Utopia

I’m writing from an eleven hour solo flight from Tokyo to the Midwest. It’s nice to finally have the time to peck out a post from my phone. Lying here in the dark tapping away sleeplessly as I cross from late Saturday into early morning of the same Saturday somewhere over the Pacific. 

I’m returning from utopian Singapore. 10 days of working, eating, and sweating (it’s steam room humid). Loved Singapore. I’ve never seen a cleaner safer place in my life, even compared to Japan. I was initially creeped out by how non-threatening and passive everyone was first for few days after arriving. Was this a Soilent Green producing society!?! Can integrated societies actually be completely peaceful and safe? Turns out they can and they can flourish. Truthfully it was a nice break from mass shootings, racism, and rape culture. Oh, and let’s not forget Trump antics. Refreshingly, outside the US Trump is mostly second page material because the world is moving on regardless of the dumpster fires he starts. There are too many other big and exciting things going on elsewhere in the world. All jokes aside, Singapore is a beautiful place with kind gentle people of many ethnicities. Amazing architecture and culture. Crazy good food and drink all wrapped in an equatorial climate of humid sunny 80-90 degree days e-v-e-r-y day.

Sorry for the tangent, especially any political glances. What’s more relevant to this blog is Singapore, for all its goodness appears to be a sexless society. At least publicly. There are signs of stifled sexuality in the many “Thai discos” (google is your friend). Maybe there are some underground avenues to meet other kinksters but you’d want to be extra careful not to break one of the many “decency” laws. Singapore still actively employs the death penalty for drugs and public caning for relatively minor things like graffiti. Ah yes…public caning! A masochists delight. Not so fast. We’re not talking big red welts or a even a little blood. They cane so severely that just five strokes will remove all the skin from your ass. Way above my idea of a rewarding spanking.

Ah yes, back to rewarding spankings. I miss them. A couple months ago when I met the ProDomme I though the heavens had provided a path to all manners of kinky femdom pleasures but the light of hope had its oxygen sucked away from long work days and sleepless nights. Oddly, I’ve been feeling disconnected from my normal sexual self. As if sex has been extinguished from my senses. Maybe, like Singapore the sexual spark is still there behind an obscure door in an alley off the beaten path waiting to be opened again. 

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The safety of reality

This weekend Cheyenne took the little one out of town with her and left me alone for a rare day to do as I wanted with my time. Better yet, she scheduled a (my first) Pro Domme session to help enjoy my time. 

I knew about a week ahead I’d have the free time so started reaching out to various kinksters letting them know I’d have time to “meet”. Confirmation was quick from two guys I’ve wanted to meet. One a very big guy who specializes in fisting, the other a local guy who specializes in spanking men in every way imaginable. I’d met both guys before, spanked by the spanker A few times but hadn’t done anything sexual with the fister before. 

For the record the fister’s hands are “13 around. I was nervous about submitting to such a formidable Fist especially coupled with the gentle and persuasive personality he exudes. After a stiff drink (helped me to relax) I undressed and relinquished myself to the experience. The best and easiest way to describe the majority of being fisted is there’s a beginning which is much like an amazing massage… And… then there’s a peak where things get real and your whole body convulses in waves of *very* intense pleasure. His experience was obvious and present in every action and I felt safe through it all. It was also particularly fun that my penis was completely ignored and entirely irrelevant to him. I loved that and I loved that he would have preferred me without a penis if he could choose. Throughout the session he talked lightly about what it would be like to remain locked or without balls so my primary sexual organ would be my ass. That was a huge psychological spin for me and probably best part of it all. 

Afterwards, while driving home to prepare for the pro Domme session I was humbly hoping my ass would not be further worked over… (not entirely), I started to feel the whole experience with the fister missed a big mark. As fun and exciting as it was I felt a lack of physical connection. There was no charge for me in being with another man. It’s something I’ve noticed before with other men I’ve been with but always passed it off as they weren’t my type. The counter point was I might be emotionally broken and unable to feel the intimate connection I crave so much. The thing is, I know I can feel things with Cheyenne so I’m not necessarily broken. Then it hit me, the realization crystallized that I’m not turned on by male bodies. The things men like about men I’m turned on by in women, not men. Sadly, in that realization, I felt my sexual universe shrink a little but at the same become more focused. I learned something unexpected about my bisexual self. I’m turned on by sexual vulnerability regardless of gender. Sexual with men perhaps, more likely with some kind of female motivator or conduit. My primary and physical attraction is with women, strong dominant women. 

