Our Kids Are Suffering – Amended Update

This afternoon, Wednesday, I made a couple of phone calls, and asked my Ladies Calvary to help me with our girls. Right now, everyone will be looked after over the coming days. And I was assured that everyone would be taken care of.

It is always a shock for our new guys and gals to be sober a short while, most under two years, for them to witness someone with serious time under their belts drink again. But I am assured that my girls will be alright. My ladies are on the case.

Tuesday Night

Most people in recovery know what the word “powerlessness” means.

Some choose to learn the definition, others hang on for dear life to whatever it is they are holding guard over, until they can’t bear that pain any longer … Then they reach the jumping off point.

I watch people, I listen to them talk, and I wait to see what decision they are going to make, either to buckle down and do what needs to be done, or they choose to jump back into the canyon where there is no light.

The fellowship offers to us a tool kit, to build a ladder out of that canyon into a life what will be fruitful and prosperous. But the pain it might take to get to freedom from alcohol and drugs seems so arduous, that they just cannot bear the pain of sobriety, so they resort to the pain of addiction to soothe the pain of honest pursuit of sobriety.

Our kids are suffering. And I don’t know what to do about this ! They all know me, and have seen me in action for a long time. I have engaged many of them in conversation, I give them jobs at meetings, I support them and show them nothing but kindness.

Yet, still, they are miserable. There is nothing I can do for someone who chooses to live in misery and active addition. I can’t save all the kids I know, right now, who are suffering needlessly.

Women with time, who sponsored many of our latest crop of young ladies, have drank again. Recently. All my girls are besides themselves with grief and sorrow, anger and resentment, and then forgiveness.

Our LGBTQ kids are suffering as well. Because the spectrum of sexual identity has broadened into this amalgamation of “what ever you want to be today” has reared its ugly head.

Do you know what it is like knowing that you have kids on this spectrum, girls that want to be boys, boys who want to be girls, trans kids in the middle of transition, or at different stages of the game, who drink and drug, because they cannot bear the pain they are in right now ?

Not many straight alcoholics in the rooms know what to do with a kid on the spectrum. Most old timers will tell you that sexual orientation is not their responsibility. Some old timers will not even deal with kids on the spectrum, and a good number of them don’t do Gay either.

My kids are suffering. I know this for a fact. I know how many kids are on this sliding scale right now, some are sober, and some are not. I’ve had experience in dealing with trans issues, because over the years I have tried to help our kids, whomever they are, which ever direction they are traveling.

The pendulum is swinging widely and quickly. And a good number of my kids are struggling to keep it together. And I don’t know what to do, besides sitting each one of them down and read them the riot act, and give them a plan, like they would listen to anything I have to say to them.

But you know what the book says …
“THE ALCOHOLIC WILL DRINK AGAIN.”

I’ve been watching my kids come and go, and come and go. Whom ever they are talking to, has failed in keeping them sober. One, because they lack the tools to do the job, OR, those sponsors have drank again.

Which does not help our kids stability. You take on a kid who needs help staying sober, then you go off and drink again !! What the FUCK !!!

I’ve been watching folks with some serious time, do nothing. My peers, do nothing. They come to meetings, warm a chair, and they watch our kids crumble in front of them, and still they do nothing. Tonight, My heart broke every time I heard one of my kids tell the story they told tonight.

And I am powerless to do anything. Because nobody wants to hear what I have to say, and not many people believe anything I say, sitting in any room. But I have the time and the experience to speak truth.

People do not like the truth, I have said this before.

The I-phone generation want it NOW. They want sobriety NOW, they want happiness NOW, but they don’t want the pain or struggle to get there. They’d rather struggle in the drink rather than struggle in sobriety.

Sobriety is a struggle. Until it is not a struggle any longer.

Our kids are struggling. And they are not listening to simple advice. They are too wrapped up in their heads and their misery, to even pay attention to advice given, even if it comes from a chair, within a meeting, and not directly from a human being standing in front of them.

The rule is the girls work with the girls and the boys work with the boys! I can stand at the line and offer advice from behind my line and not cross the rule. But long sober women with time and experience ARE failing them, so what we we supposed to do, let our kids struggle until they die ?

What the Fuck am I supposed to do now ?

I wish I had the answer, I could use it right about now.

Mental Health Stories – Amended

Mental Health has been on the dashboard for the last little while. We have been touching on this topic here for a bit. Long ago, nobody ever really spoke about, or even cared about ones mental health and well being.

