Identity

I’ve been thinking a lot about identity lately. There was a recent call into the Savage Lovecast about whether or not being kinky was equivalent to being LGBTQ+ (more or less) and then there was this meme I retweeted that claimed chastity was an identity and then there was this great post on my third favorite chastity blog, Locked Doc. And I suppose most of what I’ve been writing here for a while now gets to the issue of identity.

Dan’s answer was problematic for me because he boiled being kinky down to “it’s just how someone has sex.” At least, that’s how I recall he left it. So it’s not an identity like, say, being lesbian is. And I do get the point that to be openly and happily lesbian (for example, not picking on lesbians), one does need to be identified as such, even and maybe especially by people who are not lesbian. That’s what being “out” is all about, after all. But the “it’s just how someone has sex” part hit me because I think at its root it’s how a lot of people have dismissed homosexuality. I know from personal experience that otherwise straight people have urges to have sex with people of their gender and sometimes choose to indulge those urges and then use that experience to say all same-sex attraction and sex is a choice. “It’s just sex, not an identity.” And that’s nonsense. Some of us can choose to have sex with people of any gender while others can’t because the idea squicks them out. And sex pretty obviously isn’t the same as feeling love, fulfilled, secure, etc.

As a person who came to realize his kinky nature relatively late in life, I can say quite firmly that while it is how I have sex, it is also inconceivable to me that I’d have sex any other way now. I am kinky. Could I have vanilla sex with someone? (I mean, assuming I was ever unlocked.) I guess, sure. Theoretically. But some gay-identified people occasionally have sex with people of genders other than their own and that doesn’t change their identity. I am exclusively interested in having kinky sex now. I’m not sure Belle would call what we have kinky sex, even when she unlocks me allows me to fuck her, but it is. Regardless of the status of the contents, all our sex is in the shadow of a power imbalance. I may not be tied up and she may not standing over me holding a crop, but it’s kinky nonetheless.

Bottom line, the only kind of relationship I could have with another person would be a kinky one. Specifically, one where I was the sub/bottom and was kept in chastity permanently. I would not be able to be happy with anyone absent those dynamics. That is me, permanently and 100%.

So that’s my sexual identity sorted. There’s also the aspect of gender identity. As I said a few weeks ago…

And while I’m biologically male, being essentially permanently kept in chastity makes me feel like something other than a man. It’s rewritten a lot of my motivations and behaviors that define “man” in my mind. I’m not claiming to be non-binary or anything, but I sometimes feel as though I’m passing as a man rather than actually being one. That I’m actually some other thing we don’t have a word for.

Over on Twitter, someone brought to my attention a post on the Become Her Slave blog where Giles English pondered what it would be like if we treated men kept in chastity as if they were a separate gender. It’s an interesting thought experiment and some of what they wrote I agree with, but the point is, for men in long term/permanent chastity, even being able to have that kind of conversation makes a ton of sense. We just feel how it makes sense.

The part I liked most about Giles’ post was the idea that locked men would be recognized by others. That our state would accepted and there would be a way to telegraph it to the world (other than walking around with our devices hanging out). And I really crave that. I crave being seen for who and what I am. To be understood and accepted. Because, besides identifying as kinky, I am a kept man.

If that’s not identity, I don’t know what is. It’s So. Much. More than “how I have sex.” When I’m locked and feeling the device and knowing its contents are not under my control and the sex I have is totally predicated on that fact and even my involuntary fantasies and thoughts presume no functioning penis, we have moved way, way past any kind of tactical sexual process.

So my identity is kinky, sub, bisexual, kept male. And probably another couple things, if I think about it (poly and a bottom, for example). How do I boil that down to a pithy set of pronouns? Or expect some muggle to understand the nuance in what it means? Well, I can’t. But it doesn’t change that that is who I am. It doesn’t change the fact I wish I could live authentically and be seen. I’m not enough of a warrior to understand how to make a world where those things are possible, but that doesn’t change that I wish all of it were.

Stress

The past few months have been daunting for me. Mostly related to dealing with an aged parent and being an only child, but contributing to the stress has been a significant home remodel project (which I’m not doing but has nonetheless created a lot of disruption in the house), some personal travel, my daughter’s high school graduation, her resultant anxiety about going off to college and some dithering about whether she wants to do that or take a gap year, and Belle’s job requiring her to work ridiculously long hours here at her office away from the office (aka, our house). Plenty of things to knock me out of my comfortable rhythm of life. And this week will be something of a crescendo as many of these things are intersecting and, oh yeah, I forgot to block my schedule at work.

