Objectifying hedonist

I don’t know what to call the guy I talk to about my brain. As in, is he a therapist? Psychologist? I don’t really know the difference. I should ask him, I guess. “Shrink” seems a serviceable catch-all.

As I pointed out before, his blog name here is Obi Wan and, now that I know him a little better, I’m guessing he’d like that very much. He’s the kind of guy who, when he says something, says it with a knowing authority. I find that interesting since we’re talking about emotions and such that to me feel very squishy and without hard edges. Definitive statements about things that seem less so aside, I do like him. He doesn’t fuck around and says exactly what he thinks. Plus, he’s totally hep to kink and power dynamics and all that. I suspect he’s a top in real life, but we don’t talk about that (except that he volunteered that he was straight to help make a point once). When he talks about submissives, it like a primatologist would of bonobos.

In the last few sessions, he’s made some statements about me that feel mostly correct. One is that he believes me to be a hedonist. The classic definition of hedonist is “pleasure seeker” but I think in my case it’s “new experience seeker.” I’m motivated by novel even extreme stimuli, both sexually and professionally. I said to him that I often struggle with not having accomplished enough in my life. The classic “he’s not applying himself” thing I’ve heard since the fifth grade. He says back that to an outside observer I appear to have accomplished quite bit. But regardless, I am not motivated by accomplishment. I am not in the game to rack up trophies, real or imagined, but to create a space in which I can satisfy my craving for new things to ponder over or do or discover. I struggle with thinking I’m supposed to have accomplishments of a certain stature at this point in my life even though I personally don’t put much value into them for myself.

Part of my recent issues with depression could very well have been caused by the fact that I’m in a bit of a rut in that regard. Professionally, I haven’t felt very necessary and that train of new things has been sitting in the station. I have taken this new insight to drive a fairly significant change in my company and it’s done wonders to improve my mood and motivation to come in every day. It makes me feel like I have a purpose and, if my luck holds out, will lead to future accomplishments I’m likely to discount.

The other thing that came up recently is that I objectify men. Like, in the typical way woman are supposedly always being objectified by men. Obi-wan thinks that to me, men are sex objects. That’s opposed to women who I find infinitely more fascinating. We came to this diagnosis in a rather round about way. We were talking about subbing to a dominant partner and how I would be more willing to give a female partner a lot more leeway in that regard than a male partner. That I kinda don’t want to know more about the Dom than what is inherent in the D/s dynamic. The more mysterious and unknown he is and the more our relationship is focused on the D/s, the better (presumably since I’ve only had the one D/s thing with a guy). This has also been the case even when I was having “normal” sex with men. Frodo has seen this in action more than most.

So this begs the question, can I have a friendship along with a sexual relationship with a man? I have significant friendship with Frodo that’s lasted both through our sexual adventures and three decades. I can only wonder if having sex with him in the future (if it happens) will change that. It’s not like it’s likely to happen very often if it does. And, of course, I haven’t been able to integrate friendship with Drew into a sexual relationship, D/s or not.

Sometimes, my bisexuality feels like a superpower. Like I can see through walls or something. Using that analogy, having a meaningful relationship with a man I’m also having sex with is my lead. A hard block that defeats my special ability. The way my emotions seems to short circuit when male friendship and sex mix doesn’t feel very super. If feels kind of broken. Not the kind of broken that can be fixed, either. Like trying to get bowling balls to fire out of a baseball pitching machine. Impossible. 

I suppose I could focus on how depressing that all sounds and wonder if getting into something with a guy is even morally defensible, but I’d rather think about it as a valuable revelation. My time with Drew had some immensely rewarding aspects and I learned a lot about myself. Like, next time I need to be even clearer about what I’m capable of and where my boundaries are. 

Gymboree

I’m probably done going to the personal trainer I’ve been seeing for…man, almost four years. The reasons are several but can be boiled down thusly:

  • His motivation strategy basically involves a bunch of macho bullshit I can’t stand.
  • The routines have become repetitive and dull (mostly because it’s a decidedly average gym space).
  • I don’t feel like I’m being “trained.” More like I’m paying him to be my gym buddy (set up my weights, spot me, etc.).

Note that Belle sees him too and will continue to do so since while I’m over him she certainly isn’t and in fact would like him to be over her, literally (which is why he’s called her gym boyfriend at our house).

