Okay, Maymay asked me to pimp the upcoming KinkForAll Washington DC (November 21st, tomorrow!), and I just got the email this morning and I’m about to rush off into the wide blue yonder, so I’m going to cheat and crosspost. The first KinkForAll, which I attended, was an amazing experience, and if you happen to read this before tomorrow and are in the DC area, see if you can make it. This is one of the ways we can create our own spaces, spaces that meet our needs and where we can explore who we are. Tis the awesome.

***

KinkForAll is an ad-hoc gathering born from the desire for people of all persuasions to share and learn in an open environment. It is a fast-paced event with discussions, presentations, and interaction from all participants. (It is inspired by the BarCamp community.)

ANYONE WITH SOMETHING TO CONTRIBUTE OR WITH THE DESIRE TO LEARN IS WELCOME AND INVITED TO JOIN. When you attend, be prepared to share with others. When you leave, be prepared to share it with the world.

A KinkForAll is a special kind of gathering because there are no spectators, only participants. Attendees must give a talk or a presentation, help with one, or otherwise contribute in some way to support the event. This is called sharing and we like it. All presentations are scheduled the day they happen—there are no pre-scheduled presentations or keynote addresses. The people present at the event will select the presentations they want to see.

Anyone can lead a session, on any topic related to sexuality. You do not necessarily have to teach a new skill or idea. You might share an experience, facilitate a discussion, or read a poem. The goal is to start a conversation, make connections (and maybe even friends), and exchange knowledge. Presentations promoting specific commercial products or companies are discouraged.

Learn more about what to expect at
http://wiki.kinkforall.org/WhatToExpect

Learn more about the event guidelines at
http://wiki.kinkforall.org/TheRulesOfKinkForAll

This activity is not sponsored by, associated with, or endorsed by Montgomery County Public Schools or Montgomery County Government.

Get Involved
============

We need your help in spreading the word. Please help by participating.

Here’s how:

1. Get excited by reading fellow participants’ topic ideas on
http://wiki.kinkforall.org/KinkForAllWashingtonDC
2. Add your name or handle to the list of participants
3. Join the mailing list and introduce yourself by emailing
kinkforall@googlegroups.com
4. Show up!

Still have questions? Read the Frequently Asked Questions at
http://wiki.kinkforall.org/FrequentlyAskedQuestions

or email kinkforall@googlegroups.com for more details.

KinkForAll Online
==============

Participate online before the event at your favorite social networking web site:

Homepage: http://wiki.KinkForAll.org
Google: http://groups.google.com/group/kinkforall
Twitter: http://twitter.com/KinkForAll
Identica: http://identi.ca/kinkforall
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/KinkForAll/40066342762
Fetlife: http://fetlife.com/groups/2962

All organizational efforts are coordinated in public via the mailing list. Join for free and help turn ideas into realities!

http://groups.google.com/group/kinkforall

I occasionally go back and reread some of my own posts. Two things happen when I do that:

1. I realize I tend to repeat and even contradict myself.
2. I cheer myself up.

 
Case in point where I do both simultaneously: Back in September, I wrote a post called “Feeling Good” where I said:

Regardless of hearing how she was enjoying her control over that which made me a male, I told her that I was feeling oddly unmotivated right at that moment. In the few times I’ve been denied this long, I’ve noticed that the constant craving of sexual contact eventually subsides, at least for short periods. It will come back at a moment’s notice, but when combined with the chastity device, I felt an almost eunuch-like vibe descend on me. I should have been hoping for some kind of sex and getting all frothy, but instead I was very content just holding her and burrowing my face into her, enjoying this period where everything seems to be clicking. If she had told me that she was ready for sleep, right at that moment, I would have been absolutely fine with it. It felt as though a part of me had really come to terms with the arrangement. No orgasms in three weeks, no contact with the cock for the majority of the past two weeks, hardly any sexual contact at all over a week and a half – I felt very non-sexual.

