Rebound

I spent last weekend with Frodo (for the noobs: Frodo is the guy I met and had a relationship with in high school and who was subsequently the best man in our wedding and no his name is not really Frodo — I’ve written about him before so search his name if you’re curious).

It was…a lot of fun.

In the midst of if, I started to become kind of emotional. Not like in bad way. Like, all my emotions were just kind of floating high near the surface. I was overcome with gratitude and happiness that I somehow managed to find myself at this place in my life with a wife I love and who understands me and cares for me how I need to be cared for and allows me to go off on weekends like this one so I can spend time with my oldest and dearest friend who also understands me and accepts me for how I am and OH MY GOD the confluence of all these people who I love and love me back was just too much to take at points. This may or may not have led to some gushy and sentimental Facebook posting.

When I got back, I was being very affectionate to Belle. Not on purpose. Not in some kind of calculated way. I just couldn’t be near her enough. I couldn’t express myself enough. A house full of home-for-the-summer children not withstanding, I wanted to take her to bed and make her scream with delight. She was like, WTF is up with you, Rabbit?

And…it’s like I said. So much gratitude. So much love. Everywhere for both of them. I think right now I’m about as close as I’ve ever been to really understanding how polyamory can work when done right. Ethically and openly and without guilt or shame. I love both these people. Part of that love is the same, but a lot of it is different. They’re different. They have played different roles in my life. But I’m so happy they’re both in my life at the same time and I can (occasionally) bounce back and forth between them. It makes me so, so happy and Belle is the primary person responsible for this arrangement thanks to her understanding and acceptance and, ultimately, confidence in me and our bond.

Like I said, the love I feel for these two people is not the same because they’re not the same. But I feel that this past weekend I allowed myself to really feel for Frodo how I have felt for him for years and express that to him as honestly as I ever have. And it’s exactly because we are both married to who we’re married to that that love can exist as it does. And it’s no less intense and no less valid than any other love I feel. Frodo is quite simply one of the two most important people in my life and has been for more than 35 years. I would not be the person I am today if not for him.

And Belle is the other most important person in my life and has been for more than 20 years. I would also not be the person I am today if not for her. It’s not an exaggeration to say all the best parts of my life today are due to her.

Thing is, people, there is no limit to love. It is not a finite resource. It’s renewable. It’s bottomless. Our capacity for love is only contained by our lack of imagination and our petty jealousies and insecurities. I am the luckiest fucking rabbit in the world to find myself in this place and there isn’t a moment I don’t realize that.

I am so grateful.

The Rules (updated)

The rules under which our dynamic operates have evolved over time, but the last time they were updated was almost three years ago. My previous post discussed a rule I put in place for myself about not touching the penis, but rules I put on myself are easily waived or bent. Rules Belle puts in place carry much more weight. So this morning…

Therefore, here is the updated list of Rules that I follow.

  • I can only come when Belle tells me to and, if she tells me to, I have to.
  • I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.
  • When unlocked, I cannot touch the penis except for maintenance purposes or to swap devices. Never for pleasure, unless she has released it for sex.
  • I am not to volunteer how I feel about having an orgasm and must never ask for one.
  • If I have sex with someone else, the penis must always be locked. No exceptions.

The revised “no touching” rule replaces one that said I wasn’t allowed to play with it. Touching leads to playing so, in reality, this is better. The definition of “playing” isn’t as definite as “touching.”

These are the rules she expects me to follow. I vow to do so. Of course, it’s hard. If submission were easy, it wouldn’t be worth much.

Paws off, Rabbit

Traveling again. In an attempt to not repeat the weirdness of my last expedition, I chose to go through security unsecured. Since I was flying at 6:00PM, I was out all day. And, in an irrational burst of caution, I packed the Steelheart in my checked bag rather than carry it though the checkpoint as I’ve done in the past.

I should note that Belle is also traveling. She’s overseas and will be getting home the same day I do. She left traveling west and will return from the east, which is nifty, but it means I’ve been more or less self-locking for the past ten days or so. Having already figured out my game plan for the this trip, I let myself out prior to my shower to use the opportunity to properly clean everything and shave the bits the device conceals, etc.

