Gay men rejoice, I now have one more thing in common with you – besides my penchant for Kylie and pink feather boas. Last night, I buggered a guy’s ass. Usually the farthest I dare venture in that area is a questioning poke now and then with my fingers and only if the guy I’m with doesn’t have a mild stroke first.
But as you know and as this blog lays testament, I never pass up opportunities to have new (and potentially scandalous) sexual experiences. But before I begin, let me assure you I haven’t had a change of heart – I am still 100% female, and still adore having sex cock-pussy style dearly -I've just now know how to wield a mean strap-on.
The strap-on in question was a prime piece of meat, shall we say. It had three heads - two for me and one for him. It looked like a medieval chastity belt - complete with leather straps for my thighs and a steel band across my waist. When it first made its appearance, I looked at it a little doubtfully.
“You know I don’t take this thing out very often. But you seem like the sort of girl who can handle it.”
That’s what started all the trouble – an innocuous-enough conversation about souvenirs from New York that I was having with Garth in bed. Garth was a scruffy freelance journo who picked me up at a press conference I was attending (with my day job). I was doing my best to disguise my skanky self with pinstripes and Powerpoint, but there was no mistaking his piercing stare across the conference table. I was not all that surprised when he emailed me the next day to ask me out for a drink. And even less surprised that he was interested in more than my personality…I just didn’t count on the contraptions in his closet, I guess.
“Are you freaking out yet?” he asked, as he closed the closet door and returned to bed with my toy for the night.
“No, it’s very difficult to freak me out. Besides, I’m more curious about this thing than anything else. I hope you wash it thoroughly.”
Garth put the strap-on in my hands and I lightly ran my fingers over its three flesh-coloured prosthetic bits (sorry I know this isn’t a very handicapped-sensitive description) . The protrusions were reasonably unyielding but have a slightly rubbery texture. The manufacturer had also simulated the shape of a cock head, complete with a ridge for the glans and quasi-frenulum on two of the bits meant for me. (Dedication to detail, I approve of that.) The final bit (or 10-inch chunk, really) meant for him was shaped in long, smooth contours.
As I got more familiar with the toy, it is not immediately apparent how I was supposed to put this on, so I looked up quizzically at Garth, waiting for instructions.
“Well you strap it on like this. Here, these two are for you,” he demonstrated. And before I knew it, I was fully strapped in, my pussy and ass appropriately plugged. I looked down to realise I was now in possession of a king-size cock. And ooh yes, I had an erection.
I have to admit I was quite proud of my new prosthetic cock and its perpetual tumescence. To start with, it was almost one and half times the size of anything I had seen before (and I’ve seen quite a lot) which also implied it would not be the sort of thing one used conventionally on women i.e. it would not be best friends with anyone's cervix.
All in all, it felt like a fucking weapon. Or, a weapon to fuck with, if you will. I was in control and I could already feel the blood rushing through my veins. I was getting worked up, flushed. I think I could have even uttered a bloodcurdling war-cry at some point but I restrained myself.
Meanwhile on the bed, Garth assumed the position - face down, ass up. He turned around to look at me somewhat expectantly.
“You don’t think I’m gay or anything, do you?”
“Look, you don't use deodorant and I have to wash my hair with soap every time I shower at your house. So no, I don’t think you’re gay,” I laughed in reply. Garth was so homophobic he could almost be French. (Except he's American). “Besides you shouldn’t be so self-conscious, all men have a prostrate gland, so you’re all biologically wired to like it up the arse,” I might have seen him cringing in response, except that I was busy bracing myself to enter him.
I took my time with it. After all, I figured a straight guy’s ass is a delicate thing. So lots of lube and achingly slow penetration. He loved it though and with each thrust, he was writhing and groaning all over his bed, at my complete mercy. The view from behind was one to cherish - his lifted arse eagerly gobbling up my prosthetic - and helped me understand why men are regularly unable to make eye contact during sex. Because damn, its hard to tear your eyes away from the sight of one's monstrous peg sliding into a tight, slippery receptacle. Boys, I am enlightened.
Soon, we both got into the swing of things and upped the pace. The beauty of the toy meant that the faster/harder I fucked Garth, the more vibrations it caused inside me. I had never been more motivated to master the finer points of fucking with a prosthetic. I also wanted to ensure that my partner had a good time (see boys, having a cock is not an excuse for being selfish and inconsiderate). So I concentrated on perfecting my rhythm and technique on Garth's bum, while he practised some rhythm and technique on his own rock-hard member.
We finished up with a bout of normal cock-pussy sex. But not before fumbling around with lube-slippery fingers for 15 minutes trying to remove the device from around my waist and more than a moment of mild panic (on my part) contemplating what I would do with a 'cock' for the rest of my life.
But that sort of question is best left for the experts. And my brief love affair with having a cock is best contained to Garth's closet for now.
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