Recently, life has been a bit of a downer for me. I won’t get into all the details but shit was coming from multiple directions (and isn’t done yet). It left me feeling sad, discouraged, depressed. My libido crashed.
I’m feeling a bit better now though. Things are looking up. Ish.
But it left me reflecting on the concept of “permanent” chastity. And I think that a lot of people, me included, talk about being “locked in chastity” as if it’s a thing being done to us. It’s an outside control imposed on our bodies. And, surely, that’s how it starts. Even if we want it, there’s a long period of time when our natural instincts are fighting the control and we actually get off on the conflict and emotions that are generated from denial, even over short periods.
And I guess if it’s only ever short periods (“short” is relative — for some that might be a week or several days and for other it may be weeks to a month, etc.), the real transformational aspects of permanent would never set in. The lovely emotional frisson of restrained anguish would just keep roiling forever.
But some of us push past that. The dynamics of denial make us crave longer lockups. Our keyholders happily go along. And then permanent sets in.
The thing that defines permanent for me is when the natural instinct that used to resist denial evolve into an acceptance of it. More than acceptance, really. Embrace.
I’ve written here before that I remember the first time I was sick while locked and it didn’t occur to me to ask Belle to let me out because I was sick. Previously, the device would be a distraction and dealing with it would make me feel worse. After, it wasn’t even a consideration. And that’s it. Even when you’re sick, you stay locked. Even when you’re depressed, you’re locked. Running or working out, locked. Camping with vanilla friends, locked. Everything, locked. And not becuse it’s the rule or because I don’t have the key or because Belle expects it.
It’s because I can’t imagine being any other way. It’s because I know having a penis again would make me feel worse. Because, well and truly, being locked isn’t a thing I do, it’s who and what I am. That’s what permanent means to me. The notion of being a person with a penis I can do whatever I want with has become well and truly alien to me. That version of me is gone for good.
In a way, you might imagine that this stage is less fun or sexy or exciting than the initial stages of chastity. I think it’s different, for sure. But knowing who I am and living this version of me as authentically and completely as possible is deeply satisfying. It’s probably the difference between the dating, NRE stage of a relationship versus the married and partnered stage. Different, but both good.
What I’m talking about is how being denied in chastity goes from being a verb to a noun. A thing we do to a thing to thing we are. This is me now. Permanently.