The other day, I wrote a post that said enforced chastity devices don’t make penises smaller. I stand by that based on my now years of experience along with never having seen any evidence to the contrary (other than a bunch of words). I did say…

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

Due to my recent illness, Belle let me stay out and I noticed this phenomenon yet again. The penis, when hard, was slightly narrower on the “top half” than at the base for a few days before it got back to normal. I was out for about five or six days total after having been locked up more or less for a month straight.

I received some feedback from a reader called Jay that I assume was in reply to my post on how being locked up doesn’t change penis size:

Regarding growers in Chastity advice. If a man has a 7 inch long erect length and is in a 2 inch tube only the 2 inches is prevented from erecting. He will  erect behind the ring. This becomes programmatic because it heightens the risk of penile fracture. true there is no os penis in humans But the membranes that encapsulate the erectile tissues can be ruptured. This is an actual ER visit injury, untreated it leads to permanent erectile dysfunction.

Second issue is girth difference when the shaft is soft it can be forced into a tube that is to small eg 6k but later when engorged Full urethral tamponade occurs. Unable to piss at all. 1″ diameter soft 1 5/8″ diameter hard. This person will need a tube with a 1 3/8″ ID

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard about penile fracture occurring from chastity. Is it possible? I suppose. Has it happened? Not saying it hasn’t. Just saying I’ve never heard about it. I assume what when Jay said, “true there is no os penis in humans,” he meant penile bone and, no, there is no penile bone in humans. So…yeah. Not an issue, thankfully. If we had penile bones, we probably couldn’t wear chastity devices like those we wear.

Anyway, yeah, if you think your penis has fractured, see a medical professional. Consider a finger waved in your general direction.

Regarding “urethral tamponade” (which sounds not unlike an ice cream flavor to me), yep, been there. Sometimes, the device is so tight I can’t even pee, but it’s more often the case that peeing is possible and, as I pee, becomes easier since the erection subsides. The compression of the urethra only lasts as long as the erection does.

All that said, being out and actually jacking the shaft made the one (apparently) permanent change the Steelheart has had on the penis more evident. Evi-dent, I said. Get it?

A little more than half way down the shaft, when it’s hard, is an obvious dent. It’s just about exactly where the edge of the tube A-ring hits it when it’s hard (the remainder of the erection being either stuck up inside me or sticking out the back of the device). It can be felt, but not seen, across the top of the shaft, but not underneath. I suppose the only way to know if it’s permanent would be to stay unlocked for an extended period and see if it went away.

Yeah, right.

I told Belle about the dent. She was unmoved. “It’s just a physical manifestation of your commitment and submission to me, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

The one about being sick and grumpy

The only thing I find worse than blog posts apologizing for not having blogged in a while are blog posts about being sick. I don’t blame anyone for making these (except for the “sorry I’ve been gone so long” kind — unless you were abducted by aliens or something, my advice is just pick it up where you left off). In fact, I know I’ve made a few posts like that myself…and am about to again.

I’ve been ill a few different ways. One perhaps related to my denial and the other due to our inability to nail viruses like the little bastards they are.

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder. I chalked this up to three possible explanations. One, perhaps it had something to do with being with Drew. What, I couldn’t say. It’s not like I’ve never had fun with my butt before and this feeling over such a long period was new. However, the issue did develop within 48 hours of seeing him. Two, maybe I had another UTI. This also seemed unlikely as I had no other symptoms at all and couldn’t figure out how I could have gotten one (unlike last time). Three, could it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

Eventually, as the symptoms entered a second week, I decided to go to the clinic.

I know, this is utterly boring stuff.

At about the same time, I came down with a cold. A nasty, annoying, pain in the ass common cold. I’m still dealing with its lingering effects. I only mention this because it was part of the web of maladies that left me feeling depressed and generally really unsexy and totally antisocial.

Before heading to the clinic, I used an at-home UTI test. I didn’t even know they existed but found one at Target. It reported the presence of leukocytes in my urine (one time very minutely and the second time quite apparently) and said they were indicative of an infection. At the clinic, they found no leukocytes and therefore said I didn’t have an infection but the doctor prescribed antibiotics anyway and I dutifully started taking them.

