Pegged Husband

Two years ago, I was a single man with no anal sex experience. Two years ago, I met my future wife at my sister's wedding. Today, I am a pegged husband.

Let me start at the beginning. My sister and I are twins. As children, we were always close. Before we went to school, she was my constant playmate. Sometimes, we played Star Wars, and sometimes we played house. Once we started school, she spent time with girls, and I spent time with boys, but we still talked at home. In middle school, when puberty hit, we stayed friends. During high school, it was like having a spy on the inside. I knew which girls liked me, how girls liked to be asked out, and so on, and she got the same information from me about boys. My sister and I even ended up going to the same college. We had a shared group of friends – male and female. This may seem odd, but I preferred going out to pick up girls with my sister, not with the guys. The habits from high school had developed into a new role: she was my wingman.

So I wasn't surprised when Ariel called to tell me she was getting married. I knew she had been waiting for Tom to pop the question for several months. But I was surprised when Ariel asked me to be her "Man of Honor."

"Avery, you've always been my best friend."

It was true, and I was touched. "But you wouldn't rather ask Karen, Meghan, or Melissa?"

"Of course they'll be bridesmaids. But you and I are closer. My friends all know it. Plus, I wouldn't have met Tom if it weren't for you."

"I don't know... What does a 'Man of Honor' do? I know nothing about weddings."

"Mom's going to help me plan the wedding. What I need most is someone to talk me down when the whole thing gets overwhelming," she said, pleadingly.

"A complaints department," I inferred.

"Umm, yeah."

"Alright, then. I'll be your 'Man of Honor'! We're going to talk about the wedding all the time anyway. I may as well have the title. So, do I stand next to you at the altar? Wait, what do I wear?"

"Yes, next to me. You'll wear a tux. The bridesmaids' dresses will be a deep yellow ochre, so we'll get you a vest in the same color to match," she said without missing a beat.

"You just found out you were getting married. How do already know the colors?"

"Oh, I've had this planned for a long time, dear brother..."

And of course, her wedding went off without a hitch. Since our father had died, I walked Ariel down the aisle. Of course, this meant that Tom's Best Man had to come in from the side along with him. This solved the entry processional problem. We had thought of different ways to solve the exit recessional problem, but in the end, we decided that it was the least odd for the Best Man and I to process out together. Still a little odd. I just looked out at our family and her friends and ignored the dude at my side.

Ariel's wedding is where I met Sasha. She walked up and introduced herself at the reception.

"Hi, I'm Sasha. You handled the whole 'Man of Honor' thing quite smashingly."

Sasha isn't British. She just says things like "smashingly." "Thank you," I said. "I didn't do much."

"Of course you did. The bride was calm and happy."

I asked: "Are you a friend of Ariel? I thought I knew all of her friends."

"Well, your reputation is still intact. I'm a friend of Tom. From college. I used to beat him all the time in poker." This was quite the statement, since I knew Tom was quite good.

"Okay, card shark," I said, and she smiled at that, "What are the odds of four-of-a-kind in hold 'em?"

"No idea. Play the man, not the cards." Then she winked and egged me on: "Maybe that's why I know you have trouble with cards. You're thinking too much." It was my turn to smile.

We chatted about this and that, and we were really hitting it off. I couldn't get over how sexy she was: she had black hair and piercing gray eyes, and she was wearing a striking black dress that showed off her curves. I couldn't drink in enough of her beauty, her sparkling wit, and when she stood closer to me, a lovely, woodsy scent. I placed it later: sage.

Sasha's phone beeped. "That's my alarm. I have to go or I'll miss my flight."

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Chicago." What luck!

"I live in Chicago, too – erm, Winnetka," I blurted.

"That's good. I was worried I wouldn't see you again. Let's meet soon."

"I'd love to!" I said, just a little too eagerly.

"What's your number?" she asked, phone in hand. She typed it in. Her phone beeped again. "I have to get going!" and with that, she nearly ran out the door.

My sister swung by a moment latter. "Who is that hottie?"

"One of Tom's college friends, Sasha." It was dawning on me that I didn't have her number, or a last name.

"I'd totally bang her," my sister said. My sister is totally straight. "He who hesitates, masturbates." Hanging out with her brother all the time had completely wrecked the poor girl's innocence. I left the wedding feeling somewhat dejected, a sad sack on my flight home.

However, I shouldn't have worried. Sasha called about ten days later and asked me to see a movie with her. It was a little arty for my taste, but I wouldn't have said no for any reason. I enjoyed the movie more than I thought I would.

We had coffee after.

"So you met Tom in college?"

"Yes, playing darts."

"Get out!" I said. "That's how I met Tom. I was visiting Ariel in grad school, and she had to work on a paper one night, so I went to MacGuffin's and met Tom. Then I introduced him to Ariel."

