High anxiety

I was supposed to be driving right now. The plan was for me to be leaving on a week long trip into the wilderness (literally — no plumbing, phone, roads, etc.), but I’m not going. The reasons are complicated.

Purportedly, and for all the world knows, it’s a work thing that’s held me back. That is arguably the truth. I can even convince myself that’s what happened too, though I know it’s not the whole truth. To be sure, sticking around would make things better at work (mostly for other people, not me), but had I wanted to go badly enough, I could have made it work. But I didn’t. I mean, part of me really did. But…complicated.

For the past several years, I’ve noticed the idea of leaving Belle and home has made me feel very unsettled. I’d even use the word anxious. Angsty. Nervous. Emotional. All of the above. Nothing about it feels healthy and there’s nothing she’s been able to say to make me feel any better about it. This does not happen the other way around. I don’t like it when she goes away, but if I’m left home, it’s all good. I can handle it. It’s only when I leave, for any reason and for any amount of time (though the longer the time, the worse the anxiety). I’ve been able to recognize the issue but have been clueless about the cause. And, as I said, it’s been getting progressively worse.

So, even though there were people counting on me and the plans for this trip have been set for months and months, I have been really itching to not go. I’d say my mood has been affected for three weeks thinking about it. It just loomed out there sucking in all my energy. When the work issue came up, my mind immediately latched onto it as a plausible reason to cancel. It is plausible, but it’s not insurmountable. But I took it anyway. And now, while I’m greatly relieved to not be going, I feel really bad about letting my friends down and even disappointed that I won’t be there. Nope, nothing healthy about any of this.

It occurred to me the other day that this may be caused by the denial of my orgasms. The brain chemistry behind sex and mating and desire is fucking potent and one of the main reasons to practice denial, I think, is how it motivates one to be so attached and attracted and focused on one’s partner. Belle is more than the controller of my orgasms, she becomes the proxy for most of my real-life erotic urges (not counting the few days each month I see Drew which are simultaneously different but the same in ways I can’t explain). I don’t want to orgasm, but I desperately want to feel the desire to and that desire is totally focused on her (that part is very different with Drew — I never want to come in, on, or around him). Beyond that, she’s the sole arbiter of when I even get to feel pleasure from the penis which is such a basic and foundationally wired thing for a guy. We play with our penises from nearly the time we’re born. But now it’s not there and I’m not allowed and my higher brain does everything it can to control my base urges and live up to that expectation because all that, every bit, is focused on her.

On these trips, which I take maybe three times a year when I’m able, I sometimes stay locked up the whole time, but more often I don’t. I’ve written recently about how I resent external forces making me come out of a device. Anything that, for whatever reason, supersedes Belle’s wishes. That’s at least part of the deal here, but not the whole thing.

So what I’m left wondering is can this go too far? Can all the good forces of denial become so powerful they become problems? An even more interesting question is, do I care? Or, more precisely, at what point does it become such an issue that I have to care?

What I mean by, “Do I care?” is essentially an extension of the risk/reward thing I wrote about yesterday. Everything has consequences, real or imagined or potential. If one of the consequences of being otherwise very happily denied orgasm means I have this ostensibly unhealthy attachment to my wife, is that an acceptable negative for all the good we both feel comes from me not coming? This is the first time I’ve ever felt like I was close to wherever that line is.

Of course, I don’t know the denial has anything to do with my anxiety. One way to find out would be for Belle to let me come like crazy for a few days and see if the anxiety goes away. But I can’t bring myself to propose that (though, in the meta path that leads through blogging about one’s spouse where she can read it, in a way, I just did). Why? Because I don’t come. I don’t ask if I can come. I don’t want to come. I like myself better when my own orgasm is distant, both in memory and potential. Every single bit of me is so invested in this dynamic that I don’t know I’d ever be able to climb over it on my own. And now, by letting my work issues intercede, I don’t need to.

I don’t have a neat conclusion to this and I can’t know the answers to my question. I know that since making the decision to bail, I have felt more than a little depressed because there was no good choice and none that would make me feel better. And I have no idea if any of this is wired into my kinks or not.

The coming cancer scare

One thing you often hear when discussing orgasm denial is the concern, based on a few studies and how they’re amplified through internet discussion, that it’s somehow a risk for the development of prostate cancer in men. This perception is helped along by reports like this one called “Best Evidence Yet!: Ejaculation Reduces Prostate Cancer Risk.”

Good news, men: you may be able to decrease your risk for prostate cancer by ejaculating — frequently, according to research presented here at American Urological Association 2015 Annual Meeting.

The frothy advice is not new but is now backed up by the “strongest evidence to date” on the subject, according to lead author Jennifer Rider, ScD, MPH, an epidemiologist at the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health in Boston.

Two things off the bat. First, you do not follow an exclamation point with a colon. Ever. Second, the whimsical use of “frothy” is cute but inaccurate (if your ejaculate is “frothy” you many want to get yourself checked out). But I digress.

