Month: December 2013

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Mailbag (The “No, you really don’t want me to fix your internet” edition)

Back in November sometime, I decided to start experimenting with different email clients both on my computer and my phone. In doing so, I set up my work addresses (there are two of them), my personal address, and the one or two other old addresses that still occasionally receive something of value. I forgot to set up my Thumper mail. Therefore, I didn’t see any emails to that address until just the other day when I thought to myself, “Huh. I haven’t seen any feedback from the…uh…um. Oh. Right.”

So, if you sent me any email since about the last week in November, sorry! It seems I’m an idiot. Without further delay, here’s the stuff I can answer that was sent to me while I was on my little email vacation…

An anonymous reader asked:

I’m pretty interested in buyin a Looker02.

I’m not sure how to measure, not getting it all what Dietmar says (he’s currently in holiday, too)

How to I measure? The penis while *totally* (after cumming or so) flaccid? The circumference while flaccid or while hard?

Yes, measure while totally flaccid. Not the tiniest your dick gets, but in its normally soft and sleepy state.

Please note my penis grows a lot when becoming erect 😉

Lucky you. It’s my experience that the device should be as close to your flaccid size as possible, but the penis on me only gets about double its flaccid size, so YMMV.

I want to extend the plug beyond the A-ring from 1cm to 2 or 2.5cm, to make security a little bit higher. Is this anatomically possible?

I wouldn’t recommend it. The little bit that sticks out does make the device marginally harder to get out of, but it’s still not very secure (but no less secure than any other non-PA involved device). You’d have to make the insert go way up inside you to use it as an actual security measure. However, that little bit is the part that can irritate your urethra while being strenuous (ie, jogging). I’d stick with the 1cm and pretend like it’s secured with magical powers.

The hardest about is about measuring the mm for the cockring. What’s the best method? (I have a girlfriend who can do this but we’re always getting something else :/ )

This is the..uh…hardest part. It’s also why I recommend a CB-6ooo or similar plastic device before going to metal, but whatever. You need to measure around your cock and balls using a measuring tape or string (measuring the length of the string afterward). Cinch the tape/string until it’s just snug, but not tight. That’s about where you need to be. Note that the likelihood you’ll end up with a size too small or too large is high, so you might want to get two A-rings. Also note that, over time, you’ll likely want to move to a smaller ring with wear.

I fear you may have not waited and just went ahead and made your purchase. If so…did you see my apology up there?

Biboy asked:

I am going to order up a Looker 02 in the new year as Steelworxx is shut down for holidays until the new year.

Sounds like Dietmar’s going to be busy when he gets back from vacation.

I’ve read all of ur reviews and was wondering if u still think the urethral tube couldn’t possibly be any longer now that u have spent a lot of time in the device? Reason I ask is I had spent a lot of time in the past sounding and I slid a sound in marked with tape to where the urethral tube will sit in me while I was wearing my Jail Bird. I can comfortably go a lot deeper than the the 1cm past the cock ring that they allow for when they make the Looker 02. I am going to have him make it so its approx the same size as my Jail Bird and as I was wearing it when I slid the sound in I thought it gave me a pretty good idea. Having said that tho I have never had a sound in all day or slept with one in obviously so I thought I would get it made to pass the cock ring 2cm. Feels like it could easily go an inch past but 2cm sounds safer. Thoughts?

Like I said above, the issue isn’t how far you can get a sound up there (the insert doesn’t really go very far), it’s that the device it’s welded onto will be moving around quite a bit and sending the end of the insert into all kinds of directions inside your body. It’s possible an extra centimeter won’t make that much difference, but personally, I wouldn’t want it any longer.

Number 2 concern, as I had spent a lot of time sounding before chastity I used to be stretched out to accept a 14 mm sound. I think I require a larger ball on the end of the urethral tube. Since I don’t jerk off anymore I don’t sound anymore. I’m sure that 14mm is not currently possible but I know I am still stretched out. U don’t know my body so I know u can only give so much info. I was wondering if u wished the ball at the end of the urethral tube was larger to hopefully not allow urine to get past it?

