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Posts tagged ‘sexuality’

Apr 21

7 Comments

Thanks but no thanks

I received the following feedback from a reader calling themselves Castimonia:

Have you ever thought you might have an intimacy or sexual disorder?  I read some of your blog and it seems that there are some issue you have that I used to have quite a bit.  I am not judging you because I have been where you are, I am simply stating that IF you would like true freedom and true happiness, THEN there is help for all of us!  Good luck!

I read that and went, “Hmmmm.”

Castimonia has an eponymous blog upon which I found the following on their about page:

Castimonia is a Christ-centered 12-Step Support and Recovery program for sexual impurity or sexual addiction with the goal to achieve a Biblically-based sexual purity. We share our experience, strength, and hope with each other so that we may achieve sexual purity and help others overcome sexual impurity or compulsive sexual behaviors.

Although we believe Jesus Christ is our Lord and Savior, Christianity is not a requirement for attending meetings or working the 12-step program. We are open to any group or denomination. The only requirement for attendance and participation is the desire to stop compulsive sexual behavior and reach sexual purity.

And:

Every man struggles with some level of sexual purity.  This group is designed to help men who struggle with sexual purity, particularly in the following areas:

  • Sexually immoral thought life
  • Pornography
  • Sexual acting out such as self-gratification, using prostitutes, frequenting sexually oriented businesses, or adult bookstores
  • Adultery

If you are dealing with any of these kinds of struggles then you have found the right place.

I gotta tell you, that term “sexual purity” makes my skin crawl.

Yes, Castimonia, I once did think there was something wrong with me. I was ashamed and tried to hide how I was. I resisted the feelings that came from within me until I couldn’t any longer and then felt deep guilt and self-loathing once I indulged my desires. It wasn’t until I embraced those desires that I felt good. Once I admitted who I was to myself and my partner, a great weight was lifted. Your path, based on an interpretation of a corrupted mythology originating thousands of years ago, leads to self-hatered and mental anguish. Wrap it in whatever platitudes you like, it’s the same old anti-sex anti-human bullshit that’s made generations of people hate themselves and hate others who won’t do the same.

I have no use for you, no use for your belief system, and no use for your concern for me. Please go peddle your bile elsewhere.

Mar 14

9 Comments

Mailbag

Catching up on some mailbag items…

Thanks for a great website.  I am about to start a long time in a CB-6000 with PA cable on Thursday.

I do have an odd question for you….

I need to wear an athletic cup for sparing in martial arts.  I know I can get the cup over the device but I suspect if I actually get kicked, the device and cup will work together to rack my balls badly.  Any advice on this?  (I wear the cup to prevent damage to my balls… I can handle some pain… I THINK!)

I know for a fact that one can wear these devices during physical activities, but I wouldn’t wear one while participating in a contact sport. A device ties all the squishy bits together in a way they weren’t designed so that as one part moves in one direction during a hit and another part might move in an opposite direction, they’re forced to move together and that might be bad. Especially if you’ve got a cable running through the whole set up that fixes the end of your penis in place with a ring that’s been punched through your urethra. Man. I get creeped out just thinking about it.

The cup might offer some measure of protection, I suppose, but if it’s like ones I’ve worn there won’t be much room in it for all the extra plastic. If it were me, I’d figure out a way to take it off while kicking and being kicked.

I have recently found your blog about male chastity, actually, I have recently found out about male chastity.  I have been looking for a way to spice up my marriage a little.  I have been married to a great wife for 14 years now, 3 kids and the spice is not what it used to be.  We are both just starting to get back into wanting sex more.  Although, she likes missionary only.

I am researching this as much as I can and like to talk with normal people that are doing this and what I can learn from them. Bringing this up to her and getting her to go along with this will be difficult, so wondering if you have any suggestions.

If you’re asking about how to approach her, I’m not a very good resource. I don’t really have a strategy because when I first found out about enforced chastity I immediately shared it with Belle and we were on our way. We were in a particular place in our relationship where I felt comfortable sharing this interest with her. The best advice I have would be to explain that normal people really do do this. Really. Yes, it’s kinky, but not like taped up hamsters. It’s pretty tame, actually.

If you’re looking for things to share with her, I more or less think Sarah Jameson’s stuff is pretty good. That’s not a bad place to start. She puts things in a way that might appeal to the average woman and, as long as you can see through her submissive male bigotry, is reasonably practical. Obviously, I think the stuff Tom’s written is another great resource. Belle in particular has appreciated his point of view. Don’t forget Dev, either! I also think the gang over at the Chastity Forums are pretty levelheaded. That’s another good place for you to go as you figure out a strategy on how to move forward with your wife. Finally, I’m asking others to add their two bits and/or links in the comments. I know there are smart people reading this who could help.

Good luck!

I read your blog because you are an honest writer.  You don’t pull punches or shy away from topics that um, well might embarrass others.  However, having said that, you may not want to tackle the subject I am about so ask you to write about, because it’s so full of emotional, political, and even religious focus.  The subject is homosexuality versus bisexuality. I have commented before that I find the idea of gay male sex a real turn on, but I have never felt a “man crush” for any man. Conversely, I have had many a crush on woman that don’t physically turn me on.

I also am one of the many guys that finds lesbian sex a huge turn on, but other then the fact that its usually two very attractive woman doing things that I like to do with a woman, I don’t know why it turns me on.  Just watching two beautiful women kiss drives me crazy.  And although two guys can talk about lesbian sex with zero social stigma, you rarely hear two guys talk about gay male sex.  Kind of a double standard there, I think.

