Category: Life with Belle

I was recently tagged on BlueSky by someone who’s tracking stats similarly to how I do. They just passed four months without orgasms. 🎉

Speaking of which, my numbers as of today are…

Soon, it will have been a year since I had a proper look at the contents outside its containment. Obviously, I see a little of it through various openings in devices, and I’ve seen some bits and pieces while swapping devices, but I’ve not seen it in its entirety outside of some form of its confinement. Specifically, I have not seen the shaft at all. I hold it in my hand when unlocked and doing things like shaving. It rarely ever reacts to that touch.

It’s been over a year and a half since I was unlocked. I define that as being outside a device overnight. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had more than two hours unlocked in that time since I’m only unsecured for trips through airport security.

Similarly, I haven’t stroked myself in about the same amount of time. I actually really miss feeling a cock in my hand, even if it’s not mine. Luckily, I do get to experience that from time to time thanks to Belle allowing me extracurricular activities.

Also, obviously, I haven’t come in that same year and a half. Nothing.

The big one is when she last allowed me to fuck her. That cuts the most on days when she’s allowing me to get her off. Some mornings, like the last time it happened, the craving to feel her hot wetness envelope the contents was off the charts intense. Just a gnawing, overwhelming, all-encompassing craving. It hits me as soon as my fingers feel the slickness of her labia and crests as I feel her orgasm pulse under my touch. But then it starts to ebb as the afterglow radiates out of her. The idea that I would ruin that moment by pushing into her and unloading 36 seconds later just seems sort of heretical.

I think I’ll never get to feel that again. She suggests that’s the case, though she also led me to believe that 605 days ago when she let me fuck her the last time. But I do have to assume I’m forever pussy-free now, but it’s obviously not my choice.

The thing about these numbers is after a while they start to develop a kind of gravity all their own. Tracking them as visibly to myself as I do makes them almost impossible to think about resetting. Five hundred and sixty days without orgasm is my record. That means tomorrow will be a new record. And the day after that, another. Ad infinitum.

The other day I thought of a fun idea that, at another time in our dynamic, we might try, but because of the scale of the numbers I’m not sure we would today. The idea is that for each orgasm I give her in a month, I would earn one minute of time with her applying a vibrator to the device. If I gave her two orgasms that month, I’d get two minutes. If I gave her eight, I’d get eight. But, I’d have to take all those minutes no matter what happens. If I come in 30 seconds, I have to endure seven and a half more minutes of sensation. If I last the entire duration, no matter how close I am at the end, that’s it until the next month. I think that sounds pretty fucking hot. And not being allowed outside the device — not feeling any sensation like jacking off or fucking — should keep me mostly in my sub/headspace. But…yeah. Maybe at a different time. I don’t think she’d go for it nowadays.

Anyways, a little over four months from now it’ll have been two years since my last fuck. And almost two months after that, it’ll have been two years since my last day unlocked/stroke/orgasm. And…it would be very hard to see those numbers go to zero. Very hard.

I was having a really good chat with someone on Bluesky today about how our perceptions of ourselves change the longer we’re locked up. And it got me thinking about whether or not guys getting into chastity today would do it if they knew where it could end up.

Being locked by someone is kind of like one of those things you see in science museums that demonstrate a black hole where you put a quarter in a slot at the top of a convex cone-shaped thing and let it go and then watch the quarter roll round and round and round towards a little hole in the center going faster and faster until it finally goes POP and disappears at the bottom.

The quarter in this analogy is a penis, in case you missed that.

At first, you lock up because it feels hot and the orgasms you get after denial are mind blowing. And, at least for me, as I got to know my own orgasm better though edging and being allowed to fuck but not come, I actually turned into something of a fucking machine. I’d find that spot a hair’s width from orgasm and stop all movement. I’d ejaculate (a lot) but not come all the way. Like I was ruining my own orgasm inside of Belle. And after, I’d still be hard and able to fuck and fuck though my own load without getting back to the point of feeling like I was going to come again. She’d need to tell me when she had had enough. I was Superman. Ah, those were the days.

