Pockyt - Chapter 2
Solitude
The next morning they chatted. Pockyt and his unnamed house guest. They had little in common. They worked as a loan officer, liked pop music and laugh track saturated sitcoms with little substance and no trace of intellect. Common, trendy, and as it turns out, hooked on meth, his house guest turned out to be. Taking a trip to the bathroom to come out in a smelly, cloudy mess. Their ride came, and Pockyt bided his once tried nameless lover goodbye.
The months that followed were covered in paperwork, Cheers played in the background, followed by Fraiser when he ran out of Cheers episodes but not out of forms to fill out and text messages to compile. It was all for a possible custody battle and work he would pay a lawyers assistant to do if he could afford to do so. The $3,000 dollar retainer would cover future form filing and a lawyer to stand next to him in court, but the majority of the heavy lifting was left to him and the one constant advice he would get in the matter was, a well informed client is a confident client; and confidence matters.
Pockyt lived off of compensation pay when his company downsized, saving money parking on the streets. He was being withheld most visitation of his daughter, save one park visit a month, until he awaited a court date for custody. When he ran out of money from that payment, a check came in from a settlement he received in a previous accident case. That from February til October.
In the middle of all that was his court date in May. He arrived with his lawyer and a settlement was made on custody. He would get every other weekend and phone calls every day. It was less than the 50% of the time they had shared before his ex’s disappearance, but his lawyer assured him it was only a start. Pockyt didn’t believe anything he was told anymore, but he also knew everything was temporary.
He had secured joint legal custody, which was his primary goal, but felt empty. He could never connect with anyone the way he had connected with his ex and had wondered if any of it was even real after the torment of fighting to see their offspring.
The fight had cemented her resentment towards him, eroding his denial and breaking his heart; again, always again as a record skipping. He chose solitude and started rejecting the sexual advancements and flat out offers he would often received. He erased his online presence and focused on being a good father, with a sea of regret surrounding his soul.
He received temporary holiday employment, ironically selling summer sausage in the winter season. He laughed at the thought of the juxtaposition while selling salami to business people looking for gift packages for clients and grandma’s looking for their old go to. Masturbation became a routine, then a hobby, then a habit, then a problem. In his wormhole of porn watching he became fluent in every fetish, even watching how to videos that teach you if you’re into water sports that you have to regulate your diet for weeks in advance of play. Lessons in bondange safety and play of all sorts were learned along the way and there was much education entwined with the lust and pure vulgarity of the solitude and loneliness of the act, as it had become.
In December he ventured into the realm of Femdom at first, which leaded to the subfetish of chastity shortly after. He would find himself wondering at work, when it was slow and the grandmothers hadn’t finished with their morning tea yet, if he might lock himself in chastity to help with his now self-admitted addiction. After work, he started researching self locking and cages one day, finding several Bluetooth locks and self-timing locks. He then found a chastity cage that had both self-locking and remote control features called ‘Cellmate’. Pockyt bookmarked the website and went back to the auto-pilot of his zombie-clerk existence.
A few weeks past and Christmas came and went, then came Pockyt’s bonus check. He set aside 100 dollars of it to spend on himself, wondering if there was anything he really needed. He shifted in his pants, his penis sore from overuse. He thought briefly of the cage he had seen online, then decided it wasn’t a solution, googling therapy options. Without insurance, 240 dollars a session on average. ‘Wow, ok’, Pockyt thought. ‘Maybe…’ He clicked on the bookmark he had saved before Christmas. The page loaded slowly. ‘It will be too much anyway, but less than therapy.’ The page finished loading and Pockyt checked the price. It was on after holiday sale. A little over eighty dollars after taxes. He considered for a few minutes, spinning his vape in his hand, before getting distracted.
The next morning Pockyt woke up and opened his computer. He had left his browser open from the night before and it was littered with porn sites from wormholing out of control. He closed them one by one, staring at the shame of his uncontrolled lust. The last page to stand was the chastity cage’s store page. ‘On Sale For A Limited Time’ the top of the page proclaimed in bold. He took a sip of his freshly made coffee before clicking the ‘buy now’ button. “Well, it’s cheaper than a therapy session.”
Two weeks later, while checking his mailbox, the package came, wrapped in black plastic that was tape like and stuck to the outer cardboard. It was hard to remove but he guessed it added a water proof seal. He took it out of its box when he got to his parking spot, looked at the packaging box and put it away in his cloths drawer without taking it out. He knew why he got it but decided to give one more try without it. It was silly. He needed therapy, not a toy or gadget — but he needed to try something. He would keep it if he needed it. Without removing it from it’s box or breaking the cellophane seal, he could resell it for double what he paid. He closed the door of the cabinet, as fate commanded and as timing would insist. Somewhere, a Puck-like fairy smiled at her days work before chanting something sly in rhyme.
