Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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The inconvenient ebbing

Have I mentioned I’m bisexual? Oh, that’s right. We’re calling it biflexipan now. I feel like I must have brought it up at some point…

When I was young, I didn’t really understand my own sexuality or how it worked. I say now I’m a Kinsey three (and I know I am since Buzzfeed proved it for me — where were they in 1989!?), but that’s something that vacillates. I only average out to a three. I couldn’t get a grip on who I was for a long time because I didn’t realize that the oscillation around three was something I didn’t really control. I assumed that I must be gay (or mostly gay) because other guys turned me on and I wanted them to fuck me and only gay men want to be fucked by other men (at least as far as I knew). My pesky insistence on also being turned on by women and really enjoying sex with them (plus my inability to feel a real emotional connection to another guy) had to have been rooted in my inability to let go of the assumption and expectation that I should be straight. Like I didn’t want to disappoint my mom by turning out gay so I never let myself feel it and live it. Also, many of my gay friends told me “bisexual” meant “gay as soon as he figures it out.” Perhaps I was only fooling myself into liking women because I was afraid of the alternative.

I remember a gay friend telling me at about this time that I was confused. I also remember reacting very negatively to that word (mostly because this same guy told me I couldn’t exist and I really felt that maybe I did), but really, I was confused about how I worked. I didn’t get that how my attraction changed was natural for me and not something I could influence. That it just happened. I also had no understanding at all that emotional sexuality is separate from…sexual sexuality. It wasn’t until I met Belle and the enormity of the emotions I felt for her swamped everything else I felt that I decided to stop worrying about it. I still didn’t understand me and I knew I wasn’t “cured” of my attraction to men, but because I loved her as much as I did, none of it seemed to matter as much. For the first time in my life, I was with someone with whom I felt a deep need to procreate.

FF about twenty years.

So now I’m in this part of my life where on Wednesday I have my face buried in snatch and on Thursday I’m sucking dick. On the one hand, how fucking awesome is that!? But on the other, it’s a bit jarring. I am not the perfect Kinsey three I average out to. There’s a certain fluidity to it, but there’s zero fluidity in the logistics of how it plays out. I see Drew when I see him and those dates are set weeks or months in advance. Whether or not I am especially interested in his…er, services, there they are.

Up to this point, it hasn’t really been a problem (and even now, to use the word “problem” suggests there is one and there really isn’t). Some visits, I’m really into the idea of him being here and others perhaps less so, but this time I was way over at like a Kinsey one-and-a-half. However the tidal forces of my sexuality work, they were ebbing relative to the idea of mansex. But, you know, even one and a half twigs is enough to kindle a campfire with, so things weren’t awkward or weird. He knew something was up. I dropped vague hints. Still, a fine time was had by all.

I suspected this mismatch of opportunity and desire was going to happen when, in the days leading up to his arrival, I found myself rolling my eyes at things he would say to me that otherwise would have been funny or whatever. This wall, or whatever it is, has always been there and when it’s up I can never get over. Whatever guy I was with or who wanted to be with me would say or do something and I’d be like, Oh god, what a fucking guy thing to say/do, and get immediately turned off. Often enough, the “guy thing” works for me, but when it doesn’t, it does not. This kind of experience used to really throw me for a loop. Cause me to spin into a kind of perpetual re-evaluation of who I was and what I wanted out of life. Now I’m just kind of, Feh. I’ll get over it.

Of course, this is in no way a reflection on Drew. Luckily, I like him as well as have sex with him so even in the middle of this little episode, things are good between us. There have been guys in my past with whom I really only wanted sex and, when this thing came along, I’d run away from them faster than Jerry from Tom. My affection for him is genuine so this isn’t a crisis. Just a little thing.

Just about nine hundred words into this post and I realize I have no way out of it. Seems a pretty fair metaphor. This is just who I am and there’s no way out of that, either.

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Fuck it, part two

Drew sent me a message telling me how he had informed a friend he was having lunch with about the guy he fooled around with on the side. Wanted me to know she thought I was hot and he was lucky. He also said he never thought he’d be as casual telling people this thing about himself.

I texted back, “Once you accept that it feels natural and is natural, it’s easy.”

“Agree with you. And there’s zero shame,” he texted to me.

And I replied, “They create shame, not you. They make it then they stick it on you.”

