. I stuck my tongue out to taste it and it melted onto my tongue.      Then suddenly, I started crying. I just buckled up on the floor and the salt in my

tears mixed with the salty nose bleed. Still, I lapped it up as it all ran down my face into my mouth. I couldn't stop thinking about the taste, the taste there always is when I kiss this man that I've been dating.
     We kiss a lot, he's a great kisser, but there has always been this funny taste in our mouths whenever we do. It's been sweet and it's been salty. It's hard to describe. I thought it was blood once, but I checked my mouth and there wasn't a single cut. You know I never brush before a date. They say you shouldn't do that and open up some cut where you might get AIDS from giving someone a blowjob. So I thought it must be some kind of strange food he eats. But now I know. It has been my blood. More to the point, it's been my soul and he's been sucking on it.
     Father, I still remember the night when I first met him. I was so frustrated with myself that evening. As I left work, I thought, why can’t I get just a single man to notice me. You see Father, I still want a Daddy. I just don’t know why you went and got a boy for yourself when I’m your real son. I still think I can be your son and your boy. After all, we used to play and you liked it then.
     Well anyway, around ten, I got dressed up and made sure that I had something on that would instigate a conversation. I wore the rubber T-shirt you gave me for my birthday. I thought it was subtle, but strange enough that someone just might comment on it in the bar. Well, this guy wasn't subtle. He was in full rubber, almost head-to-toe. It was so strange. I saw him as soon as I walked in the bar. He had shined his rubber up so much that all the lights reflected from it and it looked like sparks were running across his body. The rubber looked awfully tight, more like black paint on a naked body. I was moving the second I saw him, making my way around the room to get closer to him. I finally settled behind him for most of the night, and as I gulped in the sight of him, studying him, I couldn't find a single seam in his rubber. I know rubber enough to tell that it wasn't molded. I knew that something wasn't right. Still, I was excited to see a real rubberman.
     For hours that night, I stood there shifting my weight back and forth, trying to appear calm and collected, bored. I couldn't believe it when he finally talked to me. God, are you handsome, I thought. You see, his face is square and his eyes are the deepest blue. His hair is jet black, mixed with silver. His mustache is thick and wide and it blends into his closely cropped beard, except for the perfectly waxed ends which curl to each side. Even the sight of his long sideburns makes my dick hard. His hair is always cropped extremely close to his head, but its so dense, you can never see his scalp.
     I was so taken by him, that I let out this sound in my throat and that's when he turned around. He looked me over like I was an object he was going to buy. He even brought his gloved hand up to my face and turned it to the side to see my profile. He didn't say anything, slowly running his fingers across my face. I felt paralyzed, frozen like a rabbit before a cobra strikes. The rubber was dry, but if felt like he was almost drawing something across my face, leaving some invisible mark. I closed my eyes and he pushed his hand into my mouth and forced it into my throat. His hand was burning hot. That was the first time–though only the first–where my body seemed to disappear.
     I could taste his smooth rubber glove in my mouth, smell it in my nose. But before long, I started to get dizzy. He was cutting off my air. I think I was going to faint, but he stopped suddenly. I started to open my eyes, but he brought his other hand and gently pulled my eyelids shut again. He pressed me closely into his chest and I began to hyperventilate. I could feel my dick press against his; both of us were rock hard.
     He moved my hands around to my back and without asking, he restrained me with handcuffs that he must have had in his jacket. I expected the metal to be cold, but it was as hot as his skin was. He moved his hand down to my crotch and unzipped my jeans and pulled out my cock. Spitting on his hand, he began to jerk me off. I was mortified. We were still in the bar and I had no idea who was watching us. Then, he whispered to me. "Like this, boy?"
     But I hardly kowtowed and acted submissive. Instead, I stuttered, “Sir, I don't think you should do that here. I don’t think the bartenders allow it.” After all, I like being a bottom, but I don’t let go easily. Most guys need to be reined in before you can really submit to them.
     But he simply laughed. He placed his other hand in the small of my throat and began to press down, very slowly, but very hard. I felt like my throat was being crushed and it became hard to breath. My eyes opened wide and almost casually, he spit in my face. The hot spit dripped down across my right eye and I could feel it drip down my cheek as well. He stared at me like he was a man who had never ever smiled and repeated himself, “Like this, boy?”