Male chastity is beautiful. In fact, there are few things I find in sexual relations more beautiful. A man that has had his genitals caged, and better still is serious about it, is a man I admire. Especially when the man cedes true control and hands the key to someone else.
Although this dynamic can play out between a man and any partner, I am particularly enamoured of how this plays out between a man and a female key holder. It is sexy. But it is also deeply spiritual. It is also a political act. All of these reasons make me love it.
But it isn’t for me. Why?
As a non-binary person, I look at my own appendage with disdain. I decry its tyranny. I don’t like it. And I don’t like being reminded of it. Chastity makes me think about it, makes it look bigger, makes it more prominent in my life, and that just upsets me.
Okay, I accept that it is there. I accept that I must use it from time to time. But the times I have touched it sexually in my life I can count on one hand. I can only recall masturbating with my hand twice in my entire life. I don’t like touching it. I don’t like being reminded of it.
When Mistress says it is hers, I love her for it. She may mean it differently, but to let her have it means I don’t need to think about it anymore, and thank goodness, because I don’t want to.
But I still love the narrative that chastity represents. Only I know that if I make the commitment to someone that involves being chaste, I can keep it. I am not weak. I have the self-discipline. I am not seduced by the weak male narrative that says I have to pleasure myself. No. I can wait. I can wait forever if I must.
Please don’t misunderstand; I love the big O. I love even more being aroused. Just drifting in a state of arousal is pretty wonderful.
If I must “lock it up” the way I do it is tucking. I love tucking. I love to not see it, to see it gone. The effect is the same.
But if a woman is interested in a chaste man, I have the self-control to be a chaste man, if only to please her.