Busted and exposed

Posted from somewhere over the Atlantic...

This morning on Twitter I put a photo of myself in the Holy Trainer Nano I’ll be wearing while in Paris on Spring Break for the next week. I was in the Steelheart before and asked Belle what she wanted: Me locked in something else or nothing at all.

“Of course, you’ll be locked up. Wear the plastic one.” Like, duh.

So that was that. Plastic it would be. I put the Nano on and thought nothing else of it until that picture on Twitter. One of my followers asked if I had any trouble getting through security.

And I was like, ha! I laugh in the face of danger. HA HA! I assured my follower and all the others on Twitter that of course I’d be fine. I’ve travelled all over the world on dozens of flights in chastity and have never had a problem. Not once. Not ever.

HA, I say.

Welp.

We were connecting to Paris through O’Hare and for some reason I’ll chalk up to O’Hare being horrible and all part of my general dislike of Chicago, there was no way for us to get from our terminal to terminal five while staying on the secure side. We had to go out to get a bus and then go back in. And when we made it to the international terminal, there was no Pre-Check. No Clear. None of the comforts of bourgeois air travel to which I have grown accustomed. We had to slum it in regular security. Which meant the backscatter scanner rather than the simpler (and stealthier) metal detector.

I continued to think nothing of it. I’ve been through them before. No problem. So I did the thing. Put my hands over my head and my feet on the yellow marks. And the damn thing busted me.

It started with the little screen on the other side drawing a yellow box over my crotch.

Fucking hell, I thought. The fruit of my hubris.

The nice TSA man started to tell me how it was going to go down. The kind of touching involved. He offered to take me into the little room but I declined. Standing in the busy checkpoint, I hoped he’d skip right over it. The Nano has a low profile. Not as low as the Nub, but low. Maybe he’d miss it. Surely he would. He patted my ass (“I am now patting your buttocks.”) then turned me around. He started to pat my front. And stopped.

He felt it.

He looked at me quizzically. To the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, that. Plastic.”

“Plastic?”

“Yep.”

“…”

“Can you remove it?”

“Not here.”

“Not here?”

“Nope.”

“Can you…move it to the side?” He made a motion like he wanted me to rotate the odd lump to my hip.

“Nope.”

“…”

“…Medical device?”

“It is not.”

He cocked his eyebrow.

“OK…” Then he told me he and another guy would have to take me in the little room and see what it was. I knew it was going to happen from the second he gave me his first quizzical look.

“That’s fine.” I said. I felt pretty calm. I was about to show two total strangers the locked penis in my pants and I was really OK with it. Whatever. All in a day’s work. Life of the locked sub.

Belle and my daughter, by the way, had gone through the line. Belle gave me a look back. She knew what was up. My daughter didn’t know what the hold up was. In the end, I said it was just something weird that showed up on the scanner. No big deal. More or less the truth.

Anyway, eventually the other guy showed up. He was HUGE. At least 6’ 6”. Maybe more. They led me to the room, closed the door. They started to say what they needed in a way that presumed this was going to be an awkward moment for us all but I was way ahead of them. I unzipped and whipped it out. I remember noticing how the head of the penis was clearly visible through the gray plastic. I gave them a good look at it, but my balls stayed in my pants.

The big guy gave a laugh. Not in a mean way. The smaller (though honestly, still not small) guy asked, “What is that?”

“Chastity device.”

The big guy laughed again. I smirked at them.

“Chastity device? Can you get it off?”

“Nope.”

The big guy said, “I’m going to have to get this cleared.” And left the room smiling and shaking his head. Just me and the first guy left alone. I had put everything back in my pants, but they were still unzipped.

“Never seen anything like that before,” he told me.

“No?” I was honestly surprised. “I’d’ve thought you would have.”

“Nope.” he laughed a bit, “Not me.”

I think he wanted to ask me more about it, but didn’t. He may have felt awkward but didn’t show it. I didn’t feel akward at all.

The supervisor came in then. Older guy. Older than me. Also big. Were all these guys like on a football team or something? I whipped it out again. He had clearly seen one of these before. He wasn’t smiling and didn’t laugh.

“Is that it?” he asked, “No more of it? Nothing in back?”

