Yer Cheatin’ Heart

Posted on August 30, 2015 by Epiphany Jordan

As a woman who has looked for casual sex online, I’m no stranger to getting propositioned by married men. The excuses were all over the place, though the conversation rarely went far. I had little interest in cheaters; I’ve got a strong sense of sisterhood, and I would never want to cause another woman the emotional pain that cheating does. But that didn’t stop them from trying. I had plenty of them try to convince me it was okay. Maybe for them, but for me? Not so much.

(True confession: twice when I was in my 30s I knowingly slept with a married man, and once stepped out on a college boyfriend during a time we were mostly broken up. Like everyone, I like to think that I’m capable of growth and change, and of learned to discern right from wrong. The last couple of times I found myself in the dating pool, I wasn’t interested in sleeping with cheaters. If that makes my opinions unworthy because I’m a cheating hypocrite, so be it.)

Still, on the occasions I did talk with men about it, I heard a lot of stories that weren’t quite as black and white as we’d like to believe cheating is. Plenty of guys are stuck in what I call monogabacy: they are in monogamous relationships that have turned celibate. Several of them talked about still loving and wanting to have sex with their wives, but continually getting the cold shoulder; others talked about their deep love for their children, and how their marriages were decent other than the sex part. Men who couldn’t leave their spouses for economic reasons (both their own and their partners), or guys whose wives had health problems. Many of them felt guilty for what they were doing, but figured sleeping with a woman they met online was less onerous than hiring a sex worker.

And yes, there were plenty of men who were horndogs who just wanted to fuck a bunch of different women, and made no bones about it.

I don’t know if other women typically slam the email door in cheaters’ faces, but I suspect they do. If the huge number of men looking for extra-marital sex in every corner of the internet is any indication, many of them are looking fruitlessly. It’s no wonder they got lured in by the promise of hot, available pussy on Ashley Madison. If the statistics are correct, and anywhere between 1 in 5 and 1 in 2 men have consummated an affair, then there are a lot of married men out there who are unhappy with their sex lives. And sexually dissatisfied men in marriages are usually partnered with sexually dissatisfied women.

Men have long enjoyed non-consensual non-monogamy. For thousands of years, men have visited prostitutes, kept mistresses or married multiple women. While countless women have suffered because of this, there was little they could do: women had no choice but to stay with their husbands, because divorce wasn’t an option. (And let’s not forget that prior to the 20^th century, sex often resulted in more children; perhaps it was a relief to have their husbands getting their needs met elsewhere so they didn’t find themselves pregnant again.) For women to cheat could meant death or being ostracized. I have no doubt that there were men who remained faithful to their wives, and couples who enjoyed passionate, erotic connections, but they were probably the exception, not the rule.

Let me clarify: I am by no means condoning cheating here. There are few things harder to bear than betrayal by someone to whom you’ve opened your heart and made yourself vulnerable. Cheating rarely ends well for any of the parties involved, and make things a whole lot harder and more complicated if/when it’s discovered. I don’t think cheating is the solution to the problems we collectively seem to have with marriage, monogamy and commitment, though, as stated above, it’s a solution men have chosen repeatedly throughout the ages.

I’ve had many female friends who have experienced cheating get triggered by the Ashley Madison leaks as they remembered the pain they experienced when they had discovered a cheating spouse, and they inevitably sided with the women who were about to find out that they too had been betrayed (although, to be fair, I’d wager to guess that not too many folks were actually hooking up through the website).

While I wasn’t interested in being a party to men cheating on their wives, I could certainly understand how they got to that point. I, too, had been an unwilling participant in monogabacy, with a husband who didn’t want to have sex with me, yet refused to tell me what kind of sex he did want to have, or what needs were going unfulfilled and causing him to turn away from me. I spent many years being cranky and frustrated and patient and sad and angry and confused: I loved my husband, was crazy attracted to him, and wanted to have an intimate, erotic relationship with him.

Instead, I got years of, well, pretty much nothing. He wouldn’t even kiss me most of the time. Regardless, I remained faithful, until I thought it would be a good idea to fix our relationship with polyamory. I tried this route for a year (more on that in a bit), and finally decided to ask him for a divorce. Unlike many other folks in sexually dead marriages, there wasn’t enough else good in the relationship to make me want to give up on sex for good, especially when it had taken me many years to find a partner with whom to share it. I reasoned that if I was going to commit to being monogamous, the sex better be damn good.