But the lock ups still got longer. I wanted them to be longer. I craved the feeling of being locked up and denied even the pleasure of fucking her. And she changed too so that keeping me locked up longer and longer wasn’t any great sacrifice. She was perfectly satisfied without the penetration. And then one day I found that my fucking superpower had gone away. I had lost the ability to hold the line on my orgasm. I could’t find it anymore so couldn’t stop it from coming. And then when I came I felt the crash and my attitude would change and she really didn’t like that. And, as my trigger got shorter and shorter, she didn’t like that I couldn’t fuck her for more than a minute or two (if I was lucky), so the times I was allowed out for sex became even less frequent.

But I didn’t mind! I wanted it. I wanted to want to be out more than I wanted out. I craved her pussy. When she came, I wanted to be inside her most of all. I could feel in my tight, locked tube what her pussy felt like as my hard-on slipped in and the sensation was incredibly intense. I actually went through a period, after she had told me I wasn’t likely to fuck her again, where I mourned my loss of that. Of my connection to that most male of acts. Even though I really wanted her to keep me locked forever, just as she was doing.

Similarly, I would crave the feeling of holding my own erection in my hand and jacking it. I wanted that so bad. But also didn’t. I didn’t want it more than I wanted to crave wanting it.

But things are different now. I’ve moved past the cravings for jacking or fucking. I still want. But that’s all it is. A sort of amorphous want of…something. But it’s non-specific. I see guys jacking off on Bluesky and I don’t think of wanting to do that, too. I think of wanting to do it to them. I see videos of guys getting a blow job and similarly never feel like I want to be blown. I see guys fucking women or just super hot women in general (irl and the internet) and the idea of fucking them myself is non-existent. My first, most intense and primal thought is of eating their pussies. Of them grinding down on my face or letting me eat their partner’s load from their beautiful fucked and swollen lips.

My body has forgotten I even have a penis. When I’m out for the brief moments of swapping or cleaning devices, I don’t get hard. I so rarely even get a minor chub from it. Honestly, I don’t even like handling the contents. They feel so small and wet and sad. All crushed and deformed from its confinement, broken and useless for anyone. It’s almost like I’m touching an internal organ. I resent deeply every minute I have to be out. And the contents doesn’t even bother to try to tempt me.

I don’t know for a fact that every guy who locks up will end up a penisless hole like me. A lot of it depends on the needs and wants of the person holding the key, of course. Belle and I took this journey together. Our quarters weren’t always synchronized on the way down, but we ended up in the same place. That same, inexorable destination. She wants me locked up permanently, all the time, end of story. She doesn’t want me to fuck her. Doesn’t miss me fucking her. Feels zero guilt for denying me that pleasure ever again. Feels zero guilt about denying me my orgasm for the rest of my life.

And while I still have the amorphous want, I’m perfectly happy to be kept this way. I’m way past mourning my days of fucking. Well past any desire to jack off. I simply am not equipped — physically, emotionally, mentally — for that sort of thing anymore. The profoundness of being permanently locked and denied has led to a sexual awakening of similar scope and magnitude of going through puberty. I’ve left one life segment and entered another. A whole new world I didn’t know — could not have known — existed.

So, yeah. It makes me wonder. This was not what I was signing up for 17 years ago. But here I am, and I’m happy as a clam. Also, clamped shut tight as a clam, lol. For me, this feels really natural. As I’m supposed to be. As I was born to be. But I could never have even guessed I’d be like this one day. Prior to discovering male chastity, it never would have even remotely crossed my mind.

So I’m quite sure there are guys just locking up for the first time today who are like I was and will end up like I am. It’s just they have no idea at all what they’re in for. Maybe, they can’t even imagine it.