I’ve read about guys who, after having been denied for very long times, will eventually lose their sex drive all together. I think last night I was feeling a taste of that. It didn’t feel like a bad thing, though. I wasn’t upset or angry or anything. I was happy. I can’t say I would have felt that way over the long haul or what those feelings would have meant to my mental health, but right then, I honestly had no motivation to be anything other than her affectionate little rabbit.

Sound familiar? Pretty much the same vibe I’ve been feeling recently actually seems to have started two months ago. But, unlike recently, I was feeling pretty good about it (hence the title). I wish I understood better how pretty much the exact same emotions can, in one case, leave me a happy little sub and, in another case, cause me to spiral round the psychic bowl.

I don’t know. It’s complicated, right? Like a little machine made of brass rings, emotional and hormonal and more, constantly turning so that all the tiny variables of life can’t interact on it in exactly the same way more than once. I am evolving. I should make a list of posts like this one for those times when I find it difficult because there are moments of lucidity where all the rotating segments line up and I can see, right in front of me, satisfaction. Then they turn again and I’m left to coast until the next alignment.

Why do I find this so hard? There are a metric shit ton of guysub blogs out there and a very tiny number of those guys (at least, according to my limit census) ever seem to enter into periods of funk and doubt. There are notable exceptions, but so many of them seem to chug right along, never looking back, never really thinking about where they are. Belle accuses me of thinking too much. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should stop trying to figure out the mechanics behind the constant rotation and just accept things as they happen. The difference between trying to stop the wave as it crashes into me so I can analyzing it, interrogate it, catalog its every atom or just letting it crash and wash over, savoring the sensation.

Either way, I’m pretty sure at this point I’ve already written about it, both loved it and loathed it with anticipation and dread.

In rereading this, I feel I can’t leave the impression that I’m still funky. I’m not. I miss my Belle terribly and crave her return. I miss her body next to mine as we sleep, I miss the sounds of her moving through the house, I miss making her coffee. I want to be and do exactly what she wants and I know that will satisfy me. Whatever alignment caused me to slip into my foul mood has moved on. I can feel it. Now all I need is her, with me.

Also, I want to bring special attention to Elle’s most recent HNT. Just awesome. Maybe her best yet. (And don’t forget to click through to the second image).

Okay, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’m having a minor moment of celebrity-related amusement. So this will be my grand blog post of the night. Your turn to vote! Which one do you like better as a celebrity pseudo-representation of butch-femme D/s: Oprah and Ellen with some Christmas-light bondage, or classic kd and Cindy Crawford with a straight razor?

Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
Benjamin: Just how do you mean that, sir?

The past few days, I’ve been having issues. Specifically, odd feelings from inside the tube of the chrome CB6K. Pinching, sensitivity, soreness, etc. Belle had left the key in the house, but hidden, so I couldn’t really see what the deal was (the tube being all metallically reflective and all), but I felt I had the situation in hand (so to speak).

Early this morning, I awoke to an intense itchiness. It was driving me up the fucking wall. Down on the right side of the shaft, just above the head, it itched like a motherfucker. I’ve had the occasional isolated itch before, but nothing like this. Had the Geneva Convention considered enforced male chastity, itchiness of this magnitude would have been banned by all civilized nations.

I sent an email to Belle who I figured might be getting ready for bed on her side of the planet saying, in short, I need that key. Every day so far that she’s been gone, she’s called at about 7:00 AM while the kids were getting ready for school, but not today. Of course, not today. And no response to my email. I proceeded to turn the house over looking for that key. Good news, I suppose, is she didn’t leave it in any of her previous hiding places. Regardless, after a short while, I lucked-out and found the key inside a thing in a drawer in the kitchen. As quickly as possible, I was in her bedroom, pulling the device from my body.

Besides the itchy patch, I can see at least three other spots where the skin has been irritated and rubbed raw. In addition, there’s another of those weird little penis pimple things forming on the glans. Basically, the inside of the chrome tube is just not finished very well. There’s apparent overspray from the painting process that, as I mentioned right after I got it, leaves the interior unacceptably rough for long-term wear. A day or three doesn’t seem to be an issue, but I’m going on a week and a half now and the damage has been done. Besides the roughness, it also continues to rub color onto my skin turning it black in spots (and, apparently, causing penis pimples).

