Category: Life with Belle

Stuff that really happened to Thumper and/or Belle Fille

Posted on

What I asked for and need

Over on the hellsite owned by the misogynist, anti-LGBTQ, trans-hating, pro-fascist manbaby, where, unfortunately, the pro-sex/kinky crowd still hangs out, there’s been some concern by a few of my followers that Belle’s decision to no longer let me fuck her has left me feeling sad or something. I’m not trying to come off as remorseful, so I’m not sure where this is coming from.

I suppose some of it could be projection (or something like it, I’m no psychologist) in that, they would be sad if their spouse told them “You should have no reason to expect I’ll ever let you fuck me again,” so they read my reaction to the news in a sad light. I guess that’s natural since, for most people, being told they were done fucking would not be welcome news.

Of course, I’m not sad. I’m not…happy about it either. It’s complicated. But I’m 100% not sad. No remorse. No resentment. No regrets. I’m not mad, worried, depressed, or in any way perturbed by her decision. It’s her decision and she’s made it.

Thing is, I’m a sub. I crave her control over me sexually. I prioritize her pleasure over mine. I have always wanted her to make the decision for me as to when and how I’d be part of her pleasure. So, in no uncertain terms, she is giving me everything I’ve asked for.

Over fourteen years ago I wrote:

I like the inequity! I get off on the unfairness! Being arbitrary and capricious in the doling out of sexual experiences is exactly what I want. She should come ten times more often than me. She should tell me every day for a week when I’m going to get sex and then, on a whim, decide against it. I want her to leave me straining and hard and constantly yearning for release. (God, just writing this sends waves of excitement through me.) Of course, simply saying this can’t stop her from feeling guilt, but I can only continue to say it in hopes that eventually she’ll see that keeping me frustrated and in a state “normal” society would define as terrible and unfair is one of the ways I can find happiness and some sort of satisfaction.

https://denyingthumper.com/2008/12/09/unpainting-corners/

The only thing that’s changed since then is that she doesn’t need to be capricious. She has perfectly logical reasons why I won’t fuck her again and I understand them. Kind of the opposite of capricious, actually. Of course, I wrote that when I still had a functioning “cock” and she was wired to prefer being penetrated by it.

So no, not sad. What I crave more than orgasm and getting the contents wet is being used for the pleasure of someone else without regard to mine. She’s given me that.

I may be indulging in some lingering mourning for that part of my life being over. I mean, it was over before I even realized it was over, but now I know so it’s, like, final. It’s perfectly natural for me to enjoy the sensations that come from sliding into a warm, wet pussy and even I crave orgasm when denied it long enough. Those feelings are never going away. And I don’t want them to. I need to feel that gnawing craving desire to keep me motivated. But I don’t want them more than I need to be controlled.

I told Twitter today that I woke up horny. I sure did! Don’t always, but there was something about how the contents felt packed into the Orion that hit different than most days and horny I was. Someone replied with something along the lines of, “Some days it’s hard to remember why we do this.” Well, no not actually. Again, I wasn’t saying that in a negative way. Being denied is what I want more than anything because it’s the outcome of being controlled and deprioritized. It’s the byproduct of being able to live in a truly sexually submissive state. It’s what it feels like to be me.

I guess in the same way some people can’t imagine living as I do, I am honestly totally unable to imagine living like a normal boy. Having a penis I can see and play with at will? Leaving my load on the shower tiles whenever I felt like it? What? God, it sounds bleak to me. I feel like if I came regularly and when I decided to a piece of me would die. The piece that was born nearly 15 years ago when the first device was locked onto me and Belle and I started fumbling though establishing the dynamic that brought us to today. I never, ever want to go back to those before times.

The last fifteen years have been a process of finding myself. I’m beyond lucky that my life partner is OK with who and what I am at this point in my life. Of course, I’m so grateful to her that she has taken the lead with our sex and learned to adapt and evolve as I have. There’s nothing in that that should be interpreted as a bad thing by anyone.

Posted on

She finally said it

Belle sent me back to bed about midday because she wanted me to get her off. It was unusual in that we typically take care of that first thing, but I wasn’t going to argue with her.

In bed, kissing and rubbing and such, she had my balls in her hand I was feeling the pressure of being denied 483 days and said to her, “So it doesn’t really seem like you’re going to let me fuck you any time soon.”

