Polling

Sometimes I ask questions on the Twitter in the form of the polling feature and then I’m immediately frustrated by its limitations. For one, I can only ask questions that have four answers. Then there’s the excessively short character limit for each option. Yes, yes, I know I could do like a Google form thing. But then that would require forethought and stuff.

Anyway, I recently asked a series of questions about duration of lockup that I think are interesting. First one…

My use of the word “endurance” was called out, but…based on my reading of the dictionary, I did, in fact, mean “endurance” so there we go.

Anyway, this ended up how I thought it would based on my experience and what I’ve heard and read from others. Some people are presumably new to chastity and are just trying to make it though the night. I remember those days. But 3/4 of people are doing what I’d consider “long term” (though that’s an interesting point — what defines “long term” chastity?”). Thirty-nine percent are doing it the way Belle and I are. Months to years indefinitely, I think, defines how we do it. It’s our “endurance goal.”

Next question I asked was…

Again, not a shock. The only somewhat surprising thing is only 15% of people are doing lock up terms “about the same” now versus when they started. Of course, they could have started last week. I’d be curious to know of the guys doing it less now than then, is it due to device issues? Not being able to find a good fit? Or because their keyholder didn’t/doesn’t like it?

Then I asked…

Once more, not a shock. Not based on my experience and what I hear and read from others.

I think all this is important for those just getting into enforced male chastity or thinking about experimenting with it (on either side of the lock). Locking up penises is rarely done as a hobby. It’s not a once in a while thing. The practice expands in a way opposite that of the locked up member. The more you have it, the more you want it. Days turn to weeks and months then years and the one being locked nearly always wants more of it, not less.

One more question about how dicks are being locked…

Half of those responding say what they want is to be mostly or always locked. Another third say periods of being locked then not, which is how Belle and I did it for a while. Until it became clear we had to take it to the “mostly or always” stage. That was something we both wanted.

I guess the nature of male chastity allows for it to consume one’s relationship and sex life. Those into bondage or sadomasochism or what have you can’t do them all the time. But male chastity can be done all the time, even when the couple is apart. That’s potent for a kink that becomes more compelling as the time practicing it goes on.

Finally, I asked…

Less than a quarter of those locked in chastity want to have an orgasm when they’re released. More than half would rather be teased then relocked while the remainder don’t want to be unlocked at all.

This gets to how chastity rewrites the basecode of those being locked. We start to crave the crave more than getting what we crave. Even to the point of being disappointed when the key shows up and they hear it’s orgasm day.

I guess this is what I was trying to get at when I wrote about the two types of men in chastity. Those who still think about the device and its contents separately and those who only think about the device. That’s what it does to you. Maybe not to every guy, but to a very large percentage of them. You don’t have to just take my word for it.

The confidence of the contained

What with Covid receding (in the US, anyway), life is starting to return to some kind of normalcy. One part of that is our daughter now goes to school four days a week rather than being remote as she was when the year started. And, since she’s vaccinated, she’ll be in-person at college next year, too.

I only mention that to set the stage for what happened earlier. It was just Belle and I alone in the house and…wait, you’re expecting some hot sex thing here, aren’t you? Oh dear. I’m sorry. It wasn’t hot sex. I should have maybe said that earlier so as to avoid you getting your hopes up.

Anyway, we were at home alone and I was back from my run and she was in the bathroom after her shower doing her hair and stuff. Being alone meant I could hop in the shower with her in there but leave the door open so she didn’t get steamed out. And as I stood at the sink and got ready, naked as I prefer to be, I could leave the door open as we conversed about various things even as she was going back and forth from our room and the office.

Right after I put the shaving cream on my neck I got a call from the contractor doing work on the house about some piece of minutiae related to the work he’s doing for us (I’m picky and he knows it). So I took the call and we discussed the minutiae and our plan for going forward and after I hung up went out into the hall to discuss the thing with Belle. Both of us, standing in the hall, she clothed and ready for the day, me totally naked except for the Holy Trainer v4 Nano (Steelheart needed cleaning) and shaving cream on my neck.

There was a time right after we started using chastity in our relationship that I felt super uncomfortable with her seeing it. It made me very self-conscious. In my defense, it was the CB6K which is hideously ugly, but still. I wasn’t really ready to accept the device as normal. I still felt like a freak for wanting it on me. And that led to insecurity about it.