While we gleefully moralize, shame and judge those poor bastards who wanted to get laid by someone other than their lawfully wedded wives, we seem to be unwilling to admit that people have sexual needs that are frequently not met in marriage. Life intervenes, and people change. Health concerns, children, aging and stressors with work or family cause our sex drives to ebb and flow. No one should be forced to dispense sex on demand if they aren’t interested in having it, but is it really right to expect that when we commit to another, it may mean giving up on sex altogether? Surely there must be a better solution, some sort of middle ground.

Of course, at this point in our evolution, we have set ourselves up to fail. Despite the fact that the ball of wax that is love, sex and intimacy is the most important part of our lives, we have almost no education about these things. While culturally we worship porn on one end of the spectrum and romance on the other, we aren’t taught how to be present and close to another, how our bodies work, what turns us on, how to deal with conflict and a host of other skills that might prepare us for navigating the uncharted territory that lies between two people. Toss in a healthy dose of shame around our bodies, and make people obsess about their appearance. Teach one sex to be passive about their desires, and ask the other to suppress their emotions. Tell young folks to ignore the hormones surging through their bodies and save themselves for their one true love, and then throw a pair of ‘em together with zero experience, mismatched libidos and an expectation that they will stay committed to each other for fifty years.

What could possibly go wrong?

One of the things I see bandied about constantly in discussions about infidelity is that people shouldn’t commit to monogamy and marriage unless they are ready to commit. The current iteration of what marriage means, and what it’s for, is pretty new. Never in the history of partnering have we put so many hopes and expectations onto the romantic coupling between two people. Our significant other is supposed to be a best friend, a mirror for personal growth, a partner in adventure, a roommate, a support system, a parent to children and – above all – a faithful lover who fulfills all our needs for love, sex and intimacy.

Tear people’s attention away from their soulmate with the obligations of work, friends, daily chores, self-care, family and creative pursuits, and we are putting a lot of strain onto one institution. It’s little wonder it’s not working out so well. Because our society is oriented toward individuality and success, and downplays the importance of interdependence and relationships, few of us have the time and resources to create a successful partnership we aspire to in marriage. A therapist I know often tells her clients that a relationship is like a part-time job. How many people treat it that way?

I’m curious, too, what this type of honesty makes the dating landscape look like, especially for the many women who seem to be making the strident demands for monogamous marriage and commitment; from what I hear from the dating trenches, there’s already a dearth of such men out there. If we’re insistent that men be more honest about their sexual desires, we can’t be surprised when they tell us that maybe monogamy isn’t for them. Think most of them will choose monogamy? Fair maidens, get thee to the closest gay bar, talk to one of your favorite gay friends, or put a profile up on Grindr and feast thine eyes on male sexuality that doesn’t take women into the equation. It can be pretty damn promiscuous, but most men don’t mind because, well, they’re men. Many gay men in committed relationships don’t equate love with fidelity, and it works out just fine for them.

Of course this gives women a choice about whether or not they are involved with someone who wants/needs multiple partners, but it also leaves them with many fewer partner choices in the pool of available candidates. It’s clear that many men aren’t being open about their desires, but if the number of cheaters is high, like 1 in 2, then that essentially cuts the pool in half.

The desire for monogamy is largely female-driven, though not entirely, and has been linked to biology. (My partner is much more inclined toward monogamy than I am. Good thing I chose a guy who fulfills my sexual needs beautifully.) If women don’t appreciate being forced into anal sex and threesomes by their male partners, men shouldn’t be forced into monogamy by women. Why should women’s emotional desires prevail over men’s sexual needs, especially since the current setup doesn’t seem to be making either gender happy and sexually satisfied? Perhaps the women who feel that modern life leaves them too stressed and distracted to have and enjoy sex, and just seek companionship and a life partner, are better off partnering with other women (and keeping their Hitachi Magic Wands close by).

Diamonds, you’re no longer a girl’s best friend.

I’ve also heard a lot of people say that in addition to being honest, if married folks want to seek extra-marital sex they should just be open about it. From personal experience and watching many others, polyamory is not only a poor option for fixing a relationship, it exacerbates existing problems in horrible ways. When my husband and I tried it at my request during the last year of my marriage, I thought it would be a good solution. I was a perfect candidate: I worked part time, was child-free, had a good sense of boundaries and am not overly jealous. We were in good shape financially. I had plenty of friends who were practicing consensual non-monogamy, and had spent a ton of time studying alternative relationship styles.

