I’m going to get a massage today. This is a Good Thing™ but, as usual, I’m carrying some steel between my legs and my masseuse is not privy to that info. As a result, I have to bust open my emergency key since Belle’s in Hong Kong until next week.
This is a perennial struggle for me. Right now, today, the last thing I want is to see the penis. I’m so grooving on being locked up I’d be more likely to break the key in the lock than use it to escape, but that’s what I have to do because I’m not an asshole. I woke up this morning gripping the hard, hot steel around the remnants of my morning wood and felt that electric craving for its contents buzzing in my chest wrapped in an insulation of submissive contentment. I know I have to get out for an hour this afternoon. I know it. But the spoiled little rabbit inside me does not want to! NO! DON’T WANNA!!
[insert adorable little fuzzy foot stomp]
Bah. Whatever. To keep the chain of custody in order, here’s a picture of the key safe with its current numbered tag along with the tag Belle left me to resecure the key before I leave the massage room when I’m done being rubbed by the adorable hipster I pay to do it. I will not unlock myself until I’m getting undressed for the rubbing and I’ll immediately relock myself before getting dressed and leaving the room. Later, I’ll post a picture of the key with it’s new number.
And yeah, I know it’s not Thursday, but if you can stand yet another fucking picture of me in the Steelheart, I have one waiting for you after the jump…
Drew and I have put a break on the sexual aspect of our relationship, at least for the time being. A few points…
It is not because I’ve finally seen the light vis-a-vis “cheating on my wife.”
It is not because I’ve finally stopped being “gay.”
It is not because I’m afraid I am turning gay.
It is not because I’ve realized Drew is an awful person.
It’s not because he leaves the TV on when he checks out of his hotel room.*
It is not because [fill in your own theory].
In short, I’m not in a place right now where I can submit to Drew. It’s as simple as that. My sexual relationship with him is founded on submission and if I can’t get myself there, I can’t do it. This has not resulted from anything Drew did wrong. I don’t think there’s anyone to blame for where we are. It’s just how things have evolved between us.
There is no one single thing that’s made me all freaky and weird lately (freaky = depressed, weird = anxious), but feeling this coming has certainly contributed. I had his feelings to contend with (something I admit to not being exceptional at) along with weird issues around discussing it on the blog. If it hadn’t become such a fucking thing here, it may have been easier to address. This is a classic example of the Hawthorne Effect. I feel like the blogging and the sharing and the reality TV show aspect of all this is intertwined with where it is now, though I can’t say for certain we wouldn’t have found ourselves here anyway.
There’s probably more I could say about this, but I’m not sure it’s necessary at the moment. Drew talked about it on his side at greater length. I think I’m very purposefully going to leave some of this behind the curtain for now.
I’m strongly considering shutting off comments on my blog. As I said the other day…
So yeah, I do control the observation but I can’t control the interpretation of that observation by you readers. This was made clear when Drew showed up and I wrote about the relationship that followed. Even though I explained how that all came into being and Belle’s role in opening our relationship, there were people who commented who clearly didn’t understand what was going on. Either through ignorance or choice. Then, because I allow comments and feedback, they were able to share their sometimes hateful and misguided (though, to be charitable, perhaps well-meaning) thoughts and opinions. Then I, in turn, had to choose to ignore or respond, but in any case, those comments affected my future behavior and choices. It made me feel defensive and act defensively even and contributed to my angst since I knew there were all these judging eyes out there waiting for the doom and failure they predicted. Sure, there was also a lot of support, but that’s not how this works. I only really focused on the dark side.
I can’t say for certain why I blog or why I keep blogging at this point in my life. The reasons I started doing it are perhaps not the same as they are today. Back then, I needed and was seeking the feedback of others who had been over the ground I was covering for the first time. The readership was relatively low and the quality of the comments was relatively high. Today, the number of people who read my words on a daily basis is dramatically higher. There are a few people whose comments I genuinely look forward to and read avidly, there’s a group of well-meaning friends I have here and on Twitter, and then there’s a bunch of newbies/anonymous people whose comments are the source of most of my issues.
For example, I wrote yesterday about my need to feel inferior as a submissive. I got this gem in return.
After reading your post, I reread it a second and then a third time. Try as I might, I did not comprehend a single word you said. “Inferior” as something worthwhile is completely foreign to me. I guess i’m too much of a traditionalist when it comes to the meaning of words.
