Transubstantiation

Last night I was opining on the Twitter about how I perceive my body. I had been out for a few hours that morning so I could get though the airport security gauntlet (with the family or I probably would have hazarded one of the plastic devices through pre-check) and it left me contemplating how that made me feel.

Bottom line, I resent being forced out of it. I resent being made to be that way because…well, it’s not me. That was the point of the Twitter missive. I ended the thread with…

As I was drifting to sleep (finally — damn, I was horny), a word likewise drifted though my mind. Transubstantiation. Which our Catholic friends know to describe how some believe the bread and wine of communion become the body and blood of Christ. I mean, it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. But the faithful say they believe it. And probably some of them do.

And it’s kind of like that with chastity after you do it long enough. The chastity and the denial and how they build on and reinforce one another. Eventually you start to feel like the device is part of you. Then you stop feeling that way and actually believe it.

Like (most of) the Catholics who take communion, I know my form of transubstantiation is an article of faith. If not faith, then some kind of wishful thinking, perhaps. I do not want to think of the contents as anything more than I said in that tweet. The insides of the chastity device. That’s what they are. To me. But then sometimes I have to confront the fact that they’re something else, too.

When Belle lets me out so she can enjoy the contents, that’s one thing. It is her prerogative. But when the world enforces its inability or refusal to accommodate my faith, it’s infuriating. And unsettling.

As an aside, someone asked me (again) on Twitter today if chastity makes penises smaller. I can’t stress enough that it does not. If it did, I’d know. But I did think as I said that to him that even if it were true…so what? When you’re so mentally and emotionally attached and invested in being locked in chastity that you stop wanting what’s inside to be seen as anything like a real man’s cock — to stop being a separate thing from its vessel — then I’d say you’re also well past the point of freaking out about it getting a little smaller from the transformation.

Of course, not all men in chastity feel like I do. Maybe they would someday if they stayed at it long enough. Or maybe they never will. But it does seem to be a distinct path some of us go down. The this is not what I do, this is what I am branch. Where you don’t spend any time thinking how great it will be when you’re out of your device and allowed to come. Because that’s not you anymore. That’s not what you do. It’s quite literally not for you.

Luckily, I was able to hit a stall in an MSP bathroom (perhaps the very one Larry Craig used) and put the Steelheart back on. I felt how each of my testicles popped though the base ring that’s not quite as big around as the left one. The PA ring slide into my urethra though the piercing and then the PA fixing though the ring. The coolness of the steel envelop the small appendage and encase it once more. Bringing them all together again. As they should and were meant to be.

I felt the transubstantiation. The little pink thing became hard and shiny. Heavy. Perfect. One.

So, so tired

I remember first hearing about Covid-19 about two years ago. Which makes sense since, you know, “19.” For me, it’s closely associated with the holidays because we were on a family Christmas vacation to our favorite place in the world and talking innocently about it as if it wasn’t about to flip the whole world upside down and shake it like it was trying to dislodge lunch money.

Then I remember coming back to the real world and having talks at work about it and what we’d do when “community spread” inevitably started in our state. Most of the folks in the company thought the few of us saying things like “quarantine” and “shut-down” were being alarmist. We closed our office and had people working from home earlier than most, but things started to move very quickly in February and March of 2020. I thought maybe that’d last about a month. Six weeks, tops. We were the United States, for god’s sake. We knew how to handle shit like this. Lesson in hubris learned. Lesson in how selfish some of us are learned.

As plugged into Covid as I thought I was, I distinctly remember the creeping horror movie moment of being at Target and seeing empty grocery shelves and people shopping like they thought the world was coming to an end. As plugged into Covid as I thought I was, I was not prepared for what it actually meant to live though a global pandemic. I remember worrying desperately for my mom, my employees, and my family. We were not prepared — none of us, though we knew this thing was going to happen some day.

I was an early advocate for universal mask usage and recall thinking the CDC was making a grave error when they pretended they weren’t necessary to wear (moral: always tell the truth as best you know it). I am also a fervent advocate for vaccination. I have been doing my best to let science be my guide throughout Covid, understanding that science isn’t an always forward-moving thing and needs time to solidify.

