In my early 20s I was still new to relationships and sex with women. I hadn’t yet completely identified as a lesbian and the idea of sleeping with a woman totally freaked me out. I was terrified of oral sex and to me, that was the only way to do it with women. When I finally broke through my fear and got together with my first girlfriend, the sex was amazing but pretty vanilla — no dildos, no spanking, no bondage.
A couple of months after my first girlfriend dumped me, I met Megan.* After exchanging emails and phone calls, we decided to meet. She was tall and curvy, with pale skin and sexy red hair. She was also a couple of years older than me and as I found out that night through conversation, much more sexually experienced. For our first date, we met a brewery on the west side of Manhattan. It turned out to be quite romantic and after dinner we walked hand-in -hand back to her place.
I craved something sweet, so I stopped into a bodega to pick up an ice cream bar, but waited until we got her place to eat it. Once at her apartment, she took me into the kitchen and watched me as I started to munch on my treat.
“Either you’re going to have to eat faster or let that melt, because I want you, right now,” she said.
I looked at her, laid the half-eaten bar on her counter and quickly followed her to her bedroom.
We kissed as we stumbled onto her bed. As clothes came off I saw her tattooed arms and lower back. When she was fully naked, I moved my hand down and felt her pierced clitoral hood (a first for me). I was unsure of what to do with it, but soon my mouth and tongue figured it out.
Between gasps and moans, she said, “I want you to fist me.”
I was dumfounded.I had heard of fisting, but never knew anyone that had performed it or enjoyed it. Heck, I didn’t know lesbians actually did that.
“Um, I don’t–” I started to say, but she cut me off.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll show you.”
I stopped what I was doing, and we both sat up in bed. She leaned over to her bedside table and took out a bottle of lubricant. She opened the cap and squeezed a generous amount into my hands because she said I needed a lot of it. Then she applied some to herself.
When my fingers were all the way in, I couldn’t conceive of how I would get the rest of my hand in. She helped me turn my hand inwards, so soon my knuckles were inside of her, and then my thumb.
“Now slowly curl your hand up inside of me,” she directed.
I followed her instructions and maneuvered my hand in the tight space of her vagina. She told me to turn my hand. I tried not to think about the lube, of the oddity of this sexual situation. I just tried to focus on pleasuring her without hurting her. As I turned my fist inside of her, I felt the walls of her vagina contract and expand with every motion. She was smooth and also rippled. My hand was wet with her and lube. As she screamed out in orgasm, I felt her come from the inside. It was amazing feeling that I had made her do that.
After I slowly removed my hand, with my thumb pressed against my fingers, we both breathed heavily out of exhaustion.
I spent the night with her and the next morning, I was totally giddy over our sexcapade.
Did that actually happen? Did I fist a girl?
It took me days to process what I had done to her and how she reacted to it. When I told the story to friends, the usual response was, “No way! People actually do that?”
That night was the only time I fisted Megan during our brief relationship. Even though I thought I couldn’t handle fisting or being fisted, I was wrong. Not only that, but the experience opened me up to many other methods of pleasure. I learned that there are different ways women can have sex with one another; with hands, mouths, strap-ons, vibrators,and oh yes, fists.
*Name has been changed.
Original by Lila Starr
Photo: iStockphoto/Thinkstock
