I Discovered Anal Pleasure and I Can’t Stop

To be honest, I never thought I’d end up writing something like this. I’m thirty-two years old, I live alone in an apartment in the center of the city, and until recently my sex life was reduced to the conventional: occasional dates, a few girlfriends, and when I was alone, the usual routine. I’d grab my cock, give myself a quick wank thinking about some chick I’d seen that day, come over my stomach, and move on. I considered myself an uncomplicated guy, without fetishes, without anything that made me different from the rest. Then I discovered the P-spot and all that changed in a way I hadn’t expected.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was months of curiosity that I shoved aside every time it poked its head up. From porn videos I closed before the guy stuck a finger in. From questions I asked myself in the shower, with my hard cock in my hand, that I never took seriously. How different could it really be? Why did so many men talk about it like it was a revelation?

On a Tuesday night, with nothing better to do and my phone in my hand, I spent almost two hours reading forums with my cock half hard under my pants. Straight men describing in detail how they’d shoved fingers up their ass, how they’d found that gland that made them come in torrents without touching their dick. It wasn’t something that made them faggots or affected their attraction to women. It was, simply, a part of anatomy most people ignored out of prejudice or fear of what it might mean.

I started with the simplest thing. In the shower, calmly, without rushing. I soaped my ass well, spread my cheeks with one hand and, with hot water pouring over me, brought my middle finger to the entrance. The first time I barely got past the knuckle. I felt the ring tighten around my finger, a tense, almost shy resistance. I was jerking myself with the other hand while I tried to go deeper, but my body wouldn’t quite let go. I came in a short spurt against the tiles and I wasn’t quite sure what to think.

The second time, two days later, I went slower. I put liquid soap on my fingers, ran them between my cheeks until they were dripping, and pushed the whole finger inside. When I reached the back, I curled it toward my navel like I’d read. I touched something. A little ball, firm, unlike the rest of the flesh. I pressed with my fingertip and a moan slipped out of me, echoing off the bathroom walls. My cock jerked and started leaking pre-cum without being touched. I grabbed it, gave it two shakes, and came so hard I had to brace myself against the tile so I wouldn’t fall. There were splashes of semen on the wall at chest height.

The third time, I understood what all those guys on the forums were talking about. I put in two fingers, moved them in small circles over the prostate, and felt the pleasure rise from deep inside, dense, unlike a normal handjob. It was like cumming in stages, in waves that never ended. There’s something in there that, when you find it for the first time, makes you stop and think: how the hell did it take me so long to get here? It’s a question with no good answer.

But fingers have a limit. Curiosity doesn’t.

***

I spent weeks researching before buying anything. I read about materials, hygiene, shapes, sizes. The variety was overwhelming and at first disorienting: silicone, metal, glass, in plug form, in dildo form, vibrating, non-vibrating. There were options for every level and every preference. More than once I got lost, jerking off in the middle of it while looking at photos of fat plugs that seemed impossible to get in.

What caught my eye at first were metal plugs. There was something about their weight, their polished finish, the little jewel set into the base that made them look like objects from another category. Almost elegant, in a strange way. I ordered one from a discreet online shop, one of those that sends packages without indicating the contents on the outside. I paid by card and then regretted it three days in a row while I waited for it to arrive.

When the package arrived, I held it in my hands for a good while before opening it. It was smaller than I’d expected. The box had a minimalist design. I took it out, cleaned it carefully, and left it on the nightstand while I decided whether I was really going to do this. My cock got hard just looking at it.

That same night, I decided yes.

***

I lay on my back on the bed, legs open and knees bent, and put a good squirt of water-based lube in my palm. I soaked the plug until it was dripping and smeared my ass thoroughly, first working my lubed finger in to prepare the opening. When everything was nice and slick, I set the tip of the metal against the hole and pushed.

The experience was intense from the first moment. Metal, unlike silicone, doesn’t give. It has no elasticity or neutral temperature to the touch. It was cold, hard, unforgiving. It went in with firm, definite pressure, forcing my asshole open, and when my body accepted it up to the widest part, I moaned out loud and my cock leaked pre-cum onto my stomach. The sensation was a hard thing to categorize. Not exactly pain. Not exactly pleasure. Something in between that the brain takes a while to interpret for what it is. I felt my ass full, stretched, occupied by something foreign and heavy.

I grabbed my cock, started stroking it slowly, and after a few seconds I stopped halfway through because I remembered something I’d read: metal plugs, without proper anchoring in the base, can cause real problems. The body sucks them inward more easily than silicone ones, and getting them back out can stop being trivial. I took it out carefully, feeling my ass open a second time as the widest part passed through, cleaned it, and put it away. I went back to the forums with my ass still stretched and my cock half-hard.

