Steellover

So this blog is about... BURP!

Allright, so with that out of the way... On to all seriousness. 

(Hey man don't blame me, sometimes that works for people.)

I know all too well the disadvantages of being a submissive male.  I won't waste time with that or dwell on it here.  But I hope I can convey the positives. This won't be about kink by the way- yes I do enjoy kink but that's not the point of this post.

Being submissive means being, not only attentive to your partner's needs, but when your partner directs you, and commands you, it helps you to better know how to please them- and thus, the happier and more satisfied they will be.  Teach me, tell me what to do Mistress- and I will obey.  Were I dominant, I might make wrong assumptions and do everything wrong, leaving you unsatisfied, at best.

It means, taking an extra time to be thoughtful.

It means, being open to learning things (all kinds of things- insights, health tips, ways to solve math problems, new musical scales, philosophy and history) from my partner.

It means I can openly adore and worship my partner, even kneel at her feet and clean her boots, without her considering it cringy.  Because it is an expression of love.

Even when receiving corporal punishment for a thoughtless mistake, it is still an expression of love.

Maybe I was always a bit shy around girls. Never know what to say, or the best way to approach them.  Let her make the first move, and there can be no misunderstanding.  Maybe I saw too many guys screw up by being too aggressive, or simply not communicate with their partner properly to meet her needs.  Maybe that's why I prefer she communicate to me exactly what to do.  

And maybe, it is because I believe it is better to give than to receive, and therefore take more satisfaction in my partner's pleasure than in my own.

And maybe I'm wrong about all of it, and just a confused guy trying to submit to life's experiences for better or worse.

So there is this guy, Nomba Tu, who I've been watching on TV a lot on weekends.  Okay maybe that's not really his name, but when you see him run into a pile of bodies wearing a shirt with a big "2" on it, that sort of becomes his identity.  So this isn't a post about "Taking a number two-"  this post is, if you haven't guessed, about.... College football.  

Because a lot of people watch it, but you don't read many posts about it.  Okay, I take it back; actually you do, so I'll be fair and keep this one brief, because probably a lot of people don't want to read about college football on a Cage blog.  I realize there are too many boring columns about that stuff already, but I promise I'll try and make this more unique than all the rest of them.

So anyway, Nomba Tu plays for our local college football team.  In the first few games this season, Nomba Tu was nearly unstoppable.  They'd give him the ball, and he'd be halfway across the field before the other team even realized what was happening, and would be at least three quarters of the way to the end zone by the time they dragged him to the ground- and he'd go down dragging at least three or four defenders with him.  It was, to say the least, fun to watch; the dude was putting up video game like numbers- six touchdowns the first game (breaking a school record) and at least four per game over the next few weeks.  It was like watching some guy play "Madden NFL" with full cheat codes enabled while playing against the "Easy" setting.

But then, as the season wore on, teams started figuring out that if you put all 11 defenders at the front of the line, and have them all charge at Nomba Tu at once, suddenly those plays didn't work so well.  Instead of like 30 yards per carry, Nomba Tu would only gain maybe one or two (though once in a long while, he'd still break one for like twenty or thirty.)  And the coaches kept getting more and more stubborn, calling the most clever play imaginable:  Give the ball to Tu, have him run straight into a wall of bodies, ("Let the bodies hit the floor!") and gain a whopping one yard.  "Even I coulda done that!"  We'd say to each other, exasperated, while watching the game.  You'd think the coaches would get creative and have Tu run to the outside on some kind of jet sweep, or have our quarterback, Numbeur Phorr, just throw passes instead, but nope; for one, Phorr really isn't a very accurate passer, and the receivers just aren't that good at catching his off-target passes.  And also, well, the coaches don't seem to like running plays that go anywhere but straight into the pile of bodies.

