Finding my people
Story by: Kevin Clarke
Photography by: Courtesy of Kevin Clarke, CusNL, and Spiralien
April 8, 2020
As I write this in my office, I’m wearing chest waders, heavy Carhartt rain gear, and a Black Diamond rubber raincoat. Next to my desk, there are three-quarter tall fire boots lining the wall adjacent to a closet full of hazmat suits, wellies, coveralls, wading suits, waders, drysuits, harnesses, and organized bins of rubber gloves, dive gear, masks, hoods, and hoses (yes, this is my home office). A rack of chest waders, all hung by their soles, occupies a wall in a second room, with neatly-lined hip boots below it. The smell of my gear hits me even when I’m in the hall. Most of it is well-used so it smells of rubber, sweat, and mud. There’s even a slight hint of manure in the air from a pair of Dunlops that I bought from a farmer in Michigan. I didn’t bother to clean them when I got them.
As you can tell, I like rubber a lot. Industrial rubber. Real rubber. Heavy rubber. Utilitarian rubber gear that is used by real men for real work. My attraction to it is inherent—rubber is a part of me and has been for as long as I can remember. It took some time, however, for me to find other guys out there who were into it too.
When I was three years old, I begged my parents for fireman boots. They searched all over Chicago to find my size three boots. When I outgrew those, I begged them for the green rubber boots with yellow laces that were popular in the ’70s. My mother could not figure out why I always wanted to wear them even when the weather was nice.
I soon discovered my grade school friend’s father’s fishing gear in his basement. He had multiple pairs of chest waders and hip boots hanging seductively down there, including a pair of pure latex, stocking foot waders from LL Bean. As my friends played outside, I snuck down to the basement to try them on, piling the other pairs on top of me, and lying there for as long as I could.
“My attraction to it is inherent—rubber is a part of me and has been for as long as I can remember.”
At 16, I bought my first pair of waders—Hodgman waders I had longed for in the Sears catalog—with my own money. Right after I got my driver’s license, I drove my father’s car to pick them up. Once I had got my hands on them, I pulled them on in the mall parking lot and began driving to the nearest forest preserve, trying to concentrate on the road, my hard dick throbbing inside them. I had to stop in an empty lot though and hardly had to reach down before blowing my load inside them.
Unbeknownst to me, the new waders had a slick coating on the exterior. When I got home, my father asked me why the seat of the car was slippery.
After that incident, I drove up to an outlet store in Wisconsin to buy my first pair of LaCrosse hip boots. They were tall and green with a strap to hook to my belt or wrap around my balls. I put a towel down on my dad’s car seat so that I didn’t leave any evidence this time.
I hid my growing collection under my bed, which included waders, a pair of black latex gloves from my art class, a gas mask from drama club, and an industrial pair of electrical gloves that I found in the street. When I was 17, my sister discovered my entire collection when she had a slumber party. She asked me why I had all of this gear. “Because I like it,” was all I could think of to say. That seemed to satisfy her. I couldn’t wait to live on my own and have my gear all around me, not hidden under a bed like that.
Raingear was next: I bought my first set of Black Diamonds in Vancouver in 1987, which I still have today (they’re in perfect shape and are worth hundreds of dollars). Then, I got a rubber diving drysuit, having found a brand new Aqaula in a Goodwill store for $50.
I would jack off in or on my gear a lot, and even fall asleep with it on. Just thinking about the gear made me instantly horny. At first, it didn’t seem normal. If I saw a construction worker in slush boots, the sewer department workers in their waders and harnesses, or a fire crew at the scene of an incident, I became transfixed, almost like hypnosis. I would circle my car or bike back around so I could stare. The heavy rubber gear resonated with me in so many ways: physically, emotionally, and most definitely, sexually, even before I knew what a fetish was. I felt different and often wondered, Am I the only person in the world who likes this?
For me, I associated this rubber gear with masculinity: firemen, sewer workers, commercial divers, construction workers, fishermen, electricians, and hazmat crews. It wasn’t until I discovered Drummer magazine in 1981 that I was able to find images of the type of masculine guys who I lusted after. Even though there were no rubber guys in the Drummer features back then, I found men who had an interest in heavy rubber from all over the United States and Canada, through their personal ads.
One of the ads was by the owner of an old Chicago leather shop, Male Hide. I went to the store in a pair of fire boots. He was wearing waders. We said hello, then he took me downstairs and fucked me in one of the dressing rooms. I also visited a big, sexy lobster fisherman who lived in Maine. One of the highlights was when, both of us in his dirty oilskins and waders, he catheterized me and fucked me while my catheter filled my boot.
“When I was three years old, I begged my parents for fireman boots.”
Though another guy I met in the Drummer ads, I learned about French and German fetish magazines like Agenda, Plan K, Mister, Project X, and my favorite, Toy. I wrote a letter to Toy and asked to know who the bearded guy in the Dräger drysuit on the cover of one of their issues was. They forwarded my letter to the bearded rubber stud in Germany, and he and his boyfriend visited me in San Francisco in 1988.
