I posted on BlueSky yesterday that it’s been 3.8 years since I was unlocked for any appreciable amount of time. It’s one the numbers I track on my phone using an app called Countdown+ which, the way I use it, is actually counting up.
Yeah, so, “3.8 years” is a weird milestone to call out and I didn’t actually know it was 3.8 years because the app counts days and I usually pay attention when the number rounds off to 10. In this case, it was 1,390 days. Getting pretty darn close to four whole years.
As a refresher, my definition of a day being locked up is a) one where I was locked for all but a handful of hours (“a handful” is what it would take to go to the doctor unlocked or travel through the TSA or what have you) and b) one where I was locked all night long. I don’t actually know the last time I was unlocked for more than “a handful” of hours, though it’s buried somewhere inside ATracker (the other tracking app I use). I do believe that the last time that happened was, as of today, 1,391 days ago due to a hot spot that needed to heal.
The reason I bring this all up is because I was pondering this morning that I’ve had 1,391 mornings dealing with nocturnal tumescence (aka, morning wood). Someone I was chatting with asked if I still got that and, yes, I do. I would probably talk to a doctor if that stopped happening. But yes, 3.8 years of stifled and contained nocturnal/nighttime erections (along with however many waking attempts I got from being horny).
Most mornings (and I do mean most — probably 80% of the time), it never wakes me up. I’ve become too accustomed to it. I know it’s happening when I do wake up and I guess it’s possible I’d sleep longer if I wasn’t locked up, but it’s nothing like the old days when I’d wake up in pain in the middle of the night and have to walk around to make the erection go away before I could sleep again.
Usually now I simply get off on the sensation of being so tightly contained. Like last night when at 1:30 I woke up and felt the tightness but was otherwise so horny I couldn’t go back to sleep. My imagination kept the pressure going and I was left to grind my tight package into the mattress like the horny bitch I am.
So yeah, anyway, back to the pondering I mentioned. Recently I’ve been wondering what the condition of the contents is with regard to its erection, if it could achieve such a state. Several years ago I wrote about how the shaft of the erection was dented from prolonged lockup. That post is from just over four years ago, so right before my current locked streak started. Has the dent gotten worse? Has it been deformed in any other ways? Has the much rumored yet never observed permanent shrinkage finally set it?
The other number that intersects this curiosity is my recent decision to never look at the contents unlocked again. I’ve been locked up for so long that even seeing the contents feels weird and dissociative. As if I’m emotionally detached from what’s inside the Orion. And now that I’m officially post-pussy, it feels right and natural to become post-penis. The last time I laid eyes on the thing inside the Orion was 84 days ago. I do not want to think of myself as a penis-having person.
So why the curiosity about what this thing I want to stop feeling like I have may look like erect? I dunno. Maybe it’s like a rhetorical kind of question. It doesn’t actually matter what it’s like since I have no expectation of it ever being used for anything like what it was intended ever again. But part of me also kinda hopes it is permanently disfigured from its containment. I saw the dent as indelible proof that the erection it appeared on was supposed to be locked up. If the dent’s worse or if there’s more or if the actual shape of the thing is drastically changed, then all the better.
Whenever I see an image of a beautiful cock, I think what a crime it would be if it was forced into a device. I guess I like to think that the theoretical potential erection I’m carrying around every day would be the literal opposite of a big, fat, smooth and perfectly arching cock: small, stunted, knobby, and not unlike a crustacean missing its exoskeleton. The more deformed and altered and even ruined it becomes, the more real and indelible and irreversible my post-penis existence is.
But as I said, it’s all theoretical. I won’t be seeing or holding or feeling any erections on me again. All I will ever have now is tightness. In my imagination, I can make it as Quasimodo-like as I wish. I can dream that it’s withering away to nothing since nothing is what Belle wants to do with it now. And it doesn’t actually matter what it’s really like. It can be all the things I want and need it to be now that nobody will want or need it again.