I say all that because even though it’s the holidays again and we’re scheduled to make our holiday trip to our favorite place next week (and require negative Covid tests to do so) and there’s an aggressively contagious new variant rushing around the world and more than a 1,000 Americans a day are dropping dead, things aren’t the same as they were two years ago. I’m not the same. I went to see Spider-Man last night. In a pretty full theater. With crowds of people in the lobby. I mean, I was masked, but 2/3 of those around me weren’t (which means my mask wasn’t doing much good to protect me).

Thing is, I am just so fucking tired of Covid. Everyone is. And there are vanishingly few things I love more than seeing new Marvel movies with my kids. So that’s what I did. With a bunch of other people who feel the same way, apparently.

In Minnesota, 71% of people have at least one vaccine shot. In my county, that number’s 81%. Ninety-nine percent of my fellow Hennepin Countians who are the most at-risk for serious illness and death are vaccinated. And there’s a ton of early data that suggest Omicron is, yes, much more infections but also instigates noticeably less severe illness. I’m triple vaxxed as is my entire family. As could be everyone I see around me (except those who have some pre-existing medical issue that complicates their vaccination). We are flooded with vaccine in the United States.

At one point last night, I looked around at all those happy-looking, festive, spider person fans smiling and talking and laughing and breathing all over one another and wondered if I was still in my own little corner of the multiverse. Had I slipped into a reality without Omicron? What were these people thinking? Then it occurred to me that I was also there. And I was there because we’re not in a pandemic anymore.

Covid is endemic now.

We can no longer avoid getting it while living a normal-looking life. And the people most at risk at this point are the ones too stupid to do the most obviously right thing: get fucking vaccinated. The vast overwhelming majority of those in the hospital for Covid are the unvaxxed. The vast overwhelming majority of the dead are unvaxxed (more than 160,000 since June in the U.S.). It’s probably the case that most of the spread we’re seeing is, you guessed it, from the unvaxxed. So me and, statistically, 8 out of 10 of the people at the movie with me last night had little to realistically fear from Covid. And nearly all the victims of it now are people who have made a conscious decision to remain vulnerable. And, honestly, the rest of us can’t be bothered to do anything anymore for their benefit.

I’m gonna get Covid. At some point, if I haven’t already had it. It’s a certainty. And when I do, it will almost certainly be a moderate to mild illness. And I’ll get over it. Because too many of us have refused to do the right thing for themselves and everyone else in our society, the “post-Covid” ship sailed a long time ago. It’s never going away. Thankfully, for those with the reasoning to appreciate it, we have modern medical science to make it a nuisance.

There are indications Omicron is exactly what we needed. A variant that creates less severe illness, especially in those of us who are protected, and spreads quickly. Our best hope is to use the vaccine to help build our immune defenses so we can easily survive infection. If you refuse that simple miracle of human achievement for whatever reason, Dr. Darwin will explain it to you in the afterlife.

In the mean time…Jesus, I’m just so fucking tired. Of all this.

Cobra chastity review

Gather ‘round, children, and let me tell you about The Bad Old Days of male chastity when devices were made of hard injection molded plastic and had sharp edges and seams that would split and trap sensitive penis skin when under pressure. Note, this is after the Ancient Old Days when chastity devices were made of spare chain link fence parts or mastodon tusks and nails or whatever (looking at you, Tom). What I’m talking about is the glimmering dawn of male chastity as relatively mass-produced consumer devices. Model T chastity devices, as it were.

I mean, it’s hard for me to fathom why any of us so inclined put up with things like the CB-6000. But I’ve ragged on that thing enough on these pages and will decline to do so again. It’s enough to say we kinky people will put up with a lot of shit to scratch our twisted itches.

So I think it says more than I ever could about the mainstreaming of male chastity that we have options like the KINK3D’s Cobra. In a lot of ways, it’s the perfect realization of what a standard issue male chastity device should be.

