Month: January 2015

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Feral, free range rabbit

It’s been an odd couple of weeks around here.

First off, I was off in the woods over the long MLK weekend. Belle let me out the weekend before that, let me come, and then didn’t put me back in since I was flying on Wednesday. Got home Monday night and I just stayed unlocked. All of a sudden, it had been two weeks with no locked steel between my legs plus no sex.

The universe has decided to do interfere with our lives in a coordinated way. Things are going on both at her work and mine and together they’re a significant bummer. We’re maybe seeing the light at the end of the tunnel now, but we’re still living under this combined overhang and it’s no fun. That, as much as anything, also explains the gap in posts here.

In any event, we did finally fuck Saturday. Bummer or no, my hormones eventually overwhelmed the damper on my libido and, when shown a glimmer of hope from her, sparked into a sudden and raging need to be inside her.

She has a longstanding rule that I’m not allowed to play with the penis when unlocked absent her permission and, in the past, I was usually pretty good at following it, but I pledged that in 2015 I would follow it absolutely. The last few days were a significant challenge (and I was more or less neglecting the Tumblr for obvious reasons) but I found that whenever my hand was inexplicably on the hard penis, the idea of stroking it was really unappealing to me. Our base desires really can be rewired through conditioning. I wanted to feel the sensation of my fist pumping up and down around the hard shaft but even more badly wanted to feel as though I was doing what she expected and that I was keeping my word.

So yeah, when the time came, I was pretty fired up. It’s at those times when just a tiniest tease of my finger against her hot snatch will make me nearly combust and I’ll get a little more insistent with my actions than she likes.

“Remember,” she said, “This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

Years ago, I yearned for her to feel that way and act like it was true. Now it just is. Hearing the words were enough of a reminder to cause me to slow down and follow her body’s signals, not mine. Knowing that this dynamic was so deeply woven into our relationship left me feeling secure and comfortable in a way that’s difficult to explain as part of a hot sex scene. But there it was.

The entire time I was working on her, the penis was throbbing hard. Erections come in various strengths from happily plump to raging boner. When at the high end of the scale, you can feel the hardness. The straining of the erect tissue against the skin containing it. These are the erections of teenagers, but I had one then. I wanted so badly to fuck her. Then she came and immediately I felt the release valve go off. I could feel her heart beating with my fingers buried in her soft, hot wetness and my heart beating in the hardness between my legs and with each thump the penis was deflating just a little. It would shortly be too soft to use.

But I didn’t have time to worry about it. Just a few seconds after she came, she told me I could fuck so I hopped right up and got to work. The penis rapidly regained its strength. Then, even though my last orgasm was just two weeks ago, she said she wanted me to come. I didn’t even consider whether I wanted to or not. Of course, I wanted both. But she told me to so it was inevitable. I held it off as long as I could before coming.

I think it’s the case now that most of the time when she lets me come (which isn’t all that often) it’s those breathless few seconds of inevitability right after the building orgasm is at its peak (when, if edging, you back it off and let it die) and just before the ejacualte squirts forth that are the most enjoyable for me. It’s the very peak of the experience. Often, the intensity of ejaculating is so great that it hurts. As if something internal is getting flexed or pinched in a way its unused to. Far too much intensity. And then the crash. The crash I hardly ever feel in its full glory.

Belle told me after I had to go back into the Steelheart. She reminded me again Sunday morning that I had to after she came but, due to the visitation of her monthly visitor overnight, I was left out of the love tunnel. She did let me jack off but I wasn’t allowed to come this time and I got there so quickly suddenly that I didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

After more than two weeks, I really didn’t want to go back in. I got used to sleeping through the night. Of not dealing with the steel. Of not trying to hide it at the gym.

“Are you fighting me on this?” she asked. No, of course not. But…

“This is just proof how much you need to be locked up,” she said. “You know you need it, too. You’re better when you’re locked up.”

Swoon. Ache. Whimper.

Of course she’s right.

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Apple, radius of falling from tree, etc.

The other day, my son let me know he was bisexual. He did it as an aside in a text message as if he was relating his dislike for capers while ordering something containing them at a restaurant. Real smooth-like.

I can’t say I’m very surprised. A little over two years ago, late on the night President Obama was reelected and the Minnesota Marriage Amendment (which would have defined marriage in the state constitution in the heteronormative way even though state law already said the same thing) went down in defeat1, he told me he was gay. The amendment had been topic number one for some time as the election neared and he knew I was vehemently against it. I suppose, in the light of that apparent support and open-mindedness about alternative sexuality, he decided to tell me about his homosexuality. He did so, with some emotion and trepidation.