I’ve found another local gym with trainers and have an appointment with a younger hot one this afternoon to see how it works out. He’s a lot more expensive than the old guy, but there are more options at that gym like classes and what they call “supervised workouts” where someone just helps out with spotting and such so I might be able to craft a solution that is equal to or maybe even a little less than what I’m paying now.

The gym is only a year old and is really nice with all kinds of cool shit and no typical  bullshit gym machines. It also has a proper locker room with a few showers. Since I’ll likely have a much less regular gym schedule than I have now, it’s probable that I’ll be getting there from work or whatever and won’t always be able to come in my gym clothes like I do now. Which means changing in the locker room and perhaps even needing to shower, depending on the time, and, of course, I have this extra interesting shiny tube where a guy’s dick usually is. I brought that all up to Belle last night and she was like, “Yeah? So?”

I mean, of course. Just like when I started going to see a trainer in the first place. She doesn’t want me to be out of the device. Ever. Not unless it’s on her terms. Going to the gym is not on her terms so I will apparently have no clemency in that regard. On the one hand, little fluttery butterflies of nervousness, but on the other, a tube-filling sense of security in that this is not a game this is us and I need to deal with it.

So I’ll deal with it. I’ll look for times that mean I don’t need to shower or can arrive changed and if that’s not possible I’ll figure out a way to change that minimizes the chances another guy will see it. I don’t want to flaunt the Steelheart. I don’t believe in that. But I am conceptually OK with someone seeing it (or evidence of it) inadvertently through just living my live. I don’t advertise but I’m also not going to be ashamed.

HNThumper LXX: Further faux clit action

In the shower this morning and, yet again, I found myself fingering the wet ‘n soapy penis in the Steelheart like it was a clit. Like last time, I was thoroughly enjoying myself when I realized I was breaking the “no playing with it” rule. Sigh. And after just saying how Belle can trust me.

In any event, I captured the following image of my hot, forbidden, faux clit action.

Continue reading “HNThumper LXX: Further faux clit action”

Theater and artifice

I saw an image on Tumblr recently that was of some guy wearing a clear Holy Trainer 2 with one of those numbered tags like Belle uses to keep track of my emergency key though its lock. The little plastic tag was the only thing “locking” the device onto the guy. Someone had reposted the image and added a comment to the effect of put a real lock on there and then we’ll see how hard it is to wear.

Trust and enforced male chastity is a funny thing. Some men (myself included) go to great lengths to find themselves in a device from which they can’t escape. I had the penis pierced almost entirely because I wanted to be locked in a device that couldn’t possibly be removed. I advocated for Belle to get a steel device and I even designed and had manufactured a new way of fixing my PA inside the tube so that escape was impossible without the key. But then I get to carry around a key to the Steelheart secured only with a little plastic number tab that nobody but me keeps a record of (meaning I could swap out the number whenever I wanted since I know where Belle keeps them and no-one would be the wiser). Belle was even going to just leave her unsecured key here at the house when she went on the overseas trip she’s on now.

Most men, it seems to me, who get their dicks locked up want it that way. They’re complicit in their chastity and, like me, even though they don’t need high security, they crave it anyway. I’d argue that if you let someone lock you up and then you cheat by backing out or stealing the key or whatever, that you really shouldn’t be locked up in the first place. Enforced chastity is a promise you make to your keyholder that supersedes whatever device they use on you. The device is a physical representation of that promise. A deterrent to protect you from weak moments, not the enforcer of your keyholder’s will. You, as the one being locked up, are the ultimate enforcer of their will. Your keyholder’s desire to keep you chaste resides within you, not the lock.

Of course, chastity doesn’t require a device. Perhaps it’s the case that unenforced chastity is the ultimate expression of submitting to one’s dominant parter, but that misses the appeal of a device. There’s something important in the physical talisman you carry with you. The one they put on you. There’s the sacrifice you make by putting up with the thing all day long, every day they choose to leave you in it. There’s the discomfort (sometimes greater than others depending on the device) you endure when aroused. Wearing the device, accepting its control, enduring it — those are also valuable acts of submission.

Belle totally trusts me regarding my chastity. She knows that even if I could, I would not cheat. Sometimes she leaves her key out in the open for days where I left it for her, even when she’s not around, because she knows I would never use it to let myself out without her permission. After all these years of wearing a device and all those possible orgasms and solo jack off sessions that will never be and the profound changes living like this has had on me, mentally and physically, being a locked man isn’t something I do, it’s what I am.