Honestly, I’m amazed by the Cobra. It’s simple and well made and is an awesome choice for someone thinking about playing around with being on either side of a key. It is not the best device for me, but I’m grizzled and pierced and can still remember that CB6K base ring and its right angle edges. *shudder*

I got the Cobra because I was seeing it everywhere. A lot of guys in the Twitter porn were sporting it all of a sudden, and maybe it’s just me and my personal Twitter bubble, but it seemed to be really popular with the gays. So, of course, I needed to know what it was about. Mine came from Mr. S and the only difference I can see between those and how KINK3D sells them is what each size is called. I got a “tight” one which is the second smallest Mr. S option. It looks like the “N+” size on the KINK3D site where, interestingly, it’s the third smallest option.

The design of the thing is dead simple. Two pieces not counting the lock. A pair of tabs on the cage slip into a pair of slots on the ring and, of course, the two halves of where the lock goes on each. They fit together firmly and there’s a minimum chance of accidental pitching as long as you’re paying attention.

Cobra N+ next to the Holy Trainer v4 Nano

The device it begs to be compared to is the similarly stellar Holy Trainer v4. How are they the same but different?

  • The Cobra is an open cage while the Holy Trainer is a (mostly) closed tube.
  • They’re both just two parts, but the Holy Trainer fits together in one place while the Cobra has three contact points.
  • The Holy Trainer is slightly more bulky and has more plastic but, in wearing them, it doesn’t seem that way.
  • The Cobra N+ weights 27.8 grams while the Holy Trainer Nano (the closest in size to the N+) comes in at 52.5 grams. That’s a big difference but in practice it’s imperceptible.
  • The Holy Trainer is available in dozens of colors while the Cobra is available in any color you want as long as it’s dead sexy black.
  • The Holy Trainer comes in five tube sizes and has five base ring sizes (25 combinations) while the Cobra comes in eight cage sizes and seven base ring sizes (56 combinations) but also has three base ring styles (168 combinations!).
  • The Cobra is 3D printed while the Holy Trainer is injection molded “bioresin.” Neither have sharp edges.
  • The Cobra ranges in price from $155 to $185, depending on size, while the Holy Trainer goes for $165 for all sizes or $185 if you order a color other than clear, black, or pink.

At the end of the day, I don’t really see any huge advantages for either of them. The vastly larger number of size combinations for the Cobra have to give it something of a practical edge, especially for guys with non-standard penis shape/size, but the Holy Trainer has a size for most penises, too. Every other one of those attributes is either a push or personal preference thing. I find both to be very comfortable. The Cobra, also like the Holy Trainer, tends to lay flatter than options like the Evotion 8 so ends up being stealthier (if that’s important to you).

The only real downside of the Cobra I found is that it ended up being stinkier than the Holy Trainer (or any other device I wear). My theory for why that happens on me is some combination of how the cage nestles into my testicles and therefore traps urine leaking from my PA piercing. I’m not an especially squeamish one when it comes to hygiene (and, truth be told, can kind of like the funk of the Steelheart), but this was too much even for me. Easily fixed, of course, with a bit of a wash, but still noticeable.

Related, I found vertical urination to be less reliable than with the Holy Trainer due to my PA and the open cage design. If you’re not pierced, you only need to make sure the crossbar at the end of the cage isn’t in the way and you’ll be good to go.

If you do have a PA, neither the Cobra or Holy Trainer have security options to accommodate you listed on their sites. I did try a PA ring with the Cobra to enhance security but, as usual when doing this kind of thing with cage-style devices, found the instances of pinching to be intolerable.

One super clever accessory KINK3D offers is something they call the Airlock. It makes a totally metal-free, key-free, numbered locking option and is pretty genius IMO.

So, there you have it. If you have an un-pierced penis, regardless of size or shape, the Cobra is basically perfect. But so’s the Holy Trainer. So what’s more important to you? Colors? Closed versus open? Do you just like the look of one more than the other? I mean, you can’t lose with either.

