The Fantasy I Dared to Fulfill Alone

I’m thirty-six years old, and until recently, part of me lived behind a door I never dared fully open. I think almost everyone carries something like that: a secret corner made up of little kinks and desires that aren’t spoken aloud. Mine had to do with curiosity, with those forbidden things that had made my skin burn since I was young and that, nevertheless, I always left unfinished.

I like sex in all its forms. I consider myself a lover of women; I adore sucking their pussies until they come in my mouth and fucking them until I leave them trembling, but I was never afraid of the idea of a man touching my cock or putting a finger in my ass. In practice, with the partners I’d had, almost everything had remained half-finished games: one girlfriend licked my asshole while she sucked me off, another pushed a finger deep inside me just as I was coming inside her, and that small detail multiplied my orgasm until it left me breathless. Just once, a friend I shared a woman with squeezed my cock with a hand full of spit while I penetrated her, and the brush of another man’s hand against my cock marked me more deeply than I was willing to admit.

Alone, in the privacy of my apartment, it was another story. There, I didn’t have to justify anything. One ordinary night, almost without meaning to, while I was jerking off thinking about a coworker, I brought my other hand around and brushed my asshole out of curiosity. I felt a current run through me, from my ass to the tip of my cock, and I nearly came without even having finished touching myself. At first it was just one finger wet with spit, carefully, on those afternoons when the silence of the building was my only accomplice. I discovered there was a spot inside me, a few centimeters in, that responded differently: a swollen little ball that, when I pressed it, made me gush precum as if I were being milked. Every time I brushed it with my fingertip, my cock gave a whip-like twitch and released a thick drop without me touching it. It left me trembling in a way ordinary masturbation had never managed to.

What if I go a little further?

That question stayed with me for weeks. The idea went around in my head while I worked, while I drove, while I pretended to pay attention in a meeting. I imagined myself with something thicker inside me, something that would really fill that hollow, not a timid finger. I wanted to seriously experiment, with something made for that purpose, not improvise. So one dawn, with my cock hard and two fingers buried in my ass, I ended up searching for toys at one of those stores that shipped in anonymous boxes, with no labels giving anything away.

The first one was a mistake. I chose it badly, driven more by anxiety than common sense: too thick, too hard. When it arrived and I tried it, the tip had barely opened me up before I felt as if it were splitting me in two. It hurt and killed my desire immediately. I put it away at the back of a drawer, frustrated, almost convinced that this wasn’t for me.

But curiosity doesn’t go away that easily. I went back to the same page, this time without rushing, reading descriptions and reviews like someone studying for an important exam. I found another model: silicone, soft, flexible, much smaller than the previous one. Twelve centimeters, barely the width of two fingers, with a broad, round base so there could be no mishap. I stared at it on the screen for a long while as my cock hardened just from imagining it going in.

This one. This is the one I need.

I ordered it along with a special gel, the kind that helps you relax and makes things slide. And then the worst part began: waiting. Three days during which I checked the shipping status more times than I care to confess, during which I caught myself jerking off every night, thinking about what it would feel like, imagining the slick silicone sliding centimeter by centimeter into my asshole. I wanted that package with an almost adolescent impatience, as if it contained something much bigger than a silicone toy.

***

It arrived on a Friday afternoon. They left it at the door in a perfectly discreet brown box, and I brought it inside so quickly it was as if someone might guess what it contained. I opened it in the kitchen, my hands a little clumsy, and there it was: small, dark, shaped like a miniature cock, much less intimidating than I’d imagined. I held it in my palm, felt the soft silicone give beneath the pressure of my fingers, and noticed my heart speeding up for no reasonable reason. My cock was already beginning to swell inside my pants.

I decided to wait until night. I wanted to do it properly, without rushing, without the threat of a doorbell or message interrupting me. When it finally grew dark, I locked the door, lowered the blinds, turned off my phone, and left a single lamp on. The entire apartment seemed to hold its breath with me.

I took a long shower, more as a ritual than out of necessity. Beneath the hot water, I prepared myself calmly, washed my asshole thoroughly, put in one finger, then two, feeling the skin relax in the heat. I stroked my cock halfway hard, not wanting to come yet, with that mixture of shyness and excitement known only to someone daring to try something for the first time. I dried myself, lay on my back in bed, and left the toy and the gel within reach on the nightstand, like two guests I’d been promising this date for a long time.

I wasn’t in any hurry. I’d learned that much: everything feels much better when the body has been aroused for a while, when the blood is already hot and that hidden place becomes more sensitive, more swollen, more demanding. So I began with myself, without touching the toy yet. I spat into my hand and grabbed my cock, running my thumb over the tip, making slow circles around the glans. I stroked myself slowly, from base to tip, with no intention of finishing, only of raising the temperature degree by degree. I felt my cock throbbing against my palm, harder and more swollen with every moment, and a clear drop began to appear at the opening.

With my other hand, I licked two fingers and took them behind me. I caressed my asshole in circles without putting them in yet, letting the skin wake up. Then I pushed gently, and the first finger slid in easily, as if my ass were asking for it. I moved it inside, curling it until I found that swollen little ball, and when I pressed it, a moan escaped me aloud, surprising even me. My cock jerked and another thick drop fell onto my stomach.

When I was rock-hard and breathing more heavily, my asshole awake and throbbing, I picked up the toy. I ran it over my skin, slid it between my legs, rubbed it against my balls, rested it on my cock, and compared their sizes while biting my lip. I was so aroused that every brush sent a shiver through me. I put the tip of the toy in my mouth and sucked it for a while, playing at imagining it was someone else’s cock, and that thought alone almost made me come right there. I want it inside me once and for all, I thought, and the mere idea made me even hotter.

