Tag: enforced chastity

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HNThumper XXXVI: The great outdoors

Still on vacation! I scheduled this HNT twofer before I left.

I am, at heart, a nudist. Belle calls me an exhibitionist, and that’s probably true, too, but I don’t think they’re the same thing. I really like to be naked but I’m not particularly interested in being caught in that condition.

As avid readers of this blog may know, Belle and I are fortunate enough to have access to a family cabin deep in the north woods of Minnesota (not all that far from the Canadian border). In years past, I’d get away from the bustle of multiple families all piled on top of one another in its relatively tight quarters by heading off into the woods. Sometimes on a bike (though not recently – I really need a new mountain bike), but most often in a kayak. Whether on forest road or river, this part of the state is sparsly populated. I go for hours and never see another person.

Which is good, because as soon as I’d think I was well and truly removed from view, I’d often strip off my clothes. No, not all at once. Usually just the shirt until I was able to stoke my courage, then the full Monty. As long as I remembered to apply generous sunscreen and bug spray before leaving, it’d be bliss. The feeling of the warm summer sun washing against the whole of my body and the calm, cooling breezes stroking every last hair: chest, legs, and pubes. Inevitably, the heat of the sun on the penis would cause it to twitch and stir and lengthen and do all those things penises do. It’s not that I wanted to be naked for sexual reasons, but the excitement of being that way, totally and completely, in a place where anyone could come across me (either by coming down the road in the opposite direction or by me paddling around a bend and finding a boat of quiet fishermen just sitting there) inevitably caused my heart to start pumping and the rest would just – ahem – come naturally. (OK, maybe I am just a smidge of an exhibitionist.)

One time, in the kayak, I stopped at a giant boulder in the river (probably 20 feet across) and splayed out over it with my clothes back in the boat too far away to get to unnoticed if anyone came upon me. The heat of the rock on my back and the heat of the sun on my front and my hand on what was, at the time, my stiff penis with nothing but the eyes of the eagles and deer and whatever other fauna came across me. I jacked off on that rock, leisurely, enjoying my feeling of oneness with the great outdoors. Of course, I eventually left my seed there. Once it spurted out of me, it seemed to take my courage with it and I scrambled back to the kayak to be closer to my clothing.

Today (eleven days prior to this post), I found myself in a similar situation for the first time in a long while. I was out on the same stretch of secluded river and felt the need to be free of my clothing. Once I thought it was safe, I was kayaking in the nude with only the buzzing dragonflies as my company. This is the first time I’ve done this in a steel tube and was interested to find that, even though it was now sitting in full sunlight, I could feel the metal cool once it was free of the steamy confines of my pants. Then, after a few minutes, it assumed a wonderful heat that was especially evident when a breeze would blow over me and cool the rest of my body while the encased penis stayed warm. I paddled that way for quite a while, keeping my eyes and ears sharp, wondering what I’d do if discovered. The brave naturist in me said I should do nothing except smile and wave (and wouldn’t it be great if we lived in a world where that was possible?), but the reasonable adult in me rehearsed the movements I’d need to execute, aware that to do them too quickly might cause the tippy little boat to capsize.

I never came across anyone, but I did happen by two campsites. After the first, I put my shirt back on and placed my shorts over my lap, but I never saw another person. About 90 minutes after putting in, I stopped on a little spit of land to rest, drink some water, and be naked. The tree cover was sparse, but the position was perfect to see up and down the long river in both directions.

Of course, things are not as they used to be for me. While my heart still pounds and the warmth and breezes still work their magic, the little penis is locked away in a steel tube. I wanted at it badly, but accepted it was not to be. Instead of dwelling on that, I walked down a trail running the spine of the little peninsula. I found a rough campsite (fire ring and left-over wood), but it hadn’t been used in a while. Then, as I came over a rise, I saw in front of me a canoe pulled up into the reeds. Inside was fishing tackle and a bucket. Whoever’s this canoe was, they were not far away. I turned my white ass to it and headed back to the kayak. I decided to get dressed again, but not before I took the first of today’s HNTs (after the jump).