Even though I wrote it, as I hit send, I was like, Huh. That’s right. It was one of those moments where your subconscious drills through and injects something directly into your brain and you just say it. I was saying it to Drew, but it also felt like I was saying it to myself.

We don’t create our own shame. It’s made from the perceptions and assumptions of others and then we’re painted with it by them. Once I realized that, I also realized it has no power if I don’t buy into their perceptions and assumptions of how the world works. Their truths are not mine.

So, to reiterate, fuck ’em I say. They should be as lucky as me.

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Fuck it

This Dan Savage thing has been quite the adventure. And, funny thing is, it’s not really a thing. It’s just the prospect of a thing. Of maybe someday getting a call because some topic comes up Dan thinks I’d be helpful with.

Belle has been consistently supportive of the idea. Even after I reiterated to her that Dan has a huge listenership and I know for a fact people will recognize my voice, both people we know and don’t, and that some of these people will be work friends and could even be family. And, of course, that our kid might be listening. But she doesn’t seem to care. Either that or she thinks I’m totally blowing it out of proportion. But I think it’s the former mostly and I think that’s cool and it makes me very happy to see her confidence.

So I’ve really been thinking through the root of my issue with being on the show. The big one is the kid. I’ve decided to do what Dan recently advised someone who called in do, but with the reverse situation (she was going to defend her thesis which involved personal sexual details and her parents wanted to come to the defense). Basically, if it ever came to be, I’d preemptively warn the boy away from the show by telling him exactly what was going to happen. Not specifically (like, details) but that I’d be on it and talking about things he’d never be able to unhear. That if he wanted to maintain the firewall of parent/offspring non-disclosure of sexual details, he should just delete that one and move on. Then it would be up to him. I reject the argument that me being on the show would create some kind of stigma he’d carry through his life. Totally.

Once I got past that, I realized all the remaining angst was fear of embarrassment. And that kind of pissed me off. I hate secrets and hate hiding things. I far prefer living and talking and acting with freedom and unnecessary wariness. Of course, the right of others not to know is also very important to me, but as I said yesterday, talking about my life in a venue like Dan’s show is not the same as abruptly volunteering unnecessary and irrelevant personal details or even like having sex in a car or other public place (which, yeah, I’ve done). Getting over the hump of putting something personal like that out there is not inconsequential to me, but it’s surmountable.

Bottom line, I am not ashamed of who I am and how I live. And if anyone has a problem with it, fuck them.

In reality, the people listening to Dan who I know and would recognize me are probably not unlike me in that they’re generally sex-positive. Sure, there’s the prurient juiciness of getting a surreptitious look into someone’s sex life with whom you’re familiar, but I doubt anyone I really care about will judge me negatively or change how they deal with me. Maybe it’ll even spark a really interesting conversation. And for those who would think less of me…like I said, Fuck them.

So, that’s that. I DMed Dan back and told him I’d be happy to participate if he thought I could add some value.

A reader commented on my last post and posed the following questions I thought were worth answering:

  • Do you want to hang with Dan and be on a podcast?
    Fuck yes. I know he has his detractors, but I really like what I hear and read and think it’d be awesome to make his acquaintance. Not gonna lie. Sort of a fanboy.
  • Do you want to spread the word about male chastity?
    Sure. It’s a big part of why I blog. I think chastity and/or orgasm denial are practices that could help a lot of people in their relationships. They’re not just kinks. They’re useful disciplines that can be applied to help couples. I firmly believe that. I also think kinkiness in general, chastity and denial in particular, and even the subject of male submission carry too many cultural stigmas and need to be shown as not all that weird or unusual. If I’m called upon to stand up for men and couples like me and Belle, then I’ll do my best.
  • Do you want to become more known?
    Well, in as much as it helps with the previous thing, sure. But I’m not looking for fame and riches. Recognition for good work is always welcome, but if becoming better known leads more couples to successfully incorporate chastity or denial in their lives, then that’s great.
  • Do you want to become a relationship and sexuality counselor, a la Savage?
    Do we need more of those? (Also, he’s not a counselor, just and advice columnist.) I’m already doing a very specialized version of that here, to a certain extent. But ultimately, I have a day job and ample hobbies with which to fill my time.
  • What’s the need that’s causing an itch?
    Why do I blog? Why do I share my experience? Why do I take the time to answer questions (usually the same questions, over and over) about chastity I get here and via email and on Fet Life and on Twitter? I dunno. Because I do.