In my last post, I pondered…

Now that the concept of “statistically always” has been shown to be achievable, I’m starting to wonder if annual unlock goals make sense. I’m thinking we should reverse the logic. Perhaps the agreement should be I will be expected to be locked 100% of the time and every hour (or fraction thereof) I’m out results in some kind of punishment. I have no idea what that punishment would be, but there’s something really appealing about switching to a 100% locked assumption with specific penalties for not being so.

This approach is, in a way, the logical conclusion of the gradual ratcheting down of her control over me, how I express myself sexually, and of course my orgasm. It’s a journey we’ve been on for many years now. If she was still interested in using the contents, we wouldn’t be here. But she’s not. She’s not because it’s useless as a means to her pleasure and letting me use it solely for mine takes me out of the headspace she wants me in. All it can do is give me a momentary jolt that I ultimately really don’t enjoy and totally wrecks my ability to maintain our dynamic.

So I wrote up the following ten rules to be imposed on me for her consideration…

1. You are to be locked in a male chastity device at all times.
2. You will be granted one 5 minute grace period every two weeks for hygiene that can’t be done while locked, device maintenance, or to change the device.
3. Hygiene, device maintenance, or device swap are the only permitted reasons to ever be unlocked.
4. During allowed 5 minute unlocked periods, you will do nothing to stimulate the contents such that an unlocked erection occurs and, should one occur on its own, you will in no way use that opportunity for self-pleasure.
5. Any unlocked time that exceeds the biweekly 5 minute grace period will be logged.
6. Every hour or fraction thereof of logged unlocked time will result in a punishment, regardless of the purpose or reason for the unlocked time.
7. You are not allowed to see the contents of your chastity device outside of the device.
8. Every instance of seeing the unlocked contents will result in a punishment.
9. Whether locked or unlocked, you are never to self-stimulate to orgasm.
10. Your keyholder can modify or suspend these rules at any time and as she sees fit to do so.

It’s not, as I said, anything like a new approach for us. It’s a slightly more severe version of how we’ve been living for the last 405 days since she last let me fuck her. And it was that event that pretty much solidified that the above is the new foundation for our relationship. It’s is a recognition of that reality. And for me, it actually provides a bit more sense of wellbeing. The fact that she just decided one morning that was going to fuck her really shattered what I thought was settled law between us. I consider this to be something of a new treaty. A spelling out of what she thinks is best.

She agrees there are only three reasons I ever need to be out and none of them are related to my pleasure. Any pleasure I can achieve through the contents, locked or not, is expressly forbidden. And we no longer have any “unlocked goal.” The goal is, in fact, zero. Never unlocked for more than five minutes every two weeks, maximum.

So, that’s that. According to rules one through nine, I’m never going to jack off again. Never going to fuck again. Never going to come again.

But rule ten. That’s for Belle. She would never agree to anything that limited her decisions and desires. This doesn’t work if she doesn’t have the ultimate final say on everything. We are not equal in this regard. I can’t impose terms on her. She imposes them on me, even if they’re my idea.

With regard to the punishments, that’s an open question. She’s not someone who is all that interested in active punishment. We’ll need to think on it. Maybe you have an idea. Drop them in the comments. But it also means I’m going to be incentivized to try and find ways to really minimize out time. At this point, the only thing that gets me out is the TSA. So maybe I’ll just roll the dice more often on that. Or, if I’m traveling with family other than Belle or coworkers, maybe I’ll take the device off after we arrive at the airport but before security. Basically, I’m going to be trying to keep my unlocked time to under an hour for the whole year.

My assumption is each hour of out time or fraction thereof, each time I see the contents as a penis, and any time I violate rules 4 or 9(!) are separate punishment opportunities, though we haven’t actually discussed that. Also, my assumption is these rules take affect tomorrow, June 1.

