Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

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Blast from the past

Back in June of 2001, Belle and I spent a few days in London. She was travelling for work to Asia and coming back through London so I met her there and we hung out. It was my first time in Europe.

I wrote up a post afterward for my blog that’s long since gone and recycled into its base electrons (and was mostly just read by my mom). I stumbled upon it today and figured it was kind of entertaining and, having nothing else to talk about really, I thought I’d share it with all of you (or at least those of you halfway interested enough to follow the jump and keep reading). Note there is nothing in it whatsoever about sex or denial or anything remotely smutty — just some observations of my very first trip to Great Britain along with a few mentions of 13-year-old current events — and the names have been changed to protect the perverted.

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The thing about cock rings

Belle took me out of the Looker 02 the night before we left for NYC. The penis had been locked up for…god, I can’t even tell you how long. A month? At least. Maybe more. Maybe I should stop trying to remember since these periods of not being locked up are the rare exception.

Anyway, I’d been locked up for a long time. The L02 was in place for two weeks. The Trainer for about ten days before that. The Steelheart before that (and it’ll be the Steelheart again once I get home, I’d warrant). When the L02 came off, I put on a lovely little aluminum cock ring from Gear Essentials. I have a hard time now not feeling something around the penis and balls.

A couple of things about cock rings. First of all, specific to the one I’m wearing (it’s called Surge, BTW), it went through the TSA’s millimeter wave scanners without a hitch. Not sure if it’d trigger a metal detector, but the scanners didn’t seem to bother with it. Second, cock rings, while seeming to be related to other ball and cock toys like chastity devices, aren’t at all related. They’re as different as can be.

Cock rings glorify cocks. They present them. Accentuate them. Actually help to embellish them. Make them harder and stronger and altogether more impressive. Well-fitting ones can make your hard-on feel incredible. Chastity devices diminish penises. They hide them and bind them and stifle them and force their erections back down. Well-fitting ones can make your hard-on feel trapped and totally useless. They’re complete opposites.

And you’re like, OK. So?

I went from an essentially constant state where the penis was trapped in a device meant to diminish and isolate it to one meant to glorify and enhance it, literally overnight. And I wasn’t allowed to do anything about it. I couldn’t play with it. Couldn’t really admire it. Certainly couldn’t make it come. The penis loved being out and the Surge made it do just that — surge. Just tight enough that I could feel it grip in a delicious and ever so distracting way. Every erection (and there have been many) were like fantastic fireworks shows where nobody was allowed to come and watch. Or even light the fuse. A different sort of torture than chastity. Far more maddening.

Our first morning in the city found us having sex. The cock ring was doing its thing and the penis, normally on the thin side of average, felt much fatter. The heavy curved barbell ring was in the PA and, not long after we were both awake, all of them were in Belle’s pussy. The tightness of the ring made ejaculation harder so that I never leaked in her though I skirted up to the edge of orgasm several times as usual.

Fucking her from above, I wish I could have kept my shit together long enough to take her over the falls, but that wasn’t in the cards. Instead, I reached down to finger her clit while leaving about half the hard-on inside her. It took about 30 seconds to get her off this way. She couldn’t get in there to get my finger off her while she came so I was able to keep the fiery nerves burning until I thought she well and truly felt all the orgasm had to offer. Then, without skipping a beat, I pulled my hand away and pushed the aluminum-enriched shaft all the way back in.

That was awesome.

Last night before bed, I asked Belle if my orgasm warning period had expired.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much over that now.”

She also told me she’s “working on” never letting me come again, but of course I know there are no promises and she’s free to change her mind at any time. Also also, when I said something about jerking off and how much I used to do it and like doing it, she told me flat out that wasn’t going to happen anymore. My solo JO days are behind me.

“Far too selfish,” she said, “Too much focus on you.” Maybe she’d let me do it sometime with her there. But probably not that often. If the penis gets to feel pleasure, it will almost exclusively be inside her.

