The Day

Today was The Day with Drew.

He was originally going to have a brief layover in town that only would have allowed an hour or so of getting to know each other in person time but then had a delayed flight that would have caused him to miss his connection so all of a sudden he was here overnight. The plan morphed into picking him up at the airport and spending some time together, though not too late, but then that new flight was similarly delayed. All of a sudden, the one hour visitation was potentially a lot more since his flight didn’t leave until the following afternoon.

I’ll admit, this was stressful to me. On the one hand, I didn’t want Belle to necessarily be aware of the The Day, as I’ve said before, since I didn’t want her to have to think too hard about it. I didn’t want it sitting out there. Before, The Day was in December. But now, it was now and she was aware and would be and I felt stress about that. She, though, showed none. Zero. I would go so far as to say she was bordering on encouraging. It wasn’t until last night when I was able to see her face to face that I was able to say how I felt as succinctly as I could. I never want to hurt her ever again. Not like I did. Not anything like it. And so much of my stress was that I would, inadvertently, do that. She assured me that she didn’t feel like she was going to be hurt. So that weight was lifted.

I was also stressed because Drew really wanted to see me and I wanted to finally see him and things kept shifting and I kept having to balance the desire to see him against my desire to be respectful and mindful of Belle. I didn’t want to disappoint him. So as things finally seemed to gel, I realized I could see him all morning today if I cancelled and moved some meetings. Me, being the boss, was able to do that and so I cleared my morning for him.

So, I’m not going to get into the sordid details here. Let’s just say today was, in fact, The Day.

As I’ve gone along in life, I figured out a while back that one of the main reasons I couldn’t be gay was because, once done having sex with a man, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I wanted to get as far away as possible. Super unfair to the other guy, obviously, and not a good way to build a relationship. I figured in the case of Drew (or whoever might have taken the bait on me in my condition), this wouldn’t be an issue because I’d never come. But, I realized after I dropped him at the airport, I felt a little taste of that old feeling. I am that guy gay’s seem to hate in bisexual men. Fuck and then gone.

I’ve told Drew this as I always want to be as honest as possible, but I don’t think it’s a real problem. The fact that he lives far away and won’t be in town really often means I can just leave when it’s over. And in the time he’s away, my interest in him can rebuild. It’s the perfect arrangement, I think. If he lived here, I don’t think my inherent assholish attitude toward men would allow me to be a very good partner in this scheme.

Also a funny thing, I didn’t feel this way until he came. Even with him, I have developed the tendency to feel certain aftereffects of orgasms I don’t have. It’s really weird.

The other thing I found interesting is, at some point, I realized I really wanted to be with Belle. Like, really. I craved her company. I do like Drew very much and had a swell time with him (which, as I said, we won’t be talking about here in detail), but Belle is the absolute love of my life and nothing is ever going to change that. I can’t wait to be with her tonight.

No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I always want it to end with me being back in her arms. Even on The Day.

Holy Trainer FTW

Andy, a UK-based blogger and prolific sex toy reviewer who writes Ruffled Sheets, has posted a new review of the Holy Trainer.

This really is my favourite ‘off the shelf’ chastity device. After I bought mine I was quick to tell people how good they were … If you’re thinking of experimenting with chastity, do yourself a favour and lock your (or your partner’s) penis in one of these.

I agree with everything he says about the device and many of his points came up in my review of the first generation Holy Trainer. The new design only makes it better.

Andy dings it for having an ugly key and, truly, it is ugly. Certainly not suitable for external wear by a keyholder, but it’s the exact same kind of lock and key employed by Steelworxx on their integrated lock designs and it’s such a great little lock for that purpose that I’m willing to let the ugliness of the key go. Belle was never one to wear a key visibly anyway (though I’m sure she’d make an exception for the Steelwerks key and I hope she gets the chance someday). Andy similarly faults the manufacturer for not including multiple ring sizes, as did I. I suggested they provide an upgrade option to buy more than one at a time at a discounted price but just including them would be preferred and knock one of the CB-6000’s competitive advantages out of play. I have to imagine a plastic molded device being sold for $165 (in the UK, available from UberKinky for £147) has a substantial amount of margin built-in and the inclusion of a few extra rings shouldn’t break the bank (especially as they sell them and the cost of the molds are amortized away). Selling a sole, single-piece plastic ring for $48 borders on criminal, IMO.