So naturally, by now, poor Nomba Tu is pretty banged up.  YOU try running into a pile of bodies over and over again and see how you feel after ten weeks of it.  They say this dude might get the Heisman trophy, possibly beating out some guy from Colorado, Bydan S. Hunter or whatever that guys name is (Can't remember for sure.)  And I admire Nomba Tu's willingness to sacrifice himself for it, but the problem I have is- I see him merely as a pawn being moved around the board by a less than skilled player.  Or (since this is a Cage.co blog) a hapless submissive being manipulated by a careless and clueless dominant.  Great coaches know how to get the best from their players, to build teams who are altogether greater than the sum of their parts- just like great chess players don't just rely on the Queen but know how to use every piece in their arsenal.  Numba Tu is basically THE team right now- and as banged up as he is, without a supporting cast and a coach who knows how to use them, I fear he is doomed ultimately to disappoint his fans by running into one too many piles of bodies.  So that's all I got for now.  

Happy Thanksgiving, and may your favorite teams win!  By the way I never understood why the Cowboys and Lions are always the designated "Thanksgiving Teams" but some football traditions defy explanation and that's how it is.

So this happened about two years ago.  I don't think I've posted about it before but if I have, then I apologize for the redundancy.

Anyway, so I had met this girl. Really liked her.  We both liked art, hiking, scabbing for cool rocks in the back country, and had  a few common interests, and she seemed really easy going and cool.  She had stopped by during an event I was hosting a table at so I finally got the nerve and asked her out.  We hit it off... or so I thought. One thing I realized early is that she was in "The Program." Meaning, no booze for her.  Okay; that's fine; granted I do like to have a couple beers with buddies occasionally but I'm more of a lightweight social drinker than a hardcore partyer these days (I got that out of my system way back in my college days.)  But I could do the sober thing for her, support her, and never even touch so much as sip of wine when I was around her because I want to be supportive.

We went out on a couple dates.  She came across as friendly, kind, sincere, but at the same time, not overly sexually aggressive or suggestive, and I certainly didn't want to force the issue. So I tried to play it cool, be a gentleman.  If she ever did gave me a sign she wanted more than to just share a smile, it was too subtle for me to notice.  Now granted, I never, ever, brought up the idea of kink, BDSM, or any extreme or "alternative sexual" stuff with her.  I didn't want to go there, being afraid to scare her off. Keep in mind I have pretty much resigned myself to dating in the vanilla world at this point, and even with the idea of "Vanilla" style sex, I was being super cautious.  There are a lot of people who are pretty sexually conservative where I live. And keeping in mind that she was doing all kinds of A-A meetings and sessions, I suspected that she might have wanted to take things slow, too.

So, on the third date, we went on an outing, over into "The Back Lands," as I call the rugged uplands and foothills of the Owyhee Mountains which are my stomping grounds. It was, as I recall, right around this time of year- mid-November, right when things were getting muddy and the daylight was starting to get rationed.  We had a nice time, nothing awkward, no red flags- no arguments or weird uncomfortable bits.  It seemed like a wonderful day. We got back to the house.  I invited her in but she said, rather subconsciously, well, I got mud all over my boots.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll clean them for you.  Let me go inside and grab some paper towels." I said, thinking I was being a regular "Sir Walter Rally" style gentleman.

Now, this is the part where a lot of people, who are still reading, might think "uh-oh, this is where the story is about to get really super cringey."

And where I think, "Well, I probably shouldn't have done that."

So I'll gloss it over but let's just say, that while I was kneeling in front of her, wiping the mud from her white leather cowboy boots, I was thinking to myself,  "Wow...this is NICE!  I'm really enjoying this!"   

However, I never said anything to the effect, not wanting to come across as, well, really super cringey.  But she may have noticed, as much as I tried to hide it and play it cool, that maybe...just maybe, I enjoyed cleaning the mud off her boots maybe a little too much.  And keep in mind, I never said anything creepy, or anything at all in fact.  Perhaps, though, just the unnatural (to her) vibe of a guy kneeling in front of her boots, cleaning them, made her uncomfortable.  

