Well, hello again from the other side of the world. Today was very good and very very bad, all in different ways that made it wind up being something out of an kinky sitcom that could only happen to me.
So, the good parts are unfortunately career parts I cannot discuss on this blog. But, trust me, it was a good day and even better for you because I can focus on the stupid, goofy, pissed side of me.
We haven’t talked about it yet, but one of the things that Axel has asked is that become accustomed to wearing a chastity device when I am not released by him or with Thumper. (it was a clear expectation that I will never be locked in front of the rabbit. Ever. Regardless.) I have always had a strong fascination with this, which is how I met the dilf in the first place, but it’s never been a requirement until now.
After my PA is installed and healed, I will be ordering Steelheart, but, in the meantime, a week or so ago, completely undiscussed and at random, Thumper and I each ordered a Holy Trainer v2 on the same day. Mine was from the HT site and his was a third party. That will be covered in his review of the device, but I got a black, 40mm, short, version 2 and brought it with me this week on my travels and have been locked continuously since Monday when I arrived.
The device itself is quite comfortable and rather cozy, but I am having to adjust to some of the day to day implications of having it that just come with time. These are things like the stocking method, cleaning, and peeing. Yes, the mundane act of pissing wrecked my afternoon because, when locked, one has to make sure that opening in your penis matches the opening in the device rather precisely when standing at a urinal or anywhere else one might choose to piss while standing.
So, this combined with the fact that I am a frequent pisser with a weaker stream due to the fact that there is not a great deal of volume, wreaked havoc for me this afternoon, the one afternoon I chose to wear a nice, crisp gray plaid suit. I looked sharp. I looked do-able. I looked hot. Then, minutes before my most important meeting of the day, I looked like a hot mess.
Yes, yes, remember me saying that one must line up AND one must have some volume? Well, I forgot these simple facts as I walked into the 87th floor, penthouse suite of the tallest building on the island to meet with the man who commands the office in the corner. After checking in with reception and going through two metal detectors (fyi peeps, no sounds were made by my crotch – although I did tremble a bit inside as I stepped in), the body guard of the man I was there to see walked me down the hall where I saw a men’s room and thought “I’ll just stop in for a second since this is going to last an hour”, so I quickly excused myself while he stood waiting. As it turns out, those were the last words in my head before the screaming started.
Yup, I peed myself.
Pissed. Pissed I was.
While I had successfully lined up at the urinal, which are all very high in China – something I wonder about since I am the tallest man on the island, and had successfully voided my bladder, what I had not done was counted on the fact that as I pissed, a wee bit of urine, equivalent in this scenario to a Tsunami, had evidently leaked back into the tube pooling in a plot of revenge against me for constraining it. So, as I pointed by best friend down into my nice, thin boxer-briefs and pulled my nice, flannel grey suit pants up, I realized that there was a small wet spot. A small wet spot that became a medium wet spot. Then, a medium wet spot that became, what was sure to be my wet, messy downfall.
I did not know what to do. There were no blow dryers in there. The guard was waiting in the hallway. My meeting started two minutes before. I was sweating. I was embarrassed. I was standing there with urine dripping down my leg. I was panicked.
Then, I had a plan. Yes, yes, friends, I became the man who overzealously washed his hands, scrubbed his hands, waved his hands directing all the water from the sink on to his crotch. Yes, yes, I pretended to be the clueless American who did not know how to operate a sink (they are hard here, fyi) as I bravely stepped out into the hall with a wet crotch speaking in a fast version of my Southern drawl, pointing, waving, acting angry as if I had been attacked by the sink toward the man who spoke very little English and then pretended to storm down the hall in anger. Fucking Chinese plumbing.
I am not proud, friends. Not proud at all. But, I got away with it. In fact, it was a great meeting even with the fact that I most likely left a wet spot on the sofa.
This cannot happen again and I know I will learn how to deal with this. But, damn. No, fuck.
Finally, the day was over and I could go back to my room with a view and shower. The only lingering question I have is for the fate of the plumber who I saw in the bathroom as I left being yelled at in Mandarin. I wonder if he is still there?