My First Fist-a-Thon

A virgin attempt at setting the world record in five-finger feats

Two years ago, I went to my first kinky summer camp and had a ball ("Kinky Summer Camp", The Village Voice, June 17-24, 2002). This year, the organizers invited me back to the seventh annual event, now relocated to a more adult-friendly retreat on 200 acres of secluded land. In addition to teaching classes, I was asked to host a special event. Their suggestion: Tristan's Fist-a-Thon. Since fisting, and in particular, deflowering anal-fisting virgins, is one of my passions, I wasn't hard to convince. The premise was that we'd see how many people I could fist both vaginally and anally, plus how many could be fisted by others, in the span of two hours. We weren't raising money like a typical 'thon, more like raising consciousness in a did-you-know-I-could-expand-you-and-your-orifice-like-this? kind of way.

In an old barn converted into a dungeon, we set up a row of massage tables and spanking benches draped in disposable absorbent bedsheets. Next to each one sat a folding chair with paper towels, gloves, lube, and baby wipes. There were thick black mats on the floor for the overflow of fistees. On the stage, I laid out an assortment of toys, including a purple-and-white swirled butt plug that looked like a candy cruller, a red rubber teardrop-shaped plug, and a black vinyl plug I nicknamed "Superstar" for its ability to help me get people's asses to go where they'd never gone before.

I welcomed everyone and reviewed the ground rules: "Fistees, please warm up before I get to you. Play with your ass or have someone else do it, so by the time I get to you, you're already on your way. Feel free to use any of the toys, but cover them with condoms. I can only fist one person at a time, so please be patient. General orgy rules apply: Don't touch anyone without permission! Once I have gotten my entire hand inside you, the fisting will be added to the list by the official tally master; then, unfortunately, I must move on. But I encourage you to keep going with a partner, ask a friend to take over for me, or finish yourself off."

First up was one of my camp cabinmates, a gorgeous curvy blonde woman who'd never been vaginally fisted before. Her fiancé licked her pussy during my announcements, and when I made my way over, he moved to kiss her and play with her nipples. I snapped on a purple nitrile glove and she moaned as I worked my way inside her pussy. She was wet and open. I played with her for a while, eventually getting all five fingers in, but when it came to that point where my hand's diameter is thickest, it felt like too much for her. She was disappointed when she decided to stop, but her man stroked her face, and I knew she'd be OK.

I moved over to a fiftysomething guy I recognized from the audience at one of my classes earlier that day. He had one of my favorite toys in his ass—a clear acrylic plug with a convex base that acts as a magnifying glass; I often use it in demonstrations during workshops to give people a chance to see all the way inside someone's butt. We worked together for a while, and when I slipped in him all the way, I heard faint clapping in the background. Two down, a roomful to go.

I moved onto the stage, where another guy had been warming himself up with a colorful corkscrew-shaped dildo. As I slipped four fingers inside his ass, in my peripheral vision I saw a woman in a corset with her hand in another woman's ass. A few minutes later, I followed suit and buried my right paw in this man's butt. I realized I had forgotten his name. I heard moans all over the room and saw the tally master busily making notes on his clipboard. One woman named D. was sprawled out on a mat, surrounded by four or five people and howling in ecstasy. They beckoned me over, announcing that she had already been vaginally fisted several times by different people. "Does it count more than once if it's by someone else?" a fister cheerily inquired. "Yes, absolutely!" I exclaimed, and the tally master nodded. Then I got down on my knees between her legs, and it took me all of one minute to slide inside her up to my wrist. "She's already warmed up for you," one of her gang of pals said. "You've got small hands," the woman whose pussy surrounded my fist said. "Can you fit them both in there?" The answer was yes.

I moved on to a guy from the Midwest who'd introduced himself the first day of camp; his wife said she was shy and didn't want to be in the midst of the action, but I encouraged her to watch so she could practice doing it when they got home. We managed an impressive five fingers, but just couldn't get past that widest part of the hand. We decided to call it a success at almost, and I took a deep breath.

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