Tag: chastity

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Sleepless (again)

For the third time since beginning our program of my prolonged orgasmic denial, I went an entire night with little or no sleep. I’m beginning to think this will happen every time Belle and I are apart since the other two times I was alone, just like last night.

The formula looks a little like this: First, mix in two parts heightened hormonal level. Then, add one part hours of continuous porn consumption (my need for which is driven by three things: a) I’m a guy, and b) I’m fucking horny, and c) Did I mention I’m a guy?). Shake (don’t stir), then remove all my clothes and put me in bed. My imagination and the concomitant swell and release sensations that emanate from the tube are enough to keep me going pretty much all night.

Besides all that, three other events conspired to keep me restless:

  • At 11:15, housekeeping knocked on my door. I had been asleep immediately prior to this for less than an hour, but awoke with a start and a slight amount of viscous fluid on my thigh. If that was a wet dream, it may have been the first of my life (and absent any dream). Anyway, the housekeeping guy. He was there to deliver a new remote for the TV I didn’t ask for.
  • At 1:30, I heard the sound of a very drunk girl trying to open my door with her key. She didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, so she put the key in the slot and jiggled the doorknob about 500 times (I assume just to make sure she was doing it right). Her male companion (who sounded much less inebriated) suggested maybe she had the wrong room.
  • Approximately 20 minutes after the attempted break-in, I heard the same inebriated woman screaming at the top of her voice, “FUCK ME! FUCK ME! OH, GOD, FUUUUUUCK MEEEEE!!!” No lie. I’m laying there, horn-dogged to the hilt, and there’s a fucking porno shoot going on next door. So, I did what anyone else in my situation would do. I put a pillow over my head and tried to go to sleep. I went over to the adjoining passage door, dropped to the floor so I could hear better, and listened to the “FUCKING STUD” slam the hell out of the poor drunk girl. At one point, I thought they were done, as the screaming had stopped and there was general rustling around, so I went back to bed, but moments later FUCKING STUD was back at it and she was taking the Lord’s name in serious vain. “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, FUUUUUUUCK MEEEE!!” Then I heard him grunt a few times and knew, now they were done. Of course, I was wondering if he gave her an orgasm first. Pretty sure he didn’t based on the tone of her slurred speech and what I think was an offer to come back to bed. I actually feel pretty sorry for her because the FUCKING STUD was gone less than ten minutes after he came.
  • About 20 minutes after all that, I heard the drunk girl throw up. Hopefully, in her toilet.

So here’s the funny bit. I met that girl at lunch. She was at the same table I was. I know this because, while he was busy making small talk and trying to get his clothes back on as quickly as possible, they were discussing the company she works for (the only person from that company at this event). So yeah, I met her, but couldn’t remember what she looked like other than she was blondish and OK looking. If she had been really hot, I would have totally remembered and been able to retroactively fill in the images to the porno soundtrack I had, but no dice.

So now, I have to speak to a couple hundred people and do some kind of video interview thingy and travel home all on about 45 minutes of fitful sleep.

Super.

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Active denial

Can’t sleep. Gee, wonder why. Maybe it’s because I sat in my room for hours looking at and reading porn without the ability to do anything about it. *sigh*

How’s it going in there, little dude? Cramped? No answer.

Anyway, since I’m not going to be sleeping any time soon, I thought I’d take a moment to define a term I’ve used several times here and with Belle. A term I’ve defined for her in person, but never in writing (at least, I don’t think I have).

To me, “active denial” is when she’s not letting me come but is doing all she reasonably can to ensure I’m as horny as possible as often as possible. This can be accomplished in several ways. If I’m really around the bend, simply letting me rub her feet can do it. Obviously, any time she lets me sexually pleasure her does the trick. Giving me a list of tasks to perform while she watches with her glass of wine on the couch can be good, too. These are the sort of “passive” ways she can actively deny me. The other ways would be to touch, tease, torture, or otherwise abuse my body. These can be doubled up like when she rides her cock to orgasm but doesn’t let me follow. That’s a twofer since I know how much she likes her cock and I get to feel her climax with my whole body, but I’m left hard and wanting when it’s over. In fact, any time I get to curl into her at bedtime with a hard, fat erection while she drifts off to sleep is good stuff. The other thing she can do to “actively” deny me is to simply talk to me. To tell me things like how horny I must be and how unfortunate it is that nothing’s going to be done about that. Or how hot it makes her seeing me perform household tasks driven by my deprived state’s desire to make her happy.

