Blue balls are a load of bollocks! One of the lies men tell to elicit release from female partners.


“Blue balls” are a guilt trip lame men use to guilt women into providing release

Ladies, please don’t ever feel guilt or the obligation to provide release. And gentlemen, how dare you?! Ladies first. Give pleasure to your partner and think nothing of yourself. Go on, try it, and accept that an orgasm for you doesn’t need to be the final chapter. A prelude to rolling over and going to sleep. Try it for a week, try it longer. Try it for life. You will see the joy and sensual pleasure you experience increase. That’s a promise.

First, I wish to apologise for writing about such a subject. But something must be said. “Blue balls” is nonsense.

The number of times that I have heard or read that the male “phenomenon” of blue balls means a woman has an obligation to provide release makes my head spin.  This nonsense is used to elicit pity, or to suggest to women that a man knows pain too, and if she “teases” him, she must see that his needs are taken care of.  Lies.

But this fiction of a male’s need for release runs as deep truth through culture.  Even as delightful a book as the Five Love Languages, recently reviewed here, perpetuates this narrative.  The author writes about a male’s need for release as what drives the need for sex and that women do not have the same feeling.  He writes that women instead need fulfilment and emotional intimacy.  This is a load of sexist nonsense.

I would wager that I skew towards the “more aroused than average” person scale.  A fellow blogger recently did a small straw survey amongst the erotic writing community, and asked whether erotic writers felt they had a more active sexual mind than those who do not.  In truth, there is very little chance that people who write erotica aren’t more sexed up than the rest.  Why?  Because it’s what we do for a living.  And if not for a living, for a huge and significant amount of time.

I can’t look at a cucumber without going straight to all the naughty things that can and should be done with one, but this is true of many household items, gleaned over many years of creative thinking about fun things to do.

Why do I bring this up?  Because if I have never had blue balls in a life or heightened arousal, then you should wonder that a man pleads a need for release for anything at all, then he needs to learn discipline and self-control.  Indeed, if there ever was an excuse to lock a man up, then this is it.  All men who complain of blue balls should have their bits put in irons!

I have long been intrigued by chastity.  The truth is that the symbolism of being locked away and having a partner keep the key is most certainly erotic.  Mistress and I spoke about this topic recently.  I have played with a few different cages just to see at the behest of some online Dommes I “met”, one of whom wanted me to learn how to become permanently caged.  I said to Mistress that they were very uncomfortable.  Her reply?

“You just haven’t found one that fits right.  Good ones don’t do that.”  How does she know?  I wonder! 

The second she said it, though, part of me wanted to be caged right then and there.  But I have written about cages and their weight, and how they affect me as a non-binary, that they are way too penis-centric.  You can read it here.  I don’t want to be reminded of my male bits.  Mistress, in her infinite wisdom, elected to tie me up down there instead.  She achieved the same effect with something as light as a feather.

“This is mine now,” she said, and I felt it thus.  And when she asked me to get dressed for dinner, or rather, “you can put your clothes back on now.  I think you may set new fashion standards if you go like that.  I’d like you to keep the string on.”

And I loved it.  I loved feeling it there, tight, holding me, binding me.  I loved the constant reminder of her ownership of such an intimate part of me.  And more than anything, the concept that it was “hers” was a huge relief to me.  It meant I no longer had to think about it at all.

The same issues I have with cock cages apply to masturbation.  Quite literally, I may have stroked myself to the big “O” only 2 or 3 times in my entire life.  I can’t even remember when.  I don’t like to touch it.  Plus those kinds of orgasms just aren’t all that much.

When a woman has taken me inside of her, there is a kind of cognitive dissonance that occurs which allows me to forget it’s there.  I can imagine it’s hers, or that it is simply a way of connecting, but it most certainly isn’t mine.  The rest of the time?  Well, it just simply happens.  It comes about from a state of mental and emotional arousal, and perhaps the lightest breath or contact.  Almost chaste.  Right?

Chastity is a mindset.  I have no need to obtain release.  Staying on the edge is actually quite nice.  It is an enormous pleasure to wake up at night uncommonly aroused, and again in the morning, with my thoughts drifting to the erotic.  All of these things make me “wet”, and being aroused is one of life’s greatest pleasures.

But I also like the idea of this no longer being something I get to choose.  It fits wonderfully with my persona of a chaste love.  Those of us who are dedicated in service perhaps don’t need to insist on release.  As a slave, what right should I have over whether and when this should come about?

I hope that this note has not seemed too vulgar, but what better way to remove the vulgarity than to simply become chaste?  Most certainly, the depth of feeling I have for Mistress is fed by the absence of anything overtly sexual in our interactions.  It is spiritual, and I like it that way.  There are few things that bring one back to earth more fundamentally than the big “O” and I find that after I have had one, it takes a few days for me to feel myself again.  You see, I love feeling desire, because desire symbolizes love, a feeling I can’t live without.

How do I reconcile chastity with one of the kinky places my mine sometimes returns to?  The world of being milked, kept caged like a cow, and milked for the purposes of breeding by a cabbal of powerful women?  I can’t.  But after all, it isn’t mine anymore.  Instead I can think about pure, chaste things, and accept that I may never again get to decide the terms of my release.  Bliss.

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