Tag: male chastity

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The sporting life

Venerable chastity blogger Tom (I bet he just loves being called “venerable”) expounded on something the other day I’ve been meaning to get back to for a little while: Chastity and exercise.

His opening bit about looking for the perfect device that allows for movement and comfort yet is inescapable and undetectable and light and cheap and perfectly hygienic and sexy and not actually carved from a block of solid unobtanium was pretty funny to me because it is how a lot of guys are, especially when they start out, and not entirely unlike how I was at one time. While new devices are still intriguing to me, I’ve got enough time under my belt (ahem) to know the Goldilocks device just isn’t out there. But I digress…and we’re only on the second paragraph.

Tom’s post (and apparently this one) was about how one exercises and stays active from the point of view of a person invested in “the chastity lifestyle.” His ultimate advice is fairly simple:

After a dozen or more years of reading chastity oriented groups, it occurred to me that I don’t remember anyone saying something like “It’s not a life-support system, it’s only a sex toy. Just take the damn thing off for an hour, why don’t you?”

Tom is an eminently reasonable fellow. Very Spock, in a way. I find his point of view to often be practical and not especially emotional. That’s not a bad thing. Not at all. But it’s a difference between he and I. I’m more…I don’t know. I don’t want to say emotional, though I am that. I’m more sentimental. I’m more idealistic, perhaps. And I think enforced chastity is emotional more than it’s practical.

In any event, I recall back to when I started doing the regular gym thing. Got a trainer and everything. I can’t recall at the moment which device I was in at that time (probably the Steelheart), but I do recall suggesting to Belle I might need to have an easily accessible key in order to take the device off while working out. She wouldn’t have any of that. I had to see my trainer (actually, trainers since I was handed off to one of three people including a 6’5″ West African and a tight lesbian kick-boxer) locked up. I don’t know if it was that she didn’t trust me to have access to the penis or if she just didn’t want to break the dynamic. Maybe both.

At the time, I was terrified. Gyms are pretty masculine places and I’ve never been good in especially masculine situations. Now she was telling me I was going to need to go into that wearing flimsy gym clothes and an odd, hard bulge in my crotch. The solution to this predicament was two-fold. One, I bought some compression shorts. Second, I chilled the fuck out.

In actual fact, I have found no physical reason to be out of a steel device (even with part of it shoved up inside me) while working out at the gym. I’ve done just about every kind of weight-related excercise possible now and there are only a few times it’s even marginally an issue. Tom mentions deadlifts and that’s one example, but I’ve never feared for my safety. All that happens is sometimes the bar will catch on the device rather than sliding smoothly over it like it would with a natural penis. The other time it comes into play is when I’m doing any exercise involving laying on my stomach (like supermans — especially interesting in the Looker 02).

There’s really only two reasons to be unlocked when in the gym and, IMO, they’re both mental. One is you just can’t bear the idea of someone seeing your state and knowing you’re locked up. So much is written about stealth in chastity. It’s one of main things guys want to know about when discussing a new device. How well can it be hidden? Is it visible through jeans? On the one hand, I get that. I do. But on the other, I’m really far removed from caring anymore if some random person sees something out of place between my legs.

Case in point. My current trainer (the only of the original three I liked) has had a neophyte trainer shadowing him for a few weeks. She just sits off to the side while he works with his clients. The first time she was present when I was working out also happened to be when the only clean gym shorts I had available was a light gray pair that is the worst at hiding any kind of protrusion or steel, even in compression shorts. At some point, he had me doing a decline sit-up. With my legs hooked over the end of a declined bench, my shirt pulls up a bit, the shorts lay flat, and whatever’s between my legs becomes its most visible.

C’est la fuckin’ vie.

What are these people going to think? I can tell you, “chastity device” is not even on their list. Most muggles have never even heard of the things. And for those who have? Who can put two and two together? I don’t care. I’m not ashamed. On the contrary. Probably what someone uninitiated with chastity devices (and the hidden kink all around them in general) would think is that I had a really big cock (which is what the Steelheart looks exactly like under clothes). Most men would welcome that, I think.

The second mental reason not to wear it would be the issue of forcibly involving others into your sex life. You could argue (as I have with myself) that any time the device is visible I am risking exposing something about myself to others without their consent that they probably don’t want to know. My rationalization is that I can’t always hide the device, most people will have no idea what it is even if they see it, and I do nothing to be excessively exhibitionist about my sexual proclivities (this blog notwithstanding). There’s a fine line between being cognizant of the rights of others not to be involved in one’s sex play and shaming oneself into non-existence. I’m comfortable with my choices. This is, of course, something that everyone needs to figure out for themselves.

