Polishing the knob

It’s been more than a decade now since I first put on the Steelheart I usually wear. That kind of blows my mind (which is the only thing getting blown around here, badum CHING). And, honestly, there’s not much that has to be done to it from a maintenance standpoint. Every couple of weeks I need to take it off and soak it in vinegar to get the crusties off. But, you know, it’s made of stainless steel. It’s the OG low maintenance material.

One thing I have always wanted to improve on the device is its gloss. Those of us with a fetish for shiny metal really like gloss and another device I have, the Rigid Chastity Halfshell, has always been way, way shinier than the Steelheart. Some of that may be based on the kind of stainless used by Rigid, but I wanted to know if I could improve on the Steelheart’s decade worth of patina.

One day, I was dicking around in the basement and found my old Dremel. And that somehow clicked with my desire to give the Steelheart more polish. In the past, I’ve used polishing clothes impregnated with some kind of oily compound that did a serviceable job, but all they did was bring the Steelheart back to a reasonable facsimile of its out-of-the-box finish. I wanted something beyond that and realized the Dremel was a possible solution.

A little searching on Amazon resulted in the ordering of some buffing attachments and some polishing compound ✨filled with diamond dust✨! To keep the tube of the Steelheart steady during the procedure, I put it on the end of a mallet handle and then put the business end of the mallet in a vice. Since I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, I decided to try polishing the underside of the tube first. After applying the compound and spinning up the Dremel and then cleaning the excess compound off, I was pleasantly surprised at the difference so decided to sally forth with the rest of the tube.

The thing I didn’t like about the buffers was how the Dremel, even at its lowest speed, would essentially spin them apart and leave a cloud of little woolen fibers floating around the workbench. I found I needed to keep the buffer in contact with the tube to minimize that issue. I was also hoping the polishing compound would work out some tiny scratches the tube has picked up over the years, but no such luck. Perhaps a compound with a larger grit would work, but then I figure I’d need to use the fine grit compound to get the high gloss going.

In the end, it’s still not as shiny as the Halfshell. But it’s noticeably more mirror-like than it was. I may experiment with various compounds and perhaps a longer duration of Dremel usage. In any event, it is improved and there remains nothing at all as sexy as high gloss stainless steel.

Hunk of burning love

Just got back from spending another week in the woods. Like last time, it was my intention to stay locked the whole time I was there.

In fact, I even told Belle I didn’t want to take any key at all. In the old days, I had an “emergency” key with me all the time but for years now I rarely have one with me. And I know I can do the woods for a week (or more) without a key and not need it or miss it and having access to it opens a tiny crack of opportunity to be bad and I don’t want to think about that.

So I told her as she hunted for the locked and numbered spare key that maybe I wouldn’t even take one. But calmer heads prevailed and I took her main key and wrapped it in paper and tape and had her sign it so any tampering would be painfully evident.

And yeah, good thing, because on the third day I found myself super dehydrated. It was hot and humid where I was and while I thought I was keeping up with my fluid intake, I was not and realized such when the urine dropping out of the Steelheart’s tube was deep orange. Bad, bad, bad.

Worse, urine in that situation becomes super concentrated and acidic. Perhaps if I was wearing the Evotion 8, it wouldn’t have been such an issue, but the Steelheart never drains completely and even after several trips into my tent to flush the tube with soapy water, I ended up with nasty burns on the underside tip of the contents.

So…yeah, glad that key was with me. I opened it with my multitool and took the Steelheart off and applied antibiotic ointment to the sore spots. Holy fuck, they hurt. Probably because I waited too long. I’m such a zealot.

Good news was, with those sores feeling as they did and where they were, there was no way at all I even considered playing with it. The best parts were on fire. The worst of the pain only lasted about 24-36 hours before it became just tender. Always amazes me how quickly the skin on the contents heals itself.

