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Protecting muggle sensibilities whilst naked

Me on Twitter this AM:

The place I get my hair cut is right across the street from where I work. Super convenient and the nice gay man who cuts me is obsessive compulsive about it and makes me feel like I get my money’s worth (and it’s more than most people would pay for a simple haircut, I’m sure). They’ve been building a massage room there for about the last ten years (or so it seems) and the masseuse they have is really good (if a 15 minute chair massage is any indication). I’ve been very excited about the prospect of having a massage option so close and convenient and have been bugging them every time I’m there about when they were going to start accepting table massage clients. Today is that day. So I booked a 90 minute rub down.

Problem is, the above tweet (and its fucking typo1). I’m still locked up. Of course, I am not embarrassed by this. No, really. If the dude giving me the massage was in on my private life and cool, I’d be perfectly happy staying inside the thing as Belle wants and/or answering any questions my state would raise for him, but I really don’t know him. Plus, of course, reputable massage therapists are always having to fend off jokes and innuendo about their profession, so the good ones treat anything sexual like kryptonite. Plus plus, it is entirely uncool to bring someone into your kink without consent.

This is something I struggle with when seeing the trainer. I know for a fact he’s seen the odd bulge in my shorts and I do little to hide it (though I do do a little). There’s a fuzzy line between not dragging someone into your kinky sex life against their will and needing to live your life as you’ve chosen. In the case of the trainer, I feel like I’m on the right side of it. In the case of a (presumed) muggle masseuse, wearing a device that would be obvious through the sheet and/or clank a little when I roll over definitely is not. I get the concept of being forced into a potentially embarrassing situation like that might be uber hot in a chastity femdom porn story, but seriously. Not in real life.

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Since I forgot all about it, I don’t have Belle’s key which means I need to break into the one I have in case of emergency. Kinda bummed about that for no other reason than I’ve been able to maintain seal 1871290 since mid-March of last year. Now it has to die and be replaced with another silent key keeper.

It’s possible, I suppose, he’ll put a thick towel over me or a heavy sheet. And it’s possible that towel or sheet would be enough to hide the odd bulk of the Steelheart. But I recall one massage I got (at the Grand Californian at Disneyland of all places) where the sheet was ridiculously thin. Thin enough to figure out if the penis was circumcised. For real. Had I been locked, all would have been known instantaneously. It just seems really super creepy to me to not do something about the device if I can. Of course, I can. So I will.

While writing this, I’m still locked up. I’ll stay that way until I undress when I’ll pop the key and take the Steelheart off. Then, when redressing, I’ll put it back on. I’ll only be unlocked during the actual massage. Assuming, of course, that the key in the key safe is the right key. Damn. Just thought of that. Fuck.

Well…it is what it is. I’m pretty sure it’s the right one. We’ll know at about 3:10 this afternoon. Here’s hoping for that super thick towel or heavy sheet just in case…

UPDATE: The idea that I had the wrong key freaked me out enough to break into it and give it a test. Yes, it’s the right one. And yes, I’m still locked up.

1 Seriously, Twitter!? We STILL can’t edit fucking tweets? Facebook figured this out years ago now.

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Irrational rabbit

Belle let me fuck her twice this past weekend. The first time was pretty normal stuff for us. I got her off, she let me fuck her. I only got close to coming once and that’s when she told me to stop so I did. Like I said, normal Thumper/Belle sex.

Sunday, though. First thing we did was break out Belle’s new vibrator. Her previous favorite, Pink, of which we had two identical models (one for her nightstand, one for mine), is no longer available. The one in my drawer (which may have been the one that was running for an unknown amount of time in our luggage as we were coming home from Spring Break last year) started going off randomly and all by itself at all hours of the day. It had lost its little vibralicious brain. So we were left with just the one Pink until the other day when Belle used it in the bath tub. I suspect its waterproofness had failed since it was totally dead not long after. So I visited Smitten Kitten and tried to find her a replacement.

Pink is, as I said, no longer made so I had to find a new pink. This is tricky business since Belle likes a very specific kind of vibrator. Not too big, not too soft, with a firm little motor. I found one I thought was close (and would show it to you except that it doesn’t appear to be on the Smitten Kitten website) and gave it to her last week. Sunday was its debut.

Thing about vibrators, though (that I’ve learned in the past few years), is they’re not all the same. I tried using it on her first as I would have Pink, but she needed to keep giving me directions (which, all by themselves, I found hot — especially “put it in me”) until she took it into her own hands to experiment with while I focused my attention on her tits. Eventually, New Pink (which is really purple) did its thing and she, after a moment of basking, told me I could do mine.

For whatever reason, I was sure she was going to let me come. No idea why. Sometimes, it’s just a hunch I get and I’m usually right. So I started fucking with the idea I would climax at the end. But, as I got closer and closer, she didn’t give me the magic words. So I slowed down and stopped to give the orgasm a chance to back off. Then I started at it again. Even though there was no outward reason to believe so, I figured this time would be the time. I let myself get really close again but didn’t hear the magic words.