I applied a generous amount of gel to the tip, spreading it with my fingers until the entire toy gleamed, slick, and squeezed another stream directly onto my asshole. The cold liquid made me clench my ass for a second. Then, with my legs spread and my knees bent toward my chest, I placed the soft tip of those twelve centimeters right against the opening, the place where my body was demanding attention at the top of its lungs. I applied light pressure, barely a push, and felt the tip give a little and remain there, inside me, waiting. I stopped. I breathed. Easy. There’s no rush.

I’m tight, so I applied more gel and pushed again, with more patience than force. Centimeter by centimeter, it went in. The first half was difficult, with that initial tension quickly turning into something else, a warm pressure that made me open my mouth without making a sound. I felt the muscle open around the silicone, yielding, swallowing it slowly. And then it happened: the second half slipped in almost by itself, smoothly, as if my body had finally surrendered, as if my ass had been wanting to give in for years and had only needed permission.

I trembled. I mean it: I trembled with pleasure, a shudder climbing up my back and raising goosebumps all the way to my neck. I pushed it all the way in, up to the broad base that guaranteed nothing could go wrong, and remained still for a moment, legs spread and cock pointing toward the ceiling, feeling it entirely inside me, taking in a sensation for which I had no previous point of reference. I was full. I was open. And I loved it.

***

I began to move carefully, rocking my hips against the toy, raising and lowering my ass a few centimeters, letting the internal tip brush exactly the right spot. With every movement, a different wave traveled through me from the center outward. I grabbed the toy by the base and began fucking myself, pulling it out until only the tip remained inside, then pushing it all the way back in with a gentle thrust. At first slowly, establishing a rhythm, then a little faster, feeling the gel make a wet sound that echoed through the empty apartment.

I didn’t even need to stroke my cock: a thick, whitish liquid began spilling from my half-erect, throbbing cock without me doing anything, a steady little stream running over my skin and wetting my balls, as if pleasure had moved entirely to another part of my body. My prostate throbbed every time the toy’s tip struck it, and with each impact it released another drop, and another, until my stomach and groin were soaked.

I moved more. I changed positions, lying on my side with one leg raised, and kept driving it into myself, now entering at a different angle that touched me right there, deeper. Then I turned onto my stomach, face against the pillow and ass raised, and pushed it into myself from behind, imagining for a second that someone else was the one thrusting it, the one opening me eagerly. I closed my eyes and let myself go, gradually losing any sense of time and shame. I thought about forbidden things, scenes I’d never dared tell anyone about, a stranger’s hand gripping the back of my neck, a hard cock going in and out of me at the same rhythm. The fantasy and the physical sensation blended into something that overwhelmed me. I moaned alone in the half-light, long, dirty moans, with no one to hear me, and for once I wasn’t ashamed to shout, “Like that, deeper, more,” into the emptiness.

The pleasure grew in a way unlike anything I’d ever known. It wasn’t the abrupt, quick finish I was used to, but a slow tide that kept rising, concentrating in that internal point and spreading throughout my body. I lay back on my stomach again, left the toy buried to the base, and finally brought my hand to my cock, gripping it firmly. Three or four slow strokes, squeezing hard, feeling the toy still but vibrating with every beat of my ass, were enough to take me to the edge.

When the orgasm came, it came differently. It wasn’t a release; it was an overflow. Semen poured out abundantly, effortlessly, almost in spurts, four, five, six thick jets splashing onto my chest and neck, with one even reaching my chin. As I came, my ass contracted around the toy, squeezing it, milking it as if it were a real cock, and that internal pressure made every spasm last twice as long. A milking sensation shook me from the inside out. I arched over the bed, the toy still inside me, prolonging every spasm, moving it just a little, letting the pleasure drain away on its own, at its own pace, without being able or wanting to control it. My legs were still trembling when the last drop ran down my side. It was long, intense, overwhelming.

Afterward I stayed like that for a while, sprawled out, breathing unevenly, my chest smeared with my own cum and my body limp, staring at the ceiling. A silly laugh escaped me, a mixture of disbelief and relief. All those years avoiding it, for this. When I finally removed the toy, slowly, I felt one last shudder, almost a farewell, my asshole closing again around nothing, and a deep calm I hadn’t known in a long time.

***

I slept differently that night. Not because of guilt or shame, but because of a strange kind of peace, the peace of having stopped fighting with a part of myself. I was still the same man who loved women, who dreamed of a threesome, with one woman sucking my cock while another sat on my face, who fantasized about a thousand other things. But I had added something new, a place I now knew how to return to when I was alone and wanted to explore my ass without asking anyone’s permission.

Over the following days, I caught myself thinking about it, reliving it, jerking off in the shower with two fingers inside me, and also looking at that page again. I’m already thinking about the next step: a slightly larger model, fourteen centimeters, three fingers wide. And who knows, maybe later I’ll dare to try an even bigger one, or let someone else’s hand put it inside me. But there’s no rush. I learned that the best part of all this is precisely that: giving myself time, losing my fear little by little, discovering myself without guilt.

Sometimes I think that what’s forbidden is nothing more than what we don’t dare try. And that the day I locked that door to finally open the other one, I stopped being a spectator to my own fantasies. If you, too, keep one of those curiosities at the back of a drawer, perhaps it’s time to bring it into the light. I did it one ordinary night, alone with my asshole and a silicone toy, and I still can’t believe everything I was missing.