Lube-Free Anal Fisting, Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Fucking Love to Cuddle

“Enjoy your night,” I say simply, that little knowing, shit-eating grin on my face. My customers – one man and one woman, now owners of their very own strap-on set – return my quip with looks of part-shock, part-horror, and part-unbridled excitement for what their night has in store.

“I bet you love to say that, don’t you?” she says, her playmate grabbing her at the waist.

Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do.

The night I sold the aforementioned couple their toys, I had a general idea of what was going to happen: who would wear what, what would get stuck where, whose ass would clench with an unbearable ecstasy, whose lips would curl with sadistic delight. I had enough evidence to guess all of the above, but there is no way for me to ever know.

There are a lot of things to love about sex, and of course, clearly, we all do: I wouldn’t be devoting several nights of the week to peddling dildos otherwise, and you would never have stumbled upon these words. But when I talk about loving sex – knocking boots, bumping uglies, what you will – I address what others all too easily overlook: the overwhelmingly titillating element of the Unknown.

There is no way to know what exactly those folks did with their harness. For all I know, they’re roommates, out shopping for silicone penises to tack up onto their wall. There is no way to know that your gay male friend secretly loves to be fucked by girls, or that the popular girl from your high school class has the most god-awful O-face you ever would see (if you saw it). Sex – and while we’re at it, fantasy and desire – are the proverbial wildcards in life, not determined by pedigree, income, or education. Hell, they’re not even determined by whom and how you’ve fucked; who hasn’t been sorely disappointed by a “player,” then left moaning for hours by the goofy kid from left field?

Sure, sex makes me happy because it feels good and it’s fun, but it also makes me happy because no expensive car in the world can compensate for premature ejaculation; because it is an opportunity for two gay men to fantasize being straight, for two queer women to fantasize being gay men, for fourteen people in mascot costumes to have all their wildest dreams come true, regardless of how timid or insecure they may all be in other aspects of their lives. Sex makes me happy because I can say “Enjoy your night,” and it could translate for that couple to one out of a million stories.

It doesn’t matter how you indulge in those dirty fantasies (as long as it’s done safely, of course), and odds are that guy sitting next to you in the coffee shop every morning has similar dreams/setbacks as you. Trust me: he’s not nearly as demure as you think he is. So regardless of who you are, where you’re from, what you’ve got or what you lack: enjoy your night, however you see fit.

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply