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She knows it

Hey there. Still vacationing. Still on the island.

But yesterday, there was a moment that illuminates an aspect of how fortunate I am in my relationship with Belle Fille. We were having dinner, just the two of us, at a favorite little island dive. Drew asked me to pick up a t-shirt for him from the place (he’s been there before, too) and there it was, sitting on the table between my wife and I. The shirt I picked up for the guy I fuck around with on the side. We sat and talked and everything was quite normal, boyfriend shirt and all.

Our waitress reminded me of Rachel Green from Friends. She was young, blond, had a slightly too big nose (though not as big as Rachel’s pre-rhinoplasty). Looked like she might have been rebelling against a rich father by schlepping burgers and beer on a tropical island. Like Rachel, waitress was hot as fuck. Unlike at least season one Rachel, waitress was, as Belle said, “a tight little package.”*

“Really?” I said, “Hadn’t noticed.”

“Yes you did. You always notice.”

She’s right. Of course I noticed. No human being could not notice this woman. Her hotness was accentuated by the imperfect nose. It made her more real. More attainable and therefore more desirable. Her clothing comprised entirely of thin fabric wrapped around her hips and a torn up skin-tight tank top with the bar’s log on it secured by a knot behind her neck. Not slutty (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Just casual and intensely alluring. My head tracked her movements often, both before and after Belle’s comment. Like when my dog watches Belle make bacon.

Some guys are with women who would be annoyed by the fact their partners would be attracted to someone so obviously attractive. That they’d notice it walking around in front of them. Not me. Mine is better than that. She’s supremely confident in the place she has in my heart. Hot chicks are hot chicks. Boyfriends are boyfriends. Belle is the love of my life. And she knows it.

* Rachel became a tight little package, too, but not until like the fourth season.
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Dented

The other day, I wrote a post that said enforced chastity devices don’t make penises smaller. I stand by that based on my now years of experience along with never having seen any evidence to the contrary (other than a bunch of words). I did say…

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

Due to my recent illness, Belle let me stay out and I noticed this phenomenon yet again. The penis, when hard, was slightly narrower on the “top half” than at the base for a few days before it got back to normal. I was out for about five or six days total after having been locked up more or less for a month straight.

I received some feedback from a reader called Jay that I assume was in reply to my post on how being locked up doesn’t change penis size:

Regarding growers in Chastity advice. If a man has a 7 inch long erect length and is in a 2 inch tube only the 2 inches is prevented from erecting. He will  erect behind the ring. This becomes programmatic because it heightens the risk of penile fracture. true there is no os penis in humans But the membranes that encapsulate the erectile tissues can be ruptured. This is an actual ER visit injury, untreated it leads to permanent erectile dysfunction.

Second issue is girth difference when the shaft is soft it can be forced into a tube that is to small eg 6k but later when engorged Full urethral tamponade occurs. Unable to piss at all. 1″ diameter soft 1 5/8″ diameter hard. This person will need a tube with a 1 3/8″ ID

I don’t know about you, but I’ve never heard about penile fracture occurring from chastity. Is it possible? I suppose. Has it happened? Not saying it hasn’t. Just saying I’ve never heard about it. I assume what when Jay said, “true there is no os penis in humans,” he meant penile bone and, no, there is no penile bone in humans. So…yeah. Not an issue, thankfully. If we had penile bones, we probably couldn’t wear chastity devices like those we wear.

Anyway, yeah, if you think your penis has fractured, see a medical professional. Consider a finger waved in your general direction.

Regarding “urethral tamponade” (which sounds not unlike an ice cream flavor to me), yep, been there. Sometimes, the device is so tight I can’t even pee, but it’s more often the case that peeing is possible and, as I pee, becomes easier since the erection subsides. The compression of the urethra only lasts as long as the erection does.

All that said, being out and actually jacking the shaft made the one (apparently) permanent change the Steelheart has had on the penis more evident. Evi-dent, I said. Get it?