Instead of getting my sexual, emotional and intellectual needs met, I found myself going on lots of dates but not clicking with anyone. (Plenty of guys want to get laid, but not many want to be in a relationship with a married women, even if her husband says he’s on board with it.) Meanwhile, my husband got into a serious relationship with another woman immediately.

I ended up spending a lot of time managing his schedule and supporting him in being successful with her, adding yet one more item to my to-do list. It did nothing to address the problems we were having between the two of us – I felt increasingly isolated and frustrated and lonely. And because he was getting his emotional needs met elsewhere with someone who was still new and fresh, he neglected to put any work into our relationship. The month before I decided to leave, I asked him to stop seeing her and focus on what was going on between us, putting her in a painful position as well. (He immediately went back to dating her after we split up, and continued to date her for a few years.)

Consensual non-monogamy is a lot of work, and for women who are already carrying a heavy emotional load with partners and children, it’s probably not a viable option. I have friends who manage to pull it off successfully, but they are few and far between. If people don’t have the time and bandwidth to deal with the relationship issues they already have, adding more people and complexity usually just makes it worse.

And let’s talk about honesty for a minute. While being honest throughout your relationship is a good thing, the honesty needs to be there from the beginning. Actually, the honesty needs to be there long before we get involved with anybody. People who don’t want to be monogamous must be honest about those needs with themselves first. If our libidos are low, we long to be tied up, or we’re attracted to several genders, we owe it to our partners to come clean about our desires, even if it reduces the number of potential partners.

Sex certainly isn’t the only part of a relationship, but it can consume so much of our lives when it’s out of whack. And if we hold the expectation that our life partner is going to fulfill all our sexual needs, then maybe we need to prioritize finding the person who delights us in bed. Of course there are many factors that go into evaluating a potential life mate, but sexual compatibility needs to be much higher on our list, even – and especially – if that compatibility means sex is something we want only once a month.

Recently I met a woman in her mid-20s who had hooked up with a guy who told her that he liked his ass played with during sex. She was squicked about it and didn’t want to see him again. He had done both of them a favor by being honest about his desires. Doesn’t it make sense for him to meet a woman who says, “awesome! Let me grab my strap-on!” and for her to not to waste her time dating a guy whose desires are a turn-off?

Instead, women will oftentimes think to themselves, “well, he makes great money, and I bet he would be a great dad, so I will keep seeing him and he’ll just have to forego the finger in his ass while we’re making love because I don’t like it.” Because that shit happens ALL THE TIME. Are there sexual compromises in relationships? Yep. But doesn’t it make sense to find someone who is as sexually compatible with you as possible?

Honesty also means getting real about the fact that our sexual needs are not static, and that we may go through periods where our partners can’t or won’t be able to perform. My man and I have these conversations frequently: I’m in perimenopause, and he has some pretty substantial health problems, so we know there is a high chance we will experience a physical disconnect at some point. Since our sexual relationship is vital, and vitally important to both of us, we absolutely need to be able to bring our concerns to each other and know that said concerns will be heard without judgment or guilt. I have no idea what a workaround in this area might look like for us, but being able to acknowledge it and be prepared for it long before it becomes a problem is a relief, especially after being with someone who responded to sexual issues by shutting down communication.

Maybe if we spent more time planning our marriages instead of our weddings, we’d be more successful at making them work.

Perhaps most importantly, we need to become better acquainted with our sexual and intimate selves long before we involve another person. What does a good sex life look like? (Hint: “good sex” usually means something completely different to each of us.) What sort of touch makes your body sing? Can you be vulnerable, in and out of the bedroom? Can you ask for what you need? What are the top 10 fantasies on your sexual bucket list? How do you handle conflict, and what did your family of origin teach you about love and sex? What does an ideal partnership look like, and what does marriage mean? Is it something I actually want? (And yes, I realize that this sort of introspection is more available to those who can afford it. Privilege definitely extends into our bedrooms.) Maybe if we spent more time planning our marriages instead of our weddings, we’d be more successful at making them work.

Do you REALLY want to know what’s inside? Ooops! Too late!

