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.

Let it be

I was just having an email exchange with someone who has been struggling recently with the level of frustration and horniness he’s dealing with as a result of having been self-locked for a few months.

I, of course, understand those difficulties. While I’m not continuously and distractingly horny like in the old days, I still have periods of intense feelings. Sometimes they last for days but other times they come on in a great crashing wave from seemingly nowhere before receding into the background again.

My advice for guys who are like me and find themselves in places like that is to do what they can to focus not on the what and how but on the why. Being horny and locked up is what and how but the why is because we need to be that way. We need to have our penises taken away and feel the tool of that denial in their place. We need to experience the frustration of inaccessibility and the build up of unsatisfied sexual release. It’s how we’re meant to be. I can’t tell you why. That’s above my pay grade. But it just is.

We can’t stop the horniness from building and, really, we don’t want to. Once we feel it and live with it we know it’s supposed to be there and if it weren’t — if we did what needed to be done to make it go away — we’d mourn its absence. We’d be less happy than we were before. And all we need to do is to feel a hard penis in our hands or an unlocked one in our pants to know that’s the case. It feels wrong. It feels like cheating. Especially in the seconds after orgasm.

The horniness we live with, even when it’s distracting, is not the problem. It’s the point. It’s our natural condition. We can’t fight it. We can’t obsess over it. We need to accept it into ourselves and let it be present. To feel it as an affirmation rather than a distraction. Because when it’s gone, its absence will leave a sucking void inside.

Do not endure. Accept.

Something to show

When we marry or commit our lives to one another, we can wear a ring on our finger to show that. But when we submit to another, there are few socially acceptable ways to demonstrate it publicly. Which is interesting since submission often has a physical component to it, whether it be a collar or a chastity device or what have you. But those components typically don’t leave the private realm. Regardless, I know I have often wanted to have some kind of way to show my status that could pass through Muggle life without creating too much of a ruffle.

Of course, there’s little way I can publicly communicate my chastity, though I feel about it much like someone feels about marriage. The device has a potent emotional weight for me. And sure, sometimes someone might see it through my clothes and I don’t go to extreme lengths to hide it, but that’s not like wearing a wedding ring. I got a triskal tattoo on my wrist which is kind of an inside nod to those who recognize what it means but I think of that as communicating what I am, not my status. The best way I’ve been able to make that statement in a way that feels authentic to me is a stainless steel locking cuff.

More steel!

I got the first one about seven years ago from a site called House of Collars. It locks with a little headless screw that requires a hex key to get on and off and is hinged and cost $67 shipped. I so appreciate its rough and naked utilitarianism. I think it looks almost like jewelry but really, if you look hard enough, not since it’s got hinges and no visible means of closure. It’s heavy and, after all these years, had a nicely beaten up patina. It’s only drawback, really, is that the little screw has become loose and can work its way out after a few days (which is nothing some Loctite from the hardware store couldn’t fix). Its other issue is the hinges. They can tear at my skin and leave it open and raw. On the one hand, that kind of thing can be kind of hot, but on the other more practical hand, it’s also a pain. I wore it for over a week recently when we were away for the 4th and it left me with a nice little wound.

That got me thinking about a more civilized lockable cuff someone pointed me to in the post I wrote about the first one seven years ago. It’s from Träume aus Edelstahl in Germany (of course) and cost $185 shipped. It’s the first cuff’s spiritual opposite. It doesn’t have a sharp or uncivilized edge on it and is machined with exquisite skill. It locks with a hidden, internal screw mechanism and a special little tool with an oddly-shaped head. It came with just one special little tool with an oddly-shaped head, by the way. So best not to lose it. An extra one is $30.

They’re about the same thickness and weight. The older cuff is slightly taller than the new one, but they don’t feel that different on the wrist except for the missing sharp bits. The new cuff gleams while the older one is dulled by wear. While that dull patina kind of works for the tougher, more serious and less caring demeanor of it, I can’t imagine I’ll want the new cuff to end up that way. I’ll probably want to keep it polished and beautiful.