And don’t you just know the penis surged in the Surge hearing that.

The first morning after being put in the Surge I was grabbing as the hard penis. Not jacking it, so much. That’s not allowed. Just gripping it. Squeezing it. If you’re the kind of perv who goes into for such things, I’ve included a NSFW picture after the jump, throbbing veins and all.

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No promises

Belle told me this morning before she went to work that I’d get to make her come tonight. Plus, I’d get to choose how. All day I thought about that. I thought about my tongue in her snatch and flicking over her clit. All day.

After work, I had to cart the kids all over hell and back and started to feel really tired. Was I going to be too tired to get her off? By about 8:00, I was running on empty but then the last kid was carted home and I changed out of my day clothes and climbed into bed and the prospect of Belle’s wet pussy seemed to be recharging me.

But Belle was tired. She took off her glasses and placed them on the nightstand. She was easing into her “going to sleep” mode and there were still kids awake and I saw the light at the end of my tunnel, which had been rushing towards me minutes ago, start to recede.

Then she turned over and closed her eyes.

“But…”

“I’m tired, Thumper.”

I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. Felt heat on my face. Loss.

Her prerogative, I thought. Embrace it. You’re powerless.

Now I’m tossing and turning and so tired but the stupid fucking penis keeps swelling and filling the Looker’s cage and squeezing its insert and the very sensation of impotent frustration is fueling my horniness. I am not in charge at all and I don’t even get to complain because she gets to arbitrarily withdraw earlier commitments and I have to accept it. There are no promises. I can expect nothing. I deserve nothing. And she carries no guilt. Nor should she.

Denial is more than just absence of orgasms.

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Dishwasher domination

Following this weekend’s activities, I’m left wondering if Belle’s warning of impending orgasm has passed. I know, I could just ask her, but let’s not kid ourselves. By writing these words, I am, in a way, asking her. I don’t want to pressure her, though, and she’s not always happy when I’m asking her about her future plans. This is just passive-aggressive enough, thank you very much.

Absent any other ideas of her intentions, I assume Sunday’s after-nap funfest was exactly what she was looking for (she even texted me Monday morning praising it again) and, since she was able to get it even without having me come, I think of it as an overall success. The best part was, I did want to come in her. A lot. Totally would have had she just said the word. But now, after the fact, I’m glad she didn’t.

Over on the Twitter, poor said something that got me thinking.

I wonder, if Belle wasn’t part of my life and I had no partner, would I still be into denial? I don’t think so. I really like jacking off and, believe it or not, I really like coming. I might still like the idea of chastity because I’ve always had a nascent kink involving penis bondage and constriction, but I doubt I’d deny myself for more than an extended edging session.

And that train of thought makes me realize that, for me, denial is all about my relationship. I want to be denied because of how it makes me feel about Belle. Not because I hate orgasms. I don’t. But I do love my wife and I know denial makes me a better mate. But it’s not alchemy. That is, it doesn’t create commitment out of thin air or transmute resentment into adoration. It nurtures a seed. It’s more like an amplifier that way.

For example. This morning, I was getting ready for the gym and noticed as I was putting my breakfast dishes in the sink that the dishwasher was full of clean dishes. I had time, so I started to unload it. This sounds pretty mundane, but there was a time when I wouldn’t have thought to do it. It just wouldn’t have occurred to me. Now, it does. Not only that, but as I was putting the plates in the cupboard, I thought how pleased Belle would be to find the dishes put up and the sink clean and I actually started to pop a boner. I mean, seriously. I chubbed out (as best the L02 would let it) just by thinking about how I was doing something Belle would find satisfaction with. Then I made the bed. Then I went to the gym.

It doesn’t really matter that a good spouse and partner should be doing those things anyway. What matters is, because I’m so much more in tune with what makes her happy and so much more invested in that happiness, we both feel good about it. It’s a way to make mundane tasks a lot more interesting.