That was from a person calling themselves “Noah.” Never commented here before. No link. No identity other than the email address they used when leaving their comment (which may or may not be real). It was the blogging equivalent of a drive-by shooting. WTF is the point of such a thing? To me, he’s basically calling me out as broken or flawed compared to his “traditional” POV. This wasn’t, as has been happening on Twitter lately, someone who wanted to understand or explore the motivations and sexuality of a submissive person. This was someone who’s basically saying they can’t figure it out so “I guess” blah blah blah. It’s bullshit. Useless. Negative and shaming.
The bottom line is, I don’t want to hear from any random stranger what they think of my life. I’ve made some really valuable acquaintances from the blog, but for the most part, those days are over. Comments today are more of a drag to me than anything else.
I’m not saying I don’t want any feedback at all. I want better more considered feedback. I think by removing comments from the blog I’ll get a better quality of comments via other channels of communication out there. An open comment field is like an invitation to drop a hot take and blow. Thing is, this blog isn’t about my opinions on new movies or technology or even politics. It’s about my life and, as such, my threshold for offense/injury is substantially lower.
So how would I like to get feedback? In order of preference…
Pingback from your blog. A well thought-out post on one’s own blog is far superior to a quickly dashed comment that’s much more than a “you go, girl” kind of sentiment. Posts in response to other bloggers is a time-honored way to exchanging ideas on the web.
Call-out on Twitter. Every post here gets a tweet. Quick comments of support or inquiry or whatever can be made by replying there using an account of yours that’s more closely tied to your personal reputation. Anonymous commenters have zero reputation so it’s far easier to be an asshole.
Feedback form. I have a whole page dedicated to sending me private messages. Of course, nobody else will see them so those inclined to be showy while demosntrating their lack of empathy will lose some of their motivation.
I’m also on FetLife, though I sometimes go a while without checking my inbox there.
I’m curious to know what other bloggers think about this (and for the time being, feel free to leave a comment 😉 ). As I mentioned on Twitter earlier, I know of many muggle blogs that have shut down comments because they are, typically, the scourge of the internet but I can’t think of one in our perverted corner of the web that doesn’t have them. Why not? What are we getting from comments? Is it worth the trade-off? And why not take these conversations to social platforms where people might feel more accountable for their words?
Update: In the mean time, I’ve changed the site settings to only allow those who log in via Twitter, Facebook, or WordPress to leave comments. That actually might really help. We’ll see.
As I was laying in bed the other night looking for some quiet corner in my mind where I could curl up and fall asleep, I instead found an idea that led to me considering how I’d write about it and, no, that’s not conducive to quiet corner finding. This is not unusual. I start copy editing in my head when I should be activating my subconscious. Weird.
Anyway, the idea that presented itself at that inopportune time was that, perhaps ironically, a decent piece of my self-confidence and satisfaction with regards to relationship and sexual matters is tied up in feeling inferior. I know, that’s on the surface an odd thing to say. Self-confidence, satisfaction and inferiority don’t typically go along. It’s the kind of notion someone who doesn’t live in a power exchange dynamic or who isn’t submissive themselves wouldn’t understand. Like how S/M is abuse when it’s really an expression of love. The more I thought about it, the more “inferior” started to sound really sexy to me in a way I never considered before.
And when I say “inferior” I don’t necessarily mean in the sense of lower quality. I am, I think (and have been told), an excellent lover. I can make my partners pretty happy when I’m in the right mood to do so. I think mostly I’m thinking of the definition of the word that deals with rank and position. I don’t feel at all comfortable being in a position of power in a relationship. I have never really liked being pursued or fawned over. I want to be the one fawning and pursuing. This has been how I’ve felt my whole life, even before understanding my sexuality as I do today.
The one glaring issue with that statement is Belle. In the beginning, she pursued me pretty hard. Eventually, I came around. Had she been like the girls who wanted a piece of me prior to that, it may never have worked out, but she wasn’t. She was much more self-confident and accomplished and had a sense of individual purpose that was greater than whoever she was with. She didn’t need me and wasn’t interested in playing the traditional subservient female role. I came to realize that it was me that needed her, not the other way around.
The best dynamic for me is one where my partner is aware of my needs and desires and is willing to indulge them but only insofar as they fit into their needs and desires. It’s my job to make them happy and, in doing so, I’m happy, too. Of course I will always want more. That’s my role. To want. Plus, to see that they never want. If they go out of their way to satisfy my needs, it’s because they want to give that to me, not because they’re obligated to do it. You know, inferior.
