When absence becomes a verb

Had to live through another sleep-deprived night yesterday that was maybe 70% caused by hormonal denial build-up and 30% sick kid up in the middle of the night. Seems like these all-nighters don’t come as often as they used to, but the resolution of my recent kidney stone thing has allowed my libedo to come rushing back like someone turning the tap on Niagara Falls. I tried to write a post yesterday, but my foggy dementia from lack of sleep made it not so great.

The thing I was trying to get out was something you’ll either get because your Rorschach patterns of kink and proclivity resembles mine sufficiently or you won’t. As I said, I’m really horny, but I have no desire to play with the penis. Well, I mean, if I was told I could, I’d do it in a millisecond, but the overlapping factors of submission and obedience and faith and trust all soaking in a hot bath of hormones cause me to not think of it as a pleasure object. Not something that is right for me to focus on or have access to or have any rights over. I had to remove the Steelheart the other day because of the kidney thing and felt a great craving to get it back on as soon as I could. I had legitimate access to a free stick of meat filled with all kinds of wonderful pleasure receptors and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Because the pleasure received by returning to the condition in which I was placed and expected to be (and how I was expected to act) overwhelmed the other kind of more immediate and direct pleasure.

Same thing happened yesterday. I had to get out for the doctor visit and found myself actually resentful at the disruption. I have gone to the doctor locked up before, but not when it involves the thing being locked, so I do understand why it’s necessary and all that, but it pissed me off more than I was expecting. Once the visit was over, even before I was out of the building, I felt the need to be back in the Steelheart the same way I need that first shot of caffeine in the morning. A hungering edge to be contained again. Feeling the cold steel wrapped again around the shaft of the penis brought a palpable sense of relief and comfort to me.

And it goes beyond that. Belle has said I look odd to her when I’m not in the Steelheart and the pink meat is flopping around naturally. That, as I’ve said, she honestly prefers me to be locked up (both from how it makes me look and act). And I like that. I’m more than OK with that. I want that. Men are conditioned by culture and probably even by evolution to be driven by this idea that they are somehow measured as men by their penis and how it measures and what they do with it. But in our relationship, she’d rather I not use it on her. She’s grown to favor the kind of sex we have that leaves the penis in it’s trap. She’d rather it stay where it is most of the time and remain absent from the dynamic.

But, of course, it is part of the dynamic. It can’t not be. But its contribution now is its absence. What it’s going through by not being allowed out and the void left behind when you’re having terrific and rewarding sexual relations with a man without depending on his cock. In spite of it. In fact, in neither of my sexual relationships is its absence considered a problem. Drew, commenting on the photo I posted last time of the free penis, said something to the effect that it’s not even how he thinks of me. That he wouldn’t know how to relate to me if I had a free penis with him. He also prefers the steel and honestly has no interest in getting to what’s inside.

And I do not miss my freedom. I don’t miss being able to play with it whenever I want and I don’t miss not being able to stick in people or that they can’t touch it most of the time. After just a short period of denial and chastity, it becomes who I am. Not a thing we do. Or a thing on me. When it’s working, it is me. Even when it wakes me up at 3:00 AM. I rarely if ever think anymore, “Man, I wish this thing was off me.” I almost always think, “Man, I wish this thing would stop trying to break out.” The craving for the thing locked away and the sensation that comes from it never goes away, but it transforms. That energy transmutes into something positive.

Anyway. There’s a little mid-week trip down the physiological rabbit hole that is my sexuality. I could go on, but it’d just get tiresome.

Fuck you and your fucking binary scale of human sexuality

Yesterday, HuffPo’s “Gay Voices” published an article titled “Larry Kramer On His New Book, The American People, Which Identifies George Washington, Ben Franklin And More As Gay.” WOW, I thought. Ben Fucking Franklin!? The septuagenarian notorious in France for his  dalliances with the ladies while serving as American ambassador? A homo!? Let alone old George. Poor Martha. After all this time, we find out she was just his beard.

