Today is my last day working from home and, to make matters worse, I am embarking on a 12 day trip that will, most likely kill me or keep me detained in Canada since we have no idea what immigration will be like in a week when I return. That said, the time home has been really nice and I have gotten a ton done for work, for life, and for me at the gym.

One of the things I finally got done was coming face to face with the “friend” who I accidentally spilled my chastity guts to a few months ago and who I have not been able to see since. I didn’t write about this for some reason, but this friend who I would honestly call more of an acquaintance than anything else is a guy I used to see at parties and around town for certain social things. We have never been close but we had a very good mutual friend who kept us informed of each other and that way fine with both of us. Last year, that friend moved overseas so this fella started texting me every now and then and, since he is a bit of a perv, would include random shots of naked guys, you know, just cause he apparently didn’t think I got to see any in real life or didn’t know how to access the Tumblr. He’d even ask the type men I liked so they could be tailored to me. Sweet, right?

But, one night last fall, he sent me several pictures of guys locked in various chastity devices. I could tell he didn’t know anything about them because the ones he sent were the worst of devices and not really good porn worthy, but when he sent them, he included a note that said “Is one of these what Axel locks you up in when you travel??” Now, had I thought about that, I would have come back and said something witty laughing off the situation or accusing him of being turned on by them or made some sort of reference to his mother (which would have been odd and horrible since he is almost 60 and she is long dead – but the 13 year old mind never turns off).  But, I didn’t.  I didn’t even come back with, what would have been good, of “please, he only locks me in custom devices” or something snotty that would fit this guy, but, no. No, I did not.

What I did do was come back with with something akin to “OMG, who told you? Did he send pics? What the hell? I demand to know how you know?” You know, the epitome of smoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooth.

Now, did I mention that this fellow is known to be a very dramatic gossipy queen? I didn’t? Well, it’s relative here because I panicked. My utter lack of suave was going to catch up to me because somehow, I had even made words in a text have a guilty tone. It was bad until he came back with “you know, we all have our kinks and this stays between us – but I do want to go to lunch one day and hear about it and the hows and whys.” I breathed a bit after that and, while I have to admit I still did not fully trust him, I had no other choice.

The next day he texted again and sent me more pictures of naked men in and out of chastity, chains, and other sparkly accessories and that pattern has kept up since. While I can’t really explain why he does that, and apparently he does it with other friends too, I generally just say “wow” or “thanks” and go on about my day with the satisfaction of knowing that I have reached a stage in life where I have a, albeit accidental, Porn Concierge.  I have to really laugh though because on at least three occasions he has sent me pictures of me and twice he has sent me pics of Thumper! I always make sure to bold the “wow” and “super hot” comments back to him on those.

But, work got crazy, the holidays got nuts, and all was going well until last week when he said “when do you travel again?” and I told the truth which was met with a “Good, lunch on Friday, pick you up at your house at 11:30″. 

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me” was all that was going through my mind, BUT, it had been that long and he had, for what I know, kept his confidentiality agreement, so I went along and, well, it was nice. We went for Mexican (and fyi, I can sooooo be woo’ed with Mexican) and started talking about perceptions of the gay community, life, love and it was a very masculine lunch until he waved his hands all flauntidly and pointed toward my crotch and said “okay honey, let’s talk about what is going on down there”. I apparently blushed like a schoolgirl which signaled I was indeed locked and he asked questions. I answered in the most truthful, vague way I could. We talked about how it helped my sex life. We talked about how Axel felt empowered. We talked about whether it itches or hurts when you get hard. We talked about everything around what it has meant to me, how it started with Thumper, or how I write these posts rather infrequently now. I didn’t feel like he deserved to be “on the inside” and I stopped myself short of spilling the whole truth. I know in some ways that is not right, but the trust level is far too important to me to give out this information to someone who can put a real name and face with everything I write, which is funny because some of you have all of that and we have never met. But my gut told me to stop and I did as he still has some proving to do to get into the inner circle. Maybe one day he will get there, but not yet.

But, I survived lunch and had a good time and, since then, I have gotten some lovely porn tailored to me. It’s not the end of the world having a porn concierge after all.