The symptoms got ever so slightly better. Hardly at all. Plus, my cold turned into a raging sore throat. I would have gone in for a strep test, but since I was already on antibiotics, I didn’t bother. I felt terrible and Belle was out of town. Blah.

Good god, could this be any more tedious?

Now, some of you who’ve played around with denial may have had some symptoms like mine before. Sometimes, when I’m really good and turned on and making all kinds of seminal fluids, the prostate will swell and this “I really have to go” feeling will kick in. Imagine that, but about 50 times worse and going on for weeks. At first, I thought that’s what it was. But it got worse and kept going. So I quickly dropped that theory. Then, in chatting with Drew (in a surly and pitiful way) he brought it back up. I decided to ask Belle to come. Not just once. I really wanted to blow things out.

Of course, I did not want to come. Not even a little. But, on the way back home from picking her up at the airport, I mentioned the idea to Belle who agreed to let me. We got home quite late so there was little fanfare. She turned off the lights and rolled over while I got into bed with a little hand towel.

“That was quick,” she murmured into her pillow.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I suppose now you’re going to turn into an asshole…”

For the record, I have definitely not turned into an asshole. But yeah, I did come quite quickly. And the sensation of pushing what turned out to be copious amounts of juice though my prostate was pinchy and intense. I came again the next day and one more time on Saturday.

I am really anti-orgasm lately. I haven’t been denied nearly long enough to want them and I felt a lot of resentment at being in a spot where I need to. Oddly, though, and perhaps because these are “clinical” orgasms, I haven’t felt a huge amount of sub drop.

In any event, the symptoms have gotten better. A lot better. But they’re not gone. Now, I feel them most intensely in the morning and at night. But not as bad as before. During the day, I only feel like I have to pee when I actually have to pee. So that’s nice.

Later this week, Belle and I and the kids are off on our annual Spring Break pilgrimage to the Virgin Islands. Since the symptoms seem to be getting better (even after she did not let me come on Sunday), I won’t be seeking further medical advice before leaving. However, if things are still relatively unchanged upon our return, I’ll be heading back to the doctor. Hopefully it’ll all be good since nobody wants to read (or write) another post like this anytime soon, I’m sure.

Everything else will follow

The other day, over on the Twitter, a young man (whose account is private, so I won’t say who it is) tweeted the following:

I hate who I am, the things I like… They complicate my life so much and took away what meant most to me. Why can’t I just be ‘normal’…?

This tore me the fuck up. I mean, I don’t know this guy really. We’re both on Twitter, that’s it. But I wanted to sit down and talk to him right then. To give him a shoulder to let it out on.

I have been that kid.

At various times of my life and for different reasons. When I was young (like he is) and regardless of who I was with or crushed on, I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else of the opposite gender. Or when I tried to make a go of it with the one guy and just couldn’t get myself there and knew I was going to hurt him. Or when I simply shut down sexually and emotionally and went years without touching another person in an intimate way. Or when I was with Belle and feeling like a total freak for liking the shit I do. Why can’t I just be normal!? Again and again, I asked myself that.

And I want to tell him, Dude, there is no normal. Normal is a myth. A lie. Normal is what we call the straightjacket of societally approved acts. In my experience, nobody is fucking normal. And life? It’s always complicated. Every second of every day in some way. By definition, that shit is complicated. It’s just we get used to some of the complications. We make room for them and stop feeling them.

From my perspective just this side of the half-century mark, let me also say “normal and uncomplicated” sounds as boring as hell. It’s only the not-normal and totally complicated that make life worth living. Truly.

I don’t know this guy’s situation. I don’t know what he’s even talking about, really. No idea what he lost or how, though I assume it was an S.O. and because he’s got some nifty little kinks. Let me say that again: Nifty little kinks. Those are what make you fucking awesome. Those are what make you you. There is nothing to hate there. Nothing.

I get the pain. I get the frustration. But you cannot change who you are. You can’t stop wanting what you want. And trust me (TRUST ME), someday you will find a person (or more than one) who wants to be the opposite of your desires. Who desires to feed your desires. It will happen.

If we don’t love ourselves, it’s hard for others to love us. If we don’t accept ourselves, it’s hard to be accepted. If we don’t acknowledge our inherent specialness, you can’t expect anyone else to. Acceptance of one’s self and one’s superpowers (which your sexual predilections absolutely are) is necessary for a happy life.