It does seem to be something of an oxymoron (how can you actively not do something?), but to me, it’s the opposite of just denying me access to any kind of sexual engagement. Locking me up and then not keeping me on edge and horny would be cruel. Locking me up while keeping the arousal stoked and glowing is the nicest thing she could ever do for me and makes being locked up not just bearable, but also enjoyable.

Well, that didn’t eat up as much time as I thought it would. Damn.

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Hair

poster2One of the things that bugs me about the CB-6000 is the joints between the ring parts and how they very neatly grab and pull pubic hair. I find myself sitting a lot in my job and, depending on how tight my underwear or pants are, my pubes will get caught and pulled hard enough to hurt like fuck but not hard enough to actually pull them out (which is good, I guess).

Debate on this subject is varied. Maymay says trim, don’t shave. I’ve also read on Aarkey’s FAQ that some prefer to keep it long. I can’t stand long, untrimmed pubes, so that’s out. Normally, I keep them about as long as Maymay suggests (around a centimeter), but that’s how I’m also finding myself getting caught. So, for this stint in the device, I decided to NOT follow Maymay’s advice and try a method I’ve seen a few men use via their obligatory online chastity shots.1

Basically, what I’ve done is shave an area about an inch wide all the way around the ring of the CB6K. I didn’t really start out going for an inch, but I kept trying to make it even and eventually just found myself there (yet another piece of advice from Seinfeld that I ignored). After a whole day in grown-up pants and my tightest underwear, I can report that I had NO discomfort around the top part of the ring at all. Normally, I’d be pretty sore up there and even red and irritated, but not today. Smooth as a baby’s butt and no pulling. I’ll have to see how it goes as it starts to grow out. Maymay warns of irritation as the ring interacts with the new hair and the shaving necessary to maintain it. If it all goes horribly wrong, I’ll come back here and tell you all about it.

Regardless, I’m not letting my pubes get bushy, I don’t care how bad it hurts when packing the plastic.

1 BTW, WTF is up with that? Does every guy in chastity think I or anyone wants to see yet another goddamned schlong locked up in a CB-x000? Seriously, the web is littered with these things. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all (but I do award bonus points for the guys in pink lacy underwear, stockings, or any type of French maid’s dress). And, oh by the way, I see one every fucking day on me. And yeah, I know, I use a variation on the theme up there in this site’s header, but the composition is very different. Personally, I’d much rather see guys in full belts or steel trapped-ball devices or anything exotic and stainless over one more pink sausage squished into a polycarbonate tube. Then again, had they not posted those shots I’d never had seen their hair management technique. So yeah, OK. Shutting up.

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000667

I’m on my business trip. The one that will keep me from home for three days. Belle had previously said she wanted me locked up while I was away, but she neglected to specifically order me into the device this morning before she left. I seriously considered not putting it on for a while. It would be so much easier, I thought, to sit in a plane for a few hours and get up and speak in front of hundreds of people if I didn’t have a fucking plastic tube locked on me. Since she hadn’t said to put it on, maybe she had a change of heart.

travel2_export
Inmate 000667 in solitary confinement

I knew what she wanted, though. I also knew, considering my porn/masturbation habits while in bland corporate hotel rooms, that I’d minimally be edging myself pretty much nonstop. I also knew that eventually my hormone-addled brain would find a way to sabotage my best intentions and I’d find myself covered in hot, pungent spunk. So I put myself in the device and snapped plastic lock 000667 into place. You can see it there in my mug shot on the right if you want proof (kinda blurry since I took it with my phone).

The thing is, I’m pretty sure I’d have blown it already had I not been locked away. Belle allowed me to bring her to orgasm with the vibrator last night and then let me spend about 10 minutes beating off…I really, really wish I could be doing it again right now.

Before that, Belle and I talked about the “week off” we just went through. It was a full week off since, besides the three orgasms she let me have at the B&B, she also let me come inside her Saturday morning (which I didn’t really expect). Thing is, it wasn’t all that great of a week, from my perspective. Yeah, I liked the spurting, but I actually missed the feelings that come from being denied by Belle. I like the kind of mate I am when I don’t come (either by my own hand or while having sex with her). I’m not as attentive to her needs and my timely contributions to the housework suffers. I’m not an asshole or anything, but I can totally see how I’m different and I don’t really like it.