So, anyway. That’s where that is.

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Conundrum

Read my blog long enough and you’ll know that I’m a big fan of Dan Savage. Not just in a sqeeing fanboy way, but because I think his column and podcast make the world a better place for humans who have sex (read: all of them, excepting perhaps asexuals). I have a great deal of respect for him.

Last night, he sent me a DM on Twitter asking if I’d be on his show if a related question ever came in. I assume he was talking about male chastity. My initial and visceral reaction was fuck yes! But…

First and foremost, you may recall I gave my son a subscription to the Savage Lovecast when he turned 16. I have no idea if he actually listens to it, but he may. Imagine hearing your dad talk about his sex life in public unexpectedly when you were a teenager. Ew.

Second, there are a ton of people I know who listen to Dan’s show and by going on it I’d be “outing” Belle and I and what we do in the bedroom (and what I do by myself and with Drew and that Drew exists, etc.). That doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the first thing, but Belle’s been very cautious in the past with regard to protecting our mild-mannered identities.

Oddly, she was all for me going on the show (if the opportunity ever came up). Enthusiastic, even. I reminded her about the kid and her attitude was something like he’d find out eventually anyway. That was a surprise. One, no, he may not. And two, I mean, ew.

This presented a real “money where your mouth is” kind of moment for me. If not for the kid, I’d absolutely do the show. Even though it’d mean friends and probably other family members learning all about what Belle and I do and what I do and what I have in my pants. I do believe in the right of other people not to know those things, but I don’t think doing something like the Lovecast is like wearing a t-shirt that says “ASK ME ABOUT MALE CHASTITY!” I won’t lie and say the prospect of being outed like that makes me a nervous, but it’s who I am and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it at all. As with other kinds of outings, I think living on the other side of it would actually be better and/or more fun.

I’ve told Dan that I think being on his show would be a blast but I worry about the kid. That’s where it is. I don’t see a way past that, so I don’t know what will ever come from the offer. However, I am pleased as punch that Dan put it out there and more than a little honored. Dan nearly always has really smart, really knowledgeable people on and to think he’d give me the chance to be one of them is really great.

Funnily enough, I’ve often wondered what I’d ever call-in or write to Dan about. What sexual conundrum he could help me solve. And here’s one he helped create.

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Addiction affliction

My post on the wonderful world of porn elicited this comment from a reader:

Yes, porn is nice and dandy, except … well, sometimes (and probably depending on the user) it isn’t. In fact, porn might be indeed comparable to drugs, at least in the way it might fuck up (no pun intended) your brain due to long-term use and thus your “sexual abilities” … I went there, unfortunately, so I kinda know what I’m speaking of. It took me quite some time and lots of effort to righten the issue, so be careful, boys and girls: Just as with drugs, alcohol, food and most other things, also in porn the dose the poison makes. Interestingly enough, I eventually managed to “cure” myself by turning to male chastity, thus becoming able to end my porn-masturbation habit. You never know what those cages can be good for.

http://yourbrainonporn.com/about-this-site for further information on the topic, if anyone’s interested.

And: Thanks for your writings, thumper. In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have thought of chastity to righten my problem, at least not on my own. Your blog set the wheels in motion, sort of. So, thanks again. 😉

Usual disclaimer here about me not being any kind of trained professional, etc., nor have I spent any time in a Holiday Inn Express recently.

I suppose it’s true people can become addicted to porn. Just like I’m sure some can become addicted to sex. My personal belief is claimed addiction to these things greatly outstrips actual addiction, though.

Based on personal experience and what I’ve gleaned from others, another way to view what often gets labelled as a “porn addiction” scenario could be:

  1. People in long-term relationships get bored with one another after a while (see: Sex At Dawn).
  2. One’s sexuality and/or understanding of it changes over time. (Optional)
  3. Porn is consumed, sometimes in excess.