And since we’ve opened Pandora’s box of what marriage is about, maybe it’s time to admit that it’s unrealistic to expect one person to fulfill all our needs, not just for sex but also for intimacy, emotional support, childrearing, leisure activities, care-giving and day-to-day living. The nuclear family unit has been largely isolating and burdensome for many, especially for women. Perhaps if we extend our definitions of what relationships mean, and our networks of people we can go to when we need something, we can take better care of ourselves and our loved ones and spread out our support systems instead of putting it all at the feet of our one true love.

If we are unwilling and unable to do this, we have two choices: the first is to continue as we are, having expectations based on our ideal relationship fantasies, and being blindsided when our partners and their needs change, and the dissolution of said relationships tear apart our families, both economically and emotionally.

The second is to make sure that when we do choose a partner, we choose someone whose goals and desires match our own and make sure it’s a good match before we commit. I know I didn’t meet the person who rocks my world in and out of bed until I was nearly 50 and had being involved in several long and short relationships. He drives me crazy, and challenges me in many ways (and vice versa), but I have a lot less to “settle for” because I had gotten clear about my own desires, especially sexually. Whether we’re doing some sort of role play and fantasy, having a drawn-out romantic seduction or saying, “hey, let’s have sex,” go in the bedroom, unceremoniously get naked and fuck, the sex we have is deeply satisfying. Monogamy – and continuing to be turned on and horny – hasn’t been hard to do because we fit each other so well sexually.

Of course the second way is risky, and means that we may end up alone because we are being a lot choosier, but that seems to be happening anyhow – look at all the single people out there who don’t have any sort of relationship at all. Even more telling, look at the people who are married and see how few of them seem to be having sexually satisfying marriages.

We have been given an unprecedented opportunity to have some serious conversations as a society about the future of marriage, monogamy, families and faithfulness. Perhaps going forward we can spend a little time considering what it is we need from our partnerships instead of blindly going into them without forethought and having our hearts broken when expectations and reality don’t line up. Is it less romantic to write relationship contracts than to be swept off of our feet? Absolutely. But we have a much better shot at monogamy and marriage if we can define what they mean to us, and can find someone who shares our desires.

Being an adult sucks

Posted on March 26, 2012 by Epiphany Jordan

Warning: unfounded assumptions follow….

One of the benefits of getting older and wiser is knowing that sometimes, doing the right thing isn’t always the same as doing the thing I want to do.

Oh, am I learning that lesson the hard way this week.

Things have been fantastic with my Craigslist hookup guy. The sex, which started out great, keeps getting better. We are well-matched in libido and skill. I’ve never felt so sexually validated in my life. He “gets” me in bed. It’s such a gift to be an overweight, middle-aged woman and have your lover tell you he finds you incredibly sexy and beautiful, and to have him demonstrate it with his eyes, lips, tongue, fingers and cock. Not only do I not have to hide parts of my sexuality, he embraces them and says yes, give me more. Our erotic connection is powerful, and strong, playful and passionate. I know that when we first get together with someone, so much of what we see and feel is our own projections, but I don’t think this is all in my head; he too is drawn by the siren song our bodies make when they come together. I know he’s had a lot of sex with a lot of women in his life, but I also believe he got a bit more than what he bargained for when he answered my ad.

But while things are great in bed, out of bed there are cracks in the facade of his life, stuff that doesn’t add up. A few weeks ago, I discovered evidence that pointed to him being married, and confronted him about that. Now, like having the safe sex talk, it’s important for me to establish someone’s relationship status when I meet them. I didn’t do my due diligence in this regard with this guy – he had me too hot and bothered, I went too fast and forgot to ask questions first. Totally my fault. There are tons of guys out there who want to cheat for a variety of reasons, and I’m not down with it. I have a lot of compassion for them, as I was in a celibate marriage myself and know how much it sucks, but I don’t want to sleep with a cheater. My primary impetus comes from respect for the other woman; most women will be hurt if their husbands have sex with other women, even when it’s oftentimes their own actions that lead their husbands to seek sex outside the marriage. When a woman refuses to have sex with her husband, I don’t know what she expects. But I digress. (Cheating – it’s complicated.)

Dude, you are so busted.