Yeah, real fucking sexy.

Were I not damaged, I’d put the old clear tube back on and try to forget about the key. The Steelheart is winging its way back to the Fatherland for a smaller ring, so it’s no help. In any event, I’m in no condition to be packing plastic at the moment. Maybe in a few days, but not now. Funny thing is, I may as well still be locked up since, in its current state, playing with the damned thing would be too painful.

Reader BT left the following thoughtful comment to my last post:

Want to join in the HNT sexy fun? Check out the guidelines at Osbasso’s place!

I got an e-mail from a reader recently who said of this blog, “I love that you dare to express your naughty side.” The reader was super sweet, and the e-mail was clearly written with kind intentions. But for some reason it left a funny taste in my mouth.

Lemme unpack this for a minute. I think it’s hitting the wrong note in a few spots – well, two at least.

The first is the idea that I am “daring” to express something about sex. I don’t really think that talking about sex is a daring thing to do – for me, that is. There’s no particular frisson in it for me, no real sense of risk. I mean, sure, in theory I could I end up with a stalker, or right-wing zealots could track down my address and throw a firebomb at my apartment. But really, I just don’t think most of the world is that crazy, at least not the ones anywhere near me. The whole reason I am able to write this blog and be open and public about the kinds of sexuality that work for me and other people in my communities is precisely that I’m in a privileged position that makes it relatively easy to do so. I’m educated, white, and a Canadian citizen; I have no kids that can be taken away from me, and I’m self-employed so there’s no job I could be fired from. My family either already disapproves of me or likes me just fine, depending which one of them you’re talking to, and me writing about this kind of thing isn’t going to change that. I don’t have any standing in a religious organization that might excommunicate me, or any partisan political affiliation that would crumble if they found out about what I do, and I am not a member of an ethnic or cultural community to which I feel any allegiance or to which I must retreat for safety from a racist world, and thus whose love and protection I can’t afford to risk should some of them happen to be close-minded. I have no heterosexual monogamous marriage to protect, no conservative friends I want to hang onto – I let them all go a long time ago. Really, I’m risking basically nothing by doing what I do. So where’s the daring?

Don’t get me wrong – I am very impassioned by this work. Sex intrigues me, inspires me, thrills me. I think about it, talk about it, read about it, learn about it, and, well, practice makes perfect, too. But it doesn’t feel like an act of daring. If anything, writing and teaching about sex feels like an act of blunt straightforwardness, an act of impatience with all the bullshit out there, a desire to cut to the chase and skip all the crap. I just couldn’t be bothered with all the beating around the bush that so many people do. It tires me and bores me. So instead, lookie here at my pet obsession! If you’re interested, read on. If you’re not, have a great day anyway. Meh.

I think the idea that it might be daring to do this relies on the idea that there’s something forbidden about it in the first place, that I might be bravely transgressing some norm in order to write about sexual politics. I suppose in some people’s worlds, that’s precisely the case. But in my world, it’s not. My community is made up of sex radicals. Hundreds, even thousands of them. I do not feel alone. In every city I visit, across various continents, I find more perverts and the queers, and we speak the same language. My acquaintances, friends, partners, lovers, are leatherfolk, sex workers, perverts, dykes and fags, butches and femmes and bois and gyrls, trans people, poly folks, pierced and tattooed freaks, students of sexuality, genderqueers, feminists, weirdos. They’re people who explore, who challenge themselves, who educate and are educated, who write, who teach, who fuck in public places, who do porn, who take photos of naked people, who write erotic stories, who swing floggers, who run leather events and lick boots and get excited about queer theory and know the difference between “intersex” and “transsexual.” And if they don’t do these things themselves, they sure hang out with a lot of people who do. So really, in my world, I’m not terribly unusual. It’s hard for me to see myself as “daring” anything when I’m surrounded by people who are in far less privileged positions than me but who still bravely live their lives in all their glorious unacceptability.