Urine getting past the ball doesn’t bother me. I actually think it’s beneficial as it does the normal job of urine and keeps the urethra cleaned out. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish the tube’s inner diameter wasn’t larger, though. The relatively narrow insert tends to retain urine and that leads to dripping and leaking (which is the device’s biggest drawback, IMO). Were I to do it over again, I’d get a fatter insert that drained easier.

Concern number 3 and last one of this long winded email. Ha. When I ordered my Jail Bird I know the cock ring was sized perfect. I think it still fits perfect but I know my body has a permanent impression of the ring  marked around my cock and balls now. I was thinking about getting it made an eighth of an inch smaller. Have u noticed that u could possibly have gotten a smaller cock ring than when u first became chaste? I don’t want it to be too small and I was lucky to get a perfect fit with my Jail Bird so I would like this experience to be the same.

If you think it’s perfect, don’t mess with it. I really get wanting a smaller ring, but don’t fuck it up.

Robert said:

I just found your site the other day and I have been reading your post starting back in 2008. I have read the first two years. First congratulations on you and Belle for continuing to live your relationship for over 5 years now. I had to skip ahead on your blog to the present to answering a question I had. Why no strap on play for you or at least have her in force butt plug wear at times on you. You seem like you are attracted to the male penis, why not take that attraction to her fake penis? Or maybe she is not into that. Am I answering my own question?

Belle has said in the (far distant) past that she’s not interested in using a strap-on on me and I haven’t had the guts to ask again. I would really be into trying, though.

I bought a CB6000 and still have it, my wife and I used to have kinky sex but our 3 year old, got in the way of that. Perhaps in the future.

Yeah. Damned kids. Said with much love and affection, of course.

Maybe you have tips but I couldn’t get into the CB6000. Now I am not huge, about the same size as you maybe a little bigger at 6.5 inches erect and a lot less when not. But the width, I am a little bit bigger then the width of the chastity device. I bought the CB6000 curve. Should I just put a lot of baby oil on and force it on or should I look for something bigger(any suggestions) and also do you shave your area.  I read that someone should but my wife doesn’t like that area shaved. Well any advice would be appreciated and Happy Holidays, hopefully you are able to cum this month. Denial might be the best present.

Six and a half is almost a full inch bigger than me. Based on what you wrote, it sounds like you’re wider than the CB6K while flaccid. If not, no problem. It’s supposed to be smaller than your hard-on. If so, yeah, that could easily lead to edema which is not serious if the device is removed promptly, but is uncomfortable. I have no experience at all with the Curve, unfortunately. You could experiment with the CB6K and put it on and just keep an eye on your dick. If there are no issues with edema, then damn the torpedos. Your best bet may be a bespoke steel device.

I kinda shave. I like to keep the hair off the shaft, scrotum, and perineum but Belle won’t let me shave it everywhere else. I do keep the surviving pubes trimmed to something between 1″ and 1/2″ long. Shaving can also lead to irritation as the stubble grows out and the device puts it in contact with the surface of skin that usually doesn’t have to deal with that kind of thing.

No, I was not able to come this month. But the month’s not over. But that doesn’t make any difference.

Allen reported:

Last week I traveled from LAX to Monterey CA on a scheduled airline.  Because I was traveling alone and my wife would not be embarrassed if anything overt happened, I persuaded her to let me travel with my Lori steel tube on.

It was late on a weekday night, no travelers before me at the mag-and-bag checkpoint, and I was invited to approach via the over-75 age line, despite not being quite qualified by age.  Leave shoes on, take off belt and cell phone.  I let them know I’d not be able to pass the mag test, and I didn’t.  The assumption was that I had shrapnel in me, to which I replied that it wasn’t that deep into me.

The inspection that followed is why I write.  I had a thorough pat-down except for the gonads, and then a test for explosives (that treated paper they wipe over your clothes), and when I passed those, I was free to go.  There was no further discussion of what metal I had, and it was no more intrusive than if I’d refused to accept the newer type of scanner.

At least in this single case, it’s encouraging that air travel while locked in steel is no big deal.

That’s very interesting. I’ve wondered if the pat-down was sufficiently invasive to detect a steel tube. I assume you didn’t go through the millimeter wave scanner and only used the metal detector. I wonder how they’d have reacted if they had seen it thought your pants.

