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Room Inside

18-mar-2004

Our last night together was our first night with toys. After a roller–coaster relationship, my first boyfriend and I called it quits but had sex for another six months after that. I promised myself I’d get out of the emotional amusement park as soon as I moved into my new place. Returning from my hometown for a new semester at school, I crashed with the ex for a week while I was apartment–hunting. We quickly landed in bed together. We were great lovers after four years; it was difficult to keep our hands off each other.

I found a place to live, so on my final night in his apartment we both knew this was it. The end. We fucked languorously. I travelled every inch of his body knowing it was the last time. After an hour of tongue–bathing, sucking and rolling around, E asked if I wanted to try something new. New? I asked. What hadn’t we done before? He pulled out a three–tiered dildo, each bump more intimidating than the last.

“I bought this,” he said.

And I knew he’d been missing me. I agreed to try it on him and he smiled, shyly. “I’ve already used it,” he said. “I want you to try it.”

I looked at the stout silicone pole, gulped, and agreed. He wrapped it in latex and then began working on me. He rolled it in circles, wiggled it back and forth, pushed, grunted and teased me with it until finally, what must have been twenty minutes later, I felt my hole stretch to birth a baby elephant and the silicone bumped against my ass.

I sighed with relief. “I’m at the base?” I asked.

“That was the first hump,” he answered with a smirk.

Half an hour later we finally had the whole thing inside me. I felt like heÕd impaled me on an obelisk, a monument to our relationship. Endorphins did somersaults through my blood. My heart felt like its valves were trying to stretch in competition with my sphincter.

When he pulled it out, I felt I’d never been so alone. “Want more?” he asked. I could only nod my head. Yes. He slipped in a few fingers, then a few more, till I felt something peculiar. The pressure on my hole disappeared, suddenly, as though his hand had shrunk in half. He said, “I have the whole thing in there.”

I looked down to find that I’d become a hand puppet and he was a dirty Jim Henson. When he started to wiggle his fingers, I thought, That settles it, we’re getting married.

A half—hour later, we traded places. Now I was buried to my wrist inside the man I’d never have sex with again. Any worries I harboured that he’d have no place for me once I’d moved out were gone. I was amazed by how much room he had inside him.