Month: June 2017

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Costume party

I was on the Tumblr this morning and scrolling through like I do and once again found myself transfixed on a GIF of a guy shooting his load. He was jacking off and had a pretty big dick and it was just the come shot. Quite generous ropes of thick creaminess being thrown from the end of his cock (not this one, but a lot like it). And I had another one of these epiphanic moments that have been showing up more often lately.

There was a time, for a long time, when I’d see a guy shooting like that and get all slack-jawed and dreamy because somewhere deep down inside I wanted to be doing that too. My lizard brain was aching so hard for what I was seeing and the vibes it would radiate overpowered my bunny brain so both got drunk on the idea.

But this time, I was watching this guy come like crazy and it was more like watching a woman get off in that it was like a separate thing from my frame of reference. Like a man stroking himself off to orgasm is a being totally removed from what I am as much as a woman getting herself off is. Just another way that I feel like a separate thing from the kind of man who does that.

Some people into this chastity and denial stuff will tell you all men should be locked up and denied but I don’t think that at all. Some men absolutely should fuck and come and jack off and do whatever they want. I feel there definitely are two classes of men (at least). Those who own their own cocks and those who don’t. Those who get to shoot loads and those who only leak through the openings in their devices. Real men have cocks and use them however they like. People like me don’t and don’t.

In fact, I feel the same kind of disconnectedness from images of men fucking as I do from men coming or jacking off. They’re meant to do that. They’re designed to do it. To pleasure their partners with their dicks. To pleasure themselves with the feeling of fucking another person. Some men (and some cocks) are born to that kind of position. To assert themselves in that kind of role. But not me. I mean, I literally can’t fuck for more than two minutes before I’m squirting and then, once I do, the penis starts to shrivel. It may have been a fuck tool once, but it’s not now. It’s barely passable as such.

I suppose if I were in a gay relationship it would be as though I didn’t even have a penis, but I’m not. I’m with Belle. And she like to get fucked and cannot fuck me so I can’t let myself slip entirely into this other type of identity because there are times when she needs me to be a man. Or pretend to be one. Like, four to six times a month, max, for maybe eight to ten minutes total. But that’s not nothing.

I don’t know if this means my lizard brain is dead. I still get pretty worked up and have plenty of urges, but they’re mostly focused outward now, not inward. Maybe the lizard has been broken by years of being chained. He’s still vicious, but maybe now he’s also fuzzy and has long ears. Maybe the lizard and bunny have found a way to merge. To align their energies.

Whatever the case, those guys shooting their loads on Tumblr are like a whole different species to me now. And I’m really OK with that. Because maybe all this time I wasn’t one of them, anyway. Maybe I was only going along to get along. Maybe I’ve been bunny in a lizard costume this whole time.

 

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Purity

There’s a kind of purity in being locked up while getting your partner off. A simplicity of purpose. A definition of motivation. Once a penis is taught it’s not the center of attention. That not everything in the world revolves around it. Once it learns its place and ceases to harbor expectations. The focus shifts entirely to where it belongs. From the submissive to the Dominant. From me to her.

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Free of freedom

I’ve been sick. Started Thursday with minor achiness, was full-blown awful with fever, chills, and night sweats by Saturday and Sunday. I’m not out of the woods yet, but I feel as though I’m heading in the right direction.

I mention this (in addition to the implicit solicitation of sympathy) because during this period of feeling absolutely crappy and terrible, I never needed to be out of the device. Looking back on the blog here, I think I can say this is the first time I’ve been really sick in which I didn’t also feel an overwhelming desire to be unlocked. This is also the first time I’ve been sick in the nine-ish months since Belle’s made me stay locked 98-99% of the time.

I think this is a subtle but significant thing. When I was feeling my worse, the device didn’t even enter my mind. When I’m grooving, the device feels like it’s part of me, not a separate and distinct thing. I’ve never felt like that when experiencing the diametric opposite of grooving. Even during my most recent depressive episode, I said this in my last post…

Whichever steel is between my legs is just an inert mass I need to keep clean. I don’t want to be locked, I don’t want to be unlocked. I just don’t care.

I guess it was the same way when I was feeling the sickest. It’s like being locked wasn’t a situation I had to deal with or endure…it just was. Even when I’m otherwise not super excited about being that way. My acceptance of security is no longer dependent on how horny I am. It’s there even when my horniness level is below zero.

This seems related to something I wrote about last December.

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.

I’m not a man who’s locked. I’m just locked. There is no natural state for me to be other than that. I feel like I’ve reached some new level of evolution. Imaging not having a locked penis is as difficult a concept for me to accept as the opposite would be for a man who’s just learning about enforced chastity. The penis isn’t being denied freedom since it no longer has freedom to be denied. All the frustration and the pressure of constricted erections and craving to jack off and even to come are now the point. They’re not a means to an end. They’re the end.

I don’t have a penis, I have a device. And I don’t want a penis. Not like that. Not anymore. Not ever. Belle could leave the key hanging on a nail out in the open. I’d never touch it unless she handed it to me.

