Saturday's Picture #3

Lost and Found

I had limited expectations of what a blog would do for me.  I certainly never thought that it would bring back the lucky, lost cockring I wrote about on Thursday.  No, I did not have a reader in Canada write me and say they'd tripped over it in the woods along Lake Ontario. But as I wrote up the entry, it did make me remember that the tent I'd used for that trip was still sitting in the trunk of the car.  I took advantage of the warmer temperature today to finally get it out, air it and pack it away for the season.  Guess what fell out as I opened it on my side yard?

I also found these photos which showed it off to better advantage.

MIA

You can just see it in this picture.  If you can stop looking at his ass.  Or my cock.

It’s my cock ring I’m looking at right now.  It’s gone.  It never returned from my trip to Canada this September.  

I started wearing a leather cock ring in 1991.  Those snaps gave me a sense of security--that I could get out of it easily.  I started wearing one, not because I couldn’t stay hard, but because I liked the look.  And,  more importantly, to keep my balls in place.  Whatever that muscle is that makes your balls pull up into the abdominal cavity, mine is very, very strong.  And I want those balls slapping on a chin or an upturned ass.

I bought my first full harness several years later.  It was all hand crafted by a Nashville leather artist. As a harness, I soon realized it had far too much chain on it--and cold Michigan winters made it terribly impractical for leather bar nights in January.  But I loved the bottom cock ring.  He’d sized it exactly to me.  Fiddling with the fit longer than strictly necessary.  Soldered it in my presence.  It was nowhere near as wide as those massive chrome ones you often see.  It was made from a round steel rod, maybe a quarter of an inch thick.  It was sized to be tight, but not too tight--my cock could “breath” in it.  I could wear it all day.  And did.  It was actually beginning to rust on the lower edge from all the piss sex.

It became a talisman.  It was always in my pocket.  You could sometimes see it’s outline in my left front pocket if I was wearing 501’s.  It was practical to carry it .  (You never know when ass is going to present itself.)  But it also became a lucky piece.  And at times, I used it as some sort of kinky worry-beads replacement.  Only once did I have a co-worker ask “What the hell are you playing with?”

On my recent trip to Canada I was spending a lot of time in a park:  reading, walking, enjoying the view of Toronto across the lake and, um, in the woods.  For some reason, I didn’t have it on all the time.  I can only surmise that it fell out of my pocket and is on one of the countless cocksucker trails there.  I only hope the right person picks it up.  It won’t fit just anyone.