Deep Inside to the Pit

In matters sexual, there is no one who has really done all that there is to do.  Now you may think you have, but trust me, you haven't...really.  That's what's great about your sex life: it's over when you want it to be over.  Until then, keep at it, learning, testing yourself, enjoy the stimulation...as you get older, sex,  always somewhat mental, becomes more so.  So?  What's happened to me that caused me to turn so philosophical?  Here's what happened: I fisted an ass up to my armpit.  I could have gone deeper, I think, but my shoulder got in the way.  A bony shoulder might have gone deeper, but I've been working out, so my shoulder was too big.  All I can say is that for the first time in my fisting career, I wasn't terrified once I got beyond the elbow.  This ass just kept sucking me in.  Who is this talented superb bottom?  Nah, I never divulge names unless it's a professional, a pornstar, or a bottom who gives me permission.  So, nah, but man, what an experience for a top!  I still tremble a little when I think back about it.  There are professional men, career men, men of stature and substance in their public lives who...have...an inner self...that they offer up for exploration...usually on a Saturday night, but not necessarily.  That's my point here: you never really know a man until you get deep inside, and then...deeper and deeper.  And keep trying until you find him.
Thank you, God, for the gift of opportunity....I love fisting!!!!!

Scary Deepfisting of a White Pig

Men, I am an experienced and dedicated fisting topman, but there was a time when I met more than a match for my talents, and that's when it gets scary.  This encounter happened when I was in the desert last month and after some time ruminating about it, I am writing about it now.

I am usually very much influenced by my surroundings when engaged in sex.  And I can't fully explain it because I have had great sex fisting a hot hole in a sling...in a garage...next to a Volvo.  How unsexy is that?  But it worked because the bottom was an amazing and holey artist.  On the day of the scary fistfuck, I found myself in a typical Palm Springs condo within a gated community of TacoBell style units.  I made arrangements with the bottom through Asspig, the best hook-up site for fisters (thanks, Asspig.com), so the door was unlocked, and he was on the bed, and everything....everything...was in place...mat, lube, towels, water (for me!) and the right kind of music, some tribal grunting to an endless beat.  This was a serious, no bullshit bottom...a guy in control, which of course, in fisting, is how it should be.

What was scary was the effect to which this guy had prepped his fistchute.  It was flawless, men; it was smooth, silky, primo.  It was surgically precise, and fisters will know what I mean by this.  I gave him a good workout, in fact, I had to call for it to end, because the bottom was wearing me out, and I was afraid I'd get careless.  This white man, youngish and nicely built, was over 6 feet tall, and I plumbed that hole all the way to my armpit...now I admit...I'm a short little number, I'm 5-6...but yeah, still...to my armpit.  And I with my nasty little fingers, I was documenting every bend to his interior architecture, where the asstunnel muscles spread and folded, gently feeling every millimeter of that interior manscape.  Did I write silky?  How about velvety?  It was stimulating and frightening, too: how deep did I dare to go?  But it was our first time together, and I got afraid of going any further.  I had to call it off.  It was a decent, intense session of about 30 minutes, and I know the bottom could have gone on indefinitely.  But a man has to be honest about his knowledge, experience and limits.  I'm talking about myself here.  I know I'm a great top.  It was I who had to call it off this time.  But, hey, there's a next time for sure.  To the armpit.  Man alive, what a thrill that was.  Thanks, Palm Springs guy, you're the best.