Now it’s the total opposite. Had I been unlocked for some reason, I suspect I would have put a towel around my waist in that situation because I don’t like her seeing the contents exposed anymore. When she unlocks me for her pleasure, I turn away from her to remove whatever I’m wearing and get back to her and under the covers as quickly as possible. I realized I was doing this at some point when she told me to get up and close the door after she let me out and the two steps back from the door to the bed where she could see the contents flopping in the breeze made me fight the urge to cover it with my hand. I’m just super not comfortable with the thing anymore. Not with her, not with myself. Not at all.

And in thinking about this and my last post, I find the device makes me more confident now. Which I guess has to do with me feeling more whole while I wear it. At the end of my camping trip, we drove out on the road that’s basically a washed out creek bed and stopped in a clearing a few miles from the highway to air-up tires and say our goodbyes before we went our separate ways. I wanted to also change into street clothes from my smelly camping stuff and stood in the open back door of my truck and did so. At one point, I was completely naked except for my socks and the Steelheart and I didn’t feel scared or rushed or any of the things I would even if I was just changing in a locker room where nakedness is expected. Somehow something has flipped in my head where enforced chastity equals confidence and floppy visible penis equals anxiety and even something bordering on shame.

If I explore this more, that time I was pulled out of line and made to show the device to a couple TSA agents in Chicago didn’t leave me feeling embarrassed or shamed. It made me feel empowered. I even liked it. Not that I’m going out of my way to flaunt what’s between my legs (I mean, other than here and on Twitter and Instagram), but when it has to happen and it situationally makes sense, that’s how it is. Deal, world. I suppose this is why my chastity bump doesn’t freak me out anymore. OMG THEY CAN SEE MY BUMP. Yeah, okay. Whatevs.

I wish we lived in a world where everyone’s uniquenesses were accepted and celebrated. Where the millions (my estimation) of men around the world in chastity were understood and tolerated. In short, I wish this part of me wasn’t secret. I can’t change that it has to be, but I do get to decide how I feel about people knowing it about me. And I refuse to let their ignorance about it influence my confidence that it and I am valid.

The fulcrum

I’m so goddamned fucking horny right now. The kind of horny where the need and cravings and desire feel like the jet of a firehose against a solid steel plate. Lots of force without any consequence. Just vibrating energy.

I said “need and cravings and desire” but, being back in the Steelheart and not in a device I can back out of or even see what it contains, all those things in my mind are focused not on the contents but on other things.

I was out in the world earlier and seeing people I thought were attractive (which, not shockingly, is a lot more than usual when I’m like this) and imagining them grinding their pussies into my face or shoving their cocks down my throat.

All this following a morning with Belle where I felt like eating her whole and it’s clear I’m really back home in the Steelheart. For me, it’s the fulcrum between being inwardly focused vs. outwardly focused. A locked sub should, IMO, be outwardly focused always. Thinking about pleasuring his partner and even only fantasizing about that. I’m horny as fuck but now not thinking about being out. Only thinking about what I can do for someone else without a functioning penis.

That’s what being kept is all about. It’s who and what I am. My pleasure is driven by pleasuring them. Not even my fantasies allow for anything else.

The kept man’s conundrum

I kind of obsessively obsess over personal stats. I have two Apple Watches so I know exactly what range my normal minimum sleeping heart rate is (40-45 BPM) and what my normal daytime resting heart rate is (50-56 — thanks, running!). I weigh myself nearly daily to keep tabs on that (192.9 lbs most recently) and I track my daily net carbohydrate intake and even have a little doodad to help me know when my body is burning fat versus carbs. My motto is if a thing can be tracked and measured and reported, it should be tracked and measured and reported.

And that’s why I use an app to keep track of when, how, and for how long Belle keeps me in chastity. So I know that year to date, I’ve been locked in five different devices for 3,248 hours and unlocked for precisely 3 hours and 53 minutes. Three separate times so Belle could enjoy the contents fucking her (if, however, very briefly) and another time when I went to the doctor. That’s just a hair over one tenth of one percent not being kept. And even in almost four hours out of 3,250ish so far this year, it’s not like the contents were free. Those periods of not being locked were still being controlled. When you sign up for the life of a permanently kept man, it’s critical you accept that even when it’s not physically secured, the contents are not ever under your control.