When I got back from the gym, Belle told me how pleased she was with me. So much so that tonight I could choose how I’d get to make her come. (Decisions, decisions.) All that because of the dishwasher.

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Stong-armed

We took a Sunday afternoon nap. That means, Belle slept and I kinda dozed and eventually woke up and looked at my phone until she was done snoozing.

“Is the door locked?” she asked sleepily.

I nodded. She kissed me on the mouth.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked. I was told to be ready to come out of the device but she had left me in. I had no idea what she wanted, though I figured it would likely be a quickie fingered orgasm.

“I’m letting you out.”

All right, Thumper. Game on.

She handed me the key and I pulled the covers down. I was already naked so I stuck the key in the little brass lock and turned it. The lock slid from its chamber freeing the cage from its cockring mate. Setting the lock and key aside, I pulled the cage off and felt the bulb end of the Looker 02’s urethral insert slither its way down the inside of the shaft it had secured for a week. It caught briefly in the head of the penis and then popped out. Then I pushed the thickening meat back through the ring and winced as the testicles popped through, right first then left. I was free. The steel was on the nightstand.

When I rolled back over towards her, she was naked. The penis was hard and, as I wrapped my arms around her, it brushed against her thigh. The feeling of it caused me to gasp slightly. From no sensation to the best sensation in under 30 seconds.

“How can I serve you, Belle Fille?”

“I want you.”

“Do I get to come?” The $64,000 question. I was ready for whatever she said.

“…No,” she replied evenly.

Instinct took over. I climbed between her legs and pushed the end of the aching meat against the lips of her pussy. She was dry, but I pushed in. I wanted in. She felt tight. Lack of natural lube and at least two weeks since anything had been in her. I shifted my hips to gain further penetration. I was gambling that she wanted it a little rough. A little guy-centric. A moment later, the penis found her hot and wet. She sighed.

“I have no idea why I did that,” I said.

“It feels good,” she purred, “Really good.”

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes…”

I pulled the hard shaft out and pushed it back in, spreading her gathering wetness around. I bent my head down and started to suck on her nipple while I fucked her slowly. I shifted again and pushed in as deep as I could, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and placing the other hand in the small of her back. I wrapped her in my strength and exerted just enough pressure for her to feel that I was holding her tight and she couldn’t get out. Not that she wanted to.

I thought fucking slow would let me last longer and I felt I was doing a pretty good job being as leisurely as possible. Her snatch was hot and totally wet now. Her breathing was starting to get more shallow.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered.

That was it. I can go for a long time and trick the orgasm that wants out into holding its own, but once I hear her start to really get into it, I lose my cool. Two or three slow thrusts later, I had to stop. I could feel the ejaculate locked and loaded. She wanted me to keep going, though, and wiggled her hips. That was enough to trigger a long jet to shoot out of me and into her. I had to pull out to keep it from going any further. She had said, no orgasm.

Now that I had her going, I didn’t want her to lose momentum. I quickly worked my way down to her pussy and dove in. Immediately, my mouth was full of my own seed. I swallowed it down and worked my tongue over her clit, lapping more of myself than seemed possible as it continued to leak from her. My throat was thick with it and its scent mixed with hers to fill my senses. My hands worked their way up to her breasts and tweaked her nipples as I eagerly ate her out. I wondered if this is what it would be like on those night she had her boyfriend over. Would she let me off the floor long enough to clean his semen from her before they slept in the warm bed and I on the hard floor? Would he watch or already have fallen asleep in his post-orgasmic stupor?

Belle’s hips started to buck. She was moaning and pushing against my forehead with the palm of her hand as the intensity of her orgasm crested but I pushed back harder keeping my tongue working over her electrified clit. Her legs crushed my skull and she pulled a fistful of my hair while her ass was off the bed. If she wanted to be taken hard, I was going to make her fucking well feel this orgasm.