So by the fifth day things were feeling well enough that I was once again totally distracted by the novel sensation of a penis with feeling moving around and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and pants. I found myself on a hike getting a rather obvious erection from the sensation. Like I was 13 or something. Don’t think anyone noticed.

I stayed good the whole time. I did maybe give the morning wood a squeeze a few times but no stroking. And as soon as I got back in the house and hopped in the shower to hose a week’s worth of forest funk off me, I locked myself back in the Steelheart and told Belle everything.

So while part of me would love to see the key epoxied into the lock and broken off, no, that’s not at all practical. And going into the woods for a week without a key is a dumb idea.

Short and sweet touch-base

Belle and I just got back from taking our youngest off to school on the west coast. This means we are officially empty nesters. One big house for the two of us to rattle around in. It’s kinda weird, tbh.

But, there are advantages. Yesterday, I went for a run in the afternoon (I’m usually a morning guy) and came back quite warm and sweaty and stripped off my running gear and immediately jumped in the pool naked. Swam around a bit to cool off, then laid in the sun and got to feel its rays hit (nearly) every part of me and the wind move through every hair on my body. It was glorious. I mean, I miss my kids. I really do. But man do I like to hang out in my yard naked.

Another benefit of the trip was it allowed Belle and I to have a little chat about my chastity. Even though I’m locked up essentially all the time and she rarely sees me without a device on, it’s not something we talk about anymore. It just is. Like, why would you talk to your spouse about their toes? You wouldn’t. Aside from the occasional observation of which device I’m wearing, it’s a topic of conversation that’s disappeared into the background like Homer Simpson backing into a hedge.

On the one hand, that’s great. It represents a kind of goal state I think a lot of people with locked up penises want to get to. The fait accompli of being permanently kept. I am not complaining, mind you. The contents are supposed to be an afterthought.

On the other hand, I’m so thoroughly thankful that she’s taken on the responsibility of holding my key and chooses to keep me in chastity as often as I am and has even evolved how she prefers to receive her pleasure and reaches orgasm based on my desire to be locked up that sometimes I just want to pop with gratitude and enthusiasm. Even when the contents are trying to explode from their confinement and I can’t help but climb on top of her and grind the device into her pussy in frustration. That even then she doesn’t let me out. Doesn’t “feel sorry” for me. Just lets me stew and squirm and suffer in the ways I crave.

So we did chat. Once or twice. About the thing that just is between us. I thanked her her again (always, forever) for keeping me as I am. She said she can’t even think of me any other way now. How it’s obviously good for me. How she likes me better this way. I said how I like myself better this way. About how I think it makes me a better lover and partner to her.

And that was it. A little touch-base. A short status. Both of us happy with where we are. Both satisfied with the status quo. Neither looking to change anything in our dynamic.

It’s often said that the reason kinky people have more successful and satisfying relationships (on average) is because being in a kinky relationship requires communication on a much more significant scale than a muggle relationship. And that’s 100% true. But even a relationship like ours can become so well-inhabited as to lose the necessity for communication. So I am grateful for the short and sweet reaffirmation.

Chem-rections

Belle and I were driving along in rural Wisconsin where there are an unusual number of erectile dysfunction billboards.

“You should get that,” she said. I laughed. She wasn’t joking.

Flash forward to the other day. I had just given Belle her orgasm and we were cuddling afterward. I noted that the last time she wanted the contents out was in April and here we were in July and I was just curious (not implying, suggesting, or in any way inferring I wanted or needed or should be let out because that’s against the rules) what was up with that.

She again mentioned erectile dysfunction medication. Clearly, a seed had been planted.

To be clear, I don’t have an issue getting an erection. At least, not that often. I can get hard no problem. My issue, her issue, is I can’t stay hard. When she lets me fuck her, I will ejaculate without orgasm (which is like a ruined orgasm inside her) and then immediately go soft and stay that way.