That night I learned more about safety than I’d ever wanted to. T-bar bases are the safest. Metal without that anchoring carries risks not worth taking. I made a note and never used it again. That early morning I finished jerking off with two fingers buried to the knuckles, coming in spurts over my chest while I thought about what it would feel like with something bigger.

I ordered a set of three medical-grade silicone plugs. They arrived in a box with individual dividers for each size. The three together cost less than the metal one.

***

The smallest was first. Soft silicone, rounded tip, wide base with the proper anchor. That night I turned off the lights, left only the bedside lamp on, and lay on my side first, with one leg bent up toward my chest to open my ass. I put lube on my fingers and massaged my ass with two of them until it started to relax, until I could slip one finger in without effort. Then I coated the whole plug until it gleamed.

I set the tip against the entrance and pushed slowly. The silicone slid in without difficulty at first, but when it reached the widest part I felt the ring of the sphincter clamp down against it, resisting. I pushed a little firmer, breathed deeply, and suddenly the plug went all the way in with a small pop. The sphincter closed behind the base and left it lodged inside me. You can’t rush this. I’d also learned that on the forums: impatience is the worst mistake you can make.

When it was fully in, I stayed still for a moment. I breathed. I felt the weight inside me, the slight constant tug of the base against the skin of my perineum. It wasn’t the same as a finger, not even close. It was steadier, more present. Something thick and hot shoved into my ass that wasn’t going anywhere. I shifted a little, clenching my sphincter around the base, and my cock pitched up on its own, without being touched. A fat drop of pre-cum rolled all the way to my navel. I understood why this object existed.

I spent almost an hour like that, lying on the bed with the lights low. I grabbed my cock and started stroking it slowly, long strokes, squeezing my glans with my palm on each upward pass. Every time I tightened my ass around the plug, I felt my prostate being pressed against it from inside. It was like masturbating from two sides at once, one from the outside and one from the inside. I writhed in the sheets, moaned without holding back because I lived alone and nobody was going to hear me. I whispered filthy things to myself that I’d never said out loud: that’s it, you son of a bitch, let yourself be filled, that’s what you like. It embarrassed me and turned me on even more.

In the end I reached an orgasm that took a long time to build. I felt it rise from deep in my belly, slow, dense, different. When it started to come, it came in separate spurts, almost convulsive. The first shot hit my chest. The second, my navel. Then three or four more followed, thick, while my ass kept contracting around the plug and my prostate emptied itself on its own. It was unlike anything I’d felt before. Deeper. More complete. As if something that normally remained unfinished had, for the first time, found closure.

I stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, with the plug still lodged inside and semen drying on my skin, not wanting to move.

***

The medium one took me a couple of weeks to try. It had a more pronounced bulb at the widest part, and insertion required more patience, more lube, and more concentration. I tried it bare the first time and nearly let my body swallow it the wrong way: the sphincter started clamping down instead of relaxing. I had to stop, calm down, start over.

The second time was different. I got on all fours on the bed, face against the pillow and ass in the air, a position I’d never tried before and that suddenly felt natural. I poured lube on in streams, smeared it all over my asshole with two fingers, and inserted them, scissoring them open to stretch myself. Then I took the plug, coated it to the hilt, and pushed it against the hole with my other hand, biting my lip.

The process was different: you couldn’t just let go. You had to be present at every step. I felt the bulb widen against the ring, opening it millimeter by millimeter. I pushed a little, stopped, breathed, pushed again. My cock hung hard between my legs, dripping onto the sheet. When the widest part finally got through and the sphincter closed behind it, I moaned into the pillow as if I were being fucked for real. I stayed like that for a while, on all fours, ass filled to the brim, feeling how my body got used to the new size.

I rolled over, lay on my back with my legs open, and started jerking off. But once my body accepted it, the sensation was considerably more intense. More final. You felt something had happened, that the limit of what you knew had moved a little farther forward. Every time I squeezed my ass around the silicone, I felt my prostate being crushed against it from the inside, and a groan slipped out of me. I masturbated slowly, with my hand coated in lube, squeezing my glans, my frenulum, running over my balls underneath. My cock was soaked and hard as a rock.

I came without warning. One shot blasted up to my face, staining my cheek and neck. The next came down onto my chest, thick, in convulsions that shook my hips and made me clench my ass around the plug. It took me almost a full minute to stop cumming, and when I did, my prostate was still throbbing inside me.

With the medium one I learned something I hadn’t considered: removal is also part of the experience. It’s not just taking it out. You have to do it slowly, calmly, letting the body release what it had taken in. You felt the bulb drag outward, felt the sphincter open again as it passed, felt how after it came out the hole stayed stretched for quite a while before closing. That resistance, that deliberate slowness, has its own kind of pleasure. It took me a while to understand it, but when I did, it changed the way I used the toy.