"That man was a giant on the college bar darts circuit." We laughed. He was good.

"Did you and he date?"

Sasha arched an eyebrow. "That's presumptuous, isn't it?" She laughed. "No. I just wanted to take his money in poker. He paid for a summer nice vacation one year." I could tell she wasn't exaggerating. "You and your sister are pretty close."

"Yep. Always have been."

"I heard at the wedding that Ariel used to help you pick up girls."

"Not exactly. Sort of."

"Sort of... I wonder. What secrets of our sisterhood did she give away? Did she ever dish sexy details after one of her dates?" I bumbled a bit. She laughed.

"You seem awfully curious," I said defensively.

"Mostly just nosy, but I'm also envious. I'm an only child, and it was very lonely growing up." She almost shuddered.

We talked for another two hours, late into the night. We discussed our shared love of philosophy, and our shared loathing of small dogs. We agreed upon a new slogan for Yorkie marketing: "Why not try a cat instead?"

That date led to another (shopping for a toy for her nephew), and then a third. We spent a Saturday at a fall festival, eating hot dogs and caramel apples, followed by a real dinner. And then we ended up at her apartment, on her sofa. We were kissing, but every time I made a move, she stopped me. After her third deflection, I decided the whole event was going nowhere.

"What's up?" I said. "You don't seem like the inhibited type, Sasha. I'm confused."

She seemed anxious. "Alright, honesty time," she said tentatively. "I like you, Avery. But I can't. I was, umm, sexually abused growing up."

"Oh my God. That's terrible."

"Yep."

"Who – "

"My stepfather. He's dead now."

"My God."

"Yeah, so I can't do certain things without total panic setting in."

"What things – "

"Oral, vaginal, and anal. The thought of being penetrated is terrifying to me."

This washed over me. This woman – whom I really liked – could not have sex. I asked, "Have you been to a therapist?" and immediately thought worse of myself for asking it.

"Yep. Doesn't matter. Or, rather, it helped a great deal, in that I'm not a total basket case. But I'm never going to be able to do those things."

"Never? Not even if you love and – "

"Nope," she said. "Believe me: never. I'm sorry."

Wow. We sat in silence for a few minutes. Sasha was avoiding eye contact. I held her hand and tried to think of something comforting to say. I couldn't think of anything. I finally broke the silence by asking her, "Where does this leave us, if you can't have sex?"

"I didn't say I can't have sex. I just can't do those things." She was a bit defiant.

"What does that leave?"

"Well, I feel good about giving hand jobs, and I'm happy to receive oral sex, and..."

"That's a limited repertoire."

"And you have an anus, Avery."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The ridiculousness of my question rang in my ears for the seconds she paused before answering.

"I can stick my fingers up there, or toys."

"Toys?" I asked her, incredulous.

"I have a strap-on," she responded very matter-of-factly. I must have just gaped at her. "Now's the portion of the third date where guys go home."

Had I not been in such shock, I might have realized she was making a descriptive statement, not an imperative one. This is a path she's travelled before. While new and shocking to me, I was not the first guy on whom she'd seen the same scenario play out. Had I more presence of mind, I might have had more empathy for the abused girl who grew up to be a woman having trouble making an adult relationship work. But I'm a dolt.

"Ok. I guess I need to think. I'll call you."

"Sure," she said without conviction.

And like that, our third date was over, and I was standing outside.

What could I do? I wandered around in shock for a bit, but I'm used to talking to my sister about my girl troubles.

"Hey, bro. If you're calling me at 9:20, I'm guessing the third date didn't go well. I thought you really liked this girl."

"I do. She was sexually abused as a child."

My sister's voice went cold. "Oh my God. What happened?"

"Nothing. We were making out; I made a move; she stopped me and told me."

"So why is your date over?"

"Because she can't have sex, so she kicked me out."

"Wait, why did she kick you out? Were you a jerk?" my sister asked.

I was indignant. "No, she said, 'This is when most guys leave.' "

"You idiot! She was asking you to stay! Wait -- she put the kibosh on sex. I assume she just wanted you to stay and talk."

Rather sheepishly, I admitted, "No, she offered me a hand job, and they are obviously never good..."

"Obviously," agreed my sister.

Now for the first time, I felt awkward admitting something to my sister: "... and she offered to do me, um, anally. With a strap-on."

"Um, that's new," said Ariel.

"Exactly! I would never do that!"

Silence. "Never? If you really like this girl, maybe you should be more open-minded. I think I would try getting it up the butt," she said. I can't believe my sister talks this way!

"Totally different. You're a woman."

Silence. "What's the difference." I knew that icy tone well, but I stuck to my point.

"For women, it's just change of venue, so to speak. But for a man, it would be, well, unmanly."

