I self locked my penis into a tiny metal cage a few days ago and left the key for Cheyenne. Self, implying it was a unilateral decision. It took a couple days for Cheyenne to take the key from its resting place but she did and didn’t say a word about it.
Why now? Because Cheyenne has had some setbacks recovering from childbirth. It could be a months of PT or possibly more surgery. We don’t know yet. She’s struggling with her physical setbacks on top of all the normal challenges of motherhood. Not being able to engage my desire and need to be sexual feels like another burden to her shoulder on top of everything else.
I crave to be strongly engaged sexually in some capacity and it’s simply not in the cards now. I’ve been struggling to cope with a seemingly never ending list of reasons separating Cheyenne and I from being sexually intimate. Not that it never happens but it often feels as if we’re gasping for breath under an endless series of waves. The oxygen is precious, and the desire proportionately insatiable to its rarity.
I cope by eroticizing life’s challenges. Erotic experiences are among the most pleasurable and potentially malleable scenarios to me. Which leads me back to self locking; turn the source of my frustration into a source of pleasure while unburdening Cheyenne. It also gives me a constant sexual tension to bookend my days. I’d be amiss if i didn’t include my strong preference to be reminded my penis is unworthy of the pleasures real men are entitled to. I absolutely get off on anything that creates feeling the release of being alpha male. A tiny chastity cage is the epitome of my notch in male societal rung no matter what kind words of sympathy are offered. Average will never be great. Hearing otherwise is living a lie.
I’ll take comfort in being a living sexual contradiction of masculine and feminine, alpha and sub, strong and passive; virtually, while we survive the stolen access to ourselves.