After arriving home to shower and prepare for my next date I was able to regroup and feel optimistic for a new experience one I’ve longed for! Surprisingly, I wasn’t at all nervous. Taking stock of myself I noticed again a lack of feeling. I wanted to be scared, full of butterflies and flustered but instead I felt disconnected as if I watching myself objectively. The numbness persisted on the drive to the PD’s location but immediately after meeting her I was back in the fun zone and full of hope. She seemed confident and easy to talk to. Earlier Cheyenne gave me instructions to hand deliver a small bag of items to the PD, inside the bag there was a camisole with matching panties, a pay envelope, my smallest Steelworxx chastity device, and an envelope to seal the key’s safe return to Cheyenne. Shortly after entering the dungeon I was bluntly ordered to undress. While undressing the PD lightly mocked me for not being hung. There was a light heartedness about it that was certainly her feeling out my tolerance. 

Prior to the session Cheyenne had shared a few of my kinks with the PD she thought would be fun to explore. Within minutes from disrobing I was quickly dressed back up in the camisole and panties, put into a skirt with absurdly high heals and made to walk around the room while trying not to sprain an ankle! It was all quite silly but I was having fun laughing at the spectical of it all. The edginess of being told I’d never again walk too fast when my wife was in heels gave the whole sharade meaning. 

The rest of the session was mostly a game of Q and A where if I answered incorrectly my penis was shocked with an industrial strength violet wand connected to various metal implements. No joke. Took me longer than it should have to realize the PD didn’t care about truth ūüėČ shame on me. The session wound down with me blindfolded as the PD asked questions to learn what arroused me followed by shocking my erections back into submission. Totally hot. This last part feeling her probing my mind felt hopeful that she would eventually get to me and create something emotionally intense. I kept wanting to hit the pause button to tell her what I really wanted but instead, followed along as instructed. Just before leaving to comply with Cheyenne’s request she locked my electrocuted penis into the Steelworxx and sent me off with the key sealed for Cheyenne. 

Cheyenne and I had a date planned for the afternoon one last fun romp for the day that we ended missing because, well, real life was suddenly back dousing the flames of passion so diligently planned for. The rest of the night was pretty routine except a quick play by play of my dates but not a mention of my chastity. Out of sight out of mind I suppose. It was all over and done in a flash except I’m still locked with no explaination or expectation.

Never made it to the spanker. At the time I was content looking forward to my date with Cheyenne. As news of a nightmare return trip home with a screaming toddler dribbled in from the road I focused my efforts on a clean home and getting all chores completed so Cheyenne could arrive  home and just relax. 

I want to return to the PD. I hopefull next time I get to feel the power she advertises, that she’ll get into my mind and play with my feelings until I doubt the safety of my reality because that’s what I need to feel alive. 

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Rip tide

The first quarter of 2017 was filled with unprecedented new experiences and fresh openness when TheMrs gave me freedom to experiment sexually outside our marriage. I’ve been relatively unsuccessful finding a good match with past efforts but work and family have been the highest priority since Cheyenne got pregnant and not much has gotten easier with a 1 year old that doesn’t like to sleep.

Since April I’ve been out of chastity with the exception of a handful of desperate attempts to build subby momentum from self locking. Sex has been scheduled for every other weekend when we have a sitter and we live for those few decadent hours together. Inside I’m craving to feel fully sexually engaged but the relentless waves of 60 hour work weeks and sleepless nights surpress most of my natural resilience and drive. Ironically, opportunity is all but gone now that the will and permission exists.  

Things are not so dire though. While Cheyenne and I have been limited in our physical interaction, we’ve made progress in communication and have regular conversations about having a mutual boyfriend. We’ve also been reading a fair amount on the topic of open marriages. “The Ethical Slut”, “Opening Up”, “Mating in Captivity” are all excellent books that I can highly recommend. Reading them together with Cheyenne has made for a natural access point to begin talking openly on such a potentially charged topic. It helps to have well reasoned and educated viewpoints to reflect our own feelings against. 