Together, the Cobra and Holy Trainer are the dead-simple, no-brainer male chastity devices for both those just starting down their locked path or who have been skipping along it for years. Two options that are light years more advanced than what we had to choose from a decade ago and, I think, an indication of how mature and — dare I say — popular male chastity has become.

Embracing the vestigial state

Even though it was in the middle of Hashtag Locktober, Belle decided she wanted the contents. As is the custom now, she gave me the key the night before the morning she wanted to get fucked.

I need the key in advance so I can prepare the contents. Prep takes about an hour. I take three 20mg tablets of sildenafil citrate (aka, Viagra) and apply four or five sqirts of Promescent® Delay Spray for Men. This is all due to my being totally unable to 1) avoid orgasm 36 seconds after penetration, and 2) remain hard for longer than 36 seconds after that. I had hoped the Viagra would take care of that all by itself so I could at least feel myself fucking her, but even with the chemical erection support, it goes flat as soon as it squirts, orgasm or not. So the meds help me remain as hard as possible for her and the Delay Spray (basically lidocaine) keeps me from coming as quickly.

As an aside, the Delay Spray works well. Somehow, they’ve formulated it such that after a bit of time it has absorbed entirely into the penis and won’t transfer to Belle so only I am denied the sensation of penetration. The package says not to exceed three pumps of the spray but I find that four or so is better at deadening it and the Viagra keeps it hard even though it’s about 90% numb.

So I did my things and then waited for her to wake up. It’s my job to make sure everything is ready for her when she’s ready so that she neither has to wait around for things to take affect nor for there to have been too much time passed so that the precautions aren’t useful.

This particular morning, things lined up well and the contents were both good and hard but also almost totally without feeling so that after I got her off with my fingers, I was able to climb on top of her and provide a reasonable facsimile of having a normal male lover.

Unexpectedly, she told me she wanted me to come inside her. My routine isn’t designed for that. I specifically deaden the meat so that I won’t come but right after sliding it in, she told me she wanted me to. Of course, the precautions were working very well and I realized rather quickly that getting to a point where I was having a real, full orgasm wasn’t in the cards. On the plus side, I was able to fuck her for maybe the longest period of time in years.

Eventually, I could feel the rumblings of orgasm from somewhere behind my balls. I wasn’t going to come due to anything I felt on the shaft, but I was still going to do it. Some combination of feeling my hips grinding and her under me and the flex of the muscles necessary to do the act tricked my brain sufficiently that it was able to get there. But I didn’t get much of anything from the penis and the orgasm was typical of the ones I have now. Weird, somehow incomplete, and while productive from a volume of ejaculate POV, still less than entirely satisfying. I mean, she can make me come, but she can’t make what’s left of my ability to do it feel good.

But it was an orgasm and it was enough of one to make me very reluctant to get back in to any device after. The Rules are very clear:

I must be wearing a chastity device at all times, unless she says otherwise.

Belle’s Rules for Thumper

But I eventually did go back in. Even though the device felt foreign and weird and uncomfortable. I hated it.

The next day we went to dinner for our anniversary (which, coincidentally, is very near the anniversary for this blog — happy lucky 13th anniversary to me!) and she took the opportunity to ask how I was doing. Not, like, how’s your day going? More like, is this still what you want?

It was a bad time to ask. Had she brought it up 48 hours before, I would have wholeheartedly said YES. Things are GREAT. But 36 hours after coming, I replied somewhere between a shrug and a “fine…things are…fine.” But I realized how my lack of enthusiasm was being perceived and explained that I was in a period of profound sub drop. So of course, I was very happy with our dynamic. But it was, as I said, a bad time to ask and expect enthusiasm.

A few days later, we flew on a plane together. I was still feeling the impact of the orgasm and took the opportunity to let myself out before we went to the airport. Even though we were flying alone with no kids or friends or family around and if I got pulled out of line it wouldn’t be a big deal. But I wanted out. So I basically made an excuse for myself.