But that's the thing, she never said anything either!  A week passed.  I told her I wanted to see her again, but she was never available. When I finally heard from her,  she called me and said, "well, I was thinking, you know..." (Well, you know the rest.)  I asked if it was because of anything I said or did.  She assured me it wasn't.  But the thing is, as a guy, you always wonder, what DID you do wrong?  What was the red flag, how did I screw up, etc.  You torture yourself, beat yourself up, "should I have said this, should I not have said that, or should I have done or not done this or that...."

Did she, in fact, pick up on the kink vibe and get creeped out? 

I will unfortunately never know.  But I do know, this kind of thing always leaves me feeling guilty for having some of the thoughts and feelings that I have- and this guilt is something I do continually wrestle with.

So if you've made it this far, thanks for reading.

When you meet someone you like- in my case, not a romantic or "friend with benefit" kind of thing, but just a regular dude.  You like this guy. He's a dude who you enjoy hanging out with in a "Kick back and have a beer" kind of thing.  The type of dude you go on adventures with, who shares common interests with you, and who comes across as a really chill, genuinely righteous person.

Except, he isn't. 

I saw this person's mug shot on the police blotter today.  I was just casually browsing the police blotter and I saw it. I had met him a while ago and while we weren't close "Best buddies," he was still a guy I respected and hoped to hang out with more.  Similar interests and what not.

I realize, people make stupid mistakes: get caught driving after one too many beers, get busted with a little weed (which is actually legal in many places), or succumb to their more serious substance addictions.  I've even seen people get hauled in for stupid stuff like child custody battles (usually a "Contempt of court" charge) or incorrectly filing taxes as a private medical professional ("tax fraud.")  I know a lot of perfectly decent human beings who have screwed up like this. These things are forgivable.   And while I certainly do NOT condone any kind of spousal abuse or domestic violence, at ALL- I have also seen some domestic quarrels turn heated where the guy didn't have the courage or emotional restraint to walk away before he lost control, and this is tragic for everyone involved.

But this guy, who I hung out with just this past weekend and who I thought was one of the coolest and most decent people, was arrested for something much, much worse than that. Something utterly terrible.  

I mean, I don't even know what to say. Shock, anger, disappointment, disillusionment, I guess I feel all of those things.  Maybe even shame at trusting him and not being able to judge his character.  To be fair, he did nothing to me.  So in a sense, theoretically I can neither judge him nor forgive him.  But to his victim- I feel only sorrow,  sadness, and anger over what he did to her.

There are still a lot of wonderful, good people in this world, and yes, even the best make mistakes and do things they regret.  But a charge like this is not a "Mistake" that a good person would make.  This was... evil.  And I am still trying to come to grips with the fact that not more than two days ago, I had a great day spending it with a person who I thought was a good guy.

So the question of what is "The most romantic song of all time" is an open ended question, ask a hundred people you'll get a hundred different answers.

Whatever clicks with you, is what it is.

For me, there is one song, more than any other, that captures the youthful passion, energy, longing, and romance that I associate with love. 

That being... "I'll Melt with You" by the Modern English.

Everything about this song is perfect. It's beautiful, passionate, melodic, powerful, catchy...it's just the perfect song.

I was reading in the comment section of the video, of sitting on the bluffs above the Boardwalk, watching the sunset with that special person. 

I remember sitting next her, one winter day, watching the sunset.  To my young, raging heart, she was the one.  That person I would melt with.  It was a pure, young love, uncorrupted by the kinky desires that would torment me later when I opened that pandora's box and discovered them.  I just wanted to sit there, lean over, and kiss her. Everything about her shone.  Her deep blue eyes, long wavy blonde hair. My dream crush...

...But I didn't.  And it wasn't to be.  We were both just out of college then.  I was a pizza delivery guy, she was a waitress.  Both of us working dead end jobs in a dead-end college town that had nothing further to offer us.  It was a fun town to be young in.  But not so much fun to grow old in, or put down roots, pretending to be a college kid forever. She needed to leave, to find a career, grad school then internship.... And so did I.  And I knew this deep down.

