One of our favorite TV shows from the last couple of years is Hacks. It’s on HBO (OK, fine, Max) and follows a kind of Joan Rivers-esque stand up comedian late in her career (Deborah Vance played by Jean Smart) and a young bisexual comedy writer (Ava Daniels played by Hannah Einbinder) who’s been cancelled due to an insensitive tweet and ends up working for her. It’s in its third season which is a treat since it seemed to be ending after two.

You should watch it. It’s just terrific.

Anyway, in episode two of the third season, Deborah is guest hosting a talk show and pulls a guy named Lance out of the studio audience to be an impromptu guest. They have the following exchange:

DV: So what do you do for work?

Lance: I’m actually a TSA agent.

DV: Okay, that’s all the time we have, ladies and gentlemen. (laughter, rim shot) No, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You must find some weird stuff in people’s suitcases.

Lance: It’s kind of X-rated.

DV: Oh, now you have to tell us. Come on.

Lance: A few years ago, this guy went through the metal detector. I guess he was wearing a — can I say “cuck cage” on TV? (laughter)

DV: Well, Lance, I think you just did. What on Earth is that?

Lance: It’s like a metal cage that goes on a man’s —

DV: TSA wand.

Lance: Yes. And you can only take it off with a key. But his wife had the key.

DV: And where was she?

Lance: In Miami. (laughter)

A couple of things. One, it’s still kind of surreal to see our weird little kink in the Muggle popular culture. It’s really hard to know how much, erm, penetration male chastity has in society and I agree that people who do it probably overestimate it, but then this happens and it’s clear that overall awareness of the practice is definitely growing (rimshot).

Two, the whole thing was played for laughs. That’s fine. There may be more awareness, but most people still think it’s funny. Most kink would be played for laughs, not just this one. I’m still waiting for enforced denial to be an integrated and not-for-laughs story element in popular media (and I expect I’ll be waiting a while). I want a real, main character locked up and for that to be part of the story.

Lastly, it’s really interesting to me that they called it a “cuck cage” not a “cock cage.” It’s not that I’ve never heard them referred to as that but it’s not at all the common term. I thought maybe “cock” was a word they didn’t want to use, but the show has no issue with all manner of profanity (it is on HBO, after all), so that’s not it. The writers made a choice to either avoid the word “cock” (which I doubt) or decided to really double down on the subset of guys locked in devices who are also cucks. So, was the audience laughing at the notion of a cuckold or the idea a guy would allow to have his dick locked up? Both, I guess.

In any event, even though it was played for laughs, later in the episode Ava says to Deborah, “You did a shockingly good job not kink-shaming cuck cages.” Hey, no harm, no foul.

The original plan was for Belle and I to watch that episode with our daughter which would have made the experience all that much more surreal. It was just the two of us, though, so we were able to enjoy the moment with more than just knowing glances.

And, seriously, it’s better to go through TSA with a plastic device on, anyway.

So much for so little

A little over three weeks ago, on a Sunday morning, as I was looking forward in anticipation to Belle letting me get her off, I was presented with the key.


I wasn’t expecting it, obvs. Not then, not ever. But there it was. And I was immediately freaked out. Belle told me not to be freaked out. But it was a visceral reaction and couldn’t be helped.

So the device came off and the contents slithered out. I went to work on her as usual, but of course it wasn’t in any way usual because instead of getting tight, I got hard. I could feel the head of the shaft move and rub against her leg and the bed and sheets and it was incredibly distracting. It is 100% true that I am not as good at getting her off when I know I’m getting off after, even when (or perhaps especially when) that getting off is the first time it was going to happen in 763 days.

Part of the distraction was a reticence on my part for her to touch it. She reached for it and was able to get it a little, but I didn’t do anything to move my hips to make it easier for her to grasp. I was feeling a great deal of anxiety at the idea. It just…wasn’t right. Of course, what she wants is what should be right. That’s the deal I signed up for. And what she wanted for two years, one month, and three days was for the contents to be crushed into little spaces locked around my nuts.

A small side note at this juncture. I don’t know how many times in those two plus years I had had unrestricted erections. Not very many. It had happened (like during that massage), but I’m going to guess, based on some back of the envelope math, that I had had well over 4,000 attempted erections during that period (including the nocturnal kind) and I can’t imagine that more than a couple dozen or so were outside a device. I can go months without that happening, especially if you get strict and only count real, fully extended hard-ons and not just when it gets kind of chubby during shaving and such. So it should be no surprise that the erect shaft I was sporting on that morning wasn’t much at all like the one I had before it went in. I noticed now that there’s a kink in the shaft. It’s not as straight as it used to be. You could see the angle at which the Orion pushes it when trying to get hard. It did get hard. Plenty hard. But there was a kind of disfigurement present. I have no idea if that’s permanent or just the kind of compression that penises can show when getting out after a lengthy lock up. And, honestly, I don’t care. But it was there.

