fat girl sex: pegging princess

Fat Girl Sex is a bi-weekly sex column devoted to the celebration of the sexual empowerment of women, body, and sex-positivity featuring personal meandering about all the nasty things we do in the dark.

My reluctance to wear a strap-on for a man has more to do with my own selfishness than internalized homophobia. Though the novelty of subverting expected gender roles delighted me, if only for a shift in power. The idea of jamming a plastic phallus into my male lover’s asshole seemed to be just another male-centric sex act that has nothing to do with me cumming.

But men wouldn’t stop asking for it. And everywhere I turn there’s some grown man asking me to put things in his booty.

And before you write me off as a selfish bitch; which I’m not saying isn’t true. My frustration over increasing demands to peg my partner is predicated on the very real orgasm gap that exists between hetero couples. As we already know, it turns out that straight men aren’t very good at pleasing their partners sexually. It’s science; I’m sorry.

And it tells us that the everyday man doesn’t spend time conjuring up all the different ways he can please his female partner. To this day we’ve got grown men still voicing irritation over their lover’s inability to orgasm from penetration. Because God forbid he might actually have to try. None of that made the idea of giving more to men anymore appealing. I gotta tickle balls with my tongue, ride you like Zorro, f*ck you in the ass, and then, hopefully, maybe you’ll fumble around for my clit? Hard pass.

This is why I’m still reverberating from the shockwaves that jolted through me the first time he pulled the harness tightly around my hips. I wrapped my hand around this gorgeous toy and the embarrassment of, what I perceived to be, my physical masculinization melted away like ice. It was the openness of it all that was so erotic. There was an honesty to it all, even if my penis was fake. Honesty in the pleasure my partner so deeply craved and the dropping of all normative pretense.

In allowing my limited scope of sexuality to be challenged, I was able to inhabit a space not bound by gendered conventions, but one governed by both pleasure and vulnerability. And what could be sexier than that?