When I confronted him, he instantly told me that they were separated and in the process of getting divorced. After chatting with him a bit online, I was satisfied that he was telling me the truth about this relationship. His situation sounds eerily similar to the reasons I ultimately left my marriage: his wife wasn’t moving forward in her own life, and he has been enabling her in staying stuck. What I believe now, though, is that she is still living with him. And that is a bit too entangled for my tastes (not to mention the fact that she sounds crazy and I don’t want that crazy directed in my direction…or his).

It wasn’t too difficult to figure out. He is acting like a man who has something to hide. He has consistently flaked on me about coming over after work, and has always had a last-minute excuse for not getting together on the weekends. There are few things in the world that are more upsetting to me than falling asleep and waking up in the middle of the night, expecting someone to be in bed with me, and having them not be there. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like him breaking promises to me. It’s rude and it’s disrespectful, and I’m not going to continue doing it.

And so I’m going to tell him goodbye. He needs to clean up his previous relationship and move on physically before I will consider being with him. I cannot and will not risk the safety of my body – or my heart – for sex, no matter how amazing it might be. He has started to get under my skin, and I want to be able to spend hours in bed with him, talking and kissing and touching. Pleasure is a powerful, addictive drug that can destroy me, but its influence is also positive. My friend Jeanne, who was also separating from her husband last year, says she can see how things have shifted for me since I got involved with this man. I’m more relaxed, flirtatious, soft and open. I tend to spend a lot of time obsessing about the evolution of the human race and feeling cynical about our prospects; these concerns are starting to recede in my mind. Everyone comments on how good I look. Apparently freshly fucked is a style that works well for me.

The unknown is always the killer. The idea that I may never again feel his lips on mine saddens and terrifies me. It would be so easy to continue to sneak around, keep our Tuesday night and Friday afternoon trysts, and hope that we fly under the radar. But his life is just too messy right now. I have worked too hard to achieve this much self-love and respect. I can’t allow myself to open myself up and make myself vulnerable to someone who lies to me. I don’t blame him a bit; it’s quite likely that if I had known what was really going on, I would have said no. But it can’t work this way.

Still, I’m so glad I have had this experience. Even while I feel my heart ripping apart, I am grateful for what we have shared. I feel more hopeful than I have in a very long time. I have hope that there can and will be more sublime sex out there, that connection and passion and pleasure is within the realm of possibility. Maybe I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for something as good again, forever comparing each new experience and having each one come up short, or maybe I’ll meet someone who rocks my world even harder. Maybe this will be the end, and I’ve had the joy of get to hear his beautiful, deep voice crying out as he climaxes for the last time. Or maybe he’ll free himself from his marriage and make his way back into my bed, without the subterfuge and lies.

(Postscript: she really wasn’t living with him. And we kept seeing each other. More to be revealed….)

Mister Fister

Posted on January 17, 2011 by Epiphany Jordan

(This piece was originally performed at Bedpost Confessions in January 2011. It was a bit strange to get up and tell such a vulnerable story one week after I had asked my husband for a divorce, but hey, I apparently like to live on the edge…)

Friday evening, and I was bored. Earlier, I had met a guy at the Jackalope who had chatted me up online that morning. We had a couple drinks, sat in his car on 6th street and smoked a joint and went back to the bar. I walked in the bathroom, walked back out and told him I was going home. I had no idea that I was going to do that until the words came out of my mouth, but there it was. I could have easily taken him to bed, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.

Wanting some amusement, I decided to put an ad on Craigslist Casual Encounters women seeking women section. Now, I am sadly, inexplicably and hopelessly a straight girl. Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely adore women. Sometimes i’m even sexually attracted to them. But when we actually start kissing, it’s kind of like two magnets repelling each other. There is, however, one sex act where women are the logical choice: fisting. Because their appendages are usually smaller than a man’s, they are hands down better (pun intended). So on this particular Friday evening, I put up an ad, with the headline, “Fist Me. Please.” I described myself, explained that I was straight and why I was seeking a woman.

I checked my hook-up email account 30 minutes later, and found half a dozen responses…from men. Apparently women in my city don’t spend much time on Craigslist Casual Encounters, and who could blame them? My past forays in Casual Encounters had netted me dozens of clueless bottom feeders. I’d love to find out how many of them have had Angelina Jolie show up at their houses at midnight on a Friday after she answered their ad.

Well yeah, but can we get to know each other a bit first?