Here’s the thing about fucking. It’s all the penis gets anymore. Nothing happens with it that she doesn’t allow and she doesn’t allow me to play with it or use it in any pleasurable way except when I’m allowed to fuck her. I am totally focused on her pussy in a way I’ve never been about anything sexually. It and it’s pleasure has even elevated above the penis on my list of sexual priorities. It seems to be the only way I’ll ever come again. From her pussy and inside her. And then only rarely. Fucking her pussy has always felt amazing, but now because of the insidious nature of how I’ve been trained to focus on being in her exclusively and specifically, it feels FUCKING AMAZING.

So yeah, I slowed down again to let the orgasm creep back up inside me and I looked directly into her eyes. She just looked back. No flicker of understanding passed between us. I started fucking again. This time, while continuing to look into her eyes, I thought very insistently about being allowed to come. She just smiled at me. I got really close yet again (quicker with each cycle, unsurprisingly). I had a quizzical look on my face and she just kept smiling.

Eventually, she had had enough and told me I was done. I whined/whimpered/moaned in defeat. It was election night and I was certain of victory even though all the polls indicated I was going to lose yet I remained confident and here we were at the moment CNN had called the race against me and I had to go down to the ballroom and concede.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I thought you were going to let me come. I really want to come.”

She laughed at me. Laughed.

Not being in the laughing mood myself, I buried my face in her neck and whimpered some more.

“What’s up with you lately?” she wanted to know. Why was I suddenly seemingly more interested in coming? In the past, I’d beg and plead to be denied. Was I looking to change up the paradigm?

No, I wasn’t looking to do that, but I did want to come. Badly. But I’ve totally released any pretense of influence on her regarding that at just about the same time she’s taken full control over my release. Used to be, I could influence. Cajole. Nudge. Not anymore. She just doesn’t let me. I totally acknowledge that and have stopped worrying about it. Would I like to be denied more and longer? Sure. Would I like to come? Yes. Both these things are true. Luckily, it doesn’t matter a whit what I think about either possibility. She decides and for her own reasons.

This is the truest form of orgasm denial. No control or desire to control from me whatsoever and a total command by her with only her own needs and concerns in the equation. I did badly want to come Sunday morning but I also wanted to be controlled badly. Both outcomes were what I wanted, even if one was more desirable in the moment. None of that mattered to her, though, as I asked for it to be and as it should be.

In a perfect demonstration of her total say in this matter, she indicated my next orgasm might happen on February 15. It’s a Sunday. And it’s International Male Chastity Day. Her attitude seems to say, “A whole day for male chastity and orgasm denial? How cute. That’s the day he comes, then.”

We’ll see.

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Love and hate

Over on his blog, Drew wrote a post that was also a question. Basically, since he now has personal insight into outwardly-appearing “straight” couples and how they interact, along with his intimate understanding of how homosexual couples live and interact, he wondered how the two were different from one another. Gay couples are more often open than non-gay (apparently) and gay couples are often open with one another about their sex lives. Are “straight” couples the same? How are they different? And, of course, I use “straight” in quotes since that’s how Belle and I appear from outside.

I think M/M couples are more open in both senses of the word. They’re more often open sexually and they’re more open with one another about it. My simplification of their experience would be that it’s easier for them because they’re all guys. In a mixed gender scenario, you have something like alternating currents involved. The differences in how the genders process sexuality and the associated emotions need to be negotiated and that, more than anything, is what keeps F/M couples from chatting too freely with one another about sex and relationships. Of course, some do. But many (most?) don’t. When the couples are divided and grouped into their component genders, talk of sex increases because the currents are all the same. But even then, there’s a lot of uptight straight people out there.

And, of course, guys are allowed to be slutty in a way society frowns on for women. When the sexual dynamics are all about M/M sex, there’s a lot more of it. I’m not saying men are simpler sexually than woman or that woman are too complicated or whatever, only that it’s very easy for men to have sex without consequences (and that’s multiplied by about 10 when it’s sex with another man). I think men are also socialized to more freely have no-strings-attached sex than women. If it sounds like I’m saying men are pigs, I won’t lie and say that’s not true, but I think women could just as easily be pigs if we were all raised outside our dominant “good girls don’t”/”monogamy at all costs” paradigm.

So no, Drew, “straight” couples tend not to talk about one another’s sex lives unless their participants are broken out into their gender groups in which case they might. At least, that’s my experience.

Two caveats. First, openly kinky people are probably more likely to have these conversations than the non-kinky or the closeted kinky. Second, I clearly have no idea how those in F/F relationships relate to one another. Zero.

Now, when it comes to actually being in an open relationship, I think there’s more of that going on in the “straight” community than is let on. It’s such a taboo (or has been) that even if a relationship was like mine and Belle’s, chances are quite slim that information would be volunteered, even to close friends. Therefore, I think it’s impossible to know how many couples are open in some way (whether that be swinging or “fine but don’t tell me” or a cuckolding thing or like ours or whatever — there are many available flavors).

