Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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When absence becomes a verb

Had to live through another sleep-deprived night yesterday that was maybe 70% caused by hormonal denial build-up and 30% sick kid up in the middle of the night. Seems like these all-nighters don’t come as often as they used to, but the resolution of my recent kidney stone thing has allowed my libedo to come rushing back like someone turning the tap on Niagara Falls. I tried to write a post yesterday, but my foggy dementia from lack of sleep made it not so great.

The thing I was trying to get out was something you’ll either get because your Rorschach patterns of kink and proclivity resembles mine sufficiently or you won’t. As I said, I’m really horny, but I have no desire to play with the penis. Well, I mean, if I was told I could, I’d do it in a millisecond, but the overlapping factors of submission and obedience and faith and trust all soaking in a hot bath of hormones cause me to not think of it as a pleasure object. Not something that is right for me to focus on or have access to or have any rights over. I had to remove the Steelheart the other day because of the kidney thing and felt a great craving to get it back on as soon as I could. I had legitimate access to a free stick of meat filled with all kinds of wonderful pleasure receptors and honestly wanted nothing to do with it. Because the pleasure received by returning to the condition in which I was placed and expected to be (and how I was expected to act) overwhelmed the other kind of more immediate and direct pleasure.

Same thing happened yesterday. I had to get out for the doctor visit and found myself actually resentful at the disruption. I have gone to the doctor locked up before, but not when it involves the thing being locked, so I do understand why it’s necessary and all that, but it pissed me off more than I was expecting. Once the visit was over, even before I was out of the building, I felt the need to be back in the Steelheart the same way I need that first shot of caffeine in the morning. A hungering edge to be contained again. Feeling the cold steel wrapped again around the shaft of the penis brought a palpable sense of relief and comfort to me.

And it goes beyond that. Belle has said I look odd to her when I’m not in the Steelheart and the pink meat is flopping around naturally. That, as I’ve said, she honestly prefers me to be locked up (both from how it makes me look and act). And I like that. I’m more than OK with that. I want that. Men are conditioned by culture and probably even by evolution to be driven by this idea that they are somehow measured as men by their penis and how it measures and what they do with it. But in our relationship, she’d rather I not use it on her. She’s grown to favor the kind of sex we have that leaves the penis in it’s trap. She’d rather it stay where it is most of the time and remain absent from the dynamic.

But, of course, it is part of the dynamic. It can’t not be. But its contribution now is its absence. What it’s going through by not being allowed out and the void left behind when you’re having terrific and rewarding sexual relations with a man without depending on his cock. In spite of it. In fact, in neither of my sexual relationships is its absence considered a problem. Drew, commenting on the photo I posted last time of the free penis, said something to the effect that it’s not even how he thinks of me. That he wouldn’t know how to relate to me if I had a free penis with him. He also prefers the steel and honestly has no interest in getting to what’s inside.

And I do not miss my freedom. I don’t miss being able to play with it whenever I want and I don’t miss not being able to stick in people or that they can’t touch it most of the time. After just a short period of denial and chastity, it becomes who I am. Not a thing we do. Or a thing on me. When it’s working, it is me. Even when it wakes me up at 3:00 AM. I rarely if ever think anymore, “Man, I wish this thing was off me.” I almost always think, “Man, I wish this thing would stop trying to break out.” The craving for the thing locked away and the sensation that comes from it never goes away, but it transforms. That energy transmutes into something positive.

Anyway. There’s a little mid-week trip down the physiological rabbit hole that is my sexuality. I could go on, but it’d just get tiresome.

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Fuck you and your fucking binary scale of human sexuality

Yesterday, HuffPo’s “Gay Voices” published an article titled “Larry Kramer On His New Book, The American People, Which Identifies George Washington, Ben Franklin And More As Gay.” WOW, I thought. Ben Fucking Franklin!? The septuagenarian notorious in France for his  dalliances with the ladies while serving as American ambassador? A homo!? Let alone old George. Poor Martha. After all this time, we find out she was just his beard.

In The American People, Kramer describes George Washington as a man who had sex with men — a “big queen,” he said in an interview — and writes the same of Alexander Hamilton, who “was in love with George,” Ben Franklin, Andrew Jackson, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan, and “the most powerful gay man” in American history, J. Edgar Hoover.

Oooooh. I see. Not gay. Just “men who had sex with men.” Excuse me while I go bang my fucking head against this fucking brick wall.