She smiled and said, “You’re very good at satisfying me in other ways.”

This inferred to me three things.

One, our sex is about her satisfaction, not mine. At one point in our relationship, and even for some time after she started locking me up, having sex was at least incidentally about letting me have something, if only occasionally. And, at times, it was much more than occasionally. But not anymore. Now, she considered sex to be hers and about her. Why would I get to fuck when she was getting everything she needed already?

Two, I cannot satisfy her in that way. I mean, I already know this. But she was saying it by essentially shrugging and telling me I was good at getting her off “in other ways.” Manually, orally, etc. I don’t think she likes to say it explicitly. As if it will injure my male ego or something. My sexual ego has been whipped into shape enough not to be bruised that way. Well, not bruised so much that it would leave a mark. Of course I can’t satisfy her that way. I can’t last two minutes after insertion before I start spewing. There’s nothing in it for her, I know it, she knows it. Go back to step one: it’s not about me. So, no point.

Three, I was unlikely to ever get to fuck her again. That’s been my assumption for some time, but she’s not said it. But if her logic is sex is about her satisfaction and me fucking her doesn’t lead to her having much if any then I was unlikely to ever get the chance to regain something of my old skill and stamina in that department since, as far as I can tell, the only way to get it back would be if she allowed me to do it a bunch. But…the logic doesn’t go there. I’m no good at fucking her so I won’t get any chances at getting good at fucking her which will ensure I remain no good at fucking her.

While I was working at getting her off, she was being somewhat vocal since we were alone in the house. You’re very good at satisfying me in other ways, was echoing in my head amongst the above thoughts.

I asked, “You mean like this?”

“Mm-hmm. This is what you’re best at.”

Eventually, she came so hard she had to push my hand off her pussy. The contents are never tighter and my urge to be inside her is never more fervent than right at that moment, but I had to smile. I am good at this. It is what I’m best at. Now.

After we dozed a bit in her sparkly post-orgasmic cloud, I was tight again and pushing into her leg. She let me get on top of her and bring the titanium-clad contents up against her heat. I groaned in stifled desire.

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” she said to me.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you want in there desperately but if I let you in there you’ll regret it as soon as you’re done.”

I put my head on her chest, feeling bad for indulging myself in that way. I don’t want to make her feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No reason to feel sorry. I’m perfectly fine with you feeling desperate.” And then, “I know what’s best for you.”

Oof. Of course, she’s right. I really did want to fuck her. Badly. And it’s true that even though I would jump at the chance without hesitation at this point (483 days, after all), I would feel…conflicted after. But hearing this, on top of what she’d said earlier, made a pretty tight logical trap.

I said, “It doesn’t sound like I should have any reason to expect you’ll ever let me fuck you again?”

I really just needed to hear her say the words. Without ambiguity.

She replied, “You should have no reason to expect I’ll ever let you fuck me again. Eternally denied.”

There was a rush of emotion. Hearing it, finally. The weight of the reality that the part of my life with a functioning penis was over. She’d said it. We’d reached the logical end of the chain of events that began when I showed her the website listing with rudimentary “chastity” devices almost 15 years ago and told her I wanted her to control my orgasms. Every part of that evolution for both of us, emotionally and physically, pointed there. To that moment in our bed when she told me I was never going to fuck again.

“I understand,” was all I could say back to her. And I do.

Posted on

Dry spell

Due to a series of events, some unforeseen while others weren’t, Belle and I didn’t have sex for something like six weeks.

It was brutal.

There are a lot of ways I can make being denied work for me, but being cut off from her sexually, period full stop, isn’t one of them. Eventually, it makes me start to question the why and the what of being denied. It causes me to feel depressed and unsettled. Permanent enforced denial has become a cornerstone element of who I am and being denied all alone by myself for that long erodes the foundations under that cornerstone.

None of this was anybody’s fault. Not mine, not Belle’s. It’s just how life is sometimes. I did what I could to shield her from how I was feeling because there was nothing to be done about it, but it was still hard.

Then this last weekend I was able to get her off. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. No bravura performance on my part and nothing especially earth-shattering on hers, but I got to kiss her and feel her pussy and lick her nipples and feel that familiar and welcomed tightness.

And then the past few nights have been WHOOSH. Suddenly I’m horny as ever loving fuck and having a hard time sleeping and the Orion feels amazing again.