The study’s money shot:

After potential confounders were controlled for, the risk for prostate cancer was 20% lower in men who ejaculated at least 21 times a month than in men who ejaculated 4 to 7 times a month. The 20% risk reduction was seen at ages 20 to 29 and 40 to 49, and for the lifetime average (P trend < .0001 for all).

Some perspective. First, prostate cancer affects 1 in 7 men in the United States meaning the average man’s chance of getting it is 14.2%. The chances are far lower in young men and much higher in older men. If this study is correct, frequent ejaculation reduces one’s chances of getting it to 11.4%. It’s not a magic shield against getting prostate cancer. Also, there has been no research that I know of into the opposite hypothesis that infrequent ejaculation leads to a higher frequency of prostate cancer development. There is no data that supports the notion that orgasm denial is more dangerous than not denying orgasms. 

For me, this is another discussion of risk vs. reward. There may be a risk in practicing orgasm denial in your relationship. There are benefits to doing so, however. The question is, which are more important to you? Only you can say.

Update from the Shire

I chatted with my pal Frodo about his interesting situation. Rosie, Pippin and Frodo’s daughter, is apparently struggling a bit with the revelation of their relationship model. Frodo says she’s “heavily invested” in the concept of monogamy and, of course, why wouldn’t she be? It’s literally the only thing she’s ever known and is the only relationship archetype our culture ever shows us (even though many — most? — cultures do not practice monogamy). We’ve made tremendous strides with regard to same-sex couples and the validity of their relationships in media and culture, but there’s been no Will and Grace moment for polyamory or even simple openness (not counting creepy reality programming). As a young woman, she doesn’t have any applicable life experience of her own with which to help her grok what her parents are doing. It’d be shocking to hear she took it in stride, I suppose. In any event, they’re amazing parents who have proven themselves as fantastic communicators so I have no doubt she’ll eventually find herself in a good place.

Frodo said, “I think my view on monogamy is more nuanced that what you described, but honestly haven’t given it much thought,” and I thought that was pretty funny since they’ve more or less ditched the model for themselves.

He also wanted to know why I used Pippin for his husband’s name and not the obvious Samwise. While I think he was totally ripped off by the Acadamy, I find Sean Astin to be kind of annoying. Plus, I think Pippin’s cuter and Sam is too much a traditionalist stick in the mud to allow for any of this newfangled open relationship stuff. Pippin, on the other hand, is much more a free spirit. Also, while Rosie is not the most obvious female name to use, Tolkien had kind of an issue with female characters and the only other female hobbits I could think of off the top of my head were Farmer Maggot’s wife (that’s literally her name) or Belladonna Took. Neither seemed appropriate.

A couple of weird ones

This morning, I woke up with a free hard-on thanks to Belle trying to save a little time the night before by putting me to bed unlocked. I wore my heavy circular barbell in the PA and felt it flop hither and to as the erection moved around early this morning. Extremely distracting.

We slept in fairly late for us and are both still sore from a workout class we took together on Saturday. Really kicked our asses. I was pulling my legs out from under the covers and stretching and rubbing my hamstrings and glutes which are still smarting. By then, the penis was back to its soft n’ floppy condition and Belle took the opportunity to reach out and start petting it.

I really, honestly cannot describe how wonderful that feels. The penis rarely if ever feels pleasurable touch like that and the sensation of her fingers lightly brushing its lengthening form, under and up and over and down and around, made me purr and arch my back and bury my face in a pillow. Then it sprang up and she started to give it ever-so-gentle strokes and it felt like I was going to combust into a ball of angsty horniness. I knew I should reposition myself so I could start showing her some attention (she is, after all, the focus of our sex) but the sound of leaking precum smacking at the end of the penis and the feeling of the heavy ring moving inside it with each stroke was too deliciously distracting. So I laid there a bit longer.

Then I just wanted inside her. I figured she wasn’t going to stroke me until I came or anything and while it felt magnificent, the reptile brain wanted pussy so I moved down and went to work. I wasn’t as gentle as usual. I fingered her with two of them and hooked them in and behind her pubic bone before running then back up and around the length of her clit. I fingered the other nipple, rubbing it and pinching it as hard as I dared while sucking the other. I was panting and moaning in heat as her breathing increased and I could feel her orgasm getting closer. She started to gyrate in syncopation with my fingering and with each rotation her hip brushed against the corona of the still rock hard penis between us. Each touch made me gasp into her breast and was enough to make me feel as though I’d shoot if she kept it up for too much longer.

Then the first weird thing happened. She kinda came. Like, maybe 40-60% of an orgasm. She sounded like she was coming and she moved like she was coming, but I didn’t feel her pussy pulsate in waves like it normally does. In any event, she was close enough that she didn’t want me messing with it anymore.

