Fetishist

Got the following text from Belle yesterday morning:

Put yourself in the Steelheart

And I did, using the lock and key from the recently removed Looker 02, and left the key in the standard place for her to retrieve later in the day. Not a moment too soon, really. I was getting kind of bitchy-whiny about being unlocked. No, not in that dreaded top from the bottom way. I just don’t react well to uncertainty. She had said after letting me out that I’d be back in on Sunday, but she didn’t do it. Then Monday came and went with no word at all. As if she forgot my state. So, by the time she left for work on Tuesday with still no word, I was feeling anxious in that way only an annoying sub can. Pulling the ring around the penis and balls and settling the shaft down inside the tube as the two halves of the lock fitted into place zinged a warm and comforting thrill through my chest. Nice that after more than four years, it still works for me.

I expected to have a hard time (ahem) with the nocturnal hydraulics, but I slept mostly through them. The L02 doesn’t wake me as often (the ring’s a little bigger) and it usually takes me a week or so in the Steelheart to get used to the early morning squeeze. I fell asleep on my stomach with the device pushing firmly up into my pelvis and a not inconsequential horny buzz going. Today in the shower, I was doing my tube cleaning routine and found even the sensation of the water rushing by head of the penis was enough to make my knees weak and tummy tingle.

Cleaner, goddamn you! CLEANER!!

Honestly, I don’t even like seeing the penis anymore. Not without something on or around it. When it’s freely flopping, I feel…less. Somehow. When I approach a urinal and whip it out, there’s a moment of disorientation where I forget it’s free. It’s like peeing with someone else’s dick. Getting out of bed Tuesday morning, I watched it flop over to one side lightly and wiggle around with my balls laying there like a deflated ballon and the whole thing looked altogether wrong as opposed to this morning when instead I watched and felt the steel shift and pull and keep the nuts orderly positioned side by side. As it should be. As should be.

Harry asked (and answered) why chastity? I know he was speaking in the larger sense (and I don’t disagree with his answer, though in my usual way, I’d have said a lot more), but why do I need this thing on me? Why does the physicality of the steel mean so much? As it is with so many kinks, I just don’t know. How can we know where these things come from? I can tell you when I’m wearing it because she told me to, I feel better. Special. Looked-after. Maintained. Even sexier. I recall near the beginning of this blog’s life a commenter suggested I had a fetish for chastity devices. I took exception with that at the time, but I can’t really deny it anymore. I do have a fetish. I am a fetishist. Either I had it all along or my feelings of emotional and relationship well-being have been fused with the device between my legs and what it does in such a way that I feel incomplete without it.

I feel like I need Belle to keep pushing and shoving me into tighter and tighter spots. More restriction. More constriction. Less access. Less pleasurable sensation. What’s the limit? Where does it end? Are we, those who long to be controlled, all like this? Or do I have a reciprocally recursive feedback system that builds on itself in such a way that eventually all my feelings of submission and denial will be compressed into a diamond-hard lump?

Yeah, I don’t know. As long as she keeps me locked up along the way, I guess it’ll be OK.

The pits

Over the time I’ve been curating The Portfolio, I’ve come to realize that I have a serious thing for guys’ armpits. I don’t know that I’d go so far as to call it a fetish, per se, but when I see them they give me a funny little feeling in my stomach. More than a good set of abs or a nice ass or strong legs or even a big fat cock. Like, a lot more. So yeah. There’s something going on there.1

I rest my case. I mean, just look at those fuckers.

I followed a few tumblrs that were dedicated to male pits, but they don’t really do it for me most of the time. It’s not just any pits that make me wobbly, after all, and the editorial thinking for a lot of them seem to be, “Oh, there’s an armpit. Done!” So, in keeping with the web’s model of empowering self-publishing the work of other people, I decided to start my own site dedicated to just those pictures that show just the kind of armpits that get me going. It’s called Thumper’s Pit Stop.

There are still a few things I’m working out. Like, do I put an image I like on both tumblrs? I probably will if I like it for reasons other than the pits but also in addition to them. There are some images I leave off The Portfolio right now because they don’t fit its raison d’être (whatever that is — it seems to change from day to day and can only be interpreted by unlocking my deep reptile brain), so now an image that is nothing more than a gratuitous Portfolio-inappropriate pit shot has a place to go. Also, it will not always be the case that the pit or pits is/are the main focus of an image featured there. Only those that spoke to me in that fuckinghellletmeputmyfacerightinthere kind of way.

Anyway, if you dig dude’s pits, check it out. If not, skip it.

1 I like girls too, of course. Let’s not forget.