In any event, thanks for the info!

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Frisson

This morning, I babbled like a besotted schoolboy. Embarrassing in retrospect. I mean, all good intentions. Just…wow, what a sap I was.

Belle’s continued to leave me in the Steelheart. Usually, when holidays role around (or any kind of special event like vacataions, etc.) she’ll let me out. We’re out of town for Christmas and I assumed that this would be like every other trip of this type and she’s let me out on the first morning away and not require that I go back in until after we’d been home. I would have been justified in expecting I’d be free and flopping at least through New Year’s and maybe all the way to the Monday afterward.

But not this time. As I said the other day, she’s inclined to leave me in for a while. We had setted into a routine for the past couple of months where she’s let me out on the weekends for a little activity that included pussy time for me. That’s done for now. And the change it’s had on me is apparent.

On Tuesday, I referenced an early post where I laid out my thoughts on the then-new idea that Belle would control how often and in what way I enjoyed orgasm. In it, I said…

There is so much on the web around OD, tease and denial (T&D), and domination and submission (D/s), etc., that is very anti-male. I admit to being new to this scene, so it’s entirely possible what I’m reading is just people staying in character, but I don’t think so. Many sites written by women for women (example) make men out to be little more than sexual animals who can’t be trusted to control their urges and whose sex drives can be harnessed to make them do all manner of things they wouldn’t do otherwise. I’ve even read men on forums regurgitate this POV. Like somehow OD saves them from their inner pigs. (The notable exception, and luckily the site I found very early on in my exploration, is Tickleberry.)

The above line of thought is so alien to me it’s not something I can even pretend to be into. Again, I do not judge anything anyone else is into, but personally, I revel in my maleness. I rejoice in the differences between women and men. The fact that I enjoy sex as much as I do, that it’s as important to me as it is, that I think about it all the fucking time is wonderful. I would never want to abdicate my male prerogative to anyone else, even my beloved Belle Fille.

I was scared of letting go of my “male prerogative.” Yes, I wanted my sex controlled but I also didn’t want to “waste” any of my desire for it. I felt then strongly (and still do when I allow myself) that my desire for sex is a limited natural resource. That something should be done with it when it presented itself and that something was that Belle should let me get her off. I’ve evolved significantly since then.

I still don’t ascribe to any overt anti-male feelings, but I do feel that — at least for me, though I suspect it’s true for a lot of men – that we’re fundamentally selfish beings. It may be genetics or maybe it’s socialization, but easy access to my body and the orgasms that result tends to make me far less attuned to her and her needs. I withdraw and focus on my own interests. The less I come, the easier it is for me to recognize what she needs. On top of that, the more she keeps the penis in the device and the less attention she pays it even then, the more motivated I become in not only recognizing what she needs, but in doing something about it.

This is the mysterious alchemy of my denial. Where the competing and seemingly incompatible forces of my intense background horniness meets with my deep desire to satisfy her. They beget each other. Power each other. The more I have of one, the more I have of the other. Where their hard edges strike, a bright frisson sparks within me that I find simultaneously exhilarating and calming. Warm and loved. And loving. It makes me feel alive. When it’s really working, it’s like that scene in The Wizard of OZ where Dorothy opens the door to her house after it’s fallen from the sky and suddenly sees the world in blazing Technicolor. (It’s not like I haven’t written about this before. You have a blog that’s five years old in which you essentially write about the same thing over and over, you do find yourself walking in your own footsteps more often than not.)

I felt it last night. The frisson. I was laying in bed, Belle was fast asleep, and I was dead tired. But I couldn’t sleep. That’s the dark side to all this. That flame burned so intently that it scared my own sleep away.

For the past several days, I’ve started each of them asking Belle a simple question: How can I serve you today? She’s given me tasks and I’ve tried my best to do each of them for her. She’s left the penis in its cage where the energy radiating from the plutonium decaying in its heart can be put to good use. She’s let me make our sex all about her. I’ve asked that she hold me truly accountable for the things she asks me to do. And that makes me very happy.

