Today’s HNT is the first I’ve posted that I didn’t take myself…
Moist mishap
This past holiday week was not unlike having two and a half weekends all mushed together. And, as such, we had a fair bit of sex. Belle wouldn’t let me out of the Steelheart on any of the occasions I was allowed to get her off, though, and even though I’m still kinda getting over the two orgasms she let me have a week ago, that cranked me up pretty good.
I had that “orgasms aren’t that bad, maybe we should let me have more of them” thing going on but that’s since receded. What didn’t is the crazy intense urge to be inside her, especially after being given the chance to play with her pussy as much as I did. Serious teeth-grating kind of intensity. But she wasn’t having any of it.
Sunday morning it was unclear anything would happen since so much already had. Turns out, she was willing to let me have a fuck. And only a fuck. She didn’t even take her top off. It was very transactional. Like she was rolling her eyes and enduring what I wanted as a treat for good behavior. There was a time when that might have bothered me, but I was so horny and needing to get the penis wet, I dove right in anyway.
And it was pretty fucking great, to be honest. She didn’t let me do anything to get her juiced up so it was a tight, dry fit at first and normally I’d be worried about her but, you know, she told me to so I let myself get off on the feeling. I was doing really well and enjoying the lack of impending orgasm that sometimes happens when I know we’re not trying to make her come. I can just fuck and fuck and never get very close and that’s what it was like…until it very suddenly wasn’t.
I don’t know what happened. I think I got so into it and the feeling of it and how wonderful it was and how I wasn’t thinking about coming at all that when I realized it was all of a sudden and quite freakishly right fucking there that I froze. And just in the nick of time, too, because while I spewed forth all the seed that had been frustratingly collected over the past week and through all the sex, etc., I didn’t have any of the other orgasmic symptoms. I didn’t feel like I had come. Except in one particular way: The penis immediately and completely went limp.
“The worst thing in the world for you,” Belle said immediately after, “Something you can’t categorize.”
Funny. But it was kinda true. Such a weird thing. In retrospect, I’ve labelled it a ruined orgasm. The rapid depressurization of the penis tissue was, I think, caused by being freaked out by getting so close to coming and not having been able to feel it approach until the very last moment. But I was still pretty damned horny. Horny enough to drool over the Tumblr and feel more of that molar-grinding kind of frustration later in the day while the free penis meat moved around distractingly inside my pants.
And I’m still out. Belle said she was feeling lazy and left me free until we arrive in NYC tomorrow. Don’t know which she wants me in, but I’d vote Trainer 2.0 only because the plastic will make the various metal detectors tourists sometimes find in New York less annoying. And, since I’m basically on my own for the first several days we’re there as she does work stuff, I don’t know why she’d care. But it’s her choice, not mine. I can work around the steel if that’s what she prefers.
Finally, I want to wrap this by clarifying something that I think a significant number of you (though not a majority) appear to think is the case regarding Belle and me and the openness in our marriage she’s allowed. Namely, some of you are apparently of the opinion she’s being victimized or taken advantage of by me, her sex-crazed maybe-homosexual and apparently insensitive lout of a husband. Or something like that. Trust me, nothing could be further from the truth. I have been very careful to check in with her and get a sense of her well-being through this entire experiment. I continue to do it even now. She doesn’t post here so you have to accept I’m telling the truth and haven’t left her tied and gagged in the closet (which is my thing anyway), but it’s true. She’s perfectly OK with what’s happening as long as it happens within the bounds she’s set up. Really. And having those boundaries is a very normal part of open relationships. Look it up.
Second finally, it’s honestly shocking to me the comments I continue to receive here (let alone those on Drew’s blog) from those who have a problem with men having sex with other men. Or, even more unsettling, men falling in love with and marrying other men (as is the case with Drew and Axel). Please, if you feel that homosexuals should not marry or, if they have already done so, are not really married because they’re gay, get the fuck out of here and never return. I honestly hate you and it pains me to think you would gather any value from my blog. People like you are part of why this world sucks for people like me who are not part of the standard of normal, let alone for the millions of loving gay people who are just trying to have a fucking life. You are the worst.
And with that, I shall bid you adieu. If you’re a cool cat who lives or works in NYC and wants to hang out, eat something, or imbibe a beer or two, let me know. I’m pretty much a lone spirit until Thursday afternoon. I have some stuff I want to do, but my schedule is pretty open. Also, know that as an avowed introvert, placing myself out there like that makes me really freaked out. But I’ll try and be normal anyway. As long as you are. And aren’t planning on trying to kill me or something.