Your father was acting stubborn about asking you to help, but I threatened to spank him as hard as I used to and he gave in and called.” – my Mother, 75

Yes, yes, that was the closing phrase of what seemed like a 20 hour phone call with my parents last night where I played the role of the “help desk supervisor 12”. They, “somehow”,  got their GIANT TV on the wrong input and couldn’t find “the Netflix”. Now calls like this happen about once a week and I get to say things like “now look for the home button – it looks like a little house” while my father says things like, “Which remote? the black one or the black one?  Wait, okay, I see a 1, a 2, a 3, now, wait, then it goes to a 4 on the next line” and my mother, in the background says things like “oh, there’s a lawyer on the screen and the words say – ‘Have you been in a car accident?’  Does that help you?” I try so hard to stay patient in those cases and remember that, since I was the curious kid who asked for an entire set of World Book encyclopedias one year before Christmas which I used to pepper them with questions, I am sure this is just karma coming back to bite me in the ass.

I say these things because, I now have to wonder if the kink vibe, gene, occurrence or whatever else you might call it is hereditary? As you know, I have often mentioned that there are clues that my parents had an openness to their sexuality, though I have no idea if they were actually truly open in the sense of the words we use now.

What I do know is that my Mom is back on her investigations into my sex life. After officially being diagnosed with Alzheimers several months ago, she’s on a new, trial drug therapy that is really working wonders. By that I mean that she’s maybe at 60% of where she was 20 years ago, but she’s in a good spot now where she is as fully functioning as many of the red state voters. All this to say is that this week I took my parents to IKEA, which was a first for them. I have never really been around kids, but I suspect the looks on their faces were equivocal to children seeing Disneyland for the first time, because they were just amazed and had such a good time (though it seriously took like three hours to just walk through there at the snail’s pace of old people). At one of the points where we sat down for a snack of Swedish meatballs and some horrid apple cake, my Dad was drawn to a giant bin of funnels and Mom started talking. She talked about her hatred of Trump and her admiration for the women who marched, her opinions on abortion and a woman’s right to choose, and her views on anyone who would dare place me and Axel and any of my friends in a special category and say we are not worthy of everything she and my Dad have rights wise. She was just talking away, while Dad was still staring at the colorful funnels, and then an older African American woman sat near us and she decided to share her opinions with her as well – something my healthy Mom would NEVER have done unprovoked. The woman was all with us, at first, felt some of the same things on Trump, though she grimaced at equal rights for all, specifically gay marriage. To be fair, she said nothing, just made a face, BUT, she was also eating their vegetarian meatballs which, in fairness, should cause a weird look with anyone. My old Mom would have seen that, but my new Mom didn’t which was really clear at the following moment when she said:

“Oh, this is my son Drew, now you should know that he is gay and has an amazing husband who we just adore. Almost 20 years. He even has his name. Look at him, do you want to tell him that he can’t have the same rights as us? I mean, his marriage is as solid as most even though he has a special friend”

In true form, right about this time my Dad and his six, yes six, sets of funnels returned (his theory: .99 for four – “these will last me my whole life”) and, just like always when these subjects come up, he turned that weird shade of white and green that just screamed guilt at something from the past. The lady was lovely, congratulated me on almost 20 years, wished my Mom well, and then pushed that four wheeled steering basket (WTF do they have those?) through the marketplace at a speed that just screamed she was going straight to church. I looked at my Mother who was sitting there with this look of satisfaction on her face and just laughed because, as mortifying as that was, I knew there had to be more coming since we still had at least an hour before we could find the exit doors in that maze of a place.

Nothing was said until the Self Service section when she said “are you okay with what I said?” I said, “what, about me being your poster child for gay rights? of course” and she then said, “No, about your special friend”. I said, “Sure, Mom, but I really don’t know what you are talking about, you need to be clear with me on what you are thinking, because I suspect we are not on the same page with this.” She smiled and said, “Yes we are. We all have special friends in our lives that we need, so enjoy it”. This phrase, more than anything, terrified me as I had some horrible visions of her and her Bunco group in some sort of old woman orgy (and thanks to Thumper I now have real visions about the women). 

And then, as weirdly as it started, it was over. She declared that she was exhausted and dispatched my father for their car. I tried to finish the conversation, but, if you have ever been around anyone with Alzheimer’s or dementia, you know that when they are done with a subject, they are done. When I see her this weekend I will likely try again or see if it comes up because I am going to Thumperland on Tuesday next week and she usually says something when we go through where I will be the next week, but, who hell knows.