I tweeted these numbers on the Twitter, as I do, and followed up with a comment that it would be “great” if the year ended with me being unlocked no more than ten hours. And that, you know, kind of swims upstream from the notion all the hot chastity porn gets frothy about. Locked guys are supposed to want out. To fuck and come or whatever. But I very certainly do not want out. Ever. Of course, I accept Belle’s total control over the contents and provide no objections whatsoever when she hands me the key so she can use it, but if she never handed me the key? Well, I would similarly offer no objection whatsoever.

I think the goal of a man being permanently kept is for him to be weaned off any attachment over his penis. First step beyond keeping him from getting to it is, as I’ve done, to never refer to it as mine. To never use the aggressive and action-biased word “cock” to describe it. It’s the penis. Or, better, the contents. Second is to train the man and his autonomous systems to stop associating the contents with sex. To fundamentally break the deep societal penis-centricity of MF sex. This is why some men in chastity think it causes erectile dysfunction. It doesn’t, but locked contents will stop getting as hard as often during sex once they figure out it’s not for them. The most incredible aspect of this physiological acceptance of place is how I will become sleepy after Belle comes. As if I have. I don’t know if I’m experiencing a true post-orgasmic prolactin dump or if it’s some kind of placebo version of one, but while she’s basking in her afterglow, I’ll nuzzle into her neck and fall asleep even while I feel the pressure in the tube subside.

The well-trained man in permanent chastity will no longer expect to be unlocked when it comes time for him to pleasure his partner. He’ll not only not expect it, he will not want it. Because it can be sometimes challenging to deal with the conflicting feelings of self-gratification while trying to stay focused on the pleasure that really matters — his partner’s. I am a much more patient and attentive curator of Belle’s orgasm when I’m not feeling her hand on the erect shaft of the penis and thinking three steps ahead to the glorious sensation of sliding into the hot, wet embrace of her pussy. A well-trained kept man knows that sensation is one he is not entitled to. Does not deserve simply because he has a hard penis. And not getting it makes not getting it make more sense to his kept, submissive brain.

Regardless, sometimes that’s what she wants and what she wants is the paramount motivation of our sex. So I need to find ways to wrap that logic pretzel around the moment. At least she doesn’t seem to want it much.

Tried something new with this one. I made a quick and dirty audio version of this post.

The two types

It seems to me there are two kinds of men in chastity.

  1. Men with cocks locked in chastity devices
  2. Men with chastity devices

I think way back at the dawn of time when Belle locked our first CB6K on me, I was definitely the first type. And a lot of guys are always going to be that type. For them (and their keyholders), chastity is a means to an end. They use it tactically to enhance their sex lives and make the inevitable release, fucking, and orgasm as mind-blowing as possible. For sure, all the second types start out as the first type. As I did. But then we find ourselves in a new place. Where being locked up is no longer a means to an end. It is the end. You do it for it.

And to the first type, the second type will either seem totally crazy, which means they’ll always be the first type, or totally terrifying. As I did. And that fear, I think, is the best indication that they’re not going to become the second type. They already are the second type.

There are lots of examples I can think of in my own sexuality where I was confronted with something I had no conception of that scared the hell out of me only later to realize it was me. If you’re not into something, it either squicks you out or you think it’s hilarious or crazy or whatever. But the fear is rooted in something else. It’s self-realization fighting with shame.

I can recall the first time I read accounts of cuckolding. Of being cuckolded. I recall how it made me tremble. Of how panicked it made me feel. Because I saw myself in it in a way I did not expect. And I had to deal with what that meant. Of how I had to reassess my understanding of myself.

I think with chastity and denial it was slower, but the same. In the early days, I was frustrated at Belle for locking me up but then not letting me have as much sex with her as I wanted. Perhaps in an attempt to get me to leave her alone, she’d let me go unlocked and allow me to edge myself for hours in bed next to her while she slept. I’d literally jack off for hours, frothing myself up, leaking like the Titanic and making our bedroom stink of ejaculate. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?

Letting go of preconceptions about oneself is hard. I spent the first 40 or so years of my life defining my sexuality around the contents of the Steelheart. I was always leaning into submissiveness since I always wanted to get my partner off first and was very invested in their pleasure, but I also very much expected and felt entitled to my pleasure. I had pride of penis. Of its role and primacy. I can even remember arguing with Frodo way back in high school about whose dick was bigger. And thinking mine was. I mean, honestly, in retrospect. What the absolute fuck was that about?

