Tag: male chastity

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HNThumper XXIV: Road trip

Didja ever jack-off in the car? You know, like on a long road trip? Hours and hours of endless road stretching out before you…bored…thoughts turn downward.

I know at least two other guys who’ve done this. Maybe three. Anyway, if I know that many, I’m sure there are lots more. Yes, it’s true, I’ve jacked-off on long road trips. And yes, I know it’s way worse then texting while driving (at least for a few seconds there at the end). One time, on a drive back from Chicago during the first summer Belle and I were a thing, she jacked me off while I was driving. Those were the days…

Just because I’m no longer able to pleasure myself on long road trips doesn’t mean I don’t still get the urge. My most recent drive was no different. Of course, whipping it out now can be a glare hazard, but whip it out I did just to feel the sun warm it through the steel. Just to run my fingers down the shaft of the numb tube. Just to feel the longing of what I couldn’t have.

And yeah, to take a picture. Because I’m a perv. Apparently.

Continue reading “HNThumper XXIV: Road trip”

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Handjob

I think I’m going to come this weekend. Belle’s been dropping hints. I think, after the month and half (or whatever it’s been), that she wants her cock inside her.

On the one hand, I could describe the usual angst that goes along with coming, etc., but on the other hand I’m really fucking horny. Really. No, I’m serious. Really. I was looking forward to the challenge of staying in and orgasmless until October, but yeah, coming would be nice too.

Thing is, I don’t want to come just a little. I want to come and come and come. I want to spew for days. And, of course, because I’m the charmingly complicated fellow that I am, I also don’t want to come. Not at all. Like, ever. Complicated.

The other day, she offered me a session with the njoy Pure if I accomplished a small list of chores over the course of the day. What I really wanted, though (and what I’ve wanted for weeks) was to feel the cock, nice and hard, getting stroked. Besides, she wouldn’t want to be there when I fucked myself with it and I really wanted to connect with her. I wanted to be with her, no matter what happened. The Pure is a solo activity with Belle. So, after finishing my tasks, I asked if I could exchange the Pure time with a 15 minute edging session. She agreed.

That night, she unlocked me and I placed the various metal bits that came off onto my bedstand. She started to play with the cock. It seemed a little dazed in that it took a while for it to start to plump up. Like it was being duped or something. Like it didn’t trust what was happening. But it eventually came around and she started a nice rhythmic pumping on the rapidly inflating meat that caused me to arch back and close my eyes. It was fantastic. Stroke stroke stroke stroke stroke. It was so fucking nice.

Then she let go. I panted. I wasn’t really ready to come, but I was getting into the groove pretty well. After a few minutes, she started again with the pumping. Same story as last time, except I could feel the disused ejaculation mechanism warming up just before she let go again leaving the meat hot and bobbing. My left hand grasped and ungrasped wanting so badly to wrap around the hard cock that was so close, but she hadn’t said I could and I sensed I wasn’t allowed.

She started in again and I felt myself fall into the sensation of her handjob, the thin, sensitive skin sliding under her hand, over the flare of the cock head, back down the shaft. I closed my eyes again and felt nothing but the strokes: up down up down up down, again and again. Nothing else existed except that hand job. And just as I was slipping away – just as I felt the orgasm that had been waiting six or more weeks to come into being start to build – she let go. I groaned. Sweet Jesus, I wanted that back. More than air.

“Can I do it? Can I stroke it?” I pleaded as calmly as possible.

“Do you think you deserve it?” she asked, “Did you do a good enough job to have earned that?”

I thought about it. Fuck it, I thought. Say yes! Just say yes, yes you did and get to it!

“No,” I said quietly. Meekly.

“I don’t either,” she replied as she placed the baggy fully of icy water onto the still-hard cock.

It was so cold, that water. It hurt. The blood in the engorged flesh fought back, but I could feel it deflating just a bit with each thump of my heart. We had previously agreed that I’d go back in the device when the session was over, so once I felt the cock wither sufficiently to allow me to put it on, I reached for the metal.