If you/your partner gets bored in your LTR and/or the sex drops off to near-extinction levels (which it does in a lot of monogamous relationships) the first place one will take one’s neglected libido is pornography. I was there. I was that guy. Sneaking out of bed after Belle fell asleep to jack off in a room illuminated only by a computer screen was standard operating procedure prior to the events that led to our current dynamic. Do that long enough, and you might stop looking for release from your partner altogether. Do it often enough, and in those rare times your partner wants to have sex, you may not be able to provide it to them or be interested yourself. Also, you may discover a previously unexpressed kink/desire through the porn in which your current partner is unprepared/unwilling to participate. This interest misalignment can be compounded by neither of you knowing how to even broach the subject of it.

So, in that scenario, is the porn viewer “addicted?” I’d say no except that we human animals are genetically programmed to be “addicted” to the chemical hit of sexual release. We are all addicts in that regard. I tend to think we lean back on the addict label because it might lessen our responsibility for our actions. Alcoholics are sick, after all (and they are, I’m not saying alcoholism isn’t a real thing). If one’s an addict, perhaps it’s easier to explain the activity and/or deflect some responsibility for it.

Now, I don’t know you, commenter, and I don’t know your situation. Perhaps you really are/were addicted. But is seems to me impossible that all those who claim this addition can actually have it.

You say chastity was your pornography cure. I think that’s odd since my denial has led me to consume porn in far greater amounts than before when I could orgasm. Even though I’m locked up and unable to get off, it’s a much bigger distraction for me now than it ever was, even when I was young. So, are you cured of pornography or cured of the negative consequences of using it to get your rocks off outside your relationship? I’m the latter. I don’t come by myself anymore and that makes me a much better partner to Belle. Much more focused on her and the sex we have (even when it’s all about her). But I don’t look to the language of addiction to help me make sense of that. And it’s done nothing to lessen my interest in looking at and reading porn.

In any event, it’s great that chastity has worked for you and your relationship. If this site was part of that success, then even better.

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She never even considered it

The penis was very annoying Sunday morning. It usually only wakes me up (when it wakes me up) sometimes between 3:30 AM and 4:30 AM pushing and squeezing and straining against the Steelheart. Sunday, though, it did it four times starting at only 12:30 AM. Then again a few hours later then again at 3:30 then again at 4:30. Or maybe I should stay still at those times since I don’t think it stopped trying to be hard the entire time.

Things were not helped when Belle woke up. Saturday morning she had left bed before I woke up so there was no naked play time, but Sunday she was looking for my services. She made me close the door but did not retrieve the key as I thought she would. I was left locked up the whole time, though she did stroke my balls and perineum and then hit my nuts a few times just to mix things up. The intensity of the attempted erection was perhaps even more painful than the nocturnal ones as I got to work sucking her tits and fingering her snatch. She came hard and all I did was grind my steel package into her thigh.

In the glowy part afterward, she commented on how I was looking at a good long lock up since she’s going to be at a spa weekend with her sister and mother next weekend. She’ll leave Friday morning and not get back until Sunday afternoon. She apparently has no intention of  letting me out at any point before she leaves or the weekend following her return so that’s three solid weeks of steel time.

Sounds bad, but in thinking about it, that’s not so far removed from normal. With the exception of doctor’s visits, I was locked up pretty much the entire time since we go back from vacation at the beginning of April. She lets me out on the weekends if she wants me to fuck her, but the best I can hope for then is being out from Saturday morning to Sunday night. The last time I got to be inside her, I was only out about three hours.

In any event, I suggested she could have let me out Sunday morning for some pussy time but all she did was laugh a little and say, “You know what’s funny? I never even considered it,” before not doing anything at all regarding penis freedom.

I don’t know at this point which of us wants my chastity more. She really likes knowing what I’m not doing with the penis when she’s not around (if you were to ask her, that’s the first thing she’d say regarding what she likes about my chastity). I’m certainly not allowed to have an orgasm without her, but she equally doesn’t want me to have any pleasure from the penis at all without her (preferably, the only pleasure I get from it will be when it’s inside her). This has the effect of focusing me rather specifically on her and her pussy which is, of course, the ultimate intention of leaving me locked up in the first place. When she doesn’t let me out and I feel how hot and wet I make her, a gaping chasm of desire for her opens up in my chest. Looking back on how we were when we married, I’m sure it would never occur to either of us at the time that eventually we’d arrive at a relationship dynamic founded on her leveraging control over me through the denial of my sexual pleasure, let alone that it would be so successful.