I was still panting, though, and pressing into her and obviously pathetically desperate so she told me I could take my turn. In one motion, I moved up and over her and slid the cock in without even aiming and immediately started to fuck her properly warmed up pussy. As soon as I got in there, she started to make her happy pussy noises that I have zero defense over and are the surest way to make me come. The idea that I would think of something else to distract myself was fantasy as, for me at that time, there was nothing else. Just the feelings of that penis inside her and the sounds it was coaxing out of her. I got so, so, so close to coming and stopped. Dead. And waited.

Even just the feeling of her surrounding the penis was enough. I couldn’t stop it though I tried. I resisted and pushed back against the tidal force of that coming and she told me to go ahead, but it was too late to enjoy. It felt like someone kicked me in the small of my back. Like the penis was burning off of me. My head pounded and my breathing seemed to stop and my stomach clenched. As though instead of riding the wave of the orgasm over the edge I stood my ground like a breakwater and let it crash into me and around me and through me. It was shattering.

At first, I didn’t know what happened. Was that an orgasm? I didn’t feel myself shoot, but I did. A lot. The penis was still hard but failing fast and electric in the post-orgasmic way they are. I had come, but not in a way I ever had before. Not in a way I ever want to again. There was nothing at all pleasurable about it for me.

I slid off and gripped her hard and fought the swell of sleepiness programmed into all men. I could smell the semen and it was not good. Then, she reached into her drawer and retrieved her little purple vibrator. I asked if she wanted any help but she said no which was a relief. All I wanted to do was doze with my face in her hair. I heard the vibe come on and muffle and growl as it went in and out and over her clit and heard her breathing pick up before she came in a terrific shuddering crash that surely would have woken any sleeping neighbors had she allowed herself to vocalize as she wanted to.

She didn’t say anything about going back in the Steelheart and I didn’t ask. I was left reeling from whatever experience that was and any notion of sliding the wet, sticky penis back into the cold steel left me feeling flat. I’m still out, but not down since writing this after a little time on Tumblr has left my pants full of hard-on and a, ahem, stiff desire to head off by myself and do things I’ll regret later. Plus, Belle’s out shopping. So…bad combination.

But I’ll be good. In fact, I’ll probably go put the damned Steelheart back on right now.

An interesting situation

The other day, I got a text message from an old friend.

So, I have a situation you may find interesting. One you may want to ask your buddy Dan about.

And I’m like, Dan? I don’t know any Dans.

Dan Savage.

Oh! Yeah, my buddy Dan. We’re like this.

The old friend is the boy (now a man, obvs) I was with during high school and a little right after (the one with the wonderful cock I’ve mentioned…mmm, yes). One of my oldest friends in the world. Best man at our wedding, even. We’re going to have to call him something, so I’ll go with Frodo.

The interesting situation can be summarized thusly. Frodo and his husband Pippin (just to stick with the LOTR theme) have an open relationship because just like all the gays. Pippin is seeing a guy we’ll call Farmer Maggot…no, just kidding. We’ll call the guy on the side Merry, I guess. Anyway, they’re having a nice time together and Frodo is happy for Pippin and all is well. In fact, Pippin and Merry are going on a little vacation together. That’s how cool the whole situation is.

The interesting part involves their teenage daughter. Apparently, Pippin carries on a prolific texting exchange with Merry and the daughter (who we don’t really need to name, but if we did, I’d go with Rosie) is aware of it. In fact, so aware that she asked Pippin if he was in some kind of relationship with Merry.

I suppose as parents we sometimes fool ourselves into thinking our kids are oblivious to the things we think we do unobtrusively on our devices. The other day, I was listening to a podcast and the guy talking mentioned the name of his blog. My daughter said, “Oh, he does that?” and I was like, What? How in the world is she aware of that (totally innocent tech and design) blog? Turns out she sees me reading it on my computer and instead of just ignoring whatever boring gray website her dad is looking at, she actually absorbed enough to remember its name and the fact I’m on it frequently. So sure, they’re paying attention.

Note, I’m getting this whole story second and third hand. And I don’t always remember things well.

Anyway, Pippin was a bit flustered by this bold inquiry (for which, in and of itself, I give her credit — not sure I ever would have confronted one my parents like that). Not having any Longbottom weed to take the edge off with, my understanding is he punted on the question until he could consult with Frodo. I have no idea how you punt, “Dad, are you sleeping with Merry?” but that’s what I’m told he did.

So that’s where Frodo reached out to me. We are in similar situations with children of similar ages and relationships in similar states of openness. He wondered how I’d approach that question from one of mine. Of course, for me, the question would have the additional layer of previously unexpressed bisexual tendencies, but it’s a potential thing Belle and I may need to address at some point.

