Three colds and a period

It’s been more than two weeks since Belle and I had any kind of sex. First, she had a nasty cold. Then she got her period and, a few days later, I got a cold. Not the same cold since at about the time I started to feel OK again, she got my cold. It’s all conspired against us.

So, this is one of those periods of time when a guy like me starts to question his predicament. I was fortunate in that there were few times in which I actually felt the “otherness” that sometimes attaches to the device. When the facade slips and my brain recognizes it for what it really is: A foreign object locked to my body. It’s the worst when it feels unnatural. That just acerbates my stewing and foul mood. For the most part, though, it’s cloaking device has worked and I’ve accepted it as part of me. Even with how it flips and flops and is constantly pulling in the opposite direction of the rest of me. Even in the morning when the nocturnal plumbing it at its maximum. It hasn’t woken me up more than just a little in days and, to the extent that it does, I simply roll over and go back to sleep feeling comforted by my constricted state.

When things are like this, when there’s no sex and it’s been more than a month since I came and my brain continues to buy into the fantasy that the penis is made of metal, I slip into this weird void space. I start to feel like this other kind of thing. A being that’s simultaneously sexless yet instantaneously aroused. Not a man. Something we don’t have a word for.

There may be some of you out there reading this with your free-range dicks getting all hard and turned on by that kind of talk, but it’s simply the most difficult thing about long term enforced chastity. Not being able to have a proper hard-on, not being able to wrap your hand around it, reaching down to find only an unfeeling mass of hot metal and a sack of fat testes as your only genitalia. Having nothing at all to do with your need for any kind of sexual release (even if its hers). When it’s bad, it’s really bad. It turns you into something you have no experience being.

And I have been feeling that lately. It’s not Belle’s fault and I don’t feel any anger at all toward her for it. It’s just how things are. Last night, though, as we watched TV in bed, things changed somehow. I actually do have experience being this way now. With a little inadvertent help from Belle, I found my way out.

It started with her hand on my ass. Sometimes, we lay in bed and I put my head on her midsection and stretch out in the opposite direction. Last night, in that position, she slipped her hand into my pajama pants and lightly stroked my ass. This kind of simple affectionate touching is like catnip to a guy in my position. It simultaneously excites and soothes my hormone addled mind. Sometimes, when we’re in bed with the Sunday paper, she strokes the hair under my arm. Same thing. I could let her do that for days. I literally can’t get enough of it.

Anyway, hand stroking ass cheek. Two hours later, it was bed time and I was really worked up. Lights out, Belle asleep, and I’m feeling sorry for myself. Not mad. Not annoyed. Just sorry. After several near misses with sleep, I realized that I wasn’t in the void space anymore. The hand on the ass had been enough to stir me and I was coasting on the sleepless wave of chastity, constantly almost asleep only to be made more alert by a momentarily filled tube reacting to a new sexual vision or the turning of my body to a new position and feeling how that made the device press into me in a different way. I was fucking horny.

On the one hand, I really wanted to sleep. I was tired, still recovering, and have an appointment with the trainer this afternoon. I need my rest. On the other, I was excited and even happy to be back in frustrated horndog mode. As annoying as it was, it’s why I do this, after all. It’s the feeling I’ve come to associate with good things. It’s my natural state.

Somehow, I eventually did fall asleep. Sometime between midnight and one o’clock. Then, awake with Belle’s alarm at quarter to six. Not much, but enough. Just happy to be out of the fog.