I would encourage my readers to check out the comments to his post because there’s a lot of good stuff there. But there was also this from someone called Pat…

I really don’t understand why everyone is so casual about this. For the straight couples it’s cheating. Plain and simple. For the gay couples, I guess you could call it a form of cheating but since those marriages are soon to be voided, I suppose it won’t be.

I made a vow when I married my husband to stay with him and only him. This bow [sic] was to him but also to God. I like to keep him in chastity to make our sex life stronger, but it’s just for us.

Open and cheating are not the same thing. I can tell you that for a fact since I’m someone who has cheated and is now in an open relationship. Open is so much better. And, if you read my last post, you’ll see how open can also be perfectly casual. In fact, I have to imagine it’s at its best when it’s casual. If I was sneaking around with Drew behind Belle’s back, that would be cheating. Since I’m not, it’s not. Plain and simple.

Regarding the dismissive hatefulness of the rest of that first paragraph, all I can say is you’re on the wrong side of history. You’ll soon be relegated to the same bin we keep racists who hated interracial couples and religious fanatics who persecuted the left-handed. That makes me very happy. We’re leaving people like you behind. I don’t say that with hatred in return. It’s a simple observation of fact. You’re either on the equity bus or you’re under it.

Also, point of fact, regarding the “marriages will be voided” comment, the question being taken up by SCOTUS would not, even in its most damaging result to marriage equity, void any marriages already performed. Nor would it stop marriages in states, like mine, were the elected legislatures made it lawful.

Regarding the question of vows, I can’t imagine why we couldn’t renegotiate whatever we laid out to one another soon-to-be twenty years ago. I can’t imagine why one would let their younger, less experienced selves place them in such a rigid box like that. Funny thing is, opening our marriage has been nothing but good for our relationship. So if by doing so we’ve strengthened the marriage, how is that going against the spirit of our wedding vows?

Of course, you can choose to make promises to your imaginary sky friend, but I’d rather stay focused on Belle and me, thanks. In my estimation, promises to gods have resulted in immeasurably more suffering and pain on this planet than the opposite. They’re all too often used to shield and justify hateful, damaging, and abusive words and actions. I’ll have nothing to do with them.

Pat also went on to say…

I’ve recently started reading [Thumper’s] again now that it’s back to more he and belle and chastity versus the gay fantasies and his feelings for sex with you.

You will understand that hearing you say you’re happy to read my blog again now that you perceive it to be more about one part of me than another you find distasteful does little to endear you to me. If there was a way for me to blot out my words so you and people like you couldn’t read them or find any value from them, I would. You must take me as I am, all of me. Both my wife and my boyfriend (and his lawful husband). If you choose not to, then please stop reading me.

I chatted with Drew about Pat’s comment after she made them and how much more emotional things like that make me than him. His said something that made me profoundly sad. Of course, he’s used to comments like that. Words that degrade and dehumanize and minimize him and his feelings and his life. He’s accustomed to dealing with injustice, prejudice, and intolerance. I’m not. I have lived in my privileged “straight” lifestyle and have only recently been exposed to terrible people in such a personal way. Unlike Drew, I haven’t had the opportunity to build up a thick emotional scab.

I don’t want that scab. I never want to let words like her’s roll off my back. Whether or not she was intentionally hateful, she was and I always want to feel an urge to say, “FUCK YOU,” than not. Impolite? Oh, sure. But justice is often impolite…at first.

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Dining among the beautiful people

Belle and I went out to dinner Saturday night at a shmancy new restaurant that feels like it’d be better suited to Soho than our fair prairie metropolis. Even the people in it seemed to be imported from one coast or the other. Where do these people live? Food was pretty good, though.

Anyway, we had a chance to talk, just the two of us. It was nice and something we needed as there were real life things that had to be discussed (but are unrelated to the world of this blog). Along the way, Belle asked how things were going with Drew.

At no point in my life did I ever think my wife would be asking me about my boyfriend but there she was doing it and all I could do in response was smirk. But it was fantastic and wonderful and such a great thing to be able to chat to her about him and me and me and her and the funky life we all lead. She’s entirely comfortable with the position Drew has in my life and that makes me very comfortable. It’s amazing to me how well this whole thing is working out and I’m impressed with all four of us involved that we’re able to be so perfectly cool about it.

To clarify about Drew’s “position,” I feel for him about how I’ve felt for all the other men I’ve been involved with. In the way my brand of bisexuality allows, greater than just a friend but less than someone I’m romantic with. I feel close to him and very fond and am quite pleased the pressure to have to feel more than that isn’t present. It’s great to have a relationship like this where I can be totally honest about what I need and can give back and not have to worry I’m not giving what he needs. In fact, I think I’m giving him exactly what he needs.