So, that double standard got me to thinking that bi-sexuality might not have the “falling in love crush” attached to it, but rather is simply physical pleasure derived from both the physical act and the “taboo” nature of the act. (not unlike anal sex for some). The hardcore homosexual organizations talk about bisexuals as a cop out or as an out right denial of sexual identity.  And mostly they take this position for political reasons.  They seem to be saying “We’ve worked so hard to get our rights established in the law, we don’t want any of you fence sitters screwing it up, come out or shut up.”  That’s why I think that bisexuals get this horrible rap of being confused or closet homosexuals. I call bullshit on that. I’m not confused, I like the same kind of sex that homosexuals do.  I just don’t feel like I could fall in love with someone and have a “pair bonded” relationship with them.  Thank god there is strap-on sex…the closes thing I’ll ever get to gay male sex!

Help me explain this better can you?

I spent many years of my life essentially paralyzed by my seemingly contradictory impulses with regard to sex. I kept trying to find a paradigm I could fit myself into and it just wasn’t there. By the time I decided to stop obsessing and get on with things, I was approaching thirty. I lost most of my twenties, sexually speaking. It is a waste of fucking time.

Fact is, people are going to feel how they’re going to feel. Kinsey nailed it back in the Forties with his scale. Human sexuality is a fluid continuum that simply cannot be diced into orderly blocks to suit anyone’s moral preferences. We are all born this way, to one degree or another, as are many other animals. There is no right answer and its society’s problem that this isn’t recognized and accepted, not ours.

I’ve recently started reading a book called Straight: The Surprisingly Short History of Heterosexuality. Here’s a snippet from the Amazon description:

Like the typewriter and the light bulb, the heterosexual was invented in the 1860s and swiftly and permanently transformed Western culture. The idea of “the heterosexual” was unprecedented. After all, men and women had been having sex, marrying, building families, and sometimes even falling in love for millennia without having any special name for their emotions or acts. Yet, within half a century, “heterosexual” had become a byword for “normal,” enshrined in law, medicine, psychiatry, and the media as a new gold standard for human experience.

I recommend you check it out! It’s an eye-opener.

The following came from a comment to another post.

This is from http://chastewench.blogspot.com/ and has nothing to do with your recent post, but it does describe my exact situation and I hate it! Any suggestions you might have that would smooth out the ups and downs?

Rollercoster

Various blogs suggest that the way to motivate a man is to keep him desperate. It’s so scarily true.

A few days of tease and denial and I’m ready to do anything the Empress of my cock says. Yet once I’m sated it’s difficult to relate to why I was so malleable and so desperate to be dominated. It’s like looking at another person, one you don’t quite get, and finding yourself a little shocked by their antics. Thinking ‘was that really me?’

The peculiar thing is the more I’m denied, and the nastier she is, the more I crave submission, discipline, humiliation, abuse, pain. The desire to be dominated builds and builds. The constant forfeit of control and state of excitement is so addictive. Crazy as it sounds it’s almost as if the more she denies me the more a part of me wants it to continue. The more I sink into submission.

Then she lets me cum and then buzz is gone. I’m left bemused, shaking my head at my own behaviour. Having to remind myself that I signed a contract, try to rationalise putting the chastity belt back on, when I no longer really want to be locked away, I’m no longer in the mood. Then with a snap of the lock the ride starts all over again.

So, so familiar with that particular ride, as would be anyone who’s found themselves locked up for more than a single play session. It gets to the question of what is a true submissive. If one only feels that way after being denied (or feels it much more strongly), then is that person a real sub? Honestly, I leave that question to others to decide. For Chaste Wench and for me and for many others (maybe even you), we like that eventual feeling of profound submission. The part where you can’t get enough of whatever she’s dishing out. As far as I’m concerned, you need at least a seed of submission in you somewhere for it to grow, but really, if it feels good, who cares?.

The cratering of desire for all this chastity play after orgasm can’t be helped (assuming it’s a pleasurable orgasm). It’s chemical. Once you come and the brain releases its happy juice into your bloodstream, it snuffs out the other chemicals that drive the need to be locked and disciplined and abused. There really is no way around it, other than either always ruining the guy’s orgasm or never ever letting him have another (which is rife with its own set of issues). After the spurt, you feel kind of embarrassed for ever wanting to wear the thing in the first place and wonder what all the hubbub was about. If you have a blog like this one, you go back and read things that, even though you wrote them, you have a hard time feeling.

Personally, my advice would be to enjoy the ride. When it’s up, it’s the best fucking thing in the word (or at least feels that way). When it’s down, you simply need to take solace in the fact that, given time and a secure device, all will feel right in the world eventually. For me, assuming it’s just one orgasm, that’s about 2-3 days. Hardly any time at all!

Aug 8

17 Comments

The choice

RougueBambi said, regarding comments left by other readers of my previous post:

I really don’t understand, how someone can “not understand the bisexual thing” after what Thumper just wrote. It’s not a thing you choose. It’s a fucking sexuality.

I think what they were saying when they wrote they couldn’t understand bisexuality was the same thing I said in my post, “It’s hard for me to relate today to someone who doesn’t find something appealing about both male and female forms.” The word “relate” is probably better than “understand” because I can understand how someone would not find those of their gender sexually attractive the same way I can understand how people find all kinds of bodies and acts attractive I don’t. We all have our types. We all have our kinks. But, as someone who is firmly attracted to both genders, it is difficult for me to relate to those who aren’t (especially those with an equal yet opposite determination).