I thought I’d like the new one hands-down over the old, but in reality I can’t tell. Sure, I like not having a wound on my wrist, but I do appreciate the different vibe of the older cuff. It doesn’t fuck around or play hide and seek with its purpose. It looks like an implement of bondage. The new cuff is more demure. Deceptive. It wants to be be able to pass as something more than it is, and it does that beautifully. It’s very comfortable, very sleek, and very locked.

The difference between a wedding ring and one of these cuffs is that the wedding ring can come off. It’s a thing that represents a willing and equal partnership. But a thing that locks onto your body doesn’t. There is an inherent unequalness that resonates in the soul of a sub. Being able to put that condition on display is very satisfying, even if to the untrained Muggle eye it’s just another shiny bauble.

Wandering the vacant rooms

I was out of chastity for thirty-nine days. By far and quite easily the longest time I’ve gone without that restriction since Belle first locked me up over nine years ago. I came ten times during that period, each by my own hand. That’s twice as many orgasms in just over a month than I had all year in 2017.

Whilst I was away from home (Americans need to start saying “whilst” more, don’t you think? And maybe “betwixt,” too.), Belle sent me a text saying I needed to go back in the minute I got home. Hearing her express a preference and give me the direction was a step in the right direction for me and us. We still have things to work on, but that’s a start.

I wanted out of chastity because I was sad and feeling like an afterthought. I felt like our relationship had been given a spot at the back of the bus. And that left me feeling empty and lonely. But once I was out, I felt…more empty. More alone. But I also lost the sense of who I was.

I’ve been denied normal orgasmic release for coming up on ten years. The penis has been locked away, off and on, for the same amount of time (more on than off lately, recent issues notwithstanding). I think I’ve always told myself that I could go back to “normal” if I wasn’t locked up and was coming on a regular basis. Not letting the denial energy build up. Just squeezing one out whenever I had the barest urge. I told myself that, but had I really been listening, I would have known that wasn’t the case. That when I went back to “normal” I was just as miserable as I was before. Because I’m not normal. I’m not supposed to come whenever I want. I’m not supposed to be able to reach in my pants at any given moment and feel the penis, squishy or otherwise.

Whatever I was before chastity and denial and submission and bottoming is gone. Jacking off in the shower was like wandering my boyhood home after the last family had moved out. Vacant rooms, bare walls. Cold. “Normal” me — which was never really me, just the facade I put up for forty-some years to satisfy cultural expectations — is dead and irretrievable. I never want to live like that again. I can’t.

I had already decided to stop jacking off before I left on my trip. I needed to restart my pilot light and feel those denied urges again. Not that I would have been able to resist forever using nothing but will power. I was even toying with the idea of putting myself back in lock-up, but felt the only way I would in reality was if Belle told me to. And she did.

What’s been absolutely confirmed to me by this experience is how little I think of my own orgasm. Three to five seconds of bliss in exchange for all the energy and dynamism and emotion that comes from not experiencing it? To never feel the drop after coming. To maintain myself in a stable, denied, horny and headspacey state of being. It’s so much better for me. It’s so perfectly clear that it’s exactly who I am supposed to be and how I’m supposed to be.

IMG_0307So I was going on about ten days without orgasm when I was in the woods and got Belle’s text. I was already feeling a bit horny, but seeing her wishes spelled out and knowing I was going to go back in kicked it up a notch. That led to a night of less than two hours sleep as my imagination kept playing bespoke dirty movies inside my head. The penis was hard most of the time but I was sharing a little one-room cabin with another guy (and a mouse). I realized at some point in the night my underwear had a large patch of precum soaked through.

The next day, I spent time trying to nap in my hammock. Just me and my tented underwear. Again, the imagination and the penis conspired. Everything was firing now and I felt much more in my element. Horny and desirous. Only lacking the friendly confines.