So we moved apart, each finding our own way. Like her, I grew up, left the college "beer beer party party" thrasher kid that I was behind, and became a responsible adult with a professional job.  

I still think of her some times.  Think of that day on the Boardwalk. Last I heard she had a family and was living in Portland. I am glad she found happiness and success. 

And I hope that each of us who are single finds that one who they can stop the world and melt with, because even though life isn't always perfect, there are perfect memories we can have that are as beautiful as an amazing song.

So anyway that's all I have, see ya.

"Degenerate" is an ugly word, but we all know people to whom it rightfully applies- and without going into detail (and risk violating the terms of service) it usually involves things that are.... lets just say, illegal for very good reasons.

So with that said, who is the bigger degenerate in the following scenario:  Person one, who likes being tied up, spanked, and grovelling at the feet of their partner?  And engaging in other behavior ranging from deliciously degrading to masochistically arousing?  (I need not go into detail here but you get the idea.)

Or person two:  An upstanding member of the community, with a wife and family.  Completely resolutely vanilla sexually; in fact, believes sex should only be engaged in for the express purpose of procreating, not recreating.  However, person two has extensive financial resources and clout with the state and local governments. Person two goes out of their way to publically demonize GLBT people, and anyone involved in the kink lifestyle.  But not only that, uses their clout with the local and state governments to target GLBT people.  Laws are passed, resulting in freedoms being lost, and people's lives being ruined. Their actions having a far reaching negative impact on far more than just themselves or their partner.  

So with that said, which is really the bigger degenerate?

We can all stand together and stand up for ourselves and for who we are.  Even when we have different orientations, kinks, likes, limits and dynamics.  Stand up for being human and being ourselves and push back against the degenerates.

In response to a thread on the forums, I've decided to share one of many "Weird" experiences I have had in my life. There is no BDSM or kink involved in this though, so I didn't think it was relevant.

About 20 or 25 years ago, when I was in my mid-20's partying era, I lived in this one bedroom apartment. It was a cozy space, with lots of storage: Big closets and so on.  It was located on the lower level of a split level house and was a separate suite. It had two rooms (or 4 counting the main closet and bathroom.): The kitchen/living room, the bedroom, a short adjoining hallway and the bathroom off the bedroom.

While I never encountered anything terrifying or outright "Evil" there, nonetheless, if someone had implied that the place was haunted, I would not necessarily disagree with them.  Most of the "Weird" stuff was subtle.  Occasionally I would hear an unexplainable noise.  A disembodied laugh, which I dismissed as someone from upstairs (though it would happen when the landlord upstairs wasn't actually home.)  Strange moans and an occasional screech.  I dunno, maybe a fox or coyote?  Though the moan was rather eerie.  There would occasinally be unexplained odors. Not unpleasant, but just out of place- cigar smoke (I don't smoke them) or perfume (Don't wear it.)  And things, shadows moving out of the corner of my eye. You'd think you see something, but turn around and nothing would be there.

Okay, none of that is really all that alarming.  However, at least one occasion, the bedroom light turned on and off by itself. That was a little weird.  And lying in bed one night, I felt someone brush my hand as it lay outside the covers.  THAT one gave me the willies.  Sure enough, there wasn't anyone else in the room, and it obviously wasn't a physical assault so, whatever it was it wasn't threatening, but still.

So, one night, I woke up to pee.  It was dark in the apartment, but I still had a clear view of the adjoining hallway and the living room.

There was a person in the living room!

THIS got my adrenaline pumping.  I couldn't see what they were wearing, but I could distinctly see a dark silhouette. As soon as he saw me, he quickly ducked down behind the couch, and I could distinctly see him move; like an intruder who was about to be caught but didn't wish to be seen.

"HEY! Hey YOU!  Tough guy! Come here!" I yelled, and reached over to turn on the light.

My heart was pounding, getting ready for what would likely be a physical confrontation with a burglar, who would almost certainly be tweaked out on drugs. At this time, thoughts like "Shadow Figure," "Ghost" or "Paranormal" were farthest from my mind.  There was a person in my apartment, and I had to deal with this- right here and now- because there was certainly not enough time for the cops to get here.