Problem is, I didn’t believe him. Not for a second. I know gay. I am really familiar with gay kids, too, having been surrounded with them at one point in my life. I also pride myself on having a honed gaydar. None of that gave me the idea he was at all gay. But you don’t tell your kid who’s just done this emotional thing that he’s wrong. You tell him you love him as he is and always will and only want him to find happiness in the world. Then you hug him and tell him to go to bed because he has school in the morning.

After that, he demonstrated zero percent gayness. He dated a handful of girls, one seriously (and recently), and (as far as I could tell) no boys. We never discussed the gay thing again. Just left it out there, sitting. Then came the bisexual declaration.

I wanted to tell him he was doing it backward. Common practice is to identify as bi first then gay. Bisexuality is a station, not a destination. He was doing it wrong.2 But I didn’t. I didn’t say much of anything, really. Didn’t want to make too big a deal of it. He certainly wasn’t. Last night, he did it again for Belle with me sitting there. Kinda of like, “Did I mention the bisexuality thing? Or didn’t I?” Again, no big deal. No great unveiling. Just supportive recognition.

This is complicated for me. I’ve never talked to him about my sexuality, though I have blogged about it on my muggle blog (with its occasional tiny blip of readership) and he knows about that blog and may have read what I wrote there. He’s never asked. On the one hand, I feel like I need to tell him something. On the other, he’s already about 20 years ahead of where I was at his age. He’s out at school where I’m told it’s no big deal and now he’s out at home. No big deal. I recall how badly I wanted my dad to talk to me about his sex life when I was sixteen (read: NOT AT ALL), so even though he’s not going to follow the standard path and he’s apparently not going to follow my path, he is definitely on a path and is showing little sign of needing someone to show him his way.

Of course, this makes me proud of him. And a little in awe. I see a lot of me in him, but he’s got a lot of his mom, too, and the combination is formidable and more than either of us, I think. One day, he will lead people. He seems destined to do it. He will deserve to do it. I doubt he’ll ever be apologizing to anyone for who he is nor should he. Such incredible potential.

As it stands, I doubt I’ll talk to him about being bi for a while. He just doesn’t seem to need it. Of course, he doesn’t have all the answers yet, but part of being young is finding those yourself. There’s only so much listening to his dad any boy will do even when he isn’t talking about sex. Whatever Belle and I have been doing for him so far seems to be working.

I did set him up with his own subscription to Dan Savage’s Savage Lovecast.  He’s just sixteen but he’s a mature sixteen (looks and acts twenty) and I could only have wished at that age to have had a resource like Dan. I think it will be important and ultimately healthy for him to be exposed to the full breadth and depth of the human sexual condition that is regularly featured on the Lovecast. I can’t say that Saturday was the exact best moment to do it, but waiting until he was an “adult” would be far too long. There are so many things he needs to know and none of his friends are going to know them any better than he does and I doubt he’ll get much from the school other than the official line (and he’ll only come to me under extreme duress, I’m sure). In any event, I deemed him ready for it. Hopefully, he gives it a listen.

Now all I have to do is start steeling myself for when his sister gets to be that age. <insert wide-eyed and terror-filled emoticon here>

1 And which led to a Democratic take-over of the statehouse and, ultimately, marriage equity in the state.
2 NO, of course I don’t really believe that.

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Fishing for offense

Belle read my previous post about the penis problems from the other day and, while liking it in general, thought I was being defensive in the comments. Mostly because she was on the same page as the other women who left their thoughts. Essentially, women are conditioned/assume that if a man can’t get it up it’s somehow a reflection upon them, the woman he’s with, and not something else going on with the guy. The male commenters who indicated an opinion on the matter seemed to back me up. That erections were not as simple as showing a guy something sexually stimulating and waiting for the spongy tissue to fill up.

As the conversation went on, I realized that perhaps I was being a bit defensive, but I honestly don’t think it was underserved defensiveness. Usually, when I feel that way, it’s because the basic point of whatever post is being commented on has been missed. While that post didn’t have a salient point (some do, some don’t), I did try to establish as a man with a penis attached to his body that the simple stimulation = hard-on idea was incorrect. Yes, even men in all their supposedly binary simplistic ways, have a bit of nuance in how their sex works.

The notion that men’s sexual stimulation is as simple as a flicking a switch and that any issues he has, assuming they’re not physiological, are the responsibility of his partner seems to me sexist all the way around. As if men are simple bits with on and off settings and nothing in between and no psychological dimension to their arousal and, similarly, if he can’t get it up, it’s her problem, not his. That’s all kinds of fucked up.

I try not to go out of my way to find offense in things like this and I’m not trying assign the label of “sexist” on anyone in the conversation (and I’m fairly surprised to feel as though I’m on the other side of a sexist notion, to be honest about it). It could even be argued I’m overreacting. But it’s how I feel and, I think, the root of my “defensiveness.”