Part of the comfortable rhythm I mentioned is when Belle lets me get her off. North of 95% of the time I get to bring her to orgasm is on the weekend. Weekend mornings. And a lot of those mornings I haven’t been home or some other thing has gotten in the way. I doubt in the past five or six weeks I’ve given her more than a couple orgasms instead of the ten or twelve that might otherwise have happened.

And that sounds not great for her on the surface, but for all I know she’s been taking care of herself while I was away. It’s really not great for me because, as I’ve been kept in chastity this entire time, I have no outlet for all the energy built up inside me. A normal guy might go jack off for relief, but my one and only outlet for that kind of thing is Belle’s pussy and I’ve barely touched it.

This has led to me feeling a lot more stressed than I might otherwise and also somewhat emotional with swings back and forth as well as being short tempered. The dark and unpleasant side of enforced male chastity.

And here we are very late on a Sunday with me staying up to pick up my mom at the airport after being away for yet two more weekend mornings with their pussy access meaning tomorrow I’ll be extra tired as I balance work, life, mom, etc.

I have no tidy ending for this one. I’m stressed and unpleasantly frustrated. I need an outlet. And I don’t have one. Hurmph.

Polling

Sometimes I ask questions on the Twitter in the form of the polling feature and then I’m immediately frustrated by its limitations. For one, I can only ask questions that have four answers. Then there’s the excessively short character limit for each option. Yes, yes, I know I could do like a Google form thing. But then that would require forethought and stuff.

Anyway, I recently asked a series of questions about duration of lockup that I think are interesting. First one…

My use of the word “endurance” was called out, but…based on my reading of the dictionary, I did, in fact, mean “endurance” so there we go.

Anyway, this ended up how I thought it would based on my experience and what I’ve heard and read from others. Some people are presumably new to chastity and are just trying to make it though the night. I remember those days. But 3/4 of people are doing what I’d consider “long term” (though that’s an interesting point — what defines “long term” chastity?”). Thirty-nine percent are doing it the way Belle and I are. Months to years indefinitely, I think, defines how we do it. It’s our “endurance goal.”

Next question I asked was…

Again, not a shock. The only somewhat surprising thing is only 15% of people are doing lock up terms “about the same” now versus when they started. Of course, they could have started last week. I’d be curious to know of the guys doing it less now than then, is it due to device issues? Not being able to find a good fit? Or because their keyholder didn’t/doesn’t like it?

Then I asked…

Once more, not a shock. Not based on my experience and what I hear and read from others.

I think all this is important for those just getting into enforced male chastity or thinking about experimenting with it (on either side of the lock). Locking up penises is rarely done as a hobby. It’s not a once in a while thing. The practice expands in a way opposite that of the locked up member. The more you have it, the more you want it. Days turn to weeks and months then years and the one being locked nearly always wants more of it, not less.

One more question about how dicks are being locked…

Half of those responding say what they want is to be mostly or always locked. Another third say periods of being locked then not, which is how Belle and I did it for a while. Until it became clear we had to take it to the “mostly or always” stage. That was something we both wanted.

I guess the nature of male chastity allows for it to consume one’s relationship and sex life. Those into bondage or sadomasochism or what have you can’t do them all the time. But male chastity can be done all the time, even when the couple is apart. That’s potent for a kink that becomes more compelling as the time practicing it goes on.

Finally, I asked…

Less than a quarter of those locked in chastity want to have an orgasm when they’re released. More than half would rather be teased then relocked while the remainder don’t want to be unlocked at all.

This gets to how chastity rewrites the basecode of those being locked. We start to crave the crave more than getting what we crave. Even to the point of being disappointed when the key shows up and they hear it’s orgasm day.

I guess this is what I was trying to get at when I wrote about the two types of men in chastity. Those who still think about the device and its contents separately and those who only think about the device. That’s what it does to you. Maybe not to every guy, but to a very large percentage of them. You don’t have to just take my word for it.

The confidence of the contained

What with Covid receding (in the US, anyway), life is starting to return to some kind of normalcy. One part of that is our daughter now goes to school four days a week rather than being remote as she was when the year started. And, since she’s vaccinated, she’ll be in-person at college next year, too.

I only mention that to set the stage for what happened earlier. It was just Belle and I alone in the house and…wait, you’re expecting some hot sex thing here, aren’t you? Oh dear. I’m sorry. It wasn’t hot sex. I should have maybe said that earlier so as to avoid you getting your hopes up.