Usually, I’ll go back in right after the TSA invades my privacy, but I didn’t this time. I just…didn’t. Could have. Didn’t. And I didn’t when we got to our destination. Or at any other point that day, even though I was very clearly aware I was unlocked from all the incidental friction inside my pants (which drives me CRAZY). As we got into bed, I told her I was out. I don’t think she knew. She didn’t seem too impressed. But that’s how I went to bed.

I mean, I knew I was being bad. And I knew it would feel bad later. But I wasn’t willing to abide by the rules. I wasn’t willing to accept my position.

The next morning, I woke up with a raging hard on. I was at least able to maintain some control over myself. I didn’t stroke it, but I did lay on my stomach and grind it into the firm mattress and revel in the pressure and friction. The head popped out from the side under my left hip and I rubbed the bit on the underneath and knew if I did just that for more than 30 seconds I’d come. So I stopped at about 20 seconds.

Belle turned over I spooned into her. I’m sure she could feel it. And it was a vacation morning when I should have expected some sex. But she wasn’t offering. But I wanted it. In fact, I did expect it. And that’s when I started to come back down to earth.

I should have ZERO expectations of sex. Sex is for her. For her to get pleasure and satisfaction. My satisfaction comes though giving her hers. Period. But here I was trying to fuck her. Because I wanted to fuck her. That’s not me. That’s not right.

I was locked back up within the hour.

The next morning, I was spooning into her again, but my entire demeanor changed. God, I absolutely fucking hate the version of me that was unlocked without permission and was trying to coax her into getting me off. She was much more receptive to the locked version of me and allowed me to eat her out. I could once again feel pressure and compression of the contents, but no friction. Nothing like that. Just the Evotion 8 doing its job while my tongue did its.

And when her hips bucked in my face and I could feel her pussy spasm in orgasm under my mouth and the contents strain in defeated futility, I felt so much more normal. So much more me.

And yeah, it was not lost on me she was far more willing to engage sexually with the locked me than she was the unlocked me.

Five days earlier when I was mounting her with my numb, chemically enhanced erection, I remember the thought flitting though my mind I really don’t need this. This is for her, not me. And, honestly, thinking back to her asking how I was doing, the only issue I have is that there are still reasons for me to be unlocked from time to time. I mean, that’s just how it is. It’s what she needs and, in the past, she needed it a lot more than now, so she’s already made a significant change to her expectations based on my limitations. I’m not asking that she stop letting me out for a fuck, even as infrequent as that is. It is entirely her prerogative and I accept that.

But we both know I’m better when the contents of the device are treated like some vestigial remnant of what I was prior to evolving into what I am now.

Speaking of which, my mom sent me a picture the other day of me in 2002. It was taken maybe two months before my daughter was born and I look like I’m 17. This was before Belle made me come, so the second thought that went through my head after being stunned a how young I looked was what a waste it was that it would be another six years before that guy’s dick was taken away from him. We’d already had our kids. The two we said we’d have. We didn’t need it anymore.

And that’s why I ended up locking on to the concept of vestigial. My phone defines it “forming a very small remnant of something that was once much larger or more notable. Or, pertaining to an organ or part of the body, degenerate, rudimentary, or atrophied, having become functionless in the course of evolution.”

I have evolved. Away from the needy, selfish, willful asshole who thought mostly of himself and his pleasure and into the full flower of the sub I always was deep inside. The sub that was trapped under the weight of the will of the penis. But here we are on the other side of all that. The penis is vestigial to who and what I am now. “Degenerate, atrophied, and functionless.” It’s not even a penis anymore. It’s just contents. Nothing more than a remnant of my former self. I always, always, always need to think of it that way. Because that is what it is.

And thank god we got here. I honestly can’t imagine what we’d be like right now if I still had a cock. I don’t want to imagine it. I am incredibly lucky Belle keeps me locked up. That she expects me to be. And prefers me that way. I can never, ever let my hormones make me forget that. Not for a day. Not even an hour. Not for a moment.