Once it was over, I rested my face against her inner thigh and kissed at her taut tendons as she came down a little. The mixture of scents was intoxicating to me. I almost felt dizzy from all the pheromones attacking my brain. I climbed back up her body so that I was between her legs again. She took the penis in her hand and guided it into her.

Jesus fuck, was she hot and slick. Her juices, my semen and spit, and the full ripeness of her post-orgasmic pussy all mixed together and I started to fuck her. Hard. I could still smell us both in the smeared fluids that covered half my face and it drove me mad. It wasn’t long before I could feel the building orgasm and I. Wanted. It.

“Can I come?”

“No.”

Ugh. Wimper.

I stuttered and stopped just long enough for it to climb back up inside me and then I had my hard, strong arms back around her, holding her tight and close. I buried my face in her neck and clung tightly to her and fucked her harder than I had in a long, long time. The lizard was off his leash and going to town. This was just fucking. Just me having my way with her. Doing her. Nothing gentle or submissive about it. I felt another orgasm winding up. A big one. The one I wanted. The lizard said DO IT but the bunny fought back. Each thrust into her caused her to exhale a little. There was no tenderness in what I was doing to her. No room for that. Just lust and desire and burning intensity.

“Come on!” I said to myself under my breath as I slammed into her. Not sure to who I said it or what it meant, but there was a stand-off inside me. Would I? Or not?

Of course not. In the end, I tensed up and then just knew. It wasn’t happening. It was like the lizard’s back was broken. Again. He slinked off and I shuddered and collapsed onto Belle.

“OK, Thumper, that’s enough.”

I panted. Gasped. Gathered myself.

“Is it what you wanted?” I asked quietly.

“Yes.”

—

We laid in bed a long time after. I felt both the feelings of sleepy post-orgasm and the raw edge of continued desire for her. I wanted her to throw me over onto my back, crawl on top of me, and fuck me until I came. I told her.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, really, I do.”

After a bit, I said, “OK, just between you and me, you can admit it now. You wish the penis was bigger, don’t you?”

She laughed. “No!”

“Yes you do. I know you do.”

She laughed some more. “Well…just a little.”

“OH! So it’s true! Now all I need to get you to do is admit that while we’re having sex.”

We both laughed.

Before I got out of bed, the Looker went back on. The fat bulb on the end of the insert pushed past the opening of the penis (helped along by the slick presence of ejacualte and pussy juice). The penis fought back and tried to grow, but that just made it all the tighter when the lock found its home and the key came out.

She held out her hand and I put the key in it. Belle got exactly what she wanted. I hope she always does.

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Coconuts and candlelight

Last night, with only candles illuminating the room, I was kneeling naked at end of the bed except for the Looker 02 and massaging Belle’s feet with coconut foot lotion. I asked Belle what one thing has changed most for her in our dynamic since we started it.

Her answer was that she was more confident in her role and less worried and/or guilty about what I was going through. My periodic whining about being so horny and desperate rarely phases her anymore. At the beginning, our exploration of chastity and denial and female domination were all as a result of a difficult phase in our marriage (not a unique story) and she accepted the dynamic more as a reaction to all that. We were not in an especially healthy place, though I think we’re now in the midst of the best, most intimate years of our relationship. In any event, that was her answer. Confidence. Learning how to make my denial her own, so to speak. That comes with time, of course, and experience.

She asked me the same question. I said I wasn’t as urgent as in the early years. There was an imperative that drove me. Hard to describe, really, but I seemed to be in a terrible hurry to get all that denying denied. Also, while I was ascribing a desire to submit to her authority and control over me and my sex, I ended up being a headwind for her in trying to find her path. I had my own ideas and my life-long conditioning as a male in our culture left me with residual feelings and impulses very much at odds with what I was saying I wanted. Once I accepted that I didn’t deserve anything, that I really didn’t want to deserve anything, that the best sex was the sex she wanted and not the sex I tried to push onto her, I found the turbulence within me subsided. Somehow, somewhere, I left that entitled prerogative behind. Realized it was incompatible with the kind of submissive partner I said I was and wanted to be.