I told Belle again that I encouraged her to find her own Drew-like person, but she again said it wasn’t for her (and no, I’m not harping on it). She’d be afraid of developing an attachment beyond that which I have (or can have) for Drew, nevermind the time commitment something like that would require. Funny thing is, I expect if she ever did pick someone up on the side like that that she would develop feelings for him but I don’t find that in any way threatening. I know what I am to Belle. That said, of course, I’d be jealous. But not an unhealthy jealousy grounded in fear and insecurity. Maybe jealousy isn’t even the right world (or maybe we don’t have a word for it). I think whatever frisson I imagine I’d feel would actually be healthy for me and our relationship. The natural byproduct of our inherent promiscuity as a species. A little high octane fuel, as it were.

A little while back, Belle said she was glad I wasn’t poly. Thing is, I don’t know that I’m not. Do I love Drew? I don’t know that I’d go that far. As I said, I’m fond of him. I feel inside me the capacity to be fond of more than just him, though like Belle, I can’t imagine having the time. When I was unfaithful to Belle, I think the part of it that may have bothered her most was when I said I had “feelings” for the other woman. And of course, I did. I’ve never been good at sex without some kind of attachment like that. But nothing in those feelings changed how I felt about Belle. If anything, it drove me to feel more deeply for her. Nothing in those feelings were a threat to Belle. Same with the feelings I have for Drew. There’s not a finite reservoir of affection inside me that can only be divided up so many times. I don’t think that about any of us. More than ever, I think the limiting factor in how many loves we can have is that insecurity and fear. If not in us, then in our partners.

But whatever. The point of this post is to point out how great my wife is. That she could find the security in herself and to know well enough what she is to me to allow me the freedom to have Drew on the side. She’s awesome and I’m lucky. We’re all lucky. And for that, I’m grateful.

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Feral, free range rabbit

It’s been an odd couple of weeks around here.

First off, I was off in the woods over the long MLK weekend. Belle let me out the weekend before that, let me come, and then didn’t put me back in since I was flying on Wednesday. Got home Monday night and I just stayed unlocked. All of a sudden, it had been two weeks with no locked steel between my legs plus no sex.

The universe has decided to do interfere with our lives in a coordinated way. Things are going on both at her work and mine and together they’re a significant bummer. We’re maybe seeing the light at the end of the tunnel now, but we’re still living under this combined overhang and it’s no fun. That, as much as anything, also explains the gap in posts here.

In any event, we did finally fuck Saturday. Bummer or no, my hormones eventually overwhelmed the damper on my libido and, when shown a glimmer of hope from her, sparked into a sudden and raging need to be inside her.

She has a longstanding rule that I’m not allowed to play with the penis when unlocked absent her permission and, in the past, I was usually pretty good at following it, but I pledged that in 2015 I would follow it absolutely. The last few days were a significant challenge (and I was more or less neglecting the Tumblr for obvious reasons) but I found that whenever my hand was inexplicably on the hard penis, the idea of stroking it was really unappealing to me. Our base desires really can be rewired through conditioning. I wanted to feel the sensation of my fist pumping up and down around the hard shaft but even more badly wanted to feel as though I was doing what she expected and that I was keeping my word.

So yeah, when the time came, I was pretty fired up. It’s at those times when just a tiniest tease of my finger against her hot snatch will make me nearly combust and I’ll get a little more insistent with my actions than she likes.

“Remember,” she said, “This is supposed to be about me, not you.”

Years ago, I yearned for her to feel that way and act like it was true. Now it just is. Hearing the words were enough of a reminder to cause me to slow down and follow her body’s signals, not mine. Knowing that this dynamic was so deeply woven into our relationship left me feeling secure and comfortable in a way that’s difficult to explain as part of a hot sex scene. But there it was.

The entire time I was working on her, the penis was throbbing hard. Erections come in various strengths from happily plump to raging boner. When at the high end of the scale, you can feel the hardness. The straining of the erect tissue against the skin containing it. These are the erections of teenagers, but I had one then. I wanted so badly to fuck her. Then she came and immediately I felt the release valve go off. I could feel her heart beating with my fingers buried in her soft, hot wetness and my heart beating in the hardness between my legs and with each thump the penis was deflating just a little. It would shortly be too soft to use.

But I didn’t have time to worry about it. Just a few seconds after she came, she told me I could fuck so I hopped right up and got to work. The penis rapidly regained its strength. Then, even though my last orgasm was just two weeks ago, she said she wanted me to come. I didn’t even consider whether I wanted to or not. Of course, I wanted both. But she told me to so it was inevitable. I held it off as long as I could before coming.

I think it’s the case now that most of the time when she lets me come (which isn’t all that often) it’s those breathless few seconds of inevitability right after the building orgasm is at its peak (when, if edging, you back it off and let it die) and just before the ejacualte squirts forth that are the most enjoyable for me. It’s the very peak of the experience. Often, the intensity of ejaculating is so great that it hurts. As if something internal is getting flexed or pinched in a way its unused to. Far too much intensity. And then the crash. The crash I hardly ever feel in its full glory.