That do vs. am thing can be a source of comfort. Last night, I was really turned on and trying to sleep. My mind was trying to go through doors I wouldn’t let it because once past them, it’d be engaged all night long and I’d never get rest. After struggling with this for a while, I laid on my back and put my hand on the warm, hard steel between my legs and stroked the smooth surface of the unfeeling tube with my thumb. I told myself, This is who you are. And it helped. It calmed me down. It didn’t take the horniness away, but it put it in perspective. I’m not the way I am because of some external force. I am this way because it’s what I want to be. For her, for me, for us. Enforced chastity, orgasm denial, submission are fundamental to me. I can’t imagine anymore not being locked up. I can’t imagine having an orgasm whenever I want one. I am too far past all that now.

So if a little plastic tab is all you have between you and your dick, so be it. Enforced male chastity starts in your heart and your head, not your penis. A locked cock is a symptom of being a chaste, not the cause. Get that in your head — understand that anything beyond a simple plastic barrier is theater and artifice — and everything else follows.

Further elucidation

I said:

In short, I’m not in a place right now where I can submit to Drew. It’s as simple as that. My sexual relationship with him is founded on submission and if I can’t get myself there, I can’t do it.

So, why can’t I do it? And why does there have to be submission?

I’ll start when the second first. I am submissive. It’s not just a thing I do (though I get, for some people, it is that). Someone might say, “Gah! Why so complicated?” To which I would reply, are you new here? Which is a joke, but seriously, because it’s who I am now. With Drew, it was the very reason we had a relationship in the first place. So he could dominate and I could submit. When I said it was the foundation, that’s what I meant.

When you’re submissive, you sometimes need to find that angle that gets you into subspace. Sometimes, the Dom/me can do something to help you get there, but even so, a lot of it is internal and sometimes feels like you’re drawing a curtain in front of the things that might keep it from happening. It’s not hard with Belle since my submission and her control over my sex are deeply intertwined in our relationship now. But with Drew, I found it was getting harder and harder for me to find the submissive vector that pulled the curtain. Not because of anything mechanical or tactical he was doing wrong. I think it was because I came to know him too well.

If I had to find a starting point for when that started to be an issue, it was specing out and ordering him his Steelheart. I wear the Steelheart. I’m not with someone who does. But he was always very open about what was going on there and I had to try and just let those things roll over me and then get them out of my mind. Our recent trip to Montreal to order him his Steelwerks device was more of the same. Then there was the way he reached out to me when Axel found his set of boy toys and the emotions and conflict that brought up in him. I was really glad to be able to talk him through that and be his friend, but it finally put too much stuff on the side of the scale I needed to balance out to find my sub side with him.

Drew always wanted to be friends. I thought that was a good idea and was my instinct, as well. Turns out, if we did anything wrong, it was that we got too close. We became too intimate with one another’s private lives. The space in which I constructed my submission to him was filled with other things. Like his insecurities and hopes and issues and strengths and weaknesses and other sundry life drama.

That’s entirely unfair. I know it is. But it’s how it works with me. At least, how it works with me regarding Drew. Perhaps how it’ll work with any man. My feelings for men don’t follow the  same pathways as my feelings for women, after all. I can’t know that how it works with a guy on the side is how it’d work with a woman. It may be that anyone I enter into a D/s relationship with external to my marriage will need to maintain a certain distance to last.

To be clear, he did nothing wrong. I don’t think I did, either. It’s just where things have ended up, at least for the time being.

HNThumper LXIX: Rubbing day

I’m going to get a massage today. This is a Good Thing™ but, as usual, I’m carrying some steel between my legs and my masseuse is not privy to that info. As a result, I have to bust open my emergency key since Belle’s in Hong Kong until next week.

This is a perennial struggle for me. Right now, today, the last thing I want is to see the penis. I’m so grooving on being locked up I’d be more likely to break the key in the lock than use it to escape, but that’s what I have to do because I’m not an asshole. I woke up this morning gripping the hard, hot steel around the remnants of my morning wood and felt that electric craving for its contents buzzing in my chest wrapped in an insulation of submissive contentment. I know I have to get out for an hour this afternoon. I know it. But the spoiled little rabbit inside me does not want to! NO! DON’T WANNA!!