Of course, I didn’t need to write a post about erectile dysfunction issues. I could have glossed right over it. I don’t write about everything, after all. But I did and part of why I did was to hash out the difference between not getting it up because I wasn’t turned-on and not getting it up even though I was. Plus, I very specifically wanted to disabuse Belle of any idea that she was responsible. She may own the penis but she can’t control its function with such granularity. I became annoyed because the comments immediately went to where I specifically tried to redirect the issue. It’s fair to say women are conditioned to think their partner’s erections are their problems, but it’s frustrating to see that notion defended by women. I don’t think it’s fair nor anywhere near as simple.

I’ve written many times here that chastity and denial have rewritten some of the basic penis programming. It gets hard significantly less often due to stimulation while locked up than it does when unlocked. Additionally, once she comes, my body reacts in many ways as if I’ve come, though with less intensity than if I actually had. I also don’t think it gets quite as hard as it used to in similar situations nor does it stay as hard for as long. It’s very much a different organ than it was when we started (this even extends to the physical — there’s a permanent dent in the shaft now right where the Steelheart’s tube would hit during an erection). Plus, of course, chastity, denial, and D/s make me think about it and its role a lot more than a vanilla guy would. So it’s not really surprising to me at all that it would, on occasion, develop a hiccup. Even if only once in a while.

I can’t say to what extent Drew factors into any of this except to make the point as delicately as possible that the penis is usually not hard with him except when I’m under very specific stimulation. I have some theories as to why I seem to have had an issue resetting to being with Belle, but none of them are scary or menacing or anything at all anyone needs to worry about. It’s just how it is. A temporary blip.

For the record, the Sunday morning the penis worked exactly as designed. She told me I could fuck her and, as soon as I felt her wet pussy, it was ready for the task. No delay. It stayed that way the entire time until I came. The orgasm was intense, even painful, but not unpleasant. Clearly, whatever the cause of the previous day’s issues, they were resolved. I’d prefer not to think of it as a “problem” and it’s certainly not Belle’s to worry about. I really wish she wouldn’t, regardless of conditioning.

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General merchandise kink

2015-01-11 10.24.10I once said I’d never post another thing about Fifty Shades of Grey ever again, but I cannot not post about this.

While trying to find my little girl the exact kind of oatmeal she wanted (only had to go to three stores…), I stumbled upon this endcap at our local Target. Right there at the end of the shaving aisle, a veritable “My First BDSM Scene” kit. Blindfolds (“No peeking!”) and vibrating cockrings along with (not shown) teeny tiny bottles of lube and something called a “massage candle” all sold as licensed “Fifty Shades” merchandise.

Look, I get that Fifty Shades isn’t high literature or even a faithful depiction of a BDSM dynamic, but my opinion of it hasn’t changed. Fucking Target is selling kinky shit on an endcap. Not just the book. Actual gear. Yeah, I know it’s just about the tamest things you can imagine (and that Durex has been selling vibrating cockrings there for a long time), but this is kinda like seeing muggles perusing a selection of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise in the toy department.

Anything that helps people do something other than vanilla missionary stuff in bed has to be a good thing, right? I mean, Jack on Will and Grace was hardly a realistic portrayal of a gay man, but he begat Cameron and Mitchell on Modern Family. And they, in turn, have probably helped buffer America’s acceptance of gay marriage and families. Anastasia and Christian may be horrible representatives (I still haven’t read it, probably never will, and won’t make seeing the movie a priority), but if they’re the price to pay to get D/s-type relationships and dynamics in the mainstream, then so be it. Let the real people take it from here.

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Correlation vs. causality

This morning, the stupid penis refused to work again. This happened a few weeks ago, too. Just like then, I was really ready to go beforehand. Due to Belle being sick since last year (literally), we haven’t had sex in like two weeks and maybe that’s no big deal for guys who can take matters into their own hands, but it’s a real problem for those of us who can’t. It led me to feeling very irritable and grumpy and all-around not nice. But I digress.

We started with the kissing and petting and then her clothes came off and I felt her snatch for the first time this year (OK, I’ll stop) and the familiar THUMP in my chest when my finger parts her lips and finds the delicious hot wetness. I know for a fact I had a hard-on at that point. Then I got her off and she came really well and I pressed myself against her as she writhed from the intensity of it. Again, hard enough to fuck. As her basking began, though, things started to peter out. That’s not without precedent as I’ve been trained to see her coming as an end to sex, but I started to freak out just the same. The idea of not being able to keep it up (more of a fear, really) is, itself, not unlike a baggie full of ice on one’s junk. It’s a self-perpetuating condition.

Belle asked me if I thought it had to do with Drew. He was here this week and, last time I failed to pressurize, he had been here just before, too. I suppose it’s possible the reluctant hard-on is a symptom of adjusting from one kind of sexual experience into another. It’s been a really (really) long time since I was swapping back and forth between boys and girls in the same week. If, in fact, there is a connection, it’s subconscious. It’s not that I don’t want to be having sex or am fixated on something not right in front of me. But I can’t really say. Is it just a correlation or is there causality?