It’s interesting to me how simple it is to fuck with millions of years of evolutionary programming. My inclination, when having “normal” levels of sexual release, is to be more self-interested and less aware of her and her needs. In the past, my interest in courting her was directly related to how badly I wanted in her pants. But it was always fleeting. Once I got what I wanted, things would go back to normal which all too often meant she carried too much of the household load and my interest in TV was greater than my interest in her. I am not unique. I suspect that the vast majority of men are like I was. To reverse all that behavior, all it takes is to move control over my sexual release to her. That simple little thing, and I’m all about her all of the time, constantly looking for ways to make her happy, which in turn, makes me happy. Happier than I am when I can come whenever I want.

The change in me is so profound, I’m sure it leads her to question a few things (at least it raises questions for me). Like why should she have to do this to make me a better mate? After considering it for a while, I think all we’re doing is exploiting how the male brain works. We’re basically tricking my brain into engaging a prolonged and heightened “courtship mode” – not unlike how it was operating at the very beginning of our relationship – by withholding its ability to do the one thing reptilian male brains were programmed to do: spread the seed. So it’s still me, still my feelings about her at work, but amplified. At the end of the day, I don’t ever want Belle to feel guilty for denying me. I don’t want her to feel as though she’s being unfair or mean to me. As I said, I like how it feels. Perversely, the more she lets me pleasure her while I’m denied, the closer I get to her. If she let me fuck her to orgasm five times a week, I’d find it easier to drift away from her. That’s irony.

Personally, I think we’ve stumbled upon the secret to a happy relationship. I think everyone should be doing it.

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Thrice

Belle let me come three time last weekend. Three times in three days (only once inside her). I feel somewhat bad for not coming over here and posting about it (and even worse that I ignored the blog all week), but the truth is, after the three orgasms, I didn’t really feel like it. Every little bit of whatever energy I use to write what I write had left me (plus, I have a very busy week at work). Not only that, but (of course) my sub reservoir was totally drained.

The first orgasm was pretty straightforward. Shortly after getting in the room, Belle and I got into bed. I fingered her to orgasm and she told me to have my way with her. For a few moments, I thought she was going to keep me waiting, but she’s excessively nice to me. My resulting orgasm came quickly and explosively.

The second time, she had me blindfolded and tied to the bed and had just abused me with the flogger, ice, and wickedly cruel nipple clamps. Again, she’s crueler in my mind and I though she might have been stroking me just to leave me edged and horny, but she kept going and I eventually came like fountain. Whatever had spurted onto her hand she smeared all over my lips. All I could do was laugh hysterically at this, though I kept my mouth clamped shut and wiped the spunk off as soon as my hand was free.

The last time was Sunday morning. She had ridden me to her own orgasm and wanted me to go too, but something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t come from underneath and had her roll over but couldn’t come from on top, either. Eventually, she let me jerk off and that felt almost as good as fucking her considering how long it had been since I had been allowed to enjoy my own hand all the way to pleasurable orgasm. Masturbation is quite unfairly derided, in my opinion. I really like it (and miss being able to do it).

The week passed with me slacking off on my duties until Wednesday when I finally confronted the mountain of laundry that had piled up. I don’t feel as though I’ve been of much service to her, partly because she’s on her period now but mostly because, as I said, all my submissive juices were juiced out of me. Yes, I’m one of those guys. I told Belle last night that I wanted us to get back into the rhythm, though. My 41-year-old libido has finally recovered from all the ejaculatory action of the weekend and I’m getting horny again. I know I said in my last post that I wanted to take a break from the dom/sub thang, and I guess we did, but mostly because I wasn’t energized and she was on the rag. I still haven’t come since then or had any sexual contact with her at all. She never released me from my servitude, though, and I’ve been faithful to her control over my sex even as the meat between my legs made it presence known this morning in a way that suggests the lizard within is starting to stir.