My boyfriend on the side search has been pretty unsuccessful (one date) because the majority of my interactions have been from gay dating apps of which an unsurprising majority of guys aren’t interested in a hetero-romantic bi guy, and the ones I’ve encountered so far tend to be cavalier about safe sex. Fair enough, but not my risk profile. I’ll save the good stuff for a fluid bonded relationship. So the hunt continues on other fronts for a kind, sexual, healthy, active, outdoorsy guy who’s looking for a married couple to build a relationship with. Someone who’s equally comfortable with men and women and not hung up on relationship stereotypes. 

On the surface my sex life looks pretty flat, punctuated but a semi monthly wave of strapon pounding and fun uninhibited chat. Underneath, there’s a strong steady pull towards a bigger, more open understanding of love and sex developing. 

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The right dose

It’s been three months since I spent almost four months in a chastity device. Cheyenne told me to lock up and advised I settle in until she felt otherwise. 

I regularly prodded her resolve for how long I’d be locked, secretly hoping I’d hear something along the line of “forever” accompanied with a replete list of reasons my penis was no longer needed. Ooh yes I wired that way. The response was usually a very matter of fact “a long time” – no embellishment.  I recall around month two feeling settled and comfortable being locked, that it was preferable and more purposeful than unlocked and denied through default of circumstances. 
Finally being released was both amazing and a little like what a long term inmate must feel like when reentering society… lost and confused.  I hastily reacquainted myself with the security and emptiness of old habits. 

But the reason I’m writing today is ive been contemplating locking myself between what has become bi-monthly sex dates with Cheyenne. That’s right, every two weeks we have 3 hours of privacy to have the best sex we can muster. It’s awesome. The other 333 hours I feel like an parolee addict on a street of crack houses. Oh, that’s pretty harsh. More like a highly sexual man, husband, and father of a gaggle of kids who works 55 hour weeks. Better. Back to being self locked between dates, it seems like a great idea but not when comfort sets in at the two month mark. I wonder if chastity can ever be short term again or if it will always be in ever increasing doses of time.  Judging from the wet spot between my legs it’s also a turn on to consider. 

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Dark and dirty me

My interest in writing to this blog has waned tremendously over the past several months mostly due to life forces requiring most, if not all my time and energy. With a major career change solidifies and months of sleep deptevation married to13 hour days normalizing I’m feeling the green shoots of my sexuality bubbling back to life.

The recent difficult period has been as hard, or harder on Cheyenne too and it’s far from clear how much inhibition has coagulated in our sexual arteries from lack of practice. I feel (qualifying my feelings as a purely subjective measure) all the sexy things we’ve done, I’ve shared as desires, or things we’ve agreed were possible have been shut down by either circumstance or disinterest.

In this environment of sexual isolation a ¬†feedback loop has developed between my inability to satiate desire and new edgy ideas. It begins as mentally stimulation and evolves into rich devilishly delicious masturbation material. Allowed to evolve in the isolation and darkness of my own mind my sexual thoughts and fantasies take a turn for dark and more intense scenarios. I’m not ashamed by any of it, in fact, I quite enjoy the prospects of intense vulnerability the material might generate in the light of day and play.

The challenge seems to be as always being Genuinely Hapa in the face of contradicting circumstances.

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Freedom after incarceration is confusing

It’s been three days since my Sunday sex date with Cheyenne. For those of you just joining, I had been locked since late December with one brief release in January for a medical test – 80 ish days without access to my penis. More accurately, 80 ish days of a well defined place to rest my sexuality.

Since being unlocked I’ve been filled with familiar feelings of uncertainty and frustration. Some it has to do with coming and the post orgasm hormonal drop. Some of the uncertainty is becuase I had expected there might be more sex between Cheyenne and I while unlocked. Our previous understanding was that an unlocked penis is free to come whenever except this time it was eluded that I was not allowed. I was also headed into another sex date unlocked which was also against our rules of engagement for my sex dates. In sum, I’ve been confused and missing the relative safety and certainty of being locked.