During my recent issues with depression and anxiety, my submissive drive (if that’s a thing) kind of went out the window. I’ve become so used to it that I felt untethered. Without purpose, even. Now it’s back and revved up pretty good and, as I said in my last post, being back in that mode makes me feel comforted. Of course, it wasn’t always that way. I have struggled with being submissive as, I think, most men do (perhaps more men in F/M relationships than gay men). There are no role models for us. No cultural archetype to see our reflections in. This can still rear its head from time to time. I felt a few pangs of guilt over the weekend because Belle never signed up for a submissive husband. Never raised her hand to say she wanted to take on the role of dominant wife. But those are past now.
Thing is, I’m feeling really fucking submissive. There’s so much energy there right now. I crave opportunities to show that to her, but she just left this morning for a 10-day trip, so I guess the best I can do is hope I still feel this strongly when she gets back.
So I said my attraction to being inferior was more about position, but there’s one way it’s definitely not about rank and is about something concrete. I was shopping in the fantastic Smitten Kitten with Drew during his recent visit and picked up a Vixskin “Ride On” penis extender. The old Big Blue we used to use kinda melted when it came in contact with something it didn’t agree with so we’re currently between big dicks that can be used absent a harness. “Ride On” is not a sexy name so instead we’re calling it Gym Boyfriend in honor of our personal trainer who Belle’s had the hots for for some time now.
Gym Boyfriend is perhaps a tad longer than Belle would like (she’s really more interested in girth, not length), but it’s not crazy big at 6.25″ in length. It may not be too long but it definitely hits places she’s not accustomed to feeling. The cavity into which the penis goes is really snug. Only 4″ deep and not more than 2/3 the thickness of the penis. It has ridges inside that suggest an enhanced experience for the fucker, but I didn’t feel much as the erection pushed it out and forward. That made the base of the shaft nice and thick, but the forward extension was pretty well kept to a minimum (though it was possibly a bit longer than 6.25″ as a result). It was not unlike the feeling of being in a chastity device while trying to get hard. Just a lot of pressure and no real sensation (at least, not the kind that would get a guy off). You’d have to have a pretty tiny penis to get a pleasurable experience from this, I think.
As if.
Like other items of this kind, the testicles go through a loop and that keeps the whole thing on. The material isn’t nearly as stretchy as Big Blue’s was and popping my nuts through was a more intense experience than I was expecting. My balls have gotten bigger over the years of not being involved in very many ejaculations and that was likely a contributing factor to my difficulties.
Typically, Belle would want to fuck me from up top while wearing an extender since then she gets to control depth and speed and all that, but recently she’s been wanting to be fucked as hard as I can (which isn’t very hard, both because the penis isn’t super big and my stamina is nearly non-existant when she’s making a lot of noise and getting off) so I was on top and in the driver’s seat. I was hesitant to really go to town, but I sensed she wanted to be fucked, so I just stuck it in and went at it (after the application of some high-quality water-based lube). I fucked her like someone who isn’t on a hair trigger would. Someone who was trying to really take a woman. I let her get used to the length, but after several thrusts I could feel my balls hitting her ass. That’s an extra inch of length compared to me and easily twice as thick and she loved it. Vocally.
It’s a difficult thing to describe, how that makes me feel. On the one hand, I wish that could be me. I wish the penis was that big and more in line with the dimensions she seems to enjoy so much. But it’s not and never will be. There is a bit of pain there. A bit of feeling inadequate. Inferior using the other definition. And somehow, the pain of such permanent inadequacy transmutes to a feeling of intense…I don’t know. Not happiness. Not pleasure. It does hurt, but I like how it hurts. I like hearing how much better she enjoys being plowed by a more impressive cock. It’s a kind of masochism that’s all in the head and heart.
And of course, there is nothing quite as hot as slipping the unsheathed penis into her afterward. Feeling how open she is. Feeling how parts of her pussy have been pushed out of reach for me. No matter how hard I fuck her or how deeply I try to penetrate, there’s no denying I can’t compete. And I can actually feel that all around me. And then I hear her say she can barely feel me back. Powerful stuff.
This idea of being physically inferior in this one specific way while being so good at all the other things you want from a lover feels almost like my perfect state of being. Perhaps in that it’s a kind of inferiority that can’t be taken away from me. Dynamics can change. Penis size can’t. I try to explain this to Belle. That seeing and feeling and hearing how much she likes the big cock is exactly what I want because it’s what she wants. As much as it all goes counter to the prevailing cultural paradigm, it totally works. I don’t want her to hold back for fear of hurting my feelings. Yes, they will be hurt. But in the same way I like having my nipples hurt, I like this hurt, too.
I was able to fuck her for a long time with just the penis. I only got close to coming once or twice and never so much that I had to actually stop. But after a while, she told me I had to because the Gym Boyfriend’s big dick had really worked her over. That was hot, too, in its own way.