Belle told me after I had to go back into the Steelheart. She reminded me again Sunday morning that I had to after she came but, due to the visitation of her monthly visitor overnight, I was left out of the love tunnel. She did let me jack off but I wasn’t allowed to come this time and I got there so quickly suddenly that I didn’t have much time to enjoy it.

After more than two weeks, I really didn’t want to go back in. I got used to sleeping through the night. Of not dealing with the steel. Of not trying to hide it at the gym.

“Are you fighting me on this?” she asked. No, of course not. But…

“This is just proof how much you need to be locked up,” she said. “You know you need it, too. You’re better when you’re locked up.”

Swoon. Ache. Whimper.

Of course she’s right.

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Apple, radius of falling from tree, etc.

The other day, my son let me know he was bisexual. He did it as an aside in a text message as if he was relating his dislike for capers while ordering something containing them at a restaurant. Real smooth-like.

I can’t say I’m very surprised. A little over two years ago, late on the night President Obama was reelected and the Minnesota Marriage Amendment (which would have defined marriage in the state constitution in the heteronormative way even though state law already said the same thing) went down in defeat1, he told me he was gay. The amendment had been topic number one for some time as the election neared and he knew I was vehemently against it. I suppose, in the light of that apparent support and open-mindedness about alternative sexuality, he decided to tell me about his homosexuality. He did so, with some emotion and trepidation.

Problem is, I didn’t believe him. Not for a second. I know gay. I am really familiar with gay kids, too, having been surrounded with them at one point in my life. I also pride myself on having a honed gaydar. None of that gave me the idea he was at all gay. But you don’t tell your kid who’s just done this emotional thing that he’s wrong. You tell him you love him as he is and always will and only want him to find happiness in the world. Then you hug him and tell him to go to bed because he has school in the morning.

After that, he demonstrated zero percent gayness. He dated a handful of girls, one seriously (and recently), and (as far as I could tell) no boys. We never discussed the gay thing again. Just left it out there, sitting. Then came the bisexual declaration.

I wanted to tell him he was doing it backward. Common practice is to identify as bi first then gay. Bisexuality is a station, not a destination. He was doing it wrong.2 But I didn’t. I didn’t say much of anything, really. Didn’t want to make too big a deal of it. He certainly wasn’t. Last night, he did it again for Belle with me sitting there. Kinda of like, “Did I mention the bisexuality thing? Or didn’t I?” Again, no big deal. No great unveiling. Just supportive recognition.

This is complicated for me. I’ve never talked to him about my sexuality, though I have blogged about it on my muggle blog (with its occasional tiny blip of readership) and he knows about that blog and may have read what I wrote there. He’s never asked. On the one hand, I feel like I need to tell him something. On the other, he’s already about 20 years ahead of where I was at his age. He’s out at school where I’m told it’s no big deal and now he’s out at home. No big deal. I recall how badly I wanted my dad to talk to me about his sex life when I was sixteen (read: NOT AT ALL), so even though he’s not going to follow the standard path and he’s apparently not going to follow my path, he is definitely on a path and is showing little sign of needing someone to show him his way.

Of course, this makes me proud of him. And a little in awe. I see a lot of me in him, but he’s got a lot of his mom, too, and the combination is formidable and more than either of us, I think. One day, he will lead people. He seems destined to do it. He will deserve to do it. I doubt he’ll ever be apologizing to anyone for who he is nor should he. Such incredible potential.

As it stands, I doubt I’ll talk to him about being bi for a while. He just doesn’t seem to need it. Of course, he doesn’t have all the answers yet, but part of being young is finding those yourself. There’s only so much listening to his dad any boy will do even when he isn’t talking about sex. Whatever Belle and I have been doing for him so far seems to be working.

I did set him up with his own subscription to Dan Savage’s Savage Lovecast.  He’s just sixteen but he’s a mature sixteen (looks and acts twenty) and I could only have wished at that age to have had a resource like Dan. I think it will be important and ultimately healthy for him to be exposed to the full breadth and depth of the human sexual condition that is regularly featured on the Lovecast. I can’t say that Saturday was the exact best moment to do it, but waiting until he was an “adult” would be far too long. There are so many things he needs to know and none of his friends are going to know them any better than he does and I doubt he’ll get much from the school other than the official line (and he’ll only come to me under extreme duress, I’m sure). In any event, I deemed him ready for it. Hopefully, he gives it a listen.

Now all I have to do is start steeling myself for when his sister gets to be that age. <insert wide-eyed and terror-filled emoticon here>

1 And which led to a Democratic take-over of the statehouse and, ultimately, marriage equity in the state.
2 NO, of course I don’t really believe that.

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Fishing for offense

Belle read my previous post about the penis problems from the other day and, while liking it in general, thought I was being defensive in the comments. Mostly because she was on the same page as the other women who left their thoughts. Essentially, women are conditioned/assume that if a man can’t get it up it’s somehow a reflection upon them, the woman he’s with, and not something else going on with the guy. The male commenters who indicated an opinion on the matter seemed to back me up. That erections were not as simple as showing a guy something sexually stimulating and waiting for the spongy tissue to fill up.

