The gas mask has been with me almost since I started my life as a rubberist. It has seen me through thick and thin, a constant companion in my exploration of what it means to have a fetish. I’ve been submissive while I’ve worn it, dominant too. I’ve had sex many times with it. I’ve danced nights away.
But all good things must come to an end, and so the S10 has reached the end of its life. It was packed in a bag and thrown into the rubbish with so much of what’s been cleared out over the past weeks.
Caught in self-bondage by his cleaner, Michael finds himself at her mercy. Only blackmail isn't what's on Gabbi's mind.
This isn’t a purge, but an organised tidy up. Spurred by preparing for a move and the aftermath of Tinky’s cancer, it’s less the end of something, more the start.
Even so, I can’t help but feel a little sad the claustrophobic, breathless comfort my gas mask brought me is no more.