She’s left me out of chastity for the week, so this morning as I was in the bathroom getting ready for work, I snuck a little edging in. I’ve been counting how many times I can rapidly stroke myself before feeling the urge to come. I got up to over 120 before having to pause the first time. After a few moments of rest, I’d go again and find each time the number – unsurprisingly – got smaller. The last time, I only got to the high 30s before having to stop (and even then, a little bit leaked out). I bet I got about 400-500 strokes in. As long as she keeps me out of lock-up, I’d like to keep up this training program. I’d like to be able to stroke myself 1,000 times and not be close to coming. We’ll see how it goes.

I don’t expect to get much more time to practice, though. I leave town Monday for a three day conference and she’s said she thinks I need to be locked up before I go. Normally, business trips are an opportunity to consume porn and jack-off like a rabbit, but that was all before the new paragdim. If I’m really lucky, her period will end soon and she’ll let me service her a bit. That’ll leave me nice and worked up for the trip, and well motivated to keep up the blogging.

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I want

We leave today for our three-day, two-night, adults-only trip to the charming B&B next to a river in the boonies somewhere. Apparently, there are things to do around the B&B, but I don’t care. If it were up to me, we’d never leave the room and stay naked the entire time. It would be hour after hour of debauchery and dirty, nasty sex punctuated with occasional beatings (and maybe some sleep).

Belle has been keeping me on a pretty short leash. It’s been days since I’ve been allowed to have sexual contact and last night she told me that was on purpose. She says I need to become stronger. More motivated to see to her pleasure. That’s why she only let me massage her feet, even though she had made enough comments during the day as to my obviously desperate state to lead me to hope I’d get some action (which, of course, is code for “she gets some action”). I rubbed with abandon. At one point, I was practically masturbating her feet.

I feel as though the cock’s hard all the time now. I’m so desperate for any kind of sexual or even sensual contact and she knows it and does nothing about it. I can’t give her just a peck. When she’s near me, I want to give her deep, reaching soul kisses and I find my hands on her tits and migrating south to rub her mound through her clothes. I can feel the static sexual charge crackling up and down my spine.

This afternoon, when we’re in the room, I’d want her to tie me up and hit me. Besides the sex, I’m craving pain. I want to be tied up, hit with various objects, have my nipples clamped cruelly, the cock slapped, my balls squeezed and crushed. Oh, Jesus, I almost want to be hurt more than I want the sex. It’s been so long. I want to be tortured and used and abused. I want her to tie me up and then sit on my face until she comes. I want her to ride her cock to orgasm, but every time I get close to coming, I want her to slap my face or reach back and crush my balls. I want her to cuff me and leave me that way all night. I want to be collared. Oh god, do I want to be collared.

Then, of course, there’s my ass. Whenever I’m like this and locked-up for a while, my ass (which, for me, is a valid and available sexual organ) beckons – “Always open!” it says helpfully. She’d never do it, but I’d also like her to violate my ass while I’m tied to the bed. If we had a gag, I’d want her to put it on me so I couldn’t complain or tell her to stop (note to self: get gag). I want my ass pounded, fast – really fast – and hard until my prostate sings and my entire body burns with the feeling of it.

Can you tell? Can you tell how surreally horny I am?

But, when it’s over, when all the reservoirs of frustration are drained and I come off my hormonal high and back to earth, I just want to fuck her. I want to fuck and fuck and fuck her in the sweetest way. I want to be in her body like when we first started to date. And then I want to take a week off from all this. I want to be able to come on to her like any other man can with his wife. I want to have normal, vanilla sex a half dozen times just so the sturm und drang of denial leaves the memory of my body and my Belle gets to be just my wife for a little while.

And once that’s done, I want her to tie me, beat me, and lock me because where I am right now – seathing in my own sex – really isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

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Defining my sub

In a comment to a previous post about submissiveness, I said…

The flavor of submission I like is the one where I feel her actively subjugating my sexuality until it falls under the sway of hers. There’s more of a conquering of my masculinity going on as opposed to me giving it up to her willingly.

Belle read that and wanted to know what active subjugation was. I told her I chose the word “subjugate” very carefully.

sub⋅ju⋅gate
-verb (used with object), -gat⋅ed, -gat⋅ing.
To subdue, and bring under the yoke of power or dominion; to conquer by force, and compel to submit to the absolute control of another; to vanquish.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not by nature a submissive boy. My submissiveness is a byproduct of my sexuality being brought under the control of Belle’s. I like how that feels, though I also can feel myself fight against it.

