One and a dozen

Neither Belle nor I can remember the last time I had a real, full, man’s orgasm. Like when she lets me fuck her and, as soon as I enter her, she whispers in my ear, “I want you to come in me.”

She thinks it was around Christmastime but I’m almost positive that’s not the case. We were in St. John over the holidays (RIP the Before Times) and I was mostly locked up and while I can’t recall specifically coming, I have a pretty good sense that I did not. And there’s no mention of doing so in my posts from that period.

In fact, as I recall, I hadn’t in a while by then and wondered if she’d make me come since vacation trips are not unusual times for such things based on her previous behavior. And, as I recall, I was almost always locked up during that trip. I think it’s been or is about to be or has recently passed the one year mark.

Note, when she lets me fuck her, I do ejaculate. I don’t have an orgasm. The difference? Significant. After I come, I feel like I came. I feel that build up and explosion of sensation and the fluid jets out of the penis and slams into her cervix. There’s a detonation of chemical release in my brain and the penis gets incredibly sensitive and I get sleepy and my balls tingle as they contract. I mean, come on guys. We know what orgasms feel like. And what I have isn’t that.

What happens is almost as soon as the penis hits her warm, wet and inviting snatch, I feel like an orgasm is imminent. If I can hold off more than a minute, it’s an achievement. And of course I want to hold out since the feeling of being inside her is the only pleasurable sensation I’m allowed or capable of feeling from the penis. But, honestly more importantly, she likes how it feels to get fucked and I want her to feel that as long as possible. “As long as possible” is always less than three minutes, though.

We’ve spend the better part of the last dozen years controlling my orgasm and she’s been strictly determining my ability to come for about half that so I’ve become an expert in the minutiae of the orgasmic order of operations. I know precisely where my point of no return is. I know precisely when I need to stop thrusting to keep myself from going over the falls. I know precisely how much additional sensation I can bear to avoid the autonomic inevitability of coming. While I’ve never surfed a wave on a board, I feel like staying perched on the edge like this, milking (as it were) as much pleasure as possible without getting too much from the act, is not unlike surfing. Surfing the inevitable and dropping off at just the last moment.

And then I squirt. Not as forceful as real orgasm, but definite and distinct shots. And while it doesn’t feel like coming, the penis begins to soften immediately after. Back in the day, I was able to make my mess and then keep fucking her for as long as she could take it. But not anymore. The penis is trained to bail out once it coughs up its load, no matter how much I wish I could keep going.

One year (and counting) is a milestone I craved when we first started down this path of denial and chastity. And that path, it turns out, began twelve years ago today, at least based on the date of my first blog post.

The funny thing is, “one year” just sneaked up on us. She never made a decision, as far as I know, that I wouldn’t have an orgasm in a year. And she hasn’t made the decision, as far as I know, that I’ll come again any time soon. If ever. She seems perfectly happy with the status quo as am I. I don’t miss orgasm and feel what I get is more than I deserve already. And I suppose it’s a measure of maturity in the dynamic that the metrics and obsession with when and how I come have kind of melted away. I suppose it’s the real definition of the ideal that I feel is central to our dynamic that my orgasm isn’t considered or expected or really any active part of our sex except in its absence. So, in that way, it seems like twelve years in, we’re doing this exactly right.

May metrics, ups and downs

FullSizeRenderAnd there goes May! So many projects going on around here, house guests, graduation, not to mention planning and preparation for our imminent departure to Asia for a huge chunk of the summer. But there’s one thing that doesn’t change: I’m still locked up pretty much all the time.

Belle kept the penis locked 99.5% of May which is the highest percentage of the year (exceeding April by a tenth of a percent). It was kept staring at the inside of the Steelheart for about two-thirds of the time while the rest was spent studying the inside of the Halfshell.

It was let out for sex six times for a total of almost four hours which averages to about 40 minutes each time. That’s funny to me since the vast majority of that time is spent satisfying Belle or lounging around after. The time it spent actually fucking couldn’t have been in total more than ten or twelve minutes, tops. So if you count the time she will sometimes stroke it while I’m getting her off, we’re talking 30-45 minutes a month of pleasurable sensation.

Belle came nine times, three on her own, six from my prestidigitation. That’s down by three from April, but as I said, more stuff going on around here.

I came zero times in May, though as I said, I was allowed to fuck her six times. I ejaculated five of those times. As of this writing, it’s been 102 days since my last orgasm. Of course, I have no idea how long it will be until the next one and doubt she does, either.

There’s something I’ve been meaning to write about for the past few weeks but haven’t figured out how or what words exactly to use then I figured I could make it part of this post. It’s funny, but when writing like this sometimes the hardest part is figuring out how to start and, once that’s done, the rest takes care of itself.

Anyway, as hard as it is to quantify as precisely, the thing that goes along with how often I get to come or for how long I’m locked up is how I feel about it all. And lately, I haven’t felt all that great. It’s been about two and half weeks since I felt the bottom drop out and only now am I starting to feel the stirrings of a rally.

I think a common misperception about denial and enforced chastity is that the locked guy gets hornier and hornier and all that awesome frustration energy powers the whole dynamic to ever greater heights. That’s just totally wrong.

Most guys who feel like it get to come all the time. As soon as the slightest amount of sexual frustration builds, they either have sex or take care of themselves. If it were charted, it’d end up looking like with I think of as a hacksaw blade. When a guy is in his teens, his chart would like a fine-tooth saw — lots and lots of little spikes closely packed interspersed with shallow, short valleys. But when he get’s older, the “teeth” become less frequent with larger spaces between, but the basic pattern remains. There is only so horny a normal man will get before he relieves the pressure to come, one way or another.

