The way things were around here for a while was Belle would let me out on Saturday morning (or sometimes Friday night) for sex and I’d stay out until Sunday night (or sometimes Monday morning or even later if she never told me to go back in). I could count on it like clockwork. Sure, Belle wanted the fuck, but she also maybe felt a little sorry for me or something. Indulging.
But it’s a new regime now. I did get out yesterday, but right after I was getting a little too excited about it which led to this exchange…
It was the first time I was out for sex in weeks and the prospect of getting the penis wet went from fuzzy abstract to potent reality with the turn of its key. Belle needed me to remember why it was being let out. Namely, because she wanted to feel it inside her. Not because of what it or I wanted. I got her off in the usual way, then she let me inside her but I didn’t last long before I had to stop. I squirted, but did not come, then it was over. And then I was locked back up.
You might read that and think that it’s mean. Not a nice way for a wife to treat her husband. Because of how we’re all socialized, love and sex are supposed to be this reciprocal exchange of pleasure and pleasure is defined a specific way and looks more or less the same for everyone. That’s because people like me don’t exist in the popular narrative.
In another nature vs. nurture kind of puzzle I’ve been working over lately, I feel more and more like my role as a sexual being is to bring pleasure to my partner in whatever form that means (within some reason, of course). As much as the penis might strain for release, she’ll never make me happier than when she thinks only of herself when we’re having sex. It’s taken a long time for her to get past the socialization of reciprocity (or outright deference) and be sexually selfish. But when she does, I feel closer to my natural state.
Same kind of thing happened with Frodo last weekend in New York. Aside from a quick rolling around last year in which my pants never came off (since I wasn’t locked up), we haven’t had sex since we were in our early twenties. And when the idea of having sex with me first became a possibility, his reaction was not positive. I come with baggage, after all, including a steel thing locked to the part of me a gay man would normally be very interested in. And his experience with kink at the level of male chastity was zero. The prospect of being with me was offputing to him then.
Compounding that was his tendency towards being a bottom rather than a top (a real shame in my book since, as I’ve said, he has a glorious cock). But even with Frodo, who I’ve known forever and Belle has known for half that time, I wasn’t going to be a whole man. Not even for a second. Belle’s rule is absolute.
However, time marches on and Frodo has been feeling more toppy lately. That, combined with some time to get used to the idea of being with a penisless man, made our weekend trip possible. Even though, he carried the same notions of reciprocity everyone else seems to have. It was hard for him, at first, to know how to deal with that. To be as selfish as I needed him to be with me. By that last morning, though, I think he was getting the hang of it. Of seeing me as means to his ends. Without getting too explicit (sorry), I could sense that he let himself focus less and less on me as his friend and more and more on me as his to use. Not unlike how it happened with Belle, that the benefits of having a partner like me were becoming more apparent.
There’s an aspect of all this that’s been quite difficult for me to wrap my head around. Not difficult to do. I revel in my role. But it’s a thing that’s been bubbling around inside me and that was accentuated when I was with Frodo. It’s something to do with gender. I don’t really feel like a man anymore. That’s an odd thing to see myself writing and I don’t mean it be read as if I think of myself as a female. That’s the problem, really. I don’t have the words to describe it. Less of a man and more of something else. A man-shaped person who doesn’t feel or act or do typical man things. Frodo showed zero interest in the penis. Made only incidental contact with any part of it or my balls. I was a mouth and a hole for him with a hairy chest, strong legs, and nice broad shoulders.
And except those times when Belle wants the penis in order to feel it inside her, she doesn’t give it a lot of attention. More than zero, to be sure, but sometimes we have sex and she doesn’t touch it at all. Other times, more. But even so, if it’s locked up, I can’t feel anything where the metal is. For more than three months now, I’ve been locked up essentially all of the time. I can’t stroke or squeeze or even have an erection. Since the Halfshell came along, I can’t even stand to pee.
All this has led to a profound change in how I feel about my manhood. Not in a bad way, mind you. Not at all. Like everything else that’s been happening with me lately, it feels perfectly natural. As if I’m only becoming more of who I really am. It’s very comforting. And in those moments when I’m naked and having sex (with Belle or whoever), I feel only a profound gratitude. A emotional satisfaction at least as potent as the physical satisfaction that comes with orgasm.
It feels wrong now for me to fuck for my own pleasure alone. To think of taking over a sexual encounter to satisfy myself physically. To crave my own orgasm more than I crave theirs. I never fantasize about fucking anyone other than Belle and even then only when I can feel or taste or smell her pussy. I never think of using the penis for anything anymore. I rarely think about jacking off lately.
I guess that’s part of what being submissive is. I don’t really know. It seems like more than that to me. Like the extreme edge of submissiveness. Belle could tell me tomorrow that she didn’t need me to fuck her anymore. That she had found something or someone else she preferred to the penis and that I’d never get out except to clean the device. As long as I still participated in some way with her pleasure, I’d be more than OK with that. That’s what I need more than my own release. To feel her pleasure. Or Frodo’s or Drew’s or whoever’s.
By itself, this doesn’t scare me. I do worry how Belle will read all this and what she’ll think of me, but in practice nothing has to change between us. As long as she’s doing what she wants and is getting satisfaction from it, I’m happy. I also admit that I’m somewhat concerned about what happens next time she has me come. I don’t know what the sudden change in brain chemistry will do to me. To my current perception of me. Belle mentioned today after hearing it had been more than three months since I last came (she thought it had been more recent) that she used to think I needed to come for health reasons, but decided my orgamsless ejacualition and the other ways I express seminal fluid was probably good enough for that. She knows I don’t need orgasm. That not having them is good for me.
I’ve never felt more connected to her than now. More cared for by her. More connected to myself. I’d like very much for how I feel right now to not go away. I know I’m not a static thing. That I won’t feel this way forever no matter what happens. But right here, right now is really good.