Over on Bluesky, I posted these and someone said it would be “disgusting” to only be unlocked for five minutes every two weeks for hygiene. As if hygiene doesn’t happen every time I’m in the shower. The only hygiene I do when out is shaving spots I can’t reach otherwise. That’s it. Having been circumcised, I don’t need much more than that. Coming up on eight years ago, I wrote that the best penis for chastity was one that was circumcised. It’s not required. Not at all. But if it’s uncircumcised, the hygiene needs would be very different. It’s kinda like being pierced. A PA makes chastity better but it can also be done very successfully without.

Anyway, being a dumbass and calling me “disgusting” on social media is the best and fastest way to get blocked by me. Just FYI.

As I said up top, this is how we’ve been living the last 405 days. If you take that one fuck out, it’s how we’ve been living for something like three years. But now it’s spelled out and clear between us. It’s as final and complete as it can be.

And that’s a good thing.

According to my stats, it’s been 134 days since I saw the contents of whichever of the handful of chastity devices I’ve been wearing for the past 347 days straight. In fact, I have seen bits and pieces of the contents as I’ve swapped devices, but I only count “seeing it” when it’s totally naked and unencumbered by a device. Basically, it’s been nearly four and a half months since I saw something on my body that resembles a real penis.

I’ve been actively trying to avoid seeing it as a penis for about a year and a half. Ever since I had the weird experience of seeing it in the context of getting ready for a massage and it didn’t register as part of me. As if it was a penis I was seeing on Bluesky or Tumblr. Not mine. It was weird. But also it seemed like a logical and natural progression of being permanently denied.

It is, I do recall, super hot to be denied the satisfaction of a gnawing craving to jack off or fuck. But I also think it’s only natural that as the time between being allowed to use the contents for its intended purpose increases, that those feelings would evolve. And part of that evolution is letting go of the notion that I have a man’s anatomy.

That’s basically where I was when, 394 days ago, Belle told me to fuck her. That made my whole world turn upside down. But now I feel like I’m firmly back to the place where I was before.

There are, in fact, a few things I don’t track (hard to believe but true). For example, how long has it been since I thought about how nice it would feel to jack off? Or to fuck Belle? Or hell, fuck anyone. I have absolutely no idea. If I’m seeing porn or reading something really hot or even having sex, I can get very tight and super horny, but I have not for a long time thought about the contents as a thing I can do anything with. My mind just doesn’t go there at all. It’s as if my body has just forgotten about it or maybe simply accepts those things are not in the cards for me anymore.

Belle has said several times that she regrets letting me fuck her again, so it seems really unlikely that’s going to happen any time soon (if ever) and I simply don’t have any opportunities to have free-swinging erections, so jacking off is entirely off the table.

Speaking of which, Belle’s goal for me in 2025 was to be unlocked no more than 25 hours. So far this year, I’ve been unlocked 5.5 hours. Looking forward, based on what I know, I expect to be unlocked maybe another 4 hours-ish. If I can really end the year unlocked no more than 12 hours, that would crush any previous YTD numbers. It would be about half my previous least amount of unlocked time which was just over 20 hours and I remember thinking that was the least amount of time I could ever realistically do. Twelve hours or less unlocked means being locked statistically always. It’s 99.9% of the year.

Now that the concept of “statistically always” has been shown to be achievable, I’m starting to wonder if annual unlock goals make sense. I’m thinking we should reverse the logic. Perhaps the agreement should be I will be expected to be locked 100% of the time and every hour (or fraction thereof) I’m out results in some kind of punishment. I have no idea what that punishment would be, but there’s something really appealing about switching to a 100% locked assumption with specific penalties for not being so. Very hot, imo.

I was considering today as I was in the shower and soaping up the device and my balls and working my pinky into the head of the Evotion to make sure everything was clean what it means to be actually, truly permanently locked up and denied. I never, ever want to take the device off at this point. I resent every moment I’m required to be out. And I think that’s because being out breaks the bond I’ve built with the device. It ruins the dickless perception I’ve built around myself. Being out makes me not me. It turns me into the person I was before we brought chastity into our relationship and I embraced my submissive nature and learned to be a man without the thing we call “manhood.”