I still haven’t tried the big one. It has three successive bulbs and the maximum diameter is notably wider than the medium one. I look at it from time to time when I open the drawer. I pick it up, weigh it in my hand, press it against my asshole over my underwear just to imagine the feeling. My cock gets hard just thinking about it. I know I’ll do it one day, but I’m in no hurry. That’s another thing this has taught me: the absence of haste as part of pleasure.

***

The dildos came later, almost by accident. I was looking at the same online shop, supposedly to restock lube, and ended up adding one to the cart. Smooth silicone, no texture, no realistic details. Just the elongated, slightly curved shape, thick in the middle and with a wide base that also served as a handle.

The difference from the plug is complete. The plug is static presence. The dildo is movement. They’re two different experiences that complement each other without overlapping, without one making the other redundant.

The first time I used it, I lay on my back, lifted my legs, and slid it in slowly, gripping the base with my right hand. I kept shoving it all the way in, feeling it fill me from inside, feeling the hard silicone work its way through the channel until it touched my prostate from within. Then I pulled it back a little and pushed it in again. And again. And again. Each thrust tore a moan out of me. It was like fucking myself, setting the rhythm, controlling the speed, depth, and angle. The curve of the dildo let me hit the gland exactly on every push, and my cock shook against my belly without being touched, smearing me with fluid.

I started pumping faster, grabbing my cock with my other hand. I jerked myself in time with the thrusts, syncing both hands. The room filled with the sound of lube sloshing between my legs, with the slap of the base against my ass cheeks every time I shoved it to the hilt. I whispered filthy things under my breath, panting: that’s it, take it all the way in, don’t stop. It was a pornographic conversation with myself that at another time would have embarrassed me and that now drove me wild.

With the plug the orgasm comes later but lasts longer. With the dildo it comes sooner and hits harder right away. That night I came in less than fifteen minutes, with a violent spurt that hit my neck while I kept pumping the dildo inside me, squeezing my prostate from the inside through the whole climax. I ended up trembling, with the dildo still buried and my hand smeared with semen.

I’ve even combined them, though it’s not easy to coordinate your hands when you want to keep control of both at the same time. One night I put the small plug in first, seated it well inside, and then shoved the dildo higher up, against the prostate, while the plug blocked the exit. The sensation of having my ass filled in two places at once, of feeling the dildo come and go rubbing against the fixed plug, made me come so hard the first shot splashed into my hair. In those moments I think the human body is more complex than we were taught, and that most men ignore half of what they’re capable of feeling.

Now I don’t jerk off without one of them. Not because it’s a compulsion. But because when you know there’s a better version of something, the old version feels incomplete. A dry wank, just with your hand, leaves me wanting. Like a dinner without hunger. I need the weight inside, the prostate stimulated, that second point of pleasure I discovered late.

***

I’ve thought a lot about whether this says something about my sexuality. The honest answer is no. I’m still attracted to women exactly the same as always. I still get horny looking at tits, an ass tight in jeans, painted lips I imagine sucking me off. It hasn’t changed the way I relate, or my fantasies, or what I look for when I go out with someone. The only thing that changed is that I know my own body better.

There’s a very common confusion between physical pleasure and sexual identity. Anal pleasure in a heterosexual man doesn’t mean anything about who you desire. It’s anatomy. The P-spot exists in every man, regardless of orientation. Ignoring it for decades out of fear of what it might mean is a waste. Nothing more than that. In fact, I’ve started fantasizing about some chick getting brave enough to finger-fuck me or use a strap on me while she sucks my cock. I still haven’t dared ask for it, but it’ll come.

I’m not saying this from a place of superiority. I myself took years to get here. I’m saying it as someone who understood something late and now wonders why it took so long.

***

If you’re reading this with your cock half hard and feeling a little embarrassed, that’s completely normal. I felt it too. Shame is not evidence that something is wrong. It’s the result of years of messages about what a man should or shouldn’t do with his body.

Start slowly if you decide to explore it. Put a finger in the shower the next time you jerk off, just to see what happens. Read about safe materials before you buy anything. Invest in medical-grade silicone or borosilicate glass. Use water-based lube, never silicone lube with silicone toys. Never use objects that aren’t specifically designed for this. And never rush.

If at any point you feel something you didn’t expect to feel, stop, breathe, and let your body adjust. The body knows what it’s doing. You just have to give it time and permission.

I don’t know if I’ll write about this again. Probably not. But I wanted to leave it written somewhere where someone like me could find it and feel a little less alone with his questions.

That’s all.