Polishing the knob

It’s been more than a decade now since I first put on the Steelheart I usually wear. That kind of blows my mind (which is the only thing getting blown around here, badum CHING). And, honestly, there’s not much that has to be done to it from a maintenance standpoint. Every couple of weeks I need to take it off and soak it in vinegar to get the crusties off. But, you know, it’s made of stainless steel. It’s the OG low maintenance material.

One thing I have always wanted to improve on the device is its gloss. Those of us with a fetish for shiny metal really like gloss and another device I have, the Rigid Chastity Halfshell, has always been way, way shinier than the Steelheart. Some of that may be based on the kind of stainless used by Rigid, but I wanted to know if I could improve on the Steelheart’s decade worth of patina.

One day, I was dicking around in the basement and found my old Dremel. And that somehow clicked with my desire to give the Steelheart more polish. In the past, I’ve used polishing clothes impregnated with some kind of oily compound that did a serviceable job, but all they did was bring the Steelheart back to a reasonable facsimile of its out-of-the-box finish. I wanted something beyond that and realized the Dremel was a possible solution.

A little searching on Amazon resulted in the ordering of some buffing attachments and some polishing compound ✨filled with diamond dust✨! To keep the tube of the Steelheart steady during the procedure, I put it on the end of a mallet handle and then put the business end of the mallet in a vice. Since I wasn’t really sure what I was doing, I decided to try polishing the underside of the tube first. After applying the compound and spinning up the Dremel and then cleaning the excess compound off, I was pleasantly surprised at the difference so decided to sally forth with the rest of the tube.

The thing I didn’t like about the buffers was how the Dremel, even at its lowest speed, would essentially spin them apart and leave a cloud of little woolen fibers floating around the workbench. I found I needed to keep the buffer in contact with the tube to minimize that issue. I was also hoping the polishing compound would work out some tiny scratches the tube has picked up over the years, but no such luck. Perhaps a compound with a larger grit would work, but then I figure I’d need to use the fine grit compound to get the high gloss going.

In the end, it’s still not as shiny as the Halfshell. But it’s noticeably more mirror-like than it was. I may experiment with various compounds and perhaps a longer duration of Dremel usage. In any event, it is improved and there remains nothing at all as sexy as high gloss stainless steel.

Hunk of burning love

Just got back from spending another week in the woods. Like last time, it was my intention to stay locked the whole time I was there.

In fact, I even told Belle I didn’t want to take any key at all. In the old days, I had an “emergency” key with me all the time but for years now I rarely have one with me. And I know I can do the woods for a week (or more) without a key and not need it or miss it and having access to it opens a tiny crack of opportunity to be bad and I don’t want to think about that.

So I told her as she hunted for the locked and numbered spare key that maybe I wouldn’t even take one. But calmer heads prevailed and I took her main key and wrapped it in paper and tape and had her sign it so any tampering would be painfully evident.

And yeah, good thing, because on the third day I found myself super dehydrated. It was hot and humid where I was and while I thought I was keeping up with my fluid intake, I was not and realized such when the urine dropping out of the Steelheart’s tube was deep orange. Bad, bad, bad.

Worse, urine in that situation becomes super concentrated and acidic. Perhaps if I was wearing the Evotion 8, it wouldn’t have been such an issue, but the Steelheart never drains completely and even after several trips into my tent to flush the tube with soapy water, I ended up with nasty burns on the underside tip of the contents.

So…yeah, glad that key was with me. I opened it with my multitool and took the Steelheart off and applied antibiotic ointment to the sore spots. Holy fuck, they hurt. Probably because I waited too long. I’m such a zealot.

Good news was, with those sores feeling as they did and where they were, there was no way at all I even considered playing with it. The best parts were on fire. The worst of the pain only lasted about 24-36 hours before it became just tender. Always amazes me how quickly the skin on the contents heals itself.

So by the fifth day things were feeling well enough that I was once again totally distracted by the novel sensation of a penis with feeling moving around and rubbing against the inside of my underwear and pants. I found myself on a hike getting a rather obvious erection from the sensation. Like I was 13 or something. Don’t think anyone noticed.