I’ve asked Belle that I be made to wait for my next orgasm. Of course, she’s in complete control of that and I will come if she tells me to at any time, so it was really nothing more than a request. I think it will be good for me to let that wait. To get to the point where it’s something I want. And hopefully, if it’s good for me, it’s good for her. Because what’s good for her is the most important thing. Always.
No, I didn’t sleep. Not a wink. I think this was due to five things.
The stuff I was writing about in the last post
Being involved in a car accident last night (not my fault, nobody but my beautiful little car was injured)
Belle leaving the country for ten days starting early tomorrow
I’m getting over a cold
Being horny
Yes, I am horny again. Kind of a lot. That’s a positive development. I promise my next post will focus on sexier topics considering it says right there on the label that this is a sex blog.
Anyway, I left that last post on a rather despondent note. I do know a reason to come out about being bisexual. If bisexuals don’t come out, we continue to be invisible. I get that, even as I take advantage of that invisibility. As long as we’re invisible and people think they don’t know any, we’ll continue to be weird outliers nobody understands. Seems as though nearly everybody knows someones who’s gay nowadays. How many people know someone who’s an out bisexual?
Thing is, my theory is most people are bisexualish if you define it (as I do) as anyone on the Kinsey Scale between one and five (of course, I’m not telling anyone how to identify). And if most people are bisexual in that way (in that they can minimally have occasional stirrings for someone of their gender even if they never act on them), then you have the continuation of the myth of choice in one’s sexuality. Because, of course, if every once in a while your twitchy bits twitch at the sight of someone of your gender at the gym but you don’t do anything other than let them twitch (and maybe guiltily think of it while jacking off later) then naturally the gays are simply allowing themselves to succumb to such urges.
So, yeah, all bisexuals should come out. 100% agree. Except I don’t know how.
The most provocative thing Obi-wan said to me in the few sessions we’ve had is he’s not sure I’m an introvert. I have nearly always tested that way and have seen in myself many of the indicators, but Obi-wan’s theory is my highly compartmentalized state of being leaves me feeling wary of opening up to people and that, presumably, mimics introversion. He doesn’t think I sound or act like a real introvert.
He also says I must feel incredibly lonely. Since I don’t allow hardly anyone to know all about me, and since real intimacy requires that, most of my friends are superficial. One of my biggest fears is being alone, so this resonates. There are very few people who have insight into more than a few of my little closets. I can probably count them on my fingers with a few left over.
A big strike against me being an introvert, apparently, is how open and honest I want to be. I would rather spill my guts to someone and have no secrets, but I’m held back by the fear of breaching my dratted compartments. This entire blog, he thinks, is a kind of outlet for my extroverted nature in that I can come here and say (and show) almost anything to thousands of people on a regular basis. A point of friction might have developed if you think about that in conjunction with what I said yesterday about being in conflict with the interpretations of some of my readers.
As I said in my previous post, I do feel like I’ve been improving lately. My sex drive is back, I’m more engaged in things other than my sexual relationship with Drew. Last night not withstanding, my sleeping has been much better. I have many fewer panicky moments and generally feel less anxious and depressed. I’m thinking more about the future than I have in a while, and not with a cloud of dread hanging over it. All in the right direction, unless you’re Drew and you’re looking for some bunny tail.
I don’t know where this is all going. I don’t know yet if things will go back to how they were. I feel bad about that for Drew because if they don’t it won’t be because of anything he did. At least not something he should have known about. He’s been a prince through all this and for that I’m grateful.
I’m also grateful for Belle because she’s been incredibly supportive through everything. She gave me some space around our dynamic when I needed it and took that space away when she thought I could handle it. My desire to submit to her and the resultant increase in my general feelings of horniness wrap me up like a warm fuzzy blanket. I couldn’t have a better partner.
I’m going to call the guy I see every Monday to talk about my brain n’ stuff Obi-wan because I have to call him something. I’ve been seeing Obi-wan for about a month now. Four visits, I think. He has some interesting theories about my life.
First, he likens my blogging to living on a reality TV show. No, he doesn’t know nor has he asked for the URL and he doesn’t know specifically what I write about, only that it’s about my sex life and deals with some specific kinds of kinky behavior and my submissiveness. I have told him how many people wander by to read my words on a daily basis and he knows the site has developed into a kind of resource for the things I write about.
In any event, he mentioned something called the Hawthorne effect which is a term I hadn’t heard before. Basically, the act of observing someone changes their behavior. I am definitely being observed here, though I entirely control that observation by selectively choosing what to write. I do think there’s something to his observation that the act of writing the blog has certainly created some of the things I’ve written about. Thing is, if I spend too much time thinking about that my brain ends up looking like a snake eating its own tail. There’s an Inception joke in here somewhere, but I’m too addled to come up with it at the moment.