I don’t want to dwell on that so much as I want to talk about her other point. “It’s not a thing you choose. It’s a fucking sexuality.” I agree entirely that I did not choose to be attracted to both genders. I’m not sure, all things being equal, I would have chosen it and that is, ironically, the giant hole in the argument for all those who claim homosexuality is a choice. Like anyone would choose to be ostracized by their friends and family, discriminated against by their employer and the government, and basically treated like a social waste product for fucking centuries upon centuries of Western culture. Or, more personally, that I would choose to lose some of the most productive sexual years of my life because I couldn’t find a way out of my own crossed signals to a place where I could enjoy myself with willing partners of either gender. No, what you want to fuck is not a damned choice. It’s hard-wired. Like handedness and Tea Party psychosis.

But.

I did make a choice. I chose the heterosexual path. I chose it because I felt more emotional satisfaction with women but also because it was, of course, the far easier choice to make. I chose it over having to come out to my family and friends and over uncertainly in how I’d live and what I knew was a very real prospect of never being able to form a lasting relationship with a man. I chose having my own kids with my own partner and I chose not to be treated like a moral deviant. I made this choice fifteen years ago and times have certainly changed, but I’m sure the core of the choice would remain the same if I had it to do all over again. One could argue that my inclination was already towards heterosexuality, but I am far more than just a little homosexual. I am very definitely a “rounded up” heterosexual. I eventually rounded myself up and essentially locked 45% of my sexuality in a box for the rest of my life in order to have a “normal” relationship with a woman.

I cannot be alone. I know I’m not. I remember all those guys I sucked off who are now in the same place I am with a wife and kids and everything. I don’t think many of them were as close to the middle of the Kinsey scale as I am and most were experiencing ”situational” homosexuality driven by their teenage hormones, an inability to score with the chicks, and a more than willing slut of a boy readily at hand. I’m sure that many of them, when pondering the whole “is homosexuality a choice” thing, think it may be based on their life experience. They experimented with the gay thing and decided not to explore it further. Therefore, it’s a choice. They might even look at me, the willing and eager participant in their experimentation, and see someone else who made their “choice”.

So no, you can’t choose what turns you on. But you can choose how to live your life. If that choice goes against your nature, you will be miserable and probably pretty unsuccessful at it. I made my choice and that choice allowed me to get on with my life. Because of it, there are things I want and will never get that sometimes eat at me from the inside out. Simultaneously, there are other things that fill my life with joy and contentment and a sense of purpose. In the end, I made the only choice that made sense for me.

Aug 5

6 Comments

Sweet transvestite

I was having an email exchange the other day with a reader who identifies as bisexual about what it was like to be sexually attracted by both genders myself, specifically as a young person. It’s hard for me to relate today to someone who doesn’t find something appealing about both male and female forms. Not just the shape of their bodies and format of their genitals, but the very different emotional and psychological attributes of each bring to an encounter.

For as long as I can remember, there were things that appealed to me about both boys and girls. Things that eventually started to play out as sexual games (or as close as you can get when you’re very young). I knew that I shouldn’t tell my parents about these things and I also knew that obviously the boys ended up with the girls eventually, but it all seemed so perfectly natural to me. And until I was in junior high, I never had any kind of fun with another boy who seemed weirded out by it. There was this one guy who lived nearby who always seemed more than happy for me to go down on him but was never all that enthusiastic with the concept of reciprocity.

For a long while, after I figured out how not normal it was to play around with boys, I used to think there was something about me, specifically, that made them think I would be up for stuff the other boys wouldn’t. Perhaps that’s true, I don’t know. Maybe there are signals we project unknowingly or I exhibited certain mannerisms or had the right kind of pheromones or some shit like that, but by the time I entered high school, I figured out that I had had way more same-sex fun than any other of my friends. Even the ones that were starting to show signs of being gay. Interestingly, it seemed like the gay boys had had less experience with other boys, perhaps because they were overly self-conscious about their feelings. Who knows. Anyway, for a long time, I thought it was me, not them. That I had somehow invited this attention and that they felt I was a safe source of something they would never tell their other friends about.

At some point, I started attracting a few girls, too. Turns out I liked them just as well as the boys, but for different reasons. I think they liked me because I was “sensitive”, but no matter, I just cruised though my middle teenage years kind of bouncing back and forth (even on the same day, but only once at the same time). I am the kind of person who needs to identify and categorize things, myseld included. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I was. I was certainly not straight, though my heart and soul yearned for the company of a woman. Then again, how could someone who only looks at other men as sex objects be gay? That sounds like a horrible life. It seemed like everyone was trying to “round me up” to gay. My gay friends said bi was a stage and my straight friends all thought the same thing.

There was one boy in particular, who I’m fortunate enough to still call a good friend, that I was especially unkind to for a while. He was very much enamored of me and I liked him a lot (and his outstanding cock), but I could never connect with him beyond really liking him and his cock. On those occasions in which I felt like I should probably be gay, I’d go to him and make him feel like I was more invested  in him that I could be. Ultimately, that left him feeling hurt and disappointed. That cycle happened several times. At least six over the course of many years.

That I never did that to any girl has not only to do with my innate feeling that they were “different” and not deserving of such treatment, but also because by the time I got into my twenties I had pretty much stopped seeing them entirely. Maybe it was fear of my own uncertain sexuality that kept me from pursuing them (or, really, letting any of them pursue me), but there were years in between my last serious girlfriend and Belle. By the time we were having sex, we had already been friends for a while. She knew about my history with boys, had watched gay porn with me, and seen some of the toys I used to pleasure myself. For the first time really, I had a girlfriend who knew what I was.