It didn’t used to be like that. I used to be able to get past the ejaculation without orgasm bit and then stay rock hard and fuck her until she cried uncle. One big difference between now and then is the amount of time it took me to get to the ejaculation part. Used to be many minutes of fucking and now it’s literally 90 seconds, tops. Pathetic.

Ninety seconds of fucking is hardly worth the effort for Belle. I’m really good at the other ways of getting her off so why bother with the lock and key and the mess? Leaving me locked up gets her rocks off just as much and is simply more efficient.

But she does like to get fucked. And the strap-on has fallen out of favor since, again, she doesn’t want to be bothered. Thus her position that if the contents could get hard and stay that way, she’d let it out and enjoy it. If it can’t, she won’t.

This morning I filled out the erectile dysfunction questionnaire on the Roman website. I picked them because they advertise during Dodger games and the guy who started it is kinda cute. Anyway, I answered all the questions and may now be contacted by a doctor or they may just start sending them, we’ll see. Apparently it depends on what Minnesota requires.

So where we’ve come in this journey into orgasm denial and chastity is that my erections are forced into confinement and disallowed when they want to happen but may be forced into happening when they’d rather not. And this is…incredibly hot tbh.

Please don’t kill someone

On Saturday, I wrote on Twitter:

Because, essentially all the people (north of 99%) being hospitalized and dying of Covid in the United States are unvaccinated people. Another datapoint:

Regardless, I was sent this news item from someone on Twitter. The lede:

Johnson & Johnson’s Covid-19 vaccine may trigger a rare neurological condition in a small number of people who receive the vaccine, the Food and Drug Administration said Monday.

Reports to a database operated jointly by the agency and the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control suggest there may be a link between the inoculations and Guillain-Barré syndrome, a form of progressive paralysis that is generally reversible, the FDA said in a statement.

EGAD! But wait.

The agency said there have been about 100 preliminary reports of GBS, as the condition is often called, in people who have received the J&J vaccine. To date, about 12.8 million doses of the J&J vaccine have been used in the United States, suggesting a rate of about one case of GBS per 128,000 people vaccinated.

So, to be clear, an otherwise levelheaded and reasonable person is using as a justification for not getting or delaying vaccination against coronavirus as soon as humanly possible this ridiculously rare side effect in the middle of a pandemic which has already killed at least 600,000 Americans and probably a whole lot more.

Note that many vaccinations can trigger Guillain-Barré and that it’s always very rare and nearly always reversible. Also note that the previous issues with the J&J shot and blood clots was actually far less prevalent than blood clotting issues in women who take birth control.

Please learn to adequately evaluate relative risks.

It’s hard to estimate what the chances are any given American will get Covid because the variables of where they live (and therefore how much they benefit from the vaccinations of their neighbors) and how they live (can they work from home? do they go into environments where a lot of people congregate in close proximity? have they literally not opened the door for another human since March of 2020?), but I can say with some certainty that the odds of an unvaccinated person in the United States getting sick, becoming hospitalized, and even dying of Covid are a damn sight higher than 1/128,000. Like, a magnitude higher.

I am assuming anyone making the “it hasn’t been proven safe” argument isn’t also some kind of deluded, brainwashed, partisan conspiracy theorist because if your assessment of the risk/reward balance of being vaccinated includes any mention of Bill Gates or 5G or the letter Q, you need to stop reading this and seek professional help immediately. Honestly, you’re are a goddamned delusional and are a threat to society and those around you.

Not getting vaccinated because you think or fear there’s a snowball’s chance some kind of ultra rare side effect will strike you down is simply the most selfish and antisocial decision you could possibly make. Because it is a certainty that if you do not get vaccinated and then catch and spread Covid, you are killing someone. Some immunocompromised person or some other dimwit with comorbidities who likewise made the wrong choice will die from the disease you spread. The only hope you have is that it’s not someone you know like a parent, partner, or child.