So yeah, I do control the observation but I can’t control the interpretation of that observation by you readers. This was made clear when Drew showed up and I wrote about the relationship that followed. Even though I explained how that all came into being and Belle’s role in opening our relationship, there were people who commented who clearly didn’t understand what was going on. Either through ignorance or choice. Then, because I allow comments and feedback, they were able to share their sometimes hateful and misguided (though, to be charitable, perhaps well-meaning) thoughts and opinions. Then I, in turn, had to choose to ignore or respond, but in any case, those comments affected my future behavior and choices. It made me feel defensive and act defensively even and contributed to my angst since I knew there were all these judging eyes out there waiting for the doom and failure they predicted. Sure, there was also a lot of support, but that’s not how this works. I only really focused on the dark side.
This, I think, is a contributing factor to my anxiety. At least, it helped juice it up once it developed. Wrapping my head around that fact kept me from posting here for a while. It makes posting this more difficult.
The other thing Obi-wan has zeroed in on is what he calls my closeted existence. I used the word “compartmentalized” but he says closeted and since a closet is a compartment I choose not to argue the point. He’s right. I do live a closeted life.
I have my family, my job, my external interests and organizations, my sexuality, my submissiveness, my relationship model, and the secrets I keep in my pants. To me, those are all different worlds that intersect in different ways depending on who I’m interacting with at any particular moment. Only Belle exists in all those worlds. Frodo, one of my oldest friends, does too to a somewhat lesser extent. Drew is also privy to most of those compartments, but since I don’t live with and see either of them daily like I do Belle, she’s the fulcrum over which all my worlds balance.
I noticed most acutely how these compartments eat at me when it comes to Drew. When I’m fully engaged with my relationship with him, I feel very far way from other parts of my life like my job. When I become more engaged with those other things, Drew feels farther away. I can’t seem to be able to have all these worlds work together. I can’t be fully engaged in everything at the same time. This isn’t a time thing. It’s a mental bandwidth thing. An emotional bandwidth thing. The farther away I am from any of those compartments emotionally, the greater my guilt and anxiety.
Drew was here at the end of this past week. I had been feeling pretty good, emotionally, and was really engaged at the job and in the other groups I belong to and all that was totally at his expense. As his visit drew nearer, I felt twinges of anxiety that I was mostly able to bat away. Then he was here and I felt like I was walking a tightrope over an alligator tank for two days. And now it’s the weekend after his visit and here I am unable to sleep and writing for all you instead of taking advantage of falling ahead’s extra hour. Not, I don’t think, a coincidence.
Obi-wan thinks living with my various compartments is the source of my anxiety. That dealing with that anxiety exhausts me and leads to my depression. He’s asked me to imagine if there were no compartments. If everyone in all aspects of my life knew about all the other aspects. That I was bisexual and in an open relationship and kinky and all that.
It’s difficult for me to do that. I’ve always been able to skate along on bisexuality’s chameleon-like qualities. I’m a heteroromantic bisexual so can disappear into straight life. I have no reason to “come out.” If you’re monosexual (straight or gay), you need to come out to live your life. If you’re bisexual, you have the option of rounding yourself off one way or the other. And I have. And now I don’t know how I’d even describe it to someone. Or explain why I was doing it. Why does anyone need to know about my sexuality? It seems like I’d be telling them something perhaps they don’t want to know and have the right not to know since, after all, I’m not coming out so I can be with the person I need to be with to be happy. I’m already with that person. So why talk about it?
I’m obviously kinda processing this out loud. I’m also getting pretty tired and hope I’ll be able to sleep a few hours. Who knows. Whatever the case, I’m going to proof this then post it then try and sleep. Do me a favor and carefully consider any comment you decide to leave. Remember you don’t know the whole story. You don’t know the whole me. Don’t try and be Obi-wan. Don’t try and tell me the solution to my problems. Chances are, you’d just be pulling something out of your ass (and not in the fun way). I appreciate support, of course, but I pay a guy to psychoanalyze me. Leave that to him.
Bah. Whatever. To keep the chain of custody in order, here’s a picture of the key safe with its current numbered tag along with the tag Belle left me to resecure the key before I leave the massage room when I’m done being rubbed by the adorable hipster I pay to do it. I will not unlock myself until I’m getting undressed for the rubbing and I’ll immediately relock myself before getting dressed and leaving the room. Later, I’ll post a picture of the key with it’s new number.