Last night we spoke about anger. Which leads back to page 417 in the book, about acceptance, and that if I have a problem with someone, that problem ALWAYS stems back to myself? I disagree.

Way back when, men were supposed to suck it up buttercup, and say nothing and bear our pain like Marines and Troopers. I did that for a long time, until it got unbearable, then I drank my pain away, and that was a disaster.

Now I am sober, and vulnerable, and raw, and honest, and truthful. I know my friends do not like when I express myself. Or have a feeling or an emotion. They just don’t know what to do with me when I feel something in public or to them. They usually run in the other direction.

A friend of mine and I agree, we are not doormats, or punching bags. I said last night that if I feel something and I am hurting or feel slighted or angry or upset for any reason, I will tell you, point blank that I am pissed ! I’m not gonna suck it up and believe that a problem with anyone stems back to a problem with me. That’s where I now disagree with the Book.

Men are not supposed to feel, or better yet, say anything about what we are feeling. But spend some time with Brene Brown, and you will change your tune very quickly. I survived emotional bottoms in sobriety, and I know the very few, FEW people who stood by me and tried to help. Many did nothing but watch me crumble under the pressure, because nobody knows or wants to be vulnerable. UGH.

I hear our women talk about certain topics in a group setting, a few of our younger ladies talk openly about their emotional challenges. But we don’t usually hear a whole lot of stories about mental health. But women suffer a great deal as well, and a lot of the time, men don’t really pay attention to them or their stories for that matter.

Women, like some men, suffer in silence, because of trust factors and that how could a man ponder what a woman goes through on any given day. Most of our women keep to a small circle of confidants. Women in Montreal, have their own meetings and spaces that are safe, and away from men as a rule. So I don’t want to leave our women out of the story, or say that they don’t suffer mental health issues as well. They do.

If you need help, get help. If you need to talk, there are ways around this to find people who will listen. There are a multitude of services in many city centers that offer mental health assistance.

Mental health is important to everyone. We must b able to say, Hey I am fucking hurting, listen to me forGod’s sake. We should not have to suck it up buttercup and be freaking VULCANS around our friends and family.

My first go round with mental health issues happened when I was in the eighth grade, when my father’s mother had had a stroke and he took me out of school, and flew me 1500 miles to her bedside in the hospital. The thought was that if “I” showed up, it would jog her memory so hard that she would wake right up.

Obviously, that did not work.

But I think about that now, and how I was thrust into a situation, not of my own making, and was expected to be the Golden Child to resurrect my grandmother, who was already gone.

She would never return to normal, again. ever.

My father resorted to the bottle. I went back to my “normal” life, school, friends, activities. Junior high was the best time of my life, better than high school. I had a lot of fun, and I did a lot of service, and got an award upon graduating in ninth grade.

I would not hit another crisis point for a long time. My alcoholism was going full bore at the time. And I was dating all the wrong men. Really, when are we ever really dating the creme of the crop when we were drinking?

In my twenty fifth year, I had broken up with the boy I was dating, who was a serial liar and cheater. Life then was pretty tough. My living situation was really precarious. But it was then that Josh decided to kill himself.

One weekend afternoon, my mother had phoned me out of the blue to tell me his mother had called her and that Josh was missing. And could I find him? I called the cops in Fort Lauderdale and my friends.

They found him dead in an apartment outside the city center.

I drove out and sat in a squad car with a detective, while they worked the scene, and later brought him out in a bag.

The next day the coroner called me to identify his remains. To this day, every time I close my eyes, I see him in my minds eye, or what was left of him by that point. And his mother’s curse: She said : “I hope for the rest of your life, every time you close your eyes, you see my dead son!”

Like I had anything to do with his suicide.

I ended up at the bar right after that chore, and I began to drink myself sick.

I drank for weeks.

At one point Todd and Bill stepped in and got me into a suicide survivors group. If you have never sat in a suicide survivors group, you haven’t lived.

That 13 week experience, made me drink even worse.

A year later, I got very sick and was diagnosed with AIDS, and told to go home, kiss my ass goodbye and wait to die.

Imagine !!!

There was no therapy.

There was no assistance programs.

It was just the Todd and the Bar. And the men inside of the bar, who all died, there are only two of us who survived that maelstrom.

The day I took my first, LAST drink, and Todd had stepped in to save my life, my job became my salvation. I did as Todd asked, I did not fight the process.

I got sober, and I lived.