So I don’t take back my original tweet. Not at all. I might allow a slight revision to say if you don’t get vaccinated in the US and are eligible (i.e., old enough, no pre-existing conditions, etc.) you are acting like a moron. A selfish, unable to properly evaluate risk, moron. If that makes you feel better.

But Jesus fucking Christ people, get your goddamned vaccination already.

Climate vs. weather

Belle and I are on an eleven day trip in our Airstream across eleven states. We’re on day ten now, so wrapping up soon, which is both a good thing (I miss my house and kid and nice big TV with redonkulous internet connection) and a bittersweet thing since these trips are the only time I feel like I’m not sharing Belle (in the non-sexy way) with her employer. That and I have a jonesing to be one of those full-time RVers who live from campground to campsite chasing 70 degree weather around the continent all year long.

Anyways, we woke up this morning next to a little pond on a farm in northern Ohio I found on Hipcamp. The night was on the warm side and the site we were camped at didn’t have hookups (again, the non-sexy kind — but the woman who lived there did sell us some of her chicken’s eggs for cheap) so we slept with the windows open to the sounds of toads and frogs calling to one another all night. It was swell.

I was sleeping, as I most often do, in nothing but the Steelheart and nothing at all sexy happened. (This is, apparently, the parenthetically non-sexy sex blog post.) And I only mention this because we were laying about this morning listening to the rooster and putting off getting back on the road and there I was all naked and stuff with shiny metal flopping around between us and nothing at all happened.

Why am I writing this? On the sex blog. If nothing sexy happened. WTF, rabbit? Well, more than knowing how to get a well-fitted device or which lube to put on to make wearing it easier or any of that picayune logistical shit, the one skill you have to master if you’re hoping to live with permanent chastity in your life is the 99% of the time that isn’t sexy. Even though you’re 100% (or near enough) of the time wearing a sex toy.

I struggled with this a lot in the beginning. For years, really. But at some point, the one with the kept contents needs to let go of the constant gnawing craving always just under the surface and make sure it stays under the surface until and unless the one holding your key wants it to come up. And the rest of the time, you’re locked up and that’s just how it fucking is. There’s no reward or attention or Scooby snack waiting for you for dealing with it all the time. Dealing with it all the time is the point.

Chastity needs to go from being special to being mundane. To being just how you are. And I’m not saying that’s easy. It’s not. Because “just how you are” is a way that leaves you way more attentive to what’s not happening and what you can’t do and that makes you (most of the time) want to do it all the more. Gaining the ability to keep all that pressure and emotional turbulence under control is maybe the most important thing a penis-haver kept in permanent chastity can learn. For their sanity and the sanity of whoever is holding their key.

I can go back to the beginning of this blog and find posts by a rabbit who didn’t get that. Who felt as though he was owed something for doing the hard thing and staying locked up. But of course being locked up is what I want. So, if anything, I owe Belle for keeping me that way. What I know now (and what’s a central part of our dynamic) is she owes me nothing. And being all needy and sad about the sex or orgasms or simple penis pleasure being missed out on is the single best way to fuck up having someone keep you away from the contents of the device.

I think being kept in chastity does lead to more intimacy and trust and sex and an overall increase in hotness, but it’s like the difference between weather and climate. Chasity improves the climate of the relationship, in our experience. The trend is positive. But one hot or cold or wet or dry day does not make a trend all by itself. So the trick is to focus on the long haul climate changes and not wake up every day with an expectation of what the weather will be like by lunch time. That’s not how it works at all.

Permanente

In response to my last post and the note I put in it saying I don’t count time spent switching devices or cleaning/hygiene as “unlocked,” Tom commented…

The word “permanent” is the worst word to use, except for all the others. I’m unlocked for medical, travel (neither of us want that kind of attention), and when I head out on longer distance cycling jaunts (no point in having me get all chafed).

And I totally agree. I actually tweeted about this a while back. What does it mean to be in “permanent” chastity?