I don’t want to be that guy. Not ever. Not even for a little bit.

I’m now in the twelve month since the last time Belle let me fuck her. I usually tell Belle when we cross one of these little milestones and she’s never that impressed by them. I find the ticking of the days to be meaningful while she just…doesn’t. She’s never been that into the whole tracking part that I’ve been obsessed with forever.

Perhaps part of her ambivalence towards tracking duration is her realization that the amount of time I’ll be locked and denied access to her pussy and/or my orgasm is now set to ♾️. She’s made it pretty clear that the last time she let me fuck her, which was totally out of the blue and on a whim, was a mistake. I’m a lousy fuck thanks to having the hairiest of hair triggers and the experience ended up being so traumatic for me that it blew me out of my headspace for months.

When we crossed nine months and then ten, I asked her what the likelihood was that she’d let me fuck her again. She didn’t want to rule anything in or out because she wants to maintain the privilege of doing whatever she wants at all times, but it doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s going to happen anymore. In any event, she tells me I should assume no.

I didn’t expect her to let me fuck her again when it happened the last time but because that was such an annoying experience for her, I’m really expecting that it’s not going to happen anymore. And since that’s the only way I was allowed to orgasm, I assume that’s the end of that, too.

When I started this blog, the first time I was denied access to her pussy was just 24 hours. Now it’s the rest of my life. Back then, I’d be locked up for days or weeks and then would be out for days or weeks. Now I’m locked basically always. She used to let me come every week or so. Now it’s never.

To be fair, I was a big instigator of pushing my limits. The more I was locked and denied the more I wanted to be that way. For a long time, I didn’t really think we’d end up here. But here we are.

In a way, I feel like it’s completing the circle this blog started sixteen years ago when we set out on this journey. Well, we have now arrived at the ultimate destination. I don’t really know what the purpose is any more of Denying Thumper now that denied is the only way I’m ever going to be.

I’m not officially ending the blog. But the conundrum remains. I already feel like every post is rehashing something I’ve already written about a year ago, three years ago, or five years ago. I don’t know that I have anything new to say.

“Can you imagine what our relationship would be like right now if we never started locking me up?”

I asked this of Belle the other morning just before our petting moved from light to heavy which inevitably leads to her orgasm.

She was quiet for a moment.

“No, not really. It’s been so long now.”

“Same.”

And then I happily got her off while the contents tried and failed to participate.

While it’s difficult to predict where we’d be without chastity and denial, I can imagine it. And I don’t like what I see.

One of the realities of being married to someone for multiple decades is that, I think naturally, the sexual spark wanes. In fact, the entire reason we started down a path that led to her keeping me locked up all the time and letting me come basically never was falling into the trap of sexual complacency. It’s also the case that people’s sex drives start to tail off as they get older. That’s just nature.

So, in at least that aspect of our relationship, I’m 100% sure it would be worst off today were it not for my permanent denial. I would most likely be doing what I was doing sixteen years ago and relieving whatever sexual needs I had in the shower as soon as they started to smoulder rather than approach Belle. I’m not suggesting we’d be sexless, but there’d be way less sex than there is now.

And my attentiveness and investment in her and our dynamic are greatly enhanced since she’s, while perhaps not my sole outlet for sexual gratification, certainly my closest and most important. And the natural ebbing of sexual interest has been delayed greatly by the fact I can never scratch my orgasmic itch as soon as it begins. I feel like that clock has been set back by decades due to my prolonged denial.

She says it herself when asked what the best part of keeping me locked is: focus. Focus on her, focus on us, focus on how I can be a better partner. No focus on the contents.

I have started to wonder how wanting to be permanently locked and denied qualifies as submission. When I was being locked longer than I might have wished in the past, then there was a real sacrifice being made. But now, I want nothing more than to be exactly as I am and on those very rare instances when she wants me not to be, it’s genuinely traumatic for me. If she asked for that to happen again, of course I’d comply. But in that case, being unlocked and then allowed to orgasm would be the act of submission.