Dawning appreciation
Sex at Dawn didn’t so much show me how others live or reveal to me some mystic, hidden secret about human nature as much as it put form and structure around things I had already figured out about myself and human sexuality. It has left me thinking and feeling things more deeply than any book I’ve read in a long, long time. Maybe ever.
Cheating on Belle was certainly the most colossal screw-up of my adult life. I don’t see Sex at Dawn as a way to retroactively create for myself a pass on that in any way. But man, do I wish I had read it before all that went down (not that I could have since it was published about two years after those events). So much of how we human monkeys are put together I intuited from that and subsequent experience, but it’s all laid out in the book. It all makes so much more sense now.
The affair was about more than sex. It was about connectedness with another human. It was about feeling alive and vital. And in becoming involved with The Other Woman, I felt things I didn’t know one could feel for more than one person at a time. Not the same type of love I feel for Belle. But affection and interest and many similar aspects of how I feel for her. Nothing that detracted from Belle’s place in my heart. If anything, I felt more in love with her. I wonder what it would have been like had I been honest with her and all the feelings of significant guilt and fear hadn’t been clouding the picture.
But that’s in the past and it’s what led to the present and the present is good. I regret the choices I made, but not the consequences.
The most interesting reaction I’ve had to the book is how it’s colored my opinion on marriage. Not being in love with someone and wanting to spend a really long time in their company (up to and including the rest of your life). Not on being committed to them and pairing up and building a life. But absolutely on what I think is a government sanctioned perpetuation of the myth of one-man-one-woman monogamous bliss. I think that’s bullshit.
Monogamy is expected. It’s assumed to be the natural order (just like heterosexuality). But it’s not and everything about us says that. Our physiology and psychology are both hardwired against it and constantly fighting it. This is obviously so. And yet, when we succumb to our innate drive to be promiscuous, we either do so duplicitously and hurt those we love or we do it with their (or one another’s) consent and are judged harshly for it by others. The stock assumption is because relationships that are open to other loves or other sex partners are complicated that they’re wrong and should be avoided. This is the same kind of thinking that makes people avoid anything other than standard, married, boy-girl missionary sex and it’s just as wrongheaded.
All human relationships are complicated, it’s just that we have more experience with some than with others. There is nothing innately bad with being in some kind of affection dynamic with more than a single person. There is nothing intrinsically immoral about having sex with more than the one person you’ve decided is the one you love more than any other. Because we have all been culturally indoctrinated to believe we are a certain way and to reject dynamics and realities that don’t align with that paradigm, we react negatively. We recoil and feel uneasy and fearful. We are afraid of who we are because we don’t know who we are.
And that’s why I think state-sanctioned marriage is bullshit. There are many ways for people to find happiness and love and commitment. It’s no one’s place to judge and it’s not the role of the state to pick winners and losers. Conservatives like to say that gay marriage will lead to the destruction of “traditional values” and I hope to fucking god they’re right. People can be happy and children can be lovingly raised and the world and our society will be better for it once we get out of the way of who we are and how we need to be, both on the scale of us as a species and the scale of us as individual people.
Of course, those who choose monogamy are free to do so. Just as those who choose to have their junk locked up by their spouses are free to do so and those who want to be tied up and beaten are also free to do so. Just as any consenting adult is free to do anything else with another consenting adult (or group of adults) that results in no harm to any other uninvolved person. Is there any better definition of freedom than that?
Reading Sex at Dawn has crystalized a lot of things I was already thinking. It’s given form to feelings. I don’t think I’ll ever think specifically the same way again. And that’s a really good thing. If you haven’t already done so and are sex-positive and open to new experiences and want to better understand what it is to be a sexual, loving human being, read it. Just read it. If you’re not those things…what the hell are you doing here?
Born to fuck
Belle says to me last night sort of out of the blue, “I’m really glad you’re not polyamorous.” She’s making the correct distinction between having multiple loves versus multiple sex partners.
I’m about halfway through Sex at Dawn and it’s rocking my world. Pretty much everything the popular culture wants us to believe about human relationship is wrong. So much guilt and shame and bullshit piled up in an attempt to hold back how humans evolved to be. Not act. TO BE. It’s a remarkable read and I’m sure I’ll say more about it when I’m done.