It should not have been surprising, but nevertheless was, that even simple and utilitarian contact with the contents caused it to start to swell. The very concept of “penis” changes when it’s continuously locked away. It goes from being a (most of the time) low level nag of desire to something 100% real and pressing and actionable in seconds. While locked, even when I have the key, I know the penis is there and smoldering like Smaug under the Lonely Mountain, but like a dragon laying on a pile of gold, it’s an abstract threat. Once the cage comes off, the fire returns to its belly and it becomes fucking ready.

I was able to tend to its maintenance without doing anything untoward but the simple feeling of the water from the shower head striking the tip of the thing made my knees buckle and the shaft stiffen. It took every bit of will power to avoid going to a Bad Place. And knowing I’d be on my own recognizance for over 16 hours…

I decided that my own personal rule was going to be that if I was unlocked for some reason other than maintenance (cleaning, shaving, etc.) or when Belle was with me and also naked and she was expecting me to use it for her, I would not touch it. Not ever. Not even to pee. I bargained with myself about touching through clothing and had decided through my jeans was OK but not my underwear (which, if you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you know is often skimpy and sheer) but then scolded myself for such a thought since there was no legitimate reason to touch it through my pants other than to make it hard and feel pleasure. So no touching at all. Side effect of that means I have to sit to pee, but guys like me are used to that already.

I’ve never done the device-less chastity thing. It was…interesting. As soon as I finished my internal debate and set this new limit, the exposed contents veritably loomed before me. Tempting. Yet radioactive. All of a sudden I became massively aware of it. Its every movement. How it moved when free, how its plumpness caused that to accentuate. At one point, the tip of it bumped the bathroom counter as I was getting ready and the contact caused a sharp intake of breath. I was relieved when it was stowed into underwear and then packed away in my jeans. And even then, the hypersensitivity that comes after being inside a steel tube for weeks was incredibly distracting.

I thought peeing would be pretty straightforward but in realty, absent steel pulling it down, it turns out the penis doesn’t naturally drop so that, untouched, its stream would go into the bowl and not spray over or against its edge. I eventually figured out if I spread my legs wider than usual and pushed down above the shaft I could get it in a usable position.

Hours later, I got into my hotel room, exhausted and ready for bed. Like most men do, I absently put my hand down my pants and BAM felt it. Fuck. Get that Steelheart, I said to myself. After turning the key, the steel weighed the newly secured penis down. The pull of the cold metal set me at ease.

I know, I know, I know, I’ve said this before, but it never ceases to amaze me how much more normal being locked makes me feel. To not feel cool air on the device contents and to not feel it move naturally and flop around. To instead feel the the tug of gravity or just the snug tidiness of compression. To be unable to touch any part of that part of myself except for what I can reach with my finger.

I’ve written before that I feel I was born for chastity. How I was pre-wired for it. Over the years, it’s been so firmly planted in my existence that the object involved is something my body and mind feel are an internal part of my body. I don’t feel comfortable or secure when it’s not on me. In it’s absence, I feel more exposed. Vulnerable. I am left with the assumption that, for some of us, being in chastity is 100% natural. For some of us, it is how we’re supposed to be. Which, by itself, is a comforting notion.

Busted and exposed

Posted from somewhere over the Atlantic...

This morning on Twitter I put a photo of myself in the Holy Trainer Nano I’ll be wearing while in Paris on Spring Break for the next week. I was in the Steelheart before and asked Belle what she wanted: Me locked in something else or nothing at all.

“Of course, you’ll be locked up. Wear the plastic one.” Like, duh.

So that was that. Plastic it would be. I put the Nano on and thought nothing else of it until that picture on Twitter. One of my followers asked if I had any trouble getting through security.

And I was like, ha! I laugh in the face of danger. HA HA! I assured my follower and all the others on Twitter that of course I’d be fine. I’ve travelled all over the world on dozens of flights in chastity and have never had a problem. Not once. Not ever.

HA, I say.

Welp.