Losing my pride of penis was scary and hard because I had to come to grips with being the kind of submissive that was almost entirely focused on my partner’s pleasure to such an extent that mine was totally ignored. And that being denied like that was how I found my pleasure. A satisfaction and contentment far in excess of post-orgasmic stupor. I had to let go of being the archetype male who is the sexual aggressor and penetrator and whose sexual release is celebrated over all things and become instead…this other thing. The second type of man in chastity. The type who lets go of his penis, figuratively and literally. A type of man we have no archetype for.

And, of course, this is who I am. And it no longer scares me. It provides me comfort. I am living my true life.

It’s impossible to imagine finding myself here without Belle. She had to adapt to what I needed nearly as much as I needed to adapt to being kept as I am. She never signed up to be married to a kept sub bottom who didn’t want to (and now barely can) fuck. She likes being fucked. Riding my hard-on was her preferred way to come. But she’s allowed her body to relearn some things to accommodate me. We’re not sure she can come from penetration anymore. It’s all digits and tongues now for her.

I can’t ever really express how grateful I am to her. Her understanding and generosity.

But, getting back to this post’s premise, there are two types of locked men. It’s worth asking yourself which type you are. Are you appalled at the idea of letting go of your cock? Or are you afraid of it? Or do you aspire to it?

There’s nothing wrong with either type. You are who you are. Embrace it.

Getting to now

It should not be much of a surprise to anyone reading this that I find the idea of fucking Belle with the strap-on to be many times more of a turn-on than using the contents of the Steelheart. There are practical reasons for this but also deeply significant psychological ones. The dildo in the harness is always ready. Always hard. Never comes too quickly. Able to give Belle anything and everything she wants. As a man who’s nearly always kept in a chastity device and who hasn’t had a “normal” orgasm in who the hell knows how long and can’t actually fuck for more than 90 seconds, this is all practical good sense.

But also, the dildo is bigger than me. Obviously. And she prefers bigger than me (at least, girthier). And while I’m going through the motions of fucking her, the actual fucking part isn’t me. The part of me designed for fucking is just underneath the part getting to fuck, tight and pounding for release. Shoved roughly into the base of the dildo that’s buried deep inside her. The thing making her make those noises and squirm like she does. And that pushes a whole bunch of my buttons.

The thing I was thinking about and realized recently is that there really is no point in my sexual life where, if I could travel back to it and reveal this to myself, I wouldn’t totally get how it’d make me super turned on. I would not be like, what the fuck, dude? with myself at all. My sexuality is best defined as being willing to try almost anything once and, in fact, I used to say when I was far younger that I’d try anything once unless it hurt and, even if it did, I’d keep doing it until it stopped hurting before figuring out if I liked it. So while it’s been a dozen or so years since chastity and denial became part my life, I know for certain that I was 100% born be how I am now and certainly would have been this way had I been able to put the pieces together sooner and would have been 100% up for what I described above even when I was 17, 27, or 37.

This is, I suppose, what it must be like for someone who marries someone of the opposite gender and has a life only to realize much later they’re gay. That post-coming out life is the more authentic one and the life before was something like an act being performed. Not necessarily a lie as much as going through the normative motions expected because the alternative was either never realized or never thought to be possible. That’s how it is for me. I know what I am now — submissive, denied, a bottom — is what I always have been. And when I think back to all the time before when I was jacking off whenever I wanted and selfishly retreating into my own masturbatory fantasies and just not being who I am sexually…it’s not with regret. I don’t begrudge that time. Everything happens in its own pace, I suppose. But I do wish it all could have started sooner. Because right now is pretty great. And I only regret not getting here sooner.

Earlier today I was texting with Frodo. Without getting into too much detail, he described the D/s dynamic as “role play.” And while I didn’t challenge him on that, it immediately reminded me how Dan Savage describes kinky sex in general as “cops and robbers with your clothes off.” And that’s always left me a little put off. I’m sure it’s not this way for everyone, especially the switchy among us, but I’m not playing at anything when I think about my submission. I know I’ve always been a sub and will always be a sub and, for me, it is so real and genuine and necessary. I do not, in a scene, act submissive. I allow myself to be myself. I remember when Belle slowly came to the realization that she liked having me locked up, wanted me that way, expected me to be that way. When she came into her own as my keyholder and I stopped thinking she was doing any of it to humor me. It all became so much better.