“You can stay out for the night.”

ARGH! The cock was now cold and small. Useless. And she was rolling over to go to sleep.

“I might jack off in my sleep, you know.” It’s true. I’ve woken up doing that more than once.

“Try not to,” she said back to me, shortly.

So anyway, yeah, now I think she’s going to really fuck me. This weekend, I bet. Maybe I’ll come, maybe I won’t. Maybe she’s just fucking with my head. I don’t think so, though. At least, I don’t think I don’t think so.

Like I said. Complicated.

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The one without a title

I asked Belle last night if she only keeps me locked up because she thinks I want it. For instance, if I said I really didn’t care one way or the other about the chastity thing, would she still keep me in the device? Or what if I said I’d really rather not be in the device, but was leaving up to her if we’d still use it, would she leave me in?

Yes, she would leave me in. She likes me in it and has no intention, apparently, of it not being an integral part of our relationship. That made me feel good, not just because I also like it, but because the suggestion here recently that I’m inadvertently (or not) dominating her through my kinks has been bothering me.

To recap, I seem to have three main kinks:

  1. Masochism
  2. Bondage
  3. Sexual submissiveness

Belle, it should be noted, does not have the opposite of any of these. She’s not a sadist and she’s not interested in being anyone’s domme. I’m quite sure none of these things were ever on her radar prior to my bringing them up.

Note that “enforced male chastity” is not on my list of kinks. I left it off because I think it’s an expression, to one degree or another, of the other three. I don’t think of it as a kink in an of itself. When Belle places me in chastity, there’s a moderate amount of both physical and mental suffering which feeds my masochism. I’m denied access to parts of my body which feeds my desire for bondage. Finally, control over my orgasm (or even my ability to self-gratify) fits neatly into my submissive tendencies.

So, you can imagine how happy I am to hear that she’s also really into keeping me locked up because it’s where my kinks intersect with her interests. It’s our unexpected common ground and she’s there because she wants to be. In fact, I probably couldn’t talk her out of being there if I wanted to (short of opting out entirely from the arrangement, something she knows I don’t want to do).

Of course, I still really want to be tied up and bound on occasion, I’m still pretty much a pain slut, and I love to feel like she’s in total control of our sexual relationship. Any desires I have beyond the chastity to indulge these passions fall outside her normal operating zone. Going there for her is sometimes uncomfortable and threatening.

I admit there is within me a conflict when it comes to asking for special attention to my kinks when I’m supposed to be the sub. Subs aren’t supposed to ask for things. They’re only supposed to gratefully accept what their dominant partner gives them. But what about when their partner isn’t dominant? It’s because of this internal struggle that any charge that I’m topping from below causes me to immediately assume a defensive position. I do the very best I can never to do this. In fact, not wanting to be too prescriptive is what caused me to suggest to her to reach out to the readers here for advice.

Asking her to follow me into the darker recesses of my sexuality has caused me a great deal of guilt and embarrassment. If you don’t understand that, then you’re probably one of those people who embraced your kinks from a young age and have never had to reveal them to an otherwise vanilla partner. Good for you. However, that’s not me. I thought I was more or less over those feelings, but I have to admit that I’ve been feeling them again lately. “Topping from below” to me means “asking them to do something they don’t want to do” which, in turn, immediately throws my weirdness into sharp relief. Hence the guilt, shame, etc.

No, I do not think I’m weird. I know now that everyone is weird, to one degree or another. I’m not even sure the word “kink” means anything anymore. But our societal conditioning runs deep. And I know Belle. And I feel bad asking her to indulge me. And I feel worse when she tries and fails. And I feel even worse when it’s suggested I’m being unfair to her.

I have no idea where I’m going with this. I should probably just stop. The fact remains that our relationship is strong and we continue to learn and evolve together. I can’t ask for much more than that.