If I go a little deeper, I guess what I’m saying is that a statement about daring assumes that I’m invested in a social paradigm in which my sexuality would actually horrify people, and so it really would be an act of daring to brazenly talk about it. But I’m more like an athlete who comes out as gay after they’ve already won their medal – there’s just not much to lose. And while I’m sure many people out there might very well be horrified about my sexuality, their opinions don’t have any power over me because I have very little invested in their world.

The second piece of what bothers me about the reader’s statement comes from the idea that I have a “naughty side.” I don’t.

First of all I don’t really divide myself into “sides.” My sexuality is a pretty holistic thing; I don’t climb into a special Bad Girl outfit and do terrible things that I then dissociate from my reality and go back to being “the rest of me.” I’m a pervert and a queer through and through. I’m a pervert when I’m heating up lentil soup for dinner as much as when I’m driving needles into someone’s skin for the pleasure of seeing them bleed. I’m a queer when I’m brushing my teeth in the morning with pillow marks on my face and my hair all mashed up on the side of my head as much as when I’m dressed to the nines and making out with my butch and trans partners. There are no sides here. There is a big ol’ pervy queer poly whole.

And that whole is not “naughty.” No sirree. “Naughty” is what tittering schoolgirls do behind their parents’ backs, like smoking or kissing boys or sneaking a short skirt and a lipstick into their backpack. “Naughty” is what boys do with girlie magazines when they steal ‘em from the corner store along with a beer and a candy bar. “Naughty” is that thing that some married straight couples do that makes them feel all special and titillated and outside the norm, like, say, going to a sex shop and buying a mass-produced pre-packaged “Bondage for Beginners” kit, the one with the picture of the blonde with breast implants and too much lipstick on the package, like thousands of other similarly titillated straight married couples.

I don’t think I have a shred of “naughty” in me because, once again, I’m not invested in a social paradigm in which anything I do is forbidden, glamorous or disapproved of by some form of authority that actually holds any sway in my world such that keeping it secret is both exciting and necessary. Kissing women and trans people isn’t naughty to me any more than kissing one’s spouse is naughty to a heterosexual. Whipping someone isn’t naughty to me any more than reproductive married sex is naughty to a Catholic. In fact, most of what I do is dreadfully normal in my world. Which is not to say there’s no excitement or power or passion there – believe me, it’s there in spades. But what I do is not exciting or powerful or passionate because it’s cheeky and gasp-worthy and might upset the neighbours/parents/friends if they knew. There is no everyday paradigm that I get a kick out of transgressing, no secret I giggle about keeping. The thrill of my sexuality does not lie in its social unacceptability and in the self-importance of considering myself deliciously unusual. It simply lies in the depth of connection I experience via the intense methods of sexual encounter I prefer.

Sure, sex radicals and freaks might play with the idea of “naughty” in a scene once in a while – the nasty mommy disciplining the naughty schoolboi, for example. But when they’re finished playing, they revert to their everyday selves, which are probably something like “queer femme pro-domme and dis/ability activist” and “butch leather titleholder and philosophy student.” Or whatever. And even the sex radicals who are also soccer moms and lawyers and homeowners and experimental biologists and so forth aren’t generally invested in maintaining the status quo of heterosexual society; they just spend time with that status quo because it’s getting them somewhere, sort of like you might sit next to a stranger on a bus because you’re both heading north.

And sure, there might be a lot of forbidden stuff in my sexual practices. By no means am I trying to suggest that the whole world approves of what I do. It doesn’t. What I am saying is that I don’t find that lack of approval to be exciting. It’s just stupid and oppressive. I don’t eroticize it; I’d rather eliminate it.

So for all that I totally dig how this reader was trying to give me a compliment, I’m not sure I can accept it. I’m not daring to express my naughty side here. I’m just talking about my reality.

Once we were done unpacking and examining everything, all that was left to do was put the device to the test. One thing that did not come in the box is an instruction manual. There was no indication anywhere as to which piece went where. Nothing.

Having used the CB6000 before, we were convinced we’d figure it out easily. I mean, we knew the tube goes over the penis, and the ring goes around the cock and balls (obviously). The spacers, however, turned out to be another story.