In that same issue were two guys, one wearing a gas mask with the end of the hose shoved into his friend’s asshole. Other issues depicted guys in rubber Macs and dirty waders and gloves or drysuits or hazmat suits, wallowing in tanks of piss, getting spit on, or being fucked in mud pits. I couldn’t believe my eyes. These magazines helped to define my sexuality and fetish.
Through these publications, I also found groups like Men in Boots and New World Rubbermen and subscribed to their newsletters, which featured stories, classifieds for used gear, and pictures of other members in heavy rubber.
My proclivity for rubber led me to pursue being a fireman. I worked full time for six years for a Chicago suburban department in the ’90s, back when we still wore tall rubber fire boots and long rubberized Nomex jackets. I quickly qualified for and joined the hazmat and dive rescue teams. I learned how to drive a fire engine, flush a hydrant, ventilate a burning building, and carry an injured person from a blaze. It was rewarding, precise, and yes, horny. I genuinely honored the tradition of the fire department, the paramilitary structure, and the tragic but revitalizing history here in Chicago.
It was the palpable homophobia in the department, and my desire to come out that made the job unbearable in the end. I heard the gay slurs from my peers whom I was sworn to protect and who were supposed to protect me. It was 1994; I was 31 years old and very much in the closet. The news was all about well known gay men dying of AIDS. The derogatory comments from the department about queers, and the ignorant statements about HIV/AIDS, were relentless and stressful. To ease my mind, I started reading Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City.
My officers and firefighter brothers kept wanting to fix me up with women, so I lied to them that I had a girlfriend. She was a girl, and was a friend, but was also married and lived in San Diego. I taped pictures of us together in my locker and would arrange for her to call the station and ask for me.
“My proclivity for rubber led me to pursue being a fireman.”
The truth was that I had just lost my first partner to AIDS. I was grappling with his loss and the loss of others in my life who were so young, healthy, and full of promise. I began reflecting on my life: who was I really, what was important to me, and what direction did I want my life to go in? I knew that I had to accept my sexual identity and embrace my heavy-gear fetish. In my heart, I felt that I had succeeded in pursuing my dream of being a firefighter and wearing the gear I was into for real. Firefighting was an admirable and rewarding profession, and I am proud that I did it. However, I concluded that it just wasn’t for me. That said, being a fireman and wearing the gear only heightened my fetish. Plus, I got to keep all of my gear, and still have most of it.
Before the internet, trying to find industrial gear was hard—but not impossible. I just spent lots of time combing through classifieds in the newspapers or going to garage sales. A lot of real rubber raingear, boots, waders, and diving gear were widely sold at department stores, army navy surplus stores, and Goodwill. I would read about local fire departments that were transitioning from rubber fire coats and three-quarter boots to two-piece turnouts and short boots, then go to the stations and ask if I could purchase the old gear. On many occasions, the departments would just give it to me. Vigilant determination helped me build an impressive collection before eBay existed.
The internet in the late ’90s made it so easy to track down specific things I’d always wanted or only seen in photos, as well as things I never knew existed. I was able to find drysuits from Finland, raingear from Norway, wellies from the U.K., and unlined rubber chest waders from Japan. I expanded my collection beyond black rubber into colors and hi-visibility gear.
Shops like MD Latex, StudioGum, Blackstyle, Bizarre Lifestyle, and Blackstore have taken the utilitarian style of things like overalls, diving drysuits, hazmat suits, and gas masks, and converted them into mind-blowing, otherworldly, heavy-gauge gear with kinky accessories like lockable zippers and rebreather bags. These shops take your innermost fantasies for things like heavy rubber and bondage, and make them into a fuckin’ amazing reality.
Another thing the internet was responsible for was opening me up to chat rooms for hooking up with guys into rubber, and in doing so, it made the rubber world much smaller. I was able to connect with so many more men with the same heavy rubber obsession on sites like Recon, WadersWellies, RubberZone, and GearFetish. Now, with Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Flickr, and FetLife, I find it much easier to chat and eventually meet guys from all over the world. I post pictures of me in gear—fire, dive, rain, hazmat, and sewer—and receive feedback that builds my confidence. It’s also humbling when I hear from someone who tells me that I inspire them to buy certain gear or go out in their own community in rubber.
When I was young, I thought I was alone in the universe. Now, I have friends all over the world with the same fetish. I am continually learning from others about vintage gear or new stuff to try, and I love to share as much information as I can with others. To be able to share my experience and help others discover their authentic heavy rubber selves is truly rewarding.
Having a large collection of gear was something I had always dreamed of. Now, wearing that gear out and about, not just to a fetish event, a club, or a bar, but in everyday life, is a goal that I push myself towards on a daily basis. I derive deep appreciation from wearing my gear to get coffee, buy groceries, or go for a hike. It still makes me as horny as the very first time.