But those faults are relatively minor for what I think is the very best starter device you can buy today. In his review, Andy remains generous in his view of the CB-6000 but I think the Trainer is so much better in nearly every way that I just can’t bring myself to recommend it to anyone. If you’re looking to dip your, er, toe into the world of enforced male chastity, you will not go wrong with the Holy Trainer. In fact, I think it’s so good I don’t know that upgrading to steel would ever be necessary as long as the plastic aesthetic and lack of steely durability wasn’t an issue for you.

In any event, go read Andy’s review. Oh, did I mention he was super hot? Fuck yes he is. Indeed.

Quality time

It’s always nice when the various orbits of family life occasionally align so that parents can find some good old fashioned quality time for themselves. Saturday was one of those days for us.

The second child was going to be at a friend’s house at a sleep-over birthday party and the first child is more than able to take care of himself so Belle bought tickets to a movie and made dinner reservations for us. Dinner and a movie. I mean, crazy. Just like the young people do it. Never mind the movie started at 4:30 in the afternoon and the dinner reservations were at 6:30. Not quite senior special hour at Denny’s, but close. What matters is we had a real fucking date.

Earlier in the day, Belle had rewarded me with a nice long list of things to do for the weekend. They were all mundane domestic-type things, but they weren’t things we needed to do, they were things I needed to do. And that makes a big difference. Also, since I was doing them, Belle was free to go for a run and otherwise just focus on things she wanted to do for herself. That kind of thing feels like warm honey poured on my soul.

So I was able to get most of my tasks finished in time for the movie (we saw The Skeleton Twins which was good but often felt too much like a couple of well-known comedians trying very hard to show they have serious actor chops). We had dinner at a nice upscale casual spot on a city park. Belle commented that it wasn’t as crowded as she would have thought and I reminded her city folk don’t do dinner at 6:30 PM. They’re barely breaking out the cocktails at that time. Sure enough, by the time we were finished eating, the place had filled up dramatically with young and beautiful people (some of whom were veritably spilling from their bodices).

During the meal, I got a text from the first child asking if it was OK with us if he went and spent the night at a friends house and we were more than OK with it. That meant our afternoon and evening alone would be capped off by an entire night alone. What kind of decadent fantasy world had we entered?

I had already arranged with Belle that I’d give her a massage when we got home but having the house empty meant we didn’t have to be creepy parents with the door closed and romantic music playing behind and got to leave the door open. I lit up all the candles and turned on an old k. d. lang album we used to have on tight rotation when we first started our relationship and we both got naked. And I mean naked since she gave me the key to the Steelheart beforehand.

Not that she wanted the penis. Maybe she thought she was being nice or maybe she just didn’t want to mess with it in the morning, but once the meat was free, I had lost my interest in the massage and was singularly focused on getting it wet. She redirected my attention and that’s how I found myself sitting on her ass rubbing lemon verbena scented oil into her skin.

The penis didn’t get totally hard, but it laid on the small of her back pointing up her spine and plumped out to about 70%. I could feel the end of it hypersensitized from being in the tube for a week brushing against her skin as I rose to get better leverage against her shoulder muscles. I felt stupidly horny but she said I just had to “be strong” and wait until morning. As usual, such a demonstration would be good for me. So I was good and, even after she was fast asleep and I was Tumbling through the porn, I very specifically did not play with the erection.

I woke up several times as the end of the erection was fired by simple contact with the sheets. That would invariably cause my chest to fill with the old familiar carnivorous butterflies fluttering around and feeding on my previously contained sexual energy. But still, I was good. No playing. Nary a squeeze. All this was made more difficult by the fact that she was uncharacteristically sleeping nude like I almost always do. Every time I touched her, I felt her hot skin and the butterflies roared.

I was awake hours before her. I checked my phone and looked at Facebook and more Tumblr and all kinds of things. I managed to fall back into a light doze just before she woke up for good. Again, like good modern adults, we were quickly back on our respective glowing screens and I took the opportunity to tweet:

Since the house was empty, she was able to come as loudly as she wanted and she usually wants to come pretty loudly. Her orgasms are such a big deal to me that I nearly shot my load myself just hearing her climax. Fucking hell, but feeling her come is the greatest thing ever. I’m so much more aware of how it impacts her whole body now. It’s just glorious.