At some point, maybe 15 years ago or so, I realized I was just what I was. That I wasn’t entirely normal, but that I wasn’t and didn’t need to fit into any commonly recognized buckets. That’s not to say I embraced this realization with heroic fervor. I spent a lot of time hiding myself from Belle out of a misplaced sense of shame and embarrassment. That was a mistake.

So why Frank N. Furter? Well, there was a time in high school when my friends and I (including that boy from above with the really nice cock) would go and see The Rocky Horror Picture Show every week at the local dive theater. Week after week until I knew the words to the movie by heart. I love that fucking movie. Not only because of the special time that was in my life and how grown-up it felt to be out late seeing a movie that was essentially about a guy that builds his own living sex doll, but because there was this big, beautiful omnisexual being on the screen for me to identify with. Frank wasn’t gay or straight and nobody seemed to really give a shit. Not only that, but on my side of the screen were hundreds of kids like me cheering him on (some even dressing up like him – mostly straight boys, but don’t get me started). He was a real, almost positive roll model for me. Yes, he does end up killing a guy with an ax and is killed himself at the end of the movie, but along the way he looks fabulous and fucks Brad and Janet and Rocky, plus a midget or two. I liked Frank because in a weird, fucked up kind of way, I saw myself in him. And he was in charge and having fun (except for at the end) and didn’t bother apologizing to anyone along the way (OK, except for Riff, again at the end, but that’s only because Riff was pointing a gun at him…and just when it seemed like he was getting his life together).

There’s really no reason for me to tell you all this right now except that I was feeling a little writer-blocky and knew, once I saw this picture of Frank fly by in my Tumblr stream, that I could riff for a thousand words or so on the subject of being a sexually mixed up kid living in the time of late-night movie transvestites from another planet.

Mar 6

1 Comment

Penis weaponization

The incomparable Ferns, in reference to the pictures I posted of the Steelheart Short in comparison to our original Steelheart, said:

I find it interesting that there is no ego in this. If it were me (and I actually *had* a cock and was going to wear a device and and… etc), I can imagine looking in the mirror and going ‘Well, *this* one makes my cock look like an awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!… whereas *this* one makes it look kind of short and stubby…”

Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons… “Awesome shiny weapon!! Huzzah!” Heh.

To which Tom replied:

Oh, believe me, we cock-having device-wearers do this all the friggin’ time. We just don’t feel the need to write about it because, well, that would be weird.

Which means I just have to write about it. Weird is my raison d’être, after all.

There are at least two sides of this for me. The first is quite practical. A shorter, smaller device is more comfortable to lug around for days on end. Less of an issue under clothes, less of a strain on the meat upon which it’s attached, etc. In addition, though it’s highly non-intuitive for this to be true, a smaller device can be more comfortable during erections than a larger one. It seems as though the sooner one stops the spongy tissues from becoming engorged, the less discomfort one will feel when it inevitably happens. After a few days, I can say the SH-S is at least as comfortable as the SH-1 while fully erect (at night) and very much more comfortable the rest of the time.

The second side to the issue is more woo-woo than pure practicality, though.

Before I start, I feel compelled to say I do not believe that large cocks or cocks in general have anything whatsoever to do with one’s ability to be dominant or assume a dominant role or that large cocked guys can’t be submissive or that mauve isn’t a completely acceptable color for your grandmother’s tablecloth or anything like that. I will remind you, what I write here comes from my head so a big chunk of it can’t be expected to apply out there where you all live, in The Real World.

Ferns touches on it herself when she says, “Of course, now that I have given it a little thought, I do *exactly* this with strapons.” I assume she’s using strap-ons on her submissive male sex partners and I also assume she uses them, among other things, as some sort of symbol of her dominance (if not, I will be happy to hear otherwise). Of course, my real cock is never used in that way. I gave it to Belle and she tops me so I am ill-prepared mentally to think of the cock as anything other than her tool with which she manipulates me. It’s size, therefore, is immaterial except that it needs to be the right length and girth to make her happy when she chooses to use it to pleasure herself.

Additionally, the cock she keeps in the device hardly ever plays a role in our sex except as a captive witness to it all. Recent activities excepted, I can go weeks or months during which Belle will have as many orgasms as she’ll let me share with her while the cock will only see what light gets though the little hole at the end of the tube. Again, its size does not matter since the basis of our sex life now, and the satisfaction she enjoys, in no way revolves around it.

Finally (and this is where I might piss a few people off), there’s a part of me that doesn not want a large cock or even to do anything that makes it look bigger or more impressive. I’ve written about this before. There is definitely a part of me now, which I trace directly to my growing acceptance and connection with my submissive sexuality, that gets off on the idea of having a small dick. Of course, I do not have a small dick. It’s totally average and satisfies Belle very well. But, it works for me to think otherwise. In fact, when I’m out and able to play with it, one of the quickest ways for me to get to the edge of orgasm is to fantasize that I have a little cock that’s not good enough for Belle. This is hardly unique to me (based on my purely scientific survey of the chastity porn out there). I’m sure there are a lot of guys reading this who can associate with my words and who are in the same boat or are actually small-dicked and are able to achieve the same kind of submissive and almost derogatory pleasure from it.