After my relapse, and return to what was my life, I had a therapist who helped me re enter society and begin to live again, after the disastrous end of another wham-ban relationship from hell.

When I moved to Montreal, I got into an alcoholism aftercare program, and had another therapist who did wonders for me. She really set my life in order and got me on my feet in this new city. She helped me acclimate and learn about the culture and people of Montreal. While I counted my sober days. I had her through my second year of sobriety.

My husband mental health journey was a real eye opener for me, because I had to learn on the fly, what to do for a bi-polar human being. I took care of him, the best way I could and we navigated pretty alright. Albeit, we had a few hiccups and found that not every health care worker was the right health care worker, and not every insurance company was on the up and up, and not every human we dealt with was honest and kind.

We deal with mental health on a daily basis, because Bi-Polar is a life issue not a seasonal or short term issue. It is an Every Day Issue. So I have to be on point as best I can, but every once in a while, I need a breather too.

Being estranged from my family as I am, the death of my father was rough, because he went to his grave hating me and wanting me dead. I knew this because it was what my mother had parroted from him to me over the years.

I had a rough few days, maybe a couple of weeks.

That is what is is.

The rooms are not therapy per se, but we talk a lot, about a great many things. For the last eighteen years, I have been talking my way sober. And my life has gotten pretty big.

Really grateful for that.

Voices for Women

WASHINGTON, DC – JULY 11: Women hold up signs during a women’s pro-choice rally on Capitol Hill, July 11, 2013 in Washington, DC. The rally was hosted by Planned Parenthood Federation of America to urge Congress against passing any legislation to limit access to safe and legal abortion. (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images)

To all the women who read this blog, I am here for all of you. I will speak for you, I will march for you, and I will write for you.

I have always had a soft heart and a deep abiding love for the women in my life. I know what all of them went through to either love me or care for me. The women in my life, did not have it easy for sure.

No man on this earth can ever know what a woman feels, about anything!
PERIOD!!!

No man on earth should have the right to tell any women, anywhere, what she should do with her body.
PERIOD!!!

No man on earth carries a child, knows what it is like for a woman to carry a child or God forbid, decide that she cannot carry a child.
PERIOD!!!

I know, from personal experience, what the various men in my life thought about women, because I watched how they treated those women in their lives.

In the United States, new super restrictive laws have been passed in Alabama and now Missouri, that remove a woman’s right to choose the destiny of her life.

We cannot allow Republicans to push this fight to the Supreme Court of the United States. We cannot afford to have Roe v Wade overturned.

We must speak out, We must talk, We must march, and We must fight for the rights of women.
PERIOD !!!

There are no two ways about this. This is the fight for the lives of every woman, here and abroad, and in the United States.

Whatever I can do, I will do willingly. All you need is ask, and I will do everything in my power to use this platform in the service of women, because women make the world go round.

Gratitude

Sobriety tells us that one thing will change, when we come in. Sobriety says that the only thing that will change is EVERYTHING.

I know, for me, that it was only time that would turn my life into what it is today. Back then, telling someone to buckle up and ride the coaster until it stops, people usually got it.

Now, in today’s I-Phone world of I want it NOW, and quite possibly, could you give that to me, YESTERDAY ? That’s what we deal with today.

Telling my friends to buckle up and ride the coaster does not translate very well, in the climate where, we can get it NOW, at just a few clicks.

I have really great friends. People who love me for me, and I love them for them.

Today, people are kind to me, just because. I put myself out there, here, and because of that, the universe gave me a gift of kindness from a perfect stranger, who read something I wrote here.

While I was writing the post that appears below this one, for the kindness on its way to me tomorrow, I got two phone calls.

A few months ago, I met a young man, fresh and raw. He was days sober. And he was at one of my home group meetings.

That night, he came into an empty room, as I was sitting there, alone with him. He got down on his knees and prayed the OH GOD Prayer …

Those words are simple … OH GOD I NEED THE PROMISES NOW.

I did not know this young man. But I was present for the prayer. That night a relationship began, and still goes on today. He had lost his girl friend because of his using. He just lost a job that was his life, because the mall that housed his business, raised the rent to a level that they could not possibly afford. Overnight, they moved out and the business never recovered.

With days of sobriety under his belt, I said a few words to him.

Buckle up and ride the coaster until it stops.

What he did have that many don’t, was someone to ride the coaster with him, until the ride stopped.