“Nope, just that.” He must have had some experience with a full belt coming though the checkpoint.

He looked at the locked penis some more.

“How’s it held on?”

“A ring…” I shifted the package a bit to show him the base ring.

“I need to see.”

OK, you asked. I pulled the whole package out for the three of them to inspect. Hooked my thumb over my underwear (black Cocksox thong with blue trim, if you’re wondering) just like in the dirty pictures I post to Twitter. Balls and all. The air felt cool on my sack.

“All right, he’s cleared,” and the boss man left the room. The really big guy went with him.

“Sorry about that,” the first said, “We have to check.”

“Not a problem at all,” I said as I packed it all back in my pants and zipped up. “I totally understand.”

Then, half under his breath, “Nope, never seen anything like that before…” and we left the room.

I will admit that the very moment he touched the locked penis in my pants and I knew I’d have to show it to him or someone, there was a flash of heat in my face. Just a touch of panic. But it was fleeting. Then I found it kind of amusing. And then…oddly hot.

I’ve said lots of times here that I hate that how I am has to be a secret. I do want people to know, in a way. Not that I’d wear a shirt with a slogan on it or anything, but…still. And I’m not at all ashamed of what I am. I’m not embarrassed. So many times I’ve caught people checking out the odd bulge in my pants. Even had people make incidental and accidental contact with it. Never felt bad about myself. Never really regretted it.

I do strongly feel everyone has the right to be kept out of my kink and that’s one reason I don’t go out of my way to advertise, but there was no option here. And I truly did not expect to be caught like this. It’s never happened before. But once it became a fait accompli, I decided to enjoy the ride. Luckily, the people who went along with me weren’t dicks about it. I think part of what made it OK for all of us is that I wasn’t being anything but helpful and totally forthcoming. That kept things from getting too weird or tense or for them to become suspicious.

I left the little room, collected my belt and shoes and put them on, and rejoined Belle and the kid. I was feeling a weird kind of adrenaline-charged euphoria. I was amped. It was fun. I liked being forced to expose myself. I admit it. It was a blast.

Will I wear it through again? Probably not. Well, maybe not. I mean…I dunno. Usually I don’t go through those scanners so it’s no worry. But also usually I’m traveling for work with coworkers. So…I expect I won’t. Maybe I won’t. Question mark.

I haven’t had a chance to talk to Belle about it yet. There just wasn’t a moment. But, you know. It was what it was. No going back now. I’ve been exposed.

Initiation

Regarding my 10 Rules For Locked Men post…

There were some comments on Twitter and even one on the post about Rule 5:

You are not to initiate sex other than to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.

It was pointed out that sometimes people do like for their men — even their locked men — to initiate sex. That’s, of course, correct. Regardless of the state of the penis, one’s sex partner won’t always want to be the one to initiate, for a variety of reasons. The point I was making was based on my experience and probably mostly directed to men who are newly locked up.

I recall early on I was fucking horny (stars, asterisks, daggers) all the time. I wanted sex and a lot of it, even if the penis wasn’t coming out. I was all over Belle and left her feeling pressured to have sex. So, for a while and once I pulled my head out, the “never initiate sex” rule was one I put on myself. Now, I do initiate sex. But I only do it thoughtfully and based on an understanding of her rhythms and preferences. I don’t jump on her during the week. I will ask or suggest or offer. But it’s her call. Weekend mornings I know she’s receptive so I feel comfortable being more physically forward then. She can say no and I’ll back off immediately without complaint, but I know that’s less likely. She prefers sex in the morning and weekends are the days she’s most comfortable doing it. I shape my behavior around her preferences.

Like any good sub, I want a list of ALL THE RULES but I also know no two couples are exactly the same and my list was merely an attempt to document how we/I approach being nearly always locked up. The correct approach for anyone who finds value in them is to discuss them with their partner and amend, extend, or delete whatever doesn’t make sense.

The one thing I think is inviolable for submissive men who are locked up (oddly, not all men in chastity are subs or see their conditions as acts of submission) is that to allow one’s penis to be secured by another is to acknowledge a totally new, radical, and fundamentally different relationship to sex. Almost everything men are taught to think about it and how to approach it by culture has to be retrained. Reflexive responses need to be rewired. Behavior needs to be reconditioned. If you read the rules, they all basically point to the same basic set of ideas:

Sex does not belong to you. It’s not for you. It’s not about you.