It’s taken me a while to become comfortable with these feelings. I recall the first times I read a story in which a man was too small to satisfy his wife and she either made him use a large strap-on or took a well-hung lover and how hard it made my heart thump. I resisted it at first. Men in our culture are conditioned to think cock size is to be desired above all other things. This is the same thing that perpetuates the myth that women want ever-larger members inside them and that the size of a man’s penis bears a direct relation to how well he can satisfy women. Of course, it’s all bunk and I already knew that, but still. It’s hard to let go. It’s hard to actually get off on the idea of being “inadequate”.

Long way to say, I have no problem at all with the SH-S making the package “short and stubby” looking. In fact, besides the practical considerations, it’s one the main drivers behind my satisfaction with the new device. As weird as that is.

Dec 20

1 Comment

Objects are larger than they appear

Yes, we’re still alive over here.

Belle did let me out. I wanted it but at the same time didn’t. In any event, I took the key and removed the device and was free. That was as we went to bed, so I slept and woke several times due to the weird feeling of having a cock that could feel the sheets rub against it.

The next day, my pants felt empty. You get used to sporting a certain kind of package and when it’s gone, you notice. I was free all that day and again the next night. Even so, I didn’t feel the need to take advantage of the situation. There was no urge to. I was still out of touch with my own sex drive.

The next morning, Belle told me she had her period. She didn’t say it, but I knew that meant I should be locked up again. Back when I wasn’t essentially permanently locked, it was a rule that I had to be protected while she was having her period. That morning, before I put the device back on, I finally felt the desire to play with myself. It wasn’t that big of a deal. No toys or anything, but there was a moderate amount of stroking leading me up very, very close to the edge of orgasm. So close, that I found myself with at least a tablespoon of thick ejaculate in my hand. And how did I know that wasn’t an orgasm? Because I swallowed every bit of it. I ran it around in my mouth, so slick over my tongue, and felt it thick in my throat for an hour afterward. And I wanted more. A lot more. So no, I didn’t come. Then the device went back on and there it’s stayed. Belle has the key again and shows no interest in letting me have it back any time soon.

An interesting observation from my morning self-abuse, though. One of the things you’ll read on the web is that chastity devices make your dick smaller. I’ve always felt it was crap. And I still do, but I may know where the idea comes from. While I was stroking myself and feeling the cock get as long and as hard as it could get, it felt smaller to me than I remember it being. Now, I don’t have a big dick to begin with. It’s perfectly average in length and girth, but I could have sworn it had shrunk. I even got the tape measure out to make sure, but it was still exactly the same size as before (about 5.75″ long).

The thing is, as I said above, you get used to swinging a big steel tube between your legs. So much so that, when it’s gone, the contents feel much less imposing by comparison. It may not get longer when I’m excited, but the tube is always fat and stout. It’s easily twice as big around as the engorged cock and, while shorter, it carries a certain gravitas that mere meat cannot attain. Whatever memory I had of what my former cock felt like had been somewhat displaced by the steel tube.

And here’s the next bit of surprising info. When I was sure the cock had gotten smaller, I wasn’t all that concerned about it. As a guy, you’re conditioned to obsess over the size of your member. But, as the kind of guy I’ve become, it doesn’t really matter. The cock simply isn’t a regular player anymore. The only thing I worried about was that it may not be enough to satisfy Belle. But really, the idea that I was being made smaller and less…I don’t know…prominent seemed perfectly normal. To be expected. The cock isn’t that big of a deal anymore, so why shouldn’t it be minimized in every way? I’ve even started to like the idea that a lot of guys are bigger.

Of course, I’m glad it’s not getting smaller. I’m glad it’s exactly as it was before being encased almost all the time. But I’m clearly kinking on the idea of nullification. The idea that my penis should be made superfluous and of minimal importance, figuratively and literally. It’s an odd little cul-de-sac of my sexuality I didn’t expect to find myself in. And I wonder, all those guys who say they’ve lost size due to being in devices, if it’s not all in their heads. If it’s not a combination of wanting it to be that way and, because they’ve lost touch with themselves, thinking it actually is.

So, anyway, the turbulence I wrote about the other day hasn’t entirely left. I have lost touch with myself. With my independent sexuality. I know it must still be in there, but it’s way in the back somewhere. So, without that, I need Belle’s. I need to feel sexual through her. And when I don’t, it feels like something’s been amputated. Something really important. And its loss leaves me aching and depressed. I’m not entirely sure what will become of me. On the one hand, I’m committed to this existence. I’m quite convinced that I don’t need to ever have another orgasm. On the other hand, while I can live without the orgasms, I can’t live without being sexual. It’s more than the old saying that chastity isn’t abstinence. Of course it’s not. But I really feel that a transference is taking place. I have adopted her sexuality almost entirely in the place of mine. If this turns out to be the case and if it’s permanent, I don’t know what will happen. Right now, I can feel parts of me resisting it. But there are other parts of me that want to keep going.

The other night, I was dry humping her leg and, when I would usually say something like, “God, I want to fuck you,” I said, “God, I want to feel you come.” I guess that’s a perfectly natural thing for a guy with no cock and no ability to achieve independent arousal to say. What else is there now except her pleasure and, ultimately, her orgasm?

Apr 30

11 Comments

Brought to you by the letter Q

I decided recently to change the word I use to identify my sexuality. Up until now, I called myself bisexual. I’ve never been happy with that term and using it has always felt like wearing an ill-fitting cardigan. I guess it’s all the negative connotation that goes along with it. Lots of gays stop in bisexualville on their way to their final destination and lots of wannabes who play around with people of the same gender in college do the same. It sounds flighty, shallow, and insincere. At least to me. If you call yourself bisexual, more power to you.