After her basking period, she told me climb aboard. As soon as the penis slipped into its warm and wet home, she said in my ear, “You will come.”

Called it.

How did I know? No clue. I could just feel it, though. It was right there. As obvious as the boner between my legs. She was kinda miffed later that I knew it was coming.

So I started to fuck her and was pretty pleased with myself that I didn’t shoot immediately. But not too long into it, when I felt the orgasm coalescing in that familiar way I’m usually really good at fending off, I lost control. I had wanted to edge several times in the hopes that the eventual orgasm would be plentiful and enjoyable, but at the first edge I felt as though a third party stepped in and took over. My old friend the lizard pushed the fuzzy bunny out of the way and forced me to keep fucking. It’s an odd sensation to feel one’s primal forces take control from the higher brain, but that’s what happened. I even remember thinking, “No!” But it was too late.

The orgasm wasn’t pleasurable. Not at all. I was also noisy because I could be, but I cried out in such a way that Belle asked me near the end if I was OK. No, I wasn’t. I felt like I passed a marble through my prostate while someone simultaneously slammed me in the small of my back with the flat side of a shovel. The intensity removed any pleasure. I came too hard.

The dopey glowy part after was kinda nice, but didn’t make up for the fact that I felt somehow violated by my own psyche.

In the hours that followed, whatever salutary benefits my denial creates evaporated leaving behind only the gritty residue of pent-up frustration. I fucking wanted to come again. NOW. But she wanted me back in the Steelheart. She’s no dummy. She knows how this works by now. So, only a couple hours later, I was felt the cold tube envelope the needy penis just as she wanted.

I finished my remaining tasks, but without enthusiasm. I forced myself to let the subby rabbit come forward and be good even though my temper was very short and I felt pretty irritable. I did all I could to shield Belle from that. As the day wore on, I could feel a slow steady drip start to refill my sub reservoir, but the dominant feelings I had were far from subby.

The new thing for me this time around was Drew lurking in the background. I wondered how coming would change my enthusiasm for having a guy on the side. Not only that, but a guy I was supposedly subbing to. I will admit (as I already did to him), that enthusiasm took a big hit. Had it been up to me, I wouldn’t have volunteered for any contact with him and would have retreated into myself. That’s my default behavior with regard to men and sexual release which is why I could never have a romantic relationship with one. After I come, I’m just not into them and actually actively avoid them.

But I wasn’t rude and I soldiered through my default inclination. I felt bad for him because he’s been away from home for a while now on the other side of the world for business and has been feeling the isolation. So I was nice. I admit I had to work at it, but I didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did. In any event, I was honest with him and he understood. It’s all new and weird, and not only for me. For him, for Belle. For all involved.

I feel like I’m a better sub now than I was in the past. Before, this one orgasm would have sent me spinning. I had no leverage against the changes it causes in my chemistry and no way to shield anyone around me. I’d spiral down and get depressed and angry at wanting more and not being where I wanted to be. I’d resist going back in the device and conveniently forget to put it on even though I knew that’s what she wanted. But now I feel much stronger. I feel like I know how to deal with it and know it’s not the end of the world. A lot of this is because I’ve really and truly let go of resisting her control over my orgasm even (and especially) when it involves giving me one I’d rather not have. There’s freedom in that and, surprisingly, strength.

Also, Belle’s more confident in her role. She’s not feeling sorry for me and is less willing to accept my backsliding. She has a better handle on how my chemistry works and has no qualms manipulating it to both of our advantages.

I can’t say I’m back in the groove this morning. Not even 70% there. But I know I will get there and I’m choosing to focus on the glimmers of my subby groove I can feel out there and not on the shards of willful lizard thinking. In my forty-seventh year, I feel more confident in who I am sexually than at any time in my life. And more accepting of it. I’m very lucky that the light of my life is right there with me.


So, a funny thing I’ve noticed. Since this whole Drew thing came along, I find myself a lot more attentive to Belle. Very much more in my Thumper zone. I don’t need to get into all the examples, but it’s true. She’s noticed it, too. She appreciates it.

I have some theories as to why this is. First, I am terribly grateful to her (as always). That she would show so much trust in me and allow me the freedom to seek out and engage with someone like Drew. It’s like a dream come true, really. The prospect of it all makes me happy and I want her to be as happy or happier because it wouldn’t be possible without her. So I find myself especially focused on ways to please her and remove stress from her life. And she’s very stressed lately.