Thinking back on it, the last time I can recall this happening was right after I had the affair and before I told Belle about it. It also happened with The Other Woman (which, I’ll tell you right now, is not the best way to maximize your extramarital action). I suppose there may be a part of my brain that has difficulty transferring control of the hydraulics or something. This time around, I feel no guilt. Only gratitude. So it’s a mystery.

Unlike the last failure to initiate, we didn’t stop until I was able to chill out and get it up. Usually, if she tells me about how long I’ll be denied or locked up or whatever, that’ll get me hard (even when in a device) so I asked about that.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be until I get to come?”

“I was thinking about letting you do it this morning.”

Oh. Go on…

“Why today?” I asked. Not that there has to be a reason. I suppose any day is the same as any other.

“I don’t know. Maybe as a way to mark what’s mine.” As in, a way to reassert her control following Drew’s visit.

The night before, I said to her that I was very grateful to her for sharing me. That that exact phrase popped into my head when we were laying together watching TV earlier in the week and she was playing with the little hairy patch at the base of my back and I was feeling all warm and happy and secure. I’m so happy she shares me.

“I’m not sharing you,” she said, “I’m loaning you out.”

I didn’t see a lot of difference between “sharing” and “loaning,” but she did. If you share something with someone, you are giving some of it to them to have. You and they are equal owners of part of whatever it is. If you are loaning it to them, it’s still yours. You’re only allowing them use of it. No exchange of ownership implied.

“OK,” I said, “Thank you for loaning me out. I do appreciate it.”

So, making me come right after he was here would be a way to drive home who’s in charge. Not only of my orgasm, but of me and my sex. My entire being. Fucking hot, right? Things began to stir.

I knew that if she made me clean my seed from her after I came, that would get me good and hard because, of course, semen prior to ejacualtion is the sexiest fucking thing but .056 milliseconds after, it’s demon vomit. The idea of eating it prior is remarkably intoxicating. Of forcing me to eat it, whoa boy! Instant hard-on. So I got all up inside her.

Now, I thought I was going to come. I fucked with that goal in mind. It’s a different kind of fucking (not on the outside, but on the inside). And I got really close. Really really. Then I had the thought that she had only said she was going to let me. Not that I could. So I asked.

“No,” she said.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Of course, I didn’t. But did I want to. For real. Ooooooh man, did I want to.

I said to her I could have just gone ahead and done it. That her previous statement on the matter would been sufficient to establish intent on her part. But, of course, it doesn’t work that way and she knows me better. It’s not my orgasm. Not my penis. Not my sex. It’s all hers. Forever and always.

All the best things in my life are directly attributable to her.

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Sin

I’ve been told that in polite conversation you should avoid discussion of religion and politics. Well, we’ve already breached the religion thing (and besides, how polite can this conversation be since I’ve shown you maybe a hundred pictures of my privates and told you about the things that’ve ended up my butthole).

A reader calling themselves Purple left a lengthy riposte to my entry from the other day where I went off on Amy the bigoted homophobe. Purple, it seems, is using me and this blog to research a bisexual alien character in some fiction they’re writing. Yes.

Their comment starts out well…

I’m a Christian, though I’m starting to prefer follower of Christ because I don’t want to be lumped in with idiots like Amy. People like her piss me off to no end. She may claim Christianity, but she does NOT behave as we’re instructed to behave. She is an embarrassment to my faith. People like her have done so much harm to the LGBT community, and to many other people groups, and heaped more pain and hurt on a group of people who are already going through more pain and hurt than any person should have to deal with.

Yes, fantastic. Go on…

It’s easier to hate someone because they’re different than show Christ’s love to them.

Um, OK. I get that. Good on you for sticking to your teachings. The best Christians are those who take the “Christ’s love” angel rather than those who get so much attention nowadays. You were saying…?

Do I believe homosexuality is a sin? Yes, I do. But it’s between you and God. Not you and me.

Oh. It was going so well, too.

To be fair, they said a lot more and you are free to read it all yourself. In fact, please do. I’m in no hurry.

Indeed, Purple was saying many things that seemed more in keeping with the Christian ideals I admire than Amy was by a long shot (as far as I can tell not being one), but I have to stop and say something about sin. Because it makes my brain boil.

Homosexuality is supposedly a sin. Supposedly. The Ten Commandments don’t mention it, but the Bible is full of stuff we’re not supposed to do. So let’s pretend it calls homosexuality a sin, too (even though there’s ample room for debate on that). It seems to me that most of the things the Bible calls out as sins are choices. Adultery, stealing, getting tattoos, eating pork and shellfish, wearing clothes with tears in them or made of cotton-poly blends, trimming your beard, being uncircumcised, working on the sabbath, and — my personal favorite — being raped if you’re a virgin. There are lots of these things. All choices (like that being raped thing). All bad. Apparently.