[insert adorable little fuzzy foot stomp]

FullSizeRender 27Bah. Whatever. To keep the chain of custody in order, here’s a picture of the key safe with its current numbered tag along with the tag Belle left me to resecure the key before I leave the massage room when I’m done being rubbed by the adorable hipster I pay to do it. I will not unlock myself until I’m getting undressed for the rubbing and I’ll immediately relock myself before getting dressed and leaving the room. Later, I’ll post a picture of the key with it’s new number.

And yeah, I know it’s not Thursday, but if you can stand yet another fucking picture of me in the Steelheart, I have one waiting for you after the jump…

Continue reading “HNThumper LXIX: Rubbing day”

Am I Ross or Rachel? Oh please let it be Rachel.

Drew and I have put a break on the sexual aspect of our relationship, at least for the time being. A few points…

  • It is not because I’ve finally seen the light vis-a-vis “cheating on my wife.”
  • It is not because I’ve finally stopped being “gay.”
  • It is not because I’m afraid I am turning gay.
  • It is not because I’ve realized Drew is an awful person.
  • It’s not because he leaves the TV on when he checks out of his hotel room.*
  • It is not because [fill in your own theory].

In short, I’m not in a place right now where I can submit to Drew. It’s as simple as that. My sexual relationship with him is founded on submission and if I can’t get myself there, I can’t do it. This has not resulted from anything Drew did wrong. I don’t think there’s anyone to blame for where we are. It’s just how things have evolved between us.

There is no one single thing that’s made me all freaky and weird lately (freaky = depressed, weird = anxious), but feeling this coming has certainly contributed. I had his feelings to contend with (something I admit to not being exceptional at) along with weird issues around discussing it on the blog. If it hadn’t become such a fucking thing here, it may have been easier to address. This is a classic example of the Hawthorne Effect. I feel like the blogging and the sharing and the reality TV show aspect of all this is intertwined with where it is now, though I can’t say for certain we wouldn’t have found ourselves here anyway.

There’s probably more I could say about this, but I’m not sure it’s necessary at the moment. Drew talked about it on his side at greater length. I think I’m very purposefully going to leave some of this behind the curtain for now.

∗ Actually, that does really piss me off.

Commentariat class

I’m strongly considering shutting off comments on my blog. As I said the other day…

So yeah, I do control the observation but I can’t control the interpretation of that observation by you readers. This was made clear when Drew showed up and I wrote about the relationship that followed. Even though I explained how that all came into being and Belle’s role in opening our relationship, there were people who commented who clearly didn’t understand what was going on. Either through ignorance or choice. Then, because I allow comments and feedback, they were able to share their sometimes hateful and misguided (though, to be charitable, perhaps well-meaning) thoughts and opinions. Then I, in turn, had to choose to ignore or respond, but in any case, those comments affected my future behavior and choices. It made me feel defensive and act defensively even and contributed to my angst since I knew there were all these judging eyes out there waiting for the doom and failure they predicted. Sure, there was also a lot of support, but that’s not how this works. I only really focused on the dark side.

I can’t say for certain why I blog or why I keep blogging at this point in my life. The reasons I started doing it are perhaps not the same as they are today. Back then, I needed and was seeking the feedback of others who had been over the ground I was covering for the first time. The readership was relatively low and the quality of the comments was relatively high. Today, the number of people who read my words on a daily basis is dramatically higher. There are a few people whose comments I genuinely look forward to and read avidly, there’s a group of well-meaning friends I have here and on Twitter, and then there’s a bunch of newbies/anonymous people whose comments are the source of most of my issues.

For example, I wrote yesterday about my need to feel inferior as a submissive. I got this gem in return.

After reading your post, I reread it a second and then a third time. Try as I might, I did not comprehend a single word you said. “Inferior” as something worthwhile is completely foreign to me. I guess i’m too much of a traditionalist when it comes to the meaning of words.

That was from a person calling themselves “Noah.” Never commented here before. No link. No identity other than the email address they used when leaving their comment (which may or may not be real). It was the blogging equivalent of a drive-by shooting. WTF is the point of such a thing? To me, he’s basically calling me out as broken or flawed compared to his “traditional” POV. This wasn’t, as has been happening on Twitter lately, someone who wanted to understand or explore the motivations and sexuality of a submissive person. This was someone who’s basically saying they can’t figure it out so “I guess” blah blah blah. It’s bullshit. Useless. Negative and shaming.