Anyway, we were at home alone and I was back from my run and she was in the bathroom after her shower doing her hair and stuff. Being alone meant I could hop in the shower with her in there but leave the door open so she didn’t get steamed out. And as I stood at the sink and got ready, naked as I prefer to be, I could leave the door open as we conversed about various things even as she was going back and forth from our room and the office.

Right after I put the shaving cream on my neck I got a call from the contractor doing work on the house about some piece of minutiae related to the work he’s doing for us (I’m picky and he knows it). So I took the call and we discussed the minutiae and our plan for going forward and after I hung up went out into the hall to discuss the thing with Belle. Both of us, standing in the hall, she clothed and ready for the day, me totally naked except for the Holy Trainer v4 Nano (Steelheart needed cleaning) and shaving cream on my neck.

There was a time right after we started using chastity in our relationship that I felt super uncomfortable with her seeing it. It made me very self-conscious. In my defense, it was the CB6K which is hideously ugly, but still. I wasn’t really ready to accept the device as normal. I still felt like a freak for wanting it on me. And that led to insecurity about it.

Now it’s the total opposite. Had I been unlocked for some reason, I suspect I would have put a towel around my waist in that situation because I don’t like her seeing the contents exposed anymore. When she unlocks me for her pleasure, I turn away from her to remove whatever I’m wearing and get back to her and under the covers as quickly as possible. I realized I was doing this at some point when she told me to get up and close the door after she let me out and the two steps back from the door to the bed where she could see the contents flopping in the breeze made me fight the urge to cover it with my hand. I’m just super not comfortable with the thing anymore. Not with her, not with myself. Not at all.

And in thinking about this and my last post, I find the device makes me more confident now. Which I guess has to do with me feeling more whole while I wear it. At the end of my camping trip, we drove out on the road that’s basically a washed out creek bed and stopped in a clearing a few miles from the highway to air-up tires and say our goodbyes before we went our separate ways. I wanted to also change into street clothes from my smelly camping stuff and stood in the open back door of my truck and did so. At one point, I was completely naked except for my socks and the Steelheart and I didn’t feel scared or rushed or any of the things I would even if I was just changing in a locker room where nakedness is expected. Somehow something has flipped in my head where enforced chastity equals confidence and floppy visible penis equals anxiety and even something bordering on shame.

If I explore this more, that time I was pulled out of line and made to show the device to a couple TSA agents in Chicago didn’t leave me feeling embarrassed or shamed. It made me feel empowered. I even liked it. Not that I’m going out of my way to flaunt what’s between my legs (I mean, other than here and on Twitter and Instagram), but when it has to happen and it situationally makes sense, that’s how it is. Deal, world. I suppose this is why my chastity bump doesn’t freak me out anymore. OMG THEY CAN SEE MY BUMP. Yeah, okay. Whatevs.

I wish we lived in a world where everyone’s uniquenesses were accepted and celebrated. Where the millions (my estimation) of men around the world in chastity were understood and tolerated. In short, I wish this part of me wasn’t secret. I can’t change that it has to be, but I do get to decide how I feel about people knowing it about me. And I refuse to let their ignorance about it influence my confidence that it and I am valid.

Woodsy

I’m writing this on the Friday before Memorial Day in the United States. It’s considered the kickoff to summer and I’m spending it deep in a mountainous forest with some friends camping in tents and hiking around and being all woodsy. I’ve been here many times with these same guys and, in the past, I would have either asked Belle to let me out of the Steelheart before I went or asked to take the key “just in case” and then would have let myself out shortly after pitching my tent. 

There was something about being here with these men (all men, rarely are any women around) that made me oddly hyper-aware of being locked. Hyper-aware and ultimately somewhat uncomfortable. There are some practical reasons not to be locked in a device here. One is hygiene, but I have that all figured out. My own tent plus a container of mildly soapy water, a container of clean water, a squeeze bottle, and something to catch the rinse with is, along with about five minutes a day, all that’s needed to keep me relatively fresh. Also, there was one time I was here right after having shaved under the base ring where the sweat from hiking combined with the early stubble and the rubbing of the ring made for some distinct discomfort. Of course, the simple solution to that is don’t shave under the ring before going into the woods. Easy peasy. 