I will admit to losing my will in my hammock. Inside the bug netting and under the rain tarp, it was the only place I could get some privacy and I did edge myself for some time. I didn’t come, but I did leak quite a bit into my hand and, having nowhere else to put it, I had to eat it. The fact that I could was the, eh…”proof in the pudding” as it were that I didn’t orgasm. The drive home was long but I didn’t whip it out on the highway. I did rub it quite a bit though my pants.

Literally within ten minutes of being home, I was putting the Steelheart back. And it all just clicked into place. It was a bit odd feeling the heft and the bulk of the tube again, but I got used to it quickly. It is, after all, more me than what it contains.

Of course, Belle left the next morning. She’s gone until Thursday. But the whole week after that we’re up at the northern compound enjoying Independence Day. We have some stuff to figure out, but the corner has been turned. Sanity is returning.

Sitrep

A month ago today, I took off the chastity device I was wearing. I haven’t put one back on since. I haven’t felt like it and Belle hasn’t asked me to.

It’s been incredibly hard for some time now between Belle and I. We went weeks and weeks without seeing one another. If she wasn’t gone, I was. And when we do happen to be home at the same time, there have been distractions. And she’s been consumed by her work.

We haven’t had sex since April. I haven’t initiated and neither has she.

Someone asked me if during this difficult time I didn’t find “comfort” in the chastity. No. I didn’t. Because even though I’m the only one who wears it, it’s a team sport. At least the way we do it. And it just became too hard. Too sad. Like sitting by yourself on a seesaw. So I told Belle I wanted to go on a break. From chastity and denial. Just like I’m a normal guy.

Being out and doing whatever I want with the penis has left me feeling…different. Unmoored. Like the center has gone. The bottom has fallen out of a part of my identity. It’s kinda like no longer wearing your wedding ring anymore. But the lack of its presence has become the center for something else. It’s bundled up a bunch of anxiety about how we’re not taking care of ourselves or each other or our relationship. We’re just…drifting. And not talking. And not doing anything about anything.

And it’s not going to get any better any time soon. I’m going to be in the woods for the next week. When I get back, she’s leaving for a week. Just like it’s been all year. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I’m unhappy.

April metrics

IMG_2426A full third of the year is done and it’s yet another “weird” month where Belle and I have been apart far too often. May will be more of the same and it’s really starting to take a toll on me, but that’s for another post. This is just about numbers.

I was out of a device for just over an hour and a half which is the lowest amount since Locktober. That’s two-tenths of one percent of freedom, twice for Belle but there was also a day where I was out for cleaning and maintenance that was a long enough period (nine minutes) that I felt it needed to be counted. The Steelheart once again was the preferred deterrent, though I did dally with a few others towards the end of the month (Looker 02 and Micro). My own travel had me in the Holy Trainer v3 (I keep going back and forth between the v2 and the v3).

Belle let me fuck her twice and both times I leaked into her. No orgasms for me.

Belle only had six orgasms this month which is the lowest number this year and the fewest since June of last year. She gave herself two of them, I fingered her for the rest.

IMG_2429In the first 120 days of the year, I was not locked into a device for a skosh over eight hours. That’s just nearly three-tenths of one percent. Conversely, 99.72% of 2018 I’ve been locked. I have an appointment with my doctor later this week so the YTD unlock number will go up quite a bit, as a percentage, but I’m going to do my best to minimize the impact. Last time I saw him, I took the device off in the parking lot and put it back on in the car when I was done. I have been known to visit the doctor while locked, but only when I’m there for a specific reason unrelated to anything happening between my legs. This is more a general visit so I can’t be sure what he’ll want to fondle, fiddle with, or poke. I’m at that age where everything is game.

Belle gets home from Europe where she’s been since last week and will be going to the east coast tomorrow. Later in the month, after I’m back in LA, she goes to Asia. That all profoundly sucks. Maybe June will be whatever normal was…