Archive for December, 2009

alone and uncricketed

I haven’t mentioned that about ten days ago the cricket broke!  One of the pins that secures the ring to the cage simply snapped off, and since then I’ve been in the “virtual cricket.”  I hadn’t considered it significant until today — but today J is away visiting relatives, and I’m on my own.  The temptation is there, oh lord of course it’s there, any man would be a liar to claim otherwise, but no, I’m not going to masturbate.  Masturbation and the thousand little deceits that sprout up in its wake are the enemy to what I now see is an essence of who I am, of my identity.  It’s been just three days since orgasm, and I feel the wonderful sensation of submission to J rising up in me again, and in all honesty I miss having the cricket on.

Here’s the new one I have on order, and if there’s a god in heaven it’ll come soon (or else I will, hyuk hyuk hyuk, chastity humor!)

There are writers, whose talents I respect, who in recent weeks have lost patience with those who put too much stock in chastity devices,  and who use diminutive and dismissive language to describe the ultimate irrelevance of any chastity device in a relationship.  “They’re only sex toys.”

Well, I guess I disagree with the use of the word only.  For me, the cricket is not just a toy, among other things, it’s also a symbol, and it’s a tool, and it’s a dare to both myself and the world.  The chastity device I (usually) wear symbolizes, far better than a wedding band, my commitment and sexual submissiveness to J.  It prevents me from masturbating, or having sex with anyone else — or, since no device is foolproof in the long run, it at least reminds me on a constant basis  that those activities are counterintuitive and counterproductive to who I am.  And it’s something I carry on me out into the world — a world that out of fear and insecurity and narrow mindedness would undoubtedly mock me if it were ever discovered, and one which I on a daily basis dare to discover, not only the truth about me but about itself.   No toy, for sex or otherwise, has ever been those things to me before.

And now, here without it, I feel strangely, maybe pathetically, bereft.  It’s become a part of me, and thank goodness, says I. Thank goodness indeed.  Just my two cents, peace and love.

Reminder to self: don’t even think about it.

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After 25 days of chastity, I was allowed 3 orgasms on Christmas day. Each one was profound and very emotional.  I’ve never felt like this before.  I’m in the midst of a life-affirming love affair with the woman I married 20 years ago.

Scoff if you will: I’m at a point where I think orgasm control can cure a rainy day.

We talked a bit about chastity in the new year, and I suggested that I be permitted ten orgasms.  She vetoed me, and set the number at twelve.  “A calendar page without an x on it looks so lonely,” she said.  My next x is on January 23.

I asked her to explore being more selfish and demanding.  “You needn’t ever ask me anything about my sexual needs,” I said.  “My sexual needs are satisfied when you ignore them.”  It’s funny; we laughed.

The morning light was streaming into our bedroom, and across our bed.  “Well, now I’d like some cock in my mouth for a while, and after that I’d like you to lick me until I come, and then I’d like to take a bath” she said.

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Twenty two days, the new high water mark, the longest I’ve gone without ejaculating since I entered puberty.  It’s like I’m entering a second puberty now, another profound period of life that’s suffused with challenge and enlightenment and wonder.  I could swear I feel the foolishness of thirty five years crumbling away.  I’m deeply in love with my wife, and I’ve never been happier.

More chastity revelations: I had a very strong reaction to this picture, and I think it’s not so much due to anything particular about the woman, other than the fact that her hands are on her hips.  I can’t ever remember feeling that way before about that pose. This picture suggests a beautiful truth to me, one that I want to explore here.

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She told me she needed cock in her mouth last night.  As I obliged her I felt myself in a place that can only be described as wonderful.  I give her a rock hard cock whenever she wants for as long as she wants, and I get to become more comfortably submissive and grateful to explore the safest sexual place I’ve ever known.

She slaps my cock routinely now, and last night, under the weight of so much profound pleasure in that, I could only repeat over and over, thank you, thank you, thank you, my darling thank you.

It’s been 21 days.  I get to ejaculate again at Christmas.  She’s already told me I’m getting a calendar for Christmas, decorated with erotic pictures on every month, and that this year it’s me that gets to pick a number.  Next year, she says, she does.

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cricketo ergo sum

Which has led me here, nature or nurture?  Was I born, or made?  I’m not complaining: the opposite, actually.  I’m just curious.

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To be filed under: those kooky moments when orgasm control appears in real life.  A couple of young male colleagues were in my office today, and we were discussing the upcoming office christmas party.  The conversation turned to the fact that several of the more attractive women will be attending, and one of the guys said, “Good thing I’ll be wearing my chastity belt.”  There was a rumble of polite confirmatory laughter, but for a half-second, just one half of one second, it didn’t seem odd to me that someone would say that.  I casually reached under my desk and felt the hard plastic through the fabric of my trousers. O, the things I could tell you, I thought.

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One of the ironies built deep within the foundations of a “husband in chastity” lifestyle is that the woman’s denial of the man’s orgasm is irresistibly arousing to him.  If I weren’t denied the opportunity to come, I would jerk off to the prospect of being kept in chastity.  I’m spellbound by the effects of enforced chastity, and torn between the demands of my body and the demands of my mind. In the one case, I need to come; in the other, I know if I act on that impulse these wonderful feelings of denial and submission will stop, and I don’t want them to stop.

The attempt to resolve any paradox is a search for beauty, and therefore a source of art.

There’s another aspect to chastity, one that I’ve learned is more significant that my mere primal attraction to being controlled: time. So much of life is lived within a cruel awareness of time, or more precisely, the lack of time.  I’ve wasted so much time. I’m 51 years old.

Chastity is time made comprehensible to the heart. An enforced lifestyle of chastity is ineluctably intertwined with the amount of time that remains in life, and, by extension, with what that which remains means.

What loving, enforced chastity ultimately means is this: what I feel for you is important, it matters, it’s connected to the only thing I have to give you: my life.

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