The first phone call I got this afternoon, was from that same young man. At 6 months and a little longer, he had applied for a job, out of province. That recovery business, hired him on the spot. He called to tell me he was moving away in a few days time.

The conversation continued. And he said this, after while: I really appreciate your support, and I value your friendship, and I commented to him that in the beginning it was he who opened the door to our friendship, and that it would be up to him to shut it.

He then said:

What door, there is no door, I ripped it from the hinges.

Now I will be traveling to Nova Scotia to visit him once he gets settled and finds a good place to live where he can host guests.

He rode the coaster, good and bad, tough and easy. Finally the coaster has pulled into the station. Tonight, we got off the ride together.

Really grateful for people in my life. And for the kindness of strangers.

The second phone call was from another good friend who only had good things to say to me about his life. We’ve been friends since the very first meeting he walked into. I’ve been present for both of these men, 100%.

Sobriety is not easy. but when grace comes and settles in, life gets really good, and the only thing I can say is this …

If it were not for the rooms, I would not have everything that I have.

It came on God’s time, not mine.

And I am not God.

Thank God.

Gratitude !!!

Honor Thy Father and Mother

In my life, I’ve studied the Bible. Religion. Theology. I know my teachings, and my faith life. The bible says, “Honor thy Father and Mother.”

I disagree with the Bible.

I don’t honor either of them. And never will.

Today is Mother’s Day. Everyone I know, inside and outside the rooms, whether sober a long time, or a short time, is to repair their bridges to their parents, because you only get one shot. Once they are dead, it will be too late to do anything.

The last time I spoke to my mother, probably three years ago, she said the same litany to me. Her favorite stab me in the heart phrase is this:

YOU WERE A MISTAKE AND SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN

In my life, when it counted, when I really needed guidance, they tossed me to the four corners and said, “Have at it, we are done with you.” I left home, because they would not allow their gay son, to live any longer, under their roof. My father had ample opportunity to kill me, and He did try, valiantly.

I THINK OUT LOUD TODAY, WITH THE PREVALENCE OF GUNS IN OUR SOCIETY, WE HAD A SHOTGUN AND A PISTOL IN THE HOUSE AT ALL TIMES, LOADED AND LOCKED. IT WAS A VERY GOOD THING THAT I NEVER RETALIATED FOR THE ABUSE HEAPED ON ME BECAUSE MY FATHER KNEW I WAS GAY, AND WAS GOING TO BEAT THE GAY OUT OF ME.

When I got sick, and was going to die, I called a family meeting, and begged for support and help. My Mother, My Father and my Brother, said nothing. They did nothing. They did not help me, or even deign to pick up the phone and call to see if I was ok, in all of almost thirty years since.

I survived, By The Grace of God and a key few people.

Todd was the leader of that rag tag group of men who kept me alive.

I lived because strangers to me, other than work colleagues, stepped up and decided that I would live and that they would see to it that I did live.

I LIVED

On New Years Eve Night into Day 2001 – I had worked an all night shift at the bar, doing lights, and got home around 8 am New Years Day. I got into bed to sleep, and my mother called at 9 am and told me they were in Miami, and HAD been in Miami for an entire week. Unbeknown to me. She said they were coming to visit on their way out of the city.

My father drove up, parked the car in a fire truck emergency zone, and gave my mother TWENTY minutes to visit with me. We walked around the block, we spoke, and she got in the car, and they drove away.

That was the very last time I saw both my parents alive.

My Father Died on January 7th 2018. Hating me with his last breath.

When I moved to Canada in 2002, I spent two years, every other week sending mail to Florida, trying to get my mother to respond. I mailed packages of stuff, and letters. For two years I did this every other week. My mother did NOT respond, ONCE.

Over the ensuing years, I would call my mother when I thought it was appropriate, like a death or something big, I thought would be important to tell her. She usually said the same thing to me.

YOU WERE A MISTAKE AND SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN.

I do not honor my Father or my Mother. They did not honor me, nor did they support me, after they figured out I was gay. They did not help me when I was sick. They never once called, none of them called, my Father, my Mother, nor my Brother, in this lifetime, to see if I was still alive.

I think about my father now, more often. I connect him to a particular piece of music that I wrote about some time ago here. I talk to him too. I see the good that he had, and I try not to dwell on the bad that was there too.

I think my mother is still alive, she lives with my brother, and they both want nothing to do with me.

So fuck me for trying.

I spoke to my brother three days after my father died, and he said and I quote: “I don’t want to know about you nor your story. They all blame for for all of their problems.

