Fill 'Er Up?

I'm in Miami prospecting for biz. I realized the other day that my year has been an incredibly productive one. I've got an office, may have a line on a place, and I'm making money from all the schmoozing for profit and then hard work to actually realize the dough.

She-Who-Visits was maybe coming up to see me, but got sick, got work, had obligations; blah, blah, blah. Actually, I sincerely believe she does miss me and might have hopped a flight up just for an overnight if she hadn't had a cold all week.

Yesterday she BBM'd me a picture of a book she wanted me to read.

"Your next book." she declared.

I of course BBM'd her back a picture of some incredibly kitschy faux leopard wedges.

"Your next pair of shoes?", I shot off while I wondered how to deliver tongue-in-cheek via BBM. The downside of keeping in touch graphically. Two minutes later my phone rang. It was She.

"Have you bought the book yet?" she asked.

"Ummmm...no. It's been like, ten minutes," I replied wondering if she'd not gotten a cold but been suddenly afflicted with Dominitus, a disease she almost never contracts.

"Oh good, because I have another one for you to read instead. It's called "The Five Love Languages". My heart sank. I hate pop-culture marriage counselors. She went on and on about the book and what a revelation it was for her. I thought it said more about where she was at with her marriage than anything. But she enthusiastically endorsed the book and gushed about how it helped her understand how she and her husband were missing the mark.

She said it would help me spend my remaining time with my wife in a more positive, happy way. I felt instantly grateful, despite my lack of enthusiasm for quick fix, fast food, fakers. She'd been going through a rough patch, found some hope in this book and wanted to help me too. It's one of the astonishing things about our connection. We've been incredibly supportive of each other's marriages.

Anyway, despite using concepts like "emotional love tanks" that need to be filled (ooh baby, baby - can I fill your love tank, huh?) and boiling the complex interactions of a multi-decade marriage into five distinct "languages", I have to admit I'm getting something out of Dr. Gary Chapman's mass market balm.

He identifies five primary ways people feel loved. He calls them languages. They are: Words of Affirmation; Quality Time; Receiving Gifts; Acts of Service; and Physical Touch. He says most marriages encounter difficulty because one spouse is speaking one language and the other a completely different one.

She said Mr. She was definitely a Quality Time guy. I asked her what she thought I was and she said she didn't know me in that way. I shot back that of course she does. She's smart, intuitive, and knows me better than she's really known any other guy except maybe her husband - a fact she often "forgets" because it's tough for her to acknowledge.

And in that moment I was sure my "love lingo" was Words of Affirmation. As I've been reading the book I also think that I've become fluent in trying to feed my need for spoken praise and acknowledgement by learning how to try to please by doing things. In other words I've become fluent in Acts of Service. I did this because my mom never really told me what a fantastic kid I was. I've been attracted to women, like She, who withold their praise and then I sexualize that. Hence, I'm a humiliation junkie.

I BBM'd She and told her this without even reading the stupid book. My wife is for sure a Quality Time girl and I've neglected that horribly. She-Who-Visits is, and I'd wager my last dime she agrees, an Acts of Service domme. My need to act in service to get my precious Words of Affirmation was why we got along so well.

She thanked me for my "cliff notes guessing game".

Isn't that sweet? She uses words to affirm me and humiliates me with dignity all at once. It's why I love her so. Or at least one reason I put up with all her mishigas. That's craziness for all you goyisha kampfs. But hey, I slather mayo on white so who am I to talk.

So even in the most banal of McPsychobabble nonsense, I find sustenance, a connection to two women I dearly love, and a subject with which to torture you, my dear readers. Ooops...did I just seem to enjoy switching roles?

Outside Looking In

It's coming up on a year that I'm physically separated from my wife and in my "post-modern" bachelor digs in the Far West Village. My OK Cupid date who I brought home with me this week referred to it as "Po-Mo".

"Very cool, very PoMo," says she.

I hear it as very cool, very homo. Am I feeing defensive, curious, or just cranking GaGa up way high on the Nano?

We took the dog out and wandered by the river. Here on the edge of the island, Manhattan tides leave daily marks. Rotting wooden pilings visible ten feet above the water during my early morning run are all but completely covered by the dark, night time, ocean fed waters of the Hudson. I like my date. But she's not the domme girl of my dreams. I'm outside our easy conversation; looking in.