Boy Toy started putting things together but after 5 to 10 minutes, we still weren’t sure of how to proceed. A few more trials, and I went to get my laptop so I could check out the pictures on the Extreme Restraints website and see how they did it.

From the picture, it looks like this guy uses the big spacer just behind the padlock. I went on to read the device’s description and sure enough, there were what you could call directions for use: “The spacers can be used in various ways by positioning it in-between the cock ring and cage or on the outside. By using one or all 3 spacers most men should obtain a very good fit and not be able to pull through.”

As for the ring, I selected the one that was closest in size to the ring Boy Toy uses when he wears the CB6000.

We decided to arrange the spacers like the guy above because putting the big spacer in between the tube and the ring made for way too much space. But there’s one little problem with this configuration. The guy on the site is holding the device and it turns out it’s for a reason… The pins stick way out in the back!

Moving around a bit, trying the thing out, Boy Toy didn’t find the pins to be that bothersome, so we decided we’d see how it’d go. The other weird thing about this design is that if you use the big spacer on the outside like we did, the padlock kinda sticks way out. And it clonks when Boy Toy walks around! One thing’s for sure, I know where he is in the house when he’s in the Fort. Putting a rubber band around the padlock would probably fix this but we couldn’t get our hands on one at the time.

Other than that, Boy Toy initially found the device to be quite comfortable. He said it felt just like the CB6000, except heavier. I’m not sure what psychological effect the thing had on him but he sure seemed happy, last night. I followed him around the house, badgering him with questions. How did it feel, that it was stainless steel rather than see-through plastic? This made him blush and he suddenly realized that he couldn’t break out of this device, if worse came to worse. He looked scared. He told me the thing felt totally secure.

Then I decided to put it to a different test: I ordered Boy Toy to strip and had him climb on the elliptical trainer. I had him workout for 5 minutes. When he was done and I told him how comfortable he looked exercising in the device, he said that it’s wearing the chastity device with pants which usually causes a problem, as the pants will push the thing up into him.

He stayed in his new stainless steel chastity cage all through the night and apparently, he slept horribly. But to be fair, he usually sleeps baldy when he first starts wearing the CB and then he gets used to it. This morning, he started pushing down on the tube and managed to pull his cock completely out of the device! He was using the third ring in size. Since he could pull out, I had him change to the smallest ring. I had to leave for work shortly after so I made sure to hide a key in the house, and I instructed him to let me know should there be any unusual discomfort.

I received an email from him towards the end of the workday. He said he had several kinky dreams during the night and that the psychological aspects seemed to follow him into his dreams. He also told me that when he went out for a walk, he had to tie a string around his waist to hold up the Fort, as it was hanging down too much due to its weight. This caused the pins to poke into his skin while walking, which was very uncomfortable.

When I got back home, I asked him to cut and grind the pins, since he would never wear the device with the big spacer in between the tube and the ring. He obliged.

As you can see, the pins aren’t sticking way out anymore. But notice how low the device hangs? That’s due to its weight. It hangs so much that even with the smallest ring, Boy Toy managed to pull out of the thing. The picture below is proof.

He would probably have a damn hard time pushing his penis back in, so if he did pull out, maybe I’d find out. Maybe. Nonetheless, for me, this totally takes away the value of the device. Boy Toy says that there needs to be some sort of lockable belt to keep the device up higher. I guess that could work, and I’ve instructed him to find a solution, as an assignment. Needless to say, I’m disappointed.

However, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t consider the Fort Stainless Steel Locking Chastity Device. I mean, if Boy Toy could pull out of it, he can certainly pull out of the CB6000. I just don’t think he’s ever given it enough of a try, so he didn’t know he could. I imagine some men would not be able to pull out. No one’s made the same.

This cage does have its appeal. The stainless steel is definitely hot. It feels more solid and secure than transparent plastic. Its heaviness can be a drag but it can also act as a constant reminder that one’s cock is under lock. It’s comfortable, too, once you get rid of the extra lenght on the pins!

In the end, it’ a personal choice whether this is or isn’t the device for you. I’ve provided all the information I could. But stay tuned, I may yet publish a part 3 of my review, after we have really test driven the Fort.