I told him I would say something to the effect that there are all kinds of relationships in the world and that some people love and trust one another to seek additional companionship outside their marriage and, rather than indicating a problem, allowing it to happen is a sign of significant strength. As unexpected as it may be, when done correctly, openness in a relationship leads to a greater degree of connectedness and affection for the primary partners. Since Rosie is old enough to hang tough in a deeper conversation, I’d take the opportunity to express my opinion that humans aren’t meant to be monogamous. We can be, by choice, but we’re designed to be promiscuous (a loaded word, to be sure). Every bit of physiological evidence points towards promiscuity rather than monogamy. I think we are driven to pair-bond, but that’s not the same thing.

Turns out, even though Frodo and I are both in open relationships, our thinking about them is different in a significant way. His take on what I just wrote is that monogamy is the ideal and that sometimes, it’s an ideal that can’t be lived up to for whatever reason. I totally disagree. There’s an underlying and implied moral judgment in that position I can’t square with. There are too many ancient human cultures in the world in which monogamy would be seen as wrong and unnatural for those of us under the influence of Western culture to award our approach as the ideal. There’s simply no reason to think eternal and exclusive commitments to one other person is superior or even the most logical approach. It also goes against my sense of sexual libertarianism and desire to be non-judgemental in all consensual permutations of human affection.

But ultimately, that’s a not a significant point of disagreement. Fact is, they’re open and they’re going to share that information with their daughter who is mature enough to hear the truth. And I think that’s great.

Funny little coda to all this. I don’t know how the conversation with Rosie went, but I did ask Frodo if he’d be OK with me writing this post. He said yes as long as I was careful with their identities (hence, Hobbit names). Then, while the older child and I were at the movies last night, he sent me this text.

I should have asked Pippin before saying yes. He’s willing to let you blog about our situation, but there is a price.

Oh? And that is…?

Apparently, he wants a photo of you he saw once on your blog. Wearing jeans and with an erection.

Why, I may blush. Wait a minute, Pippin reads my blog? Oh, my.

The picture Pippin wanted in exchange for letting me write my post is this one. I sent it to Frodo who said it was pretty fucking hot and that made me all squirmy. Then I thought about how the entire transaction left me feeling cheaply objectified and, yeah, well, that works for me, too.

Sansa of the North

I’m going to write about Game of Thrones here because it’s my blog and you can’t stop me.

And yeah, FUCKING SPOILERS. Ye have been warned.

Ramsay Bolton raped Sansa Stark. By now, the entire world knows this whether or not they watch the show. It was horrible and awful. But it was not lazy storytelling on the part of the producers and it was nothing like last season’s creepy twincest scene that seemed to suggest nonconsensual sex could be a byproduct of intense desire and emotion. In this case, the rape of Sansa was totally relevant to the story being told. Awful and sad and terrible, but relevant.

Note, I have not read the books to this part. I know Sansa wasn’t raped in the books, but another woman was. I also know her rape was far worse than Sansa’s (and, of course, they’re all bad). I’m talking about the HBO GoT here, not the one in the books. I honestly don’t think how the books differ from the series is relevant to this conversation. If you want to gripe about how the show is varying from the books, I have no time for you.

The scenario in which Littlefinger has placed Sansa is purely political and reeking of symbolism already. Sansa is, as far as anyone knows, the last living Stark. Her family is synonymous with the North and her marriage into the Bolton family is one way they can legitimize their control over the territory and perhaps align the people to their side prior to Stanis’ coming ass-kicking (I hope, anyway — again, I have not read the books). Seen in that light, Sansa is both an individual and an embodiment of the North. She represents a legitimate claim to rule it. Her children will be half Stark even if they carry the name Bolton. This marriage is not about love. It’s politics. It’s supposed to be what marriages amongst royal and highborn people have always been about: power consolidation, alliances, expediency, etc.

When Ramsay rapes Sansa he is raping the North. He is committing violence against the foundation of its traditions. Yes, he’s a sadistic little worm of a thing who, I can only hope, will die a slow and terrible death, but he’s also a Bolton trying to strengthen his illegitimate grip on a land he hopes to rule one day. Were he not the vile beast he is, perhaps that scene would have gone down differently, but he is truly horrible (worse even than Joffrey). Did we expect rose petals on the bed?

The state we seem to be in at this point in our cultural dialog is that rape on screen is never OK. Whenever it happens now (as it did two seasons ago on Downton Abbey) the writers are accused of using a tired old trope and being lazy. As far as I can tell, the furor over this is focused on the act, not the way in which it’s been employed in the story. The act itself has become taboo.

On a program that routinely shows its characters being casually and chillingly violent to one another in ways far more disturbing than the scene in question, it’s puzzling to me that this is the line some cannot cross. Ramsay literally threw one of his girlfriends to the dogs and I can’t recall reading one article or angry tweet about it. Yes, rape is horrible. Yes, it has been employed in stories far too casually and without reason before now. But that’s not what happened here. Not by a long shot.


I’m terrible at answering my mail.