That’s a mind fuck, huh?

So I guess the way I’d characterized my ongoing act of submission to her now is how I feel like I’ve permanently sacrificed the contents and every potential orgasm for the rest of my life to make our marriage and relationship and, by extension, her life better. More satisfying and rewarding. For her and me.

She doesn’t want to change anything. She will keep me locked up and denied essentially forever. And I feel like that is a gift of submission that I freely and gratefully give her every day. I’m very lucky to be with a woman who accepts it from me.

October 12 was the 16th anniversary of Denying Thumper dot com. 🎉

For about half that time (since 2016), I’ve been tracking the duration of my lock-up in an app called ATracker. Based on that data and making some assumptions about the time I’ve spent in a device before that (which was not as often — the amount of unlocked time has dropped dramatically in the second half of the our journey into enforced denial and chastity), I estimate that I’ve been locked up for a total of about 12 years.

Twelve. Years.

And, somehow, I wish it had been for longer. 😳

At this point, after all that time, it is a solid fact that I don’t really feel like I have a penis anymore. I reinforce that perception by making myself hear it out loud every day. Yes, the little bump in the road that happened (oh, look) exactly six months ago today did rattle my perceived penislessness for a bit, but things have happily gotten back to normal.

So, no, I don’t feel like I have a penis. I know the contents of the device I’m in (currently, the BA-31P) is in there and I know it’s shaped like and can function as a penis if it were outside the device, but that’s not the same thing at all. If I had a penis, it would mean I also had erections that I could grab onto and jerk or stick into her and both things could result in it squirting its goo (and that hasn’t happened in 132 days). Those are not things that are available to me, so functionally I am penisless.

And while I would be freaked out if she told me tomorrow to fuck her again, that doesn’t mean I don’t ache with the craving to do it. The act of fucking has kind of bifurcated for me. There’s the glorious sensation of what the erection sliding into her feels like and then there’s the rest of it. The part where I climb on top of her and feel our bodies make that connection and I grind and gyrate my hips and hear and see her respond to being fucked. I have been totally useless at that second part for a long time now. Chastity broke my ability to fuck as well as stole my opportunity. But I still want to do it. The act of it. I like fucking her and since I know how much she likes to be fucked, I feel bad about not being able to do it. Luckily, there are ways.

I’ve used a strap on with her many times, though not as often as I’d like. Of course, she decides what we do, but part of me thinks the reason we don’t use it as much as she used to use me for that is that we don’t have the quite right cock for the harness. She’s the Princess and the Peen. We’ve tried several and all have been left behind. But now there’s a new one vying for attention.

We recently received the Ubberime Splendid dildo. It was ordered in the “medium soft shore 8a” density so it’s not too squishy but not too hard and in the medium size.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed after getting home from the gym showing it to her and she held it in her hand and proclaimed it to be “the perfect size.” That’s basically an inch longer and thicker than me. And as she stood there over me holding this “perfect” shiny blue cock, she started to smack me in the face and head with it. She was using this erection I am hoping beyond hope she’ll allow to replace my locked member in our sex life to slap me repeatedly in the forehead and my left cheek and she was laughing.

It was an unexpected thing for her to do and unexpectedly humiliating for me. But also profoundly hot. So fucking hot. Because what I am is a pathetic cuck.

I don’t know why this turns me on so much. I can’t explain it. At all. There’s no logical way to make it make sense to you. But it’s true that I simultaneously crave fucking her, fear fucking her, and desperately want to fuck her so well with another cock bigger than me that she only wants it in the future and never the real me ever again. 🤷‍♂️

Anyway, Belle took off today for a trip with her girlfriends to Rome and Paris so it’ll be a little bit before we get a chance to christen the Splendid. I’ll be sure to report back when that happens.

Belle is away for the week taking the younger kid back to college. I was already pretty worked up since, for a variety of mundane reasons, I have not been allowed to share in her orgasms very much for a while now and, I find, whenever she leaves me, my horny index ratchets up anyway. So last night I was pretty tossy-turvey in bed trying to get images, scenarios, and thoughts to go away.