We were connecting to Paris through O’Hare and for some reason I’ll chalk up to O’Hare being horrible and all part of my general dislike of Chicago, there was no way for us to get from our terminal to terminal five while staying on the secure side. We had to go out to get a bus and then go back in. And when we made it to the international terminal, there was no Pre-Check. No Clear. None of the comforts of bourgeois air travel to which I have grown accustomed. We had to slum it in regular security. Which meant the backscatter scanner rather than the simpler (and stealthier) metal detector.

I continued to think nothing of it. I’ve been through them before. No problem. So I did the thing. Put my hands over my head and my feet on the yellow marks. And the damn thing busted me.

It started with the little screen on the other side drawing a yellow box over my crotch.

Fucking hell, I thought. The fruit of my hubris.

The nice TSA man started to tell me how it was going to go down. The kind of touching involved. He offered to take me into the little room but I declined. Standing in the busy checkpoint, I hoped he’d skip right over it. The Nano has a low profile. Not as low as the Nub, but low. Maybe he’d miss it. Surely he would. He patted my ass (“I am now patting your buttocks.”) then turned me around. He started to pat my front. And stopped.

He felt it.

He looked at me quizzically. To the best of my recollection, the conversation went something like this.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, that. Plastic.”

“Plastic?”

“Yep.”

“…”

“Can you remove it?”

“Not here.”

“Not here?”

“Nope.”

“Can you…move it to the side?” He made a motion like he wanted me to rotate the odd lump to my hip.

“Nope.”

“…”

“…Medical device?”

“It is not.”

He cocked his eyebrow.

“OK…” Then he told me he and another guy would have to take me in the little room and see what it was. I knew it was going to happen from the second he gave me his first quizzical look.

“That’s fine.” I said. I felt pretty calm. I was about to show two total strangers the locked penis in my pants and I was really OK with it. Whatever. All in a day’s work. Life of the locked sub.

Belle and my daughter, by the way, had gone through the line. Belle gave me a look back. She knew what was up. My daughter didn’t know what the hold up was. In the end, I said it was just something weird that showed up on the scanner. No big deal. More or less the truth.

Anyway, eventually the other guy showed up. He was HUGE. At least 6’ 6”. Maybe more. They led me to the room, closed the door. They started to say what they needed in a way that presumed this was going to be an awkward moment for us all but I was way ahead of them. I unzipped and whipped it out. I remember noticing how the head of the penis was clearly visible through the gray plastic. I gave them a good look at it, but my balls stayed in my pants.

The big guy gave a laugh. Not in a mean way. The smaller (though honestly, still not small) guy asked, “What is that?”

“Chastity device.”

The big guy laughed again. I smirked at them.

“Chastity device? Can you get it off?”

“Nope.”

The big guy said, “I’m going to have to get this cleared.” And left the room smiling and shaking his head. Just me and the first guy left alone. I had put everything back in my pants, but they were still unzipped.

“Never seen anything like that before,” he told me.

“No?” I was honestly surprised. “I’d’ve thought you would have.”

“Nope.” he laughed a bit, “Not me.”

I think he wanted to ask me more about it, but didn’t. He may have felt awkward but didn’t show it. I didn’t feel akward at all.

The supervisor came in then. Older guy. Older than me. Also big. Were all these guys like on a football team or something? I whipped it out again. He had clearly seen one of these before. He wasn’t smiling and didn’t laugh.

“Is that it?” he asked, “No more of it? Nothing in back?”

“Nope, just that.” He must have had some experience with a full belt coming though the checkpoint.

He looked at the locked penis some more.

“How’s it held on?”

“A ring…” I shifted the package a bit to show him the base ring.

“I need to see.”

OK, you asked. I pulled the whole package out for the three of them to inspect. Hooked my thumb over my underwear (black Cocksox thong with blue trim, if you’re wondering) just like in the dirty pictures I post to Twitter. Balls and all. The air felt cool on my sack.

“All right, he’s cleared,” and the boss man left the room. The really big guy went with him.

“Sorry about that,” the first said, “We have to check.”

“Not a problem at all,” I said as I packed it all back in my pants and zipped up. “I totally understand.”

Then, half under his breath, “Nope, never seen anything like that before…” and we left the room.

