This is going to be terrifyingly honest and extremely graphic; there is an end to these means, I promise.
My girlfriend of three months and I went to the art museum today and saw the new exhibition. Afterwards we walked through the rain to get a burger and then back to her apartment. It was around 6:30 and I was supposed to meet a friend at the gym at 7pm to lift; she was running an errand on campus as well, so we planned to change and walk over together. Once we got out of our wet shoes, I pushed her onto the bed and started going down on her. She came, we stopped for a bit, she started touching me. I kissed her and told her I wanted to put my fist in her.
We’d done this before, and even though I’m never the one with a fist in me, it’s incredibly intense and scary and amazing. Before dating her, I figured that I would eventually be in a relationship where I would use a strap-on; it’s a common enough thing. However, fisting had never been on my mental agenda. Neither of us had done it with anyone else before each other or even really considered that we might at any point. Nonetheless, I have smallish hands and she likes it hard; it just happened as the natural end of other handsy activities. Once I tied her up before fisting her, but I didn’t like it. With respect to tying someone up, it’s occasionally fun to pretend that one of you has total control, to fuck the other person like they don’t have a choice (or to be fucked like you don’t). But with fisting, it’s too intense already. It felt wrong to pretend in any way that it wasn’t completely consensual. In a way, the intensity comes from the fact that it is consensual, that this person is choosing to make themselves completely vulnerable to you, to risk intense pain and trust that you will be responsible for their intense pleasure.
In this particular case, she was laying down on her back and I was on top of her. I put some lube on my hand and slid it in. After a few seconds she told me she wanted to be on top. She pushed me onto my back and pulled herself up, all without me taking my hand out. I was in well past my wrist at this point. She was completely open and riding it. I was speechless. She came quickly. Watching her completely give in to the feeling, a feeling I was in control of, was the most intense sexual experience of my life. Once I got my voice back, I tried to say as calmly as I could, “In the least weird way possible, I feel like I’ve just lost my virginity.” She laughed.
I don’t even know how to describe what it’s like, to be so deep inside someone and so completely in control of what’s happening to them and to have them completely trust you and have them completely enjoy the experience. You’d think I’d feel powerful but I felt so vulnerable. How does that make any sense? Why did I feel vulnerable when I’m in someone else’s vagina? I wasn’t the one physically opened up, so how did I end up feeling so emotionally raw? I didn’t and don’t understand. I just kept holding her. We did it again, much sooner than she usually would let me. She came harder; afterwards she told me I looked dazed.
We nuzzled. I was late to the gym.
It’s been a few hours and I don’t even know how to make sense of it. There were moments with the only biological male I ever slept with, who was my first boyfriend in college and who I would consider to be my first love, when I told him (and truly believed) that he was the only person I even wanted to have sex with. Oxytocin ran strong. He was inside me, and it was intense, and I loved him.
This is more, though. It scares me that I feel so synced up with someone that making them come is more intense and pleasurable than my own orgasm.
I wanted to tell her I loved her, but I won’t let the first time I say it be right after sex. I’ve had the feeling off and on for two months, but I’m still rolling that particular idea around in my head. I want to make sure I feel it when I’ve sobered up from the chemical cocktail that is an orgasm. I enjoyed the experience, certainly. It was novel and intense and I want to do it again, just as I did the first time I put my first in her. I just can’t make sense of the vulnerability. Perhaps it’s the most exotic distillation of oxytocin and vasopressin and dopamine and adrenaline. Perhaps it’s love. Most likely, it’s realizing how broken I would feel if she didn’t feel the way I do, and how much I want to be responsible for her happiness.