As the conversation went on, I realized that perhaps I was being a bit defensive, but I honestly don’t think it was underserved defensiveness. Usually, when I feel that way, it’s because the basic point of whatever post is being commented on has been missed. While that post didn’t have a salient point (some do, some don’t), I did try to establish as a man with a penis attached to his body that the simple stimulation = hard-on idea was incorrect. Yes, even men in all their supposedly binary simplistic ways, have a bit of nuance in how their sex works.

The notion that men’s sexual stimulation is as simple as a flicking a switch and that any issues he has, assuming they’re not physiological, are the responsibility of his partner seems to me sexist all the way around. As if men are simple bits with on and off settings and nothing in between and no psychological dimension to their arousal and, similarly, if he can’t get it up, it’s her problem, not his. That’s all kinds of fucked up.

I try not to go out of my way to find offense in things like this and I’m not trying assign the label of “sexist” on anyone in the conversation (and I’m fairly surprised to feel as though I’m on the other side of a sexist notion, to be honest about it). It could even be argued I’m overreacting. But it’s how I feel and, I think, the root of my “defensiveness.”

Of course, I didn’t need to write a post about erectile dysfunction issues. I could have glossed right over it. I don’t write about everything, after all. But I did and part of why I did was to hash out the difference between not getting it up because I wasn’t turned-on and not getting it up even though I was. Plus, I very specifically wanted to disabuse Belle of any idea that she was responsible. She may own the penis but she can’t control its function with such granularity. I became annoyed because the comments immediately went to where I specifically tried to redirect the issue. It’s fair to say women are conditioned to think their partner’s erections are their problems, but it’s frustrating to see that notion defended by women. I don’t think it’s fair nor anywhere near as simple.

I’ve written many times here that chastity and denial have rewritten some of the basic penis programming. It gets hard significantly less often due to stimulation while locked up than it does when unlocked. Additionally, once she comes, my body reacts in many ways as if I’ve come, though with less intensity than if I actually had. I also don’t think it gets quite as hard as it used to in similar situations nor does it stay as hard for as long. It’s very much a different organ than it was when we started (this even extends to the physical — there’s a permanent dent in the shaft now right where the Steelheart’s tube would hit during an erection). Plus, of course, chastity, denial, and D/s make me think about it and its role a lot more than a vanilla guy would. So it’s not really surprising to me at all that it would, on occasion, develop a hiccup. Even if only once in a while.

I can’t say to what extent Drew factors into any of this except to make the point as delicately as possible that the penis is usually not hard with him except when I’m under very specific stimulation. I have some theories as to why I seem to have had an issue resetting to being with Belle, but none of them are scary or menacing or anything at all anyone needs to worry about. It’s just how it is. A temporary blip.

For the record, the Sunday morning the penis worked exactly as designed. She told me I could fuck her and, as soon as I felt her wet pussy, it was ready for the task. No delay. It stayed that way the entire time until I came. The orgasm was intense, even painful, but not unpleasant. Clearly, whatever the cause of the previous day’s issues, they were resolved. I’d prefer not to think of it as a “problem” and it’s certainly not Belle’s to worry about. I really wish she wouldn’t, regardless of conditioning.

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General merchandise kink

2015-01-11 10.24.10I once said I’d never post another thing about Fifty Shades of Grey ever again, but I cannot not post about this.

While trying to find my little girl the exact kind of oatmeal she wanted (only had to go to three stores…), I stumbled upon this endcap at our local Target. Right there at the end of the shaving aisle, a veritable “My First BDSM Scene” kit. Blindfolds (“No peeking!”) and vibrating cockrings along with (not shown) teeny tiny bottles of lube and something called a “massage candle” all sold as licensed “Fifty Shades” merchandise.

Look, I get that Fifty Shades isn’t high literature or even a faithful depiction of a BDSM dynamic, but my opinion of it hasn’t changed. Fucking Target is selling kinky shit on an endcap. Not just the book. Actual gear. Yeah, I know it’s just about the tamest things you can imagine (and that Durex has been selling vibrating cockrings there for a long time), but this is kinda like seeing muggles perusing a selection of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise in the toy department.

Anything that helps people do something other than vanilla missionary stuff in bed has to be a good thing, right? I mean, Jack on Will and Grace was hardly a realistic portrayal of a gay man, but he begat Cameron and Mitchell on Modern Family. And they, in turn, have probably helped buffer America’s acceptance of gay marriage and families. Anastasia and Christian may be horrible representatives (I still haven’t read it, probably never will, and won’t make seeing the movie a priority), but if they’re the price to pay to get D/s-type relationships and dynamics in the mainstream, then so be it. Let the real people take it from here.