But if you’re like me, that never happens. And since the pressure never gets relieved, an underlying pattern is exposed. I don’t know if this is the same for all men, but for me the build goes way higher than it would normally. Perhaps five times higher. Then it plateaus for a long time as I reach cruising altitude. After a certain period like that, it will explode higher for brief period then come crashing down. Lower than what it feels like after an orgasm. Like, a depth so low the fish have to make their own light or not bother to have eyes. I can’t say if the cratering is chemical or caused by external issues or if one is exacerbated by the other. All I know is it happens from time to time.

This used to be a real problem. It’s easy to get depressed. I still do, but the difference is I know it’s not permanent. Sooner or later, for reasons I can’t explain, things will start to build again. Right now, I’m still under water but not so deep that sunlight can’t get to me. It feels like I’m moving in the right direction, but I also know there are false glimmers. When I’ll start to feel more normal but then things’ll go south again. I can’t know yet where I am, but this feels like a real rebound.

When I’m in this place, it’s like the flavor is drained from everything. I’m easily angered and have little interest in anything sexual. I will usually be able to perform for Belle, but I’d not think to instigate anything. It has to be her to push the button. This is the time when, if I find a dirty selfie on my phone or computer, I’m most likely to delete them. I don’t look at my own blog, can’t imagine writing anything, and don’t even look at Tumblr. The toys I enjoy during normal times appall me. It’s not any fun at all.

The worst part is how it changes how I see myself. I’ve said before that being locked all the time alters my own perception of myself at a pretty basic sexual level. I feel less like a man and more like something else. That’s not a bad thing. It’s just what it is. But during a crater like I’ve been in I stop feeling like anything. Whichever steel is between my legs is just an inert mass I need to keep clean. I don’t want to be locked, I don’t want to be unlocked. I just don’t care. No energy means no self-perception of identity. And what are we without identity?

I don’t say all this to be a downer. We’ve been doing this long enough for me to know that in my case it’s a normal aspect of long term denial and lock-up. I will come back and will feel good again. If I go all the way back to why I started this blog, it was because at the time there was way more chastity fantasy bullshit being passed off as reality and little real-life experience being related to those who were just starting out. If I ignored this aspect of denial and chastity, I’d be doing a disservice to the sprit of the site. And, I guess, to you as its readers.

Long story short, most of the time I’m in a good place and feel as though the denial and submission are by far net benefits in my life. I can’t imagine really being “normal” again. Not ever. But it’s not all sunshine and unicorns, either. You know, like life.

What’s at the bottom of the lake

Since the beginning of September when Belle changed the rules and clarified that my default state is to be locked in a device unless she specifically says I should not be, I’ve been in one about 97% of the time. That includes a couple of multi-week stints of uninterrupted chastity. And I don’t know, but I’ve been feeling different lately. Or maybe not different. That’s probably not right. “Different” suggests something new and how I’m feeling is not new. If anything, I feel the same, just…more.

I think I’ve used the analogy in the past that the longer I go locked up or without orgasm it’s like when a lake dries up and the terrain of the land underneath is exposed. It was always there, just hidden. That’s what it feels like to me lately.

If you’ve been visiting this site for more than 72 hours, you know I identify as bisexual, heteromantic, and submissive (plus, I’m a baseball fan according to Twitter). But even that isn’t enough for me. And I really think being locked and denied has given me more insight into all this. The same way hallucinogens are supposed to allow us to see truths we can’t normally, being under the influence of an easy ever-present sexual craving really allowed me to dig around in all the dark, hard to reach corners. To see the submerged terrain. 

I am willing to concede that how I’m feeling and what I think about myself now would be different if I was having a normal amount of sexual release. I know for a fact that if I had easy and persistent access to the penis, I wouldn’t have the same sense of self I have now. Which makes a lot of this kind of introspection interesting because, in a way, it’s built on shifting sands. Somehow, the things we do and do not combine to alter us or accentuate certain attributes. So what are we really? Could I, in a different relationship and with a different partner, be totally different myself? That’s some existential shit. 
All I can say is how it feels now. And now feels like the truth. It feels like how I’m supposed to be. When I’m bottoming, when I’m subbing, when I’m being used for their pleasure, I’m home. Like I said recently, being a bottom and a sub is not what I do, it’s who I am. So yes, if I were in a relationship or living a life that allowed frequent release and easy access to the penis, I wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe I wouldn’t feel as good about myself. Maybe I wouldn’t even know the difference. But this is who I am. I went down a tunnel not knowing where it led, following instincts, and it came out where I was supposed to be. And Belle went there with me, which I’ll forever be grateful for. 

Moral of the story is twofold. One, don’t live your life according to how someone told you it should go. To how culture tells you you’re supposed to be. Find your path and follow those tunnels. Two, don’t be afraid of the dark in that tunnel. Of the things that are “weird” or what would shock your mom. Because nothing’s weird and I’m sure what’s in your mom’s head would freak you the fuck out right back. We are essentially brains with genitals. Sex for us is by definition cerebral. If you’re not thinking about it, you’re just going through the motions. The point is emotional satisfaction, not just physical release.

So tease those threads. Scratch those itches. Drain those lakes. There’s no telling what you’ll find. I did and I found me.