Rivers and other flowing watercourses do this thing where they just kind of meander. Sometimes they follow straight, predictable paths while other times they twist and turn and make wide, sweeping curves and loops. In fact, those wide loopy shapes they make are called meanders. I didn’t know that before.

Source: Wikipedia

I think the flow of water like that is not unlike how human sexuality evolves over the course of someone’s life. You don’t always stay in the same channel you start in. I think I’ve always been kinky and believe I was literally born to be locked in an enforced denial device, but I didn’t always realize that. There are so many pieces of my sexuality I didn’t consciously know were down there and even the ones I knew about rarely showed up in how I expressed myself.

So anyway, yeah, rivers make these things called meanders. But sometimes, the river abandons its meander. The course of the river breaks through its bank and then finds itself again leaving that big, inefficient loop as kind of still, unnecessary backwater. Then, over time, the river flow creates new banks and leaves the backwater totally cut off. That’s called an oxbow lake, it turns out. In South Texas, they’re called resacas and, in Australia, they’re called billabongs. The more you know! 💫

Believe it or not, I was thinking about this recently whilst fingering my wife. As soon as I touched the outer folds of her pussy and the slick wetness of her excitement and as I pushed further to feel the hard nub of her clit, I moaned with a combination of craving but also satisfaction. Sure, the contents were pushing and my desire to fuck was running high, but I also recognized that, for a growing part of me, touching her pussy is what I crave. Getting her off that way. Feeling the spasms of orgasm pulsing under my fingertips as I press on her clit is my objective now. I know I’m not getting out to fuck so the path and flow of my sexuality is…cutting that urge off. I’m evolving in a direction away from that part of how I express myself sexually — how I used to express myself — to being something like that cut-off backwater. The urge is still there, like the oxbow lake, but it’s just…there. No longer connected. No longer part of the flow. Superfluous.

A billadong, if you will.

This evolution is one I’m a party to, of course. You can’t lock a guy up against his will outside hot denial porn. There’s a way to find zen in denial, even when it involves being made permanently pussy free. Belle knows it makes me a better sub and I want and crave that more than anything. Belle also knows that. Orgasm makes me selfish. It causes me to lose my centeredness on her. Her pleasure and her body. I should not be allowed to have my focus drift by feeling my own erection in my hand or, by extension, that erection in her pussy. So I appreciate the necessity of the new, redirected flow.

It’ll be interesting to see how I continue to evolve as I get further and further away from the last time I was allowed to be inside her. Five hundred thirteen days, as of today. And nearly three and a half years since I was unlocked for more than a few hours. Since I slept that way. Will urges keep emanating from the device? It’s getting to the point where I don’t know what I’d do if presented with the option of fucking her. I mean, right now today, I would take it. And, of course, if she told me I had to, I would. But I have to admit, I can feel the barrier between what sex is now building up between that previous part of my life and the reality of my current life.

And, yeah. I understand. The river’s gonna flow. I get it and accept it. My billadong.

Asked and answered

Belle was letting me get her off this morning. We were kissing and just sort of snuggling and doing our foreplay when she took my balls and the tight Orion into her hand.

“I never thought we’d get to a place where you’d never let me out again,” I said. Because it’s true. I still have a hard time believing it.

“Well, here we are,” she replied. “Welcome.” Little ball squeeze.

We kissed some more before I hazarded a question.

“Do you miss it?”

“Nope!” Said with zero hesitation. “Not even a little.”

The many gifts

As it’s been explained to me by Belle, the reason she’s done with letting me fuck her is that I’m so much better at getting her off using other methods. And, of course, that’s true. But it’s been true for a really long time. Years, even.

I mean, it’s been so long since I could reliably get her off with PIV. I remember how frustrated she’d get with me when I’d come before her. She’d be riding me on top and I’d be sucking on her tits and thinking about baseball and I was lucky if I came just before her so that there would remain enough of an erection for her to get the rest of the way there. More often than not, I stopped being lucky and she’d be frustrated and I’d feel terrible.

Before enforced denial came along, this was Belle’s preferred method of getting off; riding my erection to orgasm. She rarely came any other way. I’m sure an exhaustive search of this blog would allow me to find about when I became unable to get her to orgasm with the contents, but it might be ten years ago.

After that, she made do with feeling me fuck her after I got her off with my fingers or mouth. Sometimes, she’d come from riding a strap on or an extender fit over the erection and, honestly, my very favorite time to fuck her was right after that. I have seared into my memory the time she said, “I can barely feel you,” to me as I slid into her and it might be the hottest thing she’s ever said to me.

But even then, I disappointed because the length of time I was able to fuck her got shorter and shorter. If she let me do it right now, I wouldn’t last two minutes. Maybe not even one. The length of time between opportunities to fuck her got longer as the shorter my stamina became.

I say all this because as I was laying here in bed waiting for Belle to wake up, I was reflecting on how much adaptation she’s had to make to her sexual preferences over the years. And since the primary dynamic in our relationship now is that sex is for her and her pleasure over mine, always, then the actual years of being allowed to fuck her after I was unable to bring her to orgasm that way were a gift. Especially all those times she let me do it when I shot my load just a few minutes after sliding in. Every one of those times were essentially charity on her part. They were her being exceedingly indulgent. And I knew it.

I should not spend a moment pining over my memories of fucking her now that she’s told me I never will again. Instead I should sit in gratitude of all the extra times she let me do it even after it had become clear that the useful life of the contents as a method of her pleasure had clearly passed.

Even if she was only letting me inside her every couple of months, each time she did and I came almost immediately were a gift. A gift. And, I suppose in looking back at it, it should have been clear that their number was finite.

So anyway, that’s how I think about being made pussy free now. I should be, and am, grateful for all she’s given me.