I’m not going to argue the historical elements of the text because I’m not qualified. For the sake of the argument, I’ll concede that all these guys had sex with others of their gender. But for fuck’s sake, it’s two-thousand fucking fifteen. Can we stop reducing all same-sex sexual activity to “gay!?” Ben Franklin was not fucking gay. He loved the ladies. That wasn’t for show. Maybe he loved the boys, too, but he wasn’t “gay” as defined as “homosexual” as defined as “an enduring pattern of emotional, romantic, and/or sexual attractions primarily or exclusively to people of the same sex.”

Jesus Christ.

I get that the whole “bisexual invisibility” thing is heavily driven by the fact that bisexuals melt into both the gay and heteronormative social structures absent a concerted effort to make their distinction known. But this kind of shit doesn’t help. Bisexuality is a known thing in the world, but nowhere in the piece does the writer even pretend like there is anything other than gay or straight. And HuffPo’s not the only one. The Guardian also published a piece on the book with only one reference to the word “bisexual” and only in passing.

This kind of shit perpetuates the myth than human sexuality is binary. That we are defined as people by the acts we sometimes do. Occasionally, I pick something up with my left hand but that doesn’t make me left-handed. Maybe George Washington once sucked a dick, but that doesn’t make him gay. It doesn’t even make him fucking bisexual unless he really, really liked it. Maybe Lincoln “enjoyed the company” of the other men back in his circuit courts days, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also passionate about Mary (before she turned into a psycho, anyway).

Why? Why does this still happen? We don’t live in the Seventies anymore. The world is full of great big beautiful gradations of experience and identity. Why can’t these articles even hint at it, let alone embrace it?

I’d argue that by perpetuating the binary myth the author damages his own premise. We need to publicize that it’s perfectly normal and incredibly common for humans (even old historical ones) to have sexual contact with others of their gender at some point in their lives. Once that becomes common knowledge, a lot of the stigma around same-sex sex would evaporate.

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Stoned

In what is hopefully the final entry in my grand kidney stone epic, today was the day the little fucker finally showed itself. Please, if you tire of hearing about it or just aren’t that into men’s urinary issues, feel free to read something else (though I do provide a picture of the penis after the jump if you’re into that kind of men’s urinary issue).

As I said last time, I’ve felt the thing moving along from being on the backside of my prostate to actually in my prostate to just the other side over the course of the past six or so weeks. Then I stopped feeling anything. It occurred to me last night, in fact, that I hadn’t felt anything odd at all in my nether regions all day and perhaps the entire adventure was over. But no. There was one more nasty little thing to deal with.

This morning, I was peeing (like you do) and, since I’m in a chastity device and at home, I was sitting down. I felt something move inside me. Like, it was stuck and then jumped forward. I expected to look down and see it in the bowl, but there was nothing there. Odd.

I came home from work to wait on some workmen (who will be here between noon and 5:00, of course) and went to have another pee. This time, I felt something akin to a sharp pain slide down from about the middle of the penis to the end of it. Then it got stuck right at the end and jabbed and poked and felt like tiny piranha gnashing away. A tiny urethral piranha (it could happen).

I went and grabbed the emergency key (in what might be the closest thing to an emergency that ever led me to do so) and removed all the steel. As soon as I slipped the PA ring out, a dark little object presented itself nestled right in cleft at the end of the penis. I touched it and the devil rock popped out. And, of course, the next thing I did was tweet its picture to the world.

https://twitter.com/thumperMN/status/587689136888373248

Here’s an alternate view. THE FUCKING THING HAS RAZORS BUILT INTO IT.

My previously scheduled doctor’s appointment is tomorrow. I will be presenting my new little razory friend to him at that time for dissection and analysis. I wonder if he’ll want to do anything else to me like an ultrasound to suss out any of its buddies hiding up inside me.

Whatever. He can do what he likes. I’m just so fucking happy the little piece of shit is finally out of me. That’s six weeks of hell I never want to put up with again.

Since all the steel was off and out anyway, I took the opportunity to clean up what turned out to be an overly exuberant manscaping endeavor I started the day before. No matter how pliable the penis is, when it’s locked up there are some crannies a razor can’t get to. My original intention was to simply trim up the pubes to the length Belle finds acceptable but had the trimmer set wrong and, well, there you have it. Then, last night as I was going to bed, I realized I was less than 24 hours from going to the doctor to discuss an issue that, last time I saw a different doctor about, led to him making me drop my pants so he could poke and prod and flop the penis around in inspection. Only this time, I’d be potentially doing it sans hair. Which, I suppose, isn’t anything my regular doctor hasn’t seen before and it’s certainly something I have no issue showing, you know, the entire fucking planet, but somehow still leaves me feeling a bit sheepish. Like, a shorn sheep perhaps.

