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First, WinModems. Now, WinWiFi.
zulux writes "Microsoft is actively encouraging WiFi (802.11b) hardware manufacturers to strip their devices of costly electronics, and use Microsoft software/drivers to make up the slack. And you thought WinModems were bad!"
Email me and tell me what you think of widening!
Thank you for coming here! Most people, myself included, usually make straight for the pictures.
I am a heterosexual in my thirties. I live in a small village on the south coast of England.
As far back as I can remember, I have had a fetish about materials like shiny nylon, PVC and of course, rubber. My earliest memory of this is of lying on a shiny nylon anorak that belonged to my mum and squirming about on it on the sofa with a hard little dick. The pleasure I felt used to gradually build up and up until I reached a peak of ecstasy. At this point muscles in my groin made some involuntary movements like I was finishing off a pee and after a while my dick shrank back to its normal size. At the time I had no idea of what I was doing or experiencing - it just felt good.
Around the same time in, I used to lie in bed in the mornings before I got up with one leg over the side of the bed so my dick pressed against the mattress. Squirming about, I used to fantasise about wearing clothes made of yellow PVC.
During the early 1970s, you could often see documentaries made by Jacques Cousteau and his team on the TV. Although the "reaI" subject matter of these shows interested me a good deal, a major secondary attraction was the opportunity to see the smooth black rubber wetsuits with a yellow stripe worn by the divers. One thing that stands out in my memory was when the team went diving in - I think - Antarctic waters wearing red drysuits and they fooled about with the inflation valves so that they blew up like Michelin men: how I wanted to wear a suit like that!
It was around this time that I also remember being increasingly interested in the waterproof trousers that I sometimes saw people wear - especially cyclists - and the gear worn by motorcyclists when it rained. I often found myself looking at the waterproof trousers for sale in mail-order catalogues.
Later on in the '70s, my mum bought a hair drier with a PVC hood that was inflated by a long corrugated hose. For some reason this fascinated me and I used to daydream as I lay in bed about being involuntarily encased in a suit of the same PVC material, wearing a mask and breathing through a hose. Another thing that caught my attention at this time was the masks that are used to anaesthetise people in hospital. I daydreamed about the black mask with its black rubber corrugated hose coming down on my face and of drifting away to sleep, powerless to stay awake.
One morning, when I was about 12, I was lying in bed squirming (what a good word that is) around with my usual thoughts when something surprising happened. Instead of the normal "dry run" something hot was pumping around my pyjamas! When I pulled the sheets back, there was already a big sticky stain coming through my trousers.
This was the signal for me to put my fetish into practice.
The opportunity arises...
Not long afterwards, I found that my parents would be going to a dinner in a town twenty miles away. They would be leaving in the early evening and wouldn't be back till around midnight! Almost without thinking what I was doing I made my plans. From what I now know of fellow fetishists, what follows will probably be quite familiar.
As soon as the sound of their car had died away, I gathered up a nylon cagoule and a waterproof nylon snorkel parka of mine, a PVC rain suit of my dad's and a pair of old nylon waterproof trousers he had once worn on his motorcycle. I also picked up a couple of plastic bags and a pair of football socks. I took this gear to a walk-in cupboard, went inside and pulled the door almost closed. Almost reverently I folded each item before putting it in a neat pile in on the floor. Then, in the semi-darkness I pulled off my clothes until I was standing there naked with my pile of waterproofs.
Quickly, I put on my cagoule. It was made of blue polyurethane-coated nylon and was supposed to be "100% waterproof" - I'd even checked this with the sales assistant when my parents had bought it for me. I had never worn it next to my skin before and it felt strange and cold. I made a point of doing the hood up carefully and tying it tightly with the cord so that I could hardly see out. Next came the PVC jacket which was also done up tightly so that there wasn't much of my face showing. Then came the trousers. I can still remember that thrilling sensation as I pulled the cold smooth PVC up my legs and then tied up the drawstring, with the top of the trousers overlapping the bottom of the jacket.