In a way, I suppose trying to live as the best service sub I can is a little like being a priest (says the atheist whose first exposure to Catholics was when he married one — and ohbytheway, “service sub” is a phrase I would have run from five years ago). You strive for a goal and sometimes you make it and sometimes you don’t. But you’re dedicated to it and want to do the best you can. That’s how it is with me. I not only want to see the things that will make her happy and her life more enjoyable, I want to be motivated to put my own desires aside so that I act on what I know I need to do. Unintuitively, the more generous she is with me, the less motivated I become. The more I start to expect the generosity. Expectation is the enemy of gratitude and leads to disappointment and resentment.

So yes, what I know now that I didn’t then is orgam denial and femdom and chastity can make at least some men better people. Men like me. I never could have imagined feeling this way. I have had my sex drive harnessed — happily — and now I want the saddle and the crop and the spurs and to be ridden around like a pony. And it’s what I was blubbering on about this morning. I feel so lucky to have a woman like Belle who, while never signing up for anything like what she got in me, has figured out how to adapt and even embrace our dynamic. She’s worked through her own socialization issues and found the difference between my desires and my needs. And I love her so much for it. I am so grateful.

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Size matters

“I wonder if we could use Blue over the Steelheart,” my Belle asked me this morning.

Alas, no, I doubt it would work. Without the stiff penis inside, the penis extender is too floppy and would collapses in on itself when pressure is applied around it. The Steelheart is too short to give it any support. It may also be too fat to easily get up inside there and, even if it was, the contortion that would place on the penis trapped within might be too much to handle.

The point of her question is two-fold. One, Belle’s interested in keeping me locked up more often than I have been recently. Pretty much the only reason I need to regularly get out is to provide Blue the internal structure it needs to be useful to Belle. Since she also said to me this morning that she could see keeping me locked up is good for me, it’s hard to know when she’ll let me out. She does love Blue, so I suspect the next time the penis sees the light it will be to wear Blue.

Which leads to the second point of her question. Belle really likes big dick. She has a hard time being up front with me about this. It’s sweet, really. I don’t think she wants to hurt my feelings. The size of the penis is something I can do nothing about, of course, so if she admits to me she likes them bigger than me, won’t that be terribly damaging to my ego? Well, yes, but I’m OK with that. Truly.

That’s not to say, of course, that I wouldn’t like a bigger dick. Of course I would. And knowing that I’m not big enough to really get her off does burn. Luckily, I’m not only a physical masochist, I’m a psychic one, too. That is, even though I once told her I didn’t want her to demean me, in actual fact, I totally kink on humiliation. If I’m not big enough, I want her to tell me that. I want her to remind me that it’s only because I’m not bigger that she needs something like Blue in the first place.

Our entire marriage, she’s always gone out of her way to tell me how much she liked the penis. During sex, she would just come out and say it. I never asked or prompted. This is in the context of knowing her first husband had a really big dick and now knowing how well she enjoys Blue. So I have to wonder who she was trying to convince. As I said when introducing Blue, I think what’s closer to the truth is that I’m not too small. But that doesn’t mean I’m just right.

So anyway, she should feel free to own what she really likes and also feel free to use that information to tease me. I like that kind of hurt as much as I like feeling the sting of a flogger against my ass. Also, as I’ve often said, I think the purpose of sex is to get her off. It’s primarily a vehicle for her enjoyment. Therefore, knowing that we’re using something that so well achieves that goal makes me very happy.

Getting back to her original question, no, Blue won’t work while I’m locked up, but I’ve found a potential answer. Vixen makes a lovely dildo compatible with a harness called Maverick. It’s proportions are essentially the same as Blue’s: 7″x2″. I showed it to Belle and she asked if they made anything close to my size. Yes, I told her, they did and we had it. We even have a name for it. Mr. Darcy. We bought it about three years or so ago and, I reminded her, she didn’t much like it. And it was pretty much exactly the same size as me. So we’ll be trying Maverick.

Yee-haw!

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Pussyfooting around

Last night started with me rubbing her feet with aromatic lotion and ended with my face in her pussy.