Anyway, I snapped another (I think) far sexier picture (because I’m a peverted exhibitionist, after all) before locking the entire package back up. You can find that obviously very NSFW picture after the jump. Or, if you linked directly to this post from somewhere, it’s staring you in the face right now…

Continue reading “Stoned”

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This too shall pass

A couple of weeks ago (weeks, I tell you), I mentioned a health issue I was having…

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder.

And then…

[C]ould it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

It didn’t get better. Not after the course of antibiotics. Not at all. In fact, it got worse. On vacation, it got so bad I couldn’t sleep. Almost painful in the intensity of the sensation radiating from my prostate. I genuinely started to worried. I made another doctor’s appointment when I got home (but, because doctors, it’s not until next week).

I still had no idea what was causing it but I thought I could feel the texture of the sensations changing over time. I clung to the theory of the stone moving through though it was taking weeks to do so and I couldn’t find any references of that kind of thing online. Then, toward the beginning of the week, it started to change again. The feeling changed as well as its location. Now, it felt a lot like something inside my urethra (having some experience with that, I know from where I speak) and it felt like whatever it was was actually inside the penis at its base, though very deep down. In short, it felt like it was on this side of the prostate.

Then, yesterday, it got a lot better. It started with me shaking the tube out into some tissue (the normal post-pee behavior) and seeing two little specks of something dark on the the normally perfectly white material. I’ve never seen anything like that before. These specs were itty-bitty. Shortly after that, the sensation of having something in there started to recede. Last night, I felt nearly normal. Today, I’d say the feeling has diminished more than 80%. Like it’s still tender in there and maybe the obstruction is much smaller. As if it eroded over time.

What pisses me off about this is how, when I saw the urgent care doctor, I mentioned my previous kidney stone problem and how I never felt it pass. I mentioned it to both the doctor and the admitting nurse. But, as soon as the doc found out I was bisexual with multiple partners, he immediately assumed STD. I told him that was not possible, but he wouldn’t let it go. He ordered me tested for STDs (though the lab screwed up and didn’t do the test) and, now I think, prescribed the antibiotics not for a UTI but because I’m a dirty little tramp. He totally ignored the kidney stone angle which is what it fucking was. So I suffered for weeks more for no reason. Not that I have any idea how’d they’d treat an obstructing stone, but I assume there is a treatment.

I don’t know if he was demonstrating some kind of prejudice against me because of my sexuality and sexual history or if he was just trying to get past me and onto the next patient as quickly as possible. I suspect a little of both. In any event, I’m relieved to finally be getting better rather than worse. While experiencing this, my libido has been practically nil. I didn’t want the Steelheart and I wasn’t much interested in Belle. Compounding this was another of those “clinical” orgasms like last time which, of course, did nothing to make me feel better.

I’m unsure if I’ll keep my appointment next week. At the rate this is improving, I’d expect to be feeling right as rain this weekend. Just in time for Belle to leave the country for two weeks.

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She knows it

Hey there. Still vacationing. Still on the island.

But yesterday, there was a moment that illuminates an aspect of how fortunate I am in my relationship with Belle Fille. We were having dinner, just the two of us, at a favorite little island dive. Drew asked me to pick up a t-shirt for him from the place (he’s been there before, too) and there it was, sitting on the table between my wife and I. The shirt I picked up for the guy I fuck around with on the side. We sat and talked and everything was quite normal, boyfriend shirt and all.

Our waitress reminded me of Rachel Green from Friends. She was young, blond, had a slightly too big nose (though not as big as Rachel’s pre-rhinoplasty). Looked like she might have been rebelling against a rich father by schlepping burgers and beer on a tropical island. Like Rachel, waitress was hot as fuck. Unlike at least season one Rachel, waitress was, as Belle said, “a tight little package.”*

“Really?” I said, “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes you did. You always notice.”

She’s right. Of course I noticed. No human being could not notice this woman. Her hotness was accentuated by the imperfect nose. It made her more real. More attainable and therefore more desirable. Her clothing comprised entirely of thin fabric wrapped around her hips and a torn up skin-tight tank top with the bar’s log on it secured by a knot behind her neck. Not slutty (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Just casual and intensely alluring. My head tracked her movements often, both before and after Belle’s comment. Like when my dog watches Belle make bacon.