Gay doesn’t work either since it suggests exclusivity to (or, at least, priority for) the same gender. I don’t have that either. I can honestly say that I average out to a Kinsey 3. Some days, I find myself more drawn sexually to women, some days to men, but never even close to anything like a preference for one over the other. As I’ve mentioned before, I find emotional comfort with women, but I’ll fuck (or be fucked by) anything. Which, of course, is why straight doesn’t work either. I may be in a heterosexual relationship, but that doesn’t make me straight. I feel just as far from being straight as I do the opposite of that.

And so I’ve settled on queer. Of course, I’ve been aware of the word for a long time, but it’s always turned me off because I associate it (right or wrong) with a certain militant sociopolitical stance which I’m not comfortable with. Now, though, I don’t see it that way. This change in perception started by listing to Dan Savage talk about it in a recent podcast. He wasn’t talking to me, of course, but the way he described it resonated in a way bisexual never has. I like that it suggests difference from the norm rather than anything specific. I like that is sounds permanent. I like that it encompasses the kink side of my sexuality, too – this entire other axis I’ve only recently embraced. I am not like the other kids, obviously. Not straight, not gay, not vanilla (whatever that is). I am queer.

Of course, none of this is either here or there. I’m not going to have to change my census answers nor will this be reflected on my tax forms. I’m still exactly the same, except now the cardigan fits better.

Mar 22

7 Comments

Meat this!

Tom’s got another meaty one. (Perverts. Post. He’s got a meaty post.)

I’m going to start by highlighting the bit I especially loved.

[B]eing locked up does not make me feel less manly, less assertive, less randy, or less anything. It makes me feel … more.

Way. In my experience, denial is like turning the saturation way up on a TV. When it’s really humming, it makes all my senses crackle. It’s a beautiful thing. Regular readers will know that I don’t always feel this way and sometimes being denied does result in me feeling less, but I think that’s more a result of Belle and I still getting a hang of all the buttons and switches (overlaid with the normal ebbs and flows of the human psyche) than it is the fault of the denial.

And who in fuck’s name would want to feel less? Can that even be a thing? Getting off on feeling less? Anyway…

Tom goes on to say:

Personally, I’ve been reading so much about what people consider to be “submission” and “submissiveness” that I have decided to disassociate myself from the term altogether; virtually nothing of what I’ve been reading seems to apply to me, so instead of trying to defend my own submissiveness, or more correctly, those certain feelings that I get that I used to associate with submissiveness, I’m just going to move on to some other scale and call it something else. Or maybe I won’t call it anything; I’ll just feel them and describe what I can.

This really speaks to me, too. I mean, that’s kind of what this was all about, right?

The way my brain figures out new things is by looking at similar things to understand how they’re supposed to work. I suppose everyone does this to some extent, but I do it a lot. Pretty much to a fault. Sometimes, this is a really good strategy (like when learning language or how a logical system operates), but in the case of human sexuality, this is a really lame way to go about it. Coming to all this submissiveness stuff late in life, I did my usual thing and looked for analogs of what I thought I was. Tom was one of those as were a number of other bloggers (along, even, with some porn which, of course, is a Really Bad Idea™). Bottom line is I kept comparing myself to a bunch of “ideals” and coming up short. There are a few I feel I’m more like than others, but none of them fit. Obviously, this is because human sexuality is infinitely variable. It’s not an operating system or a machine (even though I used that metaphor above). It’s a messy tangle of crossed wires and gooey dark corners that’s always bubbling and morphing and slithering along in unexpected directions.

Long way around to say the obvious: labeling a human’s sexual quirks can be damaging. If Tom wants to shed his submissive cloak, more power to him. I think there are more ways for otherwise “submissive” men to be different than there are for them to be the same. Case in point is our views on service, but I’ll get to that later. First…

It’s amusing to see that the selling points for male chastity devices tend to focus on either making your man more “romantic”, or on making him do more household chores. … But is this actually true, or is it a stereotype that plays on the idea that sex is something that men want, and  women parcel out according to whim?

I have tried to run away from this stereotype and in doing so have beat myself up (only figuratively, alas) for not Doing It Right, but the thing is, yeah, being locked up and denied does tend to make me a better mate to Belle. I’m much more attentive to her, much more in tune with what she needs, and much more willing to sacrifice what I want in order to give her what she wants.

But for us, the device is only a catalyst. What it represents is a level of commitment on Belle’s part to our relationship that, frankly, I didn’t feel for years (and she didn’t feel it back from me, either). Now, because she locks up the cock, because she denies me orgasm, because she takes advantage of my desire to serve her, I am fully engaged with her and our relationship like I haven’t been for about a decade. Likewise, she sees a commitment from me though my dealing with the device, giving her the cock to control, and trying my hardest to be of service to her. Did the device do that? Or did I? I think it was both of us.

Too many people think chastity devices are like magical talismans that are good for whatever ails you. Like any tool, it’s how you use it that counts. Just because there’s a thing involved, people incorrectly assign the improvements in their relationship to the device when in fact they should be taking the credit themselves. Successfully integrating chastity is hard work that, when done correctly, bears a lot of fruit. But it’s the fact that they’re doing the work that makes it work, not whatever thing they’ve chosen to play with.

Never not once has any woodworker said, “Gee, that hammer really made a great bookcase!”

