Denying Thumper

The other day, I found this sexual orientation test. Probably on Bluesky, but I can’t recall exactly. It’s not like I am wondering at all about my orientation, but I took it anyway just to see what it would say. I was almost immediately taken aback by this question:

For me, this was question 2. I stopped and stared at it. I was stumped because my immediate interpretation of “intercourse” was “fucking.” Of course, that’s not what “intercourse” means, but that’s how my brain read it and I didn’t know what to do. Once I decided to interpret it as what it actually means (“physical sexual contact between individuals that involves the genitalia of at least one person”), I was fine. But, literally, I stared at that question for a full 30 seconds.

I just don’t fantasize about using the contents. At all. Even in my dreams, I’m not using it for anything. I’m always locked. Always denied. Sometimes, I have dreams with sex and I’m 100% always locked in those, but there are other times I have dreams in which sex isn’t a part and my locked status is still a part of the dream. Like, nobody is asking or can tell, but in the dream, I know what’s going on in my pants.

And my waking fantasies — not just the elaborate ones I really think about but, more tellingly, the ones that spring to mind unbidden and in the moment — never involve me penetrating anyone anymore. Similarly, unlike for a long time even years after enforced denial came into our relationship, I no longer fantasize about or have the urge to jack off. Being hard outside the device, let alone holding and jacking myself, just doesn’t appeal at this point.

The only urges/fantasies I still have from before being permanently locked is to orgasm. When those happen, I can hold those in my mind and examine them and know, at a high level, that I really don’t want to come because of what I’ll feel like after, but the residual directive from millions of years of evolutionary programming is powerful. So I’m left with urges to empty my load without any urges to do the things that allow me to do so.

Maybe, someday, that urge will go away too. I’m not sure how it can, though. I have a deep psychological need to feel permanently horny. Not, like, 150% full on white-hot leaking all the time and dazed kind of horny. I want that, too, but in smaller doses. What I want is like what the Hulk in The Avengers had at the end of the movie. I need to always have the ability to get horny whenever I need or want to (though for him it was angry, but you get the point). And I can’t see how being horny can be removed from the urge to orgasm. That’s literally what horny is.

But…I dunno. “Horny” used be defined for me as an urge to do the things necessary to shoot my load and now those things are gone. I want to be used to serve and pleasure others and left wanting more, not use the contents for anything at all. Could I get to a point where I was still horny but not having any urges at all to orgasm? I guess it would be silly to say never because I never thought I’d feel like I no longer had or needed a penis. No longer wanted to have or need a penis.

For a lot of my life, and for most people, “horny” is a thing you try and get rid of as soon as you start to feel it. You either hook up or jack off or do whatever you need to do to make “horny” go away. Living in a state where you can regularly banish “horny,” alone or with others, is considered normal and healthy. But for me, and I’m sure a lot of people like me, “horny” is the point. It’s the status quo. The lack of feeling it leaves a void. Its presence starts to define us and give our sexuality form and purpose. When I’m feeling that kind of nagging, lingering horniness that floats around and won’t leave, I feel the most like who and what I am. That can be really hard to deal with when it comes, but I need it as badly as someone else needs to get rid of it.

If I ever got to the point where I didn’t feel an urge to orgasm and it led to me not feeling horny, that would be a huge problem. I would be despondent. So, if the one is dependent on the other, that last urge is one I’m happy to continue to deal with. It could be that without it, I’m nothing.

P.S. Yes, according to the test, I’m still really, really bisexual. Whew.

As she was fondling the package of titanium and testicles between my legs this morning, Belle told me being that way made me “fit for purpose.”

Fit for purpose.

I then got to work getting her off. I gently pinched and caressed her nipples. Licked, and sucked on them. Pressed the flat of my hand against the hot mound of her sex. Parted her lips with my fingers and touched her wetness.

Fit for purpose.

I got tighter as I went on. As she started moaning and writhing. As she got wetter and my fingers danced over her clit.

She came hard. Loudly. Her pleasure peaking as my tightness reached its maximum.

There was no point in during this encounter did I pine for penetration. No wistful memory of what it felt like to slide into her. To fuck. To shoot my load against her cervix. No moment after her orgasm where I wanted to climb on top of her and press the device into her as if I could still enter her. None of those cravings or desires. If they’re not truly and fully dead inside me, they’re barely clinging to life support.

Fit for purpose.

She hasn’t let me use the contents for 602 days. As I first touched her pussy and felt how inviting and ready it was, the only craving I could sense was to do what I was doing. I moaned from the pleasure of feeling hers. Of being allowed this most intimate contact with her.