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Seafaring

This morning, I’m for some reason suddenly kinda blown away that this whole enforced male chastity thing works at all. That you can lock a bunch of stainless steel (or polycarbonate or silicone or…whatever) onto what is a very tight, moist, presumably delicate part of a man’s body and just leave it there. For days, weeks, months, or (for some lucky/poor SOBs) years. And, you know, for the most part, nothing happens. Shit doesn’t fall off. There are (and I’m serious about this) no long-term adverse issues. It’s kind of crazy if you think about it. Such elastic things we are.

I’m also amazed by the realization that I have no idea when my last orgasm was. I can’t remember it. I know it must have been in June, but since that was the recent nadir of my blogging activity, there’s no record of it. Like most guys in my position, the time, date, and circumstances of my orgasms have typically been of high importance to me. But now, suddenly, I’m adrift in a vast orgasmless sea with no idea where the shore is or was or which direction I’m heading. On the one hand, it’s kind of liberating. I’m not looking backward at one and I’m not (literally and figuratively) looking forward toward another. I just am (and they are not). Don’t get me wrong; I still want them. A lot. But wanting them is better then having them. At least for me (at this moment).

Belle locked me up around the 6th of July. I think I had been without orgasm for about two weeks at the time, so that would have me at almost two months now. In the old days, six or seven weeks would have equalled three or four dozen ejaculations, mostly into the bathroom sink or onto my hand or stomach. This is better. Way.

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Fixing the fixing

Have I mentioned I’m trying to post every day in August? I am. Why? No idea. Just seems like a fun thing to try. I don’t really think enough happens to necessitate 31 posts, but we’ll see.

As I alluded to on Saturday, Belle let me take the PA fixing out of the Steelheart. I woke up feeling a nasty pinch in there and assumed it was the fixing trapping an errant fold of skin in a way it normally doesn’t. I’ve felt something like this before and it’s ended up turing into a sore spot that’s ended my stint in the device. While the PA solution is almost always sufficiently comfortable, there isn’t a lot of room in there generally speaking and, as the old saying goes, shit happens.

Turns out, there were no visible signs of a problem. I was only out for maybe a minute (as long as it took to remove the fixing and my PA ring), but I couldn’t see anything wrong. For the rest of the day and most of Sunday, I was on my own recognizance. The meat feels different in there when it’s not secure. It moves around a lot more and feels kind of jiggly. Unlike the CB6K tube, this one’s big enough that the meat has some freedom of movement. It’s somewhat distracting since I’ve become so accustomed to the static feeling the PA fixing provides. It keeps the cock pinned to the backside of the tube.

Also, being technically able to remove the meat drops the hotness level for me. As I’ve said before, I like it better when I have zero control. With the PA fixed inside, that’s exactly what I have. Zero control. It’s not that I was tempted to squeeze out a surreptitious wank, but knowing I could made the device feel like a fancy stage set as opposed to a serious piece of bondage equipment.

At some point over the weekend, I asked her again how long we was going to leave me in the device. Part of me wants to know, part of me doesn’t. I think she’s doing a good job right now keeping me guessing. Of course, it’s constantly on my mind. I know we’re approaching uncharted territory with regard to duration, so every day I look at it hanging off of me and wonder if today will be the day. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

She again refused to tell me if she had a specific date in mind. Minimally, not before late September was all she’d give me. That would be about two and half months. I’m so committed to staying in for every second she wants me there that I need to be careful in listening to my body and any signs it tries to give me saying it needs out. Obviously, part of me really wants out, but the rest of me wants to do what Belle wants and show her that I can. There would need to be some pretty severe physical damage to make me ask for it to be removed at this point.

Sunday evening, Belle wanted the fixing back in. She knew I didn’t need it out anymore so, when I was about to start my evening cleaning regimen, she brought the key to me and removed the lock. I rinsed out the tube and ran a hot washcloth over the meat (leaving the A-ring on) and put the whole thing back together, but left the key in the unturned lock.

Getting into bed, she asked, “Where’s the key?”