In The American People, Kramer describes George Washington as a man who had sex with men — a “big queen,” he said in an interview — and writes the same of Alexander Hamilton, who “was in love with George,” Ben Franklin, Andrew Jackson, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan, and “the most powerful gay man” in American history, J. Edgar Hoover.

Oooooh. I see. Not gay. Just “men who had sex with men.” Excuse me while I go bang my fucking head against this fucking brick wall.

I’m not going to argue the historical elements of the text because I’m not qualified. For the sake of the argument, I’ll concede that all these guys had sex with others of their gender. But for fuck’s sake, it’s two-thousand fucking fifteen. Can we stop reducing all same-sex sexual activity to “gay!?” Ben Franklin was not fucking gay. He loved the ladies. That wasn’t for show. Maybe he loved the boys, too, but he wasn’t “gay” as defined as “homosexual” as defined as “an enduring pattern of emotional, romantic, and/or sexual attractions primarily or exclusively to people of the same sex.”

Jesus Christ.

I get that the whole “bisexual invisibility” thing is heavily driven by the fact that bisexuals melt into both the gay and heteronormative social structures absent a concerted effort to make their distinction known. But this kind of shit doesn’t help. Bisexuality is a known thing in the world, but nowhere in the piece does the writer even pretend like there is anything other than gay or straight. And HuffPo’s not the only one. The Guardian also published a piece on the book with only one reference to the word “bisexual” and only in passing.

This kind of shit perpetuates the myth than human sexuality is binary. That we are defined as people by the acts we sometimes to. Occasionally, I pick something up with my left hand but that doesn’t make me left-handed. Maybe George Washington once sucked a dick, but that doesn’t make him gay. It doesn’t even make him fucking bisexual unless he really, really liked it. Maybe Lincoln “enjoyed the company” of the other men back in his circuit courts days, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also passionate about Mary (before she turned into a psycho, anyway).

Why? Why does this still happen? We don’t live in the Seventies anymore. The world is full of great big beautiful gradations of experience and identity. Why can’t these articles even hint at it, let alone embrace it?

I’d argue that by perpetuating the binary myth the author damages his own premise. We need to publicize that it’s perfectly normal and incredibly common for humans (even old historical ones) to have sexual contact with others of their gender at some point in their lives. Once that becomes common knowledge, a lot of the stigma around same-sex sex would evaporate.

Stoned

In what is hopefully the final entry in my grand kidney stone epic, today was the day the little fucker finally showed itself. Please, if you tire of hearing about it or just aren’t that into men’s urinary issues, feel free to read something else (though I do provide a picture of the penis after the jump if you’re into that kind of men’s urinary issue).

As I said last time, I’ve felt the thing moving along from being on the backside of my prostate to actually in my prostate to just the other side over the course of the past six or so weeks. Then I stopped feeling anything. It occurred to me last night, in fact, that I hadn’t felt anything odd at all in my nether regions all day and perhaps the entire adventure was over. But no. There was one more nasty little thing to deal with.

This morning, I was peeing (like you do) and, since I’m in a chastity device and at home, I was sitting down. I felt something move inside me. Like, it was stuck and then jumped forward. I expected to look down and see it in the bowl, but there was nothing there. Odd.

I came home from work to wait on some workmen (who will be here between noon and 5:00, of course) and went to have another pee. This time, I felt something akin to a sharp pain slide down from about the middle of the penis to the end of it. Then it got stuck right at the end and jabbed and poked and felt like tiny piranha gnashing away. A tiny urethral piranha (it could happen).

I went and grabbed the emergency key (in what might be the closest thing to an emergency that ever led me to do so) and removed all the steel. As soon as I slipped the PA ring out, a dark little object presented itself nestled right in cleft at the end of the penis. I touched it and the devil rock popped out. And, of course, the next thing I did was tweet its picture to the world.

Here’s an alternate view. THE FUCKING THING HAS RAZORS BUILT INTO IT.

My previously scheduled doctor’s appointment is tomorrow. I will be presenting my new little razory friend to him at that time for dissection and analysis. I wonder if he’ll want to do anything else to me like an ultrasound to suss out any of its buddies hiding up inside me.