I wanted in so bad on Sunday morning that I climbed up on top of her and pressed the Steelheart against what I knew was a soft, wet, and inviting opening.

“Like you’re going to feel anything,” she purred.

“I don’t. I don’t feel a thing,” I whimpered into her neck.

“Exactly.”

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The wide world of porn

Yesterday, I tweeted:

My first exposure to porn was a brief flash of printed penis when I was young. Had to be quite young as my recollection is it happened when we lived in the first house I can remember so maybe about five years old or so. I was at a friend’s who lived with his single mom and I remember a Playgirl magazine (at least I assume that’s what it was) open to its centerfold on a chair. That was the first time I saw another guy’s dick and I remember it totally blowing me away. It wasn’t hard (since that would be vulgar), but it was big. You know, compared to a five-year-old’s, they’re all big. This entire event lasted seconds but has stuck with me my whole life.

How I started to look at porn in a serious way is almost too cliche to admit: My dad’s Playboys when I was ten or eleven or so. He stashed them in what he may have thought was a good hiding place in the bathroom, but it wasn’t. I poured over these magazines, eventually even reading them. I wasn’t just interested in seeing the woman, I wanted to get a peek into this secret world of grown-up naked stuff. The things they would never discuss with or around a kid. The first time I saw the term “cock ring” was in a Playboy and they were not fans of them (they said it was a gay thing — the Playboy editors were fairly conventionally prudish, considering). I was also unsure of the dirty Alice in Wonderland comic where Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum stood side by side with their hands in each other’s pants and the mushroom, instead of making Alice taller or shorter, made her tits so big they burst out of her pretty blue and white dress.

Soon after, I recall looking at those and other magazines with my friend Larry (who was from Florida and profoundly racist) along with some other dude from next door and me saying something about how all these naked women were fine, but seeing a guy every once in a while would be good, too. They both thought that was pretty funny and laughed at me. Like, why in the hell would you want to see a dude, dude? That was the first time I realized that maybe what I liked (re: naked people) was not what the other boys liked. Or, at least what they’d admit to liking since Larry was yet another in a long line of purportedly straight boys who was happy to have naked play time with me.

In general, I think porn is a good and natural thing. Sure, it can cause issues (like unrealistic expectations of what real sex is like and body image issues for all genders, etc.), but wanting to look at porn and enjoy it is, I think, a basic human desire. I think it has a lot to do with our fundamental inclination towards sexual promiscuity (see: Sex At Dawn). We get off seeing others fuck because we’re wired to. Anyway, I think the modern version of my dad’s Playboys is way, way better.

The thing I really appreciate about Tumblr over the hidden stash of girly mags thing is that the act of using someone else’s porn at such an early stage fixes in your mind to what’s “normal.” You have no exposure to anything else so you don’t even know there’s a spectrum of erotic imagery and words from which to partake. And then you might innocently say something like, “Gosh, it’d be nice to see a naked guy every once in a while,” to your pals and get laughed at. On Tumblr, you can find the entire breadth and depth of human sexual expression laid out before you. And that’s a social benefit.

I believe that exposure to people who are different than those your immediate life experience typically includes leads to an understanding of them and their motivations and that leads to tolerance. I’m a big fan of tolerance, as a general rule. My main Tumblr is a pretty good reflection of my interests in that it’s filled with images of men and woman and men with men and women with men and women with women. A bisexual’s paradise. Over the time I’ve been curating it, 3,403 people have chosen to follow it on Tumblr (and another couple of hundred visit its URL every day according to Google Analytics).

Typically, what happens is someone stumbles upon my stash and likes or reblogs a whole bunch of stuff all at once, along the way following me. I can see through this reblogging/liking  and visiting their own Tumblrs what kind of stuff they’re interested in and nine times out of ten, they go for one gender or the other exclusively. But they also often follow me which means they’re going to be exposed to their non-preferred gender frequently as the images I choose to include get posted. So, when they’re on the Tumblr and getting all hot and bothered and playing with their fiddly bits (or clawing at the containers covering their fiddly bits), they’re exposed to all manner of erotic stuff. Stuff inside their comfort zone, stuff outside their comfort zone, stuff they never even thought about before. And not just from me. Tumblr is littered with this stuff. I wonder how many kids today identify as flexible or bi or pan or whatever word they choose (let’s all try and get “biflexipan” in our conversation today) because they saw things on Tumblr that got them off they wouldn’t have otherwise seen had they been paging through the stuck-together pages of Dad’s magazines?