The last bit of Tom’s post I want to flog is the part about service. Or, more specifically, how the concept of being a service sub just isn’t lighting any fires over at the Allen Ranch. I tried to find that one salient blurb that fully captured his sentiment, but really, it’s the entire last four paragraphs of his post. If you haven’t already, go read it.

I’ll wait…

OK.

He does a pretty good job of knocking the whole service concept about the head and face, and I think that we probably have a fair bit of common ground around this, but I also think he’s missing some of the point.

I know (or, at least, I read) that some people actually get a sexual charge from performing service. I do not. He talks about how he doesn’t “drip with sexual excitement” when he brings Mrs. Edge a cup of coffee, and while I get Belle coffee all the time, it’s never caused me to drip anything (other than the occasional bit I’ve spilled). It isn’t the act of doing what she says that gets me off. In fact, it’s often a bit of a downer. I’d rather be updating my portfolio or playing on the PS3 or whatever. But, in a way I admit to not being fully able to put into coherent words yet, I love being her tool. I think of myself as her live-in manservant. Whatever she tells me to do, I will do, whether I want to or not, because that’s my position. I live to serve her. Even when I don’t want to, I want her to make me.

People have left comments here before about this and how it’s not really service and that all I’m doing is being a responsible partner in the marriage, yadda yadda. First of all, I think they’re underestimating the amount of work I do for her. I do 98% of all the laundry in our house of four people. I cook most of the meals. I make the beds, etc., etc. As Belle has said, she doesn’t really need to do much of anything around the house anymore. She will do things, but only because she wants to, not because she has to. Also, they miss what can’t be seen on the outside. It’s my intention to serve her. When I do it, I may not be enjoying the actual work, but I get a warmnfuzzy feeling inside. When she tells me I’m doing a good job, I similarly feel a warm flush. This isn’t necessarily sexual (though the context of when she says it makes a difference).

Here’s an example. As I said in my previous post (which, by the way, I’m really not that happy with – they can’t all be winners), Belle offered to let me out of the device so I could enjoy the cock being played with, but only if I got all the laundry done on Saturday. That was a lot of laundry. It took hours. But, when we were in bed and she had unlocked me and she was petting the cock and telling me what a good job I had done and how I had earned the time out…Jesus! I was over-the-moon kind of happy. Maybe one of the most satisfying few moments of our entire D/s adventure thus far. I felt totally beholden to her. I felt so happy that she appreciated my work. I felt totally and completely under her control. It was awesome.

Unlike Tom writing in general about service and not getting in the slightest turned on by it, my writing the previous paragraph has left me with a seriously full tube. So he doesn’t work that way. Whatever. Does that mean he’s not a “real” submissive? Fuck if I know. Honestly, who cares? I feel kind of the same way about the sissified guys out there who want to be put in panties and frilly little dresses as he does about service. Does that mean I’m not submissive? Or they’re not? Or they are, but too much?

As long as, at the end of the day, we’re all healthy and happy, then we’re Doing It Right. Call it whatever you want.

P.S. I apologize for the lame post title, but after all that, I couldn’t come up with anything pithy. It happens to all guys sooner or later…or so I’m told.

Jan 4

23 Comments

The nose on my face

Back in September of last year, I bought Belle Uniquely Rika. Over the course of the past week, Belle’s read most of it. She seemed to resonate with much of it and asked me to read it, too. I’m about half way through now and, I have to say, it’s blown my mind.

Before I go further, I’ll say this is not the post where I actually discuss Rika’s approach. I have questions (as do others), but I’m not done with the book yet so I think trying to get into it now would be premature.

As I sat there in my sudsy warm bathwater (who doesn’t read in the bath? and who knew “bathwater” was one word?) and I read the Rika Way® (which, even though I’m not actually discussing it, does seem to make more than a little sense to me) I was suddenly struck by something very profound. Something I’ve danced around and paid lip-service, but have not really owned up to. Something that has, oddly enough, left me somewhat shaken.

I am submissive.

Seriously, I know. Isn’t that ridiculous? Like, it says that right up there in the blog description. “Submissively inclined.” I’ve known this. But no. It’s different now. I’m not submissively inclined. I am submissive, period. I really can’t describe how finally and fully realizing this seemed like a massive chasm suddenly opened up underneath me. I actually felt a bit of weightlessness in my chest. Both terrifying and exciting.

I have, in the back of my mind, always clung to this idea that I might be a switch. Not that it mattered much since Belle’s unlikely to ever let me top her and she’ll never let me top anyone else, but I clung to it. Like a blanket. Like a thing that made me feel better but was actually totally worthless. Now I know, thanks to Rika and what she wrote and how it finally knocked the final pieces into place, that I’m not ever going to be a switch. I am, in fact, always going to be on the bottom. And that freaks me the fuck out.

First of all, I admit to carrying around a prejudice against submissive males. Submissives in general kinda creep me out. It makes no sense, I know, but that’s what it is. It’s like I’m the white supremacist who just discovered the black grandmother he never knew about or the uber-masculine father of 12 who suddenly figured out he was gay. This is all horrible and all nasty and sad and not anything I’m happy about, but I see now that I’ve never fully embraced my submissive nature because I don’t especially like the archetype as it exists in our culture. In fact, there is no archetype. No role model. Nothing positive to look towards. Just layer after layer of stereotype and ridicule and cultural indifference. And now I know I’m one of them.

Second, I’m very self-centered. Always thinking about myself and how I can get what I want from a situation. Always thinking about my needs and my POV and how I know what’s right and everyone else just hasn’t figured it out yet. You can’t be a self-centered submissive, right? That’s not actually possible, right? Who’s ever heard of that?