The second theory is a bit more complicated (but not necessarily contradictory to the first). Belle’s been aware for some time now of the whole me and all my inclinations and predilections and, for those she hasn’t wanted to participate in, has allowed me space to indulge them by myself and I have always indulged them by myself. So there’s been these two worlds I kinda live in. The one with Belle and the one with just me. But, you know, I’m a sub. All the way down. Not a switch. Not at all. A sub. I crave what I have with Belle in both my worlds. And now, with Drew, I’m not alone in that other world that Belle doesn’t come into. She’s let someone else enter into it and he’s assumed a similar role as she has in our marriage. Not the same emotional role because only Belle can be that to me. But the same role with regards to power exchange. Because, as a sub, that’s what I want and need. To give up power.

So now, I spend a lot more time in that subby mindset. I don’t drift out of it and get lazy and forget. I don’t have as many opportunities to get selfish. I’m more often primed to want to serve and demonstrate my gratitude for being dominated. No matter where I turn and which “world” I find myself in, I am able to focus on someone above me. This adds to my happiness and that makes me much more inclined to be good at being her sub.

Now, this all sounds like Belle and Drew are somehow equals in my mind. Even writing the words “Belle and Drew” suggests that. But it’s not the case. I’ve written before about how relationships are multilayered with basic, foundational elements below and optional dependent additions higher up. My base relationship with Belle is fundamentally sound. More so than it’s ever been. That allows us to layer on the chastity and denial and D/s and all that. And, it allows the entire Drew layer, too. Drew and what he represents is not in any way equal to Belle and what she is to me. It does not exist beside my primary relationship. His layer is dependent on Belle. It’s just another being held up by our base relationship.

I may enjoy my interactions with Drew and he may develop into a good friend over time, but nothing will ever change how I feel about Belle and our life together. She’s my North Star. She’s my reason. Even in the depths of the darkest times between us, I never not for a second could imagine a life without her. And that we could have gone through all that and come out stronger and even so strong that something like Drew could become possible is remarkable to me. I count myself among the luckiest of rabbits.

All that gratitude and optimism and excitement is not sapped from my primary relationship with Belle. It feeds back into it. For someone who grew up on Disney cartoons and the dominant cultural relationship paradigm found everywhere else in our media, the idea that opening up a relationship under the terms we have would actually drive a net benefit is a remarkable revelation. We puny mortals do not have finite pools of affection and interest. We can make as much as we need, on demand. And seemingly, the more we make, the better it is for all concerned.

I’m babbling now. It’s enough to say Belle continues to find ways to make me a very happy person. As I said on our anniversary, she is primarily responsible for all the best things in my life. My gratitude and devotion to her is boundless.

Dishrag quilt

It’s cliche to say, but each life unfolds like a tapestry. When lives come together, their tapestries become more than twice their original size. We’re talking BIG. Like, cover the dining hall wall of a castle kind of big.

Most of this tapestry is fairly mundane stuff. The daily minutia nobody outside the lives it chronicles would care much to see but are important to those being chronicled. But some of it can be pretty interesting. At least, it should be the hope of those whose tapestries are being hung that at least a little of it turns out to be worth looking at.

When I blog here, I’m not recreating our tapestry. I’m pulling colors and textures off it and knitting together little dishrags and handkerchiefs and washcloths. Just tiny, hand-wrought complimentary items. Taken as a whole, you’re left with a quilt that, when you step away from it, suggests the tapestry but is not a reflection of it.

I don’t write about everything that happens in my life or Belle’s here. I don’t tell you all the things we say to one another or do together. This is especially true now, six years in. I don’t talk about my achy knees or choir concerts or tweet about my breakfast or my worries that Belle works too hard to know if she’s happy with her life. I leave most of our lives out. And since this is a blog written by me about me and Belle, I leave almost all of her life not associated with me out. That’s just natural.

I say all this because I think some might occasionally start to think they really know me through my words here. That they know Belle. But you don’t. You can’t. I don’t mix my sex bloggery with my real life social networks. At least, not much. Those of you who really do know me, as the kids call it, IRL do so because I’ve let you in. Chances are, if you’re reading this, I haven’t let you in. So don’t pass judgement on me or Belle or what you think I said or did or the choices we make in our lives. I omit more than you can imagine and, if you’re trying to fill in the blanks, you’re doing just that. Imagining.