Continue reading “HNThumper XXXVI: The great outdoors”

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Just under the wire

OK, so maybe I will squeeze in one more post before I’m out of here…

Regarding the Jail Bird, it’s not going to happen. Aware that I’ve never been able to stay in that device for more than a few days without developing significant discomfort and suspecting that it’s likely a fit and spacing issue, I decided to try something I read about on Chastity Forums. Not sure who it was that did it, but they were able to create a little extra space between the bottom of the cage and the A-ring by slightly bending the post upward. I tried this yesterday afternoon and the post promptly snapped off. I don’t know much about metal work (whereby “not much” I mean “pretty much nothing”), but I thought welding would create a stronger bond between two pieces of metal. So now, if I ever want to wear the JB again, I’ll need a new A-ring. Which I probably needed anyway.

And, as I’ve been harping on, this now means I’ll be unsecured for the duration of the trip. Belle does not want me in the Steelheart and I guess I understand. Regardless of understanding, it’s her decision. It doesn’t help that I’m in that golden sweet spot where the device and I feel fused and there’s little to no discomfort and I’m even sleeping through the early morning tightness and find it creates a comforting sense of security rather than being something I need to endure. I don’t know if when this happens that anything physical has changed or if it’s all in my head, but I’ve even found myself, when waking with a fantastically full and tight tube, flexing the penis in order to feel more tightness and constriction. As with so many other things, my level of tolerance increases over time.

It’s not like I’ll have ample opportunity to take advantage of my temporary freedom, but I really don’t trust my hand and the penis together unattended even for short periods. There will be little moments (and the chance for several hot, soapy showers in hotels on the way there and back) and, of course, every morning it’ll be all perky and proud and asking for attention. Thing is, when you’re a man in my condition, you end up thinking about what’s in your crotch an awful lot regardless of its state. However, it’s an entirely different flavor of obsession when a healthy ribbon of opportunity is swirled though it. I will try to be strong. Upon return, I will no doubt be anxious for Belle to put me back in.

Belle and I chatted a bit last night about some of the recent blog posts. She’s mad at me (or trying to be) for taking the device off without her knowledge (though I strongly disagree I did it out of spite, as she suggests). While I took it off, I also put it back on, so I feel like I should get some points for that. Also, we talked about my reaction to being belittled, humiliated, made fun of, etc. She says she can’t really see herself humiliating me, but is OK with belittling me. I don’t see much of a difference, but if she can find it in her heart to make fun of me every once in a while, I’ll be happy.

In a related development, I’ve decided to update Thumper’s Rules of Usage and Style regarding how I refer to the sex organ attached my body. It’s clearly established that I never refer to it possessively (it’s not “mine”). I either refer to it as a separate object (i.e., the sex organ) or as hers (though I tend to favor the former style because the latter can be confusing to new readers – “Wait a sec. She had a cock?”). I have typically called it a cock but have just decided to no longer use that word. To me, “cock” implies something unrelated to me or it. A “cock” is an aggressive, action-oriented thing meant for fucking. An in-your-face kind of tool that’s been designed for erect penetration. My little piece of meat doesn’t do any of that. It’s very seldom any longer than the 2.75″ allowed by the Steelheart. From the outside, it never seems to change at all, regardless of how I’m feeling or how much pleasure Belle’s letting me give her. It certainly has practically nothing to do with Belle’s pleasure like a cock would. The only time it gets to be inside her is when she’s giving me one of my infrequent orgasms. Last two times it happened, I’m not even sure she had her top off. It may give her emotional pleasure to let me orgasm, but the act itself doesn’t provide much sexual pleasure for her. The thing’s roll has been demoted to little more than an instrument of prostate maintenance. There’s no aggression down there and certainly little action. It’s not a cock at all. It’s just a penis. And that’s what I’ll be calling it from now on.

I can almost hear eyeballs rolling in some sockets from here, but it’s my blog and I can call it whatever I want. So there. At the end of the day, for me, words have significant value and power. Thinking of it as just a penis strongly resonates with my submissive core. Thinking of it as a little penis just about makes me swoon.

So, finally, this is the last post I’ll make until I’m out of the woods sometime after the 17th or so. As I said yesterday, there’s an HNThumper loaded up for next Thursday, but that’ll be all. I might be able to reply to comments depending on access to cell reception. We’ll see.