Finally, based on the first two points, I’m very afraid of failure. Of not being able to live up to the ideal I’m even now creating in my head of what a good submissive partner needs to be. Not someone playing at submissiveness, but an actual submissive. How can I embrace something that gives me the creeps? How can I square my selfishness against my desire to serve Belle?

I admit I’m freaking out. Overreacting. Not making an abundance of sense. As Belle said several times yesterday, we’re already living 80% of what Rika describes. But that other 20% is a big 20%. What I feel opening inside me is maybe the biggest emotional and relationship challenge I’ve faced. It scares me. The thing I’ve been approaching from the periphery, while always looking in another direction, for over a year now scares me like never before. Understand, I do not doubt. I know what I am because of the wave of warm euphoria that washes over me when I think about it and how Rika’s words ring so true and (frankly) the way it chubs out the contents of the tube (every male’s divining rod). It feels true.

But now what? How do I move forward? And honestly, how much more of a prat could I actually be?

Oct 26

9 Comments

Proselytizing

Heard back from Deitmar. He did indeed ship the device on the 16th. I can only assume he used 214th class parcel post or something (the one where the mail carriers pass the box off as they happen upon one another while walking their routes). I’m told by Belle and Dev that Germany is a long way away and I should be more patient. Seems ironic that a guy who can skip coming for two months get’s all wadded up over how quickly his new orgasm denial mechanism will arrive. Anyway, the payment didn’t show up for Belle since PayPal, for some reason, sent the charge through to my PayPal credit card (which I’ve hardly ever used) and not our checking account as usual. They must have jinked with the default settings or something since that’s never happened before. So yeah, all is well on the Steelheart front. It’s just a waiting game now.

UPDATE: It has arrived. At least, at my local post office. I found a little registered mail notice in my mailbox when I got home. I’ll be picking it up in the morning! I may wet myself. OK, back to the post already in progress…

Belle locked me up again this morning. She told me last night as we were going to bed that I had been very good to her over the weekend. She was really relaxed and apparently quite pleased with my performance. Therefore, I was to be locked up first thing Monday morning. Not sure if that’s my reward or what, but I didn’t question her. I’m now wearing the chrome CB6K and thinking of its stainless brother bobbing aimlessly across the Atlantic in an empty peanut butter jar.

Something Steve said in one of his posts I linked to yesterday has me thinking:

If chastity were a commercial product I’d be one of those people on TV advertisements giving gushing unsolicited endorsements, where you can’t quite believe they didn’t get paid to say it.

Over on A Captivated Man (a well-written new chastity blog, BTW), I said in a comment:

I sometimes feel like I’m carrying around a secret only a few are allowed to know. I only wish I could tell my friends because the way orgasm denial has improved my relationship and overall sexual well-being is remarkable. It’s not unlike religion. I want to tell everyone to do it…

And it is a bit like religion, I suppose. One of those mind-expanding, life-altering practices that has such a huge and welcome impact on your existence that you just want to stand around in airports handing out pamphlets. In a way, I’m glad I don’t have any friends to which I can talk about this because I’m sure I’d be insufferable telling them how wonderful it is all the time. Yes, there are bumps and setbacks along the way, but when it’s working, it’s fucking spectacular.

There are few things men cherish more than their ability to experience sexual pleasure. Sure, women cherish that too, obviously, but men are conditioned by our culture to be especially tuned in with their own pleasure in a way women, unfortunately, aren’t. Perhaps not coincidentally, a man’s sexual organs are external and easily manipulated when aroused. Some guys, you can just see, are little more than extensions of their dicks. Most guys, I’d say, are, to a lesser degree, the same. I mean, men come a lot. More than you think. It’s easy and it’s fun and it sometimes seems as though the entire world is designed to celebrate that.

I’m speaking mostly from my own experience, of course, but there are few things I could offer Belle of higher value to me as a man than my ability to do that which defines my malehood. Not only that, but doing so has been a revelation to our relationship. My orgasm now has value. It has significance. Before, greater than 90% of them disappeared down a drain or clinging to a tissue in a trashcan, forgotten minutes after they came into being. Now, their bottled energy serves to power a whole new relationship dynamic that’s far richer and more fulfilling for us both. What I’ve sacrificed in quantity I’ve more than made up for in vastly higher quality. Orgasms now, to me, are no longer the objective, they are the path to the mountaintop. The act of making love no longer leads to them, it is made more profound by their absence.

This way of thinking flies in the face of everything we’ve been conditioned to think as men. Even when married, it’s clear that the male’s orgasm is meant first and always to be his, to do with what he likes. In my opinion, that way of thinking only serves to drive a couple apart. It may not create a divide in their relationship, but it certainly can aggravate it. Irrespective of a couple’s interest in overlaying D/s or any other BDSM component, allowing her to control his release ensures and enhances intimacy between them (when done right, of course). It maintains all the positive aspects of the very beginning of a relationship. At least, that’s what it does for us…

I’m not so far gone as to think what works for Belle and I would work for everyone. But I wish more people thought about orgasm control as a viable alternative to the dominant paradigm of heteronormal interaction. I’m not quite to the point where I’m likely to stand in an airport and recruit converts, but I am feeling more and more that there needs to be examples of this alternate existence openly and unashamedly out there. I have no idea how and in what form this would take were I so inclined to attempt it myself, but this works. It’s right. For us, it’s better than the “normal”.

People need to know.

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