The bottom line is, I don’t want to hear from any random stranger what they think of my life. I’ve made some really valuable acquaintances from the blog, but for the most part, those days are over. Comments today are more of a drag to me than anything else.

I’m not saying I don’t want any feedback at all. I want better more considered feedback. I think by removing comments from the blog I’ll get a better quality of comments via other channels of communication out there. An open comment field is like an invitation to drop a hot take and blow. Thing is, this blog isn’t about my opinions on new movies or technology or even politics. It’s about my life and, as such, my threshold for offense/injury is substantially lower.

So how would I like to get feedback? In order of preference…

  • Pingback from your blog. A well thought-out post on one’s own blog is far superior to a quickly dashed comment that’s much more than a “you go, girl” kind of sentiment. Posts in response to other bloggers is a time-honored way to exchanging ideas on the web.
  • Call-out on Twitter. Every post here gets a tweet. Quick comments of support or inquiry or whatever can be made by replying there using an account of yours that’s more closely tied to your personal reputation. Anonymous commenters have zero reputation so it’s far easier to be an asshole.
  • Feedback form. I have a whole page dedicated to sending me private messages. Of course, nobody else will see them so those inclined to be showy while demosntrating their lack of empathy will lose some of their motivation.
  • I’m also on FetLife, though I sometimes go a while without checking my inbox there.

I’m curious to know what other bloggers think about this (and for the time being, feel free to leave a comment 😉 ). As I mentioned on Twitter earlier, I know of many muggle blogs that have shut down comments because they are, typically, the scourge of the internet but I can’t think of one in our perverted corner of the web that doesn’t have them. Why not? What are we getting from comments? Is it worth the trade-off? And why not take these conversations to social platforms where people might feel more accountable for their words?

Update: In the mean time, I’ve changed the site settings to only allow those who log in via Twitter, Facebook, or WordPress to leave comments. That actually might really help. We’ll see.

Starts with an I

As I was laying in bed the other night looking for some quiet corner in my mind where I could curl up and fall asleep, I instead found an idea that led to me considering how I’d write about it and, no, that’s not conducive to quiet corner finding. This is not unusual. I start copy editing in my head when I should be activating my subconscious. Weird.

Anyway, the idea that presented itself at that inopportune time was that, perhaps ironically, a decent piece of my self-confidence and satisfaction with regards to relationship and sexual matters is tied up in feeling inferior. I know, that’s on the surface an odd thing to say. Self-confidence, satisfaction and inferiority don’t typically go along. It’s the kind of notion someone who doesn’t live in a power exchange dynamic or who isn’t submissive themselves wouldn’t understand. Like how S/M is abuse when it’s really an expression of love. The more I thought about it, the more “inferior” started to sound really sexy to me in a way I never considered before.

And when I say “inferior” I don’t necessarily mean in the sense of lower quality. I am, I think (and have been told), an excellent lover. I can make my partners pretty happy when I’m in the right mood to do so. I think mostly I’m thinking of the definition of the word that deals with rank and position. I don’t feel at all comfortable being in a position of power in a relationship. I have never really liked being pursued or fawned over. I want to be the one fawning and pursuing. This has been how I’ve felt my whole life, even before understanding my sexuality as I do today.

The one glaring issue with that statement is Belle. In the beginning, she pursued me pretty hard. Eventually, I came around. Had she been like the girls who wanted a piece of me prior to that, it may never have worked out, but she wasn’t. She was much more self-confident and accomplished and had a sense of individual purpose that was greater than whoever she was with. She didn’t need me and wasn’t interested in playing the traditional subservient female role. I came to realize that it was me that needed her, not the other way around.

The best dynamic for me is one where my partner is aware of my needs and desires and is willing to indulge them but only insofar as they fit into their needs and desires. It’s my job to make them happy and, in doing so, I’m happy, too. Of course I will always want more. That’s my role. To want. Plus, to see that they never want. If they go out of their way to satisfy my needs, it’s because they want to give that to me, not because they’re obligated to do it. You know, inferior.