I have a couple widgets on my phone. One counts the numbers of days since she last let me fuck her (422 as of today) and how long it’ll be until it’s been 1,000 days (assuming that if she won’t let me inside her by that time that I can assume it’ll never happen again).

While I was feeling down, these widgets made me feel worse. Lots worse. Like, why am I wasting my life this way? worse. Now, after she let me get her off just that one time, they make me feel totally opposite. While the prospect of making it to 1,000 days is a little terrifying, it also, deeply deeply turns me on.

I was considering last night as I lay, exhausted but unable to sleep, what it was like to not be able to feel one’s own erection when being that horny and thinking about never being able to feel it again and never feeling a hot, wet pussy slide around it and all I could do was clutch and claw at the unfeeling surface of the Orion as my fat, laden balls shifted back and forth uselessly. I thought about how it felt for the object that in a lot of ways is supposed to be central to the married life of a man and a woman — his erection — to be totally absent from ours now. A non-issue. Unused, unwanted, and neglected. And how, as a man, that should bother me. It’s supposed to be an active part of our relationship. But it simply isn’t and, with each passing day and week and month, I feel like metaphorically and emotionally that the contents are shrinking away. Obviously, it’s not physically shrinking because that’s not a thing, but it’s all but irrelevant in our dynamic and relationship.

The opposite of that, of course, is her pussy. It’s the all-powerful radiative source of her control over me. The promise of access to it. Feeling it, smelling it, tasting it. Just the suggestion of an invitation to be able to service it. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. She was zonked out but I knew that pussy was still over there nestled between her legs. And it was all I could think about. That, and the tight little package between my legs.

Posted on

ThumperGPT

So, I continued to play with ChatGPT 4.0 (see last post) and asked it…

My spouse is interested in employing enforced male chastity in our relationship. Can you tell me the plusses and minuses that are entailed in this practice?

And it said…

Enforced male chastity is a consensual and intimate practice often associated with BDSM and power exchange dynamics. It involves one partner (the “keyholder”) taking control over the other partner’s (the “submissive”) sexual release by using a chastity device. The practice can have both positive and negative aspects, depending on the individuals involved and their motivations.

Plusses:

  1. Trust and communication: Engaging in enforced chastity can foster trust and open communication between partners, as both parties need to be honest about their desires and limits.
  2. Intensified intimacy: The power exchange dynamic can create a deeper sense of intimacy and connection between partners, as one partner surrenders control and the other assumes responsibility.
  3. Increased sexual anticipation: Chastity can heighten sexual desire and anticipation, making eventual release more satisfying.
  4. Exploration of fantasies: Engaging in enforced chastity can provide a safe and consensual space to explore BDSM and power dynamics-related fantasies.
  5. Self-discipline and focus: The submissive partner may develop a greater sense of self-control and discipline as they learn to manage their desires under the control of their keyholder.

Minuses:

  1. Physical discomfort: Chastity devices can cause discomfort or pain if they are not properly fitted or worn for extended periods. It is essential to choose a high-quality, comfortable device and take breaks if necessary.
  2. Emotional challenges: The submissive partner may experience feelings of vulnerability or frustration, while the keyholder may struggle with the responsibility of control. Open communication is crucial to address these issues.
  3. Hygiene: Chastity devices need to be cleaned regularly, and proper hygiene should be maintained to avoid infections or other health issues.
  4. Miscommunication and misunderstandings: The practice can lead to miscommunication or misunderstandings if partners are not open about their desires, limits, or feelings.
  5. Potential for coercion: It is crucial to ensure that both partners are genuinely interested in and consensual about the practice, as coercion or manipulation can lead to negative emotional and psychological consequences.

Before engaging in enforced male chastity, it is essential to have open communication with your spouse, discuss boundaries, and ensure that both parties are on board with the idea. It may also be helpful to research the practice further and consult with experienced practitioners or communities.

There’s me out of a job, then. 👋🏼

It seems really creepy that a computer algorithm can write something like that, but it does become a bit demystified when you dig into how it works. I specifically didn’t suggest whether the questioner was on the key or lock end of the equation and didn’t suggest one of the partners was a woman and the chatbot didn’t assume either which I appreciated. But yeah, that’s a damned fine reply to my question.