This is my thousandth post on Denying Thumper. One would expect I’d burn it waxing poetic about chastity or denial or being a little subbie rabbit. Maybe, in a way, I am. Because accepting those things about myself has led me here. A marriage with a wonderful woman who loves me for the freak of nature I am and I love her back fiercely. In fact, we love each other so much, I’m able to have a fucking boyfriend on the side (and I mean that literally). In a way, this entire blog and every word I’ve ever written on it is a giant example of what this post is about.

Accept yourself. Love yourself. Be yourself. Everything else will follow.

Nine nine nine

I’m all hung up on the fact that my next post will be the thousandth on the blog. I’m not sure if that counts the couple of dozen aborted drafts that never saw the light of day or not (or if it really matters since it’s kind of an arbitrary thing to get hung up on anyway). The next one has kept me from doing this one because once this one’s done then the next one is the big one-zero-zero-zero.

Plenty of things I could write about…

Drew was in town this week. Before he got here, Belle essential insisted that I take him to dinner the night he arrived. She even offered to help me groom myself prior to seeing him. I hope this continues to alleviate any lingering concerns among my readers as to Belle’s emotional wellbeing in this age of open marriage. I also hope my discussion of our open marriage and the fact that I had sex with another man again drives off any lingering hateful homophobes from your midsts (I’m not allowed to describe it here, but assume the aforementioned sex was as awful and dirty as you’re imagining if it helps you close your browser window in disgust and never come back). Minimally, even if you don’t like or get what we’re doing (all four of us involved), you should be happy for us that it seems to only make things better for everyone.

Over on his blog, Drew posted about the net positive effects our openness has had for he and Axel.

Now, five or six months later, I can honestly say I had no idea how great the open marriage would actually be for my marriage. The time I have had with Thumper has already made me a better husband because I am paying attention to Axel more, learning more about areas I was lacking or needing more experience in, and just knowing that the immense level of trust we have for each other is there, is working, and is helping us grow as a couple just makes my heart light up inside.

Mrs Fever posted a comment that was, as usual, insightfully relevant. In part, she said…

And as much as I love my boyfriend, and hate to leave him when our time is through, there is nothing like coming home to my husband afterward. Time apart always makes us appreciate each other more, and time with someone else makes me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. Which, as you say, is something that’s difficult to understand unless you’ve been there.

I have nothing much to add to their combined statements. I feel the same way. Giving me the freedom and the trust to be with Drew once a month or so only makes me love her more and, indeed, coming home from my time with him to be with her intensifies that sentiment.

In other news, we’re at the half-way point of my six week pre-vacation lock-down. I am, to put it as succinctly as possible, horny as all fuck. Funny, but my time with Drew doesn’t seem to make it any worse (or, at least not for long). I went into it this time really charged up and, after he left, I’m pretty much the same. I suppose that’s good for him. I find that being in this state makes me much more focused as to what want out of our handful of monthly hours. Perhaps I was a bit too forward this time, but I didn’t hear any complaining.

In any event, the other morning Belle and I were talking about it and I’m fully and completely on the other side of the lock-up hump in that I am kind of desperately wanting her to maintain as much tight control over the penis as possible. I requested that she make me lock up even on vacation outside those time I have to be out (TSA, wetsuits, etc.). I feel as though being given too much freedom would make me mental. Distracted from the access and even worried about her commitment to my control (which is nuts, but these are all things that have happened in the past and the fucking hormones are powerful shit). She said she was already leaning in that direction anyway and hearing that made me swoon with gratitude.

That’s the fucked up shit of this chastity and denial thing. Being locked up and horny drives me crazy with desire and frustration but it’s the desire and frustration that, in turn, powers my deeply submissive need to be totally controlled and being totally controlled while feeling all that submissiveness makes me stupidly happy. The nervous ball of energy in my stomach and electric throb from inside the steel tube is in a very real sense the palpable proof that my wife loves me and cares about me. Awesome, right? It leaves me feeling deeply in her debt and so, so grateful to her for all things.

But now I’m treading on whatever post 1,000 will be about. So I’ll choose now as my time to stop and ponder.