But the thing that I keep thinking about is the difference between polyamory and promiscuousness. Humans are designed to be promiscuous, but are they designed to be polyamorous? Belle’s right that I love only her. And I do it deeply. But could I love someone else at the same time? I don’t really know. I suspect that if I did it would have a different texture than the love I feel for Belle. I suspect that multiple loves take on unique qualities based on the unique combination of those involved. I know I can’t feel anything like the love Belle gets from me for a man (as we’ve already discussed in length), but another woman?
I doubt it if only because I’d know how it would make Belle feel. Not that it’s going to happen, of course, but the merest whiff of the potential to hurt her would cause me to immolate any other potential affection dynamic. The term “affection dynamic” is interesting to me as I think about love in the context of what Sex at Dawn says about us as primates. The entire concept of one-on-one exclusive and eternal love might just be part of the big lie that I talked about. When Belle says she’s glad I’m not polyamorous I hear fear that if I was I might leave her. As if love is binary. I will never leave her. I will die with her. Period. But that fear based on the idea that one person is always with another single person is pervasive.
She said again it’s why she’d never want someone of her own on the side. She’d be afraid of developing entangling emotions for them. I would be shocked if she didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think she should if she wants to. I don’t fear her leaving me. I know what I am to her. Of course, if such a thing were to happen and I needed to find a way to share her, that wouldn’t necessarily be a straightforward process for either of us, but I do not fear it.
I’m just spitballing here. Not making any suggestions or saying anything will happen. But I am trying to process where cultural conditioning ends and real human behavior begins. If anything, Sex at Dawn makes me angry. Angry at the powers and individuals who are invested in and part of the industrial complex of enforcing the dominant paradigm of human relationship in Western culture. Angry at those who are judgemental and rigid and think my business (or yours) is theirs. Angry that we are so fucking hung up on sexuality that we can’t talk about it. Not the average reader of this blog. I’m sure we’re relatively OK talking about it. But all of them. The ones who have been taught that sex and desire are things to fight against. To resist. To minimize.
We are sexual monkeys. We were born to fuck. Perhaps even to love. But we traded that in for what we have now. And that makes me angry.
Love her two times
Saturday morning was our usual sexy funtime I usually start looking forward to at about 3:26 on Wednesday afternoons. ‘Cept this time, unlike many of the recent occurrences, Belle let me out of the Steelheart beforehand.
It’s like firing a starting pistol at a dog race. As soon as the steel comes off, a nagging buzzing feeling starts whirring someplace right behind the penis. It knows. This feeling is totally different when I’m still locked up. How much of it is in my head and how much is in my crotch I can’t say, but that’s where I feel it.
Regardless, I know what getting unlocked under those circumstances means. It’s not for me that I get out. This is not Thumper time. She wants to be fucked. I, then, assume the role she desires. Sure, I want to fuck her, too, but there’s a particular kind of manly fucking she craves and when I get out on a Saturday for no apparent reason, that’s my job. No doubt I’m going to like it, but I need to keep myself from liking it so much that I can’t perform long enough.
On this particular Saturday morning, I gave her just enough foreplay to get the juices going (they already were, turns out) before mounting her like I own the joint. I think she really liked this based on the aforementioned juices, a compliment attitude, and the moaning. Oh man, the moaning. It’s what gets me every time. She wants to be vocal during sex and I absolutely love hearing her be that way, but it’s raw meat to the subby bunny’s alter ego. Once the moaning and groaning start, that nagging buzzing I talked about flares up into a breeding imperative I struggle to keep in check. Even the baseball distractions didn’t help (mostly because there’s no such thing as baseball right now).
I started to slow down and she said, “Why are you stopping?” as if it wasn’t perfectly clear why I was stopping so soldiered on. “BASEBALL,” is what I was trying to think but the lizard in my head was all, “I FUCKING LOVE THAT MOANING SHIT!” I tried so hard, but couldn’t keep it back. I came while I fucked and kept on fucking even through the intensity of the post-orgamsic nerve olympics. Her pussy went from nicely worked up and wet to ridiculously slippery and messy in about three squirts. I think because of that change in viscosity, she only came a little (which is kind of a female thing, right? Coming just a little?) while I was left panting and gasping and dealing with the fiery penile tissue. She finished herself off with Pink right after. So, I came, but didn’t really enjoy it. A few hours later, I was feeling really horny as if it never happened.