I also wonder how Tumblr is affecting women’s sexual empowerment. Boys finding their dad’s stash is pretty common (or at least it was when the stash was physical rather than virtual), but I’ve never heard it said the same was true for women. At what time was porn for women even a thing? For how many women was their first exposure to the stuff through their boyfriends or husbands? Now, they can sample the entirely of human sexual interests in their own time and follow their own bliss. They can form an idea of their sexuality prior to going out and trying to practice it in way I just don’t think was possible before. I think this is a big fucking deal.

I know my son’s looking at porn because he’s a) 16, b) a human male, and c) has internet access. I’m actually pretty happy for him that he’s coming of age in this environment and not the one I grew up in. Eventually, my daughter will start to be interested in sex as well (come on, Dad, she already is). Perhaps the easy access to porn, which bothers so many, might end up being something good for her, too.

Based on the things I’m told and hear from my peers who have kids, my thoughts on this are pretty far out there. We like to pretend our children will never be as we were. That we can keep them from seeing that sex and sexuality is a thing in the world until they get married. But I remember being young. I remember the lengths I went to to explore sex and I also remember all the things my friends were doing right along with me (and sometimes to me). Humans are sexual animals. Even the young ones. I hope being able to see all of it like they can on Tumblr will help them find themselves faster than people of my generation or older.

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But what about Belle?

Reader Mario commented:

I’m new here, so excuse me if this question has been previously addressed. Since your wife allows you to have sex on the side with another person and you’re doing that, obviously you could hardly object if she did the same (though I’m not assuming you would, in fact, object). If that has already happened, or if you anticipate it could happen, how do you feel about it? And I don’t mean as a fantasy scenario, but as a real situation.

I’ve written about this from both real life and a fantasy perspective, but I don’t know that I’ve really given it much time since our marriage has opened up.

First off, there’s no way I can have sex on the side but then pretend like for her to do so would be a problem. Of course, if it’s OK for me, it’s OK for her. This is speaking as Belle’s husband and not as a sub. I am quite confident in my position in her heart and am not worried she’d find someone she liked better than me. She might find someone she liked as much or better in certain regards, but I’m the love of her life and we both know it (as she is mine, of course).

With me, there’s stuff I want to do that she just can’t provide because of her gender. She could get pretty close using helpful objects and I’d be really cool with that, but she doesn’t want to (that’s more or less how we ended up with the current arrangement). On the face of it, it doesn’t seem like she’s missing out since she’s essentially into guys and I’m a guy. But, I’m not a normal guy and she’s not always able to have the kind of sex she likes with me. Plus, I’m all subby and shit and maybe she wants someone a bit more assertive or even dominating. I can pretend and play at that, but I’m sure there’s a style of sex she might want from time to time that I’m not so great at providing. I’m totally OK with that, perhaps because of my perspective as someone who wants things none of his sex partners can 100% provide. (Protip: Even if you’re not bi, no sex partner will ever give you 100% of what you want.)

Thing is, my Belle’s not just into sex. She wants there to be a more complete package. At least, that’s what she says. When she was younger, there was one guy with whom she had a relationship she pretty much controlled and they fucked just to fuck (at least, that’s my recollection of it), but she now professes a need for emotion to be involved as well. That also makes perfect sense to me as I’ve almost always been that way myself. I’ve had a lot of sex partners over the years, but very few that I had no emotional connection to at all (maybe not love, but friendship). So I wouldn’t be alarmed at the prospect she’d become emotionally connected to this mythical side person. I’d expect it.

I’m not saying I wouldn’t be jealous. I know I would be, but I don’t think a little competition is bad at all. Again, it’s about confidence. The thought of having to vie for her attention to a certain extent, but assured that I’d always ultimately be her primary partner, is thoroughly exciting to me. Sure, yes, there’s a subby thing going on there. There are aspects of their relationship that could work really well against my kinks, but this wouldn’t ultimately be about me. It would be about her. I think it’s important to understand I get that and would never try and direct her somewhere to satisfy my desires through her actions.