Some guys are with women who would be annoyed by the fact their partners would be attracted to someone so obviously attractive. That they’d notice it walking around in front of them. Not me. Mine is better than that. She’s supremely confident in the place she has in my heart. Hot chicks are hot chicks. Boyfriends are boyfriends. Belle is the love of my life. And she knows it.

* Rachel became a tight little package, too, but not until like the fourth season.
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Dented

The other day, I wrote a post that said enforced chastity devices don’t make penises smaller. I stand by that based on my now years of experience along with never having seen any evidence to the contrary (other than a bunch of words). I did say…

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

Due to my recent illness, Belle let me stay out and I noticed this phenomenon yet again. The penis, when hard, was slightly narrower on the “top half” than at the base for a few days before it got back to normal. I was out for about five or six days total after having been locked up more or less for a month straight.

I received some feedback from a reader called Jay that I assume was in reply to my post on how being locked up doesn’t change penis size:

Regarding growers in Chastity advice. If a man has a 7 inch long erect length and is in a 2 inch tube only the 2 inches is prevented from erecting. He will  erect behind the ring. This becomes programmatic because it heightens the risk of penile fracture. true there is no os penis in humans But the membranes that encapsulate the erectile tissues can be ruptured. This is an actual ER visit injury, untreated it leads to permanent erectile dysfunction.

Second issue is girth difference when the shaft is soft it can be forced into a tube that is to small eg 6k but later when engorged Full urethral tamponade occurs. Unable to piss at all. 1″ diameter soft 1 5/8″ diameter hard. This person will need a tube with a 1 3/8″ ID

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard about penile fracture occurring from chastity. Is it possible? I suppose. Has it happened? Not saying it hasn’t. Just saying I’ve never heard about it. I assume what when Jay said, “true there is no os penis in humans,” he meant penile bone and, no, there is no penile bone in humans. So…yeah. Not an issue, thankfully. If we had penile bones, we probably couldn’t wear chastity devices like those we wear.

Anyway, yeah, if you think your penis has fractured, see a medical professional. Consider a finger waved in your general direction.

Regarding “urethral tamponade” (which sounds not unlike an ice cream flavor to me), yep, been there. Sometimes, the device is so tight I can’t even pee, but it’s more often the case that peeing is possible and, as I pee, becomes easier since the erection subsides. The compression of the urethra only lasts as long as the erection does.

All that said, being out and actually jacking the shaft made the one (apparently) permanent change the Steelheart has had on the penis more evident. Evi-dent, I said. Get it?

A little more than half way down the shaft, when it’s hard, is an obvious dent. It’s just about exactly where the edge of the tube A-ring hits it when it’s hard (the remainder of the erection being either stuck up inside me or sticking out the back of the device). It can be felt, but not seen, across the top of the shaft, but not underneath. I suppose the only way to know if it’s permanent would be to stay unlocked for an extended period and see if it went away.

Yeah, right.

I told Belle about the dent. She was unmoved. “It’s just a physical manifestation of your commitment and submission to me, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

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The one about being sick and grumpy

The only thing I find worse than blog posts apologizing for not having blogged in a while are blog posts about being sick. I don’t blame anyone for making these (except for the “sorry I’ve been gone so long” kind — unless you were abducted by aliens or something, my advice is just pick it up where you left off). In fact, I know I’ve made a few posts like that myself…and am about to again.

I’ve been ill a few different ways. One perhaps related to my denial and the other due to our inability to nail viruses like the little bastards they are.

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder. I chalked this up to three possible explanations. One, perhaps it had something to do with being with Drew. What, I couldn’t say. It’s not like I’ve never had fun with my butt before and this feeling over such a long period was new. However, the issue did develop within 48 hours of seeing him. Two, maybe I had another UTI. This also seemed unlikely as I had no other symptoms at all and couldn’t figure out how I could have gotten one (unlike last time). Three, could it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

Eventually, as the symptoms entered a second week, I decided to go to the clinic.

I know, this is utterly boring stuff.

At about the same time, I came down with a cold. A nasty, annoying, pain in the ass common cold. I’m still dealing with its lingering effects. I only mention this because it was part of the web of maladies that left me feeling depressed and generally really unsexy and totally antisocial.