She didn’t have me relock myself after so I was free as a penis-shaped bird when, the next morning, things started to get going again. This time she told me straight up that I was going to get to come and enjoy it. Of course, first I had to get her off so I did.
There was zero angst about having another orgasm whatsoever. It is her choice when I come and she chose to let me. Period. I was able to enjoy it, the fucking that led up to it, all of it.
She told me before that I had to promise to stay in the right frame of mind and be a good bunny and all that so I did. I promised. I even meant it. Though later that day, when she told me it was time to go in, I waffled. And not a little. With whip cream and peach preserves and a side of bacon. She said fine, but Monday morning I had to be in with the key in her hand before she left for work. I pancaked, but she had none of it. So, as soon as the offspring were both off on their daily endeavors, I was handing her the key.
“You know this is what you want,” She said to me. No, I didn’t know that right in the moment, but yes, I do know that in the big picture I want it. Just…you know…not exactly then.
So that’s three orgasms in about six weeks. Far too many, she thinks. Says the next will be a while. “A long time,” is all I can get out of her. No idea what that means since she probably doesn’t either, but I’m thinking that’s it for 2014. As it should be, of course.
A boy and his best friend
There’s a saying about a dog being a boy’s first best friend but, in reality, the first best friend a boy has is his penis. It’s always there for him (and has been from the very start), is always ready to play, and, with a penis, a boy will never be bored for too long.
I suppose, kinda like a dog, when the boy finds a significant other that person can come between the boy and his penis except that the penis, unlike the dog, enjoys the other as much as the boy does so maybe the metaphor breaks down here, but the boy can always depend on the penis to be there for him even when the significant other loses their significance (and/or the dog dies). I can’t say if a woman’s relationship with her pussy is the same, but I don’t think it is. I suspect this is due to cultural indoctrination about what good girls do and don’t and what boys are allowed or even expected to do combined with the universal common knowledge that permeates our society as to how a boy can use his penis for pleasure by himself with no open discussion as to how a girl would do the same with her parts. Plus, I think penises are just simpler. Plus plus, women and their sexual needs are, I assume, fundamentally different in their psychology and mechanics than men’s. But I don’t have a pussy and, even though I know what they like, I won’t pretend to know how they are.
I say all this because I was thinking the other day as I lay next to Belle who had told me I wasn’t going to be unlocked at all and would therefore not feel any pleasure with the penis (regardless of how badly I was craving it) that boys (and the men they turn into) have nothing to prepare them for the kind of delayed and redirected gratification that comes with chastity and denial. We are physically and socially conditioned to expect on-demand gratification either from our partner or, lacking that, ourselves. In the forty-some years of my existence prior to having Belle control the penis, that was my life. If I was horny and she was unresponsive to my needs, I would jack off. QED.
But then chastity came along and I couldn’t do that. Plus, I was a lot hornier than ever before (excepting, perhaps, those years between my 16th and 23rd birthdays). And now, of course, I am specifically not allowed any such indulgence. What I did was take that sense of immediate need and simply make it Belle’s responsibility. I distinctly remember thinking she didn’t take my desires seriously enough considering the great gift of my chastity that I had given her. Double frustration. Not only was I horny as fuck, she didn’t seem to think it was her job to help me channel my frustrations.
I think this is a trap a lot of guys find themselves in.
Chastity and denial are, indeed, great at bringing couples closer together. But that can also do the opposite if the guy takes his perceived birthright of easy sexual gratification and pushes it over onto his partner. That is not the point of chastity. And it didn’t become the force for good that it is for us until I figured that out.
The only way to really quench my sexual thirst is to have an orgasm. But I only want that physically, not mentally or emotionally. She doesn’t want that either, most of the time. So I had to realize that my frustration and the constant need for sexual contact was mine to deal with, not hers. Yes, it often gnaws at me and flutters around in my chest and makes my balls ache and the penis hard and drippy, but that energy is what powers the beneficial aspects of chastity and denial. It is chastity and denial, not a side-effect.
I remember people telling me in comments on the blog early on that I wasn’t seeing the big picture. That I wanted her to control my sex, right? And wasn’t this what that meant? That I wouldn’t get whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it? But I didn’t see it. In short, I was a spoiled boy who missed his best friend. I struggled to adapt. But yes, I did want her to control my sex and living with not always getting what I want is the point. And, strangely, being totally estranged from my first best friend and completely removed from instant (or any) gratification has made me significantly happier than I was before. I can’t explain why, but it’s true. I don’t know how it works, but it does.