Of course, Frodo didn’t mean anything by what he said. He was just using the words he has and I get that. And, to be honest, I don’t really know where this is going. Sometimes, you start writing a post with an idea where it’s going to end up and sometimes the post has a mind of its own like now. I guess, in closing, the best way to summarize the moral of this post is be true to yourself. Don’t put on an act for anyone else’s sake. Be your authentic self as soon as possible. Everything is so much better on the other side.

Semantics

The inimitable Mrs. Fever commented on my last post:

“the contents” — I like this terminology; the penis being the contents of the package rather than being the package. It’s a subtle bit of semantic separation, but it carries weight.

Regular readers will know that quite a long time ago I stopped referring to the contents as a “cock” because the connotation that noun evokes is of action and intent and it seemed to be counter to what’s promised on the label of this site and in the spirit of our dynamic. I demoted the organ to “penis” because it was the most descriptive word and telegraphed no intent or overt purpose. I also stopped referring to it as “mine” since it’s not. I gave it to Belle and now it’s just attached to my body. More recently (though it may have been two years ago because lol time) I’ve tried to stop using the word “penis” and have gone with “the contents” for a few reasons.

One, as the Mrs. points out, semantically I’m trying to elevate the total package over what it contains. If, as I’ve said a million times, the Steelheart (or whichever device is standing in for it) is me (and it is), then I should walk that talk. When the Steelheart is off me, it’s a thing. A tool. When it’s on me, I am complete. It makes that part of my body whole in the same way my wedding ring finishes out its finger on my left hand. But I do, from time to time, need to refer to what’s inside the Steelheart since they are two parts of a whole and the new best word I can think of is “the contents.”

Two, in the same way the contents push on the steel, the natural urges I was born with put a strain on my state as a kept man. I like being kept and never want to not be this way, but hormones and deep reptile urges are powerful and I feel it’s important to use all the resources of the higher rabbit brain to maintain the careful equilibrium within me. Words, which are the exclusive domain of the higher brain, have power.

I mean, sure, ultimately this is a game of semantics. But I think it’s also finding ways to go from “having a locked cock” to “being kept.” There’s a spectrum there. One I’ve travelled. Part of my never-ending quest to move chastity from something I do to what I am. Never-ending in that being this way does go against a couple million years of evolutionary programming and, like a lot of devotions, needs to be practiced and looked after until it’s truly second nature.

Even that term — second nature — says it is not the first nature. And that’s what I ultimately want. To deepen and strengthen my commitment to what I feel is my conscious nature, perhaps. The nature of my higher brain — my mind — that is separate and distinct from my primal nature. The nature that is all urge and instinct-driven.

We are complicated beings. More than the sum of our programming. More than the impulses that all living things share. All our experiences and feelings are refracted by what goes on in our big brains. And what goes on in mine is reinforced by simple words. Using them and really accepting them to be true.

Our primal natures and our conscious natures are not always going to be in alignment. But we live up here in our consciousness. So…words matter.

It is better to give than receive

The first and most basic rule of my being kept is that Belle decides when and how the chastity device contents are used, always every time. Even in #Locktober. She is not bound by hashtags.

So it was the other morning, not long after our wedding anniversary and near our chastity anniversary, that she decided what she really wanted was for me to fuck her with the device’s contents. And that’s why my #Locktober won’t be 744 continuously locked hours.

Not only did she want me out, she wanted me to come. It had been more than a month since the contents were allowed inside her at that point and sliding in was, honestly, sooooo fucking nice. But the magic words whispered in my ear didn’t happen until I had already been fucking her for the approximately 90 seconds required for me to have to stop and I had already started to mentally shut the orgasm down when she said I could have it.

I didn’t hesitate. It’s not that I wanted to come. It’s difficult to say anymore if what I feel is a desire to come but, regardless, what I want isn’t part of the equation. So even though I had already started to back off when she told me to do it, I sallied forth best I could and had an orgasm, of a kind. It felt like the ruined leakages I usually have. No fireworks of sensation, no build of pressure and pop of shooting explosively. The only real difference is instead of stopping my thrusting into her just before it began, I kept pumping all the way through. And that made it real.

On a scale of 1 to 10 of orgasmic sensations, it was like maybe a 2 or a 3. Tops. I don’t think it’s possible anymore for me to have an “orgasm” if I only get one every twelve months or so. But is was an orgasm and the tell was all in the brain chemistry.

