My sexual preference used to be anyone who would fuck me until that one time in that one place where three queer, fat, Black, kinksters fisted that concept right  out of me.

It was IMSL and I came to PLAY

At least I said I came to play. In all honesty I was too anxious to put myself out there. I really came to watch, get high and cry myself to sleep at night listening to Toni Braxton on my headphones while my roomie fucks who ever they picked up from the crowd.

It was in this state of pre rejection self pity that I wistfully said the following words to myself “And I’ve never even been fisted”

The look of abject horror and “Da Fuck You Mean?!?!” that crossed my besties face when I said that had me choking on my own spit.

“You’ve never been fisted!” She asked so loudly that her voice skipped across the marble floors of the double tree like a stone across water. It was a siren song and drew in two other Black Queers who magically appeared from no where.

Who has never been fisted?
Me I’ve never been fisted… I say softly like I am Drew Barrymore and I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never been fisted.

They stared at me in how is that even possible

I’m pretty sure that I sort of passed out due to mortification at that point.

I’m not easily embarrassed.

I’ve purposely done foolish shit just to see what it felt like but this was different. This was deeper. This made my heart race. They told me “We’ll take care of you. Go to the dungeon at 9pm, find a sling near an electrical socket and wait.

So I did.

I waited. On my knees I waited and watched as that time passed and continued to pass. All of a sudden I was 17 and it was prom. I was about to run to my hotel room and cry to “just another sad love song” when they appeared.

Fat black bodies, big gorgeous smiles, their hair coiled like mine, lips just as full and soft and inviting, they moved like joy, looked like heaven and for a moment I froze before the absolute glory of them.

They pulled me up
Stripped me of my clothing with an easy casualness while somehow still treating me as if I was some sort of gift they were receiving. Something precious and worthy. Like I was precious and worthy and this was everyday common ass knowledge.

They rubbed me down with coconut oil
Touching each part of me, their warm hands making me glow and shine which was a blessing because I was ashy as fuck. Like my level of ash was an embarrassment unto my entire lineage. I was a fire hazard and not nar one of them mentioned it as they tended me.

They beat my chest with their fists
They beat my back with their palms, a knocking, a welcoming home and every time their hands landed I was called back into my own flesh and it felt so good to be there. In the spaces between impact I flew from my body, always being summoned back over and over again until my soul surrendered to my flesh.

They laid me back into the sling
They slipped my feet into the holsters
They started.

I’m spread wide
Suspended
Surrounded
Safe

Actually safe and I was about to be fed

This. Was. Terrifying.

As a fat, black, queer human being the mainstream had me believing that my options were severely limited.
Scarcity had me out here fucking trash and being grateful.
Fear had me out here engaging in mediocre sex because I didn’t consider my own desires
Disbelief in my basic humanity had me giving more than I was getting

I didn’t even know I had a problem until I was educated otherwise. Each finger slipped inside of me was a dissertation on my own worth, lovability, sexiness, humanity and voracious capacity for feeling pleasure.

While they are working me over and working into me I am, internally, an absolute mess.

What if?

What if I am broken? What if all the sex has been bad because I am broken? What if I feel something? What if it feels good and I won’t ever be able to feel that again? Am I supposed to squirt? Can I even squirt? I think I have to pee. Wait isn’t that what squirting is supposed to feel like? What if it is just pee? I have to squirt or else they won’t know they are doing well. OMFG

I’m clenching and gasping and squirming away and one of them braces me. Places themself between the wall and the sling so I can’t strain away.

“Don’t you back up off this fist! Don’t you back up off this fist brah!” They say like a team captain or personal trainer or enthusiastic artistic manager. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Nothing made sense. My body was trying so hard to turn itself off, reject this until I heard her voice.

“Shhh,” She said from between my legs “It’s okay” and she began to sing. Her voice rising above the vibrations of the Hitachi humming against my clit.

Let it go
Let it go
Don’t hold it back any more
Let it go
Let it go

I mean?

I could not with this foolishness! I began to laugh. That full body laugh that makes you convulse and clench and open and clench and open and I opened…

like a cathedral singing new and holy songs.

They gave me a knowing that night
They
Black with bodies abundant as all the silken river beds
Smelling of coconut oil and leather
They who beat new rhythms into my heart with four fists
One Hitachi
One wrist deep
They who knocked at the tabernacle door until I blossomed

They took care of me
They took care of me by gifting me a deep knowing

I am so fucking worthy. I am beautiful in all of my humanity. My Queer Fat Black body is precious. I am precious. I get to be touched like a treasured book full of stories. I get to be like pages turned and read, caressed and memorized like sacred scripture in a holy book. I get to demand for myself what I so willingly give to so many other people.

This knowledge goes beyond the bedroom.

Over the years it dissolved into my soul and began to change how I interacted with the greater world around me as well as the smaller universe within myself. I became less compliant, more vivid, liberated, confident and feral because of it.

I was thinking about that moment years later.
While my mouth is full of her
While she squirms and gasps
her brown skin hot to the touch and beautifully flushed.

It’s her first time not being with a man. She’s nervous and it’s adorable. I lift my head and wait until her eye’s make contact with mine before saying firmly but gently.
“I’ll take care of you.”
And I do.

From my mouth into her pussy
my tongue speaks
the great and holy mysteries of her own worth, lovability, sexiness, humanity and voracious capacity for feeling pleasure
Just like they had handed it over to me

You are fucking worthy

You are beautiful in all of your humanity

Your Queer Trans Fat Black Brown body is precious

You are precious

You get to be touched like you are temple, pages to be turned and read, caressed and memorized like sacred scripture in a holy book

You get to be treated in these same ways outside of sex too

You get to demand for yourself what you willing give to so many other people

May it always and forever be so.