Now I turned to my feet. Putting a plastic bag over each one, I tucked in the trousers and then pulled on my football socks over the top. To finish, I put on the second pair of waterproof trousers and then my snorkel parka. I remember making a point of doing up every fastening, zipping the hood right up so I was looking through a tunnel (the "snorkel"!)* with my head now covered by three hoods.
Only then did I re-emerge from the cupboard, a boy transformed, covered in shiny nylon and PVC. The first thing I did was to run to a mirror; even as I looked at my new clothes, I could feel the initial cold feeling being replaced by one of warmth. What I saw made my heart beat faster - I could feel my dick swelling. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I began to squirm around, enjoying the way that my nylon clad legs slid over the bedspread so easily and rustled when they slid against each other.
Soon I found myself running up and down stairs, building up a sweat. It was as if the clothes had taken over. Even when I painfully stubbed my toe, I kept on with a red face and the sweat beginning to soak my hair and run down my face.
Eventually I ended up lying face down on the sofa with a pounding heart and drops of sweat running around inside the PVC suit as, almost instinctively, I began to pleasurably squirm about. Ever since I had put the clothes on, everything seemed to have happened automatically, according to some plan in which I had had no say. Suddenly something seemed to explode from my groin to head and for a few seconds I felt pure ecstasy as a hot jet shot from my hard dick and began pumping around my PVC trousers...
For a couple of minutes I just lay there, almost surprised at what I had done. Then the clothes seemed to lose their magic, my dick shrank and I began to feel slightly silly and somehow guilty. It was a feeling I would have for almost 20 years.
Now I had to deal with the results of my first gear session. As I went back upstairs, I began to feel distinctly chilly as the sweat cooled down and the first drops began to drip from the bottoms of the legs and sleeves. I just wanted to get everything off and put it away. The outer layer was no problem because it was practically dry, and I cleaned the smooth inside of the PVC suit and dried it with my towel. But what to do with the cagoule? The sweat had come through the nylon and it was absolutely saturated. I wanted to hang it up to dry, but how could I explain how it had got wet? In the end I rolled it up and stuffed it behind a piece of furniture, "to be dealt with later". Needless to say, a few days later, mum found it when she was cleaning and wanted to know why it was wet. "Oh, I washed it," I told her. I wonder what she made of that answer!
Not long afterwards I got a another cagoule and waterproof trousers made of shiny 5oz nylon which were also billed as 100% waterproof. I hoped that this time they really would be. Ostensibly they were for walks in the country and cycling, but of course it wasn't long (a day or two at most!) before I began to wear them in bed. If I woke up early at the weekend, I used to sneak out to the cupboard outside my bedroom and carefully open the door to avoid waking my parents. Then I would take the clothes back to my room, being careful not to give myself away with any telltale rustling. Once there I soon got them on and begin squirming around in bed. My only regret was that the inevitable orgasm came so quickly!
When my parents went out for a trip, I used to get this waterproof suit on - with the jacket always tucked into the trousers and often other waterproofs on top! - and have a good sweat before finally cumming. In the summer I used to make a point of pulling my chair into the full sun behind the closed patio door to help get the sweat flowing. Goodness knows how many times I did this!
Neoprene
In the summer of 1984 I took up windsurfing and after seeing them on TV so many times had my first "hands on" experience of a wetsuit. The changing room at the lake where I took my lessons was a hot stuffy shed and getting the suit on was always an enjoyable experience. No matter how slowly I got changed I always built up a raging sweat in the clinging, hot rubber. Of course, because it was a hired suit and I wasn't alone, I couldn't go any further...
In 1985 though, I got my own suit. Although I initially felt that perhaps it was "wrong" to use it like that, my inhibitions soon gave way to the urge to try it on with my nylon waterproofs on top. It was a two-piece lightweight bearing the brand name "Hang Ten", consisting of a zipped long john and a bolero jacket with overlock seems. The way the neoprene gently squeezed my sensitive parts was a revelation! This was better than anything I had tried before.