For a long time time, I’ve found Belle’s orgasms make me sleepy as though I had had one, too. It’s kind of a cute little sympathetic reaction I developed once I was weaned off the expectations of coming myself. But I had forgotten what a real post-orgasmic chemical hit felt like. A full man’s dose of that cocktail of hormones and other fun stuff hit me like a freight train. A tranq dart to the neck wouldn’t have put me down faster.

I mean to tell you, I was fucking drugged. Laying there next to her I could occasionally feel my consciousness try and surface only to get pulled back into the shadows by a hundred heavy velvet tentacles. It was amazing. Clearly, denial has not only given me a hair trigger but also made me a prolactin featherweight.

And I have found that there was little to no sub-drop after the orgasm. I put the contents back into a device right away without any internal resistance and have felt an edge to my horniness in the days that followed. Like I was given a taste of a drug I used to be addicted do and those old gnawing cravings flickered back to life. It makes me wonder if I was given the chance to have orgasms regularly, either with her or on my own, if I’d be able to have what feels like normal ones again. If so, how long would it take? How many? Or have I been reprogrammed to such an extent that they’ll never again be what they were?

The fact that I’m even thinking that is a symptom of being allowed the one, though. If she makes me wait another year and then another after that and so on and so on…well, those are not the thoughts of a man kept in my condition.

You are not me

Someone on Twitter asked me a simple question with a complicated answer. I answered them there (via DM) but wanted to expand (as I am wont to do). If only I had a blog or something…

They asked, “How do you commit to chastity so well? I want to but it’s so hard.”

YES it is hard. It really is. But while I do try and maintain a certain sense of modesty, comparing yourself as someone who “wants” to commit to chastity to someone who has for more than a decade seems unfair.

So, yes, it’s hard. But let’s break down the things that I think have been critical to whatever success I’ve had adapting to living the kept life.

First off, I don’t do it for myself. I do it for Belle. I do it with Belle. When I become blindingly horny or claw at the device locked on me in frustrated anguish, I always have the backstop of my commitment to Belle to support me. That commitment keeps me accountable. It keeps me centered and focused. I have zero experience self-locking and don’t really have any advice as to how that can work. And while I do totally consider being kept as central to who and what I am as a person, I don’t think I could do it alone. I don’t have nearly enough self-control for that.

So, right off the bat, if you’re on your own your expectations should probably not be that you’ll be locked 24/7/365 for infinity and beyond. I guess you could epoxy the key into the lock and break it off, but that seems…extreme. In the extreme.

Second, I have (numerous) well-fitting devices that can be locked onto me. I am fortunate to have the size and shape of penis that plays well with the off-the-shelf options one can find on the internet. I’m not exceptionally well-endowed (lmao) or very thick or even too much smaller than average. Also, the device I’m in most of the time was made to my specifications and works really well with and on me. Those guys with bigger dicks especially can find being locked up a challenge without a custom device.

So I don’t know you, random Twitter follower, and haven’t seen your penis outside a device. But one that fits well is critical to being able to stay locked for long periods. As someone who suffered through the CB6K and a handful of poorly made devices from China, believe me. Fit matters.

Third, as I mentioned above, I’ve been at this for kind of a really long time. Coming up on a dozen years. It wasn’t always easy. It hasn’t been a straight line to where I am now. There have been starts and stops. But the long arch of my submission has been toward a more defined and committed life in chastity. Eventually, it stopped being a thing I was doing and become what I am. Who I am. It’s changed almost every aspect of my sexuality. But, over time. Not in a year. Not in three. Longer.

Which, I suppose, is advocating for consistency. For keeping at it. For not giving up because you can’t achieve some arbitrary goal based on someone else’s experience. If you really want to be kept as opposed to just doing it, you have to do it for a long time. Those pathways in your brain circuitry are stubborn things.

Fourth, I do not believe chastity is for all men. Not even all submissively inclined men. I believe I was born for it. And others may be born close enough. But not everyone is. No matter how long you keep your junk in a trunk, it may never feel how you want or expect it to. And that’s OK. Maybe you’re one of those guys who only plays with it during a scene. There is no One True Way and my way doesn’t need to be yours.

Fifth, I’m fifty-fucking-two. (Man, really!?) Which I mention for two reasons. One, as I said, this has been a part of my life for more than a decade, yes, but also that’s just just over 20% of my life. Way, way more of my sexual life was with a normal, unkept penis (I even thought it was a cock). I do wish we had found chastity before we did, but I honestly can’t tell you it would have worked for me when I was in my 20s. The libido of a guy more than twice that age is different. It’s a slower burn. So, for a younger guy, being kept might look very different than for a 30, 40, or 50-year-old. Or even older. I’ve spoken to guys in their 70s who are locked up. And yeah, I expect that will be me, too.