“Right here,” I answered, pulling my encased package out of my pajama bottoms. “I left it for you. I don’t get to turn the lock.”

“Exactly,” she replied as the brass lock engaged and the tiny chance I had to access my own body was taken away from me.

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Little words

I stand next to her bed and pause a moment before getting in. I shouldn’t ask. I really shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t expect. It’s a privilege.

In the light of candles, I can see her look up and nod. I have permission to undress. I remove my bedclothes and lay them over the footboard neatly.

As I ease my almost naked body into her bed, she says, “You look good locked up.”

I gently grind the steel tube attached onto my body into her thigh. I can barely help myself. I’m so glad she likes how I look. I’m so glad she likes how I look wearing the chastity device.

—

I wake as I do every morning at about 5:15 AM, steel ring biting into my straining morning wood. I spoon into her as she sleeps next to me. This morning, the extra steel rod inside the tube that goes through the ring that’s been pierced through the head of her cock that keeps it permanently and securely trapped is pinching me more severally than usual. It happens sometimes. A fold of skin ends up where it usually doesn’t. I’ll have to check that later. Maybe even ask that we remove the extra security for a few days.

In any event, I’m not going back to sleep and, while I want to touch her badly, I also don’t want to wake her this early. She’d be very unhappy about that.

I get up and take a long leak which deflates the hard meat pressed into the tube. Then I attend to a few things and make her coffee for when she wakes up. I can still feel an odd pinching in the tube.

Later, when she’s awake, I’m back in bed with her, arms and legs wrapped around her warm, still sleepy body. I want her so bad. I want to devour her. It’s been so long. A little whimper escapes me.

“It’s good for you to suffer, Thumper,” she volunteers.

Whimper. “It’s so hard,” I reply.

“I know,” she says, “I appreciate how hard it is.” Her hand plays idly with the hair on my forehead. I whimper again. Her little words cause me to burn inside. Cruel, beautiful words.

Pinch.

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Clean up

Belle’s home. Right off the bat, I’m told my permission to enjoy the njoy is over. Also, no self-inflicted nipple torture. Maybe, she says, if I do a good job on my to-do lists over the next several weeks she’ll let me go at it, but not before then.

This morning, day 31 in the tube, she let me out for about 15 minutes to clean up. Not so much me, but the device. After a couple three weeks there starts to be what looks like hard water build-up on the inside of the tube, the PA fixing, and on my PA ring. Not sure if it’s from the water (we do have hardish water) or if it’s minerals from my urine (ew), but if left unattended it can start to be abrasive. Soaking the parts for five or ten minutes in vinegar will loosen them up so they rub off easily.

This never seemed to happen in the CB6K, but that device had more and larger openings and was made of a totally different material. The Steelheart tube is entirely closed except for the hole in the end. I try my best to get extra liquid out, but I can see that the curve of the tube and the way it hangs allows anything still in there to create a small pool just above the hole. The inside of the tube is damp pretty much all the time. So far, that hasn’t been an issue, but it means hygiene in this device is of utmost importance.

The penis always looks so sad when it comes out after a long lock-up. Kind of defeated and definitely pale. I imagine it’s not unlike a prisoner coming out of a long stint in solitary confinement. This time, I noticed a few spots that looked somewhat abraded, but nothing hurt. I’ll be paying special attention to how things feel over the next few days and will probably ask Belle to let me check in again on Sunday.

While the steel was soaking, I washed up in the shower and shaved the little spots I can’t get to normally. I didn’t try to get an erection, but any kind of contact with it causes a reaction. I mean, seriously, I haven’t even seen the damned thing in a month. What do  you expect? It didn’t get totally erect, but it was past the pleasantly plump phase. I was a good boy, though, and ignored the opportunity. Not even one stroke. I put all the steel back on as soon as possible and left the key for Belle to turn.