This is getting longer than I thought it would be…

So, to recap, IMO, no reason not to be locked up in a gym. Note I don’t have to change at my gym or shower there. If I did, that would change things for me and require more creative thinking (like, I would do those things elsewhere).

The other physical activity I’ve started doing quite a lot of lately is running. Three to five miles at a time three to four times a week (51 miles in the last month, according to Strava). Almost all the time, I’m wearing either the Steelheart or the Looker 02. In the Steelheart, there is slight yet totally audible clank with every stride. The PA fixing inside the device has some play in it and it along with my PA ring will strike the inside of the tube. There’s no pain or discomfort associated with this. I have no idea if anyone I run by even registers the sound (most runners don’t clank) or, if they do, what they make of it. See above for my position on that.

The Looker 02 can be an issue when running in that the bulb end of the urethral insert can cause irritation in the first day or so of wearing it after having not worn it for a long time. This irritation lasts about 24 hours then is gone. Lately, I’ve worn the looker for weeks at a time and run a lot and don’t feel a thing. I don’t even lubricate the L02 before running. I will when I think about it with the Steelheart, but the sweat usually creates enough lubrication to keep me chafe-free. I’ve never run with a plastic device on. I can’t imagine doing it with the CB6K.

Tom also mentioned biking. Hard to disagree with him there. Biking in a device can be miserable. I don’t like doing it and it’s one of the reasons I prefer running (just one, though — it’s not like I run just because I’m almost always locked up). Interestingly, the one device that’s not as bad on a bike (over the CB6K and Steelheart) is the Looker 02. But yeah, if you’re going to be a serious biker, you’re going to need to take off your device.

The same goes for lots of other sports. Team sports or contact sports. Sports that require cups. Hard to be able to do those in chastity. Dangerous, even. Imagine playing rugby or American football with a steel ring locked around your balls. Good god.

The biggest point of differentiation between Tom’s logical and sensible POV and mine (which, I guess by comparison, is…illogical and insensible?) is summed up his calling the chastity device “only a sex toy.” Of course, it is a sex toy. But the “only” part doesn’t really do it justice. It’s a sex toy that represents something larger. It represents a level of commitment equal to, say, a collar in any other D/s dynamic. While it’s hard to wear a collar in public, it’s relatively easy to wear a chastity device. I think the drive to find the perfect device that can be worn in all situations and at all times stems from those who, like me, see it both as a physical restraint ensuring her control and as a symbolic expression of how significant and profound the changes wrought by denial and chastity can be on a relationship.

Of course, that may not be how you practice chastity. It may not be that big a deal to you or your keyholder. As Tom said,

To be fair, I also see guys on chastity groups try to convince some newb why he could — or even should — wear his device 24/7; often going pretty far in their attempts to overrule objections or concerns. … Such responses probably induce a mindset in new guys which makes them think that 24/7 is the only acceptable way. I mean, why bother if you’re not going to do it the “right” way?

There isn’t a “right way.” The right way is the way that works for you and your partner. I’m not saying if you want to wear a chastity device that you must wear it while at the gym or running or you’re just a pretender. I am saying you can wear it at those times if you’re willing to accept a little discomfort once in a while and/or modify your routine enough to allow it. It’s entirely possible. And if you feel the need to do so, I understand perfectly where you’re coming from. 

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Taken

Over the weekend, Belle let me come the way I’ve been waiting for. As I said, each of the previous recent opportunities have been less than optimal from my point of view. Sunday, she let me have the full meal deal.

After waking up, she got the key as she suggested she might the morning before when I got her off but stayed in the Looker 02. Once out of it (and it out of me), I felt a great surge of desire for her that always seems to be associated with the sensation of a full and unencumbered erection. Knowing that she like to be “taken” on occasion, I assumed the role of the traditional aggressive male sex partner and, while kissing her passionately, started to push down her pajama bottoms. Usually, I’d wait for her to take them off as a sign of what I was to do next, but not this time. 

The top quickly followed the bottoms and as soon as she was fully naked, I climbed up on her and wrapped my arm around her neck and shoulders and pushed the hard penis into her as far as it would go. She made no objection. Instead, I heard appreciative sounds escape her lips as we roughly fucked. 