So now, when she tells me I’m not getting unlocked or even that we are not going to have sex, instead of feeling angry or resentful or petulant, I feel warm and grateful. Grateful that she has accepted the true meaning of her control without guilt or excessive consideration of what I’m feeling. Yes, she does recognize that what I go though can be hard, but she and I both know it’s for the best. We both know it makes me a better person and partner to her and it’s what we both want. So she appreciates it, but what I crave is not a primary consideration when she decides what she wants to do. And holy shit, does that turn me on.
If you read this blog because you hope one day to have your partner keep you locked up and/or deny you your orgasm, you need to know that doing it the way we do it means more than just a stifled erection. It means truly subjugating your sex to theirs. It means finding a way to capture and use that pent-up sexual desire for productive purposes and not letting it leak all over them in destructive and selfish ways. That is fucking hard. Maybe the hardest thing you’ll ever do for your partner. But, if you can pull it off, maybe the best thing you’ll ever do for them and for yourself.
I mentioned up there the “great gift of my chastity” that I had given Belle. Yes, it is a kind of gift, but I know now that the gift of her control is at least as great. Maybe greater in that it wasn’t something she ever wanted to do with her husband or thought she’d need to deal with. Never forget that. Your chastity is not bigger or more important than what they give you in return as the one controlling you. Submission is not greater than domination. It is not harder than domination. They are equal yet opposite things.
I don’t want anyone to read all this and think chastity means less sex. That’s not what it means. For us, it’s meant more and so much better sex. What it means is fewer orgasms for you, that’s it. The trap is trying to get her to have sex with you every time you would have otherwise gone off to yank one out. That’s unrealistic and unfair. You need to find a way to get off on their being in control and telling you no. You have to get off on being controlled. I know, that sounds obvious, but it’s a lot easier to think than to do. If you can do it and also channel that energy into making them realize how good the extra hassle of being in control of you can be for them, you’ll wake up one day to find them as much or more invested in that control than you are.
You might miss your first best friend, but…you can always get a dog.
In the shadow
I’ve had a stressful week. I know, that’s not a very encouraging start to a post on a blog about kinky sexual practices.
I’m starting to wonder if I don’t have some kind of pathological disorder when it comes to getting stressed out about otherwise totally achievable tasks when they start to pile up. That, and leaving home. This week, I had a bunch of smallish things I had to do that you’d think someone in my position would be able to pull off without breaking a sweat but they were related to going on a business trip to a place I’d never been to meet people I didn’t know. That made me freak out a little inside. Well, maybe more than a little. I was functional, but eaten up with dread and that created a block that led me to put off what I knew I had to do for about two weeks until the last minute. And now I’m on said trip and walking around with a little ball of foreboding in my stomach. I’ll probably be fine once I’m actually in the conversations I’m here to have, but it’s leading up to them that’s bugging me.
The week started out, though, really well. Sunday, Belle and I had zero sex but I was left feeling very satisfied. I even told her I liked the day and she was surprised since I never got unlocked and never got into her pants.
That morning, she started out by telling me I wasn’t getting out. I was to remain as I had been and there would be no free penis time that week at all. That brought forth the forces of gnawing repressed sexual hunger and the warm and cozy sense of total submission to her. They met in my chest like opposing firehoses sprayed into each other’s maws and the resulting conflagration of energy combustion fueled my craving little bunny persona. I simultaneously wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her violently while also bowing down to her will and curling up in the shadow of her domination. That is what being submissive feels like to me and it’s wonderful.
In any event, we started to get down to the business of getting her off but were distracted by the noises of children and their sleep-over guests and she decided we’d stop. Of course, I wanted to keep going. Badly. Really badly. But her decision was enough to throw a blanket over all my cravings and I didn’t put up a fight. Again with the gnashing and thrashing of my subjugated sexual monster overlaid with the obedient fuzzy bunny rolling over on his back. I felt really good about myself that I was nearly as satisfied by my reaction to being left locked and loaded than I would have been by feeling her come against my fingers or tongue.
Later that night, as we went to bed, she said she wanted me naked and next to her so I was expectational but all she wanted to do was feel me there and I didn’t get annoying. Another win. She also said she kinda sees the point of the clear Holy Trainer in that being able to observe the penis all smashed in there and controlled was a turn-on to her. Not so much that she liked it better than the Steelheart, but she got it. She reiterated to me again (because I need to hear it) that, in fact, she prefers me the way I am when denied and locked up over the me who isn’t locked or has come and, while the sex lizard bellowed in anguish, the rabbit purred. If, indeed, rabbits purr. Whatever purr-like thing rabbits do, it was doing.