Fetlifer perfectlyrare wrote…

You have a great and really inspiring blog. Thanks for being so open and being a good ambassador for chastity stuff. I really like how you include asides about having a healthy family life and quietly pursuing your interest in bisexuality. The main reason I messaged you was a chastity question, but I’m also curious when you revealed being bi to your wife and what the discussions were like that led you to exploring dating a man? My girlfriend is mostly vanilla but I showed her some tease and denial type videos (Christina QCCP) and she has rapidly got into limiting my orgasms and being manipulative with intimate touching. We are starting to talk about chastity. She enjoys the idea but worries that it would be too painful or uncomfortable to such delicate sensitive body parts that she treasures. As such, we are quite focused on the holy trainer. The only thing stopping us from jumping on it is that we wanted something compatible with plastic locks because we don’t live together, we are already focused on mental/obedience chastity, and i like the idea of being able to get out in an emergency, even if i cant think of what emergency might require it! Plastic locks would let me get out easily without the luxury of being able to lie about it which might be more tempting with a metal padlock that prompted me to try to slipping out. I really wish holy trainer would introduce a new version that brought back the ability to use plastic locks :/ and you probably wouldnt know but i bet the holy trainer might be weakened and degraded by urine? i am pretty into diapers so maybe it’s a bad bet in the first place in that regard. should i just get a cb 6k?

I’ll do these in reverse.

I don’t think the Holy Trainer would be damaged by urine. Don’t worry about that.

No, don’t get the CB6K. The Holy Trainer is better in every single regard, except perhaps the fact you can’t secure it with a numbered lock. You can still buy the original HT as separate parts from the Holy Trainer site and Kept For Her, so that’s an option. Another option is to do what Belle and I do which is fashion a keyholder like this one from Steelworxx and use the numbered lock to secure the key, not the device. My experience with the plastic locks is being in your pants leads them to break on their own relatively quickly, so they’re not a perfect option on their own.

Regarding your girlfriend’s worries about the fragility of your penis, that’s sweet, but they’re tougher than many men let on. It’s all relative to your ability to deal with discomfort, of course, but I’m locked up all the time with no apparent negative ramifications.

Regarding the coming out as bi to Belle, that was on the table from early days. Even before we were dating. It’s always been out there.

Fetlifer Born2Lead wrote…

Hello! Just wanted to swing by and drop you a line to let you know how much I’ve enjoyed reading your blog. I plan to pass along the link to my little pet. I think he would benefit from reading that there are other men, like himself, out there (romantically involved with women, yet still sexually bisexual, submissive and kinky).

He worries terribly that someone might find out his secrets. We’ve discussed the potential role of chastity within our relationship. His biggest concern at this point is that the profile of his birdlocked device is ridiculously massive and very noticeable. I saw that you’ve written a number of reviews on different devices and thought I might ask if you have a suggestion for a chastity novice that has a smaller profile and is more easily hidden beneath clothing?

The short version of the Holy Trainer 2 is the best from a size and outward visibility standpoint that I’ve worn. Silicone devices are also easier to conceal if only because their squishy nature makes them look more natural, but I hate them as a general rule.

And no, he is definitely not the only submissive bisexual heteroromantic kinky fucker out there!

Reader tom emailed…

are stainless steel rings available for cb6000 ? the thickness of the rings is the one thing i find uncomfortable. if someone made them in stainless they could be thinner allowing for more comfort…..at least i think so.

There’s a metal version of the CB-6000 out there (not an authorized CB-X product, but very similar in how it works) but I have no experience with it (and can’t remember what it’s called). The rings on the CB-6000 are the single biggest drawback of the product, in my opinion.

Reader Kuba wrote in with a long one…

I’m a 34yo straight (sorry 😉 ) male. I’m pretty new to your blog, but I’ve already read quite a lot of your advice on chastity devices, and since you’re quite experienced and open to helping people, I was hoping that perhaps you might give me some advice as well.

Don’t worry, I won’t discriminate against you because you’re straight.

I’m quite interested in chastity myself, mostly as a form of bondage (self-bondage in this case, as for now I’m alone), rather than a D/s dynamic  – I see bondage more akin to an artform rather than means of submission.

Anyway, the experience I’ve had so far wasn’t very good. I’m an owner of a CB-3000 device (not many mentions of it on your blog), and it’s not working out very well. I find it very uncomfortable, there’s a lot of pinching, etc. Reading your blog I realised that one of my mistakes was getting a normal-sized cage, when I probably should have taken a small one – extra space inside was a constant issue. Still, even without that I have a rather tight sack, which doesn’t help either. I know it can stretch with time, but CB-3000 was such a bad experience, I ended up not wanting to train for that at all. And when growing the extra air holes tended to cause nasty swells.