I perused the answers, and sent a short email back to some of the guys. What is your experience level with this activity? Can you host? Are you willing to meet in a public place? Will you respect my boundaries? Several of them responded well, but then started asking me for other things. Nope, sorry. I’m not interested in reciprocating, and no, I don’t want to have sex with you. I want this specific fantasy fulfilled, and that’s about it. One guy seemed pretty nice, but he wasn’t available on Saturday afternoon; naturally he asked if I would come over immediately. Um, NO.

Saturday afternoon I got a couple more new emails, and tried to avoid getting into prolonged conversations with these guys. At this point, I was feeling fairly annoyed by the whole process. Perhaps I should have fingered my delete button a bit more.

On Sunday, I got an email from a guy who said fisting was a huge fetish of his. He was coming to town on business that week and was happy to host, and he didn’t want me to reciprocate. He was friendly and nice, and had good communication skills. I wrote him back, asked a bit more about his experience level, and sent him the requested photo of myself.

And then, he did the most amazing thing: he sent me a picture of himself, with his clothes on, and NO PENIS anywhere to be seen.

Please allow me a brief rant here on guys trying to hook up. Despite how many times they read that women don’t want to see pictures of their dicks, they insist on sending them. My theory is that they strike out so often that this is the only way they will ever get a woman to see their penises. Don’t get me wrong – I love dick, and have been known to fall on my knees and drool when a man unzips his pants and reveals a beautiful cock, but honestly, I’m much more interested in what your other head looks like. I’m not a porn watcher, and am unlikely to be turned on by the mere sight of your throbbing manhood. But alas, they just don’t seem to get it.

End of rant.

I’ve decided that I like this fellow, and we get out our respective calendars and agree to meet the following afternoon for lunch because he wants to make sure I’m not a psycho. I call to make the arrangements. On the phone, he suggests that perhaps if we like each other, after lunch we can climb into the back of my car and I can pull up my skirt so he can have a little look-see. Nice!

I show up at the restaurant, and he is sitting near the window. We greet each other, order our food, and sit down at a quiet table. He tells me he is surprised that I showed up.

The first thing I notice is that he’s wearing a wedding ring. I myself am married, but my husband and I are openly non-monogamous. I don’t do cheaters, though, so I grill him about the status of their marriage. He has told his wife about contacting me. I tell him that he must get her explicit permission, and that if she says no, the deal is off.

The second thing I notice is that his hands aren’t exactly small. The last male partner I had who was able to fist me was a little guy. My husband has tried, repeatedly, but his hands are about the size of the Texas panhandle, and there’s just no way it’s gonna happen. I’m skeptical about my new friend, but he assures me that it is possible with the proper combination of time, lube and relaxation.

We talk more about our past experiences with fisting, discuss our respective STD histories, and swap info on our relationships. He’s a sweet guy, and seems honest. By the end of our lunch, I’m ready to spread my legs and let him stick as many of his gloved fingers inside of me as he can manage. I have tentative plans for the evening, but cancel them. He texts me and tells me he’s gotten the go-ahead from his wife and we arrange to meet up after work.

The remaining couple of hours of my work day are filled with nasty text messages and emails. I ask him if it’s okay masturbate when I get home, and he say yes, but send some pictures. It’s difficult with the camera phone to get the angle right without being able to see it, but I manage to send him a few beautiful shots of my genitals with my pyrex dildo sticking out from them. Finally, it’s time to head for his hotel.

He’s gotten a room with two beds; I suspect that by the time we get done, things will be messy. We chat for a few minutes, and try to establish our boundaries. Because there will be no intercourse involved, it doesn’t feel appropriate to kiss or snuggle. We are about to leave for dinner, but instead he pulls down the sheets on one of the beds, throws a towel down, stacks up some pillows for my back, puts on a glove and asks me to lie down. I oblige, and he sits down between my open knees and begins sliding a couple of fingers in and out of me, looking into my eyes. I moan and wiggle, open my legs further, trying to accommodate more of him. He pours more lube out, and continues to try to push more of his hand in, working four of his fingers and part of his thumb into me. I’m feeling very turned on. And then, he stops, pulls off the glove and tells me it’s time to go get dinner. I try not to pout. I want him to keep going, and he knows it.

We grab a light meal. During dinner, he tells me about some of his own experiences of being fisted. He has spent years working to stretch out his rectum to accommodate a hand. It makes me feel better to know that he has been on the receiving end of this sort of extreme play. We’re laughing and joking like old friends by the time we head back for the hotel.

