Alone as the edible begins to dissolve the gossamer that keeps the wavy worlds from encroaching on my inhibited reality, I start, as usual with some pithy observation: wherever there is a question, there are two answers. And each answer raises two questions. One ramification of this syllogism is that anything becomes possible very quickly. “J-curve” comes to mind. Say that five times fast. Wearing my cage, I’ve surrendered jerking off. Not mine anymore. I get it when it comes. I’m trying not to be a pest. I think I’m doing quite well, although I have not been tested for longer than a few days. I’m determined not to raise it… pun intended. I love the cage I use now, a tiny one with a little snub nose that pushes everything else inside. I ordered the clear one so there is nothing I can hide. I find it cute with its little annoyances and complaints. Puffed lips are created by the poor mouth being pursed and squeezed into the slot at the tip. Like little lips puckered for a kiss. “Gourami” she says. So sweet but it does start to sting, especially brushing against my underpants. The lips swell when I think sexy thoughts and the submerged cock tries to surface. I go to the bathroom to look at myself. The little lips glisten but they are not swollen. The sting comes from beneath. I realize the strap that wraps around my waist to hold it all front-and-center has raised up my balls by the throat... choking instead of hanging free. “Poor things,” I say to them sarcastically. “Serves you right for getting so big. Who asked you to grow?” But I cup them in one hand and support them while the other hand slides the ring a bit deeper toward the body. “This will give you some relief,” I say, hiking my pants back up. But before zipping it away, I push the cage against the sink, so it squeezes and I see the tiny, helmeted head and pouty lips, a few wrinkles of skin beneath it, kind of like my little penis, the one I first remember, narrow and stiff, straining and anxious… and it’s like meeting an old friend after 70 years, reconnecting with the enormity of what we've lived through. This was no fly-by-night affair. This is my life-long partner, the one who through thick and thin wasn’t something we agreed to, but were joined Forever… what we were born with. And I am so in love with the little guy, so grateful for being there and never giving up. And the little gourami lips are to die for. Then I zip up and come back here, to the screen, where my fingers return to a different caress, this time seducing, conjuring, translating words into memories on the page. Hello… is anyone still here? Just went to the beginning and back. And I might do that once more… No… I went back and just read the first few sentences when I realized No, all is not lost. I was brought back to this morning, 4 minutes past for our 7:30 AM appointment. I was dealing with accepting her absence when I heard her steps up the stairs, peeking around the door, and saying she wanted to fuck me. At first it did not register, but she said it again as she removed her robe. “Come on,” she said like rousing a horse. “You have to get everything ready.” And thinking back on it, it was like a horse, being taken through my paces. To get saddled up I turned my back, bent forward, spread my cheeks, and accepted her lubed finger like a little boy getting his temperature taken. Then roped and ridden, being taught how pain brings pleasure, that surrender brings orgasm, an orgasm of an amazingly different kind. “And now you belong to me, and your mother will take care of you, and teach you to behave.” But in teaching my front to behave, she’s loosed a monster behind. A trap door spider, a tunnel, a snake swallowing a snake, a marriage of sparks, a wave… the up and down of a wave. The power of a wave. The depth of a wave. Riding on it. Submerged in it. And I hold that key, the one that unlocks this power, the portal to Toon Town. I turn the key and release the memory of this morning, starting with the outside of her body and her beautiful breasts. And going to the humiliation part and the surrender part and then deeper inside, the pain part and the part where love explodes like a homebrew blowing its cap off the end of the dock, the bubbles billowing and bursting in chaotic rhythm throughout my body, the cage lost in the waves of pleasure, the tiny tugboat swallowed by the tsunami from behind. “Too much sugar in your bottle, boy.” I guess maybe. But it’s so good I stop my writing to take some more. To just lie back and revel in it. Feel it sneak out from just inside my ass in swirling ribbons. I’m done. Back to the world.