Two points I’d make.

First of all, as I said in the post to which Purple was commenting and pretty much every person on Earth knows about the the Bible if they know anything at all, good Christians do things all the fucking time that are disallowed by the Bible (like eating cheeseburgers). They have made choices to ignore those rules. Ever had a part-time job on a Sunday? Making cheeseburgers? At a place that disallowed facial hair? Triple whammy. And why not? Because they’re stupid, right? I mean, what creator of the known and unknown universe worth his/her/its salt would give a flying fuck if I decided not to look like a guy from Duck Dynasty? He/Her/It has nothing better to do? So, if it’s the case that we already pick and choose the things we want to follow from the Bible (and the biggest one we’ve chucked overboard is the whole remarrying after adultery and divorce thing), why not homosexuality? Why not? I want an answer to that.

Second thing is, of course, homosexuality is not a fucking choice. If it is, and you’re a straight dude, go suck a dick. Show me what a choice it is by spreading your legs and getting to know the joys of anal sex. We do not have choices in what we find sexually appealing. Zero. We can choose to bury those feelings and let them build and fester and gnaw away at ourselves and our wellbeing, but that’s not the same thing at all. No matter how hard he tries, Marcus Bachmann will always be a giant queen. Nothing he can do about it.

Personally, I think the “homosexulality is a choice” thing is rooted in the experience of bisexuality. If you’re a bisexual, you actually do sometimes have a choice. Not the kind I am, of course. I could only be happy married to Belle (or, to be technical, some other woman, but Belle’s my favorite). But they’re not all like me. And even if they were, they might easily confuse their sexual attraction to men (if they’re men) to be akin to what a true homosexual feels toward other men. As if sex acts and who we have them with are the only axis to the sexuality spectrum. A good boy growing up in a good Christian house goes out for the football team and enthusiastically dates a cheerleader (oral and anal only so they can stay virginal) but, when he’s alone in his bed and jacking off, suddenly finds himself thinking about his coach or the team captain or how the wide receiver’s ass looks in his uniform or all those guys in the shower and all of a sudden BAM! homosexuallity is a choice. Bullshit.

What kind of god creates people to be a way that is sinful? By default? So they they can never know happiness in their lives unless they “choose” to be sinful? What kind of bullshit is that? This isn’t the same as cutting your beard or eating bacon. This is deep, soul-filling stuff. Not just fucking. Emotional fulfillment of the highest order. I want an answer to that, too. How can living as you were created be, in itself, sinful in the eyes of a just and worthy god? You may as well call left-handed redheads sinful. It’d make as much sense.

The real problem with the line “homosexuality is a sin but between you and god” is that it’s a slippery slope to other kinds of evil. Gay parent? Teacher? Doctor? Child? What’s off limits in how those people are treated by good Christians? Thankfully, we’re moving past the point where simply being gay was enough to deny someone custody or visitation rights to their children or the right to work, but it’s not like that everywhere in this country. Not yet. Not by a long shot. And if you’re the good Christian parent of a gay or trans child, there’s nearly nothing you can’t do to “fix” them. All because homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of a god. That’s where it starts. It is the root of all that evil. All that pain and misery.

We are not ignorant people. We have science that tells us things that were previously heresy. The earth is not the center of the universe. It is not 6,000 years old. Humans are not the only “people” who have lived upon it. Homosexuality is not a choice. The genitles we are both with do not define the gender we are.

We have outgrown the need for sin.

The only thing we should take from the Bible is the best part of what Purple talked about in their comment. Love. Mutual respect. You know, the Golden Rule. If we just followed that and let consenting adults doing no harm to others live as they need and want to, then the world would be a much better place.

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How to measure for a male chastity device

“How do I measure for a chastity device?”

I get this question a lot. Just yesterday, someone on Twitter asked for the advice. I’ve never put it all in one place but have decided to do so for two reasons. First, it’ll make those looking for the information more likely to find it and, second, it’ll save me the time of having to say it over and over. And over again.

There are three measurements you need if you’re trying to size a trapped-ball style chastity device even if you’re going to buy a mass-produced one (like the Holy Trainer or CB-6000):

  • Flaccid penis length (tube/cage length)
  • Flaccid penis diameter (tube/cage diameter)
  • Circumference of both the penis and testicles combined (A-ring circumference)

You may also need to specify the gap width between the tube and ring but I’ve always left that to the manufacturer’s default and been satisfied. As far as I know, the only plastic device that lets you play with this is the CB-6000. The others are fixed.