I fucked her as I wanted to fuck. I fucked like a guy taking his partner. I fucked as if for me, but really it was for her. I fucked until I got too close to coming, then I backed off. Once. Twice. Three times. Then…

“Spill it, Thumper,” she whispered. 

The gates opened with three or four strokes. I pumped a full and satisfying load into her. So many productive surges. Six? Eight? I left her brimming with me. 

Then the effects of a real orgasm hit me. Drowsiness. Lethargy. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. So much more powerful than the little echos of orgasm I feel after she comes. A warm blanket wrapped around my brain as she got up to retrieve Pink. I laid next to her, eyes closed, and heard and felt the buzz of the little vibrator finishing her off. I played no part.

I was ready to go again within an hour. Not just feeling “OK, I could fuck,” but, “I NEED TO FUCK.” Surprising, really. She wanted me back in the Looker 02 the next morning so that’s where I am now, but I don’t feel like I just had a great orgasm. I feel like I’ve been denied for weeks. In the shower after some morning Tumbln’, my balls felt heavy and swollen. Last night, while trying to fall asleep, the L02 was so obviously there. In only the way that particular device can be. 

I leave town this Friday for a week in the woods. After that, Belle’s in NYC. Who knows how long it’ll be before I get to go inside her again or I’m allowed to get her off. I don’t and that’s just how it should be. 

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No then yes

Saturday, we were going at it.

Me: I want to come…
Belle: No.

/More fucking.

Me: Please.
Belle: NO.

Sunday, shortly after waking up.

Belle: It was wrong of you to ask yesterday.
Me: I know.
Belle: But I may make you. How do you feel about that?
Me: It’s up to you.
Belle: Say that again.
Me: It’s entirely up to you, Belle Fille.
Belle: Don’t ever forget that.

She continued on telling me that this was for her. Not me. She wanted to feel it, not give it to me. A little while later, after I had warmed her up in the usual ways, she was on top of me and I had her tits in my face. I was twenty miles from coming, then five miles, then 100 yards, then three inches all in about four seconds. While I was coming, she kissed me all over my face.

The last time I came, it was spectacular. This time, pathetic. No, seriously. Like, half an orgasm (volume-wise, as well – just a little spurt). I was ready, mentally, but apparently not physically. It’s not how I would have chosen to come (with her on top) but, as I said, it’s entirely up to her.

She hadn’t come yet so she rolled off of me and finished herself off with Pink while I listened and played with her nipples. Last night, she checked in with me to see how I was doing. In truth, I’ve been in a bit of a funk for a little over a week. Not too horny, not really jamming on the denial thing. She had let me out and I had been that way for five days or so, but that’s not what caused it. I didn’t really care if I was out or in (but, perhaps due to the pathetic orgasm, I have resisted being locked up since). We had relatives in town so maybe that had something to do with it. In any event, I don’t really feel like I came but also don’t feel all that Thumperish, either.

Belle commented that fucking me really wasn’t as great as she was expecting, either. She thinks she’s become more accustomed to my getting her off with my fingers. Maybe she’s been “trained” to prefer what our dynamic allows, too. That she would rather have my hand than the penis does, I admit, cause some stirring in certain places.

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The Reddit tsunami

Yesterday, a thread was started in the WTF Subreddit regarding a chastity device with an urethral insert (never seen it before so no idea who made it). Later on in the thread, after all the “OMG!!1!”-type comments, someone posted a link to my Looker 02 review (specifically mentioning the insertion video).

That was at about 1:00 in the afternoon, give or take. Almost immediately, I got a WordPress notification saying my stats were “booming.” I didn’t see it because it was a nice summer day and I was in the pool. My hourly views were about 13 times average. An hour later, I got another notification I also didn’t see. My hourly views were now 31 time average. Sometime between that notification and the next, I saw what was happening and why. The next bulletin from the WordPress bot was two hours later telling me my hourly views were 42 times my previous hourly average (which was itself inflating due to the tsunami of Reddit looky-loos). The last alert from WP told me I was getting 56 times my previous hourly average.

Screenshot 2014-08-11 08.03.53
The tsunami, visualized.

So yeah, Reddit can send a site a lot of traffic. At the end of the day, Denying Thumper had received over nine times the traffic from its previous highest day (when Dan Savage linked to me from his column).