My temperament is more even now, too. There are fewer highs and lows. I’m more often in “the zone” and feeling pretty good. I think that’s due to a few things. One, I don’t have orgasms so the swelling and crashing hormones aren’t a factor. Also, some of that could just be from my body chemistry adjusting to how it is to live without the release of orgasm (nearly seven months now). Two, either Belle’s confidence has left me less inclined to challenge her or I’m better at letting her lead, but regardless, I’m a lot more comfortable in my submissive skin than I was back in the day. I have learned how to gather energy from the act of submission. From being focused on her needs and desires and wants and letting the fuzzy warmth of knowing I am serving her feed me in a way I had a hard time with earlier on. The foot rubbing, for example. The composition of the event had very sexual overtones, but she didn’t want that. That didn’t stop the penis from surging and choking on the Looker’s insert and straining against its bars. For me, it was sexual. For Belle, it was luxuriously relaxing. For both of us, it was what we wanted.

All of this kind of talk sort of backed into Belle’s assertion the other day that she was close to letting me out and making me come. The supreme irony of being her submissive is knowing that she has a need and a desire to be taken by a man. A strong and powerful one who can have his way with her. She’ll be wanting that from me and, because I want her to have whatever she wants, I’ll do my best to give it to her, but the very act of doing so has the potential to screw with the foundation of our dynamic. If I unleash the lizard and we screw like teenagers there will be an impact. It’ll be my job to hold up my commitment to her without the hormonal help.

This is where the idea of being cuckolded comes from, I’m sure. You get to this point where her needs are paramount and there is this one kind of sex you almost by definition can’t provide but you want her to have it anyway. Toss in a pinch of kinking on humiliation and there’s your recipe for wanting her to take a boyfriend. She even joked about it once more as I was rubbing her feet. Said she could make me sleep on the floor at the foot of the bed, naked and uncovered, while she shared it with her lover. “I’ll let you stew on that idea for a while,” she said. Good god, the device was tight right then. I had to stop rubbing to wait for the feeling of what that would be like to pass. It took my strength away.

Of course Belle’s very happy with the husband she has and the benefits of my submission, but she never would have described me if she was asked to write down the perfect mate back when she was 21. I told her that the idea of having a person with the needs I have as a partner sounded exhausting to me. I guess that really means I’m a sub because I don’t think I could stand having to deal with one. That’s one of the things that makes me so thankful she deals with me. That she’s taken the time to really try and figure out how to make all this work. That means, if she tells me to suck it up and have good old fashioned “pure” sex with her, I’ll do it. She’s accommodated me. It’s my job to reciprocate.

But not last night. Once the rubbing and talking was over, it was time to sleep. I wanted to get inside her pussy, but Belle was tired. Once again, my desires melted away in the face of her intentions. And we fell asleep intertwined and smelling of foot lotion. And happy.

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Fair warning

Belle warned me yesterday before knocking out ninety-four (I think we should also count those she gets when I’m not around, so it would have been ninety-five not counting her solo action last weekend) that she was close to wanting to really be with me. Nothing in between. Which means, she’s close to making me to come.

She didn’t want me to freak out and I tried not to, but it does kinda freak me out. After she came, we talked a little and I told her I was afraid to come (honestly, I’m scared of them now) and it made me nervous to think about how it would make me feel, but I was totally on board with her being in control of our sex and my orgasm and if that’s what she wanted, then that’s what she wanted. I said that I’m her submissive and sometimes that means taking me outside my comfort zone. It’s entirely within her rights to do so.

She then joked that maybe she really did need to get that boyfriend after all. To help scratch her naked guy-on-girl both coming and having “normal” hot sex itch. She’s joked about this more than once, so maybe it’s not a joke so much, but I still doubt she’d do it. Regardless, were I in a different place and a couple of decades younger, I’m not sure that’s isn’t the kind of relationship I would be right for.