So, to answer her question, “active subjugation” is when she uses her power over my sex to mold and shape my behavior to suite her own needs. Tease, chastity, orgasm denial – all of it. And yeah, I do fight it internally, but there’s a point at which, as I said the other day, I stop pushing to serve her and the desire to serve starts to drive me. The mentality of it flips. Then, perversely, my desire to make her happy becomes her accomplice in the denial. I start to want it to continue so my will to serve will strengthen. My desire for sexual gratification becomes a desire for her sexual gratification. It’s something like the Stockholm Syndrome. My sexuality, captive to hers, starts to see things her way.

This is fucking hot.

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In the temple

I’m wiping down the counter top last night and Belle tells me the combination of the smell of the stuff I’m using and the visual of me actually doing it in front of her of gets her motor running. That wasn’t her term – “gets her motor running” – but it’s my interpretation. And, of course, hearing that gave me the familiar tubal pressure. Not that I needed the extra stimulation. I’m really fucking horny now and bobbing around nicely in my pool of sub energy (if you want to imagine me in water wings and goggles, feel free). I’m no longer pushing myself to serve her and now find that need pushing me. This was evidenced by my attitude later that night in bed.

At some point, and for a reason I can’t recall, she suggested, as we lay there, that I was disappointed about something related to what we were doing (or were about to do). Quite the contrary, I said, I was not disappointed. Not at all. Yes, I badly wanted to feel her pleasure at the end of my fingers or tongue – my sexual arousal having achieved its cruising altitude sometime that day – but I reiterated that sex is for her, not me. Whatever she wants, she gets. What I want should be immaterial. Honesty, there’s no other way for me to operate when I’m this horny. That’s the one huge lesson I’ve learned in the past few months. If you’re going to be denied, you’re fucking well denied and cannot attempt to make it otherwise. To do so is to work counter to the entire paradigm of her control. In any event, I assured her I wasn’t at all disappointed. I actually felt very calm inside and was prepared for whatever she decided she wanted to do.

Happily, she wanted to come. We groped and kissed for a little bit (that is, I groped – she had her arms around me, but that’s about it) before she made the motion I’ve grown to love. She simply lays back, spreading her arms and legs, in a position that says quite clearly, “Pleasure me.” Fucking hell, unleash the hounds! After a few minutes of nipple sucking and clit fingering, she started talking. That’s somewhat unusual in itself, but even more so in that she was describing a fantasy scene in which she was a goddess laying in her pillared temple and I was a warrior chosen from many as the only one worthy and able to bring her to climax. In a remarkable parallel to how it actually feels to me when she allows me that kind of access, she said the orgasm I was bringing into being was how she wanted to be worshiped. I found the whole scenario to be pretty fucking hot so, when she asked, “Are you hard?” I could barely squeak out a muffled, “Uh-hurmph!” through my mouthful of nipple. Hell yeah, I was hard. The CB6K was biting with unforgiving ferocity.

It became clear, though, that my fingers weren’t going to be sufficient to the job at hand. I realized she wasn’t really climbing the mountain, regardless of how I fingered her. She brought out Pink to finish the job, but didn’t hand it to me (as I thought she would), instead going to work on herself with it. Now I was disappointed, but I didn’t say anything and instead redoubled my work on her tits. I could hear the little vibe go in and out of her wet pussy and the fact that it wasn’t me using it caused my desire to ache in its confinement. She brought herself to climax and roughly pushed me off her breast immediately afterward. She was done and didn’t need my mouth on her anymore. All I could do was gather her in my arms and hold her as she basked in the afterglow, my own arousal feeding-back and eating itself. That’s the moment of the unorgasm, the cresting and washing back of unfulfilled and unneeded desire that, regardless, leaves the tide of arousal just a little bit higher after it passes than before.

The night that followed was restless for me. I wanted to have contact with her and repeatedly put my arms around her, but then found myself aroused to such an extent that the straining meat between my legs hurt and I couldn’t fall asleep. Turning over in the other direction, all I could do was think about how badly I wanted her. These weren’t random sexual thoughts. They were about her. I wanted her pussy again, either under my fingers, in my mouth, or surrounding the cock. Unsurprisingly, it never happened.