This is one of those times where the venn diagram in my head that represents this blog gets fuzzy. On the one hand, yay, eyeballs. On the other, ew, eyeballs. I don’t really want to be a public figure but I do want to share my experiences and thoughts on a subject that isn’t often talked about in polite society. When Dan linked to me, I was thrilled because that audience is pre-qualified as the kind of people I’d like to think are reading me. The Reddit thing is the exact opposite. I was linked to from the WTF Subreddit, for fuck’s sake.

The silver lining came from Caged Bob on the Twitter following my tweet on this event:

I reckon that while the majority would be are fucktards, there will be a few who stick around to read & learn about chastity

This is the big question, of course. How many people curious about chastity and denial will hang around to learn more versus how many were just here to ogle at the freak? WordPress’ stats are pretty rudimentary (and, last time I looked into it, there was no way to integrate Google stats into a hosted blog). Oddly, the page linked to had twice as many views as the number reported as being referred from that post on Reddit. Most of the traffic seemed to hit that page and bail, but the homepage, the chastity advice page, and several others had about three to six times the normal views. That’s encouraging, I guess. Those people did more than skip off the site like a flat stone.

I’ll admit that my initial reaction to this attention was not positive. I don’t like being used as a sideshow freak. I pondered changing the URL to the page so the links would 404 and the prurient voyeurism of those clicking it would go unfulfilled. But I didn’t do that. While I don’t enjoy the attention, I’ll leave everything as it is and take the attitude that more than anything, Reddit is ravenous and will move its attention to some other site quickly enough (as the chart above already shows). The link to me will get buried in the Subreddit and the attention will quickly fade. And maybe 1% of those who found me from there will be open and receptive to what I’m doing here and get something out of it.

Maybe.

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Sexual pillow face

I have mentioned in the past how terribly hot (HAWT, I TELL YOU) I find chastity and denial in an all-male dynamic. Maybe it’s because one part of the pair does not get exactly and specifically what the other does, is required to do exactly what he may crave is done to him, and submits to an act he may wish he could perform himself. Female sexuality, while something I’ve tried to make a special study of, remains a bit of a mysterious black box. I know what inputs will usually result in which outputs, but can’t tell you how the mechanics operate. Male sexuality, though, I get. All the way down. Even more than male-female chastity and denial play, male-male seems to be nearly perfectly a ying-yang type of dynamic. At least to me.

This is why Schnoff’s is my current favorite denial blog (let’s not get too hung up in semantics, but I think of “chastity” as including hardware, though you all and Schnoff are free, of course, to call it whatever you or he wants). I love that he writes about real life and the ups and downs and stuff in between including steamy sex and, I think, he and I are driven by many of the same internal motivations. Obviously, as I’ve said before, we are all special little snowflakes when it comes to our personal sexual profile, but I see a lot of me in him. Don’t make me break out a Venn diagram.

Recently, Schnoffy boy posted several things that’ve resonated with me. Just today he related his and Bear’s July 4th activities and, oh yes, I wish for you to read them because they were niiice. Near the end, there was this bit (emphasis added)…

After, Bear remarked that sometimes he couldn’t tell.

“Tell what?” I asked.

“You are so eager,” he explained. “I sometimes can’t tell where your excitement for your own stuff ends and your excitement for my stuff begins.”

It may need explaining that dog play was Bear’s idea, as a pivot from pony play, and I went along with both ideas eagerly after an initial “wait what now?” reaction of a day or two.

I don’t know any more that where my stuff ends and Bear’s begins is an easy distinction to make, and told him so. My eagerness is real. My desire to please Bear is my stuff, and so dog play becomes my stuff, because it’s his stuff.

Personally, the most rewarding thing my deeply submissive soul finds in essentially permanent denial of my orgasmic release is how it draws Belle’s wants and needs and sexual pleasure so hard against mine that they’re deeply and permanently imprinted there. Like when you sleep funny on the corner of a pillow and wake up with it impressed on your cheek or when you take off tube socks and still see their relief on your calves. When you pull her sexual desires off of mine, you’ll still see them there. Obviously, we’re two people with separate and distinct motivations, but I want very badly to make mine assume as much as possible what is hers so that they’re indistinguishable.