Whatever. He can do what he likes. I’m just so fucking happy the little piece of shit is finally out of me. That’s six weeks of hell I never want to put up with again.

Since all the steel was off and out anyway, I took the opportunity to clean up what turned out to be an overly exuberant manscaping endeavor I started the day before. No matter how pliable the penis is, when it’s locked up there are some crannies a razor can’t get to. My original intention was to simply trim up the pubes to the length Belle finds acceptable but had the trimmer set wrong and, well, there you have it. Then, last night as I was going to bed, I realized I was less than 24 hours from going to the doctor to discuss an issue that, last time I saw a different doctor about, led to him making me drop my pants so he could poke and prod and flop the penis around in inspection. Only this time, I’d be potentially doing it sans hair. Which, I suppose, isn’t anything my regular doctor hasn’t seen before and it’s certainly something I have no issue showing, you know, the entire fucking planet, but somehow still leaves me feeling a bit sheepish. Like, a shorn sheep perhaps.

Anyway, I snapped another (I think) far sexier picture (because I’m a peverted exhibitionist, after all) before locking the entire package back up. You can find that obviously very NSFW picture after the jump. Or, if you linked directly to this post from somewhere, it’s staring you in the face right now…

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This too shall pass

A couple of weeks ago (weeks, I tell you), I mentioned a health issue I was having…

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder.

And then…

[C]ould it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

It didn’t get better. Not after the course of antibiotics. Not at all. In fact, it got worse. On vacation, it got so bad I couldn’t sleep. Almost painful in the intensity of the sensation radiating from my prostate. I genuinely started to worried. I made another doctor’s appointment when I got home (but, because doctors, it’s not until next week).

I still had no idea what was causing it but I thought I could feel the texture of the sensations changing over time. I clung to the theory of the stone moving through though it was taking weeks to do so and I couldn’t find any references of that kind of thing online. Then, toward the beginning of the week, it started to change again. The feeling changed as well as its location. Now, it felt a lot like something inside my urethra (having some experience with that, I know from where I speak) and it felt like whatever it was was actually inside the penis at its base, though very deep down. In short, it felt like it was on this side of the prostate.

Then, yesterday, it got a lot better. It started with me shaking the tube out into some tissue (the normal post-pee behavior) and seeing two little specks of something dark on the the normally perfectly white material. I’ve never seen anything like that before. These specs were itty-bitty. Shortly after that, the sensation of having something in there started to recede. Last night, I felt nearly normal. Today, I’d say the feeling has diminished more than 80%. Like it’s still tender in there and maybe the obstruction is much smaller. As if it eroded over time.

What pisses me off about this is how, when I saw the urgent care doctor, I mentioned my previous kidney stone problem and how I never felt it pass. I mentioned it to both the doctor and the admitting nurse. But, as soon as the doc found out I was bisexual with multiple partners, he immediately assumed STD. I told him that was not possible, but he wouldn’t let it go. He ordered me tested for STDs (though the lab screwed up and didn’t do the test) and, now I think, prescribed the antibiotics not for a UTI but because I’m a dirty little tramp. He totally ignored the kidney stone angle which is what it fucking was. So I suffered for weeks more for no reason. Not that I have any idea how’d they’d treat an obstructing stone, but I assume there is a treatment.

I don’t know if he was demonstrating some kind of prejudice against me because of my sexuality and sexual history or if he was just trying to get past me and onto the next patient as quickly as possible. I suspect a little of both. In any event, I’m relieved to finally be getting better rather than worse. While experiencing this, my libido has been practically nil. I didn’t want the Steelheart and I wasn’t much interested in Belle. Compounding this was another of those “clinical” orgasms like last time which, of course, did nothing to make me feel better.

I’m unsure if I’ll keep my appointment next week. At the rate this is improving, I’d expect to be feeling right as rain this weekend. Just in time for Belle to leave the country for two weeks.

She knows it

Hey there. Still vacationing. Still on the island.

But yesterday, there was a moment that illuminates an aspect of how fortunate I am in my relationship with Belle Fille. We were having dinner, just the two of us, at a favorite little island dive. Drew asked me to pick up a t-shirt for him from the place (he’s been there before, too) and there it was, sitting on the table between my wife and I. The shirt I picked up for the guy I fuck around with on the side. We sat and talked and everything was quite normal, boyfriend shirt and all.