I don’t miss the loneliness of the male sex drive and the frustration of no reciprocal desire.

It’s all been somewhat sorted out for now. I cancelled my sex date because I felt a lack of excitement going back for another visit. Cheyenne addressed my confusion by telling me to relock when I get home today so all I have to wrestle through is the hormonal transition back to the point where my body doesn’t expect to come but looks for an external balast.

I’ll be writing more about why I cancelled my sex date very soon.

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First sex date

It’s been two weeks since my first date. I’d say I haven’t written because the last two weeks were spent switching jobs and negotiating draconian employment contracts. The real reason is the experience was very different than I expected.

To be fair, the man I met is a great guy. He’s good looking, kind, thoughtful, articulate, muscular, and with a ginormous cock. More on that later… After a week of back and forth establishing who were were and what we were looking for, safe sex boundaries, and logistics I met him at his house for a sex date.

We seemed to get along with an ease and conversation was fluid but brief, mostly because we had done enough talking in the preceding days. There was a definite momentum to his actions as he undressed me and looked me over as if he was preparing to eat his favorite meal. The focus and attention I felt was an aphrodisiac that poured into my body warming me and making me more pliable to his direction. I was locked in my Mature Metal Jailbird device at the time without orgasm for 60-70 ish days so although I was burning with desire I could only be a bottom. The usual dominant male urges seemed to have abated, redirected, or re-wired themselves to enjoy the pleasures of being taken instead of giving.

The sex was hot. I started seeing myself as staring in my own porn flick and captured the images and sensations in my mind as I started finding dialogs and themes that would make the scene white hot. It was in that moment I realized the sex was great, the attention and energy amazing, but psychologically I was searching for stimulus. I NEED to feel mentally engaged. My sexuality is 80% psychological and 20% physical. As the first romp winded down we had a bit of an intermission, mostly for him because I was still completely lit on endorphins from not being able to come. After a few minutes he was back in top form again. For a while there I thought I might be able to orgasm too but the combination of my wiring and inability to access penis proved too high of a hurdle. Maybe he was too big? Perhaps more practice will help me find the right connections to orgasm from penetration. I hope so. What I can say is now I understand when women say sometimes a cock can be too big to be enjoyable. Part of my SPH fetish was crushed when I realized 7″ might be better than 10″. Yup. There was definitely a point where things got a bit eye watering even though I’m proud of my ability to play with some of SquarePeg’s best toys. At least I was feeling secure with my average cock locked away safe from a real comparison.

Damn. I wish my mind was being fucked with as hard as my ass was. I’ve been reading a great book “Enough To Make You Blush –¬† Exploring Erotic Humiliation” by Princess Kali. Truthfully, I was desperate for context on the psychological deficit I felt and picked up the book on Amazon to fill the void. My expectations were low but I have to say this book is amazing! It is the single best read on BDSM and power dynamic I’ve run across since I’ve been looking. Don’t be misled by the title, the content is written from extraordinary insight and experience. Page after page I find myself saying “wow..that finally makes sense!”.

What I do know is Sex with Cheyenne keeps getting better, more vulnerable and fucking hot. She’s closing ground on me at a furious pace. Her strapon cock puts my dates’ cock to shame. Maybe it’s me that should be blushing? Fuck it. I’m digging my new role.

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Latex handcuffs

After a month on male dating sites I’ve come to the conclusion that of safe sex means wrapping a penis for sex regardless of where it’s put then safe sex is equivalent to celibacy. I didn’t realize at first that oral sex between men is considered a safe standard. 

Talking with Cheyenne, it’s clear unwrapped oral sex with male strangers is too risky for our bedroom. She’s very much open to it if the person was not so much a stranger and trust had been established but that’s sort of a chicken/egg type of dilemma given that 100% of potential partners say protected oral sex is a deal breaker. 

Moving forward I’m planning to let my dating site efforts wane rather than texting feverishly for a couple days only to bound by latex each time. We’ll see what happens… Sometimes, in my experience good things happen when I let go of an ideal. 

I’m open to new ideas, just haven’t found any yet.  Maybe I’ll buy a new sex toy to pacify myself.