That’s about all I have today since she was tired when she got home. I was able to sleep naked since she was there to give me permission to do so (I love to sleep that way but only do it when she says I can). I’m really only writing this because I’m trying to blog something every day this month. We’ll see how that goes…

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Manifestival

I’ve always enjoyed cricketed’s blog and not just because I love how they called his device “the cricket” (there’s a whole Pinocchio/Jiminy Cricket/nose erection thing in there somewhere, right?). He writes well and the way chastity has affected his relationship has always seemed to mirror ours (more or less). The main difference between he and I involve tone (he comes off a lot more serious than me) and his inclusion of a lot of NSFW images as a way to punctuate his posts (which is not to say I’m not a fan of NSFW images…I mean seriously).

Recently, he posted his “personal manifesto”:

In order to understand me — not necessarily male chastity, or submissiveness, or anything except how those things apply to me and my life with J, you have to understand the following principles we’ve come to embrace, and, tentatively, subtly, espouse to others. Please don’t take anything here personally or as an invitation to an argument. I can only speak for me, and how J and I are growing in our relationship. Also, please don’t get the idea we’ve sat around and hashed out the wording of this. This is all merely my thinking. A man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.

First off, I am not going to be arguing with him. My intention is only to react and reflect similarly and give his observations my personal spin. I really like the line “a man in a cricket does a lot of thinking.” That’s for damned sure. Hence this post. Second, I totally appreciate what drives his need to espouse. I’d love to espouse (as I said in my last post) so I get what drives the desire to write a manifesto. Maybe this is just me doing the same. I dunno, but I do know I’m not arguing. Just…commenting.

He begins…

1. Women are superior to men: intellectually, physically, spiritually, emotionally. At first this idea held only erotic attraction to me, but the more I thought about it, the more apparent it became to me, and I now consider it to be a general truth.

I do not consider women to be superior to men. That’s not a PC statement, it’s an opinion based on over 40 years of observation and interaction with both genders. Men are really good at some things, women at others. That’s just common sense. While this is clearly the largest disagreement he and I have, I don’t think belaboring the issue would be time well spent. Suffice it to say, I’m not that kind of chastised man.

2. In any relationship between a man and a woman, the natural place for the man is in subservience to the woman. In a marriage, the woman should as a general matter be acknowledged as the dominant partner, and the man’s role is to accommodate her needs and desires.

I’m a lot more on-board with this one, though I wouldn’t go so far as to say any relationship. Mine and his, obviously, but I have no idea if everyone should work this way. What about submissive women, for example? Or gay couples?

Anyway, I have noodled with the idea that men should, as a matter of custom, give women control over their orgasms when they commit to them (with or without devices). This is something cricketed touches on later, but the benefits of permanently attaching one’s partner to their sexual release have, for us, been tremendous. I wish it were more common. I think the “woman should be the dominant partner” and “the man’s role [should be] to accommodate her needs and desires” parts flow from that, but also require the man not to be an idiot in the first place. As has been noted elsewhere ad nauseum, chastity and orgasm control cannot fix a broken relationship or make you a beter partner than you already have in you to be.

3. Orgasm control is essential for the healthy sexual expression of principles 1 and 2. A man’s unfettered access to his own penis is cancer to his personal relationships.

Sentence number one, yes. I agree. Maybe not the only essential thing, but a big one (IMO). Second sentence, I’m not so sure about. “Cancer” is a very strong word. Also, I don’t necessarily blame the penis but the fact that access to it could, as it did with Belle and I, loosen a couple’s physical bonds to each other. Because I could jack-off, I eventually stopped trying to get Belle to have sex with me. Because we weren’t having sex, I eventually had an affair. It was a nasty little snowball that rolled along for a decade before nearly knocking over our marriage. Had she been controlling my release the entire time, who knows what would have happened.

4. Men are unable to control themselves regarding their own orgasm, and require a woman’s control in order to abstain from masturbating.