A little more than half way down the shaft, when it’s hard, is an obvious dent. It’s just about exactly where the edge of the tube A-ring hits it when it’s hard (the remainder of the erection being either stuck up inside me or sticking out the back of the device). It can be felt, but not seen, across the top of the shaft, but not underneath. I suppose the only way to know if it’s permanent would be to stay unlocked for an extended period and see if it went away.

Yeah, right.

I told Belle about the dent. She was unmoved. “It’s just a physical manifestation of your commitment and submission to me, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

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The one about being sick and grumpy

The only thing I find worse than blog posts apologizing for not having blogged in a while are blog posts about being sick. I don’t blame anyone for making these (except for the “sorry I’ve been gone so long” kind — unless you were abducted by aliens or something, my advice is just pick it up where you left off). In fact, I know I’ve made a few posts like that myself…and am about to again.

I’ve been ill a few different ways. One perhaps related to my denial and the other due to our inability to nail viruses like the little bastards they are.

A little over two weeks ago I started to unexpectedly feel an urge to urinate, even when I didn’t need to go. It got worse and worse until it felt almost as if I was always desperately in need to pee even with a totally empty bladder. I chalked this up to three possible explanations. One, perhaps it had something to do with being with Drew. What, I couldn’t say. It’s not like I’ve never had fun with my butt before and this feeling over such a long period was new. However, the issue did develop within 48 hours of seeing him. Two, maybe I had another UTI. This also seemed unlikely as I had no other symptoms at all and couldn’t figure out how I could have gotten one (unlike last time). Three, could it be related to my recent kidney stone adventure? The first time I had a kidney stone, passing it was capped off by a day or so of similar feelings as, I assume, the stone passed through my prostate area. This last time (more than a month ago now), that feeling never happened. I didn’t think much of it until this started. However, I don’t know if kidney stones can go into hiding like that for a period of time before finally passing through. And, even if they could, this one wasn’t passing. If it was a stone, it was just sitting.

Eventually, as the symptoms entered a second week, I decided to go to the clinic.

I know, this is utterly boring stuff.

At about the same time, I came down with a cold. A nasty, annoying, pain in the ass common cold. I’m still dealing with its lingering effects. I only mention this because it was part of the web of maladies that left me feeling depressed and generally really unsexy and totally antisocial.

Before heading to the clinic, I used an at-home UTI test. I didn’t even know they existed but found one at Target. It reported the presence of leukocytes in my urine (one time very minutely and the second time quite apparently) and said they were indicative of an infection. At the clinic, they found no leukocytes and therefore said I didn’t have an infection but the doctor prescribed antibiotics anyway and I dutifully started taking them.

The symptoms got ever so slightly better. Hardly at all. Plus, my cold turned into a raging sore throat. I would have gone in for a strep test, but since I was already on antibiotics, I didn’t bother. I felt terrible and Belle was out of town. Blah.

Good god, could this be any more tedious?

Now, some of you who’ve played around with denial may have had some symptoms like mine before. Sometimes, when I’m really good and turned on and making all kinds of seminal fluids, the prostate will swell and this “I really have to go” feeling will kick in. Imagine that, but about 50 times worse and going on for weeks. At first, I thought that’s what it was. But it got worse and kept going. So I quickly dropped that theory. Then, in chatting with Drew (in a surly and pitiful way) he brought it back up. I decided to ask Belle to come. Not just once. I really wanted to blow things out.

Of course, I did not want to come. Not even a little. But, on the way back home from picking her up at the airport, I mentioned the idea to Belle who agreed to let me. We got home quite late so there was little fanfare. She turned off the lights and rolled over while I got into bed with a little hand towel.

“That was quick,” she murmured into her pillow.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I suppose now you’re going to turn into an asshole…”

For the record, I have definitely not turned into an asshole. But yeah, I did come quite quickly. And the sensation of pushing what turned out to be copious amounts of juice though my prostate was pinchy and intense. I came again the next day and one more time on Saturday.