Schnoff related a sizzling frot session in his latest post that I was easily able to relate to even though I’ve never performed the act described. It’s a core tenet of my sexuality that I want very badly to be the vehicle to the sexual pleasure of others. I get my pleasure by giving it to them. That’s only accentuated as I get farther and farther away from my last orgasm (or further and further, if you prefer). Sometimes, the act includes my own direct pleasure, sometimes it’s reflected, but theirs is always my priority.

Or, at least, I want it to be. When I start to feel like I’m getting too selfish or focused on my own stimulation through contact with Belle, I start to feel…bad. Not a good word, that, but the best I can do. Guilty? Some combination. I don’t want it to be about me so when it is it all kind of curdles. There’s a line I can approach (sticking my ass up while sucking her nipples so that she can play with my dangling balls and stuffed device) but anything more overt starts to feel weird (when she ignores the obvious opportunity, that can be just as good for me).

I mention that because Belle’s got into the habit of letting me have some pussy time once a week like clockwork. I’ve found myself focusing on that and thinking on it too hard and becoming expectational of it. Like a dog that’s treated too often and get’s pushy when he’s not given a Scooby snack after he does his business. I haven’t become pushy, but I could feel the sense of entitlement building and didn’t like it.

I shared this with Belle along with the suggestion that she make me earn pussy time. Even if it means I’m not out for weeks or months or only out to give Blue a firm core and then right back in. I don’t want to feel like I’m getting sex for my own sake. Of course, saying that opens up a bit of submissive’s dilemma for me because often she wants to feel like she’s being fucked. So it may feel like it’s just for me, but it’s not. It’s also filling a need she has (literally). I don’t want her to deny herself this pleasure. Maybe she should specifically tell me when I get to fuck her why it’s happening. Either because I’ve been a good rabbit or because she just wants to feel the penis in her. I’m pretty sure I could remain in the right frame of mind if I knew she wanted to feel me inside her and end up approaching it not unlike Schnoff’s frot session.

God, I’m a complicated beast.

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Seeking the perfect fit

According to our friends in science, women like bigger and fatter cocks than the average man can offer.

No, for real. A study conducted by the UCLA Sexual Psychophysiology and Affective Neuroscience Laboratory found that women, when presented with phalluses of various lengths and thicknesses, on average chose six and a half inches as their preferred penis length. That was their preference for both long-term relationships and one night stands. However, women chose slightly thicker penises as their preference for the quick hook-ups.

On the other hand, The Journal of Sexual Medicine recently found that the average American penis is 5.6″ long with 4.8″ of “girth” (which I assume is circumference). That’s almost an inch shorter than the female preference. The article on the UCLA study didn’t say what the girth preference was, specifically, but I’d assume 4.8″ of circumference is also on the low side of things. For those keeping score, the penis on me is nearly exactly that long but about a tenth of an inch less girthy.

These findings, of course, come as no surprise to me (or Belle who, after reading the article, said, “I could have told you that.”). I’ve gone to — ahem — great lengths to find a phallus Belle finds to be maximally pleasurable. In every single case, these other cocks are bigger than the penis. Like, a lot bigger. The one we have that’s nearly exactly the same size as me never became her favorite. So while Belle has enjoyed the bigger ones, she’s always found them to be too long. That led me to getting her the Vixskin Buck. Buck’s a full inch shorter than the Maverick or Blue but still the same circumference. More than an inch and a half more girth than the penis offers. A 25% improvement.

Vixskin Tex, Buck, and Maverick
Vixskin Tex, Buck, and Maverick

We’ve only used Buck twice. Once right after he arrived and again this weekend. The first time, Belle claimed it was the “perfect size.” Not too long and nice and fat. (Aside: It really helps in finding the right cock for your wife when she to loses her inhibitions in telling you the one you have is not the one. Once past that issue, the search gets pretty efficient.) Then Buck sat unused for several months. Belle doesn’t seem to like to wait for me to get the strap-on strapped-on so when she wants to get fucked by a big cock the task usually goes to Blue. Since she’s in charge of the action from on top, the excessive length is easily controlled. In any event, poor old perfect yet neglected Buck came back out of the toy drawer on Sunday. Belle had let me out of the Steelheart just moments before. I had never used a strap-on while unlocked before and she wasn’t sure it could be done.