Men certainly do like their orgasms, don’t they? Millions of years of evolution have designed them to have frequent emissions. However, not all of them are unable to control themselves. Steve from The Glow Inside (a moment of silence, please – I miss Steve) was 100% mental with his chastity. Head on over to FetLife and you’ll find a bunch more like him lording over those of us under lock and key their superior self-control.

Yeah, it’s a whole hell of a lot better when she’s involved. In fact, absent a women (or any partner, for that matter) I’m not sure what the point of orgasm control would be. Were I single, I’d be coming every day (twice on those with vowels in their names). I am not one of those who believe lack of masturbation and orgasm makes me a better person. Better within my relationship, yes. Better in general, no.

5. Without orgasm control, a man’s thoughts and desires are unmoored and scattered. With it, his focus remains constant and unyielding on the goal of continually pleasing the woman who controls him. The dynamic of orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.

My experience is totally the opposite of this. My thoughts are way more scattered after a couple of weeks orgamsless. I’m easily distracted and find myself thinking about sex way more often than usual. I am a ton more focused on Belle, but that’s at the expense of everything else. It’s not debilitating or anything, but very noticeable.

As I said yesterday, I totally agree with the sentiment that “orgasm control is healthy, natural and beautiful.” I believe that entirely.

6. A man’s resistance to the principles set forth above is rooted in arrogance. The current standard cultural definition of masculinity is profoundly flawed, and is a product of the insecure arrogance of men.

Sentence two, I agree. Our culture doesn’t recognize or value submissive masculinity at all. Not, at least, as it pertains to relationships with women. Some might point to military dynamics as an example of submissive masculinity that’s seen as worthy, but the context is all wrong. Men who submit their masculine prerogative to a woman are weak, period. I wish that perception was otherwise.

Sentence one. Maybe it’s arrogance for some or maybe it’s just that it’s not their thing. While I do think a great many men (and their partners) would benefit from a chastity lifestyle, I don’t pretend that it would be right for all men everywhere. We’re just too diverse a species for that kind of blanket thinking

7. A woman’s loving humiliation of her husband, including but not limited to the use of a chastity device, will over time act as an antidote to his arrogance. Masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you.

Not every guy wants to be humiliated. And why should chastity be seen as humiliation? Yeah, it’s power exchange, but that’s not humiliation. I admit that I’m unclear where humiliation fits in my personal set of perverse triggers, but I know that it’s not central to my chastised experience and not even among the top five things I like about it. In fact, I can say pretty confidently that Belle’s never humiliated me, even though there might be a little tiny part of me that would like it.

That being said, “masculinity is an illusion waiting to be defined by you” I like a lot. It goes directly to my issues with our restrictive definition of it and also seems much more a “one size does not fit all” kind of statement than anything that came before it.

8. A chastity device is a symbol of fidelity, a reminder of submissiveness, an expression of love, and a piece of decorative jewelry. It shouldn’t be forgotten that all of this is fun and erotic and hot and beautiful and lasting and real.

Total agreement with all that. 100%.

TELL HER TODAY: I did a little more than a year ago, and guess what?

HAPPINESS

Yeah, same here, though it’s been almost two years for me. It has made me, on balance, a much happier person.

To conclude, I want to reiterate that I’m not picking on cricketed here. I think there’s a lot of truth in what he says, but I also tend to get hives whenever anyone speaks with such zeal and authority regarding The Truth™ (regarding matter of sexuality or anything). My truth is not his truth is not that guy over there’s truth. There are a multitude of paths to happiness and the experiences of any one blogger will never be your path. You have to do what feels right and good and enjoyable for both of you. If I have a manifesto, I guess that’s it.

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Kinky or no?

On a recent post, a reader left this comment:

Belle appears to be very serious about having things her way, which I think is wonderful. She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.