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Correlation vs. causality

This morning, the stupid penis refused to work again. This happened a few weeks ago, too. Just like then, I was really ready to go beforehand. Due to Belle being sick since last year (literally), we haven’t had sex in like two weeks and maybe that’s no big deal for guys who can take matters into their own hands, but it’s a real problem for those of us who can’t. It led me to feeling very irritable and grumpy and all-around not nice. But I digress.

We started with the kissing and petting and then her clothes came off and I felt her snatch for the first time this year (OK, I’ll stop) and the familiar THUMP in my chest when my finger parts her lips and finds the delicious hot wetness. I know for a fact I had a hard-on at that point. Then I got her off and she came really well and I pressed myself against her as she writhed from the intensity of it. Again, hard enough to fuck. As her basking began, though, things started to peter out. That’s not without precedent as I’ve been trained to see her coming as an end to sex, but I started to freak out just the same. The idea of not being able to keep it up (more of a fear, really) is, itself, not unlike a baggie full of ice on one’s junk. It’s a self-perpetuating condition.

Belle asked me if I thought it had to do with Drew. He was here this week and, last time I failed to pressurize, he had been here just before, too. I suppose it’s possible the reluctant hard-on is a symptom of adjusting from one kind of sexual experience into another. It’s been a really (really) long time since I was swapping back and forth between boys and girls in the same week. If, in fact, there is a connection, it’s subconscious. It’s not that I don’t want to be having sex or am fixated on something not right in front of me. But I can’t really say. Is it just a correlation or is there causality?

Thinking back on it, the last time I can recall this happening was right after I had the affair and before I told Belle about it. It also happened with The Other Woman (which, I’ll tell you right now, is not the best way to maximize your extramarital action). I suppose there may be a part of my brain that has difficulty transferring control of the hydraulics or something. This time around, I feel no guilt. Only gratitude. So it’s a mystery.

Unlike the last failure to initiate, we didn’t stop until I was able to chill out and get it up. Usually, if she tells me about how long I’ll be denied or locked up or whatever, that’ll get me hard (even when in a device) so I asked about that.

“How much longer do you think it’ll be until I get to come?”

“I was thinking about letting you do it this morning.”

Oh. Go on…

“Why today?” I asked. Not that there has to be a reason. I suppose any day is the same as any other.

“I don’t know. Maybe as a way to mark what’s mine.” As in, a way to reassert her control following Drew’s visit.

The night before, I said to her that I was very grateful to her for sharing me. That that exact phrase popped into my head when we were laying together watching TV earlier in the week and she was playing with the little hairy patch at the base of my back and I was feeling all warm and happy and secure. I’m so happy she shares me.

“I’m not sharing you,” she said, “I’m loaning you out.”

I didn’t see a lot of difference between “sharing” and “loaning,” but she did. If you share something with someone, you are giving some of it to them to have. You and they are equal owners of part of whatever it is. If you are loaning it to them, it’s still yours. You’re only allowing them use of it. No exchange of ownership implied.

“OK,” I said, “Thank you for loaning me out. I do appreciate it.”

So, making me come right after he was here would be a way to drive home who’s in charge. Not only of my orgasm, but of me and my sex. My entire being. Fucking hot, right? Things began to stir.

I knew that if she made me clean my seed from her after I came, that would get me good and hard because, of course, semen prior to ejacualtion is the sexiest fucking thing but .056 milliseconds after, it’s demon vomit. The idea of eating it prior is remarkably intoxicating. Of forcing me to eat it, whoa boy! Instant hard-on. So I got all up inside her.

Now, I thought I was going to come. I fucked with that goal in mind. It’s a different kind of fucking (not on the outside, but on the inside). And I got really close. Really really. Then I had the thought that she had only said she was going to let me. Not that I could. So I asked.

“No,” she said.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Of course, I didn’t. But did I want to. For real. Ooooooh man, did I want to.

I said to her I could have just gone ahead and done it. That her previous statement on the matter would been sufficient to establish intent on her part. But, of course, it doesn’t work that way and she knows me better. It’s not my orgasm. Not my penis. Not my sex. It’s all hers. Forever and always.

All the best things in my life are directly attributable to her.

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Sin

I’ve been told that in polite conversation you should avoid discussion of religion and politics. Well, we’ve already breached the religion thing (and besides, how polite can this conversation be since I’ve shown you maybe a hundred pictures of my privates and told you about the things that’ve ended up my butthole).

A reader calling themselves Purple left a lengthy riposte to my entry from the other day where I went off on Amy the bigoted homophobe. Purple, it seems, is using me and this blog to research a bisexual alien character in some fiction they’re writing. Yes.

Their comment starts out well…

I’m a Christian, though I’m starting to prefer follower of Christ because I don’t want to be lumped in with idiots like Amy. People like her piss me off to no end. She may claim Christianity, but she does NOT behave as we’re instructed to behave. She is an embarrassment to my faith. People like her have done so much harm to the LGBT community, and to many other people groups, and heaped more pain and hurt on a group of people who are already going through more pain and hurt than any person should have to deal with.