At first, after feeling the straps slide into place between my ass cheeks and cut across them from the weight of the dildo in front, the penis got quite hard. But it sat beneath Buck and was pushed down and away, bent at the root. Physically disrespected by her preferences. I rolled back over and put my hand back in Belle’s hot pussy and sucked her tit while my other hand reached down and squeezed the hard penis against the firmer and less forgiving shaft of the dildo. The sensation of feeling the difference between the two was one of those things I suspect you’ll either immediately understand as a guy (or woman) who gets off on this kind of thing or you will totally fail to understand as someone who just doesn’t.

The penis felt especially thin and inconsequential compared to its fatter, heftier rival. That was simultaneously humiliating and and terrifically erotic. Humiliating with a particular finality in that it wasn’t from a situation I was placed in or from a name I was being called or anything like that. It was a humiliation rooted in who and what I was. I will never, ever have a penis the size Belle prefers. That burns. Really. But in that fire is found a kind of physic torment and pain that triggers my cognitive masochism. It stung like a switch across my ass but also felt so, so good.

The last two times we used dildos on Belle (this one and the last time Blue came out), she told me she didn’t want me to put any lube on them. Both times, she failed to orgasm from the effort. That’s a disappointment, but a good lesson. Belle climbed up on my and put Buck inside her and fucked him hard and long but could never get the right feeling from him. She climbed off and told me to fuck her from above which I dutifully attempted. All the while, I could feel the tip of the still-hard penis brush against her inner thigh at an odd angle. Still, no dice. I took the harness off and suggested she let me try something different. I placed a small amount of water-based lube (Astroglide gel) on Buck and manually fucked her with it while flicking my tongue  over her clit. Occasionally, I’d feel the big cock slide by as the tip of my tongue came into contact with it. Eventually, she came nice and hard with the dildo buried inside her and my tongue pressed onto her clit.

I figured she’d have had enough penetration for one day but allowed me to fuck her anyway. “It’s not like I’m going to feel you,” she said.

Unf. 

I slipped in easily, but not as easily as I do after Blue or Maverick have been to work. I think, if my Belle was the kind to fuck around with other guys, that I’d eventually be able to tell how big their cocks were just be being allowed to stick the hard penis in her. Buck had left her far more open than I would have and pushed the depths of her pussy out of reach of the penis, but I was able when thrusting very firmly to feel the very tip graze against the opening to her cervix. Even though Buck and Maverick/Blue are supposed to have the same diameter, I find the latter leave her feeling more fucked than the former. I suspect that’s because Maverick and Blue are fatter over a greater length of shaft than Buck. Following them, the penis has no chance of hitting bottom.

In any event, she let me fuck her longer than I thought she would. I was able to keep my own orgasm at bay and only got really close once. After, while laying in each other’s arms and nuzzling and cuddling, I told her how important it is for me to hear that she likes those bigger cocks over the penis.

“I don’t want you to feel guilty saying things like that to me.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” she replied. She asserted that we would need to spend more time finding the right combination of dildo and technique. That “perfect fit” I can’t and never will give her.

Later that night, as she was drifting off to sleep, she asked me groggily how long I could stay locked up. The question left me feeling extraordinarily submissive and it was difficult for me to form a coherent answer. I stumbled over it just before she fell asleep. The next morning, I gave her a real answer. The only possible answer. The one she must have known before she even asked the question.

“For as long as you wanted me to be.”

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Squirm and hum

I was hanging out in the shower yesterday quirting water through the Steelheart as I do. This is the usual moment when I can tell how I’m coming along from a lock-up male perspective. How am I feeling about it?

This particular morning, I was doing pretty good. “Pretty good” in this case being defined as being so horny and frustrated that just the feeling of the water surging around the locked meat (specifically, how it swirled over the corona) felt so amazing as to cause the contents of the steel tube to swell and block additional water from getting around in there. MOAR WATER!

As an aside, I know I’m not supposed to play with it, but does this count? It’s incidental to the act of cleaning it which is necessary. I dunno. The way it swells up in there kind of obviates the issue, anyway. Once it starts, it self-seals and stops.

And, you know, a normal guy in my situation would be wanting out of the fucking metal as quickly as possible but I, as any careful reader of this blog knows, am not normal. I had the feeling of being totally right with the world. I was exactly where I needed and should be. Inescapably locked, terrifically horned up, truly desperate for some kind of pleasurable sensation from the penis, yet hoping she’d keep me like that forever. Hoping that when we have sex this weekend, it’s with me in the device and one of her dildos in her.