I am really anti-orgasm lately. I haven’t been denied nearly long enough to want them and I felt a lot of resentment at being in a spot where I need to. Oddly, though, and perhaps because these are “clinical” orgasms, I haven’t felt a huge amount of sub drop.

In any event, the symptoms have gotten better. A lot better. But they’re not gone. Now, I feel them most intensely in the morning and at night. But not as bad as before. During the day, I only feel like I have to pee when I actually have to pee. So that’s nice.

Later this week, Belle and I and the kids are off on our annual Spring Break pilgrimage to the Virgin Islands. Since the symptoms seem to be getting better (even after she did not let me come on Sunday), I won’t be seeking further medical advice before leaving. However, if things are still relatively unchanged upon our return, I’ll be heading back to the doctor. Hopefully it’ll all be good since nobody wants to read (or write) another post like this anytime soon, I’m sure.

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Everything else will follow

The other day, over on the Twitter, a young man (whose account is private, so I won’t say who it is) tweeted the following:

I hate who I am, the things I like… They complicate my life so much and took away what meant most to me. Why can’t I just be ‘normal’…?

This tore me the fuck up. I mean, I don’t know this guy really. We’re both on Twitter, that’s it. But I wanted to sit down and talk to him right then. To give him a shoulder to let it out on.

I have been that kid.

At various times of my life and for different reasons. When I was young (like he is) and regardless of who I was with or crushed on, I couldn’t stop thinking about someone else of the opposite gender. Or when I tried to make a go of it with the one guy and just couldn’t get myself there and knew I was going to hurt him. Or when I simply shut down sexually and emotionally and went years without touching another person in an intimate way. Or when I was with Belle and feeling like a total freak for liking the shit I do. Why can’t I just be normal!? Again and again, I asked myself that.

And I want to tell him, Dude, there is no normal. Normal is a myth. A lie. Normal is what we call the straightjacket of societally approved acts. In my experience, nobody is fucking normal. And life? It’s always complicated. Every second of every day in some way. By definition, that shit is complicated. It’s just we get used to some of the complications. We make room for them and stop feeling them.

From my perspective just this side of the half-century mark, let me also say “normal and uncomplicated” sounds as boring as hell. It’s only the not-normal and totally complicated that make life worth living. Truly.

I don’t know this guy’s situation. I don’t know what he’s even talking about, really. No idea what he lost or how, though I assume it was an S.O. and because he’s got some nifty little kinks. Let me say that again: Nifty little kinks. Those are what make you fucking awesome. Those are what make you you. There is nothing to hate there. Nothing.

I get the pain. I get the frustration. But you cannot change who you are. You can’t stop wanting what you want. And trust me (TRUST ME), someday you will find a person (or more than one) who wants to be the opposite of your desires. Who desires to feed your desires. It will happen.

If we don’t love ourselves, it’s hard for others to love us. If we don’t accept ourselves, it’s hard to be accepted. If we don’t acknowledge our inherent specialness, you can’t expect anyone else to. Acceptance of one’s self and one’s superpowers (which your sexual predilections absolutely are) is necessary for a happy life.

This is my thousandth post on Denying Thumper. One would expect I’d burn it waxing poetic about chastity or denial or being a little subbie rabbit. Maybe, in a way, I am. Because accepting those things about myself has led me here. A marriage with a wonderful woman who loves me for the freak of nature I am and I love her back fiercely. In fact, we love each other so much, I’m able to have a fucking boyfriend on the side (and I mean that literally). In a way, this entire blog and every word I’ve ever written on it is a giant example of what this post is about.

Accept yourself. Love yourself. Be yourself. Everything else will follow.

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Nine nine nine

I’m all hung up on the fact that my next post will be the thousandth on the blog. I’m not sure if that counts the couple of dozen aborted drafts that never saw the light of day or not (or if it really matters since it’s kind of an arbitrary thing to get hung up on anyway). The next one has kept me from doing this one because once this one’s done then the next one is the big one-zero-zero-zero.

