So I was Fisting My Girlfriend……

A few disclaimers. Firstly, this post is about lesbians. Yes. Lesbians. Secondly, this story is one hundred and ten percent true. And lastly, given that this story is one hundred and ten percent true, please feel free to leave your sighs of pity in the comments at the end. But please. Save it for the end.

So I was fisting my girlfriend. Does everyone know what fisting is? You should, because Nicole Antoinette took a fisting dildo to a bar and has pictures to prove it. But to clarify, itʼs the act of sticking (slowly and carefully, please) your fist up your partner-in crimeʼs hoo-ha (or anus, whatever pickles your cucumber.) Itʼs often perceived as violent and plenty of people wrinkle their nose at it, but itʼs actually gentle, loving, and delicious. More about pressure than pounding. But anyways, yup, fisting my girlfriend. And using my wrist, I twisted my entire hand (because, you know, that feels awesome and I of course want to be a queer sex rock star.) Imagine my displeasure when I felt a pop in my wrist. I thought nothing of it, though. I was a little preoccupied.

But the next day while I was doing the dishes, I dropped one. I had tried to pick up a heavy pot and my wrist revolted and hopped a plane to Tijuana. And I said nuh-uh. No way did I hurt my wrist doing the naughty. Iʼm twenty-two, not eighty. It had to have happened when I was playing tug-o-war with the 115 pound pit bull mastiff lab mix that wiggles between my girlfriend and I every night. Yeah. Thatʼs it. It was the dog. I made the decision to suck it up. Iʼm no pansy.

Now I was just graduating (why thank you for all those congratulations, thatʼs very sweet). And this was all during my last week of finals ever. And I was up at night writing a 12 page paper for my queer history class when the pain became unbearable. I decided this was the night, I was going to the emergency room. I looked in my wallet and realized, to my horror, that my insurance card was safely in a lock-box forty-five minutes away…at the abode of my parents. My sweet senior citizen parents, who love my girlfriend but who are far too vanilla for this shit. I finished my paper as quickly as possible and began to drive the forty-five minutes, attempting to come up with a story. It was the dog. Thatʼs it.

I arrived at my parents house at midnight to a chorus of their confused looks. I explained that Iʼm here for my insurance card and that Iʼm going to immediately peace out to the emergency room. Oh no, says my father. No one should ever go to the emergency room alone. Iʼm coming with you.

Oh Lordie Lou with a cherry on top.

So the nurse (her name was Jess, I believe) called me in and asked me what I did to my wrist. My father was at the front desk answering questions about my insurance (thank God) and with a glance to make sure he was far enough away I said:

“Well there are two possibilities. One is that I hurt it playing with a 115 pound pit bull mastiff mix. The second, far more likely possibility is that I hurt it while fisting my girlfriend.”

Jess looked at the ground. Her reply:

“To preserve your dignity, Iʼm going to write down the first option.”

I made my father leave my side when the hospital technician asked me that same question. You know. The one about the wrist Iʼd been holding close to my chest in a pained manner. I kicked old vanilla ice out. I didnʼt want to give my 65 year old father a heart attack, even if we were in a hospital. Anyways, I donʼt remember the techʼs name, but he looked kind of like Ogie from the movie “Waitress” (if you havenʼt seen it, see it. Great movie.) Anyways, Ogie Doppleganger asked and I answered “Well, there are two possibilities. One is that I hurt it playing with a 115 pound pit bull mastiff mix. The second, far more likely possibility is that I hurt it while fisting my girlfriend.” The blank stare horrified me. “Um, excuse me? Fisting? I…I donʼt really understand what that means.”

Well. I held my hand up. Made a fist. Sputtered “itʼs, um, well, itʼs…” I didnʼt have that suave explanation I typed up for you. Oh no. I just sort of stiffly jiggled my fist around with my eyebrows raised hoping that heʼd catch the idea-ball I was throwing. “Well, you stick this…”

He did. “In her vagina?”

“Yup.”

“And did you…?” He twisted his hand by the wrist.

“Yup.”

“Huh. I didnʼt know one could do that.”

My only response was “Welcome to the wonderful world of lesbian sex.” I can hear yʼall face-palming from here.

“Whew, Iʼm glad,” said Ogie Doppleganger. “I thought when you said fisting that you punched your girlfriend.”

I burst out with “Iʼm sorry.” I am sorry, I thought. Sorry for this extraordinarily embarrassing hospital visit. Sorry that itʼs three in the morning and Iʼm not asleep. But I wasnʼt sorry for sex. Really, thatʼs the moral of this story. The sex was 125.4 percent worth this encounter with Ogie and my wrist on the lamb seeking a black market plane ticket to Fiji with a jacked passport. The sex is always epic! Long live the sex!

Ogie seemed un-phased, as if he were echoing my philosophy on sex. Or perhaps he was just jaded, being an emergency room peep because he then nonchalantly responded with “Oh, no, really. Donʼt feel bad. Youʼre definitely not the worst one weʼve seen. We had a guy come in last week who shoved a light bulb up his rectum and then it broke.”

Someone needs to take that guy to a Babeland workshop.

The x-ray ladies chattered like chickens and were older than my father. “What did you do to your wrist?” I sighed as they positioned it on the x-ray table. “Well the first possibility is that I hurt it playing with a 115 pound pit bull mastiff mix. The other…is a really embarrassing sexual misadventure that Iʼd rather not recount again.” They glanced at each other and burst out laughing, knowing smirks as they cackled “I bet the doctor would love to hear about that.”