They say that it was my choice to leave the family, like I did, but none of the take responsibility for the parts each of them played in pushing me out of my home so young, to severely crash and burn as a young alcoholic.

I made self preservation decisions, because I wanted to live, because of all the shit heaped on me for my entire life. I did not decide one day just to up and go because of only myself. I made those decisions, based on repeated mental, emotional, and physical abuse.

My parents only wish, during the years I was living alone and on the edge of death was this … They just wanted me to die, already, and could that be today, for God’s sake !

They did not care if I lived, because they were only concerned with my impending death. And I was not going to give them one single opportunity to be able to claim my corpse and do whatever they wanted with it. I would probably have ended up in some cemetery, buried alone, if even that, for all of eternity.

NO FUCKING WAY

It really is a bitch being almost 52 years old, being sober almost 18 years, and learning so much about life and people. I respect the place of humanity in my life. And it breaks my heart every year to know that the family of origin I had, will not grow up to the point, where they would deign to speak to me. You don’t abandon your children. Gay or Straight.

Happy Mother’s Day you Bitter Old Woman. I hope you choke on your words, when you take your last breath.

Truth

When we were kids, what was the one thing our parents told us, that was the most important idea ? Always tell the truth.

Growing up, I told the truth. Sometimes at my own peril. I learned early on, just How Much Truth, to let loose. When alcohol entered the picture, truth and all those other necessary ideas of honesty, went out the window.

Tonight I heard what happens, when you cannot tell another lie, to cover up all the lies you had already spoken, and the world caves in on you.

There is something I cannot wrap my brain around today.

Why are people so averse to telling the truth and also, hearing the truth?

Why are people so hell bent to shut you up and walk away from friendships and relationships, because you tell the truth ?

I’ve been sober a long time now. And I’ve seen a great many things over time, and I’ve also heard many things in many places. I had this conversation with a couple of friends tonight.

I’ve said, in an earlier post, that the train of thought in our rooms is this:

Feel Nothing, Say Nothing, Do Nothing.

God forbid, I speak a feeling in open community ! God forbid, I loose my cool, or even slightly raise my voice in a public setting. An Heaven Forbid, I tell the TRUTH, in front of my friends.

Over the past few years, I’ve learned about vulnerability, guilt and shame, from the Master Teacher Brene Brown. Vulnerability is not a liability, it is an Asset. And I live by that thought today.

We go about our lives, listening to people, tell us to just shut up. Listen to people tell us, that to openly feel an emotion in the general public is not advised. To the point, we become a Vulcan.

Say Nothing, Feel Nothing, Do Nothing.

Like I said before, I am not a robot.

If someone upsets me, I feel an emotion. In sobriety, the book tells us that “Acceptance is the key to all of my problems.” And that to admit that I am Powerless over People, Places, and Things, is the first thing I need to know before I open my mouth and say anything.

The book also says that “If I have a problem with somebody else, that in reality, the problem exists within me.”

Which means, SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP.

You’re not supposed to say that someone upset you, because you are your own problem. You are not supposed to be resentful at all, because an alcoholic’s worst adversary is an unjustified resentment.

That we aren’t supposed to get angry, If we’ve read the book, and worked our steps and we are OH SO SOBER !

We all have feelings. And to just sit back and listen to people read these passages from the book ad nauseum, turns my stomach. Because I cannot ignore my feelings any longer. And I am not just going to:

SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP, and KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT !!

Why are people so afraid of the truth ? And why is it such a sin to speak the truth when the necessity of speaking said truth arises?

I see, and I listen, and I watch. I remarked also tonight, that over as many years, I hit meetings, and listen to the reading and I share whatever it is on my mind, on any given night.

And I wait, for Someone, Anyone to challenge me, to tell me to keep my mouth shut, or maybe I am not so sober, if I am having a reaction to someone or something.

The implied silence rule still applies. Say Nothing, Feel Nothing, Do Nothing.

None of my peers would ever break protocol and challenge me. Not one Old Timer has the balls to call me on the carpet or even say something like, you’re talking bullshit, or maybe:

I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL, LET ME TELL YOU HOW I DEALT WITH THAT!

I’ve never heard ANY of my friends, fellows or any old timer, for that matter, say this particular phrase to me or anyone else around me.

My best friend pissed me off. I sat on my resentment for weeks, until two nights ago, I wrote him a letter, and told him the truth. And tonight, two nights later, he has not a word for me, sideways.

