There I was, on a Saturday night in Washington, DC, just days away from Trump’s inauguration, surrounded by a few thousand guys in leather, feeling depressed and a bit lost.
I’d had a fight earlier with the guy I was seeing. He’d stormed off and wasn’t replying to my texts. So I started messaging guys I knew in the area to see if anyone wanted to hang out.
I got a reply. A Facebook friend from the Midwest, Paul, asked how it was going and what I was up to. I told him I wasn’t up to much and asked if he wanted to hang out. His reply: I’m looking for someone to fist me!
Okay, this guy is super hot, lean but toned, always a big grin on his face, and I’d wanted to get my dick in him for some time. But fist?
I’d only fisted someone once before. It was certainly an interesting experience. A group in Vancouver had organized a fisting event at Steamworks. I was friends with a lot of the guys at that party and I spent much of it observing as they explained their techniques.
After some observation, a big daddy friend of mine called me over to the sling his boy was in. Daddy was six foot three and built like a boulder. His hands were slightly smaller boulders. He explained he’d been working on his boy for months, but that he hadn’t managed to take a whole hand yet. Apparently, that’s where I came in.
The boy would like to say he’d taken a whole hand, and since my hands were slender and gently tapered from my wrists to forearms, daddy asked if I could fist his boy. I spent the next 20 minutes learning what to do, the daddy explaining everything as my slippery gloved hands slid inside the boy.
It was certainly an interesting experience but I wouldn’t say I got a lot emotionally out of it. I was so focused on listening to the daddy and making sure I did everything he told me that I wasn’t able to really enjoy the time. But, as I say, I’ll try anything three times. Not once, three times. You can’t tell if you like something sexual if you only do it once.
And DC was my opportunity to try a second time. I was determined to earn that red hankie.
So I told Paul I’d be into fisting him. Then he said a friend of his also wanted to get fisted, if I were game to do both of them. Well, why not. I was on the verge of crying at this point, so I might as well get my mind off it. I didn’t come to DC to mope.
I got up to their room and Paul introduced me to his friend Taylor, an attractive bearish guy with a trimmed red and grey beard. We chatted for a bit, then they took turns going into the bathroom to make sure they were still clean for some deep penetration. The three of us went upstairs to another room that was apparently set aside for fisting action over the weekend. We knew when we got there — a red hankie dangled from the doorknob in place of a Do Not Disturb sign.
About seven guys were lounging around inside the room when we got there — they had been fisting for much of the evening and were taking a break. We grabbed some drop cloths and I put on gloves. Paul and Taylor got on their knees at the edge of the bed side by side, their butts in the air facing me, Paul on the right, Taylor on the left. One of the guys began pouring J-Lube on my hands and I made sure he added plenty. I coated my hands with the thick stringy lube. Paul said he was newer to this than Taylor so I thought I’d start with Paul as he’d likely be tighter.
I started with two fingers in Paul’s ass, getting his hole nice and lubed up. Then I pulled them out and worked my three middle fingers in. Then four. I was pulling them gently in and out, twisting my hand around and feeling his cavity. I started to work my thumb in alongside, gently, slowly, twisting. Paul’s moans got louder, almost straining. I asked him if I could just leave my hand in so I could begin working on Taylor with my left hand.
As my right hand remained inside Paul, someone applied more J-lube to my left. I did much the same with Taylor as I had done to Paul. However, all of a sudden, I felt a cavity left of my hand, so I began to explore in that direction.
SLURP! My hand was sucked in without any effort. It was as if his insides dragged my hand deeper without my even pushing. Taylor moaned loudly and pulled his head back. I asked him if he was okay and he moaned what I heard as a “Yes.”
With my left hand now deep inside Taylor, I could pay attention to both my bottoms at the same time. I began working both my hands together, twisting, pulling out, slipping back in.
I was doing it. I was riding the chariot. I’d heard the term before, but didn’t imagine I’d be doing it only the second time I fisted. We went on for some time before they asked if they could take a break. I was getting tired, and it was late, so I said I’d probably call it a night.
I left their room feeling a sense of accomplishment. Red hankies had always been the most intimidating of all the fetish colours to me. I felt something this time, though, that I hadn’t felt the first time. When my hand was drawn into Taylor, it felt like we were attached, more than any feeling you get from a cock in an ass. It is incredibly intimate to explore someone’s insides, to see your arm engulfed by someone’s body.
I’m now dying to do it more often. I didn’t need to try fisting three times to find out I enjoyed it — only two. Once I’d gotten over the anxiety about injuring someone, I could just let the moment take me, get lost mentally inside someone’s cavity.
I’m hoping to see these two guys again in a couple of months. I’d certainly like to try again with them, particularly because I feel so comfortable with them now. Maybe one day I’ll even get fisted as a bottom. It won’t happen any time soon, but I know a cute pup in Seattle with small hands who I might be calling upon.
Kevin Moroso’s Filling Station column runs monthly on Daily Xtra on the second Friday of the month.
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