I am, thanks to her, fit for purpose. Finally and completely.

Belle has been in Paris for the better part of the past week. She went there with her best friend to celebrate a quarter century of their friendship. She’s in the air on her way home right now, actually, and normally I’d be pretty excited to see her, but I’m sitting in the G concourse SkyClub at MSP waiting to go to LA for a quick work trip. I leave at 9:20 and she lands at two something. So I won’t see her until Thursday evening, which is a bummer.

As I was getting ready to leave this morning/freaking the dogs out by putting things in a suitcase, I went into her nightstand drawer to get my passport since that’s where we keep them. And that’s when I found an apparently new lavender plusOne wand vibrator.

I can imagine how a normie husband might react upon making such a discovery. Probably not super well. So many men find women’s sex toys to be threatening. As if their magnificent cocks should be all their partners need for ultimate sexual satisfaction. Of course, I am not a normie husband, I do not have a magnificent cock (or anything close to it), and my reaction was pretty much the exact opposite.

I love that she has it. I love that she got it without telling me. I love thinking about her using it whenever she feels the need. I love that while I’m in LA locked up for my 1,341st consecutive day that she might take it out of the drawer and hammer her clit with it and scream when she comes. Because she always gets what she wants and I never get what the device makes me crave. Her sexual pleasure is paramount and mine is forever sublimated to that higher priority. She can get whatever she wants to help her come as often as she feels like while I have no choice in being denied for as long as she wants me to be.

The more I thought about the idea that she’d surely already used the wand and might use it again before I see her, the more turned on it made me. Being the thoughtful denied sub bunny I am, I took the wand out and plugged it in to make sure it was fully charged next time she felt the urge, with or without me.

In other news, I said a few posts back…

I’m also thinking of ways of never actually seeing [the contents] anymore. I feel like never laying eyes on it outside a device would be a huge boost to becoming post-penis. I could easily change devices with my eyes closed (and have many times done it in the dark or under covers and only by touch). Piece of cake. I could probably even do the little bit of shaft-shaving I tend to when I have the chance without actually having to see it. That’s really the only part of the thing I can’t keep tidy while locked up.

Since then, it’s become one of the things I’m tracking along with the last time she let me use the contents to fuck her (597 days ago) and how many consecutive days I’ve been locked up (as I said above, 1,341). It’s only been 34 days since I last saw the contents which isn’t any kind of record because I’m sure I’ve been locked up for way more than a month in some device (probably the Steelheart, though I’m too lazy to go figure it out). If I get to 60 days, that’s probably some kind of record and certainly if I get to 90 days.

One of the only issues I have with the Orion when compared to the Steelheart is that I can still see some of the contents while in it. The Steelheart completely envelops it while the Orion allows me to see the root of the shaft and a bit of the head around where the PA hook protrudes. This has led me to have to define what “see it” means. I’ve decided that “seeing it” would happen if I saw the complete head of the contents. That’s where the action happens, after all, and is the part that would need to be accessible to get me off via sex or masturbation. So, if I see that, I’ve seen it and the streak breaks. If I don’t, it doesn’t.

Not seeing it is part of accepting the post-penis, post-pussy stage of my life that Belle’s set forth for me. It’s about trying to reinforce the notion that I no longer have a penis. What I have is a device that contains a bit of non-consequential, irrelevant flesh. Thinking about it as a thing separate from its containment is a waste of energy.

Instead, I should (and am) thinking about that purple wand in Belle’s drawer and what she does with it. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.

This morning, before she let me get her off, Belle and I were talking about how long it’s been since I was unlocked for more than a day (1,332 days).

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself if you were out,” she said. “It would be a disaster.”

Putting aside the point that I would, in short order I believe, find a thing or two “to do with myself,” I can’t argue with the disaster prediction. One orgasm can have a tremendous impact on the headspace of someone who is denied them for extended periods of time.

But beyond the sort of functional appreciation she has for how that works, I find the idea that she basically doesn’t trust me to have one because it would upset the status quo she has created by keeping me permanently denied incredibly hot.

She’s used enforced denial to mold my personality and how I interact with her in our relationship into something she prefers over the version of me who not only has free access to the contents but also the version of me who was allowed to fuck her a couple times a year. In fact, it was just a few days ago that she said to me that being permanently locked made me the “ultimate version of Thumper.”

This is the thing that’s sometimes hard for others to see in a relationship like ours, I guess. And it’s why I believe permanence was always going to be the ultimate expression of our relationship dynamic. My sexuality is one primarily focused on sexual service. As such, there is no greater way to express that than what Belle has made a reality for me.

