It was as though my private parts were just there to be used by her.
By Eric Martin
Almost two years ago, Nicole Rodgers of Role/Reboot linked to an article in Salon about “pegging”—female-on-male anal sex—with the wicked title of “Bringing Up the Rear.” Nicole’s synopsis of the article observed, “If this is not an example of the changing roles and expectations of men and women, I’m not sure what is.” Count me as agreeing—strongly.
I grew up rather sheltered sexually. My wife Kathi did, too. By the time we met, I was slightly more experienced than her. The first time we had intercourse, the look on her face said it all—a mixture of fear, trust, love, and shame. She was a bit traumatized and confused, but in the end she was very proud and satisfied.
We were married two years later and our relationship was very satisfying. Kathi and I began to overcome all of the inhibitions that had been put into us all those years ago. We had what we thought was a successful marriage—complete with four kids. On the career side, Kathi became much more confident and assertive.
Things changed in bed, too. Kathi became more assertive and more willing to have a good time. Years ago, she would giggle or cringe at any attempt I made to give her oral sex. Now, she loves it.
So—several years ago—she first brought up the idea of anal. She’d been to a bachelorette party and one of the women said she’d been doing it with her husband and it was great. I was—to put it mildly—petrified.
Visions of “being gay” ran through my head. She assured me I wasn’t, but I tried to let the topic die. She wouldn’t. She brought it up the next morning and eventually we made a date for the next day to meet for lunch and then go to a sex-toy store.
We went, we looked, and I was surprised at how many pegging toys there were. We both laughed and I found myself going along with things—retreating from a “no way” attitude to one in which I was saying, “but that’s way too big.”
Eventually we settled for a harness with a dildo on the small side, but still long and wide enough to do its damage.
We eventually decided to do the deed on Saturday. The kids safely over at a sitter’s, we took our clothes off and kissed and then took an erotic shower. Now, we were ready.
She looked at me. “Ready?” “Yeah. I can’t believe we’re doing this.” I went over to the bed to lie down. She went over to a closet and finally reappeared—fully harnessed. I must have gasped. The sight of that missile protruding from her—meant for me—brought everything home.
This was real. I was about to get fucked.
She smiled, sensing my apprehension. “Don’t worry,” she said, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.” She lay on top of me, pushed the tip of the dildo to my face, and asked me to lube it up, putting on as much as I wanted. I did—thoroughly. Then she got up, walked over to the stereo, cranked it up really loud, and came back into bed.
We’d talked about this moment and I remembered the rules. Be calm. Resist the urge to tighten up. It'll fit fine.
“OK, babe,” she said, “all ready.” On my back, I spread my legs as wide apart as I could and lifted my bottom up. She looked at me and the next thing I felt was a plastic, sticky object rubbing up against my inner thigh and balls. In hindsight, this was funny—Kathi was a total amateur with the harness and dildo. But at the time, I tensed up. “It’s never going to work if you’re so uptight,” she said, “just relax.” I tried to.
She guided the head with her hand and the next thing I felt was the tip touching my anus. Then, slowly, it began to enter. I tensed up and felt horrible. She withdrew, quietly applied a bit more lube, and returned it to just outside my anus. “Try again,” she said, “trust me.” I did. I put my arms back and got lost in the music, which was pounding and loud. The pushing returned but this time I didn't resist.
Slowly, slowly, the dildo pressed in and then—all of a sudden—it just slid forward. I moaned and gasped, “Oh my god.” “Mmmm,” she said, “Here’s some more.” With that, she pushed in even further. Another “Oh my god” from me. Then the thrusting began. “Keep with me,” she said. I did, mimicking what she’d done for me hundreds of times before—bucking my hips in rhythm to meet her thrusts. I couldn’t believe it.
Then she slowed down, stopped bucking, and begin to maneuver the dildo deeper inside me. But she wasn’t done yet. Back to bucking—this time with greater force. Then slowing down. I was totally drained and yet I did my best to keep up with her. Her moves were smooth and not too fast. I met them again.
What an odd sensation. It was so impersonal. It was as though my private parts were just there to be used by her.
She lay atop me, eyes half glazed, staring into space or at the wall or something, but not at me. After some time, she again stopped, looked down, kissed me, and put her head on my shoulder. Unbelievably, I felt the shaft probe deeper. After a few more thrusts, she withdrew with a “pop” sound.
I was laying on my back in a daze. I hadn’t had an orgasm despite her repeated tries to hit my prostate. Oh well. I proceeded to give her oral sex. It was a relief to be back in a more typical situation—one that probably lasted longer than the screwing I had just received and at least produced orgasms on her part.
We lay holding each other for quite a while. Then, I was shocked when she put the harness back on. “Oh no,” I said or something like it. “Just once more,” she replied. I assumed the position, but she asked me to turn over and get on my knees. We were going to do it doggie-style.
I acquiesced and quickly felt her hands holding my butt and then the dildo pressing up against its target. It zoomed in, I gasped, and then it began probing. Again. And again. Finally, she hit the spot—I moaned, got hard and came—very intensely. Mercifully, she withdrew and we lay next to each other and cuddled. It was over.
We said nothing for a while—just holding each other tightly. Kathi hadn’t removed the harness, so the dildo was still on her, pressed up against my stomach—a silent reminder of all that had just happened. And what had just happened? The physical act had been one thing and a weird one at that. But, the psychological effects were just beginning to waft in.
All my life I had been the penetrator and even when the woman was aggressive, there was no doubt as to who was doing what to whom. But now—as the one being penetrated—I was on the other side.
She’d gotten me to give it up. She’d probed, thrusted, and done any manner of other things—all of her own urging and without much regard as to what I wanted. She had been cool, under control, and self-assured while I’d been emotional, afraid, out of control. And yet, I’d experienced a great orgasm. That was a real trip. My mind had reeled at the experience and my body had enjoyed almost every second of it. Even the pain—and there was pain—was rewarded in the end by pleasure.
I told her all of these things. She told me how she loved being in charge for a change and how great it felt to be able to control me as opposed to usually being under my control.
She said that what really surprised her was how protective she became of me when she realized that I was now vulnerable to her. Yeah, I thought sarcastically—you really acted protectively. She said that she felt like she’d conquered me, but at the same time wanted to make sure that I was OK. She also said—mimicking a cornerstone on which patriarchy is based—that she felt surprised at how easily I’d let her do what she was doing. I nodded. I was surprised by that too, but a little angry that that was how she felt. After all, I’d just done what she wanted me to.
So that was that. Since then, we have added anal to our repertoire and I must admit that it's enjoyable, but I’ve never shed my ambiguous feelings about it. Maybe that’s part of what makes it so exciting.
This article was originally published at Role Reboot. Reprinted with permission from the author.