I consider myself to be “permanently” kept in chastity. Even though, besides times like I mentioned above, I have been unlocked for things like doctor visits or trips though the TSA with the kids, etc. “Permanent” because I have permanently handed control over my locked status to Belle. And Belle has said many times (and, in fact, my rules unequivocally state) that I am always to be locked unless I absolutely cannot be or she wants what’s inside. And, as anyone who’s been to my blog before knows, I always want to be locked up. In my heart and mind, I am forever and always locked in chastity.

Buuuuut, according to a strict reading of “permanent,” what I describe isn’t that. There are guys (and other penis-having people) on the net who have riveted shut their devices. There are guys (and other PHP) who will tell you they haven’t been out of their devices for yeeears. And…OK.

Look, I’m here to tell you right now the idea of literally never ever seeing the contents again because they’re locked away into a device forever and always is, absolutely, hot as fuck. But I can also tell you, with a high degree of expertise on the matter, that it’s impossible. At least with current technology.

Setting aside how simply impractical it is (the kind of stuff Tom said) and how complicated it would make certain aspects of one’s life, the cruel fact of the matter is chastity devices get peed on a lot. And urine is like really hard water. It leaves mineral deposits. And that shit needs to be dealt with. Even when I wear the Evotion 8, a mostly plastic, mostly open device that sails through metal detectors, the issue of mineral accretion happens. And when that’s not dealt with, the bits that are against skin or literally through the head of the penis become really uncomfortable.

I would estimate that the reason I ask for the Steelheart to come off nine out of ten times is because the PA ring gets a crusty build-up that ends up being super uncomfortable and irritating. I can go maybe three weeks before getting there, but I always do. The Evotion and Halfshell, being the other two PA-fixed devices I wear, are the same.

So far this year, I have been unlocked 3 hours and 53 minutes. That’s three times Belle wanted the contents inside her and one trip to the doctor. Three hours and 53 minutes out of 4,175, AKA locked up 99.9% of the time. So no, not permanent because that was in five different devices and the contents did get wet three times, but man. How much closer to permanent can you get? I mean, in a relationship where my keyholder still does, if however infrequently, want to take the contents out for spin.

Short story long, I think when it comes to the concept of locking a penis in a device, we need to have a slightly more liberal definition of the word permanent. I would not argue with someone who wants to say they’re in indefinite chastity. Or some other wiggly turn of phrase. But I hope we can all agree that at some point, two or three nines to the right of a decimal point is more than sufficient to rank as permanent.

I mean, if you’re keeping score. If not, disregard this whole post.

Maintenance

Belle gave me the key to the lock in the Steelheart this morning since I’m going to a ballgame with one of my kids tonight. We’re so free in the United States we need to go through metal detectors to enter places like sporting arenas. My god, smell the liberty.

In any event, I used the opportunity of switching between the Steelheart and the Cobra (yes, I will write a review of it eventually) to clean, shave, and trim. I’ve been locked up continuously for 59 days so it was time.

Note, I don’t count time out swapping between devices as “unlocked” nor do I count the 10-15 minutes it takes to do the cleaning and hair maintenance. Some purists who think permanent chastity means welded on might chafe at that, but it’s always been my rule.

The Steelheart came off and went into its vinegar bath (which is kind of like that scene in Star Wars when Luke dipped C3PO into a vat of oil) and that left me with…it. The contents. The thing I’m not supposed to touch except when doing just what I was about to do.

It felt so weird. Just how it moved and bobbed and the sensation of it as a free penis rather than the compressed object it usually is. It looked rather normal considering it lives a life not unlike some invertebrate under a rock, never seeing sunlight. But I found the way it shifted around and caught the light sort of mesmerizing. It made me feel kind of fuzzy and dopey.

I stayed focused on my tasks, but as I had to lift it to shave the shaft and the other places I usually can’t get to, I was left with the palpable impression that it was something other than me. Not of me. More something I was. A presence that was trying to tempt me to be that way again.