It wasnʼt broken. Just sprained. Yes, everyone, you understood right. I am fully committed to my girlfriendʼs happiness. I sacrificed my wrist for her! And those lovely podunk town hospital chickadees prescribed a splint, which they didnʼt know how to put on. Jess was back and struggling and she burst out “Oh no, we must look so unprofessional. We must look so stupid!”

“Really, nurse Jessica. Letʼs revisit why Iʼm here. You look fine.”

“Oh, but youʼre totally not the worst thing weʼve seen. Why just last week we had a guy come in who had shoved a light bulb into his rectum and it broke.”

About Ali

Ali is a recently graduated theatre major with loads of ideas and literary projects.  She lives in three different places, including the State of Chaos.  You can get social with Ali on Twitter.

Comments

  1. virginia says:

    Let me be the first to say eww. I would have to say that is truly beyond my comprehension. Just because a baby the size of a watermelon or bigger eeks out of a vagina that does not mean that a fist can arbitrarily find its way in there. I just don't know and don't want to know.

  2. I remember the very front page of 'A Hand in the Bush' has a warning that essentially says 'If you do this you could die' but I always thought that that warning was for the person on the receiving end, not the person providing the the fist. You learn something new every day.

  3. OMG I applaud you and love your writing and I give you a standing O for the misery of the hospital!

  4. Virginia too says:

    Anyone who isn’t turned on by the idea of fisting needs to read this:
    http://www.puckerup.com/adventure_girl/

  5. Ali here! :0)

    Thank you all so much for reading–it was certainly a real *ahem* pleasure to write. As for the puckerup article…holy crap, I hadn't seen that. I leapt on my girlfriend the second I read it–super sexy. Thank you for posting that link!

    And thanks for the standing "O" (pun intended, I'm sure.) :0)

  6. absolutely nothing wrong with a little fisting. frankly i think it's hot as hell.

    besides, the first couple does it:
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lK5rdz-GMRM

  7. you *are* a queer rock star!

    and I totally want to meet the lightbulb guy.

    • Awww, thank you!

      And I think lightbulb man should be a super hero and have a cape and be a sex-positive sex educator going door to door teaching people what -not- to stick in their orifices.

  8. oh. my. god.

    excuse me, I need to change my panties now.

  9. LadyLover says:

    I love fisting. It means we've been having great sex all day and she's still begging for more.

  10. Oh wow. I've never so much as kissed a girl, but that article really turned me on. Damn. And Ali, you are hilarious. I love that you actually told the ER people straight out. You go.

    • I actually made the decision to tell people straight out because I was convinced I had broken it, it hurt so badly. And I wanted it to get fixed as fast as possible and as correctly as possible. :0) But I'll gladly pretend it was an act of social defiance. Thank you so much for reading!

  11. "Someone needs to take that guy to a Babeland workshop."

    Amazing post.

    • Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it.

      And seriously, if anyone's sticking stuff up there that ain't meant to go up there, they do need an educational field trip to the nearest Babeland. :0)

      Thanks for reading!

  12. The first time I really knew what fisting was, I was riding the underground train in Hong Kong. An adorable baby butch type was describing how to fist a girl to a few equally adorable friends. It was in Cantonese, not a language I am anywhere close to proficient speaking, but her actions were unmistakable … could be some of the literature I had been immersed in at the time.

    This post (masterfully penned) reminds me of that, if only because of its wonderful openness. I love that you told it like it was, without apology. A bit of happy (if sheepish) education is what everyone needs more of in this seemingly judgmental world. Self-acceptance — such an awesome way to teach!

    • Thank you so much for your wonderful comment! Especially since I've been sweating it out that I would get a bunch of "Omg, wtf, ewwie, fisting lesbians" comments.

      :0)

      And I'm jealous of your experience in Hong Kong listening to international fisters tell their stories. I can't even speak a little Cantonese, so hats off!

    • Guess you were wrong! Fisting lesbians are apparently all the rage this summer. Keep up the good writing and, you know, collecting experiences to write about, and go easy on your old man! (That part made me laugh the most!)

  13. I think this is the one that inspired me. But i'm a perv anyway. Hypersexuality is what the term is these days. They used to say: satyriasis or saty but they fixed us by changing the name lol. Straight fisting is more common than people think.

    .edenfantasys.com/sex-fantasy/passionate-couples-sex

    add: http://www to the front of the above link

    • BTW sorry about the injury Ali. It was worth it. It always is.Ive trown my back out and lived through a few hyper extended shoulder and hip injuries. (dont ask) The only other sex related ER visit I can recall offhand is the ex mother in law. At 70 she broke her hip in a sex swing at the fantasy motel. I brought her flowers and stuff at the hospital and she did heal up, but we just never discussed the cause ever lol.

  14. Oh Snap!! I hope I'm that sexually active at 70!!!

  15. I told my grnamdtoehr how you helped. She said, “bake them a cake!”

  16. I found this when I was searching for more info about this very subject…my girlfriend was a fist V until recently, and I had never done it before… It was amazing, but at one point she clamped down on my wrist and I thought it was going to break!

    You girls are strong down there!

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