But how does an algorithm get so good at answering questions about enforced male denial? Well, thanks to the Washington Post’s digging round, we know what websites are included in one of the datasets used to train generative AIs (but not ChatGPT, though we can assume they use a similar dataset). This blog is in there as is Tom’s, the Male Chastity Journal, Thrill of the Chaste (I’m just…I’m just going to ignore that word, ok?), and Femdom Resource, among others. So there’s lots of grist for the algorithmic mill.

I didn’t ask the bot to role-play as someone locked in a device or as a keyholder. That’s the only way you could elicit the kinds of personal, human experiences I and those other blogs write about. So maybe I’m not quite yet out of a job. And, of course, chat bots are famously good bullshit artists. So I’m not sure I’d take any of their words as gospel on any topic whatsoever.

I remember way back in the misty days of devices being made from river stones, twigs, and bailing wire that a lot of the enforced denial content on the internet was wank job shit. It’s one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place. Now, there’s a lot more good, actual content written by real people (for example, the sites linked to above). We’ll have to see if the coming tsunami of generative AI content will again cloud the waters with nonsense. In the mean time, I will assume your humble blogger will continue to have a place in the enforced denial information ecosystem.

Though, one day, I could conceivably feed my thousands of words into an AI and have it write my posts. I promise, if I ever do that, I’ll tell you.

Posted on

Denial ≠ chastity

I asked Chat GPT 4.0 “What is chastity?” and it said…

Chastity is the practice of refraining from or abstaining from sexual activities, often for religious, spiritual, or moral reasons. It is typically associated with the belief that sexual activity should only take place within the confines of a committed, usually marital, relationship. Chastity can also refer to the virtue of being morally pure or modest in thought, word, and deed, which includes refraining from engaging in sexual activity outside the boundaries of a specific relationship or marriage.

Which is kind of problem, I think, for those of us who practice what we call “male chastity.” I am not, in any way, practicing anything like what that paragraph says. Actually, quite the opposite.

I recall Tom once said something somewhere (maybe his blog, maybe Twitter, maybe somewhere else) about men in chastity calling themselves “chaste.” To paraphrase him, no you’re fucking not. I mean, I hope not. Being locked in a device and then being cut off from sex entirely sounds like a thing that would be banned under the Geneva Convention.

Most people, it think, find being in chastity leads to more and better sex, not less. That’s certainly been the case for us, even though she hasn’t allowed me to penetrate her in [checks notes] 400 days.

This problem with verbiage has always bugged me. I tried once to coin a verb to encompass what being in chastity was. It has, thus far, not been widely adopted. Alas. But perhaps we can agree that those with locked penises aren’t chaste and therefore aren’t practicing chastity. What we’re doing is something else entirely.

The point of the device is to enforce a power dynamic in a relationship that disallows the wearer from deriving pleasure via the contents of the device. Either through self-pleasuring or with a partner, the device enforces the denial. Makes is so there is no option. So that the one being denied can’t succumb to temptation and do what they’re not allowed to do under the terms of their relationship dynamic. Devices don’t enforce chastity. They enforce denial.

Were I in a position to change the usage of these words, I’d make it so by fiat. No more “chastity devices.” No more “enforced male chastity.” Being “chaste” isn’t the point of the thing. It’s the denial that is the point of the thing.

Denial is the force that powers this dynamic. Not being allowed to orgasm or touch myself when I want to. Emotions and hormones colliding under the pressure of frustration encased in my submission. The result of being denied the single most basic thing that having a penis entitles one to. For some of us, like me, it actually makes us better at sex. Raises our awareness of what pleasure is and greatly enhances the pleasure we’re able to give. It transforms us as sexual beings. And transforms the device into a symbiotic thing that is simultaneously of the body and separate from it.

“Chastity” sounds horrible. Denial is magical. “Chasity” is punishment. Denial is transformative. “Chastity” is in conflict with the body. Denial is zen.

Denial ≠ chastity. Denial > chastity.

Posted on

Airport shuttle

We were in my truck sitting in the apparently permanent traffic you find at the intersection of Highway 100 and 494 in Bloomington.

“Thanks for taking me to the airport,” she said.

“No problem,” I said. “Remember when I used to go all the way in with you?”

“I do,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”

“It was,” I said. “Can’t do that anymore.”

“Nope.”

“Remember when I used to go all the way inside you?”