The penis has been put in the middle of our cultural understanding of sex through thousands of years of conditioning. Mostly led by men. Mostly in cultures where men were trying to cement their central role of being in control. But for a guy in chastity, sex may not include his penis. Not often or maybe not ever. And he has to be OK with that. Has to really believe and feel it. Has to be willing to only have sex that’s in service to his keyholder’s pleasure and satisfaction. That’s what Rule 5 was about. It’s what they’re all about. It’s what chastity, in my opinion, is about.

I didn’t get that at the beginning. Didn’t get it for a while. But I get it now.

Thumper’s top ten rules for locked men

We’re in Mexico for Christmas. Ten days away from cold and snow and sunsets that seem to begin right after lunch in exchange for warmth and walks on the beach and sunsets that happen at reasonable times and look like this:

Now that’s a fucking sunset.

It’s not all sombreros and sunshine, though. I came down here with a nasty cold and it got worse on the way. Kept me from diving one day and is threatening to do it again (you can’t scuba dive if your head is so congested that you can’t equalize the pressure outside your head with the pressure inside your head). I’m feeling better, though now my mother-in-law and daughter have the cold (which seems to have infiltrated the family through Belle).

Anyway, once I was starting to feel better, Belle allowed me to get her off two days in a row. The first day, I stayed in the Steelheart and the second she wanted the penis so I was out. She got carried away and decided to get on top and ride it which lasted about 48 seconds but she paused long enough for me to avoid orgasm (though it was a messy near miss). This morning, I was awake well before she was and the Steelheart was heavy and full along with my balls which felt huge and seemed to hang down far lower than usual between my legs. She started to wake up and I spooned into her, nuzzling the crowded steel tube into her ass.

“Not today,” she told me while wiggling her butt a little.

A complicated cocktail of emotions followed. Sure, I was horny. But I was also content. Because there are rules that dictate our dynamic and specifically sex. And I’ll share them with you now.

These aren’t the same as Belle’s rules for me. I think of these rules as how men locked in chastity should behave, in general. Of course, there’s no One True Way™ and everyone gets to figure this out as they go, but these are the rules I’ve made in my head and applied to my relationship and they work for me (and us, I suppose). If I taught a class on male chastity as a lifestyle, this is how I’d tell the men they should approach their new lives. As a man who’s given up control over the thing that defines his manhood. You give that up, you give up a lot of other things, too.

Thumper’s top 10 rules for the well-behaved and happy locked man

  1. Sex is a service for your keyholder.
  2. You don’t decide when and how or how often sex happens.
  3. You are not entitled to sex.
  4. You are not to have any expectation of sex.
  5. You are not to initiate sex other then to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.
  6. You are not to demonstrate any emotions that indicate dissatisfaction with their decisions regarding sex.
    • It is acceptable to show sexual frustration, within reason, assuming your keyholder is OK with that.
  7. Pleasure you experience while servicing your keyholder is secondary to theirs always.
  8. When your keyholder allows you to service them sexually, it is a gift.
  9. Always do your best, but don’t expect perfection from yourself.
  10. Your keyholder can situationally alter these or any rules based on their needs and desires. In other words, don’t be pedantic.

Most of these go against everything culture tells men they’re entitled to. Accepting and embracing these realities are among the hardest things I’ve ever done. But now they’re so deeply embedded in my core code, I don’t think I’d ever be capable of acting like a “normal” man again.

So, when Belle told me not today, I felt frustration and regret…but also acceptance. And contentment because I know what I am.

Whatever she wants. Always.

Holiday confinement

This Christmas, we’re going on vacation. This is something we did for the first time a few years ago. Everyone (Belle, the kids, her parents, her sister’s family — everyone) went to Hawaii. Which was, of course, super fun since it was friggin’ Hawaii. Big island. Good times. 