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Saturday morning fill-up

Wow, with a title like that, I bet you’re expecting something pretty good. “Saturday morning fill-up” evokes so many possibilities! Well, sorry, it’s pretty mundane.

The fill-up to which I refer is yet another reference to my reservoir of subbie goodness. At a couple of points on Friday, I was feeling little flares of angst not uncommon at the beginning of another round of chastisement, but it wasn’t until this morning, when I woke up and laid there next to her, morning wood straining against the polycarbonate, hands on her sleeping skin, body pressed against hers…well, that’s the fill-up. I started feeling it again, mingled with and fueled by my harnessed lust. She wasn’t buying, so I eventually got out of bed and went about my business.

Which, mostly, involved working for her. I made the beds, put in more laundry, folded the other laundry (good god, but we produce a lot of f’ing laundry), all while she sat at the kitchen counter and made me a more detailed list of tasks she I needed to accomplish over the course of the day. Every once in a while she’d let me grab her, grope her, kiss her, nibble on her neck a little. All very nice.

That being said, here I am again, staring down the teeth of another Saturday night, and trying not to think too much about what might or might not happen. She’s busy doing the seasonal closet change-over and the sister-in-law is bringing the baby over again tonight so she and her husband can go have dinner. All very nice for them, of course, but I can’t imagine it’ll bode well for my chances at a sexual escapade (infants being known black holes of romantic intentions).

So, 300ish words just to say my sub tank is about a third full. Feels good. Real good.

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Running on empty

It’s remarkable to me how much orgasm denial changes who I am. Of course, these changes are well documented just about everywhere, but I still find it fascinating how accommodating and attentive I can be made simply by denying me access to the cock. And, conversely, how quickly it all goes away after a couple of orgasms.

The first orgasm of the week was Sunday’s. The very nature of how she allowed that one and the length of time it had been since my last one left my reservoir of submissive energy pretty well full. Tuesday, she rode her cock to an orgasm and then immediately allowed me one, too. It was just as intense as the one from Sunday, but it left my bathtub full of sub energy totally drained. I can’t tell if that was because it was a second event so close to the first or because if it was the nature of it (basically, in conjunction with giving her an orgasm). The Sunday event wasn’t a “shared moment of passion” as much as it was a carefully choreographed demonstration of her control.

In any event, I found my entire attitude changed. I’m still going through the motions of the FLR lifestyle (laundry, cleaning, dishes, cooking, etc.) but I’m not getting anything out of it. In fact, it’s kind of pissing me off. Last night, I really should have folded the clothes that have been sitting downstairs for two days, but I couldn’t gather the motivation. Also, I notice my need to be constantly touching her has lessened. I’m not as interested in finding unexpected ways of serving her.

No, I’m not saying I’m over the whole thing. Not by a long shot. I still want to get back to that subbie frame of mind. It’s just that, right now, on the flip-side of a couple of orgasms, I’ve lost my motivation. And, as I said, it’s really amazing to me how frickin’ simple men are. You control this one thing and you control their entire being.

Yesterday, she put me back in the device. She noticed I had been putting my hand down my pants quite a bit (absentmindedly – hard to avoid) and felt my freedom has gone on long enough. She also wanted to help me refocus on the important things (her). She told me if I was good, she’d let me out during our B&B weekend (a week from today). I’m not sure if she’s seriously threatening to keep me locked up for what was planned to be a romantic weekend of debauchery or if she’s just talking. Before, I would have thought her to be too sympathetic to my plight to actually carry though on that kind of threat, but now I’m not so sure.

In chastity mechanics news, I’ve swapped out the segment ring from my PA and replaced it with a curved barbell with 5/16″ balls. Since there’s no way I can used the ring to enhance security, I’ve decided it took up too much room in the tube. Sometimes, it’d line up with the slot during erections, but other times it gets stuck in there and pushed over to one side or the other. Not super comfortable. The barbell and relatively small balls will cause fewer issues. We’ve been talking about the Steelheart kind of seriously and the prospect of it has made me more and more critical of the CB6K. I’m really getting tired of the hard corners on the A ring and have a particular disdain for the joints between the ring and the two pieces that hold the pins. I find my scrotum gets trapped in there. It hurts and irretates my skin. This morning, as I was enduring morning wood, visions of the smooth, solid ring of the Steelheart danced in my head.