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Fog of war

Last night, Belle and I had a fight. A screaming, nasty, bitter fight. It wasn’t about sex or anything like that, but it was unresolved when she fell asleep and we woke up this morning on tender hooks around each other and even this evening (though perhaps less so).

After she was asleep, I popped the emergency key and took the device off. The scope and scale of the altercation made it simply impossible to keep it on. Right around 4:00 AM when I’m awoken by nearly six inches of hard cock trying to fit into less than three inches of steel tube and my nutsack is stretched tight around my testicles, heavy and swollen with unreleased ejaculate, the only thing that makes it all bearable is knowing that’s how she wants me. But, of course, last night I didn’t give a fuck how she wanted me to be so I took the damned thing off.

I was tempted to jack off. Very tempted. Perhaps I should have. On the one hand, it would have allowed me to think a little more clearly and be focused on the argument’s aftermath, but on the other I know I would have been wracked with guilt and remorse 2.33 seconds after the sticky white goo splashed all over the sink. So I didn’t. I did jack off in the morning, but not so much that I came.

In any event, I was out all day and all day I felt weird. Hand in my pocket, I’d reach over and feel this big squishy mass where my usually hard and smooth “cock” would be. My nuts were wandering all over the place and felt all goofy and absurdly random and the little soft penis (without any PA jewelry at all) was like a Mister Magoo worm nestled among them. That cock – my old cock that I gave to Belle – doesn’t seem like it belongs there any more. Certainly not now at roughly a week and and half since I last came (right about the time the desire and frustration come back from the dead). I realized sometime in the afternoon that I wanted back in the device. Not because she wanted me there, but because I wanted to be there.

Also, I found it hard to maintain my righteous indignation left over from the fight. Not that I didn’t have a valid position, but the more I thought about being back in the Steelheart and the more I thought about my last post and the kind of interesting new thoughts in my head the fact that all the naked people over on the Portfolio made an erection in my pants that – gasp! – people could actually see if I stood up…I just didn’t want us to be fighting any more. There was not a point where we made up or further conversation leading to a mutual understanding or any of that adult, reasonable stuff reasonable adults do when they fight. It was just me, the little rabbit, capitulating and wanting like hell to be back in my cage.

So, back I am. I put it on just before dinner. I doubt she even knew I was out. As I slipped the cold steel tube over Mister Magoo, I knew it was right. It felt right. And I wonder, had I jacked off last night when the thought struck me and had I squirted all over the sink and smelled the pungent odor of manhood again, would I have felt the same? Would I still be angry with her instead of whatever I am now? And would that be better or worse than what I am now?

Chastity and long-term denial aren’t just sex games. They can radically alter how you think and feel in unexpected ways. I can’t answer my questions from the last paragraph, but I do know that almost six inches of swollen penis meat packed into a less than three inch tube is really the only way I want to be. And when it wakes me up at 4:00 AM, maybe it’ll be bearable because I know that’s how it’s supposed to be.

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Just a theory

Following up on yesterday’s post, I’ve been wondering something.

I said:

Being diminished in that way really worked for me.

And…

I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity.

And…

I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

And then in a comment:

If I can stay in the right frame of mind and recall the feeling I have right now, then completely severing any right of mine to her pleasure – to really and truly accept my role – could be revelatory and powerful.

What I wonder is if this isn’t where the cuckold fantasy comes from. It could be just a natural progression from…

  1. Learning to pleasure a woman without your cock, and
  2. Starting to think of her pleasure as your pleasure, and
  3. Reveling in her becoming more confident in finding a way to her pleasure that’s all her own, and
  4. No longer thinking of your cock as something that’s part of the sex she’ll have with you, and finally
  5. Learning to take pleasure in her pleasure regardless of whether or not you’re involved.

No, I’m not a cuck and Belle has never shown any interested in being with another man and I’m quite sure there’s a whole lot more going on in relationships where this has happened, but for me, I can see the path to the fantasy pretty clearly. I want her to be totally and completely sexually fulfilled. It has, truly, become the primary way I find my own fulfillment. I also have developed a taste for being treated quite unfairly. Even to the point of liking it when she belittles and humiliates me. I really like it. I can’t think of any more potent way to do that than taking another lover. A more satisfying one.

I have a bunch of fantasies that would never work outside my head. This might be one of them. But, the progression makes sense to me. Not that I’ll ever find out, of course, since Belle’s demonstrated zero interest in heading off in that direction.