I got the shaving done and moved to the trimming and the temptation grew stronger. It chubbed out a bit. Not hard. Not a hard-on. Plump. Suckable. Heading towards strokable. So tempting. Like it was talking to me. Belle won’t mind. It’s OK. Just a squeeze. Just a few strokes.

I put the base ring around my balls and pulled the penis through and I felt it start to grow more from the touching and pulling and constriction of the ring. Before it could get very far, I shoved the cage down over it. Squishing it. Reducing it. Putting it away.

I felt simultaneously senses of relief and regret. I could have gone too far. But I didn’t. But I could have. But I didn’t want to. But I did want to. But I didn’t do it.

That’s the thing about being kept like I am. Getting out, even for 8 minutes or whatever it took to do the maintenance, even for someone like me totally committed to being permanently maintained except for those times she specifically wants to use me, is dangerous. I’m always on the edge. Cheating and bad behavior is always so close. Too close.

But at least now it’s tidy.

Morning wood

Over on the Twitter, I was asked in a DM about waking up from morning wood. And this is, I suppose, one of the more pressing (ahem) issues a lot of penis-having people find with long-term chastity. The fella I was chatting with says, after two years of being locked most of the time, he still struggles with the pressures of the morning.

At this point, after more than a decade of being locked most mornings and several years of being locked nearly every morning, I find that I am woken by pressure in the device maybe 20% of the time. More often in the Steelheart than the other devices I’m usually in (Evotion 8, Holy Trainer 4 Nano, Cobra tight, Halfshell). I think this is because the Steelheart has more bits and bobs inside the tube that can be pinched or weirdly squeezed than the others plus its tube probably has the largest internal capacity of any of the others.

In general, I’d say (as always) smaller tubes are better and more comfortable in the morning. It’s also necessary to have a well-sized base ring. Too big isn’t better than too small but way too small can bite like hell. But assuming the fit is OK (and honestly, the base ring on the Steelheart and Evo8 are probably both a little small for me), a lot of it is just waiting for one’s body to accept and adjust.

If you search this blog, you’ll find me bitching about morning wood after years of being locked up. But now, I don’t wake up from it most of the time. And even when I do, most of those times, I’m able to roll over and go back to sleep. Of course, every day I wake up with a very tight device, so it’s hard to discern the difference between waking up normally and being woken up by the tightness. But the real difference is, over time, I stopped feeling discomfort from the tightness most of the time. I almost always find myself loving the feeling of the extreme tightness. It makes me feel comforted, cared for, and sexy.

Is this mental or physical? I think both. The contents are different now than they were at the start of being kept. My scrotum is more stretched out even as my testicles are larger. And the shaft of the penis itself has a groove from the base ring pressing into it every single morning. So I have physically adapted to permanent chastity.

But I’ve also mentally adapted. The feeling of that device (whichever it is) holding me tight in the morning is honestly, most days, the best feeling in the world for me. I adore it. I crave it. I will often lay on my stomach and press my pelvis into the bed to feel it harder. I’ll flex the contents when I sense they’re losing their compression to get more blood in them and make the sensation more intense.

In actual fact, tightness is the signature sensation of my sexuality. It’s what feeling horny feels like. It’s the physical manifestation of my being controlled. It’s the gravity that keeps me centered as a kept male.

So I don’t know when the switch gets flipped from waking up annoyed at the pressure and waking up energized by it. I’d start with the fit. If that’s in order, I’d have a talk to myself about what being a permanently kept male is. I find that the fastest way for me to get my head on straight when it comes to chastity challenges (besides getting Belle off) is to tell myself this is what I am. That what I’m dealing with is part of who I am. That I want to be this way and that there’s no real way for me to not deal with it without losing the whole package.

Then I roll over onto my stomach and grind my tight package into the mattress and flex the contents so they swell so fucking tight. Because MMMMMM, yeah.

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 be 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 be 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.