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"I'm not sure what you're doing, but more lube please."
Certain things in life you see and think, "I could never do
that." Like swim the English Channel, eat a 72 ounce steak, stuff
four billiard balls in your mouth, or pay money to see "Gigli".
Unless you are a circus freak, you accept the fact that your body
has its limitations, and you live your life accordingly.
The
first time I heard of anal fisting, my thought was "Oh, come on.
There is no way..." But the more I read about it, the more I
realized that not only was it possible, but it was also somewhat
common, at least in the homosexual community. Then one day I came
across some pictures of Tristan Taormino being anally fisted. I
was amazed. After all, it's one thing to hear about something
like that, but then to see it, to see someone's ass with
someone else's wrist coming out of it, that's a whole new ball of
wax. Still, this was Tristan Taormino we're talking about, the
self-proclaimed "butt slut". Certainly anyone who has a buttplug
named after them probably has an anus as flexible as a scrunchie.
Now,
I am a fan of anal sex. I have a small variety of buttplugs and
dildos, some more ambitiously sized than others, the largest being
1 1/2 inches wide. In the new Nerve sex book, they say that once
you are accustomed to taking a sex toy of 3 inches in diameter in
your ass, you can start thinking about anal fisting, and my ass
has never come even close to that threshold. So, needless to say,
I didn't think about it. Never even considered it.
And
then, one night I was receiving a glorious and much needed
backrub. Aided by a couple of glasses of red wine, I was becoming
very relaxed. As my masseuse worked her way down my back toward
my ass, I was slowly drifting into a happy, almost sleepy place.
My thoughts were turning into bizarre short films as I fell closer
and closer to dozing off when I felt her finger on my anus. She
massaged it briefly before sliding her finger inside me. In an
instant, I was no longer sleepy. Hell, you could be on a
heart-and lung machine, and if someone started finger fucking your
ass, you'd say goodbye to the tunnel of white light in no time
flat, even if it was just to say, "Hey, you ready to lose a
digit?!"
She
pulled her finger out, and I felt a brief sense of disappointment
before she then inserted two fingers. With expertise, she was
rubbing my prostate, and I began to moan. As she continued her
ministrations, I quickly lost all sense of time and place. I
only remember saying to her at some point, "I'm not sure what
you're doing, but more lube please." Sometime later, she flipped
me over, and we proceeded to have a more traditional round of sex.
Our
skin sweaty, our bodies spent, and quite possibly suffering from
mild dehydration, we lay on the bed basking in the afterglow.
After a few minutes of mutual praise, she asked me, "So, how's
your ass?"
"Fine, thanks," I replied. "Why?"
"Oh,
just wondering."
The
next morning while laying in bed and chatting while trying to
muster the strength to get up and make coffee, she asked me again,
"So, how's your ass?"
"It's fine."
"Oh
good," she replied.
Pause
"Um,
okay, so that's the second time you've asked me that. Why? Did
you do something...special?"
"Well, you did take a lot last night."
I
raised an eyebrow and asked, "How much are we talking about?"
She
raised her hand and pressed her fingertips together, creating a
familiar duckbill shape. My jaw dropped. "All five?!" I asked.
"How far?" She pointed to a spot on the back of her hand just
above her wrist. My head started spinning with the realization
that I had been fisted. Somewhere in my brain I imagined Fran
Tarkington and Kathie Lee Crosby sharing a playful banter about
having my ass fucked by a hand on "That's Incredible".
There was only one downside to all of this: I had absolutely no
one to talk about it with. This kind of info is not the kind
easily shared with family or co-workers. And, really, it
shouldn't be. But still, here was this event (as I like to
think of it, at least) that happened to me, and I wanted to brag
about it to everyone I could find. I felt like that I needed some
recognition. A trophy, a badge, something tangible that I could
display so that people would see it and understand I truly have a
unique ass, one equipped to handle more than the average
posterior. My anus had accomplished something truly rare and
needed to be distinguished thusly, didn't it?
Okay, well, maybe not. Sure, lots of people do it, love it, and
then go about their daily lives as if it never happened. As with
most aspects of our sexualities, it'll be a secret, something only
discussed with their primary sex partners. And I suppose that's
the way it should be.
As
for me, I'll never look at the t-shirts with the "Fight the Power"
emblem the same way again.
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