The CB3K was the big device just before I got into chastity. By that time, the CB6K was out. Back then, the CB3K was reported to be more comfortable because its rings were rounded rather than square like the CB6K. However, at some point, CB-X decided to “upgrade” the CB3K with CB6K-stype square rings. If your scrotum is tight (and they all start out that way, to a certain extent), the square rings are absolute torture.

And yes, all that extra tube space can also cause discomfort.

Anyway, I don’t intend to let that discourage me and would love to continue my adventure with (self-)chastity. I’ve found your blog while looking for reviews on Birdlocked and I’m glad I did, as (along with some other things I found all over the internet) it convinced me It’s probably not the best choice. I’m currently leaning towards Holy Trainer, as it fits a lot of my requirements (stealth being one of them – which is not a surprise, as it’s rather common), however during the course of my readthrough I’ve started to take a liking to the Looker 02. I’ve always found the idea of a device with a urethral plug awesome. Seems more… “complete” that way. The problem is I’ve never had any experience with urethral sounding before.

Essentially what I want to ask is what you think might be the best course of action? Does it seem like a good idea to go straight for Looker 02 or would it be better to stay with taking small steps an go for Holy Trainer first? If you think the Looker is the way to go, should I get some sounds first and train a bit before wearing it, or is it possible to start wearing it immediately and gradually get used to it? (obviously immediate 24/7 would not be a good idea)

I assume the best option would probably be HT first, then moving on to Looker, but that means buying two devices instead of one, and that’s something that’s rather painful at the moment – that’s one of the reasons I’m asking if going for the Looker right now is a viable option, or something a bit too extreme at this stage, with my limited experience.

Your choice is to spend more money over a longer period on two devices rather than a lower amount up front on one. Upside is you save some money, downside is maybe chastity just isn’t for you and the CB3K wasn’t totally to blame and/or you hate the feeling of the urethral insert. I love the Looker 02 and find it to be very comfortable, but I also enjoy the sensation of a penetrated urethra and knew that before we bought the device.

If I were in your spot, I’d get the HT first and play with sounding before plopping down the cash for the Looker 02. Generally speaking, I advise newbies to go with the Trainer or another plastic device before investing in custom steel anyway for a number of reasons.

To complicate matters even further I’m an avid cyclist, not as a sport, but as my main means of transportation around the city. I’ve seen you mention biking while locked is not the most pleasant idea and it’s best to remove the device… however with me riding the bike every day it wouldn’t be too convenient, so cycling comfort is yet another important point here, and you mentioned the Looker is pretty good in that regard. How does Holy Trainer fare here?

To be honest I did try to ride a bike while wearing the CB-3000 (although much less than I do now), and didn’t notice too much extra distress… but it might be I simply didn’t notice due to the whole thing being so damn uncomfortable.

I have yet to bike in the Trainer. If you’re doing it around town in regular street clothing with at least the short HT, you’ll probably be OK. When I bike it’s for fitness and I wear tight biking gear which makes the devices significantly less comfortable.

Oh, and a completely disconnected question: What is your outlook on full, Florentine-style belts? I’ve noticed you only ever mention (and worn) ball-trapping devices. Do you know how do those compare? Especially when it comes to the regular issues such as comfort, security or stealth? (because most certainly they lose when it comes to price 😀 )

When I first got into chastity, I lusted over one of those, but now I can’t imagine wearing one. Not with my current lifestyle. The entire field seems to have been taken over by smaller trapped-ball devices now. Never having worn one, that’s about all I can say about them.

Good luck to everyone who wrote in!

Three weeks, three squirts

I mentioned a few posts back that Belle was going to keep me locked up for three weeks straight. This was more an accident of timing than anything else, but it was also a result of her just not feeling the need for a hard penis when my chance came along and therefore seeing no purpose in letting the one on me out of its confinement. Then she was out of town for a weekend and, even though we had sex after she got back, it was a quickie and was more about my tongue and her clit than anything else. Finally, yesterday, she let me out. And it felt so fucking good to have a real, unrestrained erection.

Too good, actually. She had to warn me to settle down. I get a little rambunctious when she lets me out. Kind of like a dog who sees his leash. It only happens for one reason, really, so when it does I start jumping up on her and wagging my tail and panting and such. I think she likes it when I get excited like that, but also needs me to focus on the task at hand: her.

Feeling your wife’s hot, wet pussy when you’re locked up is a certain kind of torture, but feeling it when you’re not but also not allowed to just fuck the shit out her is altogether another feeling. So much promise and potential and anticipation, made all the more intense by three fucking weeks of being under lock and key. I was rock hard and 12 seconds from coming and only my middle finger was wet. Then she told me to get inside her.

She hadn’t come yet. I think she wasn’t too far off (I am keenly attuned to her orgasmic processes) but she wanted to be fucked so fuck her I did. And she liked it. Vocally. And that expression of pleasure was too much for me. As she liked it more and more, I lost any pretense of stamina. I got far too close to coming before I stopped and the leakage inside her was every bit three weeks’ worth of pent-up frustration. After that, we needed the vibrator to finish her off. It came away from her covered in my juices more than hers.