This morning, after a very loud thunderstorm moved through and knocked our power out, I got her off sans dildo but still locked. She came twice in fairly rapid succession which is unusual for her. After, I climbed on top of her and pressed my stifled, steel-clad erection into her and she said, “You’re not getting out.”

I squirmed and hummed inside. I wanted two totally opposite things but got the one I deserved. I told her how lucky I was to have her along with some other things.

“I love it when you talk subby to me.”

Bliss.

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It’s not the size of your striatum that matters, it’s what you do with it

I keep having weird thoughts when I meet people. Not all people, but some. For guys (like this dude that was working a convenience store I happened into the other day), I wonder what kind of porn they watch. I try and pick if it’s classy or kinky or raunchy or just tasteless. I find myself sorting through various genres in my head and trying to match it to the guy in front of me. Harder than it may sound since I think one’s porn preferences are, more than anything, a mirror to one’s soul and souls are rarely on display.

I mention this because of the recent “porn makes men stupid” articles that have been floating around. This bit is from The Daily Mirror:

Too much porn can make men stupid, scientists have revealed.

A study by German researchers at the Max Planck Institute for Human Development found that men who watch a lot of porn generally have a smaller striatum.

The striatum is the part of the brain which processes ‘rewards and motivation’ – leading scientists to believe that pornography damages this function.

They can also have less grey matter, making their brains generally smaller than those of men who rarely watch it.

And I’m thinking, wait a minute. How do they know the porn makes the brains smaller? Maybe their brains were smaller to begin with and that’s why they look at the porn.

The female leading author of the study Simone Kühn, did point out however, that it isn’t clear whether X rated material is making brains smaller, or whether men with a decreased striatum tend to watch it more often.

Oh. OK. Well, at least they were thinking about that. And, you know, I look at a lot of fucking porn, so maybe my brain’s OK after all.

I don’t know if porn makes me stupid, but I can certainly feel stupid while looking at it. Sometimes, I can get lost in it and lose complete track of time. Usually, guys have a built-in governor in their orgasm that makes them stop but guys like me don’t have that. We just keep making whatever brain chemical gets made when we’re aroused (not to be confused with the other kind of fluid that leaks out of our penises) and it’s some pretty fucking potent stuff. So that’s me, the slack-jawed, glassy-eyed porn addict letting his striatum wither away as he looks at an endless Tumblr stream of raunch and sodomy.

That striatum thingy was new to me so I looked it up. According to the Wikipedia:

In humans, the striatum is activated by stimuli associated with reward, but also by aversive, novel, unexpected, or intense stimuli, and cues associated with such events.

It’s been a really long time since I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, but that’s really interesting to me. Clearly, people like me aren’t hooked up in the typical way vis-a-vis the whole “reward and motivation” system. I’m not motivated like most people and the things I find rewarding most others would think were kinda fucked up.

In an unrelated but also kinda not turn of events, I found again this old article from The Daily Beast about cuckolding being the “intellectual sex fetish.”  I don’t know about that, but I had a hard time even finishing that article at work.

This isn’t like swinging, and it’s not a threesome. Cuckolded men (aka “cucks”) only observe their wives’ infidelities, they don’t participate. And that’s why they find it a turn-on: They’re left out, looking on as the woman they love climaxes with a better man than them. It’s a form of psychological sadomasochism. Some people get turned on by whips, chains, and physical pain. Cucks get aroused by mental anguish.

Yeah, and some of us get turned on by whips and chains and physical pain and the idea of our wive’s fucking around with other guys.

“Imagine looking at the guy who’s about to go to bed with your wife. Imagine hearing the man crying out in bed with your wife,” says Paul, who pleasures himself “like a madman” during these encounters. “The high point of cuckolding is when your wife says she wants the other guy all the time and never wants you. Sally’s body makes it very clear that this is true. It hurts me worse to know this, so it’s better to know.” Worst/best of all is watching Sally bond with the other man not only physically but emotionally—when, as Paul puts it, she’s “masturbating him with her mind.”

I wonder how the striatum is similar in kinky folk and different from the vanilla kind (if at all). Or maybe I need to stop thinking I’m on the cast of St. Elsewhere and just roll with it.

Oh, and the weird thing I think about when I meet some women is what they look like giving head. Or if they actually do give head. Or swallow. Or let their boyfriends fuck their ass. That kind of thing. So, if we ever meet, you’ll know I’m either thinking about your porn habits or imagining you with a big cock in your mouth. Sorry. Nothing personal. Can hardly control it…