How I Rediscovered Sexual Liberation Through Fisting

“How many fingers is that?” he asked. 

I stood behind him dumbfounded, half my palm sticking out of his anus. “Three,” I replied. 

“Well, why don’t you go all the way?” he nudged, smiling. “All the fingers?” “No, all the way to your elbow.” I thought he was kidding. 

He wasn’t.

I had never met someone as sexually bold as this man in my entire life. It was supposed to be a regular drink-fuck-move on kinda agreement, but the evening was quickly turning into a raunchy adventure I hadn’t anticipated to get on. Most times, when I travel out of town for gigs, I tend to have random hook-ups with men I hit it off with, but only a few stick out in my memory. This was one such night three years ago.

I remember it mainly because of the funny premise that the night came with. I had been chatting with this older man for a few days after landing in Bengaluru. And every time we chatted, he seemed keen on having me over. The only problem was that he lived way too far from the city. But one night, he sent me an aesthetically pleasing picture of him bent over and his rear in the air, and that’s honestly all it took for my gay ass to abandon all worries (and dinner plans), and travel almost two hours to the outskirts of Bengaluru to meet a man I only knew from his face and his rather beautiful butt. 

At the end of my voyage, I was greeted warmly with a hug while the Uber driver gawked in confusion. He then took me to his apartment, where to my shock and amazement, his mother was quietly watching the news. I thought the events of this night couldn’t get crazier but I was wrong. Once his mother went to her room, we proceeded to his, where he wanted me to check out his collection. He was as excited as a kid in a candy store. The man had poppers, handcuffs, jockstraps, lube, weed, condoms, dildos, anal beads—the whole shabang. I’d planned on just getting baked and pounding him, but when he bent over, I realised he had a butt plug on, which just made it easier for me to slide into him. After about half an hour of fucking, he asked me the fateful question: “Have you ever fisted someone?”

Not only was the question unwarranted to me, but it seemed inappropriate. I thought to myself, “I have spent the last hour or so eating this man’s ass and also fucking it, how much more can one give?” Only in retrospect do I know that that horrendous thought was just a top’s vanity acting up. For those still clueless, fisting involves taking a hand and push it into an orifice that’s generally smaller than a hand. Folks often assume fisting to be a specifically homosexual anal activity, but either the vagina or anus can hold a lubed-up fist. Most people are like “yuck,” even though fisting isn’t that much objectively weirder than regular, garden-variety sex. But the mechanics and implied violence turns people off, and so fisting carries a stigma—one that I held too till that one night in Bengaluru.

Like most people, anything anal came with a statutory warning for me. Because that is also the region where poop comes out of. And I have been unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of what some might refer to as “truffle butter” on my penis more than a couple of times. So it seemed rather daunting to me in that moment that anyone would openly ask someone to go deeper into a territory that, by all means, is murky. 

A major reason for my withdrawal in that moment was also the fact that I have personally had very little experimentation done to my butt. I tend to wince uncontrollably when I am finger banged, let alone pounded doggy style. For years, I have taken tips from several bottoms on how to really relax my sphincter and let the prostate be massaged, but I’m always left uncomfortable even when someone touches the tip of the penis to my butt. I am in awe of people who can take a hand up their butts honestly. As porn glorifies, there are people who are such trained fistees (the ones getting fisted) they can be adorned by the person fisting them as ventriloquist dummies. It’s a power bottom’s world and we’re all just living in it. 

There is also ample research on fisting out there pointing out the adverse effects it can wreak on the human body. Studies suggest that there is high risk of not only contracting STIs but also sexual injuries that can be caused due to sharp objects (in case someone is dumb enough to not cut their nails, wear rings or avoid wearing gloves while doing it). Experts have also commented on the long-lasting effects it can have on the asshole itself. However, these are extreme cases when one does not take adequate measures to be prepared for the process, much like any sexual act. If you’re inserting something bigger in a smaller orifice, be sure that it’s designed to take it. I was surprised to personally learn the ability of the human sphincter to expand as much as it does, and yet contract back to normal in a short time. There are ample safe and healthy methods to prep before getting fisted. Douching thoroughly, and avoiding a heavy meal before the act is the key. It just takes a lot of practice. The human butthole is not to be underestimated. 

But let’s get back to the night in Bengaluru, when I had never done any research on fisting or had any sort of prior experience. I agreed to try it out, because he really was on top of things, especially for a bottom. I proceeded to insert all my fingers and later, my palm, into the man in front of me. I had to keep checking with him to know at what point he’d ask me to stop. Instead he talked me through it, calming my nerves and asking me to be generous with my helpings of lube. It was exhilarating. I was aware I wasn’t causing him any harm, and it turns out my pudgy fingers and arm are just the right size to make someone’s prostate very happy. The orgasm he had at the end of it made me feel like I did a good job too.

That night in Bengaluru turned the whole concept of fisting on its head for me. He thanked me later even though it was him who had opened up new avenues in sex for me. Over the next two years, I have actively not shied away from telling my sexual partners that I like to indulge in the odd fisting fetish. I am rarely met by judgement, unless someone is absolutely averse to anal stuff. These conversations around kinks—be it ass play, golden showers, orgies—are still very hush hush, as if they don’t happen. We have somehow decided as a society which parts of sex work for us morally and which don’t. But no part of sex should ever come with kink shaming.

Today, my partner and I do try every once in a while to test the limits to which he opens up. And I enjoy my role as not just the dominant fistee but as someone who through patience and a lot of lubrication is there to make the experience as pleasurable and safe as can be. I highly recommend people to try it out because it really is a hands-on experience. 

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