Laughing, “I do. That was a long time ago, too.”

“Yep. Can’t do that anymore.”

“Nope.”

Posted on

Wankless woods

I recently got back from another week in the woods with muggles and, as always, I was locked up. Being camping in the wild in that condition does create its own considerations, but this time around they were especially highlighted by the fact that I was without any keys. I was absolutely, 100% locked up, no matter what, until I got home 8 days later.

I didn’t intend to go that way. There have been trips like these when I left locked but came back unlocked due to issues with the device interacting with my body unpleasantly during our daily, lengthy hikes. So going without a key into similar situations is really not recommended. Except this time I was rushed and forgot to ask Belle for the emergency key and she forgot to offer it. I mean, being locked up is just how I am, so we don’t really think about it at this point.

Once I realized my predicament, I was very, very careful to keep things as clean as possible and well-lubed (thank the maker I remembered my silicone). Thusly, I was able to hike over 30 miles during the course of the week without device-related issues. I think this is also due to how terrific and well-fitted the Orion is. It rarely gives me even the smallest bit of issue and it passed this test with flying colors.

Interestingly, when I got back to the house after my trip, I asked for and was given the key in order to give me and the device a thorough cleaning. The Orion went into a vinegar bath and the contents were shaved and cleaned and, I was amazing to find, they never seemed to stir. The vibe was almost clinical and, even though the shaft was touch, lifted, soaped, etc., it didn’t really do anything. When it came out of the Orion, it looked very pale and sad and a bit Gollum-like and I felt nothing sexual towards it at all. Don’t get me wrong, other penises still get me going. But this time, the one on me simply didn’t. It’s been such a long time since it was used for anything pleasurable and my commitment to the dynamic Belle and I share is so absolute that, if I’m honest, it kinda grossed me out. If there was a way to never have to see or touch it again, I’d take it.

All that it not to say I don’t very much enjoy feeling it strain inside the Orion and I love to grab at it and feel that tension within. I love how the device and my big balls feel in my hand and pressed into the bed under my body or just stuffed inside my jeans. Once the Orion goes on, it and the contents transform into a symbiotic third thing altogether that I really, really like. But on their own, the contents are like…I mean, I can’t even think of an analogy. There’s nothing else like it in my experience. I prefer the look of my ring finger with my wedding ring on it (I’ve made the connection before between the symbolism of a wedding ring and a device that enforces denial), but I’m not, like, averse to seeing it that way. I don’t wrinkle my nose at it or observe it like some kind of specimen in a tray. It’s a unique thing that I suppose you get, if you’re a guy like me, or you don’t.

In other news, it does not appear as though the new shiny Orion will arrive before Belle leaves on a two week work trip (it’s not supposed to get here until mid-month, but I was hoping). I would have preferred for her to either take the keys with her or keep them hidden but I will want to change when the new one shows up and so she’ll leave me the emergency key to use when it does (assuming the new one doesn’t come with its own keys which, now that I think of it, it very will may). I’ll resecure the key and provide evidence to her of it and the contents being such.

We had a house guest this last weekend and, because of an especially needy rescue dog and her annoying habits in the morning and the elaborate process we need to go through in order to secure some alone time, I was unable to get Belle off after being away. And now she’s going away. I really hate not being able to provide her that pleasure. It’s what powers me and it’ll be just me and the Orion for over three weeks before I get to feel her come again. I’m not worried about her. She can always take care of herself. But there’s only so much I can accomplish on my own…

Posted on

Preferences

Belle had my balls in her hand while we were kissing this morning. Probably the Orion, too, but you know — all I can feel through the Orion is how tight it is on inside. She was squeezing them gently and rolling them around between her fingers while I was warming her up for her Sunday morning orgasm. But I had a question on my mind.

“Do you prefer me this way?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Why do you think I’ve left you like that for so long?”

A bit sheepishly, I replied, “I know. But sometimes it’s nice to hear.”

“I want you locked up. Always.“

I know, it was a dumb question. She’s kept me locked up for more than year straight. But…like I said. It’s good to hear from her. That that’s how she wants me. That it’s how she prefers me. To hear that she doesn’t want the contents as much as she wants my fingers and mouth and hairy chest and strong legs and wide shoulders. She wants a man to get her off on her terms, not his. Her focus, not his. Her orgasm, not his.