I will admit that the very moment he touched the locked penis in my pants and I knew I’d have to show it to him or someone, there was a flash of heat in my face. Just a touch of panic. But it was fleeting. Then I found it kind of amusing. And then…oddly hot.

I’ve said lots of times here that I hate that how I am has to be a secret. I do want people to know, in a way. Not that I’d wear a shirt with a slogan on it or anything, but…still. And I’m not at all ashamed of what I am. I’m not embarrassed. So many times I’ve caught people checking out the odd bulge in my pants. Even had people make incidental and accidental contact with it. Never felt bad about myself. Never really regretted it.

I do strongly feel everyone has the right to be kept out of my kink and that’s one reason I don’t go out of my way to advertise, but there was no option here. And I truly did not expect to be caught like this. It’s never happened before. But once it became a fait accompli, I decided to enjoy the ride. Luckily, the people who went along with me weren’t dicks about it. I think part of what made it OK for all of us is that I wasn’t being anything but helpful and totally forthcoming. That kept things from getting too weird or tense or for them to become suspicious.

I left the little room, collected my belt and shoes and put them on, and rejoined Belle and the kid. I was feeling a weird kind of adrenaline-charged euphoria. I was amped. It was fun. I liked being forced to expose myself. I admit it. It was a blast.

Will I wear it through again? Probably not. Well, maybe not. I mean…I dunno. Usually I don’t go through those scanners so it’s no worry. But also usually I’m traveling for work with coworkers. So…I expect I won’t. Maybe I won’t. Question mark.

I haven’t had a chance to talk to Belle about it yet. There just wasn’t a moment. But, you know. It was what it was. No going back now. I’ve been exposed.

Initiation

Regarding my 10 Rules For Locked Men post…

There were some comments on Twitter and even one on the post about Rule 5:

You are not to initiate sex other than to reinforce your availability to your keyholder to satisfy their needs and desires.

It was pointed out that sometimes people do like for their men — even their locked men — to initiate sex. That’s, of course, correct. Regardless of the state of the penis, one’s sex partner won’t always want to be the one to initiate, for a variety of reasons. The point I was making was based on my experience and probably mostly directed to men who are newly locked up.

I recall early on I was fucking horny (stars, asterisks, daggers) all the time. I wanted sex and a lot of it, even if the penis wasn’t coming out. I was all over Belle and left her feeling pressured to have sex. So, for a while and once I pulled my head out, the “never initiate sex” rule was one I put on myself. Now, I do initiate sex. But I only do it thoughtfully and based on an understanding of her rhythms and preferences. I don’t jump on her during the week. I will ask or suggest or offer. But it’s her call. Weekend mornings I know she’s receptive so I feel comfortable being more physically forward then. She can say no and I’ll back off immediately without complaint, but I know that’s less likely. She prefers sex in the morning and weekends are the days she’s most comfortable doing it. I shape my behavior around her preferences.

Like any good sub, I want a list of ALL THE RULES but I also know no two couples are exactly the same and my list was merely an attempt to document how we/I approach being nearly always locked up. The correct approach for anyone who finds value in them is to discuss them with their partner and amend, extend, or delete whatever doesn’t make sense.

The one thing I think is inviolable for submissive men who are locked up (oddly, not all men in chastity are subs or see their conditions as acts of submission) is that to allow one’s penis to be secured by another is to acknowledge a totally new, radical, and fundamentally different relationship to sex. Almost everything men are taught to think about it and how to approach it by culture has to be retrained. Reflexive responses need to be rewired. Behavior needs to be reconditioned. If you read the rules, they all basically point to the same basic set of ideas:

Sex does not belong to you. It’s not for you. It’s not about you.

The penis has been put in the middle of our cultural understanding of sex through thousands of years of conditioning. Mostly led by men. Mostly in cultures where men were trying to cement their central role of being in control. But for a guy in chastity, sex may not include his penis. Not often or maybe not ever. And he has to be OK with that. Has to really believe and feel it. Has to be willing to only have sex that’s in service to his keyholder’s pleasure and satisfaction. That’s what Rule 5 was about. It’s what they’re all about. It’s what chastity, in my opinion, is about.

I didn’t get that at the beginning. Didn’t get it for a while. But I get it now.