In my experience and opinion, erect size is not a thing you have to worry about since the entire purpose of a chastity device is to arrest and defeat an erection. I’ve been asked if this is still the case for someone who’s a “grower” (i.e., their flaccid size is far smaller than their erect size) and my guess is no, but I don’t know for sure. I’d be interested to hear the experiences of others in this regard. My hunch is the difference would have to be really big for the erect size of the penis to be an issue. Chances are, sport, that ain’t you. But every penis is like a snowflake: unique. What’s worked for me or the majority of men may not work for all of them.

Also, with regard to issues of erect size, you won’t be doing yourself any favors if you buy a device with room in it thinking it’ll be better for when your dick tries to get hard. Smaller devices are more comfortable than larger ones (as unintuitive as that sounds). If you give the penis a little room to grow inside the device you will experience more pain and discomfort than otherwise, based on my experience. Therefore, you want to determine the normal size of your penis when it’s flaccid and size the device to that.

The thing every owner of a penis knows is that they’re all over the place with regard to size. They shrink up and they plump out (even when you’re not turned on) and can be any size in between. The same goes with scrotums. They’re constantly moving around (seriously, just sit and watch them someday). It is their function, after all, to maintain the temperature of the testes the best they can and that means pulling them closer or letting them hang farther away from your core body heat. Also, some men are “high and tight” in that their scrotums don’t hang down very far at all even when they’re at their most relaxed. Wearing a device is more difficult for these guys, especially at first. Over time and with extended wear, a chastity device will actually stretch a scrotum a bit and loosen that skin up, but it takes a while.

But anyway, as I said, “normal” flaccid size is what you’re looking for. This means a few things. First and most important is to take several measurements over time and at different times. I’d recommend something like 10 or 12 over a few days. Second, try your hardest not to think about what you’re doing. You’re measuring for something that very likely turns you the fuck on so watch Old Yeller or pay your taxes of something beforehand to get your mind off the topic entirely. Otherwise, you know what will happen. Bottom line, nobody knows your penis as well as you do. You know when it’s smaller or larger than normal. If you’re still unsure, err on the short side. If this is a problem for your ego…I can’t help you with that.

Different manufactures use different methods of measuring so make sure you communicate how you did it to them at the time you order. Mature Metal, for example, says you should measure the bottom of the penis. Typically, the penis is measured from the top (at least in my opinion) at the point where its shaft meets your’ pelvis down to the tip. Simple enough.

Most manufacturers want to know the diameter of the penis shaft when ordering. You can eyeball this from above with a ruler but, since penises can sometimes be thicker vertically than they are horizontally, a more accurate way to measure it would be to find diameter from circumference. This can be done a couple different ways. One simple method is to wrap a length of string around it and then measure that against a ruler or tape measure. Alternatively, if you have a tailor’s-style tape measure, you could use that. Once you have the circumference you can find your shaft’s diameter by dividing it by our magical friend π (3.14).

The string method is probably the simplest way to find the total circumference of the entire package though a tailor’s tape is also workable. Mature Metal offers sizing rings to help determine the A-ring size, though remember you’re not sizing a cock ring. Cock rings need to accommodate a full erection and chastity devices don’t necessarily. Initially, I wore a ring that was too big because I sized myself after wearing it all the time, even when I woke up with a raging morning erection.

It’s also worth noting that I’ve found the size A-ring your body can tolerate will change over time, especially during the early days. When first starting out, I discovered I needed a ring that was 2″ (50mm) in diameter. The one I spend most of my time in now is just over 1.5″ (40mm). That’s a huge size swing but it didn’t happen over night. I wore a 45mm ring for several months before moving to 40mm. I think the perfect size for me is actually right now about 42mm. Yes, two little millimeters makes a big difference. What I’m getting at here is you may want to consider ordering two rings up front.

Note that significant changes in your weight or fitness level will also impact the size ring you wear. I’ve needed a slightly larger ring after becoming more active (even though that resulted in weight loss).

The other thing to consider when sizing for an A-ring is the material the device will be made of. Metal is heavier, of course, and I’ve found a ring that fits well when it’s made of lighter plastic will feel too big when used for a metal device.

Another thing I can say about A-rings is they’ll be more comfortable if oval-shaped (sometimes called “anatomically shaped”). It leaves more room for the spermatic cords and vas deferens and other associated plumbing. Constriction of these is the leading cause of pain while in chastity, I’ve found.

Eventually, what you’re looking for is a ring that is snug, but not too tight. You should be able to get your little finger under it when flaccid. When hard, as long as your balls aren’t turning purple and getting cold, it’s not too small. If you’re experiencing testicular pain like a mild version of getting kicked in the balls, it’s probably a little too small (or round). Perfect world, your balls don’t hurt or turn blue (though they may turn a darker color red) but it’s still snug. If the device hangs too low or you can get your fingers through when hard, it’s too big. If your balls pop though when flaccid, it’s also too big (remember, “trapped-ball”). Yes, this is complicated stuff, but there’s a lot of complicated plumbing down there and sensitive tissue.