It’s now been 82 days since I last came. Eighty-two days since I stroked myself, 80 days since I saw it/I was last unlocked. One hundred twenty seven day since she ordered me to fuck her. These numbers, for me, are not that big but I feel like I’m just now feeling like I did before that last fuck with regards to the contents. It was very disorienting to me to jack off like I did. It broke the spell that I didn’t have a penis. And that stuck with me. I feel like, just now, I’m getting back there.

There are multiple levels to this permanent enforced denial thing. Feeling like you don’t have a penis anymore is a deeper level than just wanting to always be locked up. It’s beyond thinking about whether or not you want to be allowed to orgasm. It’s hard to describe, but it’s where I was fully prior to the last fuck.

Before then, I was regularly (daily, if I remembered) reminding myself, out loud not just in my head, that I didn’t have a penis. I would literally say, “I don’t have a penis.” Saying it and hearing it reinforced the practical reality of it. And last night, as I laid there and the device would pressurize over and over, I felt that urge to disassociate from the thing causing the pressure. And the words came out all by themselves.

“I don’t have a penis.”

The thing in the cage seemed to fight back at that, if feebley. Like the Whos down in Whoville, it said “I am here!” So I said again, I don’t have a penis. And I said it again. And again.

Permanent enforced denial is something of an ouroboros — a snake eating its own tail. It creates and perpetuates itself. And I, due to how I’m wired, do everything I can to reinforce that cycle. Even though it’s meant letting go of what used to be the most important part of my body.

I am pushing to reestablish that dissociative condition with the contents. To that end, three words came into my mind to describe it: stunted, pathetic, useless. These are words I never would have used in years past. Even for several years after we started practicing denial. And, the irony is, it is the denial itself that makes these words apt descriptors.

Stunted. The definition of that is “inferior in size or quality.” Synonyms are “scrawny” and “scrubby.” Prior to its permanent imprisonment, the contents was a well formed if slightly below average sized specimen. Now, it has conformed to the shape of the interior of those devices it has spent literally years inside of. First the Steelheart, and now more often the Evotion Orion (though currently the BA-31P). When it’s out and hard, it’s not the same shape. Doesn’t feel the same. Doesn’t look normal. I’m pretty sure it has been permanently altered by its experience.

And that’s fine. That’s how it should be. If it never comes out and never gets used — if no one ever sees it hard, if I never fuck with it, if I never hold its hard shaft in my hand — it doesn’t matter what condition its in. Its normal and natural state is to be encased and unusable.

When it first started to change, this bothered me. But now I want it that way. I don’t want to see it as anything other than contents and I want it to always show its status if it’s visible to anyone. I want it to be stunted.

Pathetic. “Inspiring scornful pity. Ridiculous. Silly.” It is a pathetic thing. All it can do is fill a hard shell when the kinds of situations for which it was designed are happening. It looks pitiable. It can’t do anything. It wants to, but it’s denied. Fully and always. And a big part of its patheticness comes from the third word.

Useless. “Having no beneficial use or incapable of functioning usefully.” The last fuck with Belle shows that. I came almost instantly. I can’t give anyone pleasure with it because it can’t be used long enough to provide any. It’s “unserviceable, ineffectual, meaningless.” And again, it is that way because it’s always locked up. And I want it that way because it is always locked up!

To be clear, it was never that impressive. But it wasn’t useless. It wasn’t pathetic. It wasn’t stunted. Denial created those conditions. Denial created in me the desire for those conditions. It is so far removed from being a “cock” — physically and mentally and emotionally — that pretending like I have anything like one seems ridiculous.

The point of this is, it shouldn’t exist separately from its housing. They are one now. So, practically, I just don’t have a penis. I have this compound entity that is more than the sum of its parts. But also less than it was. But also exactly what it should be.