I stayed good the whole time. I did maybe give the morning wood a squeeze a few times but no stroking. And as soon as I got back in the house and hopped in the shower to hose a week’s worth of forest funk off me, I locked myself back in the Steelheart and told Belle everything.

So while part of me would love to see the key epoxied into the lock and broken off, no, that’s not at all practical. And going into the woods for a week without a key is a dumb idea.

Short and sweet touch-base

Belle and I just got back from taking our youngest off to school on the west coast. This means we are officially empty nesters. One big house for the two of us to rattle around in. It’s kinda weird, tbh.

But, there are advantages. Yesterday, I went for a run in the afternoon (I’m usually a morning guy) and came back quite warm and sweaty and stripped off my running gear and immediately jumped in the pool naked. Swam around a bit to cool off, then laid in the sun and got to feel its rays hit (nearly) every part of me and the wind move through every hair on my body. It was glorious. I mean, I miss my kids. I really do. But man do I like to hang out in my yard naked.

Another benefit of the trip was it allowed Belle and I to have a little chat about my chastity. Even though I’m locked up essentially all the time and she rarely sees me without a device on, it’s not something we talk about anymore. It just is. Like, why would you talk to your spouse about their toes? You wouldn’t. Aside from the occasional observation of which device I’m wearing, it’s a topic of conversation that’s disappeared into the background like Homer Simpson backing into a hedge.

On the one hand, that’s great. It represents a kind of goal state I think a lot of people with locked up penises want to get to. The fait accompli of being permanently kept. I am not complaining, mind you. The contents are supposed to be an afterthought.

On the other hand, I’m so thoroughly thankful that she’s taken on the responsibility of holding my key and chooses to keep me in chastity as often as I am and has even evolved how she prefers to receive her pleasure and reaches orgasm based on my desire to be locked up that sometimes I just want to pop with gratitude and enthusiasm. Even when the contents are trying to explode from their confinement and I can’t help but climb on top of her and grind the device into her pussy in frustration. That even then she doesn’t let me out. Doesn’t “feel sorry” for me. Just lets me stew and squirm and suffer in the ways I crave.

So we did chat. Once or twice. About the thing that just is between us. I thanked her her again (always, forever) for keeping me as I am. She said she can’t even think of me any other way now. How it’s obviously good for me. How she likes me better this way. I said how I like myself better this way. About how I think it makes me a better lover and partner to her.

And that was it. A little touch-base. A short status. Both of us happy with where we are. Both satisfied with the status quo. Neither looking to change anything in our dynamic.

It’s often said that the reason kinky people have more successful and satisfying relationships (on average) is because being in a kinky relationship requires communication on a much more significant scale than a muggle relationship. And that’s 100% true. But even a relationship like ours can become so well-inhabited as to lose the necessity for communication. So I am grateful for the short and sweet reaffirmation.

Chem-rections

Belle and I were driving along in rural Wisconsin where there are an unusual number of erectile dysfunction billboards.

“You should get that,” she said. I laughed. She wasn’t joking.

Flash forward to the other day. I had just given Belle her orgasm and we were cuddling afterward. I noted that the last time she wanted the contents out was in April and here we were in July and I was just curious (not implying, suggesting, or in any way inferring I wanted or needed or should be let out because that’s against the rules) what was up with that.

She again mentioned erectile dysfunction medication. Clearly, a seed had been planted.

To be clear, I don’t have an issue getting an erection. At least, not that often. I can get hard no problem. My issue, her issue, is I can’t stay hard. When she lets me fuck her, I will ejaculate without orgasm (which is like a ruined orgasm inside her) and then immediately go soft and stay that way.

It didn’t used to be like that. I used to be able to get past the ejaculation without orgasm bit and then stay rock hard and fuck her until she cried uncle. One big difference between now and then is the amount of time it took me to get to the ejaculation part. Used to be many minutes of fucking and now it’s literally 90 seconds, tops. Pathetic.