Of course, all this precise measuring is only really necessary when ordering custom. I DO NOT recommend anyone start out with chastity that way. First thing you should do is buy a plastic device. I recommend the Holy Trainer at the moment but the CB-6000 is also popular for some reason. Get the device that best fits your proportions. In the case of the tube, err on the short side, and in the case of the ring, err slightly larger.

It’s entirely possible you still have questions after all this or comments from your own experience. If so, please feel free to leave a comment below.

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KHD X3 espresso review

Everyone knows how printers work (more or less): A computer program reads a file and uses its instructions to tell a printer to spray differently colored inks onto a piece of paper in specific places as the paper rolls by underneath. 3D printing is both just like that and also totally different. There’s still a program on a computer and a file with printing instructions, but instead of ink and paper the printer “prints” in layers of plastic. There are actually several different technologies that get lumped under “3D printing” but the most common is one where a machine lays down extraordinarily thin layers of plastic. Just like the head of a conventional printer, many passes are made, one over another, until the object is rendered. The smaller the particle being produced, the higher the “resolution” of the printer. Just like with ink, higher resolution results in greater detail and smoother lines.

3D printers are still pretty expensive. There are many more people with ideas of objects that can be made using them (and people willing to buy those objects) than there are printers. That’s where a company like Shapeways comes in. They have the printers and the infrastructure to list a creator’s item online, accept payment, and then ship the goods once they’re printed up. No inventory since it’s all manufactured on-demand. Want to mount your FitBit on your watch? Someone else did, too, and there’s just what you’re looking for on Shapeways. Lots of weird custom things only a small group of enthusiasts might want which makes them perfect for a print-on-demand type service. Yes, this is the future we’re talking about, but it’s happening right now.

Usually on the internet, one of the first and most profitable applications for new technology involves sex. Things like online video and browser-based credit card transactions were pioneered by the adult industry. So it’s somewhat a surprise to me that there aren’t a ton of 3D printed sex toys out there. Search for “dildo” on the Shapeways site and only two come up. Search for “chastity” and you get nothing.

But, there are chastity devices there. In particular, one that’s getting some attention lately called the KHD X3 espresso.

The typical NSFW images leave the rest of this after a jump… Continue reading “KHD X3 espresso review”

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Starting the new year off wrong

I really didn’t want this to be my first post of 2015. I wanted it to be my review of the KHD X3 espresso 3D printed chastity device. I wrote the bulk of that yesterday but need to give it the final Thumperesque spit and polish before posting it. That was what I meant to be doing right now. Instead, I’m doing this.

Before I really get going, I’d like to warn you that if you’re the type who doesn’t like it when I rant at ignorant fucktards, move along. If you’d rather your new year start off with positivity and good will toward men, find something else to read. If you want to pretend like the world isn’t filled with hate and intolerance wrapped in the blessings of the “love of god” and that I should just let it roll off my back and move along, then you should. Because I’m fucking sick of it. And I’m pissed that the hatred of others has caused me to feel so much anger and hate on a day I’d rather not.

Reader Amy is back after saying she never would be with the following comment left on my last post (don’t bother looking, I’ve spammed it):

Happy New Year, thumper. I read you nonstop and want to say thank you. You’ve helped me keep my husband at a level he should be for 3 years now. I have to say I was one of the worried ones earlier this year when the blog went more gay, but very glad you are no longer talking about that stuff and that guy hear. I know this may be not be pc, but the straight people need you. Have s great 2015.

I was immediately offended by this comment but Belle told me to let it go. So I did. I ignored it. Then Drew sent me the comment she left on his site:

Just a note to say happy new year and that I hope 2015 is the year you find God and quit tempting men to change and cheat on their wives.

I also hope you’ll realize marriage is between a man and woman and not Adam and Steve. Please quit saying you are married as that’s just not right.

Peace to you and I hope you find your way.

Even on a good day, this would piss me the fuck off. But today wasn’t one of those days because I’ve been thinking a lot about this:

fakedansavage_2014-Dec-31

That’s from the suicide note of a transgendered teenager named Leelah Alcorn. She wrote that and then threw herself in front of a semi. When I read things like what Amy wrote that some would tell me come from a good place because they mean well and others suggest I should just delete and let go I think of kids like Leelah. The hundreds of thousands of kids like Leelah, some whom will kill themselves but most of whom will live in pain and misery because of their parents who speak from the same place as good old Amy. Her and others like her doing real and serious harm to innocent lives every fucking day by cloaking their ignorance and intolerance in their selective reading of a mythical fairy tale we’ve all agreed has some significance and isn’t the wholesale manufacture of a group of old men trying to control the actions and lives of pretty much everyone else rather than the word of god as they told us it was. The ignorant and hypocritical people like Amy who decide one part of the bible means something really important about homosexuals and people of non-standard gender identification but choose to ignore the parts about rape being a perfectly valid pretext to marriage and all the pro-slavery stuff and how we shouldn’t eat shellfish or mix the fibers we wear and on and fucking on because it doesn’t really matter what the book says as long as you’re using it as your cudgel as you hew through young lives and sit in abject judgment of others whose only crime is trying to live in love and find happiness. Because fucking GOD.

