The Unexpected Door

A personal reflection on intimacy, confidence and the doors I didn’t plan to open.

I didn’t expect fisting to change how I saw and experienced sex. I also didn’t know how much it would come to change my life. I used to think fisting was this extreme act that some gay men were engaging in because of sex addiction or an adrenaline chase. I judged fisters because I thought, “Why would anyone want a hand up their butt? Surely, this is TOO much and not healthy.”

I was in my 20s, living in San Francisco, when I first came across fisting. It was during a massive event in the city one year (either Pride, Folsom, or Dore Alley weekend—I forget). My friend at the time was trying to find a circuit party for us to go to and came across an ad on Scruff. He sent over the link, which had some vague language on it. But I remember the party being called Friendly Fire. I was clueless.

We drove from SoMa to an industrial area in the south of the city where the venue was. There was a line of guys taking off their clothes outside the entrance and getting their arms marked by a bouncer. We got to the back of the line, and when the bouncer got to us, I noticed that he marked my right shoulder with a Sharpie. When I took a look at the ink, I saw the letters “FF” marked with a circle around them…

That’s when it hit me.

“I think this is a fisting party,” I whispered to my friend.

“What?” he responded.

“Yeah. I think the FF stands for fisting fucking. I’ve seen it on people’s Grindr and Scruff profiles.”

“Oh my god. No fucking way!”

He pulled up the ad.

“Hahahahaha!” he laughed.

“Well, I guess we’re here now, so we might as well check it out,” I said.

“You think this will just be a sex party, or will people actually be rolling and dancing?”

“I don’t know, girl. We’ll see,” I laughed.

I can now safely say that there was no dancing involved. Once through the door, we saw slings, fuck tables, benches, and chairs lined up against the walls. There must have been 150+ men at the party. I remember so much groaning, shouting, and talking. The music wasn’t super loud, which only amplified all of the uninhibited sex noises. The space smelled of musk, piss, and poppers. It took my friend and me about 15–20 minutes to decide that the party wasn’t for us.

Looking back, that night was the first door I stood in front of—not knowing whether I was ready for what was on the other side.

It took me a couple of years after that experience to revisit fisting. When I moved to New York City in 2021, I was finally living alone for the first time. New York was still pretty shut down from the COVID-19 pandemic, so I was alone in this massive new city with quiet days to myself.

One afternoon, while passing a random sex shop in Chelsea, I decided to step in and buy the tiniest butt plug. The only sex toy I owned before then was a small prostate massager my ex-boyfriend gave me in college. With this new toy, I had no intention of widening my hole to take a hand. I only wanted to stretch out a bit so I could take bigger… partners.

It took me about 45 minutes to pop my new butt plug in that evening.

“Fuck! Oh my god! Get it out!”

It was the first time I had ever felt something that wide in my ass. My hole was contracting so hard that it was trying to push the toy out but couldn’t. Then the funniest thing happened after I managed to get it out—I wanted it right back in. I popped that toy in and out for the rest of the night until I couldn’t anymore. The next morning, I woke up with a pleasant soreness.

About a month later, I purchased a bigger butt plug. As I was stretching myself one evening with it, I kept thinking: “This is insane,” “What if my hole never goes back to normal?” “Am I a size queen now?” “Wtf is wrong with me?”

I took a deep breath in and exhaled. I felt the noise in my head fade away and focused my complete attention on my hole. As I moaned and groaned, my body finally relaxed. Every muscle became soft, and I felt myself fully present in that moment. Nothing else mattered except for what I was experiencing right there and then.

Now, this may sound a bit weird, but that experience brought me back to a therapy session I had a few years prior. My therapist at the time was helping me work through some of my anxiety. He had me close my eyes, take a couple of deep breaths, and guided me through a conversation with my inner five-year-old. He took me back to a time when I started to repress my little queer self. That conversation brought me to tears. After a few minutes of letting it all out, I felt calm—like REALLY calm. I could feel every sensation in my body, from head to toe. I left that session with a feeling I could only describe as a “buzz” or light high.

My solo play came to emulate that same experience in a way. To this day, I tell people how solo play can be quite meditative and spiritual when done with intention. I find myself getting fully immersed in the present moment when I’ve got a toy going in my butt.

It took me a couple of days to get that second plug fully in. When it finally did, curiosity struck me.

“Hmm… I wonder how a hand would feel?”

Within a few days, I found a cute boy on an app who expressed interest in being my first fist. He had small, smooth hands and was able to get in me relatively quickly. However, the session didn’t last long because (oopsies!) I had my first messy accident.

The second guy who came over to fist me was very experienced and skilled. I made sure to spend more time prepping beforehand. This time, I could actually feel everything: the smoothness of his hand, the texture of his knuckles, the wetness of the lube, the fullness of his fist—it all lit something up inside me. I was in pure bliss for over two hours.

Fisting became my primary form of intimacy with others from then on. But a practice that has been even more profound in building my confidence and self-esteem over time has been my solo play. My solo play has taught me to trust myself more, lean into my pleasure, push through challenges, and fully enjoy myself. It might be funny to say, but training myself with my toys has been a return of sorts—specifically, a return to a playful state of mind I had when I was a kid.

It’s this experience that now guides how I work with clients. After two years of professionally training people, I’ve had the privilege of seeing my clients transform themselves inside-out (pun intended). Witnessing them unravel and become vulnerable during our sessions confirms that we all have a playful side that, when given permission to come out, can be deeply healing. Many of my clients have shared how our time together boosted their confidence in sex and in life. A few even went on to create fisting content and fansites. I remember one particular client saying she felt she could “achieve anything now” that she was able to take a fist.

Looking back now, I don’t think fisting changed my life because of the act itself. It changed my life because it taught me how to approach doors I never planned on opening.

The first door was a party I walked into by accident. Another was a quiet sex shop in Chelsea on an ordinary afternoon. Another was my own body—specifically a place I had learned to clench, control, and judge. Each door presented a new opportunity for me to explore myself.

What surprised me most was that once I learned how to open my body, other doors began to open too. Emotional ones. Relational ones. Creative ones. And eventually, a professional one—a door into work I never imagined I’d be doing, helping others feel safer, braver, and more at home in themselves.

I used to believe confidence came from certainty or control. What I know now is that it often comes from standing in front of something unfamiliar, placing a hand to it, and choosing to step through.

Fisting was simply the unexpected door that taught me how.

This piece reflects my personal journey. If it resonates and you’d like to explore your own with guidance, you can learn more about how I work here.