That being said, if she was interested in plucking these particular heartstrings of mine, she was heading in the right direction the other night. Were she to remind me that, while I may be adept at utilizing the tools that lead to her pleasure, I’m not the actual implement of that pleasure. She used Pink during her night in the hotel spa just fine without me, after all. In fact, I’m not even capable of being the implement of her pleasure. I can barely last a full minute inside her now. There’s little chance I could satisfy her in the condition I most often find myself. She could remind me of that. How this cock I’ve given her isn’t much use for anything anymore.

It seems counterintuitive to treat your lover with such disrespect. It goes against everything you see in popular culture and learn through normal socialization. But, yeah. I get it. I really do.

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Bit part

Let’s see, where was I…

As you might have guessed, Belle let me come about a week ago. That’s not entirely why I wasn’t blogging, but it was a big part of it. I was also distracted by some other stuff (nothing related to Belle or anything I write about here), but mainly it was the orgasm.

I can’t even recall exactly when it was now. A week ago? Maybe ten days? We were up at the cabin and she unlocked me unexpectedly, but didn’t really do anything with the cock. Then, back home, she was stroking me in bed and generally working me up when she told me I could go inside her. I fucked her enough to get close once or twice (doesn’t take that long anymore) when she told me I could come but if I did, it’d be the last time before August sometime. I hesitated for maybe 2/10 of a second and plowed forward, coming like a fire hose moments later. Lots of come. Oodles and gobs.

Then she left me unlocked for a while. That didn’t help me get more focused. Truth is, now, I can’t really feel normal without the device on. Even after I come and it feels all clunky and alien, I feel more “put together” when it’s in place. Last Friday, she had a night at a nice hotel and a morning spa treatment (her Christmas present), and before she left she had wanted me locked up but forgot to make me do it. I popped my spare key and locked myself up. It was what she wanted and I was more than a little craving the feeling of captivity. That was just four days ago, but it’s like it was never off. Peeing in it, sleeping in it, sitting with it squashed between my legs are all the normal feelings. And now I’m well and truly horned up again so all those other feelings are punctuated by the occasional throbbing pressure of a stifled erection. That little tremulous quivering of unrealized desire is never far away.

Belle wanted an orgasm the other night (Saturday, I think) and threatened me with not only not having my own, but not sharing hers. Oh, I could be present, she said, but maybe that’s all. What use am I all locked up, anyway? At the time, I was horrified. The idea of not being allowed the touch, taste, and scent of her sounds too terrible to imagine, but in retrospect, I find the threat kinda hot. Being diminished in that way really worked for me. Also, I believed she might actually go through with it.

As it turned out, she wanted me to go down on her and doing it after the threat and subtle degradation left me feeling very confined in my small steel space. She backed off and said nicer things to me, afraid, perhaps, that she had hurt my feelings, but I have to admit, it wasn’t necessary. There’s something difficult to capture in all this. I like the feeling of being optional and a beneficiary of her charity. Even as I was eating her out, she reached into her drawer and took out Pink. She turned the little vibe up to high and inserted it under my lapping tongue making me hold it there with my chin, fully engaged with her G-spot. I was not the star of her ringing orgasm. I was a co-star. Perhaps only a featured player. It made her powerful and me less so. I felt she knew exactly what she wanted for her and was in total control of how it happened.

And it was good.

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Needy meat

I am wired.

Can’t sleep. Vibrating with frustration. Earlier, I used the Pure to pummel my prostate senseless. Now, I’m tired. So tired. But humming. And clutching. At the steel and it’s living contents. Feeling the gland inside my body swollen and tender and the device heavy and so perfectly locked.

Belle sent me a text from New York. I didn’t see it until 24 mintes later. In my writhing and tossing and clutching, I missed the thrum of the phone.

Just in an elevator with Jay-Z

Once I saw it, I texted back, “Are you still awake?” I wanted to talk to her so bad. To admit my condition. To admit I abused myself without her permission. To ask – no, to beg that she let me get myself off. To put me out of my misery. I’ll accept any condition. Any punishment. I have a key, secured by a plastic tag. Say the word, Belle. Please. Let me out. Let me come. Fucking hell, I want to come.

