2 min

Put your fists up

A most intimate connection

Credit: Xtra West files

I’m inviting Canada Customs into my bed. I’d like to see the face of the person who has made the ruling that fisting is dehumanizing. I want him to stand at my bedside and count the fingers with which my lover is fucking me. And I want him to tell me when exactly it happens.

“One. Okay, one’s okay. Two-now there’s your legal maximum right there. Three. Three? Well, she does have small hands. Four! Hey, lady, stop this right now! This is getting… Five! Perversion! Call the cops. Officer, this woman has been dehumanized by law.”

Being fisted is a delightfully pleasurable way of being fucked that involves every nerve ending in my body. Fisting is an act of co-operation and trust-we had to practice a lot to get there, warming up and using lots of lube, and smiling and kissing and groaning in pleasure and-need I go on? Being the fister means participating in your partner’s pleasure in a way that could almost be called selfless.

So why is Canada Customs stopping depictions and descriptions of fisting at the border?

No government agency tries to ban depictions, images and text on a subject considered “nice.” Who has ever attempted to ban a book on cooking with, say, hot peppers? Oops, sorry: Canada Customs did just that, but, I mean, who else would?

For our patriarchal government to look at we queer perverts none too fondly and declare that we’re not to look at that representation of queer sexual behaviour (naughty naughty), there must be a widely held belief that it’s wrong, evil, or at least terribly disturbing.

But fisting is one of the ways that my butch and I show love and lust for each other. Do I dehumanize her with my lust for more of her? Or is she dehumanizing me by utterly pleasing me? I can never get it straight.

And I ain’t saying that it’s all about dykes, or all about love. Dykes fist. Fags fist. Bifolk fist and transfolk fist and some hetfolk fist, and we do it tenderly and we do it raunchily and we do it in pairs and in groups, at home and at parties, and we do it for love, lust and fun. Some of us do it professionally for the camera, and what a double-good feeling one must get from that paycheck.

It’s our right to fist.

Think of the universal symbol of freedom and uprising-the upraised, clenched fist. Now think of that fist wrapped in a silky latex glove, and covered in a thick layer of water-based lube.

That’s more like it.