Fists of fury

I’d been trying for quite a long time, and it’s not exactly a thing I feel that I can talk particularly openly about, with a few exceptions, but towards to the end of last year I got fisted.

It wasn’t Santa Claus, I just thought the accompanying picture was vaguely amusing.

I had read a great deal and talked to other people who had done it and as they said, most of what was stopping me was entirely in my own head, although a good teacher is a wonderful thing.

I was supposed to be away for the weekend with another man and had been let down at the last minute, another unexpected opportunity came along and I grasped it. I didn’t know it was going to happen, I just went with the flow and followed his advice and it just happened. I suppose I was waiting for another guy to do it with me, but it’s just proving to be too complicated and I can’t keep waiting.

I’ve done it a few times now and have been pushing my limits a little each time. One guy I enjoy playing with has fairly huge hands and that’s the next challenge, although I still need to learn to control my breathing a bit more.

It’s a fairly extreme act, to most people, but it’s not painful and the intense connection it brings is absolutely incredible.


I couldn’t think of another title and so the ridiculous seemed quite apt.

I’m not actually feeling sorry for myself, god knows it’s incredibly unattractive. The last few weeks I’ve been heavily loaded with work and my mood has been up and down and all over the place! I’ve seen and hopefully helped a couple of friends who have been in fairly terrible mental situations over Christmas, and my own Christmas and New Year were perfectly good, even if one family member in particular would drive you to strong drink.

January began with a bang and time with a guy I enjoy playing with, but there’s not much else on the horizon just now, and that strong emotional connection is elusive.

Can I please sit at a Dom’s boots? Okay, I know it’s a lot to ask. So much potential and January is a long month.