I am permanently denied because it’s what she wants me to be. Because it’s how she realizes the greatest satisfaction from me. She uses permanent enforced denial to actively manage and optimize my expression of submission to her. And I not only accept that decision on her part, I welcome it.

And after all that mental processing, yeah, I gave her a fucking great orgasm.

I fucking hate Twitter. I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again (and again and again). I even stopped using it for a bit hoping (it turned out, fruitlessly) that my fellow kinksters would migrate off the platform to Mastodon. However, Mastodon is complicated (please, this is not a invitation for anyone to defend how Mastodon is not complicated and if you do comment about how it’s not complicated, that’s cool, but I won’t engage on the subject because it’s exhausting — people perceive it to be complicated and that’s that) so some, but not a lot, set up accounts there. Not enough, tbh.

Then BlueSky came along and I was finally able to set up an account there and it’s been something of a mission for me to get as many other kinksters moved over as possible. But that’s also non-optimal since you need an invite from an existing BlueSky user to get in. There is a waitlist you can sign up for but I don’t know a soul who got on that way. It’s all invite based. Which is annoying.

Anyway, I’ve been cross-posting to all three for a little while now and have noticed some things. BlueSky users seem way more engaged. Mastodon users, not so much. And, considering my much larger following and years of established presence there, Twitter seems somewhere in between. I decided to look at some numbers to see if this was true and, turns out, they backed me up.

I picked four posts I made to each platform and then added all the interactions each had (comments, reposts, and likes) to determine the interaction rate (this is the marketing weasel in me coming out). One of the posts was a link to a blog post (the post immediately prior to this one), one was just text, and two were images.

The text post was: If you’re still worried about a chastity device making your dick shrink (it won’t), what you’re really saying is you haven’t been locked up long enough. (The BlueSky version was slightly different but substantially the same.)

The two images were these:

Here are the results:

Relative to the number of followers I have, BlueSky is significantly more interactive than Twitter. Mastodon is rather sleepy, though I admit I’m not that active on that platform other than cross-posting and replying to comments. Twitter has more sheer numbers on its side, but I’d say anecdotally the interaction on my posts there has dropped quite a bit in the last year (even though my follow count continues to tick up).

I think the future of kinksters who feel a moral obligation to leave Twitter will be on BlueSky. I will continue to share as many invites as I get (and people will give me to share with my followers) to accelerate that eventuality. The time is coming, however, when I’ll again stop posting to Twitter and only come back to share more BlueSky codes because the place is honestly a cesspool and is owned and run by one of the worst people on the planet. It hurts my soul to open that app on a daily basis and the community on BlueSky, while small, is engaged and pleasant.

The days are getting shorter and the leaves have turned orange and yellow and are falling off the trees, so that can mean just one thing: Locktober is coming to an end.

There was a time when I was kind of excited about November 1 (or, more specifically, the first Saturday following November 1) since that’s when Belle would finally let me fuck her after a long month of being locked up. And yes, dear reader, there was a time when a solid month of being locked up was an achievement for me (and Belle). In fact, I’m pretty sure the first time she left me locked for an entire month was because of Locktober.

After a few years of that, they (whoever they are), invented NOvember. And then she left me locked for two whole months. And, because of how being locked up a long time works (the more you do it, the more you want to do it), I…was OK with it.

Speaking of NOvember, it seems to me (but what the hell do I know) that the Muggles appropriated it with that whole “No Nut November” thing and, honestly, it just seems evil to make a bunch of straight American boys not come at all for a month and then, when they’re nearly done, force them to hang out for a whole day with extended family and eat dry, garbage turkey meat (turkey is garbage and Thanksgiving would be infinitely better if we ate some other fattier animal, but I digress).

I can’t prove it, but I think Locktober was a pretty instrumental stepping-stone to becoming permanently denied. It allowed both Belle and I to really focus on the other ways I could pleasure her and showed (especially when coupled with NOvember) that I could go for longer and longer periods without release and be just fine. Once we got through NOvember, it seemed like she was more comfortable making me wait until our usual holiday trip at the end of December. And even if she did let me get off inside her around Christmas, the periods of extended lock up just got longer and longer.

But no, I am not excited now when Locktober closes out because, obviously, for me, all the months might as well start with “lock” (though I admit “Lockruary” doesn’t really have the same ring to it). Actually, it makes me kind of wistful — but not for me. Instead, I think about all those locked up penis-having people who are finding themselves dreading the end of October far more than the start of it.