But she didn’t answer.

I put the cruel little clamps on my nipples and pulled and twisted and felt the white hot pain and heard my little moans in the quiet dark bedroom and realized I could not hurt myself enough. The pain was not pain. No pain at all. It was all going right to the cock. As the clips chewed and bit the tube filled and was made tight by the meat. The needy meat. I pulled the clips harder. Harder. The nipples stretched and screamed and I twisted and pulled and pulled. Finally, even their mean little teeth couldn’t hold on and first the left, then the right slipped off with a pair of brassy, tight-springed snaps. Now the nipples sting. But I need more. I need so much more.

I need my Belle.

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Still alive

Usually, when I’m quite here, then there’s something going on in my head. That hasn’t been the case recently, I just haven’t had anything to talk about. Part of it could also be that she let me come again last weekend. We had been up at the family vacation compound for the holiday and she unlocked me for no apparent reason. Then, on Monday night, she let me fuck her and come in one of those purely functional ways – she waiting patiently with her top still on, me fucking like a naked mad rabbit. It had only been, what? A week? So indulgent of her.

In any event, unlike last time when the two squirts took the wind out of my sails for almost a week, this time I felt the stirrings again after about 48-72 hours. I measure this mostly by my relationship with the device which, typically, was strained immediately after I came but was back to normal by Wednesday-ish. Now I’m in that period of enhanced hornitude that comes about a week after an event and lasts for about a week. Belle’s out of town again starting Monday night, so there may be some sleepless times ahead for me. If she allows me to abuse myself, who knows?

My enhanced state of being was put into sharp relief today as I took care of a few random chores for Belle Fille. I was driving around the city lakes near where we live and, this being the first really nice weekend of the year for us (winter having ended about two weeks ago and not scheduled to return for another six), there were many fine examples of the human form on display for me to ogle lecherously and cause me to squirm uncomfortably in my bucket seat. As a person who admires both genders equally, I had plenty of things to distract me as I drove languorously around the broad circumference of the lake. I am so. FUCKING. Horny.

Aaaand, that’s about it, really. I have little new to report. Just thought I’d drop by and let you know that nobody died or was otherwise preoccupied with excessive navel-gazing. Just us, living our lives like normal people.

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Of lizards and pistons and pinchy bits

The answer to the question, “Why hasn’t Thumper posted recently?” isn’t “Because he had an orgasm,” it’s “Because he had two orgasms.”

It all started about ten days ago. Belle told me she was going to let me out for the weekend and I’ve found that once the meat knows its freedom is set at a fixed point in the future, it starts to get irritable. On that Thursday, I was dealing with an odd pinch in the tube and no shifting or pulling would make it go away. Finally, I asked for Belle’s key so I could remove the internal pinchy bits but she decided to just let me out altogether a day earlier than scheduled. And, of course, upon inspection, I found nothing wrong with it. It was just bitching.

That Saturday morning, we had sex. I got her off using Pink, the hard cock being essentially ignored by her. Not a bad plan on her part because it had been two months since the last time it had been of any use and its effectiveness as a pleasure object would likely have been limited. After she came, she let me mount her. I tried my hardest to make the experience count since I was not sure she’d let me have more than one shot this time around. I was doing OK at keeping a good pace and varying the tempo so I could just feel her soft, hot wetness slide along the hungry shaft, but at a point much too soon for me, something snapped. I would describe it as a mutiny in the control room of my brain, but it wasn’t like that. More like a rerouting of control around my brain. The lizard brainstem and lower half of my body essentially told my brain to fuck off and that they were going to handle the action from that point forward. I literally could not stop. My only function and my only focus was being a meat piston. I fucked the shit out of her…for about 28 seconds.

Then I came in a way unlike the more recent events. No tingling, no feeling of being pulled inside out, just grunts and flexing and surging and the need to fill her up. Fill her with the cock and fill her with the seed and make damned sure nothing else happened until that was over. I cannot say it was the most fun orgasm I’ve had, but “fun” is a concept unknown to the lizard brain. It was function. It was like when two dogs start going at it and you have to turn a hose on them to make them stop. The basic need for all living things to pass on their code drove my hips into her and pinned her to the bed with the cock until the transfer was complete and, finally, felt its own sense of animal satisfaction at the effort.