I do appreciate feedback. Always. I also appreciate the community that has accreted around me as a result of this blog. But I don’t write to be judged. You may come to conclusions about me or Belle along the way since that’s human nature. Just try to remember you’re doing so based on a random dishrag stitched into a big, loud quilt and don’t have all the facts. Not ever.

A tale of two talks

Belle and I and the kids just got back from a long weekend in San Francisco. Truly, one of the great cities of the world. The weather was fantastic and we ended up walking, according to my phone, about 75,000 steps in four days. That’s some miles.

So yeah, awesome, except that the kids were there. No, of course, I love my children, but Belle and I weren’t getting any time to ourselves since we were sharing a room with them. The third night we were there was our seventeenth wedding anniversary so we let the kids get room service and we went to a lovely little Italian place away from the (obvious) tourists.

I was anxious to talk to Belle about Drew. I told her earlier in the weekend to catch up on the blog so she already knew of him from that, but I had been texting with him from time to time and felt a little furtive not having had a chance to speak with her directly about him.

So, over some really excellent pasta and a bottle of passable Croatian Pinot Grigio (who even knew there was such a thing?), we talked. As with the last time a guy passed through our orbit, she wasn’t bothered or concerned. She’s really OK with it. That was an incredible relief for me. Not that I was worried so much about her not being OK, but you never know.

Since then, I’ve spoken to my old high school boyfriendthing who has a similar open arrangement with his husband and he told me that, even though it all seems OK and everyone is saying they’re OK and OK is raining from the sky and filling OK lakes and streams all around, you never lose that nagging worry that everything isn’t OK. Good to know I’m not just neurotic.

Anyway, over on the other side of the country, Drew was having the same check-in with his husband who similarly reestablished that everything was, as had been previously agreed to, OK. In fact, Drew wanted me to point this out specifically to you, my readers, since he didn’t want anyone to think he was doing something under the table with me (which isn’t a sex pun but totally could be now that I write it out).

So while the sailing on the Sea of OK seems pretty clear, I’m left with a bit of a paradox. Belle’s my closest and best friend. There are few corners of my soul she hasn’t had a view of at this point and I strive to be as open and honest with her as possible in all things. Also, since she’s my best friend (no, really — I know guys are supposed to say that about their wives, but in this case it’s true), I want to tell her about the things that are happening to me that are new or I’m excited about. Like Drew. But I also want to be really super careful not to drain the OK tub by accidentally crossing some informational line I’m too doped up on hormones and unicorn farts to see. I talked to her about that tonight over an unusually kid-free dinner. She’s still…you guessed it, OK, and doesn’t have a problem hearing about Drew as a person but we’re still feeling around in the dark about anything beyond that.

For example. I know the date when my first in-person meeting with Drew will happen. Belle asked when I was going to be able to see him but I felt weird telling her the actual day. I didn’t want to put her in a place where it was hanging out there and she could think about it as a specific thing and then get up that morning knowing THAT WAS THE DAY, etc., so I was cagy. And I felt bad because I want to be honest and I definitely do not want to sneak around. So that’s a thing.

Where I left it with Belle was I was going to keep things from her but I wasn’t going to be dishonest. If she wants to know something, I will tell her, but will otherwise try to be respectful of her right not to know until we get a little deeper into this arrangement. I won’t even link directly to any posts about Drew on The Portfolio (where all the Drew-specific tell-alls will be housed mixed in amongst the porn and smut). I don’t know if it’s the right way to do this since neither of us have been in this spot before, but it seems the way to go for now.

Another gentleman caller

So way back at the beginning of this year, Belle told me I was allowed to seek male…er, companionship…so as to meet certain needs and desires she was not interested in exploring with me (i.e., I’m a whore and want to get fucked by some guy). Back in May, a nice man approached me regarding said companionship. That assignation was not meant to be, alas. Michael’s situation was complicated and I can only assume a little boy ass on the side (without the concomitant penis accessible) wasn’t something that fit for him at the time. In any event, the reality that I might find someone to “companion with” gave Belle and I a chance to reiterate her ground rules and my acceptance of them. In short:

  • Belle is, was, and always shall be my primary partner.
  • The penis will always be locked no matter what
  • Whatever happens happens on my time and is not a distraction to her or our life.
  • I am able to blog about it, but she doesn’t necessarily want to read any of it.
  • Her privacy must be assured.

