Okay, maybe I can make this “getting older” thing work for me.
Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had several people make complimentary remarks to me along the lines of “Hey, you’re surprisingly cool,” invariably adding the caveat “for someone who’s almost 50!”
Excuse me, I accidentally scratched your car with my walker.
But that’s okay… By virtue of being older, I’ve discovered something interesting. I’m no longer overtly cool – I’m stealth cool. Here’s an example: Anyone who’s peeked at my TMI page knows that I’m not using the Grecian Formula. I’ve been going proudly grey for years – hair, beard, and yes, chest hair as well. There’s no mistaking me for someone that you’d expect to be cool.
So the other night, I’m in the piercing studio near my house and …
Piercing studio? No, I’m not getting another one… yet. I was picking up a… Okay, wait, let me rewind a bit.
One of the things about my frenum piercing is that we thought that we could use it to enhance the “security” of the chastity device. That is, while the device makes it impossible to have intercourse, and will prevent me from giving myself an orgasm unless I’m using an industrial strength vibrator or a hardware store paint mixer, we have found that there are situations in which I could – if I desired – actually wriggle my pierced nether end from the device to pleasure myself, and then smush it (yes, that’s the technical term) back in. This is a no-no for chastity enthusiasts, but unfortunately it’s also a well-known flaw in the design of many of the devices. Some men can pull out almost at will, and some can’t at all. I can do so under certain conditions; for example, when it’s 85 degrees out and I’ve been mowing the lawn or doing yard work and have gotten all hot and sweaty and dirty, and then come in and take a long, hot shower and and get all soapy and slick, the water glinting off my muscular arms, the suds running down my chest and back and covering my well-toned thighs…
Er… sorry; I was channeling Susan for a moment there.
Anyway, when I’m hot, I have the opposite of “shrinkage,” my bits get all loose and flexible. Add some soap to the mix, and I can wriggle out while cleaning.
NO! Bad subbie! No donut for you!
So we thought about using the frenum to anchor me into the device. The thing is, I’ve modified the device several times, without coming up with a way that is comfortable. The tubes don’t have much room inside, and my wabbly bits, already squished in like sausage in a casing, were getting pinched on the barbell. Making it more difficult to pinpoint, it often doesn’t happen until about 4 am*, at which time I am less inclined to study the volumetrics and ergonomics, and more interested in just getting the friggin’ thing off.
* If you don’t understand this, you haven’t lived with a man. If you still don’t understand this, ask and we’ll explain it to you.
I’ve been working on my CB3000 all weekend, partly as a result of having gotten my libido back (yay!), and partly at the urging of my wife, who began to wonder if I’d forgotten about it in my depression over
being old not being 28. I’ve modified the ventilation holes in the underside to make room for the barbell (and the fleshy bits that no longer compress because of the hunk of steel in the way), and the next step is to glue some plastic bars in such a fashion as to prevent the barbell from catching on anything. I’ve been wearing the device since Friday morning, just testing the fit and function, and making little changes. At some point on Monday afternoon I was suddenly struck by an idea; I’m wearing a 10 gauge bar with 1/4″ balls on a shaft that’s 5/8″ long. A quick check on the internet showed me that I can get a 10 gauge with 3/16″ balls on a 1/2″ shaft – just a little bit smaller, but perhaps enough to make a difference. Since the 5/8″ has been kind of floppy, now that it’s healed it seemed that the smaller style would fit better inside the tight plastic tube.
With some sense of irony, on the way back from the drugstore to pick up my refills for the blood pressure and cholesterol meds, I texted Google SMS for “piercing & tattoo” in my zip code, and 10 seconds later I got the number for the place I knew was in town, but had never visited. I called and asked if they had what I had in mind. Yup, they did, and they would be open until 9 pm. Excellent!
If you think I’ve been focusing too much on the little technical details, then you need to understand that for chastity enthusiasts, it’s all about the little technical details. Just like those people who are always tweaking their car – or their computers – those of us with devices are always looking for little flaws and trying to think of ways to improve both the comfort and the security. I get a large proportion of hits from the chastity community, and I guarantee that half of them are reading this and thinking that I didn’t give enough detail, and are wondering if I’m going to post pictures.
And I might, if people ask nicely.
Anyhow, now we can get to the point of the story.
So, at 8:30 pm I walked into the studio, which had at least half a dozen teens chattering at the counter in the lobby. I hung out there for a couple of minutes, and when nobody seemed inclined to ask if I needed help, I asked if there was anyone available. Turned out that they were waiting for someone to help them. A moment later, a 30-ish looking man, clean-cut but heavily tattooed and pierced (go figure, huh?) walked out of the back room. He seemed to know some of the teens, and greeted them, asking for their IDs and permission slips. He ignored me, and I guessed that he must have thought that I was a concerned parent here with one of the younger people. It took me a few more minutes to catch his eye, and I explained that I had called earlier about a barbell. Recognition lit up his face, and he directed all of us into another side room where the piercings are done. By this time, I was well aware that the teens were giving me “the eye” and wondering what I was doing encroaching on their turf.
We entered another room, and he began to go through several cabinets filled with barbells, curved barbells, and CBRs. He pulled out one container which had a barbell that was probably 5/16″ in diameter, with balls that had to be at least 3/8″ wide. I casually asked where something like that would fit. “Oh, anywhere,” he answered, still searching the boxes, “your tongue, penis, wherever.”
I paused for a moment, considering the fit. Ouch. “No, I don’t need anything that big,” I replied.
“Oh? Where’s the 10 gauge going? Tongue?” he asked, still not looking at me.
My one word answer had the double effect of causing him to suddenly look over at me, with a hint of respect in his eyes. It also completely stopped the chattering from the teenagers. In the mirror, I could see them all turn around to stare.
“A frenum, really? Wow, I just enlarged mine a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, well, now that mine’s healed, I’m finding that the 5/8″ is getting sloppy and I want something a little tighter.”
We chat for a few minutes about the relative comfort of several sizes, how long we’ve had them, and what our partners thought of the sensations. I mention that my wife enjoys it, but it’s not as much sensation as we had expected; also, some positions it’s just not quite comfortable because it catches or twists, and again, I’m thinking that the smaller barbell should help with that. In the mirror I see a small blonde girl put her hand up to her open mouth. Several of them lean over to whisper to each other.
He explains that his girlfriend doesn’t care for it at all, and he usually removes it for sex. But then he suggests that I go up a few sizes. I look at a 6 gauge, consider it briefly, and hand it back, knowing that I would never fit into the tube wearing that much metal. I politely decline, and he finds the piece I’m looking for. He then brings me to another area where he pulls out a box of rubber widgets that fit tightly onto the balls of the barbell, turning it, in effect, into a French tickler. He gives me a few samples, and I promise to let him know how they work out. He gives me a price, I give him some cash, and he thanks me for my patronage.
As I leave the store, I turn and smile at the teenagers, several of whom are still staring in open-mouthed disbelief at me.
When I was younger, I considered it to be my avocation to freak out those folks older than me. Now that I’m one of those folks, I’m going to do my best to freak out the younger ones.
I think I’m going to enjoy this!
If you found this interesting, you might also be interested in some of my other real-life experiences which are listed in the True Tales page.