During my recent issues with depression and anxiety, my submissive drive (if that’s a thing) kind of went out the window. I’ve become so used to it that I felt untethered. Without purpose, even. Now it’s back and revved up pretty good and, as I said in my last post, being back in that mode makes me feel comforted. Of course, it wasn’t always that way. I have struggled with being submissive as, I think, most men do (perhaps more men in F/M relationships than gay men). There are no role models for us. No cultural archetype to see our reflections in. This can still rear its head from time to time. I felt a few pangs of guilt over the weekend because Belle never signed up for a submissive husband. Never raised her hand to say she wanted to take on the role of dominant wife. But those are past now.

Thing is, I’m feeling really fucking submissive. There’s so much energy there right now. I crave opportunities to show that to her, but she just left this morning for a 10-day trip, so I guess the best I can do is hope I still feel this strongly when she gets back.

So I said my attraction to being inferior was more about position, but there’s one way it’s definitely not about rank and is about something concrete. I was shopping in the fantastic Smitten Kitten with Drew during his recent visit and picked up a Vixskin “Ride On” penis extender. The old Big Blue we used to use kinda melted when it came in contact with something it didn’t agree with so we’re currently between big dicks that can be used absent a harness. “Ride On” is not a sexy name so instead we’re calling it Gym Boyfriend in honor of our personal trainer who Belle’s had the hots for for some time now.

Gym Boyfriend is perhaps a tad longer than Belle would like (she’s really more interested in girth, not length), but it’s not crazy big at 6.25″ in length. It may not be too long but it definitely hits places she’s not accustomed to feeling. The cavity into which the penis goes is really snug. Only 4″ deep and not more than 2/3 the thickness of the penis. It has ridges inside that suggest an enhanced experience for the fucker, but I didn’t feel much as the erection pushed it out and forward. That made the base of the shaft nice and thick, but the forward extension was pretty well kept to a minimum (though it was possibly a bit longer than 6.25″ as a result). It was not unlike the feeling of being in a chastity device while trying to get hard. Just a lot of pressure and no real sensation (at least, not the kind that would get a guy off). You’d have to have a pretty tiny penis to get a pleasurable experience from this, I think.

As if.
As if.

Like other items of this kind, the testicles go through a loop and that keeps the whole thing on. The material isn’t nearly as stretchy as Big Blue’s was and popping my nuts through was a more intense experience than I was expecting. My balls have gotten bigger over the years of not being involved in very many ejaculations and that was likely a contributing factor to my difficulties.

Typically, Belle would want to fuck me from up top while wearing an extender since then she gets to control depth and speed and all that, but recently she’s been wanting to be fucked as hard as I can (which isn’t very hard, both because the penis isn’t super big and my stamina is nearly non-existant when she’s making a lot of noise and getting off) so I was on top and in the driver’s seat. I was hesitant to really go to town, but I sensed she wanted to be fucked, so I just stuck it in and went at it (after the application of some high-quality water-based lube). I fucked her like someone who isn’t on a hair trigger would. Someone who was trying to really take a woman. I let her get used to the length, but after several thrusts I could feel my balls hitting her ass. That’s an extra inch of length compared to me and easily twice as thick and she loved it. Vocally.

It’s a difficult thing to describe, how that makes me feel. On the one hand, I wish that could be me. I wish the penis was that big and more in line with the dimensions she seems to enjoy so much. But it’s not and never will be. There is a bit of pain there. A bit of feeling inadequate. Inferior using the other definition. And somehow, the pain of such permanent inadequacy transmutes to a feeling of intense…I don’t know. Not happiness. Not pleasure. It does hurt, but I like how it hurts. I like hearing how much better she enjoys being plowed by a more impressive cock. It’s a kind of masochism that’s all in the head and heart.

And of course, there is nothing quite as hot as slipping the unsheathed penis into her afterward. Feeling how open she is. Feeling how parts of her pussy have been pushed out of reach for me. No matter how hard I fuck her or how deeply I try to penetrate, there’s no denying I can’t compete. And I can actually feel that all around me. And then I hear her say she can barely feel me back. Powerful stuff.

This idea of being physically inferior in this one specific way while being so good at all the other things you want from a lover feels almost like my perfect state of being. Perhaps in that it’s a kind of inferiority that can’t be taken away from me. Dynamics can change. Penis size can’t. I try to explain this to Belle. That seeing and feeling and hearing how much she likes the big cock is exactly what I want because it’s what she wants. As much as it all goes counter to the prevailing cultural paradigm, it totally works. I don’t want her to hold back for fear of hurting my feelings. Yes, they will be hurt. But in the same way I like having my nipples hurt, I like this hurt, too.