There was a time when I would have said there was zero chance something like this would ever happen. I still don’t think there’s much a chance, but it’s more than zero. I love her enough that I’d do whatever I could to help her achieve this if it’s what she wants. Ultimately, I want her to be as happy as possible and to get as much enjoyment as one can from life.

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Homecoming

Belle’s home from her two week overseas adventure so all’s right in the world again. It’s been hard keeping my hands to myself and I’m sure I’m annoying her with the attention, but I’m just so happy to have her back in the house.

She landed Friday afternoon and was in the typical jet-lagged haze for the rest of the day. I was able to keep her up until 9:00 PM (totally innocent — we were watching Friends) but then she crashed and was sound asleep seconds after she settled in. At about 4:00 AM, the penis in its tube woke me up. I realized she was laying there staring at the ceiling so I made my move. Turned out pretty well. She gave me the key and I got her off with a fully hard penis waiting impatiently between us. Then, when it was time for me to go for a ride, she told me she wanted to feel me come inside her. A little part of me rebelled at the notion, but I didn’t say anything and dutifully ejacualted as requried. It was not a great orgasm as orgasms go and I’m OK with that. But it was copious and that’s pretty much what she wanted. She told me she needed to feel me “mark” her on her return. That the orgasm had nothing to do with me, really. Sort of an unfortunate byproduct of what she needed to have happen. Regardless, she wanted me locked right back up. I was only out about three hours.

I was out and about all day and not in the office until late in the afternoon. I stopped in only because I was expecting a package from Mr. S to be waiting for me. Indeed, there it was. My business partner called me out for only coming in to pick up a package and wanted to know what was in it. I said it was something for home but he wouldn’t have any of that.

“It’s clearly something you don’t want to tell me about.”

“Clearly.”

“Now I know it has to be something illicit.”

“You’ll never know, will you?”

“You mean you have secrets you don’t share with me?”

I wanted to say, “As a matter of fact, I do. Not only does my wife lock my cock in a steel cage just about all the time and I go weeks and months without coming, I like to stick things in my butt and, oh, I have a boyfriend I get to fuck around with on the side. Did I mention the bondage thing? Or the masochistic tendencies? How’s that for secrets? Want any more?” But all I said was, “You have no idea.”

In the envelope was the Oxballs Cock Lock. I’ll be posting my full impression later, but I was anxious to get it home in time for the weekend. I’ve been wearing it since.

Yesterday’s orgasm has really done nothing to my overall horniness level. I was ready and raring again this morning for something, though Belle told me that there would be no more coming for me any time soon and I wasn’t getting out of whatever device I happened to be in, either. Regardless, I wanted to feel her come, but I wasn’t pushy about it. Luckily, she was amenable to the idea.

Before we got down to it, though, she told me how she and our trainer had been flirting with one another via text while she was gone. I’m convinced this is SOP for male trainers and their female clients. Belle knows what this does to me and, even though I asked for details, she wasn’t forthcoming. I told her I’m pretty sure that someday he’ll send her a cock shot. Yes, he’s that kind of guy. I’m sure with a tiny bit of encouragement from her, it’s entirely with the realm of possibility.

FullSizeRender 18This is not a new thing with him. He once sent her a picture of himself shirtless. Yeah, I know. Fucking hot, right? Based on my own personal experience, I know a guy who will send that picture is also a guy who will send others and of a more personal nature.

Anyway, I immediately wanted to fuck her. She wanted to be marked yesterday, but today, it was me craving the marking. But nope. Wasn’t going to happen.

Before we started, she got her new little purple vibe out of her drawer. She had taken it on the trip with her and, she reports, used it multiple times to get off. I, of course, got off zero times while she was gone. Yes, of course, she knew that. And now I know that one of the times she got off was while she was on the plane. I told her back when I doing that sort of thing, I’d jack off on planes, too. She said that sounded hard to do in one’s seat which is where she was when she did it with her vibrator. In her seat. GAH.

Yes, it was in business class which meant a lot more privacy than back where the they keep the goats, chickens, and regular people, and the thrum of the engines probably helped cover the thrum of the little vibe, but still. Jesus, I wanted her.

The best I got was to be the one pressing it against her clit when she came. And that’s pretty great, too, of course. She told me I might get out tomorrow for some fucking, but I’m certainly not coming.