As it happens, I’ve been feeling a little dejected that there were no other interested parties. That’s not to say I wasn’t contacted, but they were apparently unable to read english and were looking for something distinctly different than what I described I wanted on my Collarspace profile. So anyway, I stopped checking in on my bait until yesterday when I decided on a whim to see what was up.

And right there was someone with real potential. We’ll call him Drew. On the plus side, he’s looking for pretty much what I am, except on the other side of the action. He’s a switch married to another man who’s also given him permission to go outside his marriage for certain activities. He only wants someone to top and have sex with. A friend, not a lover. Nothing anonymous, but nothing overly serious. Perfect. He says one of his fantasies has been to fuck a guy who’s locked up and unable to come, so I figure I’m pretty much right out of central casting on that score. He’s assumed a dominant role with me with clicks nicely in how I want to be treated. In fact, in our 24 hours or so of communication, he’s yet to say anything that strikes me the wrong way. His interests and mine are a good fit. We have a lot in common. On the negative side, he lives a long way away. But, silver lining, he travels a lot and is in town every once in a while.

So, that’s where we are. Only one day in, but very promising. In order to honor Belle’s requirement that I not put the sorted details in front of her, I’m going to use The Portfolio to write about our interactions in more detail. If you follow me there or on Twitter, you can stay abreast of developments.

It goes without saying that I’m an incredibly lucky bunny to be married to a woman who would allow this to be possible. I simply couldn’t love her more and am so grateful to be with her.


Two today.

Caged Nerd said:

I’ve used a CB6k and currently wear a Jail Bird fairly regularly.

However I have noticed that the JB isn’t quite as snug as when I was first wearing it.  Did you ever notice that your body has adjusted to your cages over time, and as a result you have had to purchase a smaller base ring?

Also, is there a particular device you would recommend for an uncircumcised man? I find cleaning can be quite difficult at times.

Yes, early on I found the size of the A-ring I needed got smaller the more I wore it. I started out using the largest (at the time) CB6K ring and eventually dropped to 40mm for the Steelheart I wear now. I also have noticed the devices fit differently in that untold number of erections pulling at my balls have made my scrotum stretch. The net benefit of this is a reduction of the relative intensity of testicular discomfort during attempted erections (though it’s hard to get rid of entirely).

With regard to those who are foreskin-enabled, I don’t really have advice. It’s a question I see fairly often, though. My foreskin was taken from me before I had the ability to express my own opinion on the matter so I just don’t have any experience to speak from. Sorry.

Another reader new to chastity had a question about keeping the existence of the device from his children:

As I have read you blog I noticed you have two children. I also have two. How have you been able to keep your kids from finding out about your “device”. Since I’ve been locked I have been overly cautious about them sitting in my lap for some daddy hugs or playing with them in general. Any advice?

Constant vigilance. My kids have somewhat outgrown lap-sitting, though my youngest is just at the cusp of turning into a world-weary cynical tweener and still seeks affection from me. The older one might as well have his own place at this point.

I avoided putting them in a position to have any contact with the device by being aware of what they were likely to do at any given point. For example, if I was laying in bed and my youngest was coming in for a goodnight kiss, I’d place my phone or the TV remote in proximity of the device so as to “explain” any unexpected hardness there. Also, I tend to be very careful when hugging. I’ll either make a point to ensure it’s an above the waist kind of hug or slightly turn my hips away to keep contact there to a minimum.

Luckily, kids as young as yours (he told me, I edited it out) don’t seem to think the way adults do or the way we worry they might. My youngest has been in a few situations over the years where she may have felt whatever I was in. Just keep going and make no notice of it. Don’t make it a big deal. On the off chance they ask what it was they felt, take your phone or your keys or whatever out of your pocket. But I doubt a young child would ask.

Finally, a few people asked what kind of running tights I posted yesterday about. They’re called Nike Trail Kiger. This is the pair I have. There’s a very similar style that’s been discontinued here. The only difference appears to be color options.

Running man, continued

Earlier today, I said:

My preference would be to wear some running tights. They would offer some compression which helps with things like shin splints while also keeping me from getting cold when I run through the shadowy bits of my route (also, I think my legs look pretty fucking hot in them). Alas, the Steelheart isn’t made for that kind of thing. It’s not only plainly visible (which, all by itself, isn’t really enough to cause me not to wear them), but it gets pushed awkwardly to one side and I can’t imagine that would be comfortable on mile four.