So she left me feeling exactly like I want to feel. On many levels. And there was no sex. And it was still awesome.
But then the week started. The thing I had put off was on and in the forefront of my mind and the trip was perched down at the end of the week like a vulture and these things were interrelated and bugging me significantly. Then the furnace started acting like a fuckhead. And then it snowed and got really cold.
Fucking life.
In short, I got moody and irritable. But I tried like hell to hide that from Belle. Turns out, a lot of that feeling got rerouted to Drew. I didn’t want to be a dick to him, but trying to raise the enthusiasm necessary to be engaged in that dynamic was very difficult. And it made me even more annoyed. Not specifically with him, but with it all just being one more fucking thing I had to stress over. More things that piled on top of all the others that were freaking me out. I was really kind of a mess.
But it led to us having a conversation today to reset expectations all around. We agree that what we are able to do with each other is frosting on the cake of our primary lives. It’s entirely optional. It has to live in whatever air pockets exist around our “real” lives. And in my case, this week there were none. Plus, for me, this is just about sex. And I don’t say that in any way that should be construed as minimizing it because I think sex is very important. But I just don’t know that I’m wired in a way to be able to handle what we had both tried to establish in the past few weeks. Which is to say, I’m not looking for a polyamorous situation (and I’m not saying he was trying to make this into one) and I can’t do what I thought I could absent that kind of commitment. What I really want and have always wanted was a friendship with a guy who’ll screw me on the side. And that’s about it. And that’s OK with both of us.
So yeah, resetting expectations. He wondered if this would look like some kind of failure, but I rejected that. We aren’t failing at anything. We’re doing something new for both of us that’s also quite complicated. It’s evolving. It’s adjusting to the contours of our primary lives. If we can make that happen and still feel like we’re getting what we want out of it, how can that be failure? Quite the opposite. And there’s still elements of D/s involved because that’s who I am and it’s the kind of sex I need to have (future post topic: kink as a sexual orientation). It’s also who he is and what he wants. So we’re not totally abandoning that aspect at all. Evolution.
I’m still feeling a little freaked out and hate that I’m not home with Belle right now, but I think I’m over the worst. The hardest parts are behind me and I’ll be home in less than 24 hours. Home to my Belle and the warm bed and my place next to her, curled up in the shadow of her dominance. Purring. Or whatever it is rabbits do.
Morning exchange
“Again with the feet.”
“I’m really horny this morning.”
“You’re horny because you looked at porn.”
“No, I looked at porn because I’m horny. I’m horny because you don’t let me come.”
“And that’s for the best, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good boy.”
“Thank you.”
“OK, you can make me come now.”
Lunchtime chat
Addendum to previous post
Forgot to mention one other things Belle said last night. She was reading about the Holy Trainer v2 coming in and deciding whether or not she’d let me wear it (I really need to remember the order of operations on this stuff). Yes, she will, but she said the only way I’d ever see Drew was locked in the Steelheart. The Steelheart is, more than any other, her device. It’s her favorite. The one she’d leave me in all the time if she didn’t indulge me with some variety from time to time. I’ll never see him in the Looker or the Trainer or anything else. Just the Steelheart because it’s the most powerful symbol of who owns what’s inside.
Plus, you know, you can’t see the penis inside it. Drew doesn’t get to see that (in real life — I’ve left enough pictures of it all over the internet). The penis is 100% Belle’s and she will not share it, ever. Also, the Steelheart is the only truly and totally secure device she has. Not that she doesn’t trust me, but it’s not only the most powerful symbol of her control, it’s also the most literally controlling.
And…that’s fucking hot. All the way around. I love that she feel so possessive of it and me and that helps me appreciate what a great gift she’s given me in allowing me to see Drew.
And speaking of him, he feels terrible about he excessively possessive thing I mentioned. He suggested going back and editing that post, but I told him that was a bad idea. It’s already out there and, in my opinion, blogs like these only move forward. I’ve never gone back and substantively edited a post here. All my mistakes and foolishness from the early days are still there and, when I look back, I find plenty to be embarrassed about. Instead, I told him he should write a new post about it and move on.