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Not in Kansas anymore

So much has changed. Back in the first few days on January I locked myself in to a stainless steel chastity cage and handed Cheyenne the key. It’s a move I’ve performed many times in the past so I anticipated it would play about roughly the same way except about that time I was feeling long term and possibly permanent chastity might give me sanctuary from the disappointment my penis could go through long periods of irrelevance. It’s cyclical longings only served to remind me of its plight.

Something new happened this time. Cheyenne embraced the value of chastity as if she had an epiphany in seeing it as a win win approach to our current state of sexuality. Her strong stance encouraging me to remain locked now has a certain momentum and purpose I only dreamed of before. We are in our ninth continuous week. I’ve been unlocked for sex every other Sunday for a little over an hour but not allowed to orgasm or enter her. She enjoys orgasms in the manner and duration she chooses and in turn my gratification come from the pure physical indulgence of contributing to her pleasure and from one of two giant strapon dildos. Last week while the Colonel was buried deep inside me Cheyenne was able to orgasm from the motion and friction on her side. It was one of the most vulnerable and most intimate sexual moments we’ve shared together in a long time. Until now, I could tell Cheyenne was having fun with strapon play but it felt as if a line was crossed into a new realm where we could both find deeply satisfying sex from alternative roles.

We opened our marriage too. Cheyenne gave me permission to explore my sexuality with men, only men. We also contacted a Pro Domme for mentoring Cheyenne. She is pretty slow responding but we remain very excited about Cheyenne learning and becoming even more confident sexually.

I’ve joined several male dating sites and now interact frequently with lots of strangers but have yet to have sex with anyone. After three to four weeks I’m not even sure I’m cut out for male-male casual dating. Engaging with male hookup culture as a married man with a locked penis has been a fascinating experience. Number one, having a female wife turns off a remarkable number of suitors. Two, completely safe sex knocks the potential matches down significantly more, especially if you consider blowjobs without condoms unsafe. Three, the coup de gras is a locked penis. Most can over look one or two of my status conditions but three has all but the nastiest fellas running for the hills. The nicest guy I’ve met (over coffee) happens to be a very large man who identifies as a Top Fister. He proclaims his hands are 13″ around. WTF? Cheyenne smartly asked if you want to get fisted don’t you typically look for smaller hands? Right. I’m not sure the whole fisting thing is a good place to start out but it certainly sounds fun to try. Like I said, the guy is genuinely nice and that’s one in a hundred so far.

The funniest observation has to be that it is patently obvious when someone I’m courting runs off and masturbates away their desire. It usually happens after asking for racy pictures followed by even racier comments and assertions about what they are going to do to me. The conversation falls flat for a couple days and resumes with “Sup, I want to ____”. Nice. As a locked man my sexual desire remains highly constant. For the first time I can see what I can only imagine drives women mad when courting men. I asked Cheyenne if she’d noticed this effect when dating and she almost spit her wine out laughing telling me¬†now I’m more like a woman so I can finally see it. It’s a huge pain in the ass for women to watch men go hot and cold as the get turned on and wank away their desire. She dubs it Male PMS.

Yeah, not in Kansas anymore…

 

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Hidden pleasure

Eight plus weeks locked without orgasm isn’t much for some just follow the likes of¬†Thumper. For me, it’s a new record and a new level of experience. Add to that, it’s been about twelve weeks since I’ve been inside Cheyenne. My body isn’t resisting and striving for it’s old ways with the same ferosity. There’s a new kind of pleasure slowly evolving from the back flow of desire. Small things like rubbing Cheyenne’s legs and feet are suddenly very pleasurable. My hands transmit feelings of her soft warm skin through my hands to my mind where they’re ¬†soaked up by pleasure sensors, the ones my penis used to use.

Cheyenne has talked about keeping me locked for a “long time”. She’s also talked about needing penis sometimes so it’s hard to surrender completely to the experience knowing it could end in a moments notice. I’ve reached a point where the ever present buzz of chastity has surpassed the infrequent and fleeting ¬†pleasure of sex. Chastity and orgasm denial fits my physical and psychological needs is ways sex never did. Denial until truly desired is a gift.

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