In the end, as much as the above mysteries mystify me, I am still thrilled to have them and realize how many gays never get anywhere near the level of acceptance I have, even if it does come with sexual revelations of a septuagenarian and het octogenarian and his funnels.


Warning: Least sexy post ever ahead.

I am in an inaugural funk. I suspect I am not alone in this at all because so much is just up in the air right now politically, but I have this weird, embedded sense of fear that that I liken to that little cloud that flies over Pigpen (from Peanuts) constantly. I frankly don’t know if I have ever cared this much about a Presidential election because, in the past, even if my side didn’t win, I could find something to make peace with but this year has stupefied my glass half full side. I am trying hard to open my mind so don’t take this as a full rant, but just know it’s going to take time and some changes before I can do that. That said, history has its eyes on us though and what we do as individuals will make differences, so I am determined to put my big boy jock on and move on with what I can do to make change.

Aside from that, guess who is home for, get this, 12 whole nights? I had a client cancel at the last minute last week which in November would really anger me but in January I don’t really mind at all, so it’s been a good few days thus far continuing my purging of files, unneeded electronics, chargers with nothing to charge, and just the junk drawers in general. As I said earlier, for Axel and I, there is an odd correlation that we will only play our best when everything is in its place and the closets are not packed, so this week the work continues. I decided that our bedroom was not sexy or cool in the slightest – I believe “bland utilitarian” might have been the words to describe it – so this week, while he is at work (and while I am supposed to be), I am bringing sexy back with new furniture, paint, and some nice linens. It’s funny because he and I have never been the type of gays that decorate like we live in a catalog and, our bedroom, while clean and nice, was just where we slept with bright walls and deep wood trim (127 year old house – the millwork is amazing), so now I am going “gay-goth” with three gray walls, one deeply dark eggplant wall behind the bed, a saddle brown couch and cool new nightstands that hang on the wall. This week IKEA loves me! I am thinking about embedding some anchors into the wall where eye hooks can be installed and uninstalled easily, but have yet to figure out the best way to do that while concealing them for the muggles who may be in there one day. I’m crafty though, so never fear.

Okay, okay, before I start discussing craft projects I think it’s time to stop the madness. I know this may be the unsexiest post ever, but I have more for later that is back on topic.Stay tuned.


It’s been a bit since I have written and, frankly, that’s been on purpose as I have spent a few weeks evaluating life goals, career opportunities, and my pervy perspective. Literally, I have been getting my house in order as Axel and I have been pretending we are moving in order to clean every closet, look in every cranny (fyi, what are those?), and open every drawer while piling the front room of the house with things that we are not using to send them to a place where someone else can. While it’s not finished as I have two more closets and one “mystery corner” where I hide things behind a giant okay door to do, it’s been this amazingly cathartic exercise as he and I, it turns out, talk as we clean and take strolls down memory lane.

It started Sunday with the old picture box that contained those antiquated images from our  past lives before each other and our past lives together. There was one particular picture of us from late 1999 or early 2000 which showed me with my sweeping gingery blond hair and him with tall hair and a tan that I still remember as hot as fuck. He was shirtless, legs spread, and in short shorts reflecting what was probably the best shape of his life at that time. I was, of course fully clothed, and skinny, and we were cuddling our golden retriever puppy. It’s this brilliant picture in many ways, but we were so new, so fresh, and, at that point, so fragile as a couple, that it’s fascinating to just think what we had there that we had no idea about. You could almost see the innocence in our eyes and the fact that we were not sure what the world would bring for us as a gay couple in the South, but we had a look of determination and I think that was important. Sexually, I was there scared to admit what I craved and he sat there oblivious to what I would hit him with down the road, but, we repressed that as that’s all we knew how to do.