Except, there wasn't anyone there.

As soon as I turned the light on, I raced over to confront the intruder, but there was no intruder.  I glanced around the room; where the @#$^ did he go?  I looked under the couch.  I opened the door to the closet. Nobody there!  I then checked the front door and the windows; all of them locked from the inside. No sign of entry or tampering.  I even went back into the bedroom and searched under the bed, and in the bathroom, and the closets in the bedroom.  Was this some kind of freaky super-ninja?  What the heck was going on? 

Finally, with nothing else to do, I was resigned to the fact that, a) nobody had broken into the apartment after all, b) weird things occasionally happened in this apartment and this was probably one of them,  and c) there was nothing else to do but go back to sleep.  I mean, despite the creepiness of it all, I was tired, I had to work the next day, and whatever it was probably wasn't going to harm me (or he would already have done so.)  So I quickly chalked it up to "I'm gonna pretend that didn't just happen" and fell back asleep.

About eight months later I moved out of that apartment and into my first house.  Nothing odd happened in the new house despite it being a much older structure.  Except for one weird instance, a couple months after I had moved in, where there was this disembodied knocking at the back door- and when I looked out the door (which had a window) there was nobody standing there.  I did not open the door.

Anyway, I hadn't posted in a while, and in any case I feel kind of embarassed about the cringe erotic post from last time and I kinda wanted to share this, because, you know, Halloween and all.  I am not one of these ghost hunting paranormal thrill seekers by any means, in fact I prefer to AVOID that stuff.  But whatever was in that apartment, while very strange, most likely was not something evil or malevolent. I don't have enough knowledge of the spirit world to really know what it was.  So... that's all I got.

Vicariously I live, through Mistress's lover's eyes.

They stand, but I kneel, cuffed and naked before them both. 

I can see and smell the sweat of her hot, scantily clad body. And the riper smell of his.  His cock at full attention needs service, she says.

She orders me to fluff him.  I imagine my lips on his cock to be Her lips on mine.

"Enough for now," she says. 

They lay in bed together. 

I kneel at the foot of the bed as The Gods Make Love.

I live through him, longing to be in his place as he satisfies Her in ways I cannot.

I listen to her ecstatic cries of sexual release in sweet torment, living vicariously through Him.

It pleasures me to see Her sexually satisfied.  Her satisfaction, is my satisfaction as well.

And, I know well, a satisfied Mistress is a happy one.  

Cruelly, she orders me to finish him off.  I relish the taste of Her juices on his throbbing cock.

She orders me to take it deeper in. As deep as I can, down my throat as much as it will fit.  But in my mind, it is my cock, not his, in her mouth, not mine. Though of course his is so much larger and more magnificent.  The penis of a god, fit for a golden Goddess.  One such as Her.

His groans and gasps as he climaxes are like mine will be, when I am allowed to have mine, at last, one day, hopefully soon.

I taste his load as it fills my mouth and dutifully swallow it, relishing the sour taste.  She smiles and laughs. Oh how I love that smile, that laugh.

Cruelly, she makes me clean them both, with my tongue, and she mocks me as I do so.  But oh, how I relish the taste of Her hot and violated body, even as I gag on the taste of his. 

Because in my mind, I am living vicariously through him.

Then, somehow I cannot hide these thoughts from Her.  Mistress knows me too well, and even caged, I cannot hide my arousal.

Cuffed, standing naked and bent over at the wall, She administers punishment in front of us both.  Let me never again forget my place, she barks.  Her submissive.  Her companion, friend, soulmate, but never her lover.

That is His job.

I eagerly thank them both.  Him, for satisfying Her most primal of needs. And Her most of all, for allowing me the sweet and tormenting privilege of being in Her presence for it.

One day, I pray to be let out of this cage, and earn my own release.  And oh, how joyous that will be, when I remember the sounds and sight of Her in Her throes of pleasure, and live again, vicariously through him.