The next morning they chatted. Pockyt and his unnamed house guest. They had little in common. They worked as a loan officer, liked pop music and laugh track saturated sitcoms with little substance and no trace of intellect. Common, trendy, and as it turns out, hooked on meth, his house guest turned out to be. Taking a trip to the bathroom to come out in a smelly, cloudy mess. Their ride came, and Pockyt bided his once tried nameless lover goodbye.
The months that followed were covered in paperwork, Cheers played in the background, followed by Fraiser when he ran out of Cheers episodes but not out of forms to fill out and text messages to compile. It was all for a possible custody battle and work he would pay a lawyers assistant to do if he could afford to do so. The $3,000 dollar retainer would cover future form filing and a lawyer to stand next to him in court, but the majority of the heavy lifting was left to him and the one constant advice he would get in the matter was, a well informed client is a confident client; and confidence matters.
Pockyt lived off of compensation pay when his company downsized, saving money parking on the streets. He was being withheld most visitation of his daughter, save one park visit a month, until he awaited a court date for custody. When he ran out of money from that payment, a check came in from a settlement he received in a previous accident case. That from February til October.
In the middle of all that was his court date in May. He arrived with his lawyer and a settlement was made on custody. He would get every other weekend and phone calls every day. It was less than the 50% of the time they had shared before his ex’s disappearance, but his lawyer assured him it was only a start. Pockyt didn’t believe anything he was told anymore, but he also knew everything was temporary.
He had secured joint legal custody, which was his primary goal, but felt empty. He could never connect with anyone the way he had connected with his ex and had wondered if any of it was even real after the torment of fighting to see their offspring.
The fight had cemented her resentment towards him, eroding his denial and breaking his heart; again, always again as a record skipping. He chose solitude and started rejecting the sexual advancements and flat out offers he would often received. He erased his online presence and focused on being a good father, with a sea of regret surrounding his soul.
He received temporary holiday employment, ironically selling summer sausage in the winter season. He laughed at the thought of the juxtaposition while selling salami to business people looking for gift packages for clients and grandma’s looking for their old go to. Masturbation became a routine, then a hobby, then a habit, then a problem. In his wormhole of porn watching he became fluent in every fetish, even watching how to videos that teach you if you’re into water sports that you have to regulate your diet for weeks in advance of play. Lessons in bondange safety and play of all sorts were learned along the way and there was much education entwined with the lust and pure vulgarity of the solitude and loneliness of the act, as it had become.
In December he ventured into the realm of Femdom at first, which leaded to the subfetish of chastity shortly after. He would find himself wondering at work, when it was slow and the grandmothers hadn’t finished with their morning tea yet, if he might lock himself in chastity to help with his now self-admitted addiction. After work, he started researching self locking and cages one day, finding several Bluetooth locks and self-timing locks. He then found a chastity cage that had both self-locking and remote control features called ‘Cellmate’. Pockyt bookmarked the website and went back to the auto-pilot of his zombie-clerk existence.
A few weeks past and Christmas came and went, then came Pockyt’s bonus check. He set aside 100 dollars of it to spend on himself, wondering if there was anything he really needed. He shifted in his pants, his penis sore from overuse. He thought briefly of the cage he had seen online, then decided it wasn’t a solution, googling therapy options. Without insurance, 240 dollars a session on average. ‘Wow, ok’, Pockyt thought. ‘Maybe…’ He clicked on the bookmark he had saved before Christmas. The page loaded slowly. ‘It will be too much anyway, but less than therapy.’ The page finished loading and Pockyt checked the price. It was on after holiday sale. A little over eighty dollars after taxes. He considered for a few minutes, spinning his vape in his hand, before getting distracted.
The next morning Pockyt woke up and opened his computer. He had left his browser open from the night before and it was littered with porn sites from wormholing out of control. He closed them one by one, staring at the shame of his uncontrolled lust. The last page to stand was the chastity cage’s store page. ‘On Sale For A Limited Time’ the top of the page proclaimed in bold. He took a sip of his freshly made coffee before clicking the ‘buy now’ button. “Well, it’s cheaper than a therapy session.”
Two weeks later, while checking his mailbox, the package came, wrapped in black plastic that was tape like and stuck to the outer cardboard. It was hard to remove but he guessed it added a water proof seal. He took it out of its box when he got to his parking spot, looked at the packaging box and put it away in his cloths drawer without taking it out. He knew why he got it but decided to give one more try without it. It was silly. He needed therapy, not a toy or gadget — but he needed to try something. He would keep it if he needed it. Without removing it from it’s box or breaking the cellophane seal, he could resell it for double what he paid. He closed the door of the cabinet, as fate commanded and as timing would insist. Somewhere, a Puck-like fairy smiled at her days work before chanting something sly in rhyme.
8 months ago