On the face of it, this might seem to be a fairly innocuous thing to say, but this same reader then went on (in another comment) and said I lacked “true submissive values” and that I demonstrated too much of a concern for my own pleasure and not enough for hers. You know, that same old bullshit. As a matter of fact, as any long-time reader of my blog knows, I do consider myself something of a selfish sub, but that’s not to say I’m still not a sub. Who in the hell wants a partner, submissive or otherwise, who seems to have no interest whatsoever in their own happiness? Isn’t one of the hot things about topping someone that you occasionally make them wait (or even refuse outright) that thing that they really want? Isn’t that part of the fucking dynamic? If they don’t really want anything other than to please you in some servile, pathetic way…then what?

And besides, I think it’s incumbent upon everyone to be mindful of their partner’s motivations and needs. You’ll just have to trust me on this, but I know my Belle. Better than any of you. She really wants me to have what I want. She wants to give me what I need. It’s just how she’s wired and it’s part of the complexity of structuring a D/s relationship since what I seem to want isn’t always what I say I want and she’s left to decide which she should be thinking about. For example, the other night I said to her that I really, really wanted to fuck her. Like, really. And, of course, that was true. But, what I really wanted, more than anything else at all, was for her to tell me I couldn’t. To refuse me the thing I had a very strong urge to do. Because she can and I like it when she does. See? Fucking complicated!

But whatever. I digress. The real point of this post was to mark the approach of one month locked up and how my dear reader’s comment has stuck with me.

I think she locked me up around July 6. That would make today my 29th day encumbered which, while not a record or anything, is the eve of a bit of a milestone worth noting. Oddly enough, I have no idea what my longest stint in a device is. Seems like the kind of thing I’d remember, but I don’t. I suppose it’s recorded here on the blog somewhere, but it’s not in my brain. I know it can’t be much longer than five or six weeks, though. I’ve either had to bail out due to physical damage or she’s decided she wanted to play with the contents or I’ve had to travel or something before it got much past that point. So anyway, I’m going to say that six weeks is the record duration just for conversation’s sake.

Will I be locked up longer than that? Well, she’s intimated that I may be locked up until our anniversary in mid-October. That’s still 10 or 11 weeks from now. I’ve never done anything close to 100 days in any device, so the prospect is exciting. However, she’s been coy about that and I haven’t been able to pin her down. Our anniversary might just be the next time she lets me come. Or maybe that’ll be this weekend. I honestly have no idea. I do think she’s heard Sarah’s “add 50% to whatever he says he wants” advice and is pondering it in application to me. I would be thrilled to be made to wait longer than my last longest orgasmless duration, but I’d also really want to fucking come way before then…see my earlier point about complication.

In any event, back to the comment. “She should keep you locked up until you think it is kinky to be otherwise.” While I certainly don’t think being unlocked is kinky, I can say that when I’m in and have been for a while (like now), it’s hard for me to imagine what being out and about is like. Plus, I get to a point where being locked seems both normal and natural for me. I like feeling like this, as hard as it is sometimes, and I like having even the possibility of sneaking in some quiet edging (or more) taken away from me. So, I start to think being locked is normal and natural and I get a happy, warm and even comforting feeling being that way. It’s at times like these that I totally understand that whole “being locked up for the rest of my life would be so fucking hot” thing.

It’s also when I actually do the opposite of what my dear reader wanted. Instead of thinking not being locked up is kinky, I stop considering being locked up as kinky. Like I said, it’s natural. It’s normal. It’s how I should be. So? And then I want to share it with people. I think it’s just human behavior to want to tell your friends when you’ve found something fantastic that’s changed your life. I wish I could find a way to explain it to them (some of them, anyway). But I can’t. Because even though I don’t think it’s kinky anymore, they do. And this isn’t some run of the mill relationship advice. This is my sex life. And I think it’s inappropriate to bring anyone into your sex life if they don’t want to be there. So I’m stuck.

Someday, maybe, after the consumption of alcohol perhaps, certain topics might come up in conversation that would allow me (or Belle, even) to share the secret in a way that seemed, at the very least, relevant. In the mean time, I’m exactly where I want to be. And it feels really good, whether or not it’s kinky.