There’s this feeling I’ve been having that I want to write about but I haven’t been able to figure it out. It’s the kind of thing I will noodle on while trying to fall asleep because sometimes, in that space just between wakefulness and sleep, inspiration will happen. Sometime I find I wake up with the idea ready to go. It’s weird, but it can work. But not this time. Not really.
There are two things I know about myself. Well, lots more than two, but two that are related to this feeling. One is my need and desire for orgasm has totally been reprogrammed. I find that I think about wanting one while inside Belle maybe 30% of the time (a percentage which is much higher when I know I might be able to have one versus knowing I will not be given permission) and I’ll occasionally want one when not fucking her as a result of looking at porn or whatever, but that’s a lot more rare. Regardless of my relative desire to come, I always know I’ll be happier if I don’t. In fact, the more desperate I am to come and am denied the experience, ultimately my…satisfaction (seems a weird word to use to describe not getting something I crave but we don’t seem to have a word that describes contentment from being unable to satisfy a craving and being satisfied by the want instead) will be higher. Also, if I come more than once in about 48 hours it absolutely negatively impacts my mood for about a week. In short, how my brain used to work with orgasm is gone. The firmware has been replace. So that’s thing one. Thing two is the longer I’m left locked up the more I want to be locked up. Being unlocked with a crotch unemcumbered is by far a weirder feeling for me than the opposite. Belle could make a rule for me tomorrow that said I am to always be locked unless she’s using the penis and I’d be thrilled. Being in bed and rolling over on my stomach and not feeling a hard lump pushing back at my hips makes me feel a little less grounded and centered. Having a constricted, inaccessible erection is deeply satisfying (that word again) and even comforting.
So, to recap, I don’t want to come and I want to always be locked in a device.
The feeling I can’t capture is how very deeply this sits within me. To the extent that I don’t really feel like a man anymore. I mean, sure, I feel masculine and look and act as masculine as I ever have (which, admittedly, isn’t always super masculine), but there’s an assumption of what being a man is that doesn’t quite fit me anymore. I don’t want to spread my seed and I don’t want to be able to play with myself. I even fantasize about my wife taking a lover she finds so satisfying that she no longer needs me for penetrative sex. In fact, the only thing that keeps me from feeling disappointment when she unlocks me for sex now is that I know how much she enjoys the feeling of being fucked. I’m doing it for her, I tell myself. Sure, it feels good. It feels really good, but I’m not motivated by that. I’m motivated by the desire for unrealized sensation more than the sensation itself. So what kind of man would rather his woman get fucked by someone else, doesn’t want to come ever, and hopes he’ll remain locked in a chastity device forever? And if I’m not a man, what am I?
I guess a third thing about me is that I’m much more motivated sexually by giving pleasure or being a vessel of someone else’s pleasure than receiving it myself. Feeling Belle come from my touch, how she loses herself in the ecstasy in the moments before orgasm, that I took her there. Those are very great rewards for me. Even before I was aware of my submissiveness, I was significantly more interested in my partner’s pleasure than I was in my own. When I’m with Drew, it’s the same way. The things he wants and needs are my goal. I could get into more detail, but suffice it to say I endure more then I would otherwise because I know it’s bringing him pleasure.
I’m not saying I’m not a man in a way to say I’m a different gender. It’s not like that at all. But being someone who would rather want than have, who would rather give than receive pleasure, who can move from having sex with a man or a woman with ease makes me feel very other. I look at porn and I see “real” men doing what porn says they do (even the gay ones) and I don’t see myself. I like it. I get turned on by it. But it’s not me. I’m like a different version of a male. “Male B.”
I suppose it would be the most straightforward to just say I am me and leave it at that. But we kinky folk like to sort and label and identify. And that turns out to be a kind of itch I can’t scratch. Submissive is a good start, but doesn’t feel like enough. A masochist surely. I dunno. I am a being of desire who wants to satisfy desire. Someone who wants to make pleasure happen for others. Either the language is failing me or my comprehension of it is.
It doesn’t matter, at the end of the day. Things are working. I’m with a wonderful woman and have a rewarding sex life. I don’t need better words. I can write them all down like this and make you see the shading between the colors. And I know that because right now today I’m deeply horny and have felt the Steelheart’s bite many times over the past several hours, all these feelings are more potent and nearer the surface. But I still have this feeling.
And now, this…
If you don’t like J.T., we can’t be friends.