She told me straight away that I wasn’t getting out. I like that kind of certainty. I like when she tells me how it’s going to be and I don’t need to waste any energy thinking about it. I like it when she doesn’t mess around and just tells me things like she’s the boss. Because that’s what she is and it’s sexy to hear her own it.

The foot massage was long and indulgent. I got new foot lotion and it lasted a long time so I just kept going. Can’t say how long it was, but I guess it was close to 45 minutes. She made appreciative little sounds and that made me feel warm and loved.

Before she let me make her come, she fingered the Steelheart and ran her fingers over my balls. The sack got tight as the penis pressed against its confinement. Being so close to her, face to face, breath to breath, and having her tease me that way makes me feel dopey and light-headed. It’s coming up on six months since my last orgasm and the power of tiny little touches is amplified and reamplified by my hormone load.

As she took off her clothes so I could go to work, I leaned back and felt the device’s bite as the straining penis flopped heavily from one side to the other. I hungrily sucked on her tits and ran my fingers around her snatch, teasing her lightly. Getting her juices going.

After rubbing her clit for a few minutes, she asked me if I’d go down on her. That’s cute. Fucking yes, of course I would. Always. And asking makes it sound like I have a choice. I’ll do whatever she wants. Whatever she says. Always.

I licked and lapped over the folds of what feels sometimes like the center of my universe and reached up with my hand to finger her nipples. I had a hard time getting into a position where I could lay on my stomach with a hard locked-up penis crushed between me and the bed. Belle “helped” by reaching her foot down and using her toes to play with my balls and the hard, hard tube while I buried my face in her. She came nicely and I lingered between her legs, breathing deeply on her pheromones.

She fell asleep quickly. Me, not so much. Even after I found it, sleep was fitful. I was preoccupied with being as close to her as possible. With being able to feel some part of her or hold her or just rest my head against her body. I woke up this morning pressed up against her still. I wrapped my arms around her and felt the tube filled with morning erection press between us.

I admitted to her that leaving me in like that during sex was good for me. It was hard to say, not because I didn’t think it was true. I do. All the way down. I can feel that it’s true. But there’s a not inconsequential part of me that’s been spoiled with all the pussy access lately. I wanted out. I wanted to be inside her. I wanted to edge myself right up to the point of orgasm and then stop so I could feel the single surge of ejaculate flow through me and into her. But not being able to do that left me feeling so close to her. So needful of her. So much more devoted to her.

That’s what this is all about, after all.

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Sex talking

“What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking I need to get your key. I’m thinking I should put it my nightstand at night so I don’t need to get up and get it in the morning. What are you thinking about?”

I couldn’t say. I was thinking that I was excited about getting out. I was also thinking that I always get out. I was thinking that she lets me out no matter what. Whether I deserve it or not.

She got the key and I unlocked the Steelheart and watched that thing happen where more of the penis than should fit in the tube come out of it. I rolled back over and she was naked and I put her nipple in my mouth and started to feel around her body. She felt warm and soft and the penis was very hard.

“How can I make you come today, Belle Fille?”

She purred a little. “I want Blue.”

She didn’t want me to jump right up, though. I could play with her pussy a little before. And I did. Fucking hell, I love her pussy.

“I play with your pussy more than I play with myself.” A lot more.

“Yep.” Said in a well, of course you do tone.

She fingered the penis. Traced it and gave it some tugging squeezes. That simple contact made me dizzy. Such a small thing but so powerful for someone who hardly ever even sees his erection let alone touches it.

Then I got Blue and put it on. It adds so much swaying heft. I can’t believe there are actually guys with dicks this big. With my hand wrapped around it, I couldn’t help but feel the pang of wishing it was me but knowing it wasn’t. Not even close.

She climbed up and fucked it and I fucked her back. There’s so much more intensity in her face and her sounds when she’s got that thing inside her. When she came, it was hard enough that I could feel her clamp down through the layer of stretchy blue fake dick. She gathered herself while laying on me and I raced inside.

After she rolled off, I pulled Blue off and snuggled into her. The penis was pressing hard against her. What if she told me no? What if she said that was it? But it wasn’t. I could go in.

I slipped easily inside her. So easily. Barely filling the void left by the big dick I had been wearing for her. The feeling of her like that does something profound to me. I had to move slowly to avoid coming immediately.