Ninety seconds of fucking is hardly worth the effort for Belle. I’m really good at the other ways of getting her off so why bother with the lock and key and the mess? Leaving me locked up gets her rocks off just as much and is simply more efficient.

But she does like to get fucked. And the strap-on has fallen out of favor since, again, she doesn’t want to be bothered. Thus her position that if the contents could get hard and stay that way, she’d let it out and enjoy it. If it can’t, she won’t.

This morning I filled out the erectile dysfunction questionnaire on the Roman website. I picked them because they advertise during Dodger games and the guy who started it is kinda cute. Anyway, I answered all the questions and may now be contacted by a doctor or they may just start sending them, we’ll see. Apparently it depends on what Minnesota requires.

So where we’ve come in this journey into orgasm denial and chastity is that my erections are forced into confinement and disallowed when they want to happen but may be forced into happening when they’d rather not. And this is…incredibly hot tbh.

Please don’t kill someone

On Saturday, I wrote on Twitter:

Because, essentially all the people (north of 99%) being hospitalized and dying of Covid in the United States are unvaccinated people. Another datapoint:

Regardless, I was sent this news item from someone on Twitter. The lede:

Johnson & Johnson’s Covid-19 vaccine may trigger a rare neurological condition in a small number of people who receive the vaccine, the Food and Drug Administration said Monday.

Reports to a database operated jointly by the agency and the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control suggest there may be a link between the inoculations and Guillain-Barré syndrome, a form of progressive paralysis that is generally reversible, the FDA said in a statement.

EGAD! But wait.

The agency said there have been about 100 preliminary reports of GBS, as the condition is often called, in people who have received the J&J vaccine. To date, about 12.8 million doses of the J&J vaccine have been used in the United States, suggesting a rate of about one case of GBS per 128,000 people vaccinated.

So, to be clear, an otherwise levelheaded and reasonable person is using as a justification for not getting or delaying vaccination against coronavirus as soon as humanly possible this ridiculously rare side effect in the middle of a pandemic which has already killed at least 600,000 Americans and probably a whole lot more.

Note that many vaccinations can trigger Guillain-Barré and that it’s always very rare and nearly always reversible. Also note that the previous issues with the J&J shot and blood clots was actually far less prevalent than blood clotting issues in women who take birth control.

Please learn to adequately evaluate relative risks.

It’s hard to estimate what the chances are any given American will get Covid because the variables of where they live (and therefore how much they benefit from the vaccinations of their neighbors) and how they live (can they work from home? do they go into environments where a lot of people congregate in close proximity? have they literally not opened the door for another human since March of 2020?), but I can say with some certainty that the odds of an unvaccinated person in the United States getting sick, becoming hospitalized, and even dying of Covid are a damn sight higher than 1/128,000. Like, a magnitude higher.

I am assuming anyone making the “it hasn’t been proven safe” argument isn’t also some kind of deluded, brainwashed, partisan conspiracy theorist because if your assessment of the risk/reward balance of being vaccinated includes any mention of Bill Gates or 5G or the letter Q, you need to stop reading this and seek professional help immediately. Honestly, you’re are a goddamned delusional and are a threat to society and those around you.

Not getting vaccinated because you think or fear there’s a snowball’s chance some kind of ultra rare side effect will strike you down is simply the most selfish and antisocial decision you could possibly make. Because it is a certainty that if you do not get vaccinated and then catch and spread Covid, you are killing someone. Some immunocompromised person or some other dimwit with comorbidities who likewise made the wrong choice will die from the disease you spread. The only hope you have is that it’s not someone you know like a parent, partner, or child.

So I don’t take back my original tweet. Not at all. I might allow a slight revision to say if you don’t get vaccinated in the US and are eligible (i.e., old enough, no pre-existing conditions, etc.) you are acting like a moron. A selfish, unable to properly evaluate risk, moron. If that makes you feel better.

But Jesus fucking Christ people, get your goddamned vaccination already.