In any event, we’ll see. Once the fruit was dangled in front of me, there were several moments when my fingers were two knuckles deep in her that I wanted out the Looker and into her snatch but she wouldn’t let me. No way. But then things cooled down and I fell asleep on my stomach with the steel pressing into me and everything felt right.

But like I said, it’s Belle’s world. I’m just living in it.

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Penisthinking

As discussed previously, Belle’s given me permission to go find a boy willing to fuck me. Because I so, so badly, wish to be fucked and she doesn’t want to be the one to do it. On the one hand, this is very exciting and when I think about it and the fact that she’s willing to let me have this I only feel more affection towards her than usual (yes, it’s true, going outside your marriage for sex can make your marriage stronger). On the other hand, I’ve done nothing about it. Well, not nothing.

I reached out to an old boyfriend who doesn’t live near us. In fact, he’s way over on a coast, so not even close. In chatting with him about this new opportunity I have, I mentioned how, if it were possible, I’d be more than happy to have him do me (I have mentioned him in the past here — he has a wonderfully beautiful cock). In retrospect, this was a really stupid and thoughtless thing to do.

He was the guy I was with when I figured out that I wasn’t gay. It wasn’t that clean of a realization and it took several starts and stops to figure it out. He ended up getting by far the worst end of everything. I hold him in very high regard and feel genuine affection for him — he’s still a close friend. But he loved me. In a way I couldn’t return. Now he’s gone and had a life and married a guy (who’s OK with him getting some on the side) and has kids and the whole thing and all of a sudden I pop up out of the blue saying, “Hey! I can get fucked! Wanna fuck me!?”

I would have never done this with an ex-girlfriend. I realized that after the fact. Because with them, there would be problematic feelings, etc., due to the fact that I expressed love for them at one time and they for me and how that’s a whole minefield of emotional bombs. I feel love for this guy, too, but not, apparently, in the way that would make me aware of his potential feelings or that my proposal could be more hurtful than happy. In fact, I let the fucking penis do my thinking. A trait I share with many men, but for a guy who takes such pains to explain how he isn’t controlled by penis meat, it’s a surprising lapse. In any event, I’ve apologized for being such a total fucking cad. He didn’t take it personally.

Still, there are issues. For one, he’s a long ways away, like I said. Two, he’s gay and I would be a guy without, essentially, one of things gay guys really like — a penis. Also, and most problematically, he’s a bottom. When we were together, he got off on me being bigger (except in one department) and stronger and altogether more toppy than him. Definitely not who I am today and not something I could provide if I wanted. Add those things up and you have a formula that doesn’t easily resolve. Finally, in our text conversation about this, he called the device I wear a “contraption” and said he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. That’s fair, of course, but I admit it left me feeling highly self-conscious about myself. It’s like saying, “You’re awesome, but that third nipple kind of gives me the creeps.” So I don’t know about him.

Thing is, I was never really very good at finding dates. Back when most people do that I was all worked up about whether I wanted boys or girls and didn’t spend any time learning how to get either. Now I’m kind of this third thing. Also, I know for a fact I don’t want any kind of simple hook-ups. I’m not sure I can separate my submissive nature from sex. I don’t just want a live dick inside me, I want one belonging to someone I feel comfortable with. Someone I can sort of co-opt my submission to. That’s a bigger deal than just getting laid. Whoever this mystery man is, he has to be worthy.

And, of course, unattached or in a flexible situation and OK with no emotional prospects beyond whatever Belle lets me have and OK with a guy that doesn’t have an accessible penis. Also, in my total fantasy situation, this guy is actually a couple of committed guys. I don’t know why, but that’s appealing. Not a requirement, though. I assume this guy’s going to have to be either a dom or switch looking for a little piece on the side to top. They’re going to have to get off on my denial because I will always be that way with them. Starting to seem like a hard bill to fit, indeed. But what do I know?

