The last urge

The other day, I found this sexual orientation test. Probably on Bluesky, but I can’t recall exactly. It’s not like I am wondering at all about my orientation, but I took it anyway just to see what it would say. I was almost immediately taken aback by this question:

For me, this was question 2. I stopped and stared at it. I was stumped because my immediate interpretation of “intercourse” was “fucking.” Of course, that’s not what “intercourse” means, but that’s how my brain read it and I didn’t know what to do. Once I decided to interpret it as what it actually means (“physical sexual contact between individuals that involves the genitalia of at least one person”), I was fine. But, literally, I stared at that question for a full 30 seconds.

I just don’t fantasize about using the contents. At all. Even in my dreams, I’m not using it for anything. I’m always locked. Always denied. Sometimes, I have dreams with sex and I’m 100% always locked in those, but there are other times I have dreams in which sex isn’t a part and my locked status is still a part of the dream. Like, nobody is asking or can tell, but in the dream, I know what’s going on in my pants.

And my waking fantasies — not just the elaborate ones I really think about but, more tellingly, the ones that spring to mind unbidden and in the moment — never involve me penetrating anyone anymore. Similarly, unlike for a long time even years after enforced denial came into our relationship, I no longer fantasize about or have the urge to jack off. Being hard outside the device, let alone holding and jacking myself, just doesn’t appeal at this point.

The only urges/fantasies I still have from before being permanently locked is to orgasm. When those happen, I can hold those in my mind and examine them and know, at a high level, that I really don’t want to come because of what I’ll feel like after, but the residual directive from millions of years of evolutionary programming is powerful. So I’m left with urges to empty my load without any urges to do the things that allow me to do so.

Maybe, someday, that urge will go away too. I’m not sure how it can, though. I have a deep psychological need to feel permanently horny. Not, like, 150% full on white-hot leaking all the time and dazed kind of horny. I want that, too, but in smaller doses. What I want is like what the Hulk in The Avengers had at the end of the movie. I need to always have the ability to get horny whenever I need or want to (though for him it was angry, but you get the point). And I can’t see how being horny can be removed from the urge to orgasm. That’s literally what horny is.

But…I dunno. “Horny” used be defined for me as an urge to do the things necessary to shoot my load and now those things are gone. I want to be used to serve and pleasure others and left wanting more, not use the contents for anything at all. Could I get to a point where I was still horny but not having any urges at all to orgasm? I guess it would be silly to say never because I never thought I’d feel like I no longer had or needed a penis. No longer wanted to have or need a penis.

For a lot of my life, and for most people, “horny” is a thing you try and get rid of as soon as you start to feel it. You either hook up or jack off or do whatever you need to do to make “horny” go away. Living in a state where you can regularly banish “horny,” alone or with others, is considered normal and healthy. But for me, and I’m sure a lot of people like me, “horny” is the point. It’s the status quo. The lack of feeling it leaves a void. Its presence starts to define us and give our sexuality form and purpose. When I’m feeling that kind of nagging, lingering horniness that floats around and won’t leave, I feel the most like who and what I am. That can be really hard to deal with when it comes, but I need it as badly as someone else needs to get rid of it.

If I ever got to the point where I didn’t feel an urge to orgasm and it led to me not feeling horny, that would be a huge problem. I would be despondent. So, if the one is dependent on the other, that last urge is one I’m happy to continue to deal with. It could be that without it, I’m nothing.

P.S. Yes, according to the test, I’m still really, really bisexual. Whew.

Fit for purpose

As she was fondling the package of titanium and testicles between my legs this morning, Belle told me being that way made me “fit for purpose.”

Fit for purpose.

I then got to work getting her off. I gently pinched and caressed her nipples. Licked, and sucked on them. Pressed the flat of my hand against the hot mound of her sex. Parted her lips with my fingers and touched her wetness.

Fit for purpose.

I got tighter as I went on. As she started moaning and writhing. As she got wetter and my fingers danced over her clit.

She came hard. Loudly. Her pleasure peaking as my tightness reached its maximum.

There was no point in during this encounter did I pine for penetration. No wistful memory of what it felt like to slide into her. To fuck. To shoot my load against her cervix. No moment after her orgasm where I wanted to climb on top of her and press the device into her as if I could still enter her. None of those cravings or desires. If they’re not truly and fully dead inside me, they’re barely clinging to life support.

Fit for purpose.

She hasn’t let me use the contents for 602 days. As I first touched her pussy and felt how inviting and ready it was, the only craving I could sense was to do what I was doing. I moaned from the pleasure of feeling hers. Of being allowed this most intimate contact with her.

I am, thanks to her, fit for purpose. Finally and completely.

Found and left behind

Belle has been in Paris for the better part of the past week. She went there with her best friend to celebrate a quarter century of their friendship. She’s in the air on her way home right now, actually, and normally I’d be pretty excited to see her, but I’m sitting in the G concourse SkyClub at MSP waiting to go to LA for a quick work trip. I leave at 9:20 and she lands at two something. So I won’t see her until Thursday evening, which is a bummer.

As I was getting ready to leave this morning/freaking the dogs out by putting things in a suitcase, I went into her nightstand drawer to get my passport since that’s where we keep them. And that’s when I found an apparently new lavender plusOne wand vibrator.

I can imagine how a normie husband might react upon making such a discovery. Probably not super well. So many men find women’s sex toys to be threatening. As if their magnificent cocks should be all their partners need for ultimate sexual satisfaction. Of course, I am not a normie husband, I do not have a magnificent cock (or anything close to it), and my reaction was pretty much the exact opposite.

