No, don’t worry, this isn’t an unexpected advertisement for The Container Store. This is just a space for me to dump my thoughts. Call it a container of sorts.
Some know me as HypnoCron on social media, though my quiet lurking and fear of exposing my face has probably rendered me nameless and faceless to most. I’m gay, demisexual (probably), and have hypnosis and athletic gear fetishes (and have surely had them for far longer than I give myself credit for).
At the behest of a certain switch pup, I’ve been given a task for “introspection.” What started as a light muse in our chat led to me readily volunteered to try and make a post each week about my past and present relationship with sexual expression. Why? Well, much like your strongest Shock Doctor cup, it turns out that I’m great at containing and protecting my business. I might even be so good at it that it’s created problems for me while I stumble through dating apps, anxiously hoping to find “the one.” Rather than continue to contain my affection, my love, or the pleasure I feel, perhaps it’s time to confront what’s made me keep all of that sealed air-tight inside.
With that as our preface, I present to you The HypnoCronology: a space where I can start cracking that sealed container in my pantry open and release what’s inside in a healthier manner. I can’t promise I’ll always have deep insight to share. I do hope, however, to offer something interesting, fun, or hot for your entertainment with each entry. Shall we get started?
What’s Contained Within That Hard Shell?
If you haven’t figured out it by now, I’m a sucker for a theme. So, as I sit here cupped and jocked at the request of the aforementioned switch pup, reveling in the sensation of my junk all nice and snug, “contain” jumped to the front of my mind. After all, what does a cup do beside keeping things contained and protected inside? Perhaps it’s time to let things air out a bit (despite how musky we might like things).
Let’s take a trip back to high school, maybe even earlier. On one random, unassuming night, I found myself wandering the aisles at the local Dick’s Sporting Goods while my dad tirelessly examined the golf club selection. I was not an athletic person by any means (theater won that battle), though there was something alluring by the array of weird fabrics, packages, and things. I turned a corner and ended up in a collection of jockstraps, cups, and spandex.
“Keep your head down, looking at these would be weird,” I thought to myself, “You don’t even play sports! You don’t need to look at these. Get a move on before someone questions it.”
I stumbled out of that area probably thinking I did a better job of hiding my embarrassment than I actually did. My mind was ablaze with anxiety akin to what I’d feel when my mom and made an annual trip to the Jockey outlet for undergarments. Lingering too long around those pictures of buff guys in underwear would surely be suspicious.
But, why was any of this suspicious? We all wear underwear, right? People wear jocks and cups on the field too, right? Well, perhaps we tuck those thoughts inside and worry about them another time.
That other time would come sooner than later. See, our high school had a tradition where athletes would wear their team uniforms and gear on the final day of homecoming week. The soccer team would even wander into classs wearing compression shorts and skirts after trading uniforms with the girls’ field hockey team. Best not look at that too long… that would definitely be suspicious.
As benign as the soccer team was, it was the football team that really forced me to turn my head. Those leggings revealed everything.
“How are they so confident? Why are they doing this to us? We don’t want to see that! Wait… why does that guy have such a huge bulge? Is that a cup?”
The thoughts ran through my head faster than I could comprehend. I expressed my disgust for what was happening to my friends, ultimately laughing it off in the end as if I truly wasn’t bothered by everything around me. After all, if I was bothered, it’d be more than suspicious, right?
The First Cup
Somehow, I made it through high school. That’s a conversation for another time but, by the end, I at least acknowledged that I wasn’t straight.
It wasn’t until sophomore year of college when I’d confront cups again. I went to a hockey school and I very quickly became enamored with the sport. My roommate played, I wanted to play, and I wanted to know players.
“They all look hot on that ice in that gea… Wait, what am I thinking?” I asked myself as I, once more, shoved those thoughts away to be sealed, protected, and contained.
My hockey roommate will receive a post of his own but know that he was absolutely the first guy to test my ability to contain myself. In fact, unbeknownst to him, I’d say he probably helped me release the most. After all, his cup was my first.
First for what? Well, the first I touched. The first I sniffed. The first I slipped on. The first to make me realize how comforting it felt to have your cock softly secured behind its hard shell. The first I had to rip off before I came hands free all over something that wasn’t mine. The first time pleasure outweighed shame and fear, leading me to a second, third, fourth, or more times in the future. The first article of clothing that would fuel fantasies for years to come, even after my roommate was gone.
Which fantasies? Well, that might be best saved for the next entry. You’ll just have to contain your excitement until it’s as hot and built up as your contained cock and balls after wearing a cup for 24 hours by request of a certain switch pup.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! While this post didn’t have any major revelations, I have to admit I was surprised by just how much was packed in my brain about what might not be much more than a fancy piece of plastic. I hope to keep exploring these thoughts more and maybe draw some nice conclusions in the future.
– HypnoCron