So anyway, here I am. Permission to engage has been received but action beyond annoying an old friend has not been taken. I’m not even sure where to start.

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Lost in the sheets

I was away from Belle over the weekend. Thursday through Monday nights. I was having a nice time, but it was miserable not to be with her. Especially in the morning when the penis was pushing against the Trainer as hard as it can and my hand only found unfeeling plastic and not a hard shaft to play with.

I wish I knew more about the brain chemistry of love and attraction or that someone would do a study on the brain of a denied male. My feelings for her are made so much more intense by the lack of orgasm. My craving for her and her warm softness so much more acute by the locking of the penis. When I got home, I was all over her and her scent and lips and curvy female form made my heart flutter.

“I have to hear you orgasm,” I whispered into her ear.

Later that night, I snuggled up next to her under the covers as we watched Sherlock and as I ran my hands down her body they found the tubular shape of Pink, her favorite vibrator. My assumption was she put it there for me to use on her once Holmes and Watson saved London from terrorists, but no.

“Is that still there?!”

Turns out she had made the bed over it the morning before. While I was clawing at a compressed needy hard-on through its plastic trap, she was pleasuring herself with the little pink vibe. I instantly saw her in my mind doing this and could hear the thrumming rise and fall as she pushed it in and pull it out of her hot snatch.

And of course, I moaned. And melted inside.

I suggested christening her new dildo but she wanted my fingers and now we’re down to ninety-six. Even though I was horned up nearly to distraction, feeling her body tense with the wave of orgasm and then go limp in the afterglow triggered in me the need to sleep. So I did.

There’s a bit more to this one, but it comes with the standard NSFW warnings, so…

Continue reading “Lost in the sheets”

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Trainer training

In the old days, I’d sneak out of bed late at night so I could go jerk off without waking up Belle. Now, I sneak out of bed in the middle of the night because I can’t sleep due to not being able to jerk off and I don’t want my tossing and turning to wake Belle. The more things change.

That’s where I was last night. I took half a tab of the melatonin as it seems to be enough at such times, but not last night. I took the other half and became quite sleepy, but not so sleepy that it could overwhelm the quiet intense signal emanating from my crotch. In other words, I had it bad. Real bad. But, sometime after 1:00 AM, I finally succumbed and drifted off.

I’ve been wearing a new device since Friday in order to write a review on it. It’s the Holy Trainer from Switzerland. I’m well into the review post, but have had to slow down and temper my enthusiasm for the product after hearing on Twitter from people who’ve had serious quality issues with it. Personally, the unit on my unit hasn’t shown any symptoms, but I’m holding out a bit longer just in case. In any event, the problem seems to be rooted in the “biosourced resin” it’s made from. The clear plastic gets very soft and pliable when warm and that seems to be leading to it failing and breaking. The device I have on is black and doesn’t get anywhere near as soft as the clear appears to get. In any event, I was prepared to give the Holy Trainer my unqualified support (despite its silly name), but now I’m not so sure. The review should be up sometimes next week, if all goes well. If anyone with experience with the Trainer (good or bad) wants to post about it to the comments here or via the feedback page, I’d appreciate it.

Belle and I are travelling to New York City at beginning of February. She gets to go all over for business and I’m usually left at home with the kids but this time we finagled various family members to watch over them so I’m going, too. We’re going to see some sexy cabaret show or something and I plan on going to the Museum of Sex since it’s close to where we’re staying, but otherwise we have no hard plans. I’ll have a whole day to myself, too. Any suggestions?

This past weekend, Belle took note of the fact that the Trainer wouldn’t set off the metal detectors at the airport. She seemed to suggest she’d have me in it when we went through security since it’d just be the two of us. Hopefully the millimeter wave scanners won’t be on when I pass through.

If you want to see what the Trainer looks like in situ, hit the jump for an obviously NSFW image I posted to Twitter yesterday.

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