My kinky dance partner is so hot. We really rumba and she totally rocks. But the dance floor is as far as it goes. Earlier in the week as we said goodbye on the subway platform she hugged me. As we parted I pulled her back, arm around her shapely waist, like the dance floor leader I pretend to be and kissed her straight on her beautiful full lips. She seemed unmoved. Undettered, I swore I'd repeat it after our Friday night class and add a quick little two step tongue.

But face to face with cold reality it's just not there and I'm left ouside looking in.

She-Who-Visits calls regularly and tells me how much she misses me. We haven't seen each other since September. Starting next week I'm in Miami for ten days. She even told me she was checking air fares. But this week when I asked if she'd be coming up it was clear she would not. Nose pressed eagerly to her window, my hot breath fogs the view. She's but an illusion - and I'm outside looking in.

My wife and I have stopped fighting. She's dying what will be a slow, horrific death. We are deeply and unexpectedly connected despite our separation. In bittersweet dismay, I am tragically and gut-wrenchingly delivered home. Inside her terror looking out, I seek a connection which is, for now, just as well out of reach.

Cold Metal

I've always liked cock and ball bondage. I can't remember the first time a domme bound me. But I can recall the amazing feeling of surrender. And damn, if I didn't look at least two inches longer and a whole lot bigger around.


So of course, when I decided to review sex toys for Eden Fantasys I immediately gravitated towards the CBB offerings. At my specific request, they sent me the Alchemy Metallics Cock Ring they offer.

Although I don't post there very often anymore, the lovely Mme. Veronica put up an irresistable thread on The Hang she entitled "My Drawer of Shame". In her post she detailed the facinating items hidden away in her personal toy drawer. Only Veronica would confess to having a thank you note from her mom in her drawer of shame! Anyway, in my tally I realized I actually had five cock rings, if you count the hinged ring on my CB-3000. Clearly, there's an identifiable pattern, wouldn't you say. And Eden Fantasys is a virtual cock rings R US kinda place.

So the Alchemy Ring was a natural for my first sex toys review. It is, as you can see, a handsome, sleek, shiny, sexy circle of metal. It is neither heavy nor is it so light that at the slightest provocation you'd worry about denting it or making it oblong. Over any leather snap or velcro rings and even over a leather or rope thong it cleans up very easily. However, before you order the ring, measure. Get a piece of string, wrap it around the circumference in question and measure. I didn't measure but thought sure an inch and three quarter diameter would be fine.

I was wrong. Can't get the damn thing on. I've stuffed and pulled and shoved and crammed but to no avail. I requested a two incher so I could provide a review based on actual use but was politely told to go with what I got because they were sold out of the two inchers. Maybe I'm the only fool not measuring...

The whole jam-it-on-my-junk process reminded me of the time when I'd just become She-Who-Visits client and She decided I needed a chastity device. We went on a little shopping trip to Purple Passion and returned to the studio to install the hardware. Needless to say the whole shopping foreplay thing got me all hot and bothered. Now it ain't braggin' if it's true but when She tried to lock the hinge ring on me she just couldn't squeeze tight and manage the whole pin lock thing. So she called the receptionist in who called two more dommes in. As you might imagine, this added fuel to the fire frustrating the ladies. Finally, after much grabbing, groaning, and giggling they locked me down.

Six days later after the hinge rubbed me a rare, raw, red and bloody mess, She gave me permission to cut myself out but I had to meet her to prove I wasn't going all wimp-boy on her.

"There better be a scab, or better yet an open wound," she menacingly warned.

She led me into a Starbucks bathroom near Macy's and inspected the damage. Suffice it to say, I've lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, the Alchemy Ring, as with any solid ring, has the disadvantage of perhaps being easier to get on when you aren't sporting a chub but more difficult to remove when your schlong is doin' ya proud. I was once put into very tight and restrictive cock and ball bondage and almost passed out from all the blood rushing to my wailing wood. Probably didn't help that I was somewhere around Day 60 of my record 82 days of on my honor chastity.

So, when all is said and done, if you like solid cock rings and want to give this sleek, smooth item a try - at $11.99 - you can't go wrong.

Maybe if I shave the manly bits and use a wee dram of ye olde lube I might succeed in getting some personal enjoyment out of my new plaything. After all, I'm a product of America, from the morgue to the prisons, and cold metal - it's how we win - but also how we sin.