Early this morning, I was woken up by the sensation of my nocturnal hard-on rubbing against the sheets. The opposite of what normally wakes me up at that time, except this morning I got to grind it into the bed in order to feel more. I’m not allowed to stroke it, but I so wanted to. All I could get was the contact friction against the mattress. I suppose even that was breaking the spirit of the “no playing with it” rule, so I (eventually) stopped fucking the bed.

When Belle woke up, I jumped her and again went too fast for her. She didn’t make me fuck her first this time, so when she was done and allowed me access, I found an unwilling partner in the penis. Even if I’m out and she’s wet and inviting, if she already came, it will often go soft. That’s how well trained it is now.

Luckily, my Belle knows me and gave my (still kinda rough and sore from earlier in the week) nipples a healthy twisting. The direct line from them to the penis electrified and the erection was back in a flash. I got lost in the fucking to the point that I was about a stroke and half away from coming when I finally stopped myself from going over the edge.

That’s when I realized I was expecting her to tell me to come. For whatever reason, my interpretation of how Belle keeps me left me assuming that today was going to be the day and so I didn’t do anything to stop myself from going right up to the orgasm. With that notion still in my head and nearly an entire orgasm’s worth of spunk in her pussy, I started to fuck again. I find my aversion to ejaculate is so complete at this point that the feeling of fucking through my own has become a turn-off, but I was counting on that orgasm so I pressed on. So much so, that I added whatever was left inside me to what came before, but the word was never given. I never came.

I asked her about it after. Told her it felt like today was going to be the day. She laughed. Not unlike two weeks ago when she never let me out, the idea that I would come now never entered her mind. I honestly have no idea how long it’s been since I last came (which she likes very much), but it’s apparently been long enough that I feel like doing it again. Or, at least, I want to feel like I want to again.

As we laid there in (her) post-orgasmic snuggle session, I started to drift off. She thought it was funny that I acted like I had come even though I hadn’t. I could feel in my balls the tightness and weight of being very much denied release, but the rest of me really did feel like I had come. Snoozy, warm, fuzzy. Except in my crotch where this afternoon’s blue balls were brewing. Back in the day, denial like this would leave me wired and bouncing around, but not anymore. Further indications of conditioning.

Right after breakfast, I asked when she wanted me back in. Often, this is a vague kind of thing. It would be understood that I’d need to be locked up sometime before bed. Occasionally, I can stretch that to Monday morning. But she said, “Right now,” and I was like, Oh…OK. So I marched myself into the bathroom, showered off the morning’s fucking and running, trimmed the hair I usually can’t get to, and locked the Steelheart back in place.

The one where I use words like “baleful” and “quadrilateral”

Some days, you want to write on your blog, but you can’t think of anything interesting to go on about. Other days, you have a thing to write about but no time. Still others, you have multiple things you want to say. That’s what today is. I have, like, three topics I want to go over (maybe four) but I have to spend the better part of the day at a photo shoot so just this one’ll have to do. Bonus points: it’ll be another post about me and Belle and me and Drew and Drew and Axel and I know how that riles up a certain demographic who reads me.

Drew tweeted this yesterday:

Then he wrote a post in which he mentioned a comment I’ve received but have yet to release from purgatory. The juxtaposition of these is interesting in that the commenter said something to the effect that he was surprised I was still seeing Drew as he assumed the “novelty” of the situation would have worn off for me by now. Then he said some disparaging and (perhaps unintentionally) ugly things about gay men.

I’m torn about releasing the comment since this guy’s native language is obviously not English. While I think his bigotry is pretty clear, I’m not sure I want to engage with someone who may not be evil, clearly needs educating, and doesn’t have a firm grasp of the words needed to talk about it in this forum.

Regardless, it’s the “oh, how happy we are” feeling that all four points in this quadrilateral relationship share against the continued feeling of some that a) Drew is an awful gay man bent of ruining my marriage, and b) Belle is a powerless victim caught up in my perverted fantasies. Or something.

An example. Last night, there was a ballgame on. I was watching in bed with Belle, my head laying on her stomach, her hand in my shirt rubbing my chest. This is my favorite place in all the world to be. Drew misheard something the announcer said and texted me about it. I laughed and told Belle what he said. She laughed. I texted back. Drew texted back. I told Belle what he said. We laughed some more. Then we kept watching the game.

Note, there was zero discomfort. Zero awkwardness. My phone was clearly visible to Belle the whole time the exchange was taking place (though, to be fair, some of it happened on my watch). Please, if you’re still harboring any doubt or concern about our relationship, knock it the fuck off. If you can’t knock it the fuck off, just keep it to yourself. I don’t want to hear about it.