He’s gonna walk away because I told him the truth. The last time I was in a situation where I was on the emotional bubble, and I spoke a truth, all of my friends, and ALL of my sponsees ran for the hills, and never spoke to me again. Because I was feeling in open community. Because I had an emotional reaction to being over worked, stressed, and tired.

Yes, I think we can be overworked, stressed, and tired. Making seven meetings a week, for months on end, doing all the work to keep an entire fellowship floating, takes a toll on you after 4 months of doing all the jobs IN a meeting, while everyone else is away on Summer Vacation. And needing people to step up and assume responsibility, is not a lot to ask for, in my opinion.

We get sober. We learn how to live soberly. We learn how to deal with life on life’s terms, and we learn how to tell the truth.

The proviso: DO NOT BE Vulnerable. DO NOT say anything, and for God’s sake NEVER tell the truth to your friends. And never tell the truth in a meeting, because like to old adage go …

YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH.

How true those words are in today’s climate of lies and untruths.

Fuck me for being Honest.

I just don’t understand, and I wish someone would explain this to me in language I can understand.

Because I don’t lie to my friends, let alone my hubby.

At least that is a Sober Act.

Confinement

Today was day 37 of chastity. One of my friends, hit his eighth week this week, and I am in week six. He charts his time on a calendar that he posts to his Instagram. And we communicate.

Along the way, I have encountered medical issues beyond my control, twice now. Where I had to unlock and make a medical intervention. Today I locked back up after a few days of medical rehabilitation. And I swear, tonight, if possible, I am going to remain locked as long as I can, barring any further medical necessities.

The day I posted the first post to this effort, people on the outside have come by and read my quest for personal confinement. Along those lines, I got an email from a company called

“Locked in Lust.”

They sell devices to the general public. As I said, at the beginning, chastity is not just a “Gay” fetish. The “Straight” crowd has taken this fetish and run with it, in massive ways.

There are hundreds of devices on offer, made by companies that sell them to the public, and other metal works companies that manufacture very high end devices that are escape proof. Some of the devices I have seen, are so perfectly precision-ed, they are remarkable works of metal art.

I responded to the inquiry that was sent to me a few days ago, from Locked in Lust. They were interested in me posting a write up of one of their devices, The Vice, but I needed specific information from them, in order to write a proper post. In response, the Consumer Marketing Manager told me that he did not have spec information that would be useful, but in return, he offered to send me one of his lock devices [ THE VICE ] for free, provided I follow a few requests from the company in my write up about them as a company, and the device itself.

So I am getting a new device in the mail soon, and I was told that if I had the device in hand, I could “play around” with it and see how it works for myself, in real time.

I have to say I was floored by their generosity, that’s the first time any company has written me to make a request like this, then offer to send me their product to test in my own hands, in real time.

Chastity has been all the rage for a few years now. I’ve seen many spectrum uses for the devices. And I’ve seen what lengths men and women will go to to insure that their significant others, “STAY LOCKED.” There are videos online, if you know where to look, where devious Mistresses with serious motives, Epoxy their locked men’s padlocks so they become solidly locked permanently, and can never be unlocked, and the only way out, would be a serious bolt cutter.

I’ve seen Masters, take their subs, and lock them up and use what is called a BOLT GUN, and in place of a lock, they BOLT the locking pin in place, another form of severe locked status. Once the pin is locked in place, you really need a special tool to remove it.

HENCE, Permanent Chastity …

For me, I find chastity to be useful mentally. I just remember Todd and the relationship we had, way back when, and had this kind of kink been around over twenty years ago, I am sure it would have been all the rage then too.

I feel secure and safe locked up. And I also really see now, the value in chastity, both mentally and emotionally. You can focus on other pursuits, rather than have to worry about touching yourself or jerking off whenever you wish.

As long as the lock exists, I really don’t think about it. Because I know, this is what I want.

As for my friend who is on this journey with me, he, a straight young man, is interested in joining the locked up club. So when my new device arrives, he gets his own device, as I hand mine off to him to see how he deals with not being able to touch himself.

He is in for a real shock, I am sure. It will finally bring my dream to real and full fruition. Because in the dream, he ends up locked just as I was. But I was the one who followed through on the prophetic dream, he has been along for the ride as my key holder. Now he will soon have his own device.

Look for the upcoming post in the coming week or two.

And if you are curious yourself, click on any of the hyperlinks within this post to Locked in Lust for yourself.

More to come.