“Do you like Blue?”

“Yes, I love it.”

And I want to hear her say that. To hear her tell me she loves that long fat cock.

While I’m fucking her, we talk. I tell her all I want is for her to be happy. To be the one to make her happy. And that she’s so nice to me. But what I want isn’t important. What I get doesn’t matter. I want to feel that I have no control over what happens. That I don’t deserve to expect anything in return. She asks me if I want her to be mean to me. It’s hard for me to say it while I’m inside her because it feels so good and it’s the only good feeling that comes from the penis, these mornings she lets me fuck her. But she doesn’t have to feel that she needs to be nice to me. I admit yes, I would like her to be mean to me. At least when it comes to sex. I want to be used for her pleasure and only be given my own when she feels I’ve earned it. I should not expect anything. Whatever I get, it’s because she wants me to have it, not because I should get it. Not because I want it. What I want isn’t important. I should focus on her. Getting her off. Making her happy, in whatever way that is.

 

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My invisible closet

Yesterday, I posted about the issues I had with assuming men who say they’re interested in women looking at “gay porn” are closeted gays. There’s just not a straight (ahem) line from one to the other. But that’s yesterday’s topic.

In the post, I said…

If I’m closeted, it’s as…whatever it is I am. I don’t tell people about my sexual stimulants. It’s just not something that comes up and I’m not the kind of guy to wear such a thing on my sleeve (multi-year explicit sex blog to the contrary). Plus, as I’ve said before, I hate the term “bisexual” and abhor using it as a descriptor for who I am.

Then I said…

Some of us don’t want anything more than the same basic rights and privileges enjoyed by everyone else. Some of us think there is no better way to advocate for that than to show through the living of our lives that we’re no different.

And then I said in a comment…

[T]he way to get full acceptance isn’t through names and labels and words that divide us. It’s through living a free and open life and demonstrating through actions that all people are fundamentally the same.

Which is kinda the same thing I said before, but whatever.

In thinking on this, it occurs to me that there’s a fairly gaping and obvious flaw in my approach. I’m not “out” as someone with non-straight proclivities. Therefore, how can I show anything at all about other people similar to me through the living of my life? It’s kind of a Catch-22. I won’t accept the label “bisexual” (though I have used it about myself here in the past as it is convenient shorthand) and I’m already married so how, exactly, can I “come out?” Out as what? Which, of course, is why people invent labels. Yeah, I know.

I don’t care if people know I’m flexible but I’m also not going to drop it on them without context because that’s just weird. I guess the same goes for the kink and submission attributes. I’m not ashamed, but I’m also not interested in being flamboyant about it. If you think about, there are remarkably few opportunities to tell someone about the guy-on-guy action you’ve indulged in where that information would be relevant to the conversation.

I don’t really have an answer for this. I’m just identifying the issue.

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Turning more tricks

A little over a month ago I told you how Google had changed their algorithm such that my CB-6000 tips and tricks page, which had been growing in popularity, had suddenly plummeted down their rank and taken traffic to the page with it. Recently, I’ve noticed it start to claw its way back up to the point where it’s currently the fifth thing listed by Google when people search for variations of “CB-6000.” I don’t know if that’s due to a change in how their ranking works or a natural result of people clicking to it more often and Google naturally promoting it. In any event, it’s back to being the number one page on the site (after the homepage) and is steadily marching back up to its previous levels of interaction.

Screenshot 2013-12-11 13.53.35

If you’re like me, you find this kind of thing interesting. If you’re not, move along!

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Words aren’t helping

The New York Times this weekend ran a story about an interesting way to divine, as the article’s headline puts it, “How many American men are gay?” The state-by-state social acceptance of homosexuals was cross-referenced against the number of men on Facebook who say they’re interested in men and that was compared to the percentage of Google searches for male gay porn.

First of all, this is fascinating stuff. And it probably does demonstrate the very sad issue of those living in areas where they’re unwelcome due to shallow and outdated ideas of what’s right and wrong. But I do have a fundamental issue with how author of this work perpetuated the myth that human sexuality is a choice between zero and six on the Kinsey scale.

