Deeper

After my run the other morning, I was in the bathroom about to get ready for the day. I stripped off my running shorts and shirt and got my podcast playing and was thinking about whether I needed to shave or not (I decided to, in case you’re wondering) when I looked down and saw this.

It’s pretty profound, I think, that that view — the one I have nearly every day, even if it’s not the Steelheart that’s locked on me — is the real me. It is, when I see myself in my head, what I see. And on those odd days I find myself in exactly that spot doing exactly those things and see the contents rather than the shiny steel, how…off-putting it is. Unnatural. In the dim recesses of my memory, I can recall how being naked in front of Belle with a device on me made me feel self-conscious and embarrassed. Now it’s the other way around and has been for some time.

I was locked up for sixty-one days during Locktober before Belle let it out on the last day of November. She let it out and she told me to come and after I didn’t go right back in. I was out until the next day. Immediately after coming, I wasn’t that focused on the status of the penis, but shortly after I found not having the assuring snugness and hard lump in my pants distracting. Not in a horny way. In a “something is wrong” way. To be honest, I wasn’t that excited about getting out, but I knew she wanted cock and had denied herself too long already and was I was prepared for it.

Chastity and denial feed themselves. The more of them one experiences, the more they want to experience. It turns into a self-fulling perpetual motion thing.

I think a lot about this meme that’s perpetually floating around Twitter. It’s written from a gay male perspective, but I find the basic idea of it applies regardless of sexual preference. I think it resonates with a lot of people, based on how often I see it retweeted and what people say about it. Some of us are wired to be curious about chastity. That curiosity leads to experimentation which leads to adoption which leads to integration which leads to acceptance which leads to…where I am. Integration. Assimilation. Inevitability.

The device is me and I am the device. The contents are now outside the reality of my sexuality by being within the confines of what’s locked on me. And it’s that outsidedness that fuels my sexuality. It has to be separate from me for me to feel whole. And the more it’s like that, the more I want it to be like that. The more I need it to be like that. The longer it’s locked away, the more me I become.

When I started this post I thought I had a new way to talk about something I’ve written about before several times. About how long-term lock up and denial build on themselves. How they rewrite one’s vision of themselves. What constitutes themselves. How this separate thing is required to feel whole. Maybe I have. Maybe not.

This morning, I was naked in bed next to Belle. Naked with the steel. And I wanted her. I wanted to feel her and taste her. And when we got going and I had my finger in her and my mouth on hers and the Steelheart was packed tight, the desire to fuck was powerful. I could see in my mind a thick, wide cock head up against her pussy, pushing in. Going deep. Filling her completely. Her eyes closed, mouth slightly open, the sound she makes when she’s fucked. But it wasn’t me fucking her. I want her to be fucked. I want her to feel that. I don’t want me to feel it. Or rather, all I want is to want to feel it.

Where did that crack come from? The one between wanting her to be fucked and wanting me to want to fuck her but not for those things to be the same. Fucking, as a concept and object of desire, resides in me still, but it’s fundamentally altered. It is not for me. It’s for her. Always.

When the penis is out, it becomes the center of the universe. It becomes important and I become selfish. I don’t want to feel that way. I want to pleasure Belle without the distraction of thinking about my pleasure. I want her pleasure to be my pleasure. I know I’m better at doing that for her when I’m not thinking about what the penis will be doing once she’s done. I also don’t want to feel what it’s like after I come. I don’t like who I am when it happens. He is unfocused and unmotivated and isn’t as centered on Belle. The tether of my reality slips from my hand.

Note that a lot of chastity porn is written from the perspective of keeping men from what they want and crave. It misses the fact that what they will want and crave more than anything is to be in chastity.

I guess the concept of the kind of fundamental reprogramming I describe above is a scary thought. Or it should be. If not scary, then the profundity of it should be respected. The dynamic of what Belle and I have should not be entered into lightly. I don’t know what I would have made of the prospect of becoming what I am today had I known ten years ago it was going to happen. It probably would have turned me the fuck on since the wiring to allow reception to chastity was somehow already installed in my head. I am deeply sexually submissive. I’m sure it would have made me nervous. Especially since I don’t think it’s a place I can come back from.

If I’m ever not being denied and if I ever have access to the penis again, I will not be as happy. I know what I feel like now and that memory will always be there. The path we started down over a decade ago is a one-way street, turns out. Where I am now — where we are now — is where I belong and need to be. Always.