This year, we’re going to Mexico for ten days. Specifically, Cabo San Lucas. Just our family of four and Belle’s parents. Even though I grew up in SoCal, I’ve only been to Mexico once before. Long-time readers might remember since I wrote a post about it (so long ago, the penis was still being called a cock lol). That trip was to Puerto Vallarta which reminded me a lot of the Caribbean islands we’ve been to. Cabo is way dryer and deserty. There will be lounging poolside, sun, scuba, Christmas palm trees. You know, the usual. 

It has been not uncommon when we’ve been on vacations for Belle to leave the penis out of its confinement. Presumably, this is because we’re on vacation so maybe she was thinking the penis could be on supervised release, too. A little vacation for the little guy. 

And that’s been on my mind for the past few days now that we’re officially in same month as our trip because the prospect of being out for any period of time kind of makes me angsty (see previous post). So while we were on the couch tonight kissing and waiting for the Flynn sentencing memo to drop (like most romantics), I asked her to leave me in even when we’re away, regardless of activities, unless (of course) she wanted to use the contents. 

Belle assured me that that would indeed be the case. She may have once felt she was being nice by letting me out on trips and vacations, but we’re past that now. Contained and secure is what I am and should be. So, Holy Trainer on the plane and Steelheart once we’re there. 

There is no holiday from confinement.

Butterfly effect

The other day on Twitter I was asked, in response to this piece of random smut I posted, if I preferred open or closed chastity. As in, something like the Looker or Jail Bird as opposed to the Steelheart. I replied…

I thought I had expressed that preference here before, but I can’t assume every person on Twitter has read what’s basically a defunct blog at this point. But yeah, closed. Because then it’s easier to forget that the thing inside is in there and a separate thing.

I remember very early on listening to a podcast that talked about male chastity. Early on for podcasts and early on for Thumper chastity. In it, the hosts said something about not being into chastity for “behavior modification” and I was like, whoa. What? What does that mean? It’s funny that I haven’t thought about that for such a long time.

Thing is, I can’t conceive of chastity as not modifying behavior. And not just the obvious tactical changes it enforces (no masturbating), but the big picture stuff, too. I suppose if you’re the kind of person who uses chastity situationally for an evening or weekend or something, then maybe. But I suspect if that’s you you’re not reading this blog. I, of course, am not in chastity for a night or a weekend. I’m in it days and weeks and months at a time. If you excuse the odd time out for cleaning or swapping devices or because Belle wants to get fucked, I’m locked up all the time. And it’s modified a lot more than just my behavior.

For example, that tweet up there. The Thumper who started this blog might be quite taken aback reading someone say what I did. There was a time that I was a pretty big fan of the penis and the chastity experience was driven by the electric frisson of having it contained and controlled. And I suppose it’s still the power of having it kept and out of hand that’s what flips whatever switch gets flipped in guys like me, but honestly, I’m really kind of over the penis. At least as a separate and distinct thing from the totality of being in chastity.

It’s…hard to explain. I’ve tried to before, in bits and pieces. I feel like this post from June and this one from two years ago and even this one from before that were all about this same thing. I’m not just behaviorally changed. I’ve been totally fucking rewired. I am not the same person. When I look at images of men masturbating or fucking or shooting their loads on the Tumblr, it’s like I’m looking at a different species of animal from myself. That is not me. That is not what I do.

I mean, I do do it when Belle wants and tells me to. But if she stopped telling me to? It might make my life easier, to be honest. Yes, of course, fucking feels good. Coming feels good. I want to fuck her when I’m getting her off, in or out of a device, but there’s this nagging voice in my head that tells me that while I can do those things, I really shouldn’t. If she tells me to, it’s almost like play acting. A kind of role play.

And this makes me wonder about a nature versus nurture thing. Had chastity never entered our lives, would I have become this? I can’t imagine so. But it feels so right to me. It feels like the real me. And it makes me wonder back to those podcast hosts from years ago. What’s wrong with behavior modification if it’s actually more a journey of self-discovery than a transformation into an altered state? As if any man would end up like this if you locked him up long enough.

I don’t believe that. I think the pathways need to be present for the signals to be routed on them. For a man to become what I am today requires the nature to be present in order for it to be nurtured out of him.

Like some kind of weird, kinky butterfly.