That first suit wasn't very special - all the sweat leaked out! - and I soon got a better one by "Second Skin" which had sealed seams and was a much better fit. I enjoyed my windsurfing but I also enjoyed my fetish. My favourite long term "scene" was to dress up in my suit, neoprene boots and latex dry-gloves and then put a few layers of waterproofs or winter clothes on top. For the first hour or so I usually just felt warm and comfortable but then the sweat really began to build up and soon it began to flow around the suit with air bubbles in it - what a sensation. When I finally pulled it off, the water used to pour out of the gloves and boots, so I always put plenty of newspapers on the floor.
Guilt
It must have been around this time in the late 1980s when I really began to think seriously about my fetish. I had never heard of anyone doing anything like this and I became convinced that I must be the only one. Ever since that first time I put on that PVC suit next to my skin I had had a kind of guilty feeling about doing what I did. Now, although I still enjoyed masturbating in rubber, I began to make excuses to myself about what I was doing.
One of my "favourites" was that I was simply enjoying a kind of eco-friendly sauna that just worked by my own body heat. Of course this was true in a way but it wasn't the whole story. Occasionally I would manage not to cum during a sweating session, hoping to convince myself that it really was just about having a private sauna. But usually, whatever my intentions were at the beginning I just couldn't resist the temptation!
From time to time I felt so guilty that I actually went so far as to throw my wetsuit away when I wasn't actively engaged in a watersport which gave me an "excuse" to own it. I also did the same with waterproofs that I used to wear for fun and which I didn't absolutely need to keep myself dry.
Eventually I got around to doing some research in the medical section of my university library. What I found wasn't very encouraging. The books had chapters with titles like "male sexual inadequacies" and went on about hatred of this and fear of that being behind my fetish. It was all very depressing and I longed to be "normal", whatever that really meant.
I discover the web
Through friends, I first began to hear stories about the internet around the mid-90s. At the time I wasn't very interested and didn't think there would be much on there that would be of any real interest. Finally in the spring of 1998 I had my first experience of surfing the web. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of sites devoted to minority interests and the quality of their content. Unfortunately the computer didn't belong to me, and worse still it was in the middle of an open plan office so my surfing never had the chance to get beyond the safest of sites.
It wasn't until the spring of 1999 that I finally had the chance to key in the magic word "rubber" into the MSN search engine in the (relative) privacy of my own home. At first there was just a load of stuff about rubber stamp manufacturers and then suddenly there was the Rubber Lovers Contact List. Eagerly following up link after link, I was amazed by what I found and there was soon a big damp bulge in my jogging pants. What's more, the people who had put the sites together didn't show any sign of guilt - they just seemed to be getting on (off?) with things and having a good time. At last I could really stop feeling that I was the only man in the world who liked to masturbate in a wetsuit. At the same time those old feelings of guilt which used used to plague me finally began to recede.
Although it's taken me many years, I finally feel that I don't have to worry about my fetish any more - I just accept it for what it is and enjoy the pleasure it gives me. From time to time I hope that I will have the chance to acquire on or two further items of gear - if circumstances permit, they will no doubt appear in future updates of this site - but the activities you can see here are far from being my only interests and much will depend on how much time I have for my kinky habits!
The one concern which remains is whether I will ever be able to find a partner who doesn't feel uneasy about fetishism. Over the years I have had various girlfriends but I have never felt able to share my kinky side with any of them. Though the odds would appear to be against it, I still live in hope that one day I will find someone special with whom I will be able to share my fetish. If not, I will just have to hang up my gear as I have done from time to time in the past - except when I use it for its intended purpose!
I know that I can live live without fetishism, but I would certainly miss it.
Wifi is bad? You ducmb fuckers have a fucked up sense of priority. What's really bad is when you're making out with a chick, and take her back to your apartment for some cuking and cusking, and find out she ain't really a chick.
I mean, what are you supposed to do?
Oh, wait. This is Slashdhot. You wouldn't know anything about accidently makeing out with shemales.
PS - If you receive a bllowjob from a man, but honsestly think that it's a woman while you orgasm, that DOES NOT MAKE YOU GAY. Anyone who thinks otherwise will be severly beaten.
Let's get down to brass tax here.
Let's get down to brass tax here.
Let's get down to get brass tax here.