Once upon a time, I was one of those kids. I was living with my dad and his wife after high school and my on-again, off-again boyfriend (the one I’ve mentioned who has the wonderful cock) slept over and he fucked me (and guess what, Amy — I liked it A LOT). My dad heard and maybe even saw that without my knowledge and confronted me with being a homosexual shortly afterward. I denied it on a technicality. I didn’t think I was gay. Not like the boy who fucked me. Not like my father thought when he said the word. So I said no, I wasn’t.

My father, being a god-fearing, bible study teaching fellow who — if you pressed him — thought the gays deserved their AIDS, suggested we do family counselling at his church. I didn’t want to but I had nowhere else to live (my mother was out of the question at the time) so I figured I’d go along with it in hopes we could address other issues in our relationship. However, after a half dozen sessions or so in which he and his wife didn’t show up, it became clear to me this wasn’t family counselling, it was Thumper counselling. I’m fortunate that I was already an adult and the counsellor at the church was an OK guy and I wasn’t an underage kid like Leelah and the church wasn’t full of radical Christians with a piss-poor comprehension of the sciences of genetics and psychology. So I stopped going. Soon thereafter, I moved out of my dad’s house and our relationship was seriously strained until I became engaged with Belle. Perhaps he thought, like most Christians, that I “chose” to be with a woman rather than men.

The other day, I quoted something Dan Savage said in his recent Playboy interview.

In countries like Uganda, leaders have this easy way to assert their moral superiority: hating gay people in the same way shitty, fucked-up Christians in America do. Putin is very blunt about this. It’s how they prove their moral superiority to the West. They don’t have to take better care of their citizens, they don’t have to have a functioning democracy, they don’t have to have a decent environment, they don’t have to have a justice system that works. They just have to hate gay people really hard and they’re better than the United States, better than Canada, better than France. It’s exactly like the Christians. They don’t have to stop masturbating, stop having premarital sex, stop drinking, stop getting divorced and remarried. All they have to do to be good Christians is hate gay people. “I don’t have to keep my dick out of anybody; I just have to hate you and where you’re putting your dick.”

Emphasis mine.

Reader Deadrody replied:

This: “…like the Christians. They don’t have to stop masturbating, stop having premarital sex, stop drinking, stop getting divorced and remarried. All they have to do to be good Christians is hate gay people” is nonsense. I’m actually about 100% sure that there is no such person on earth. Anyone claiming anything similar to that, is not remotely a “Christian”.

Making a caricature of 80% of the American public is not useful, helpful, or true.

I’m sorry, Deadrody (and not only because you’re dead), but look up. It’s not a caricature. Those would would carry the banner of “Christian” in this country are exactly as Savage said they are. They’re like Amy. They’re like my dad. And, might I add, as someone who very much does not count themselves as a Christian, if you don’t like the caricature, do something about it. Fight it. Call it out as the intolerant ravings that it is. It’s all done in your name and if you choose to be silent on the subject then it’s perfectly understandable that people like me would assume you’re all the same absent evidence to the contrary. Unfair? Maybe. Prejudiced? Perhaps. But you don’t need to be an African slave in Mississippi or Native American on the North Dakota plains to understand their instinctual fear and suspicion of the white man. It’s just human nature.

So, to conclude Amy, Drew is not tempting me. I advertised for someone like him. I did. I started it. All he did was raise his hand. And I’m not cheating on my wife. She knows all about my relationship with him. She approves of it. And “marriage” is a legal construct, not something you get to define in your narrow head, and right now in the majority of the country, Drew and Axel’s marriage is as valid as mine and Belle’s. Get used to it.

A great man once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” I think it bends a bit faster when the simple and narrow minded either don’t procreate or do so in an environment where their children turn out better than their parents anyway. The arc is bending fast on this one, Amy. Faster every day. And all I can hope is that words like mine will help it bend just a tiny bit faster.

Even if, it won’t be fast enough for Leelah. And not fast enough for the thousands of other kids who are burdened with parents like you right now, today. Until the day comes when every person in this country, child or adult, is free to live and love the way they were born to without worry of people like you, Amy, I will NOT let your kind of bullshit roll off my back. I will NOT let it go. It’s evil. It hurts people. And it’s everything that is wrong with our world.