Plenty of things I could write about…

Drew was in town this week. Before he got here, Belle essential insisted that I take him to dinner the night he arrived. She even offered to help me groom myself prior to seeing him. I hope this continues to alleviate any lingering concerns among my readers as to Belle’s emotional wellbeing in this age of open marriage. I also hope my discussion of our open marriage and the fact that I had sex with another man again drives off any lingering hateful homophobes from your midsts (I’m not allowed to describe it here, but assume the aforementioned sex was as awful and dirty as you’re imagining if it helps you close your browser window in disgust and never come back). Minimally, even if you don’t like or get what we’re doing (all four of us involved), you should be happy for us that it seems to only make things better for everyone.

Over on his blog, Drew posted about the net positive effects our openness has had for he and Axel.

Now, five or six months later, I can honestly say I had no idea how great the open marriage would actually be for my marriage. The time I have had with Thumper has already made me a better husband because I am paying attention to Axel more, learning more about areas I was lacking or needing more experience in, and just knowing that the immense level of trust we have for each other is there, is working, and is helping us grow as a couple just makes my heart light up inside.

Mrs Fever posted a comment that was, as usual, insightfully relevant. In part, she said…

And as much as I love my boyfriend, and hate to leave him when our time is through, there is nothing like coming home to my husband afterward. Time apart always makes us appreciate each other more, and time with someone else makes me remember all the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place. Which, as you say, is something that’s difficult to understand unless you’ve been there.

I have nothing much to add to their combined statements. I feel the same way. Giving me the freedom and the trust to be with Drew once a month or so only makes me love her more and, indeed, coming home from my time with him to be with her intensifies that sentiment.

In other news, we’re at the half-way point of my six week pre-vacation lock-down. I am, to put it as succinctly as possible, horny as all fuck. Funny, but my time with Drew doesn’t seem to make it any worse (or, at least not for long). I went into it this time really charged up and, after he left, I’m pretty much the same. I suppose that’s good for him. I find that being in this state makes me much more focused as to what I want out of our handful of monthly hours. Perhaps I was a bit too forward this time, but I didn’t hear any complaining.

In any event, the other morning Belle and I were talking about it and I’m fully and completely on the other side of the lock-up hump in that I am kind of desperately wanting her to maintain as much tight control over the penis as possible. I requested that she make me lock up even on vacation outside those time I have to be out (TSA, wetsuits, etc.). I feel as though being given too much freedom would make me mental. Distracted from the access and even worried about her commitment to my control (which is nuts, but these are all things that have happened in the past and the fucking hormones are powerful shit). She said she was already leaning in that direction anyway and hearing that made me swoon with gratitude.

That’s the fucked up shit of this chastity and denial thing. Being locked up and horny drives me crazy with desire and frustration but it’s the desire and frustration that, in turn, powers my deeply submissive need to be totally controlled and being totally controlled while feeling all that submissiveness makes me stupidly happy. The nervous ball of energy in my stomach and electric throb from inside the steel tube is in a very real sense the palpable proof that my wife loves me and cares about me. Awesome, right? It leaves me feeling deeply in her debt and so, so grateful to her for all things.

But now I’m treading on whatever post 1,000 will be about. So I’ll choose now as my time to stop and ponder.

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Fortnightish

“Can you feel it?”

Belle asked me that as I was wrapped myself around her in bed, pressing my naked body against as much of her bed-clothed body as possible, hard stuffed tube pushing into her thigh. We’re at about the end of the second week of my six week lock-up prior to Spring Break.

“Yes,” I said quietly into her hair.

And I can. A lot. Everything is so much more now. How she looks, how she feels, how she smells, how she tastes. I’m starting to think more about what she might want or how she might feel about something or what she’d want me to do. It’s like fucking magic.

“I can tell,” she said before turing over to sleep, “It’s good for you.”

Whimper.

Then, after a moment, “It’s good for me, too.”

Four more weeks.

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Use it or lose it?

Over on the Tumblr, someone calling themselves teenlockedboy asked…

do you guys think shrinking bc of chastity cage is a real thing?