(Note that this is in response to a currently active topic on the forums. I'm actually probably going to regret posting this. I know it's "lock-tober," but as they say, never post when horny...)

This is not intended to be "Wank fodder" or even "can't wank because I'm locked" fodder.

For those of you in cock-lock down; all I can say is, hang in there, and kudos to you and to your relationship, because it is a precious and beautiful thing.

I am not currently in "Cock Lock Down," but if I were, it would have to be for the right partner.  One with whom I am intimately involved with on a deep, romantic basis, who would appreciate, deep down, the surrender I would be giving to her when I hand over the key to that cage.

I've seen many ads from "online mistresses" and such, offering chastity key holder services.  To me, this utterly defeats the whole idea.

One should never be so cheap as to surrender the control of their cock to just any random stranger.  ESPECIALLY one whom you are likely never to even meet face to face, let alone have any kind of emotional connection to.

When you really consider what you are doing when you hand over that key to your significant other, it becomes a powerful and wonderful thing.

When you turn over that key, you are telling your partner that you are exclusively theirs- and theirs alone.  That you belong to them, soul and body, only in a deeper and more literal way than any vanilla couple.

You are telling them that you trust them completely.

You are telling them that you are willing to make personal sacrifices for them.

It is a sign of deep, humbling, and beautiful submission.

It is empowering to your partner, and deeply gratifying to them that you are willing to give them this power.

It is an act of devotion.

Most of all, It is an act of LOVE.  

That is how it should be.  I would agree that it is not for everyone or for every couple.  But I would certainly never wear such a cage and then cheaply surrender the key to just anyone.  They would need to be someone deeply special to me.

If you nonetheless want to experience what it is like to wear a chastity cage and go without masturbation or arousal, then my advice would be to buy one and be your own key-holder for a while. Get used to what works, and what fits, try out different types of cages for comfort. I myself would want one that would work with an active lifestyle, for example.  Then when you find that someone and you are ready to hand over that key, you will already be fully prepared to do so.

So anyway that's all I have. See ya!

So this is a post, literally, about digging in the dirt.

Like, when you are a kid, playing with those yellow Tonka trucks, or, like us, digging on the hillside behind the yard hoping to uncover some kind of buried treasure.  

Only, this time, there is an actual possibility of finding it.

So, we drove for about three hours up into the mountains.  Leaving the highway north of Mountain Home, heading on back into the hills. Eventually the pavement gave way to dirt, and the roads got progressively worse and worse, until the one we were on was little more than a steep, rugged and nasty goat path of a road.  Turned off the wooded ridge, descended down another "Road"  to a pond, then bushwhacked our way around the edge of the pond- set up, and started digging.

Moving tons of dirt and finding nothing but junky rocks.  Cranked tunes, just two bro's up in the mountains digging in the dirt.  Hours went by, and I moved several cubic feet of dirt, and all I found was just ordinary rocks. It was nice being here up in the mountains, out in nature though. I still didn't want to go home empty handed though.  Eventually, it started getting on towards early evening.  It gets chilly up there in the mountains in these late September evenings, and I was figuring (correctly) it would be long after dark by the time we got out of the mountains at this point.  But just a couple more minutes, he said.  Oh...okay... but maybe I'll try over here by this spot. By this partially dug hole someone else left.  

I walked a few yards over, and took a couple pick swings into the dirt. Sifted through the fresh turned soil- much like I had done all afternoon. Then, in the dirt, I saw it.  That tell-tale shape. The frosted, glassy look, with perfectly straight edges.  I wiped it off with my shirt  and there it was- a gorgeous light brown crystal.  

Clothes soiled through and through, tired, having sifted through a ton of dirt, at the end of the day, I finally found my treasure.

Was it worth the work, sifting through the dirt to find?  Yes.  Much more meaningful, perhaps, than those crystals you can buy at the new age boutique shops, anyway.

There is probably a metaphor here, but I'll leave it to you to decipher.

Thanks for reading; that's all I got; see ya!