Romancing The Bone
You don’t have to read too many male chastity posts before it is clear that in many guys’ minds the penis is an object of romance. It is a throbbing shaft aching to eject its nectar. Keyholders say things like, “Put that thick cock in my pussy and fuck me hard; but don’t come.” The female side of the chastity device sees that penis as an object deserving worship and love
Oh the mighty cock!
Evidence of phallic worship goes back as far as recorded history can reach. There’s something about that bone(r) that inspires art, music and religion. Of course the authors of all this attention happen to be male and have bones of their own.
I think that enforced male chastity is the modern equivalent of those ancient phallic practices. The penis is encased in a device that prevents sexual access. But it is so much more. Once locked up, it becomes the topic of conversation and fantasy.
It aches for release.
It begs the keyholder to let it out.
It wants orgasms.
It has blogs dedicated to it.
It becomes the active topic of discussion when sex comes up.
We males love it. Our cocks become acceptable topics of conversation. Wow!
Romance is about if or when the next ejaculation will occur. It talks about the mechanical satisfaction of the keyholder. It’s about the penis and where it does or doesn’t go.
I think we have to agree that all this penis talk is a male obsession. I don’t think that many women think of romance, or even sex, in terms of cocks and pussies. To them, romance is about eyes, words, touch, and thought. Orgasm is almost a byproduct of all this. Sex is an emotional experience. Yes, the ultimate orgasm is nice, but it isn’t necessarily the objective.
I’m no different than other guys. I am easily manipulated by promises of orgasms at some later date. I love the attention of being locked up and released from my cage. When not locked, I still think in terms of when Mrs. Lion will masturbated me to orgasm. My penis, which Mrs. Lion calls her weenie, is the center of my mental movie. I’m either thinking of how her weenie will be treated or how I can stimulate her to orgasm. When I think of pleasing her, I also think about how hard I get when I do it.
I’m smart enough to realize that this enjoyable-for-me way of thinking isn’t all that interesting to her. I have to remember that wonderful warmth I get from snuggling; the joy watching her sleeping next to me; how nice it feels when she touches me (not her weenie). It’s way too easy to let the penis take over. I can’t let it. When penis sex isn’t possible, romance is still there. Love is way more satisfying than ejaculation. Way more. But lest you forget, I would love to come tonight.