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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