Drew posits in his aforementioned post that the thing keeping some from accepting a merry band of four like ours is their own issues.

I actually now think the thing that is the hardest for most people to comprehend is the absolute 100 percent faith, trust, and allowances that our spouses allow us to have because that kind of freedom is very scary and something that many may dream of, but may not be able to handle when they are granted it, if they are granted it in whatever form or format that may take.

The two most important words in that sentence are “faith” and “trust.” He suggests that perhaps the reason some can’t get their heads around how we’re living at the moment is because they lack those things in their relationships. I totally agree. We are smeared with the fear and doubt of others as they try and fit our template over their lives and see nothing but grief and pain. It’s impossible for them to fathom that opening up our marriages in the way he have has led to more fun, more love, more contentment, and a deeper meaning for all of us.

At this point, I’m way past letting other people’s biases and fucked up issues get in the way of my happiness. Or Belle’s or Drew’s or Axel’s. If you have a problem with us and how we’re doing things, turn that baleful eye back on yourself and see who you are. Because we don’t have a problem with this. Not one of us.

The inconvenient ebbing

Have I mentioned I’m bisexual? Oh, that’s right. We’re calling it biflexipan now. I feel like I must have brought it up at some point…

When I was young, I didn’t really understand my own sexuality or how it worked. I say now I’m a Kinsey three (and I know I am since Buzzfeed proved it for me — where were they in 1989!?), but that’s something that vacillates. I only average out to a three. I couldn’t get a grip on who I was for a long time because I didn’t realize that the oscillation around three was something I didn’t really control. I assumed that I must be gay (or mostly gay) because other guys turned me on and I wanted them to fuck me and only gay men want to be fucked by other men (at least as far as I knew). My pesky insistence on also being turned on by women and really enjoying sex with them (plus my inability to feel a real emotional connection to another guy) had to have been rooted in my inability to let go of the assumption and expectation that I should be straight. Like I didn’t want to disappoint my mom by turning out gay so I never let myself feel it and live it. Also, many of my gay friends told me “bisexual” meant “gay as soon as he figures it out.” Perhaps I was only fooling myself into liking women because I was afraid of the alternative.

I remember a gay friend telling me at about this time that I was confused. I also remember reacting very negatively to that word (mostly because this same guy told me I couldn’t exist and I really felt that maybe I did), but really, I was confused about how I worked. I didn’t get that how my attraction changed was natural for me and not something I could influence. That it just happened. I also had no understanding at all that emotional sexuality is separate from…sexual sexuality. It wasn’t until I met Belle and the enormity of the emotions I felt for her swamped everything else I felt that I decided to stop worrying about it. I still didn’t understand me and I knew I wasn’t “cured” of my attraction to men, but because I loved her as much as I did, none of it seemed to matter as much. For the first time in my life, I was with someone with whom I felt a deep need to procreate.

FF about twenty years.

So now I’m in this part of my life where on Wednesday I have my face buried in snatch and on Thursday I’m sucking dick. On the one hand, how fucking awesome is that!? But on the other, it’s a bit jarring. I am not the perfect Kinsey three I average out to. There’s a certain fluidity to it, but there’s zero fluidity in the logistics of how it plays out. I see Drew when I see him and those dates are set weeks or months in advance. Whether or not I am especially interested in his…er, services, there they are.

Up to this point, it hasn’t really been a problem (and even now, to use the word “problem” suggests there is one and there really isn’t). Some visits, I’m really into the idea of him being here and others perhaps less so, but this time I was way over at like a Kinsey one-and-a-half. However the tidal forces of my sexuality work, they were ebbing relative to the idea of mansex. But, you know, even one and a half twigs is enough to kindle a campfire with, so things weren’t awkward or weird. He knew something was up. I dropped vague hints. Still, a fine time was had by all.

I suspected this mismatch of opportunity and desire was going to happen when, in the days leading up to his arrival, I found myself rolling my eyes at things he would say to me that otherwise would have been funny or whatever. This wall, or whatever it is, has always been there and when it’s up I can never get over. Whatever guy I was with or who wanted to be with me would say or do something and I’d be like, Oh god, what a fucking guy thing to say/do, and get immediately turned off. Often enough, the “guy thing” works for me, but when it doesn’t, it does not. This kind of experience used to really throw me for a loop. Cause me to spin into a kind of perpetual re-evaluation of who I was and what I wanted out of life. Now I’m just kind of, Feh. I’ll get over it.

Of course, this is in no way a reflection on Drew. Luckily, I like him as well as have sex with him so even in the middle of this little episode, things are good between us. There have been guys in my past with whom I really only wanted sex and, when this thing came along, I’d run away from them faster than Jerry from Tom. My affection for him is genuine so this isn’t a crisis. Just a little thing.

Just about nine hundred words into this post and I realize I have no way out of it. Seems a pretty fair metaphor. This is just who I am and there’s no way out of that, either.