If we were to recreate that picture now, you would see a larger, more pale Axel who now sports some incredibly interesting scars down that one leg that was so sexy at the time and you would never see him in the same pose as, frankly, I don’t think  he was rebuilt to be able to do that. You would see me larger in muscle and height (I think I grew), larger in girth, and bald as Kojak as the sweeping hair was swept away long ago. And you wouldn’t see the puppy, as she passed almost three years ago at the age of 14. Even with those stark changes, one of the largest differences would be in our eyes as we are now not so new, really not fresh, and, aside from one grouping of a ceramic, fiberglass and plastic hip, pelvis, and thigh bone, not fragile in any way. In contrast to everything we thought impossible in the first picture, we now would sit there with one last name, one car insurance policy, and a determination that even as the world gets scarier this Friday, we will be fine. Most importantly, the cloud of sexual repression is long lifted, though we do still have an occasional fog blow in.

We laughed about that and where we have been and, what we loved the most, is that all these years later we realized that now, right now, we are having the best sex of our lives with each other, and, with others when and if that option is available. While I am sure he wants his abs back as much as I would want my hair again (and we’d both want the golden), I don’t think either of us would want to ever go back to that stage of sexual innocence and denial of who we are and what we want to do, fuck, see, and be.

This all has a point to it as that talk, that realization, and the overwhelmingly freeing feeling of letting go of ugly candlesticks and bad vases we’d been given as gifts, just made what we have now that much more. This is especially true for Axel, who is finding his voice more and more and yesterday greeted me upon my return from the gym with a collar saying he had decided that it would look good on me in the house that day and that I really didn’t have a choice. While I frankly wasn’t much in the mood at that time, that attitude made it all perfect and he was right as it did look good as I went about my day.

This morning as I went to leave, I noticed a stack of jocks and latex briefs on my bag with a note saying he wanted to see a nightly pic again while I was gone (and I suspect it will wind up here too – lol) and, even though this week I am traveling to one of the least sexy places I could go, I will do my best to sexy up the Holiday Inn Express the best I can as I want this clean mind and attitude to continue for us both.

Now, time to board the non-sexy flight to the non-sexy place…


A few weeks back I told you that Chris, from Steelwerks Extreme, was tired of hearing me whine about the tiny screws when I had to take my Axel cage  (a cage renamed because I hate the idea of having anything named Tiffany, the actual cage name, surrounding my penis) at the airport so he said he would create something I could wear 24/7 when traveling and that it would be a surprise for me when Axel and I visited Montreal at New Year’s.

Well, the surprise part didn’t last that long, but, as promised, he has created the first ever all plastic device made by Steelwerks and helped Axel lock it on me over the weekend. The device is very simple, in theory, but as you look closer, you can see the head and collar were sized just for me and, unlike previous plastic devices I have held in the past, the edges are like beveled glass and perfectly smooth.

(Tumblr link to NSFW pictures)

Specifically, the cage (which has yet to be named but is based on a much more expensive all titanium version of the SW Schandmaske) is made of a thick lucite, technically a class of methyl methacrylate ester polymers that produce a shatterproof alternative to glass, that has been hand molded in two pieces – the head, which is sized accurately and the collar, which is tapered in a way that requires a bit of lube and a push to get in and a very significant tug to get out. These two pieces are bonded together to form one phallic shaped design that covers about 81.7% of my dick. On the underside, there are slots for ventilation and one longer slot that is used for the hollow 2ga barbell that is fitted through my PA and locked with one of the patented Steelwerks s-screws. When this is fitted, there is no way to take it off without a key and, as the size of my dick changes, so does the fit of the device.

In about four days of wearing it, I have to admit that 95% of the time I forget it’s there. It’s incredibly lightweight, fits in my pants quite well, and has stopped all attempts at self pleasure as it feels like I have a glass dick when I try to grab a feel. It’s a different feel from  the devices I have worn and it’s a feel that, so far, I am very much enjoying. Also, as a plus, I have been through airport security and US customs already (both metal detector and scanner) with nary a worry as there is nothing aside from the PA jewelry that will show.

While this is a device that will only fit a select few pierced chaste comrades, the good news is that Steelwerks has decided to carry this as their first “ready made” custom cage for those who travel, want something different, or for those whose balls may need a break from a ring for a day or two but who do not want to break a locked period. While not made of metal, all the things that made Steelwerks so special are still in this design as it is custom cut, molded, and designed for the individual who orders it – not just a shelved imported item.

As I wear this more I will continue to keep some updates and, well, a picture or two here and there but so far it’s amazing!

Now, did I mention I also got my first latex catsuit on this trip too? Next time.