Because you do get to the point where you just want to keep going. It builds on itself. You get used to the more vibrant existence that comes from being constantly low key horny. You realize that, instead of bringing relief, orgasm feels like it temporarily kills a part of who you are. And while you wait around for the frustration to build, life can feel flatter, emptier, less interesting, and just blah.

I’m not saying everyone with a locked penis feels that way. Not yet, anyway. But I am saying I think Locktober can and, at least in the case of Belle and I, has led to a lot more than just 31 days of enforced denial.

In other words, Lockternity.

So I feel like I should expand some more on that “new thing” I mentioned in the last post. I told you that I’ve started saying, out loud, that I don’t have a penis. I said:

[T]here’s something magical about it. Almost alchemic. Me making myself say it, me hearing me say it, makes it true and real in a way that’s difficult to convey…

The point of saying it is related to something I’ve been discussing in the last several posts. How I’ve discovered a kind of disassociation between me and the contents. A feeling that my sexuality has entered a kind of post-penis phase now that Belle has made our marriage post-penis.

For all intents and purposes, I don’t have a penis. It’s been locked up for 1,324 days straight and hasn’t been used for anything sexual for 580 days. And now I know, because she’s told me, I have no reason to believe it will happen again. So, I’ve decided to try and accelerate the disassociation of myself and the contents. To take a more proactive approach to becoming post-penis.

Saying something out loud makes you believe it more. It’s why monks chant and Catholics pray the rosary. Saying a thing is much more powerful than just thinking it. I have a lot of thoughts and almost all of them are more complex than “I don’t have a penis” and none of them make the kind of impact of hearing my own voice declare it.

What I want is to really and truly stop thinking about what’s locked inside the Orion. To stop thinking about its potential and what I could be doing with it were it not under Belle’s control and permanent denial. I do not want to stop feeling the consequences of it being that way, though. In short, I want to enjoy the byproducts of having a permanently locked penis while never wasting any time pining away for it.

I feel like this is an evolution of a path I’ve been on for 15 years. You can read it in the words I’ve used on the blog. At the beginning, I actually said I had a locked cock. Then I stopped calling it that and referred to it only as my penis. Then, the penis. And, finally, the contents. It’s been steadily downgraded from being associated with a word that connotes action and power to one that only defines it by its containment.

If I don’t have a penis (and I don’t), then all my efforts and sexual imagination and attention can be focused outside the device where they belong. And if it’s never, ever coming off (effectively) and what’s in it will never be used again, that seems the most logical and productive course of action. So, whenever I feel really horny or feel especially tight I will cut off any unwanted thoughts by reminding myself “I don’t have a penis.” I’ve been saying it a lot the past week.

And I feel like it’s already making a difference. But the only way I could make you understand how would be exposing my entire internal monologue and that seems outside the remit or capability of even this blog. I’ve already said that my urges to fuck Belle when we have sex are naturally waning since she stopped letting me do it. I also can’t remember the last time I thought about how great it would be jack off. And, of course, it’s literally been years since I had any kind of fantasy involving fucking anyone at all.

I think another thing that’s helped to become post-penis is only being in one type of device. I have been in either the plastic Orion or the titanium one 87% of the year. If not for moving to the Steelheart while the titanium one (and the all-important PA pin) was sent back for adjustments, I would have been in one Orion or the other about 95% of the year so far. Turns out, thinking about jumping from one device to another is, in a way, thinking about the contents of the device. Being very consistent with devices means less thinking about them (and it).

Also, obviously, being locked up pretty much all the time also helps with the disassociation. I will end the year having been out about 18-20 hours meaning a total locked percentage of 99.8%. I really, really want that percentage to be higher. A 99.9% locked time would mean being out less than nine hours over 365 days. Since the overwhelming majority of the times I’ve been out have been for air travel, I have to decide if I will risk another up close and personal inspection by my friends at the TSA. All the inside-the-pants friction experienced from walking from my truck through the parking garage and terminal straight to the nearest post-security bathroom is entirely too distracting and destructive to my efforts of disassociation.

I’m also thinking of ways of never actually seeing it anymore. I feel like never laying eyes on it outside a device would be a huge boost to becoming post-penis. I could easily change devices with my eyes closed (and have many times done it in the dark or under covers and only by touch). Piece of cake. I could probably even do the little bit of shaft-shaving I tend to when I have the chance without actually having to see it. That’s really the only part of the thing I can’t keep tidy while locked up.

So anyway, that’s the deal with the whole “I don’t have a penis” thing. It’s about really and truly making the contents just a little piece of meat whose only purpose is filling out the insides of the Orion and making it tight. It’s about being post-penis physically, mentally, and emotionally.