Anyway, back to the action. I was able to get her off, though it was far from my best effort. Just too much to think about. I let her bask and didn’t make any move at all. I thought for a moment (wished, actually) that she’d change her mind after her orgasm and I’d go back in without the chance to get it wet. But she reached for it and pulled me on top of her. She guided me towards the folds of her hot wetness and held the head there. Reluctantly, I pushed it in.

I did not want to. And I did want to. And that dichotomy will only make sense if you’re a permanently denied person like me. Of course, I crave the feeling of being inside her. But I crave craving that feeling more. And as I entered her, I felt the indescribable pleasure of hard penismeat sliding into wet pussy but I also felt the outer layer of my identity sloughing off.

To be fair, she was never really emphatic about not letting me fuck her again. She let me go along with the idea that it was over but, when pressed, never really shut and locked the door to the possibility. But I had fully embraced it. In a way, that was a kind of defense mechanism for me. There’s a difference between wondering if this morning, after 760-some mornings, was going to be the one she let me out versus carrying a certainty that, of course, this morning was going to lead to the 764th that was the same as all the others. It’s liberating. And it had become, in a way, my identity.

I had disassociated myself from the contents. It was no longer a practical part of my life, outside of the necessary maintenance required to keep it secured. I didn’t use it, see it, feel it. I didn’t have to think about it. I didn’t have to care if it was at all useful to her as a way to bring her pleasure because I had other, better ways to do that. I didn’t need to give it a second thought while providing her that pleasure (or even while feeling horny for any of the myriad ways I can get horny). I wasn’t a man like real men are. I was a locked man. Always.

But then suddenly I wasn’t. And not only was I unlocked, but I was feeling the inside of her with the hard shaft. I was feeling the heat of her body all up and down it and the fire of sensation where sensation was rarely ever felt. I am here to tell you, the level of sensitivity of a hard penis that hadn’t felt anything pleasurable for over two years is immeasurable with the technology currently known to man.

Even though she had directed me to do what I was doing, I had a lingering doubt or guilt or self-consciousness about doing it. I held my head down by her neck and couldn’t really look at her. It was the same kind of embarrassment I feel when she can see the contents outside a device or what I was feeling when she was trying to grasp it. It’s so weird to me to have an erection. So unnatural.

I didn’t last more than a minute. I tried to. She said she wanted this and so I wanted to give it to her, but in this one, very specific way, I am a lousy lover. A shitty lay. Totally useless. I never even got into a rhythm or felt like her pussy opened up to me fully before I knew it was coming to an end.

I shot my load into her. The sensation was overwhelmingly intense and emotional. Too big to be really pleasurable. Over two years of pent up natural desire for what was happening suddenly happening overlayed with the self-consciousness and even guilt and regret. As my load left my body in surge after surge, it was like a part of who I was was leaving my body, too. I was near tears. The conflicting emotions were hard to deal with.

Or course, it felt good. It’s designed to feel good. But it was such a great big complicated and multilayered feeling. And then it was over. My brain was swimming in the post-orgasmic chemical cocktail it hadn’t felt in such a long time.

After, it did not feel good. After, when the background radiation of continual denial and frustration were stripped away, it felt like someone had turned the saturation down on everything around me. This is the secret appeal to long term enforced denial. It boosts everything. Makes life more interesting. Gives it more texture. Makes you feel more. All the time. And when it’s gone — and it was dead and gone — its absence leaves a giant hole. And I don’t like it.

I’m still struggling to come to terms with it, tbh. She says it happened because it was what she wanted. I don’t doubt it. But my question is why she wanted it. I feel like she was taking pity on me and how worked up I get when getting her off. And I don’t want that pity. I just can’t accept that my 58 seconds of penetration was in any way good for her. I used to be able to fuck and fuck and really give her what she likes, but those days are gone. Long gone.

I don’t want to second guess her. I don’t want to be in a place where I reluctantly give her what she wants. But that’s how I felt. And how I still feel. For me, coming isn’t worth it. It felt incredible, of course. But I lose so much for so little.

And now I don’t know how to think about it. Is it going to happen again? Anytime soon? Was it a one-off experiment on her part or a new chapter? Will I be getting off on a regular schedule now? And if that’s her plan, do I have any right to resist? Shouldn’t I just go along with it as her will because that’s what I’m supposed to do?

I had accepted that I was really and truly forever locked. It was who I was. And then it wasn’t. And now I don’t know what I am. Or how I’m supposed to feel. We’ve been apart for most of the time since it happened. I was away for a week and now she’s away for work. We haven’t had sex since. I’m kind of nervous to do it again. I feel hesitancy in letting her see how turned on getting her off can make me because maybe that’s what led to her letting me out. But I also need to show her that because it’s part of demonstrating my submission.

I don’t know. I’m feeling…uncertain and imbalanced. Nonplussed. That is the word. Nonplussed.