So, practical issues removed, the only other reason I’d not be locked here is because of how it makes me feel to be so secretly different and complicated than the men I’m with. These guys are total muggles. Except for one other bisexual (who probably isn’t a muggle, but we’ve not had specific conversations), all are apparently straight and a few painfully stereotypically masculine. And then there’s me. The boy without a penis. The guy with the metal in his pants. As everyone goes to the outskirts of camp to pee, I’m the guy with the gravity-fed dribble rather than the he-man steady stream that reaches the ground in a defined arc that lands with authority. They bathe in the cool, clear running creek and then ask why I’m not doing it, too. I’m different. And sometimes that’s harder than others. 

And while I’m biologically male, being essentially permanently kept in chastity makes me feel like something other than a man. It’s rewritten a lot of my motivations and behaviors that define “man” in my mind. I’m not claiming to be non-binary or anything, but I sometimes feel as though I’m passing as a man rather than actually being one. That I’m actually some other thing we don’t have a word for. And my differences are never more apparent and acute to me than when I’m here. 

But as the years have gone along and I’ve come to more of these trips, being out of chastity for them has felt more and more inauthentic to what I am: a kept male. As I’ve said, I don’t just wear the Steelheart. It’s part of me. So to take it off is to try and pass as something other than my true self. 

And, if somehow one of them saw the glint of shiny metal and had the balls to ask what the hell it is, what’s the worst that could happen? I’d have to out myself. Accept the consequences (which would, most likely, be a lot of ribbing after a 1,001 questions). In truth, I wish they all knew already. I hate that it’s a secret. It’s like being in the closet for me. But they don’t need to know, so I say nothing. But this super important part of who I am remains shrouded (metaphorically, of course it’s literally shrouded).

So, as on my last trip here with these guys and the one before that and probably even the one before that, though they tend to blend together, I didn’t ask to be let out. I didn’t ask for the spare key. I didn’t even think about either of those things. Because of course I’m here locked up. There just isn’t any real reason not to be. In fact, to come here without the Steelheart would be far stranger and more unsettling than being here in it. I’ve come full circle. Just another way being kept by Belle is fundamentally integrated into my being.

The fulcrum

I’m so goddamned fucking horny right now. The kind of horny where the need and cravings and desire feel like the jet of a firehose against a solid steel plate. Lots of force without any consequence. Just vibrating energy.

I said “need and cravings and desire” but, being back in the Steelheart and not in a device I can back out of or even see what it contains, all those things in my mind are focused not on the contents but on other things.

I was out in the world earlier and seeing people I thought were attractive (which, not shockingly, is a lot more than usual when I’m like this) and imagining them grinding their pussies into my face or shoving their cocks down my throat.

All this following a morning with Belle where I felt like eating her whole and it’s clear I’m really back home in the Steelheart. For me, it’s the fulcrum between being inwardly focused vs. outwardly focused. A locked sub should, IMO, be outwardly focused always. Thinking about pleasuring his partner and even only fantasizing about that. I’m horny as fuck but now not thinking about being out. Only thinking about what I can do for someone else without a functioning penis.

That’s what being kept is all about. It’s who and what I am. My pleasure is driven by pleasuring them. Not even my fantasies allow for anything else.

That moment

That moment where my finger’s sliding over her wet, hot clit and our bodies are pressed together with the contents of the Steelheart swollen and tight and wanting between us and our mouths are close enough for kissing but we aren’t and we simultaneously moan into each other.

That moment.

Is perfection.

Contents

I just spent a week and a half wearing the Cobra chastity device made by KINK3D (though I bought it from Mr. S). It’s a device I’ve been seeing a lot of lately and I decided to give it a try and write up a review.

This is not that review.

As you can see, the Cobra is an open cage-style device. It’s quite attractive, I think, in semigloss exoskeleton black. But the thing I found as I wore it (especially since I was wearing it entirely unsupervised in situations that in my pre-kept life would have led to excessive self abuse) is how much more aware of the contents it made me.

Of course, I’m aware of the contents in the Steelheart, too. I know it’s in there. But the Steelheart, being entirely closed, merges with the contents and replaces it in my mind. It becomes something different. In a lot of ways, it and what it contains feel to me like some kind of symbiotic thing.

But with the Cobra, the contents are more on display. When trying to become erect, you can see the straining and puffing. It’s very visibly a penis in a cage which leads me to think about the contents so much more. They never felt like they merged to me.

And, like I said, I was in these situations where, a long time ago, I’d’ve been jerking off every single day. Especially toward the end of the period away, I was seriously thinking about the goddamn thing and craving its release from captivity. In way more pointed and specific ways than when I’m in the Steelheart.