It’s been a hot August day, and I want a swim, so we suit up and head out for the pool. My friend pulls me close and starts gently rubbing my crotch through the swimsuit and tweaks my nipples while we’re talking. Suddenly I’ve had enough of swimming, and suggest we get out of the pool. Now.

In the room, we adjust the A/C to make it a bit warmer, strip off our clothes, and assemble supplies: towels, gloves, three different kinds of lube, pillows, my trusty Hitachi Magic Wand with its “God Masturbates” sticker on it. I lie down on the bed with my knees apart, and he sits between my open legs again. He pours huge quantities of cocoa butter lotion on his hands and my genitals, and starts working his fingers into me, first two, then three and four.

Love is a fist!

A big smile comes over his face as he works on me. “I love doing this,” he purrs. “I could do it all day long, every day.” His fingers twist and push as he tries to get me into that space where I’m both aroused and relaxed. He starts going back and forth from hand to hand, putting one set of fingers in while the other is on its way out. His hands are sideways, and as they meet it looks quite a bit like he’s praying. I suppose, in a way, he is. He continues working me open with both his hands like this for about 30 minutes. I lie back, eyes closed, enjoying the sensations, willing my muscles to relax more.

He squirts more lube on his right hand, curls his thumb into his palm, and presses and twists. I yelp in discomfort, and he backs off. But the relentless pressure is causing me to loosen up some, and he presses his hand in again, trying to get it past the second knuckle of his thumb.

He has been staring into my eyes, staying very present with me. We are engaged in an act that is, in many ways, much more intimate than intercourse. I have long held the belief that every man should get fucked up the ass at least once (by a woman with a strap-on, of course) so he can understand what women feel like when they allow a man to get inside their body. So much trust required to cross that particular boundary. This one seems to get that.

As we get closer, he begins to talk dirty to me. “When I finally get it in there, I’m gonna fuck you with my whole hand, and you’re gonna come so hard. You’re gonna love it so much, I’m going to turn you into a fisting slut. You will be begging me for it.”

I moan, and start rubbing on my pubic bone, stimulating my g-spot from the outside. “Yes, please. You can tell how bad I want your whole hand in there.”

He pushes some more. “Yeah, I know you want it. Don’t worry, we’ll get there.” He gives a really hard push…almost. The pressure is too much. I gasp, and he backs off again.

I grab my vibrator and tell him I’m going to get myself off. He continues moving his hand back and forth, pushing up so that i’m getting g-spot stimulation from both the inside and the outside. I feel my vaginal muscles tense and begin to contract. It’s a wonder I don’t break his fingers. I come quickly, and switch off the vibrator.

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. The orgasm has made me sensitive, and we decide to take a break. I empty my bladder, and grab some water and a snack.

We start back up again after 15 minutes. My pussy is feeling sore and swollen, and the latex from the gloves is beginning to rub me raw. I ask him to gently massage the sides and bottom of my vagina to get it to relax. He puts his hand in as far as it will comfortably go, and holds it still. I can feel tiny little orgasmic tremors as my pussy starts talking to his hand, but when he tries to push any further, my body says no.

He removes his hand. “You’ve had enough for the night,” he says, while taking the gloves. “Your pussy needs some time to think about what it’s experienced.” He comes back over to the bed, and kisses me on the cheek. “You did really well.” He hands me some chocolate.

“Thank you,” I murmur. He lies down on the bed next to me, and we face each other, bodies apart. I put my arm over his side, and ask him if it’s okay to touch him like this. I know I’m feeling a bit distant, having a difficult time bridging the gap back to being strangers in a hotel room, and suspect he feels the same.

Next time I’m just going to buy one of these famous lesbian fists….

My body begins to feel a little shocky, and it’s a school night. My friend needs to call his wife and baby and say goodnight before it’s too late. I walk through the hotel lobby, carrying my gym bag full of goodies, smiling to myself and hoping the desk clerk doesn’t notice me leaving.

We got together and played once more, but after he got home, I got a nasty text message from his wife. It turns out he had lied to me about having her blessing, and that was the end of that.

My husband has continued to try to push his extra-large hands inside of me. It’s fun, but still unlikely to happen. I will wait patiently until I find my Mistress Fister. But that’s a story for another day….