Checking, I see that I haven’t told Facebook what gender I’m interested in. Of course, I’m married and was before Facebook came along and have never had to use it as a facet of my dating life, so why would I? But, were I not married, I wonder what I’d say to it. I’m an ostensibly straight-identified person who has found long-term contentment in a relationship with a woman but am very much interested in men from a sexual perspective. That means my Google history contains some evidence of searches for “gay” porn which would classify me, in the terms of this article, as a closeted gay man. But I’m not. Not even close.

If I’m closeted, it’s as…whatever it is I am. I don’t tell people about my sexual stimulants. It’s just not something that comes up and I’m not the kind of guy to wear such a thing on my sleeve (multi-year explicit sex blog to the contrary). Plus, as I’ve said before, I hate the term “bisexual” and abhor using it as a descriptor for who I am. I am totally open to both genders from a sexual perspective but could never really see myself being able to “settle down” with a man. It always had to be a woman for me. Is that what bisexual means? I don’t think so (and even if I did, I bet I could find a hundred people who disagreed with me). There are a lot of other words out there that try to capture the flexibility of what I am (what I strongly believe all people are to some extent), but I don’t care for any of them. Human sexuality just doesn’t lend itself to tidy classification. The best thing I can think of is still the Kinsey scale. I’m a three with vacillations towards two and four. But even that is only a piece of my sexuality.

As annoying as the Times article is, one from Slate makes me optimistic for the future. In “Does Coming Out Count If You Reject Labels” (yes), we learn that ridiculously scrumptious British Olympic diver Tom Daley recently said he had a boyfriend. Lived with the guy. Felt “so safe” with him but also still found women attractive. Not that he was gay or bi or anything. Just fucking yummy little Tom. Likewise, actress Maria Bello told the world she was in a relationship with a woman after having previously only been with men. Bello dared to say she “would like to consider [herself] a ‘whatever,'” rather than a lesbian or bisexual.

And I’m like…YES. Of course. I totally get that. Before I found Belle, I had been serious with guys from time to time (mostly with one) and that didn’t change who I really was. The biggest issue with me then (and, by extension, my boyfriend) was I had bought into the bullshit paradigm regarding Kinsey zeros and sixes. And it tore me up. It’s remarkably refreshing to see us moving in this post-label direction. When people fuck who they want and reject the adjectives invented by others to categorize and reduce. But, the author in Slate says:

[D]espite the rapid progress on limited issues like marriage, it bears asking whether we are at a point in history where we are advanced enough to dispense with gay solidarity entirely. For better or for worse, the very much unfinished LGBTQ civil rights project involves a certain amount of PR, and every PR campaign needs some buzzwords. Naively imagining that you can remove yourself from that paradigm because gay or bi doesn’t quite fit is a highly privileged act—especially when, as far as I can tell, the only worthwhile thing that can come from a celebrity’s coming out is some small contribution to queer visibility in communities where queer people may not be easily seen beyond the page or screen.

And I say, fuck “gay solidarity.” Why should anyone feel compelled to force themselves into ill-fitting stereotypes? If you’re not fucking gay, don’t call yourself that. If you don’t feel like a bisexual, don’t tell them you are. If that’s not good enough for those at the forefront of the “LGBTQ civil rights project” (holy shit, the “LGBTQ” nonsense shows how stupid all these words are), then screw ’em. Some of us don’t see our sexualities as political statements. Some of us don’t want anything more than the same basic rights and privileges enjoyed by everyone else. Some of us think there is no better way to advocate for that than to show through the living of our lives that we’re no different. And maybe if we’d stop trying to put the multiverse of the human sexual continuum into five or six buckets, we’d be able to see that better.

I’m not a word. I’m a person. Just like Bello and Daley. And just like you.

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Working it

One other time, I had a dream that I had sex with a co-worker. Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week. Then it happened again just a few days ago. Different one this time. Funny thing is, this time around, I couldn’t remember which one it was until she was sitting next to me in a meeting. Then it all came rushing back and I’m quite certain I blushed.