After I wrote that, I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods (because of course) and found my Goldilocks running tights. Seems they received some new pairs and/or reconfigured their floor so they were easier to find, but right there in the middle of all the other Nike running stuff were a few pegs with a different style of tights. The standard pairs, as I said, have a seam running right down the middle of the crotch forcing hard steel tubes to choose sides, but this new pair, besides being made of a cooler looking patterned material, has two seams that run down each leg into the crotch. Here’s a photo of me in the Steelheart in these wonderful tights:


Not, too bad. I mean, that could be a real penis. Sorta. If you didn’t have anything to compare it to, that is…

Of course I took a comparison picture. Are you new here? As you can see below, even when not sporting steel, these tights leave little to the imagination. You can even just barely make out the PA ring I’m wearing (it’s the big one — 4ga) in the top shot. The fabric pulled across the tube down below even lets a little of the steel’s sheen show through.

au natural vs secureHaving been left out by Belle following this morning’s sex (she came, of course, and I didn’t, of course), I was able to take these out for a run absent the Steelheart. I assume passers by were able to see the free meat moving around, but then again, the same was true for each of the other guys I passed who were wearing something similar. If letting the world see an outline of your package was an issue for them, then they wouldn’t be wearing this. Natch. You can guess how I feel about it.

The pants were great. I was warm even though there was a stiff wind and the lack of flapping material made me feel faster (and I put in my best 5k time, so maybe it was more than just a feeling). Since my comfort will likely not be impacted by these were I to run with a device on, I’m sure I will next time I take to the trail and it’s cold enough to warrant them.

And yeah, I do think my legs look pretty awesome in them. 😉

Running man

It’s October in the hinterlands which means the days are getting shorter and have developed a definite crispness. As the leaves wither and change color, I have to switch from my usual running gear of tank tops and mellifluous shorts to garments with a bit more substance.

My preference would be to wear some running tights. They would offer some compression which helps with things like shin splints while also keeping me from getting cold when I run through the shadowy bits of my route (also, I think my legs look pretty fucking hot in them). Alas, the Steelheart isn’t made for that kind of thing. It’s not only plainly visible (which, all by itself, isn’t really enough to cause me not to wear them), but it gets pushed awkwardly to one side and I can’t imagine that would be comfortable on mile four. Truth is, I don’t really have a good solution at this point. All my runnings shorts have built-in pouches that suspend whatever device I’m wearing enough so that the testicles don’t take the brunt of swinging metal with every stride. But none of my longer pants have anything like this so I’m left to improvise.

Yesterday, I put on a light pair of long running pants and a gently supportive jock before I took off. The combination was pretty comfortable even though the jock isn’t the kind with straps each leg goes through. It has a single strap that goes up my butt crack. More of a thong jock, I guess. While I’m a big fan of things going up my butt crack in general, I wasn’t sure how running like that would fare. Turns out, just fine.

At about two miles in, I noticed that I was presenting a bit more of a show than is typical. In the shorts I normally wear, I don’t think whatever device I’m wearing is all that noticeable, but the combination of butt crack jock and light pants were different. So, I did what any normal person would do and held my phone out in front of me and took a video:

[wpvideo INpklRxI]

The gently supportive jock was doing nothing whatsoever to keep the heavy Steelheart from bouncing around (though it wasn’t pulling on my balls, so it was doing what I needed it to do). I didn’t notice any of my fellow joggers taking sideways glances at the bouncy junk, but if you’re approaching someone on a jogging path you can sneak your look from a ways off and be pretty discreet about it.

So, you tell me. If you saw the above bounding towards you on a path, what would you assume? Guy with his cock locked up? Or guy with a big old dick? Or maybe just a freeballer? Personally, my first thought would be a combination of the latter two. The part of me that kinks on small penis humiliation finds this unsettling but the lizard part of me likes it. In either event, it is what it is. I’m going to keep running outside for as long as the weather permits (don’t like running outside when it’s icy out so that’ll be my hard stop) so I guess, unless I find different gear, that I’ll keep on making a show of it.

FYI, if you ever upload video like that above to Tumblr, they will delete it straight away. Funny old Tumblr.