The desire to be filled
I remember the first time I saw an image of fisting. I was a teenager and came across Robert Mappelthorpe’s work in a photography book. A very visceral mix of curiosity, disbelief and fascination filled my innocent brain. I couldn’t believe that it was possible to fit an entire hand (let alone two) in there! At the same time, I was deeply touched by the aesthetic beauty and stillness of something that looked so intense. Fast forward to today and fisting is one of my favorite activities.
I like the element of ritualistic preparation. Before the session begins, I set up the space I will be playing in, placing gloves and lube in the optimal places. I know my hands will be fully occupied later and I like to have what I need within arms reach so that I can stay fully in the moment. I know the “Fistee”, as I like to call them, has also spent time preparing both physically and mentally.
When I enter with my hand, it’s as if the senses of my fingertips awaken. As I pass through the first ring, I love feeling the pulsations inside of the asshole. It is very intimate to feel this inner rhythm. Slowly, I go deeper and deeper, my hand held in a pleasurable tightness, waiting for the inner muscles to slowly, but surely relax and allow me in.
I get a kick out of the expression on the face, the sound of the breath, the slow surrender of the body. These sounds and cues let me know where the limits are and where I should pause. Then comes the moment of surrender when the fist just slides in, making way for my hand, wrist and forearm. Sometimes I position a mirror in front of the Boomer–a kind of futuristic gynecological chair with lots of restraint options–when I am fisting so that the other person can see what I am doing. For those whose sexuality is visual, the image of my whole hand inside of the body is exhilarating!
I can feel how orgasmic it is for the receiver, the sensation of being filled. I feed off of that energy as their whole body writhes and pulsates around my fist, like it’s plugged into an electric current. It’s not surprising that some fistees describe it as a full body sensation similar to being in love, or at one with the universe. There is something magical about being so deep inside of someone!
And finally, I see the fist as a beautiful metaphor for resistance to being told that one shouldn’t derive pleasure from the asshole or that we should be ashamed of our desires. I see it as a rebellion against the velocity and distractions of daily life. There is so little space for slowness in one’s daily rhythm and when I fist, I take my time. It feels like a kind of kinky meditation. I understand now why that Mappelthorpe image resonated with me so much then and still marvel at the possibilities of the human body.