I remember the first time someone got their whole hand inside of me.
It was on my third date with a man who provided me with some of my darkest yet most intense moments of life. A charming sociopath who missed our first date because he was in county jail, and gave me a Japanese spyder knife as a courtship present on our second date. He later confessed he’d given it to me because he’d used it to slash the tires on SUVs while tripping on acid, and wanted to get rid of the evidence.
It comes as no surprise that this man was the first to succeed in fisting me when other lovers had tried and failed. He split me open and got under my skin in every way possible. But that first time he got his whole hand inside of me, it was better than drugs. No sex act has the capacity to reach quite that same sweet mix of pleasure, pain, and endorphins as fisting, and I’ve been hooked ever since.
The concept of fisting is pretty simple even if...