Before heading to the clinic, I used an at-home UTI test. I didn’t even know they existed but found one at Target. It reported the presence of leukocytes in my urine (one time very minutely and the second time quite apparently) and said they were indicative of an infection. At the clinic, they found no leukocytes and therefore said I didn’t have an infection but the doctor prescribed antibiotics anyway and I dutifully started taking them.

The symptoms got ever so slightly better. Hardly at all. Plus, my cold turned into a raging sore throat. I would have gone in for a strep test, but since I was already on antibiotics, I didn’t bother. I felt terrible and Belle was out of town. Blah.

Good god, could this be any more tedious?

Now, some of you who’ve played around with denial may have had some symptoms like mine before. Sometimes, when I’m really good and turned on and making all kinds of seminal fluids, the prostate will swell and this “I really have to go” feeling will kick in. Imagine that, but about 50 times worse and going on for weeks. At first, I thought that’s what it was. But it got worse and kept going. So I quickly dropped that theory. Then, in chatting with Drew (in a surly and pitiful way) he brought it back up. I decided to ask Belle to come. Not just once. I really wanted to blow things out.

Of course, I did not want to come. Not even a little. But, on the way back home from picking her up at the airport, I mentioned the idea to Belle who agreed to let me. We got home quite late so there was little fanfare. She turned off the lights and rolled over while I got into bed with a little hand towel.

“That was quick,” she murmured into her pillow.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I suppose now you’re going to turn into an asshole…”

For the record, I have definitely not turned into an asshole. But yeah, I did come quite quickly. And the sensation of pushing what turned out to be copious amounts of juice though my prostate was pinchy and intense. I came again the next day and one more time on Saturday.

I am really anti-orgasm lately. I haven’t been denied nearly long enough to want them and I felt a lot of resentment at being in a spot where I need to. Oddly, though, and perhaps because these are “clinical” orgasms, I haven’t felt a huge amount of sub drop.

In any event, the symptoms have gotten better. A lot better. But they’re not gone. Now, I feel them most intensely in the morning and at night. But not as bad as before. During the day, I only feel like I have to pee when I actually have to pee. So that’s nice.

Later this week, Belle and I and the kids are off on our annual Spring Break pilgrimage to the Virgin Islands. Since the symptoms seem to be getting better (even after she did not let me come on Sunday), I won’t be seeking further medical advice before leaving. However, if things are still relatively unchanged upon our return, I’ll be heading back to the doctor. Hopefully it’ll all be good since nobody wants to read (or write) another post like this anytime soon, I’m sure.

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Everything else will follow

The other day, over on the Twitter, a young man (whose account is private, so I won’t say who it is) tweeted the following:

I hate who I am, the things I like… They complicate my life so much and took away what meant most to me. Why can’t I just be ‘normal’…?

This tore me the fuck up. I mean, I don’t know this guy really. We’re both on Twitter, that’s it. But I wanted to sit down and talk to him right then. To give him a shoulder to let it out on.

I have been that kid.

At various times of my life and for different reasons. When I was young (like he is) and regardless of who I was with or crushed on, I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else of the opposite gender. Or when I tried to make a go of it with the one guy and just couldn’t get myself there and knew I was going to hurt him. Or when I simply shut down sexually and emotionally and went years without touching another person in an intimate way. Or when I was with Belle and feeling like a total freak for liking the shit I do. Why can’t I just be normal!? Again and again, I asked myself that.

And I want to tell him, Dude, there is no normal. Normal is a myth. A lie. Normal is what we call the straightjacket of societally approved acts. In my experience, nobody is fucking normal. And life? It’s always complicated. Every second of every day in some way. By definition, that shit is complicated. It’s just we get used to some of the complications. We make room for them and stop feeling them.

From my perspective just this side of the half-century mark, let me also say “normal and uncomplicated” sounds as boring as hell. It’s only the not-normal and totally complicated that make life worth living. Truly.

I don’t know this guy’s situation. I don’t know what he’s even talking about, really. No idea what he lost or how, though I assume it was an S.O. and because he’s got some nifty little kinks. Let me say that again: Nifty little kinks. Those are what make you fucking awesome. Those are what make you you. There is nothing to hate there. Nothing.

I get the pain. I get the frustration. But you cannot change who you are. You can’t stop wanting what you want. And trust me (TRUST ME), someday you will find a person (or more than one) who wants to be the opposite of your desires. Who desires to feed your desires. It will happen.