Lastly, don’t be mean to yourself. Don’t fret that you can’t be like me. Or the next guy. Be like yourself. Push your boundaries, if that’s what gets you off, but don’t set unrealistic expectations of who or what you are. Let it develop naturally. Life’s a journey, man, and being kept is the epitome of that mentality. We don’t celebrate the destination. We celebrate the path that gets us there. We aren’t about destinations, after all. We’re not about culmination.

Don’t let your perceived failures get you down. Just be you. Enjoy the ride. Learn who you are.

What I want. Really, really want.

I used to write here several times a week and that meant Belle would read this several times a week. But as I’ve found myself having said most everything I needed to say (several times over, it feels like), the frequency of my posting has dwindled. And Belle’s checking to see what I’ve written has, too. That’s just natural.

So it was a week or so ago when we were sitting in the snug (a wonderfully British word for the TV room off the side of your house) and she was on her phone and found herself here and read something that made her go, “Huh.”

And I was like, “Huh?” A dozen years of blogging and she found something that made her go “Huh!?”

The huh-inducing passage was this from a post expounding on the use of Joe, her strap-on dildo:

I also get off on being denied a me-centric sexual experience and release. Keeping the penis in the Steelheart while she’s fucked cross-eyed is a massive turn on for me (and that, in turn, is basically cuckolding’s next door neighbor). Feeling the penis strain while fucking a dildo in and out of her while she squirms in pleasure is absolute perfection.

“Guess I never knew that,” she said. And then my head exploded.

It’s just the central thesis of the whole blog that’s all. The core to my sexual identity. The very definition of who I am as a sexual being no big deal! I thought but said, “Really?”

Which is to say, the single most important aspect of successful D/s (and kink in general and for that matter life in general) is communication. And while I assumed this blog with its hundreds of thousands of words and lord knows how many posts would count as some pretty elite-level communication, it’s always possible that we’re being misinterpreted. Or perhaps not taken perfectly seriously. Or whatever.

Of course, it’s not Belle’s fault she never picked up what I was putting down. Even though I was putting it down as thick as the Exxon Valdez put oil down on sea birds. Here we are all these years later and whatever needed to click (or the exact right sequence of words to be typed out) clicked (or clacked).

So, to be as clear and pedantic about my thoughts on PIV-style sex with Belle as possible, here is my ranked order preference of the three available options:

  1. Joe the dildo in the harness
    Besides the reasons explained in the above quoted text, Joe is the preferred way to fuck Belle because it takes a great deal of stress off me. It can’t come too quickly. It will always perform. I can think only of pleasuring her without distraction. Without the possibility of feeling the guilt of poor performance or stamina.
  2. Joe the dildo in the harness then me
    There is nothing better than feeling her pussy after it’s been fucked by a tool more of the size she prefers. To feel it opened and stretched in ways I can’t. To be unable to feel the places it reached. It’s maybe the most intensely erotic experience I can imagine. This would be number one except for the fact that I like it so much and think it’s indulgent to allow me that much pleasure.
  3. The penis
    If she hasn’t come and is wanting the penis for pleasure, this is by far the least preferred option. Number three out of three but really like a hundred slots down from the top two.

It’s a complicated thing, to be sure. This morning I got Belle off with my fingers and stayed as I usually am, locked in the Steelheart. The urge to fuck her was intense. Deeply primal, the tube was biting hard when she came. But urges are not the same as what I want. I want to be denied. I want to feel the urge unfulfilled. It’s a form of psychological masochism. Allowing me to give in to the urge would ultimately make me feel guilty. Just because I desire a thing does not mean I should get it. I don’t deserve that. It’s not my place.

Bottom line is, I will always crave more than I get. And in the manual of the care and feeding of Thumper, there’s a part that says (or should say) one is better off, on balance, and can never lose by not giving me what I crave rather than letting me have it.

Ultimately, Belle decides. Always. If she wants to feel me inside her, I should be inside her. If she wants to feel me come in her, I should come in her. I will always do (or try to do) what she wants. But if she’s wondering what I want up high in my logical mind and not down deep in my lizard brain…well, here it is.