I love that she has it. I love that she got it without telling me. I love thinking about her using it whenever she feels the need. I love that while I’m in LA locked up for my 1,341st consecutive day that she might take it out of the drawer and hammer her clit with it and scream when she comes. Because she always gets what she wants and I never get what the device makes me crave. Her sexual pleasure is paramount and mine is forever sublimated to that higher priority. She can get whatever she wants to help her come as often as she feels like while I have no choice in being denied for as long as she wants me to be.

The more I thought about the idea that she’d surely already used the wand and might use it again before I see her, the more turned on it made me. Being the thoughtful denied sub bunny I am, I took the wand out and plugged it in to make sure it was fully charged next time she felt the urge, with or without me.

In other news, I said a few posts back…

I’m also thinking of ways of never actually seeing [the contents] anymore. I feel like never laying eyes on it outside a device would be a huge boost to becoming post-penis. I could easily change devices with my eyes closed (and have many times done it in the dark or under covers and only by touch). Piece of cake. I could probably even do the little bit of shaft-shaving I tend to when I have the chance without actually having to see it. That’s really the only part of the thing I can’t keep tidy while locked up.

Since then, it’s become one of the things I’m tracking along with the last time she let me use the contents to fuck her (597 days ago) and how many consecutive days I’ve been locked up (as I said above, 1,341). It’s only been 34 days since I last saw the contents which isn’t any kind of record because I’m sure I’ve been locked up for way more than a month in some device (probably the Steelheart, though I’m too lazy to go figure it out). If I get to 60 days, that’s probably some kind of record and certainly if I get to 90 days.

One of the only issues I have with the Orion when compared to the Steelheart is that I can still see some of the contents while in it. The Steelheart completely envelops it while the Orion allows me to see the root of the shaft and a bit of the head around where the PA hook protrudes. This has led me to have to define what “see it” means. I’ve decided that “seeing it” would happen if I saw the complete head of the contents. That’s where the action happens, after all, and is the part that would need to be accessible to get me off via sex or masturbation. So, if I see that, I’ve seen it and the streak breaks. If I don’t, it doesn’t.

Not seeing it is part of accepting the post-penis, post-pussy stage of my life that Belle’s set forth for me. It’s about trying to reinforce the notion that I no longer have a penis. What I have is a device that contains a bit of non-consequential, irrelevant flesh. Thinking about it as a thing separate from its containment is a waste of energy.

Instead, I should (and am) thinking about that purple wand in Belle’s drawer and what she does with it. Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.


Over on Bluesky, I posted my October stats:

They show that I was locked 100% of October (of course) and have been locked 99.8% of 2023 to date. It’s the kind of post I often do at the end of a month.

In response, Tom asked, “Seriously, why do you even bother tracking this so closely? Or at all? I’ve really found it mentally freeing to not keep track.”

I replied, “I’ve been tracking using this app for 7+ years. It’s a habit I choose not to break. The data is something of a record of my commitment. It’s important to me.”

(Embedding Bluesky posts isn’t an option on WordPress yet.)

Which led Tom to analogizing tracking lockup time to tracking cycling miles. And that’s an apt comparison. But I’m a bit of a tracker anyway.

Like a lot of people, I track all my workouts and if something happens that messes them up it’s almost as if I didn’t do them. Which is nuts, because of course I did. I also track, using an app called Swarm, everywhere I’ve been since 2009 (which is surprisingly handy and useful). This year, I started tracking my caffeine consumption using an app called HiCoffee (ironically since I don’t drink coffee) because I thought it was messing with my ability to fall asleep. Now I know how much caffeine I can afford to have in my system at bedtime (30-40 mg) and still sleep well.

We track what’s important to us. Tracking can be motivating.

I started tracking when and in what I was locked using ATracker sevenish years ago. Like a lot of locked guys, I was really invested in knowing my longest streaks, etc., and I was device hopping all the time. And even in that first full year when I was in nine different devices and could be unlocked for 20-30% of the time, it wasn’t hard to do. Just had to remember to tap my screen a few times when going in or out.

Nowadays, of course, it’s much easier. I rarely tap out and have been in just the three devices all year. I expect next year to only be in one of the two Orions unless someone wants me to review theirs. So, to Tom’s point, why bother?

Well, as I said, it habit now. I’ve been doing it a long time so…I just keep doing it. Swarm is the same way. I’m just totally habitualized to pulling out my phone and checking in whenever I go somewhere. I think of the guys who record the weather at their house every day for decades (when, you know, there’s an entire government agency tasked with that) or birders who have their lifetime lists they keep adding to forever or people who track their running or cycling miles. It’s the same kind of thing, I guess.

But besides that, as I said to Tom, it’s the record. And when you’re into a thing that’s defined by the lack of being a certain way or not doing certain things, I’m not sure what else to record. When I was a teenager and was just starting to fuck (girls, anyway), I kept track with notches. Today, someone lives in an apartment in SoCal who wonders what all those little grooves cut into one of their bedroom closet walls mean. In that case, I was recording when the penis went into her and did a thing. Much more recently, I tracked when Belle let me come. But the contents don’t get used for anything anymore, and besides, it became harder to define what an orgasm was for me, but that’s another story.

So anyway, tracking now is about having that record of my commitment. Just like all the other kinds of tracking we tend to do. My denial defines my sexuality now and tracking how long that’s endured is, as I said to Tom, important. To me, anyway.

If I stopped tracking, nothing would change. I’d still be locked up 99.8% of the time and would still not be having orgasms and would still be getting Belle off whenever she let me. But something would be missing. So I keep doing it.