Sunday night, she gave me a handjob. I thought she’d let me come, but all the way up until the final moment I half expected her to pull her hand away so there was a bit of a race going on internally between her stroking and my getting all the ejaculatory mechanisms lined up in time. I grasped the headboard, hands up over my head, as she pulled the orgasm from my body. It was actually quite wonderful and left me feeling dopey and fuzzy sleepy warm. But, she wanted me back in right then, so she rubbed the sticky goo on her hand all over my chest allowing its stench to fill my senses. Then, she handed me the key and sent me off to the harsh white light of the bathroom to reaffix the steel and clean the goobery mess from my chest hair. I did it, reluctantly. My fuzzy sleepy warmth was all washed away by the experience. I came, and I liked it, but I was not allowed to bask.

For the better part of the week after, it was this thing. This annoying, clinging, intrusive alien sitting in my pants. Almost immediately, the internal security bits were biting me again, so she let me take those out, but that didn’t make my mental opposition to being encased any less severe. Just the opposite. None of my usual routines work the same way when the PA fixing and ring aren’t in there. With them, enough space is held open to allow water to be easily flushed though, but without them the stupid meat is easily squished and squashed and blocks the free flow water in and urine out. The end result of all this wasn’t as bad as I probably felt it was, but for days it was like canned meat swinging between my legs. Nothing good about it.

Things started to shift by Thursday. I was to drive a few hours away that day and be apart from Belle for two nights. Suddenly, the idea that I had to have the fixing and ring in place was paramount. Their absence made me feel incomplete rather than inconvenienced. My device was not whole and neither was I. That morning, Belle left me with her key and I dutifully tended to the total securement of the cock with no ill feelings or surreptitious squeezes. She had given me an opportunity to make it right so the idea of taking advantage was furthest from my mind. I put in the ring, threaded the fixing though it and then slid the still-flaccid cock into the tube and felt along with it the sensation of warmth and comfort and security. It was like putting on my favorite sweatshirt, not an implement of bondage and sexual frustration. I was where I was supposed to be and it felt right.

I was back home by Saturday and she let me give her an orgasm. I had the palpable feeling of being a human sex toy as it was all about her and not at all about me. She didn’t care that I would be left horny and caged and unable to sleep. That was my place. I should get used to it. I was cleaving to her as the orgasm pulsed from between her legs and I grunted along with her moans. I was coming, too, but though her pleasure. As expected, I slept fitfully.

Now, a week in to a lock-up of undetermined length, the meat and its cage have settled back into their symbiotic relationship. It’s a part of me again. I look in the mirror and I see it and it looks like me. Its contents don’t. That thing looks like the other. The intruder. But it’s OK because the lock is on and it can’t get out.

Funny how that works.

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Mailbag

Over on The Portfolio, an anonymous…what? Not reader. Not over there. Well, I guess they’re a reader. Whatever, here’s what they said:

Last year my Wife became very demanding about me wearing the CB all the time full time. Its getting close a year now and she has only become more demanding of me. This year she has 11 orgasms while I only have had 8 ejaculations.

She seems to think nothing of taking hers and denieing me mine and in fact has many times told me, “Males don’t need to ejaculate”.

I feel like if I told her, “I want to stop wearing the chastity device.” she would get really mad and not allow it.
I’ve grown into this place and she keeps me here.

Do you feel like this sometimes?

I’m not sure how you feel. I read it one way, and it sounds like you’re not having a very good time. I read it another way, and it sounds like you’re getting off on it.

I supposed I’ve felt both ways. We all have rough spots, after all. It’s a hard thing to wear a device, but it’s also supposed to be enjoyable. If you’re not enjoying yourself, it doesn’t really matter if males need to ejaculate because males (as well as females) need to feel like they’re being cared for and loved by their partner. Again, if you’re not enjoying yourself, you need to speak to your wife immediately (and feel free to take the device off) to figure out what you’re not getting out of the dynamic.

If you are enjoying yourself, yeah, I’ve felt that way, too. That warm and fuzzy sensation of having no power and no control and living entirely at her whim. That’s fucking awesome. If you are enjoying it, I think you’re a lucky guy because your wife has clearly taken to her role.