And you, since this is probably not the first time you’ve read my blog, know that’s how I prefer it, too. For her to come first and last, always. For her pussy to be worshiped and elevated over all else. For it to spasm under my touch, her post-orgasmic glow punctuated by the gnawing of my unrequited craving. That’s how I’m wired.

And somehow, along the way, it’s how she got wired, too.

Posted on

Moar German steel

One of my favorite things is the metal cuff I have from German maker Träume aus Edelstahl. Welp, I said in my review of that little bauble…

It locks with a hidden, internal screw mechanism and a special little tool with an oddly-shaped head. It came with just one special little tool with an oddly-shaped head, by the way. So best not to lose it. An extra one is $30.

And what did I do? I lost it! Like, full-on searched high and low and everywhere in between and cannot find the damned thing motherfucking lost it. Luckily, the cuff isn’t on me at the moment. When I realized it was gone, I went to the website to order a new one but it was closed for the holidays. After they reopened, I went back and saw a thing I’ve always always wanted from them: a lockable steel collar. So I rationalized the purchase by saying to myself that I was kind of getting it at a discount since I had to buy the key anyway. Yeah, that’s logical!

And then I waited. And waited. And yesterday, it came!

And it’s beautiful. Eight millimeters thick, shiny steel that’s perfectly fitted for my neck. It’s lovely and heavy and makes me all tingly to feel it on. Above, it’s shown in its simple form. It also came with a removable O ring. You know, for…attaching. And stuff. Dress it up without the ring, make it all practical and stuff with the ring.

It’s the same finish and thickness as my cuff. It’s just…stunningly beautiful. I love it. I want to wear it all the time. I want to wear it out and show it off. I want it locked on forever and for someone to hold the…oh, wait. The key. Turns out, I somehow didn’t order the right one. I got the one that doesn’t lock. A small segment of the ring in back is held in place by tension when posts on the segment are pushed into receiving holes in both ends of the main part. The posts are thoughtfully chamfered to make insertion easier. The opening is just the right size to get my neck through.

Which…well, I guess is fine. Having a collar that can come off more quickly and easily is probably a good thing since society (at least the society I hang with) isn’t really ready for those of us who want to be collared to wear them everywhere all the time. Except now I still don’t have that fucking weird little key thing.

But I will in about a month. Ordered it this morning. Stupid fucking rationalization.

Posted on

365

Today is the one year anniversary of the last time Belle let me fuck her. The last time she let the contents out for anything other than fact of life-type necessities. When I did the sleuthing to figure out how long it had been, after I realized it had been a long time, I said I didn’t have a memory of that fuck. Luckily I have a blog and I (less often than I used to) write about the sex we have and, as a matter of fact, I wrote about that time.

It felt like the orgasm wouldn’t end. Even after I had shot my load, I felt involuntary contractions trying to milk as much juice as possible. My whole body arched around the erection. My abs actually kinda cramped from the effort.

I mean, if that is the last time, it sounds like the kind of one I’d want as the last one. And after reading my account of it, I do remember it. It was nice. I also wrote…

When will it happen again? Will it be five months? Five weeks? Five days? Tomorrow!? No idea. I don’t even bring it up. I’m not allowed to either 1) ask for an orgasm, or 2) advocate against one so I tend to just not talk about it at all with her for fear of it being misconstrued as one or the other. Of course, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to do it and I certainly don’t need to know if and when she wants it to happen again.

My reticence to ask about being let out makes it very hard for me to even ask if it’ll ever happen again when it seems like it won’t. But the other day, I screwed up the courage (since that’s all I can screw lol) and asked. She laughed and kind of scoffed at the question. But, in fact, she can’t say. She likes me locked up. She wants me that way more than not. Has wanted me that way for at least a year now. As much as I want closure on the matter — certainty — she doesn’t want to be boxed in. And I don’t have the right to ask her to be.

So, I suppose, nothing has changed. That’s been her basic POV on the issue for just about forever. But we’ve never gone this long without the contents getting wet so, to me, it kinda feels like we’ve turned a corner. Nothing has changed and everything has changed. But she won’t commit. She doesn’t have to. That’s the deal. It’s what I signed up for. It’s what I begged for.

I ended my post from a year ago the same way I could end this one.

In a way, that total lack of control creates its own kind of peace. All I have to do is be ready for whatever she wants.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.