To which, I replied…

It is definitely not a real thing. Been in a device for the better part of 7 years and the penis is the same size it ever was.

Then, someone calling themselves slaveboyinma said…

Yes. Remember the saying. Use it or lose it? Just another reason why that statement is so true.

And someone else calling themsleves nonyshikon added…

It probably can be, for some. The trouble is, very few are doing scientific research on anything sex-related, and…

I’ve gone over this in the past…

As I mentioned last week, I was out of the device for a day and a half due to some irritation. During that time, I found myself with a hard penis in my hand (purely for research and reporting purposes, of course – I’m always thinking about my readers) and decided, since it seemed like it was about as hard as it gets, that I’d check to see how things were going. I got the measuring tape and verified that Belle’s cock is every bit the 5 and 5/8 inches it has ever been, even though it spends almost all the time locked inside a very short steel tube.

That was in 2011. In the past couple of months (I can’t recall exactly when), I checked in again on the length of the penis and it’s still, stubbornly, 5 and 5/8 inches long. Contrary to nonshikon’s assertion, I think there’s a fucking lot of study going on regarding items of a sexual nature, but no, I don’t think there’s a lab anywhere doing work on the locked-up penis size issue. However, as a guy encased in a short steel tube way more than half the time (probably at least 75% of the time) and having been like that for many years (even more often in recent years) I can state unequivocally and without hesitation that chastity does not make dicks smaller. Period. At least, not the one on me. Without documented evidence to the contrary, I simply won’t believe anyone who says it does.

Cue all the comments from the little-dicked guys who think they got that way from their devices in three…two…

I recall a chastity blogger who used to be (may still be) active who posted several times about how he and his keyholder were hoping locking him up would make his dick smaller. I asked once if he had seen any changes but never heard back. As far as I know, he never posted any data on the matter. In my personal opinion, he’s not alone in his wish for a diminished member and it’s this penis humiliation kink that drives a lot of the talk about it happening from chastity. This, in turn, freaks out the guys who only want to be locked up, not made smaller.

I also do not believe, beeteedub, that chastity ruins one’s ability to have erections. I still have very nice erections (almost always when I’m supposed to). As I’ve said before, the penis has been trained not to get hard as often in the tube as it would when not, but that’s not a physical issue. It’s a mental thing.

Now, what I have noticed when first coming out after an extended lock-up is the penis will be a little fatter towards the bottom than the top when erect, but that goes away after a day or so. I can only assume the erectile tissue needs to “stretch back out” once its been released. But the effect has never been long-lasting. Certainly not permanent.

So don’t worry, teenlockedboy. Lock away with the piece of mind that the piece between your legs may be locked, but it’s not diminishing. Unlike your ability to use proper spelling and grammar.

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I find a clit

As anyone who lives with their penis locked in a steel tube can tell you, hygiene is important. Not to be scrimped on. Probably a third of the time I spend in the shower is attending to the tube.

So this morning, as I was doing my thing (which involves squirting soapy water in the tube and squishing it around), I stuck my finger down there to make sure everything was nicely cleaned out. Typically, I run it down each side to get to the place under the head of the penis where the PA ring goes around the fixing and urine can collect, but this time I also ran it over the top of the penis and ZING!

So that’s how I found myself with my finger down the tube rubbing the top of the glans on the head of the penis like it was a clit. I mean, the motion was exactly like fingering a clit. After a few moments of this, eyes closed and mouth hanging open, I realized several things. First, being forced into a situation where I can only rub myself like I have a clit is a pretty good mind fuck. Two, there is no way in hell I’d ever be able to come this way. With no way to stimulate the bottom of the head, I might eventually combust, but orgasm would forever be out of reach. Three, after a few seconds of this, the amount of room in the tube that made it possible was rapidly filled. And finally, I wondered if this was in violation of Belle’s “no playing with it” rule. Fuck, probably.

So I stopped.