Reader Larf666 said:

I’m wondering what your experience is whith the relation chastity and cognitive work. When I’m in a CB for longer then a week, I start to get very distracted, have I hard time concentrating for a long time in row, etc.. My mind keeps going to hot places and hence, I have a hard time getting my day job done… Do you have similar experiences? If so, how do you cope with it? Do you get use to it?

This is a huge problem for me, actually. I’m more than a little ADD to begin with and long-term denial ends up feeling like there’s a three-year-old following me around constantly asking questions. Can I have a sucker? When will we get there? I have to pee! Can I watch TV? I’m hungry! Can I have a pony? Tumblr makes that worse because I know there’s a veritable flood of arousing pictures just a click away.

The way I get around it is by having a job that requires a lot of interaction with other people. When I’m in a room with a whiteboard and a group of others, I may get momentarily distracted by the occasionally hot person or some otherwise inconsequential detail of their person, but it allows me to be distracted enough that I forget my other distraction.

Just on Friday, I was at an all-day offsite thing with a bunch of strangers. I found the content sufficiently interesting and the environment allowed me no screen privacy so the online distractions weren’t an issue, but all I could do was sit there and listen. Then, after lunch, a dude sat next to me who I was totally into. On the surface, this guy was not my type at all. Normally, I’d not give him a second glance. But in my enhanced state, I didn’t really give a shit about his face. He was taller than me by a few inches and showed a fairly well-developed body under his clothes. Not ripped, just really strong. Broad shoulders. Meaty thighs. Nice…sigh…just about everything. Normally, when I see a guy who gets me off, I fantasize about them fitting into me, but this guy was different. This guy I wanted to be manhandled by. I wanted him to be a disgusting pig of a man and totally use me, then throw me away like yesterday’s paper. It was palpable.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah, distractions. Totally been there. You don’t ever really get over it or used to it.

Kayle wrote:

Hey Thumper;

I found your blog last week, and I’m really, really impressed by it! It’s amazing how devoted you are to her, and every one of your blog entries seems so honest and easy-to-read.

The reason I’m writing is because I work for EdenFantasys as a member of the Blogger Relations Team.  We’d LOVE to see you getting involved with us. One of the main ways that most bloggers like to start working with us to write a basic post in exchange for a product. I’ve noticed that you have mentioned pleasuring your partner multiple times, and I think we have items that might make things even more fun.

She went on a bit more, but you get the idea.

In short, I’ve agreed to post reviews in exchange for stuff. This isn’t the first time I’ve been contacted for this kind of thing, but it was the first time the person doing the contacting sounded like they actually read the blog and found the content engaging (as opposed to the “Dear [inster blogger name]” kind of stuff). Also, EF is my favorite adult toy site and the first place I look for new things. They have a terrific assortment toys, though not necessarily of fetish items (for the hard-core stuff, I like Stockroom — also because their models are hot), and the actual site is a joy to use. My favorite feature is the “view actual size” option they have on many items. You move a little slider until the on-screen image of a credit card or end of a $20 bill matches a real one to get a very accurate idea of whether or not the item you’re thinking about will really fit up your ass (or other orifice of your choice). I make websites for a living and am a harsh critic of lousy ones. EdenFantasys.com is awesome.

They also really seem to give a shit about the community they sell to. They have a ton of content on their site, from extensive video reviews to blogs to an actual magazine with real articles and everything. Yes, they’re obviously trying to make a buck off us, but they’re also really into what they do and it shows.

And that’s why I’m very excited to enter into a relationship with them. If all I was going to get was free dildos and stuff, I wouldn’t do it. As a blogger, all I really have is my reputation. The brands I choose to associate with will obviously affect that. I have no problem whatsoever associating with EdenFantasys.

And no, the preceding three paragraphs are not part of the deal. I wrote all that because I wanted to.

In the future, if I’m reviewing something I got for free, I will be crystal clear about it. I still have a few things I want to write about with regard to various toys and I’m sure there’ll be more like that in the future. In those cases, it will also be clear that I bought them just like anyone else. Also, if I don’t like something I get for free, I’ll be honest about it and won’t just say something good to keep the gravy train running. Promise.

With that, I’ll close this missive. There are more things for me to say (like, for example, the fact that Belle let me come last night), but the day’s a-wastin’.