I didn’t have a key and could not have removed it, but backing out of an unsecured device like the Cobra is supremely easy. This fact grew in my mind to such an extent that I had to have serious conversations with myself. Reminding me that the contents are not mine. Orgasm is not up to me. If I ignored those basic truths, I’d be very disappointed with myself. I would feel terrible. It became something of a mantra as the hours and miles rolled by.

If the Cobra was secured through my PA, none of this would have been an issue. Sure, I’d’ve still been horny, but that would be it. Just horny. No temptation. It is easier for me when that temptation is removed. But the contents and I both know non-PA fixed devices are really nothing more than simple deterrents. And…GAH.

Ultimately, that’s the luxury of PA-enforced chastity. Being just horny. No constant struggle with temptation. No chance of giving in to all those years of evolutionary programming for release. No risk of failing at one’s commitment.

The Cobra is a great device. That’s what my review will ultimately say. But I need a device that goes through as well as around its contents.

The kept man’s conundrum

I kind of obsessively obsess over personal stats. I have two Apple Watches so I know exactly what range my normal minimum sleeping heart rate is (40-45 BPM) and what my normal daytime resting heart rate is (50-56 — thanks, running!). I weigh myself nearly daily to keep tabs on that (192.9 lbs most recently) and I track my daily net carbohydrate intake and even have a little doodad to help me know when my body is burning fat versus carbs. My motto is if a thing can be tracked and measured and reported, it should be tracked and measured and reported.

And that’s why I use an app to keep track of when, how, and for how long Belle keeps me in chastity. So I know that year to date, I’ve been locked in five different devices for 3,248 hours and unlocked for precisely 3 hours and 53 minutes. Three separate times so Belle could enjoy the contents fucking her (if, however, very briefly) and another time when I went to the doctor. That’s just a hair over one tenth of one percent not being kept. And even in almost four hours out of 3,250ish so far this year, it’s not like the contents were free. Those periods of not being locked were still being controlled. When you sign up for the life of a permanently kept man, it’s critical you accept that even when it’s not physically secured, the contents are not ever under your control.

I tweeted these numbers on the Twitter, as I do, and followed up with a comment that it would be “great” if the year ended with me being unlocked no more than ten hours. And that, you know, kind of swims upstream from the notion all the hot chastity porn gets frothy about. Locked guys are supposed to want out. To fuck and come or whatever. But I very certainly do not want out. Ever. Of course, I accept Belle’s total control over the contents and provide no objections whatsoever when she hands me the key so she can use it, but if she never handed me the key? Well, I would similarly offer no objection whatsoever.

I think the goal of a man being permanently kept is for him to be weaned off any attachment over his penis. First step beyond keeping him from getting to it is, as I’ve done, to never refer to it as mine. To never use the aggressive and action-biased word “cock” to describe it. It’s the penis. Or, better, the contents. Second is to train the man and his autonomous systems to stop associating the contents with sex. To fundamentally break the deep societal penis-centricity of MF sex. This is why some men in chastity think it causes erectile dysfunction. It doesn’t, but locked contents will stop getting as hard as often during sex once they figure out it’s not for them. The most incredible aspect of this physiological acceptance of place is how I will become sleepy after Belle comes. As if I have. I don’t know if I’m experiencing a true post-orgasmic prolactin dump or if it’s some kind of placebo version of one, but while she’s basking in her afterglow, I’ll nuzzle into her neck and fall asleep even while I feel the pressure in the tube subside.

The well-trained man in permanent chastity will no longer expect to be unlocked when it comes time for him to pleasure his partner. He’ll not only not expect it, he will not want it. Because it can be sometimes challenging to deal with the conflicting feelings of self-gratification while trying to stay focused on the pleasure that really matters — his partner’s. I am a much more patient and attentive curator of Belle’s orgasm when I’m not feeling her hand on the erect shaft of the penis and thinking three steps ahead to the glorious sensation of sliding into the hot, wet embrace of her pussy. A well-trained kept man knows that sensation is one he is not entitled to. Does not deserve simply because he has a hard penis. And not getting it makes not getting it make more sense to his kept, submissive brain.

Regardless, sometimes that’s what she wants and what she wants is the paramount motivation of our sex. So I need to find ways to wrap that logic pretzel around the moment. At least she doesn’t seem to want it much.

Tried something new with this one. I made a quick and dirty audio version of this post.

Morning Glory

I love waking up. Not those alarm shrieking, got to get to work mornings, but those lazy mornings when I slowly rouse and my cock is hard in my cage.…

Morning Glory

Reblogging this post by Doc because I can relate. And I wish I wrote it. Spot on.