I’ve been in the device now for about ten days which is not that big a deal in the greater scheme of things but longer than I’ve been locked up solid in a while. I am now entering that period where the device stops feeling like a thing which means I’m getting pretty horny. While I was fingering my little faux clit this morning, the tube felt less like a foreign object and more like part of the thing I was fingering. It’s a weird mental game my brain plays that tells me I’m in the groove. Also, I’m more or less sleeping through the night and am only slightly woken up by the tube pressure in the wee hours and find myself flexing the attempted erection so it fills with more blood and the tube gets that much fucking tighter only because I like how it feels.

It’s also sort of dangerous because I’m feeling the denial ooze around me like a warm mud bath and my desire to come is slipping further and further away. All I want now is her. To feel her come. To hear her moan and breath and climax with my fingers buried up in her hot snatch while the penis throbs and strains and pushes against immovable, implacable, clenching steel. If she let me out and told me I could fuck her and come, I definitely would because it’s her decision, but right now this second today, I would regret it. The head of steam is building in my loins and I want to feel it grow stronger. I am not nearly desperate enough.

But I try and put those thoughts aside. I don’t decide. If she wants me hornier, I’ll be hornier. If she doesn’t, I won’t. But I hope she does. That’s OK, right? Hoping?

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Becoming what she needs

Belle has informed me that I will be locked up until we go away on Spring Break. That’s, roughly speaking, about six weeks of being enclosed in steel. Of course, the thing she’s really good at is doing whatever she wants and exercising her prerogative regarding the penis, so it’s entirely possible she’ll wake up one morning and decide she wants cock and let me out. Or she’ll stick to her statement and leave me in. I don’t have any way of knowing and it’s entirely out of my control.

Her reason for this (relatively) long lock-up (at least by recent standards) is because I’m apparently being insufficiently subbie lately. It’s not surprising considering the shocking number of orgasms she allowed me in recent months. Two in the past two or so weeks, even. That’s approaching 30% or so of what a normal man would have! Heavens.

I do know what she’s talking about. I can feel it. I’m doing my best not to second-guess her now that I’m fully engaged with the “she decides” model, but I know I don’t feel now the way I feel when it’s been a really long time since I last came. It’s actually hard to talk about because I feel like I should be removed from that decision. Whatever I say will influence her and I don’t want to unduly do so, but I will admit to getting used to coming (even if it’s still at a far reduced rate from what other men enjoy).

The thing I have to remember is she controls the penis so she controls me and she controls how I’ll be as a result. Sure, I can try and live up to her expectations, but the hormonal wall of denial is a sturdy backstop that helps keep me where she wants me.

She’s left with a difficult choice. She likes when I come in her and likes letting me feel that. She also likes letting me inside her, though she tells me now that she’s more or less off dick as a means to orgasm. She’s adjusted to non-penetrative techniques involving fingers, vibrators, and tongues. We tried Blue the other morning and it didn’t do much for her. In any event, she digs it when I can fuck her.  But she also digs how I am when really well denied. All the salubrious affects that go along with the pent-up hormonal load. I know when it’s been months I’m totally different and she likes that Thumper better. I can only really be that Thumper when I can’t really remember what orgasm feels like. So, her choice.

We’ll have to wait and see. Six weeks solid is a relatively long time to be locked up. I’m not in the frame of mind yet where I feel really settled into it. I haven’t had that “it’s part me” feeling about the Steelheart. Well, not much. This morning, she let me get her off and she said it was a really nice orgasm so that makes me happy. She also told me she like feeling the hard steel against her thigh. That makes me feel…oh, my. I really wanted out. I really wanted to feel the penis inside her pussy. But I never said it because she, of course, knew I felt that and I, of course, knew it wasn’t going to happen. So instead, while she purred and basked in the afterglow, I felt the PA ring pinch inside the end of a steel tube packed tightly with insistent erectile tissue.

She’s entirely right. Extended lock-up is what I need. It’s what needs to happen to make me that better Thumper she prefers and the person I’d rather be for her.