Our waitress reminded me of Rachel Green from Friends. She was young, blond, had a slightly too big nose (though not as big as Rachel’s pre-rhinoplasty). Looked like she might have been rebelling against a rich father by schlepping burgers and beer on a tropical island. Like Rachel, waitress was hot as fuck. Unlike at least season one Rachel, waitress was, as Belle said, “a tight little package.”*

“Really?” I said, “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes you did. You always notice.”

She’s right. Of course I noticed. No human being could not notice this woman. Her hotness was accentuated by the imperfect nose. It made her more real. More attainable and therefore more desirable. Her clothing comprised entirely of thin fabric wrapped around her hips and a torn up skin-tight tank top with the bar’s log on it secured by a knot behind her neck. Not slutty (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Just casual and intensely alluring. My head tracked her movements often, both before and after Belle’s comment. Like when my dog watches Belle make bacon.

Some guys are with women who would be annoyed by the fact their partners would be attracted to someone so obviously attractive. That they’d notice it walking around in front of them. Not me. Mine is better than that. She’s supremely confident in the place she has in my heart. Hot chicks are hot chicks. Boyfriends are boyfriends. Belle is the love of my life. And she knows it.

* Rachel became a tight little package, too, but not until like the fourth season.

Dented

The other day, I wrote a post that said enforced chastity devices don’t make penises smaller. I stand by that based on my now years of experience along with never having seen any evidence to the contrary (other than a bunch of words). I did say…

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

Due to my recent illness, Belle let me stay out and I noticed this phenomenon yet again. The penis, when hard, was slightly narrower on the “top half” than at the base for a few days before it got back to normal. I was out for about five or six days total after having been locked up more or less for a month straight.

I received some feedback from a reader called Jay that I assume was in reply to my post on how being locked up doesn’t change penis size:

Regarding growers in Chastity advice. If a man has a 7 inch long erect length and is in a 2 inch tube only the 2 inches is prevented from erecting. He will  erect behind the ring. This becomes programmatic because it heightens the risk of penile fracture. true there is no os penis in humans But the membranes that encapsulate the erectile tissues can be ruptured. This is an actual ER visit injury, untreated it leads to permanent erectile dysfunction.

Second issue is girth difference when the shaft is soft it can be forced into a tube that is to small eg 6k but later when engorged Full urethral tamponade occurs. Unable to piss at all. 1″ diameter soft 1 5/8″ diameter hard. This person will need a tube with a 1 3/8″ ID

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard about penile fracture occurring from chastity. Is it possible? I suppose. Has it happened? Not saying it hasn’t. Just saying I’ve never heard about it. I assume what when Jay said, “true there is no os penis in humans,” he meant penile bone and, no, there is no penile bone in humans. So…yeah. Not an issue, thankfully. If we had penile bones, we probably couldn’t wear chastity devices like those we wear.

Anyway, yeah, if you think your penis has fractured, see a medical professional. Consider a finger waved in your general direction.

Regarding “urethral tamponade” (which sounds not unlike an ice cream flavor to me), yep, been there. Sometimes, the device is so tight I can’t even pee, but it’s more often the case that peeing is possible and, as I pee, becomes easier since the erection subsides. The compression of the urethra only lasts as long as the erection does.

All that said, being out and actually jacking the shaft made the one (apparently) permanent change the Steelheart has had on the penis more evident. Evi-dent, I said. Get it?

A little more than half way down the shaft, when it’s hard, is an obvious dent. It’s just about exactly where the edge of the tube A-ring hits it when it’s hard (the remainder of the erection being either stuck up inside me or sticking out the back of the device). It can be felt, but not seen, across the top of the shaft, but not underneath. I suppose the only way to know if it’s permanent would be to stay unlocked for an extended period and see if it went away.

Yeah, right.

I told Belle about the dent. She was unmoved. “It’s just a physical manifestation of your commitment and submission to me, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.