The dream is lost to me. All I remember is she was the aggressor in it. She’s somewhat aggressive in real life, so that figures. It’s still affecting me, too. She came to my desk earlier today to ask my opinion on something and, standing next to me, I felt somewhat…I don’t know. Uncomfortable. Hard to describe. Not bad. Just weird.  My imagination drew suspicions from her movements and closeness, ascribing her dream persona’s motives to her in real life. Silly, but palpable.

Similarly, I was in a client meeting today (the client I’ve been so focused on recently). All men, which is rare. There are a lot of women in my field and they’re usually the majority of any meeting (as they are at my office), but not at this client. Kind of an old boy’s club. Their culture is competitive and the guys I was meeting with were all directors and above and, while being perfectly nice to one another, that competitiveness was always just under the surface. The room was barely big enough for the conference table let alone the nine of us. I found myself very much aware that I was the different one in the room. It didn’t show. I was holding my own, but I felt…again, I don’t know. Disadvantaged? In a room full of women, I can feel energized. My condition only accentuates that. I think they sense it and it works. In a room full of guys, visage aside, I’m likely the beta male. Of course, it’s possible (and even likely) that I’m not the only one there with one face for the public and another for my wife.

In any event, I realize that often the device and my state can feel like a superpower. But today it was the opposite. That which made me different felt like a detraction. Something in the room was my Kryptonite. It set me on edge. I was happy to be out of there.

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Good boy

Rule number 13 from Thumper’s Big Book of Blogging (Random House, 2008) is to never apologize for not having blogged in a long time. So I’m not going to do that. What I will say is I’ve been very busy at work in the kind of way that saps my brain and leaves me without a lot of gas in the blogging tank.

So. An update. Belle left me unlocked for more than a week. She let me out for the typical R&R and I found I had a small wound on the bottom of the shaft that needed to heal up and it took at least five of those days. Probably from some pinching and a badly situated weld on the bottom of the tube. The “don’t play with it” rule wasn’t really an issue because the little fucker hurt too much when I took it in hand, but sometime near the end of the unlocked period, I discovered whilst showering that the little fucker had healed sufficiently that I could, if I wanted to, play with it.

And I did.

So I did.

Not for too terribly long. Long enough to make it spurt in a non-orgasmic way, though. Then the guilt. Which made the pressure drop so that the stupid thing went soft. So, to recap, I haven’t come in over five months and desperately want to jack off but knowing I’m not supposed to but having done so anyway was enough to totally kill my hard-on. Training!

I did tell Belle about the transgression. She muttered something about punishment but never followed through.

Sunday, I had to go back in. I had been out for nine days and that was enough to be used to the feeling of being free and seeing the penis rather than the steel every time I went to the bathroom. She told me I had to go in on Sunday but had fallen asleep before checking and making sure I was. The thought of staying out one more night was a tempting one, but as I settled in for the night the subby nagging bit in the back of my mind told me to get up and put it back on. I left the key on her nightstand.

Monday night, Belle said to me, “That’s a good Thumpie, putting yourself back in like that.” I made a noncommittal whiny grunting sound.

“You’re better when you’re locked up,” she continued. I felt a pang of submissive reaction and avoided looking her in the eye. “And you know it,” she whispered, “don’t you?”

I melted.

Yes, of course. It’s true. By the end of that week out, I would see myself naked and unlocked and think, “Man, it’s good to have that thing off. Why do we even have to use that? What a pain.” Today, I got out of the shower and saw the shining steel between my legs and thought, “I’m a good boy,” and felt all the way down that locked was more natural than not. Funny how that works.

Last thing, then back to work. In that not awake but not asleep dream state we can find ourselves in in the morning, I dreamt today that I was jacking off again. I was edging myself and really enjoying it and then thought, “I’m just going to do it. I’m going to jack off just for the pleasure of jacking off.”

“But what if I come?” I asked. “What if I get too close to the edge?”

“Then I come,” I thought back. And I started to stroke it. I felt it get hard in my hand. It lengthened the best it can and swell up and I felt the locking of the orgasmic mechanism inside me and the ejacualte presure start to build for the shot across my stomach.

Then the bite of the Steelheart woke me up. I wasn’t jacking off. I wasn’t going to come.

I’m a good boy.