If we don’t love ourselves, it’s hard for others to love us. If we don’t accept ourselves, it’s hard to be accepted. If we don’t acknowledge our inherent specialness, you can’t expect anyone else to. Acceptance of one’s self and one’s superpowers (which your sexual predilections absolutely are) is necessary for a happy life.

This is my thousandth post on Denying Thumper. One would expect I’d burn it waxing poetic about chastity or denial or being a little subbie rabbit. Maybe, in a way, I am. Because accepting those things about myself has led me here. A marriage with a wonderful woman who loves me for the freak of nature I am and I love her back fiercely. In fact, we love each other so much, I’m able to have a fucking boyfriend on the side (and I mean that literally). In a way, this entire blog and every word I’ve ever written on it is a giant example of what this post is about.

Accept yourself. Love yourself. Be yourself. Everything else will follow.

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Nine nine nine

I’m all hung up on the fact that my next post will be the thousandth on the blog. I’m not sure if that counts the couple of dozen aborted drafts that never saw the light of day or not (or if it really matters since it’s kind of an arbitrary thing to get hung up on anyway). The next one has kept me from doing this one because once this one’s done then the next one is the big one-zero-zero-zero.

Plenty of things I could write about…

Drew was in town this week. Before he got here, Belle essential insisted that I take him to dinner the night he arrived. She even offered to help me groom myself prior to seeing him. I hope this continues to alleviate any lingering concerns among my readers as to Belle’s emotional wellbeing in this age of open marriage. I also hope my discussion of our open marriage and the fact that I had sex with another man again drives off any lingering hateful homophobes from your midsts (I’m not allowed to describe it here, but assume the aforementioned sex was as awful and dirty as you’re imagining if it helps you close your browser window in disgust and never come back). Minimally, even if you don’t like or get what we’re doing (all four of us involved), you should be happy for us that it seems to only make things better for everyone.

Over on his blog, Drew posted about the net positive effects our openness has had for he and Axel.

Now, five or six months later, I can honestly say I had no idea how great the open marriage would actually be for my marriage. The time I have had with Thumper has already made me a better husband because I am paying attention to Axel more, learning more about areas I was lacking or needing more experience in, and just knowing that the immense level of trust we have for each other is there, is working, and is helping us grow as a couple just makes my heart light up inside.

Mrs Fever posted a comment that was, as usual, insightfully relevant. In part, she said…

And as much as I love my boyfriend, and hate to leave him when our time is through, there is nothing like coming home to my husband afterward. Time apart always makes us appreciate each other more, and time with someone else makes me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. Which, as you say, is something that’s difficult to understand unless you’ve been there.

I have nothing much to add to their combined statements. I feel the same way. Giving me the freedom and the trust to be with Drew once a month or so only makes me love her more and, indeed, coming home from my time with him to be with her intensifies that sentiment.

In other news, we’re at the half-way point of my six week pre-vacation lock-down. I am, to put it as succinctly as possible, horny as all fuck. Funny, but my time with Drew doesn’t seem to make it any worse (or, at least not for long). I went into it this time really charged up and, after he left, I’m pretty much the same. I suppose that’s good for him. I find that being in this state makes me much more focused as to what I want out of our handful of monthly hours. Perhaps I was a bit too forward this time, but I didn’t hear any complaining.

In any event, the other morning Belle and I were talking about it and I’m fully and completely on the other side of the lock-up hump in that I am kind of desperately wanting her to maintain as much tight control over the penis as possible. I requested that she make me lock up even on vacation outside those time I have to be out (TSA, wetsuits, etc.). I feel as though being given too much freedom would make me mental. Distracted from the access and even worried about her commitment to my control (which is nuts, but these are all things that have happened in the past and the fucking hormones are powerful shit). She said she was already leaning in that direction anyway and hearing that made me swoon with gratitude.

That’s the fucked up shit of this chastity and denial thing. Being locked up and horny drives me crazy with desire and frustration but it’s the desire and frustration that, in turn, powers my deeply submissive need to be totally controlled and being totally controlled while feeling all that submissiveness makes me stupidly happy. The nervous ball of energy in my stomach and electric throb from inside the steel tube is in a very real sense the palpable proof that my wife loves me and cares about me. Awesome, right? It leaves me feeling deeply in her debt and so, so grateful to her for all things.

But now I’m treading on whatever post 1,000 will be about. So I’ll choose now as my time to stop and ponder.