I was able to fuck her for a long time with just the penis. I only got close to coming once or twice and never so much that I had to actually stop. But after a while, she told me I had to because the Gym Boyfriend’s big dick had really worked her over. That was hot, too, in its own way.

I’ve asked Belle that I be made to wait for my next orgasm. Of course, she’s in complete control of that and I will come if she tells me to at any time, so it was really nothing more than a request. I think it will be good for me to let that wait. To get to the point where it’s something I want. And hopefully, if it’s good for me, it’s good for her. Because what’s good for her is the most important thing. Always.

Brain droppings continued

So, picking up where I left off…

No, I didn’t sleep. Not a wink. I think this was due to five things.

  • The stuff I was writing about in the last post
  • Being involved in a car accident last night (not my fault, nobody but my beautiful little car was injured)
  • Belle leaving the country for ten days starting early tomorrow
  • I’m getting over a cold
  • Being horny

Yes, I am horny again. Kind of a lot. That’s a positive development. I promise my next post will focus on sexier topics considering it says right there on the label that this is a sex blog.

Anyway, I left that last post on a rather despondent note. I do know a reason to come out about being bisexual. If bisexuals don’t come out, we continue to be invisible. I get that, even as I take advantage of that invisibility. As long as we’re invisible and people think they don’t know any, we’ll continue to be weird outliers nobody understands. Seems as though nearly everybody knows someones who’s gay nowadays. How many people know someone who’s an out bisexual?

Thing is, my theory is most people are bisexualish if you define it (as I do) as anyone on the Kinsey Scale between one and five (of course, I’m not telling anyone how to identify). And if most people are bisexual in that way (in that they can minimally have occasional stirrings for someone of their gender even if they never act on them), then you have the continuation of the myth of choice in one’s sexuality. Because, of course, if every once in a while your twitchy bits twitch at the sight of someone of your gender at the gym but you don’t do anything other than let them twitch (and maybe guiltily think of it while jacking off later) then naturally the gays are simply allowing themselves to succumb to such urges.

So, yeah, all bisexuals should come out. 100% agree. Except I don’t know how.

The most provocative thing Obi-wan said to me in the few sessions we’ve had is he’s not sure I’m an introvert. I have nearly always tested that way and have seen in myself many of the indicators, but Obi-wan’s theory is my highly compartmentalized state of being leaves me feeling wary of opening up to people and that, presumably, mimics introversion. He doesn’t think I sound or act like a real introvert.

He also says I must feel incredibly lonely. Since I don’t allow hardly anyone to know all about me, and since real intimacy requires that, most of my friends are superficial. One of my biggest fears is being alone, so this resonates. There are very few people who have insight into more than a few of my little closets. I can probably count them on my fingers with a few left over.

A big strike against me being an introvert, apparently, is how open and honest I want to be. I would rather spill my guts to someone and have no secrets, but I’m held back by the fear of breaching my dratted compartments. This entire blog, he thinks, is a kind of outlet for my extroverted nature in that I can come here and say (and show) almost anything to thousands of people on a regular basis. A point of friction might have developed if you think about that in conjunction with what I said yesterday about being in conflict with the interpretations of some of my readers.

As I said in my previous post, I do feel like I’ve been improving lately. My sex drive is back, I’m more engaged in things other than my sexual relationship with Drew. Last night not withstanding, my sleeping has been much better. I have many fewer panicky moments and generally feel less anxious and depressed. I’m thinking more about the future than I have in a while, and not with a cloud of dread hanging over it. All in the right direction, unless you’re Drew and you’re looking for some bunny tail.

I don’t know where this is all going. I don’t know yet if things will go back to how they were. I feel bad about that for Drew because if they don’t it won’t be because of anything he did. At least not something he should have known about. He’s been a prince through all this and for that I’m grateful.

I’m also grateful for Belle because she’s been incredibly supportive through everything. She gave me some space around our dynamic when I needed it and took that space away when she thought I could handle it. My desire to submit to her and the resultant increase in my general feelings of horniness wrap me up like a warm fuzzy blanket. I couldn’t have a better partner.