 

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May metrics, ups and downs

FullSizeRenderAnd there goes May! So many projects going on around here, house guests, graduation, not to mention planning and preparation for our imminent departure to Asia for a huge chunk of the summer. But there’s one thing that doesn’t change: I’m still locked up pretty much all the time.

Belle kept the penis locked 99.5% of May which is the highest percentage of the year (exceeding April by a tenth of a percent). It was kept staring at the inside of the Steelheart for about two-thirds of the time while the rest was spent studying the inside of the Halfshell.

It was let out for sex six times for a total of almost four hours which averages to about 40 minutes each time. That’s funny to me since the vast majority of that time is spent satisfying Belle or lounging around after. The time it spent actually fucking couldn’t have been in total more than ten or twelve minutes, tops. So if you count the time she will sometimes stroke it while I’m getting her off, we’re talking 30-45 minutes a month of pleasurable sensation.

Belle came nine times, three on her own, six from my prestidigitation. That’s down by three from April, but as I said, more stuff going on around here.

I came zero times in May, though as I said, I was allowed to fuck her six times. I ejaculated five of those times. As of this writing, it’s been 102 days since my last orgasm. Of course, I have no idea how long it will be until the next one and doubt she does, either.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to write about for the past few weeks but haven’t figured out how or what words exactly to use then I figured I could make it part of this post. It’s funny, but when writing like this sometimes the hardest part is figuring out how to start and, once that’s done, the rest takes care of itself.

Anyway, as hard as it is to quantify as precisely, the thing that goes along with how often I get to come or for how long I’m locked up is how I feel about it all. And lately, I haven’t felt all that great. It’s been about two and half weeks since I felt the bottom drop out and only now am I starting to feel the stirrings of a rally.

I think a common misperception about denial and enforced chastity is that the locked guy gets hornier and hornier and all that awesome frustration energy powers the whole dynamic to ever greater heights. That’s just totally wrong.

Most guys who feel like it get to come all the time. As soon as the slightest amount of sexual frustration builds, they either have sex or take care of themselves. If it were charted, it’d end up looking like with I think of as a hacksaw blade. When a guy is in his teens, his chart would like a fine-tooth saw — lots and lots of little spikes closely packed interspersed with shallow, short valleys. But when he get’s older, the “teeth” become less frequent with larger spaces between, but the basic pattern remains. There is only so horny a normal man will get before he relieves the pressure to come, one way or another.

But if you’re like me, that never happens. And since the pressure never gets relieved, an underlying pattern is exposed. I don’t know if this is the same for all men, but for me the build goes way higher than it would normally. Perhaps five times higher. Then it plateaus for a long time as I reach cruising altitude. After a certain period like that, it will explode higher for brief period then come crashing down. Lower than what it feels like after an orgasm. Like, a depth so low the fish have to make their own light or not bother to have eyes. I can’t say if the cratering is chemical or caused by external issues or if one is exacerbated by the other. All I know is it happens from time to time.

This used to be a real problem. It’s easy to get depressed. I still do, but the difference is I know it’s not permanent. Sooner or later, for reasons I can’t explain, things will start to build again. Right now, I’m still under water but not so deep that sunlight can’t get to me. It feels like I’m moving in the right direction, but I also know there are false glimmers. When I’ll start to feel more normal but then things’ll go south again. I can’t know yet where I am, but this feels like a real rebound.

When I’m in this place, it’s like the flavor is drained from everything. I’m easily angered and have little interest in anything sexual. I will usually be able to perform for Belle, but I’d not think to instigate anything. It has to be her to push the button. This is the time when, if I find a dirty selfie on my phone or computer, I’m most likely to delete them. I don’t look at my own blog, can’t imagine writing anything, and don’t even look at Tumblr. The toys I enjoy during normal times appall me. It’s not any fun at all.

The worst part is how it changes how I see myself. I’ve said before that being locked all the time alters my own perception of myself at a pretty basic sexual level. I feel less like a man and more like something else. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just what it is. But during a crater like I’ve been in I stop feeling like anything. Whichever steel is between my legs is just an inert mass I need to keep clean. I don’t want to be locked, I don’t want to be unlocked. I just don’t care. No energy means no self-perception of identity. And what are we without identity?

I don’t say all this to be a downer. We’ve been doing this long enough for me to know that in my case it’s a normal aspect of long term denial and lock-up. I will come back and will feel good again. If I go all the way back to why I started this blog, it was because at the time there was way more chastity fantasy bullshit being passed off as reality and little real-life experience being related to those who were just starting out. If I ignored this aspect of denial and chastity, I’d be doing a disservice to the sprit of the site. And, I guess, to you as its readers.

Long story short, most of the time I’m in a good place and feel as though the denial and submission are by far net benefits in my life. I can’t imagine really being “normal” again. Not ever. But it’s not all sunshine and unicorns, either. You know, like life.