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Your Kiss, Your Fist

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Of all the things crammed into pussies and asses through the ages, the fist maintains an underground popularity that's baffling from the outside. What is it about fisting that captures the minds (and hands) of its devotees? And why exactly is the whole country terrified of its own ass?

  Trent Reznor, Dark Shaman of the Fist-Fuckers

The intensity of fisting is obvious to those who care to look for it, even if they haven't experienced it themselves. Sorcha, a monogamous, happily married mom who identifies as “bendy-straight,” writes scorching-hot fisting fiction without firsthand fisting experience. “It’s HAWT,” she says without reservation. “It implies a level of trust that I really like. I like the...well, not the extreme nature of it exactly, but the pushing of limits that way. I find that when I’m writing the bottom character in that scenario, it really puts him into a deeply altered (in a good way) headspace. I also love the way it puts the top into an über-responsible and caring position, as well. It’s awesome to have a real badass character doing it and being able to show his caring and even tender side that way.”

As a pornographer who had a good start on my career before I ever busted my cherry, I can relate to Sorcha’s ease in writing something on research and personal connection alone. “There’s some really good info on the Web these days, and having kinky friends to ask for fact-checking really helps, of course,” she says. “Since I pretty much grew up in the gay bar scene, it’s something I’d heard of even though it wasn’t really talked about in the mainstream.”

Indeed, one of the few pop-culture references to fisting exists in the Nine Inch Nails song “Wish,” a live concert staple. As a fist fucker, it’s eerily powerful to stand in a crowd of thousands all shouting “Gotta listen to your big-time hard line bad luck FIST FUCK!” and pumping their fists in the air, but how many actually get the reference? (There’s no question Reznor gets it; when the EP “Wish” debuted on won a Grammy, he quipped that a fitting epitaph would be “REZNOR: Died. Said ‘fist fuck,’ won a Grammy.”)

As invigorating as sharing what may or may not be a genuine experience with thousands of people may be, it doesn’t hold a candle to that moment when the thick part of my boyfriend’s hand slips inside me. As great as the orgasms are, as powerful as the control is, I believe there is a reason why “intensity” is the word that comes up again and again: a good fisting blots out the deadlines, the laundry, and the bills, and that singular attention in an increasingly multitasking world is a rare and beautiful commodity.

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