After her orgasm, we laid in bed and chatted and snuggled. She looked across the room where the t-shirt I got for Drew was and she reminded me I forgot to give it to him. I mentioned to her the recent comment on his blog about how he was “taking me down a path she can’t follow” and the seemingly persistent impression of some people that she’s been coerced into this arrangement that allows me to have my fun with Drew. Like she’s a wilting ingenue in the sidelights.

In fact, giving me permission to play outside our marriage was her idea. She proactively gave me that option based on rules and guidelines she established. The notion among some readers that she’s a victim in all this or that I’m somehow taking advantage of her is preposterous. I’m honestly perplexed by this. I told her these types of people are worried about how Drew is going to ruin our marriage. She laughed and said something along the lines of, “Yeah, look how terrible it is.” I told her how there was concern that Drew was turning me gay. She laughed and laughed. “He’s doing a bad job of it,” was her thought.

In fact, Belle is and always has been the one who holds all the cards in my extracurricular activities. I operate under her rules and within what she’s comfortable with. She lets me do with him a) things she is not interested in doing with me, and b) things she cannot do with me but that she knows I want. She’s as much in control of that relationship as she is ours.

I suppose there will always be those who worry I’m going to leave Belle for Drew or some other man. That, contrary to everything I’ve written here on the topic, I’m not the bisexual heteromantic guy who thinks boobies are awesome and loves to munch on pussy. Luckily, the only person whose thoughts on that matter really count is not one of those people. Belle is confident in her position over my heart. She knows me. Knows what I want. What I need. And I am so happy and feel so lucky that she handles me as well as she does in whatever bed I find myself.

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Dancing around the paradox

I’m told the commenter I reference in this post is probably a troll. Doesn’t change the thesis of my post, but if so, he should rot in hell for being a lying douche.

A reader calling themselves maxnsue left a comment on an older post discussing the concept of permanent orgasm denial. In part, they wrote…

I am in permanent orgasm denial at my wife’s request. [That’s all you have to know as the rest is probably bullshit.]

There’s a lot to unpack in that comment and I’ve only included three-fifths of it here, but the critical element I want to focus on is the fact that the reader’s wife [assuming there is one] was the one who made the decision to permanently take his orgasm off the table.

Right now, it’s only been something like three weeks since I last came. For some, that may sound like a long time, but it isn’t for us. Now that the kidney stone unpleasantness is behind me, my ability to feel and enjoy denial is back as it hasn’t been in months. And I mean back. It is not any kind of hyperbole for me to say that I feel at my best when I’m denied. When external downer forces like the kidney stone thing aren’t present, this, right here, is the way I want to be forever. Like I said the other day, sure, I crave orgasmic release, but I do not want to come.

There’s a kind of Zen-like dance men like me need to perform regarding orgasm. I don’t want them. I want to crave them, but that’s different. I want the need to come to claw at me in the moment I’m in her and on the edge. I want to feel it push at my higher brain as if my life depended on squirting inside her, but that’s it. I would be honestly disappointed if, when she gets home later this week, she let me come. Now that I’m feeling it again, I want to keep feeling it. I never want to not feel it. This is what I hope to be forever.

But not having orgasms is only one part of the denial Oreo (not the creamy center, obviously…maybe an Oreo is the wrong metaphor). The other half is knowing I don’t control my own orgasm. I could beg and cajole Belle to leave me like this forever, but it’s sweetest when it’s her will at work and not mine. If I were to make too much of a production about being permanently denied it would take something off the experience. Whatever happens, it has to be her choice. It took me years to really get that, but I get it now.

So yeah, maxnsue’s situation is very appealing to me. I get where he’s coming from and really appreciate the allure of it. But that kind of dynamic only works when it happens organically as theirs has. It’s perhaps the fundamental paradox of D/s. Being too prescriptive to one’s dominant partner to the point of them doing exactly what the sub wants makes what the sub gets less satisfying. The best bet for everyone concerned is to establish rubbery, bouncy boundaries and then let the top push the sub to them (but not necessarily over them).

Belle gets home tomorrow. I don’t know if she has plans or has spent any time thinking about my state, but I hope she leaves me as I am. I do not want to come. But, if she says I have to, I will. Nowhere is it written that a sub will always want what their dominant lets/requires they have.