Yes, fantastic. Go on…

It’s easier to hate someone because they’re different than show Christ’s love to them.

Um, OK. I get that. Good on you for sticking to your teachings. The best Christians are those who take the “Christ’s love” angel rather than those who get so much attention nowadays. You were saying…?

Do I believe homosexuality is a sin? Yes, I do. But it’s between you and God. Not you and me.

Oh. It was going so well, too.

To be fair, they said a lot more and you are free to read it all yourself. In fact, please do. I’m in no hurry.

Indeed, Purple was saying many things that seemed more in keeping with the Christian ideals I admire than Amy was by a long shot (as far as I can tell not being one), but I have to stop and say something about sin. Because it makes my brain boil.

Homosexuality is supposedly a sin. Supposedly. The Ten Commandments don’t mention it, but the Bible is full of stuff we’re not supposed to do. So let’s pretend it calls homosexuality a sin, too (even though there’s ample room for debate on that). It seems to me that most of the things the Bible calls out as sins are choices. Adultery, stealing, getting tattoos, eating pork and shellfish, wearing clothes with tears in them or made of cotton-poly blends, trimming your beard, being uncircumcised, working on the sabbath, and — my personal favorite — being raped if you’re a virgin. There are lots of these things. All choices (like that being raped thing). All bad. Apparently.

Two points I’d make.

First of all, as I said in the post to which Purple was commenting and pretty much every person on Earth knows about the the Bible if they know anything at all, good Christians do things all the fucking time that are disallowed by the Bible (like eating cheeseburgers). They have made choices to ignore those rules. Ever had a part-time job on a Sunday? Making cheeseburgers? At a place that disallowed facial hair? Triple whammy. And why not? Because they’re stupid, right? I mean, what creator of the known and unknown universe worth his/her/its salt would give a flying fuck if I decided not to look like a guy from Duck Dynasty? He/Her/It has nothing better to do? So, if it’s the case that we already pick and choose the things we want to follow from the Bible (and the biggest one we’ve chucked overboard is the whole remarrying after adultery and divorce thing), why not homosexuality? Why not? I want an answer to that.

Second thing is, of course, homosexuality is not a fucking choice. If it is, and you’re a straight dude, go suck a dick. Show me what a choice it is by spreading your legs and getting to know the joys of anal sex. We do not have choices in what we find sexually appealing. Zero. We can choose to bury those feelings and let them build and fester and gnaw away at ourselves and our wellbeing, but that’s not the same thing at all. No matter how hard he tries, Marcus Bachmann will always be a giant queen. Nothing he can do about it.

Personally, I think the “homosexulality is a choice” thing is rooted in the experience of bisexuality. If you’re a bisexual, you actually do sometimes have a choice. Not the kind I am, of course. I could only be happy married to Belle (or, to be technical, some other woman, but Belle’s my favorite). But they’re not all like me. And even if they were, they might easily confuse their sexual attraction to men (if they’re men) to be akin to what a true homosexual feels toward other men. As if sex acts and who we have them with are the only axis to the sexuality spectrum. A good boy growing up in a good Christian house goes out for the football team and enthusiastically dates a cheerleader (oral and anal only so they can stay virginal) but, when he’s alone in his bed and jacking off, suddenly finds himself thinking about his coach or the team captain or how the wide receiver’s ass looks in his uniform or all those guys in the shower and all of a sudden BAM! homosexuallity is a choice. Bullshit.

What kind of god creates people to be a way that is sinful? By default? So they they can never know happiness in their lives unless they “choose” to be sinful? What kind of bullshit is that? This isn’t the same as cutting your beard or eating bacon. This is deep, soul-filling stuff. Not just fucking. Emotional fulfillment of the highest order. I want an answer to that, too. How can living as you were created be, in itself, sinful in the eyes of a just and worthy god? You may as well call left-handed redheads sinful. It’d make as much sense.

The real problem with the line “homosexuality is a sin but between you and god” is that it’s a slippery slope to other kinds of evil. Gay parent? Teacher? Doctor? Child? What’s off limits in how those people are treated by good Christians? Thankfully, we’re moving past the point where simply being gay was enough to deny someone custody or visitation rights to their children or the right to work, but it’s not like that everywhere in this country. Not yet. Not by a long shot. And if you’re the good Christian parent of a gay or trans child, there’s nearly nothing you can’t do to “fix” them. All because homosexuality is a sin in the eyes of a god. That’s where it starts. It is the root of all that evil. All that pain and misery.

We are not ignorant people. We have science that tells us things that were previously heresy. The earth is not the center of the universe. It is not 6,000 years old. Humans are not the only “people” who have lived upon it. Homosexuality is not a choice. The genitles we are both with do not define the gender we are.

We have outgrown the need for sin.

The only thing we should take from the Bible is the best part of what Purple talked about in their comment. Love. Mutual respect. You know, the Golden Rule. If we just followed that and let consenting adults doing no harm to others live as they need and want to, then the world would be a much better place.