The other day on Twitter I was asked, in response to this piece of random smut I posted, if I preferred open or closed chastity. As in, something like the Looker or Jail Bird as opposed to the Steelheart. I replied…
I thought I had expressed that preference here before, but I can’t assume every person on Twitter has read what’s basically a defunct blog at this point. But yeah, closed. Because then it’s easier to forget that the thing inside is in there and a separate thing.
I remember very early on listening to a podcast that talked about male chastity. Early on for podcasts and early on for Thumper chastity. In it, the hosts said something about not being into chastity for “behavior modification” and I was like, whoa. What? What does that mean? It’s funny that I haven’t thought about that for such a long time.
Thing is, I can’t conceive of chastity as not modifying behavior. And not just the obvious tactical changes it enforces (no masturbating), but the big picture stuff, too. I suppose if you’re the kind of person who uses chastity situationally for an evening or weekend or something, then maybe. But I suspect if that’s you you’re not reading this blog. I, of course, am not in chastity for a night or a weekend. I’m in it days and weeks and months at a time. If you excuse the odd time out for cleaning or swapping devices or because Belle wants to get fucked, I’m locked up all the time. And it’s modified a lot more than just my behavior.
For example, that tweet up there. The Thumper who started this blog might be quite taken aback reading someone say what I did. There was a time that I was a pretty big fan of the penis and the chastity experience was driven by the electric frisson of having it contained and controlled. And I suppose it’s still the power of having it kept and out of hand that’s what flips whatever switch gets flipped in guys like me, but honestly, I’m really kind of over the penis. At least as a separate and distinct thing from the totality of being in chastity.
It’s…hard to explain. I’ve tried to before, in bits and pieces. I feel like this post from June and this one from two years ago and even this one from before that were all about this same thing. I’m not just behaviorally changed. I’ve been totally fucking rewired. I am not the same person. When I look at images of men masturbating or fucking or shooting their loads on the Tumblr, it’s like I’m looking at a different species of animal from myself. That is not me. That is not what I do.
I mean, I do do it when Belle wants and tells me to. But if she stopped telling me to? It might make my life easier, to be honest. Yes, of course, fucking feels good. Coming feels good. I want to fuck her when I’m getting her off, in or out of a device, but there’s this nagging voice in my head that tells me that while I can do those things, I really shouldn’t. If she tells me to, it’s almost like play acting. A kind of role play.
And this makes me wonder about a nature versus nurture thing. Had chastity never entered our lives, would I have become this? I can’t imagine so. But it feels so right to me. It feels like the real me. And it makes me wonder back to those podcast hosts from years ago. What’s wrong with behavior modification if it’s actually more a journey of self-discovery than a transformation into an altered state? As if any man would end up like this if you locked him up long enough.
I don’t believe that. I think the pathways need to be present for the signals to be routed on them. For a man to become what I am today requires the nature to be present in order for it to be nurtured out of him.
Like some kind of weird, kinky butterfly.