"A 'change of venue'? God, you're an idiot. It's not like there's a rule that says your butt can't be an erotic zone. And if you think 'unmanly' is a negative, what do you really think of women?"

"Look, you know I respect women. I just don't want to be one in bed."

"Avery! My own brother! Sexist! Sexist!" And she hung up on me.

After another ten minutes, I realized my sister was at least right about one thing: Sasha had wanted me to stay. I picked up flowers and drove back to her house. 10:30. But the lights were on, so I knocked. Sasha looked upset when she answered the door.

"Look, I'm sorry," I said lamely. "I thought you were kicking me out."

Sasha smiled. "And yet you bring flowers, signifying guilt."

"These say, 'I wish I were a more clearheaded guy.' "

She said, "I don't need someone who stays out of guilt, or pity. I need someone who wants to be here."

"Right now, Sasha, I want to be here and end our date on a nice note. I like talking to you. Where it leads, I don't know."

"At least you're being honest."

"You were with me," I said.

"And you seem to know how to use the subjunctive. Alright, come in." There was no sex and no talk of sex that night.

* * *

After that night, our dating turned more serious. We spent lots of daytime together. She had an effortless sense of fun, seeming to find the joy or humor no matter what the situation. She was funny. And I appreciated her resolve to live life without illusions: Sasha said what she saw, whether she liked it or not.

There was some sexual play, which consisted of me going down on her, her jacking me off, or mutual masturbation. Once while she was giving me a hand job her other hand was reaching for my anus, but before she could finger me, I told her I wasn't comfortable with it. She stopped.

I couldn't say that I was fully satisfied with our sex life, but I wasn't dissatisfied either. Even though the conclusion wasn't the best, the foreplay was fantastic. There was an erotic crackle to it that I'd had with no one else. Perhaps it was that I was falling for her. Perhaps part of it was that Sasha initiated. Once, out of nowhere, she sidled up to me and started kissing me deeply. She was the more aggressive kisser, and it wasn't long before she had moved on to kissing my neck and ears, and soon after that she was after my nipples. She was an aggressive nipple-licker and pincher, and it felt great.

Then three months in, Sasha did something no girl had ever done to me. She had taken off my shirt and gone crazy on my neck and nipples, and then pulled off my underwear to rub my dick. She took off her pants, leaving her shirt and underwear on, not an uncommon arrangement for us for a finale of masturbation. All of a sudden, she pulled my legs apart and positioned herself between them. Before I could ask what she was doing, she pushed her satin-panty-covered vagina onto my perineum. She thrust her hips back and forth, rubbing me, below the penis, with her crotch. The satin provided just the right friction, and with all her moisture, it felt like a velvety tongue licking me. "Wow, Sasha, that feels awesome!"

"Yeah? It feels good when I fuck you like this?" She picked up the tempo a bit. "Yeah, I love fucking you, Avery. You're so fucking sexy, baby." To my surprise, I was close to coming. I said so, and she shouted, "Come for me!" And she started pounding me with gusto. I came onto my own chest with a grunt. As the fantastic physical sensations quieted down, the reality of what just happened hit me: my girlfriend undressed me, kissed my neck and licked my nipples, spread my legs, and thrust her crotch onto mine repeatedly, until I came. The money shot was still hot on my chest. Even though it didn't meet the technical definition, there was no other way to describe it: my girlfriend had just fucked me. And it was fucking hot.

Gone were the days of mutual masturbation. Now sex for us was her wearing those delightful satin panties and me spreading my legs. Two weeks later, she asked me to get on top. At first, it was the strangest thing I'd ever done to throw my leg over and straddle her, but she had her hands free to play with my nipples, and her up-thrusts set my taint on fire. Sasha just leered at me as she fucked me, and I realized how sexy it made me feel. Normally, guys don't feel sexy during sex; we're aroused, but we don't get to feel sexy. Now I knew what it felt like to be the object of desire, and I was hooked.

We talked about it, once. We had been sitting on the couch, and she had pulled my pants down and fucked me, holding my legs over her shoulders. Afterwards, I asked her why she liked having sex this way – as the thruster, not the recipient.

Sasha thought for a moment. "It makes me feel powerful. And strong. To spread your legs and to know I'm in control. Given my history, I need that feeling. And, your moaning is a total ego trip."

"I don't moan! I grunt."

"The hell you do. You moan." She smiled. "I love it." And with that, she clambered between my legs again, lifted them up to my chest, and fucked me again on that couch. I obliged with a lot of moaning. But I didn't have to exaggerate much.

* * *

Of course, since we had continued dating, my sister wanted to know what was going on in the bedroom. I almost thought about not telling her, and in the end I said, "We found something to do that we both enjoy." That was perhaps the awkwardest sentence I have ever uttered in my life. My sister said, "So there's no actual sex yet, umm, you know, how she asked you before?"

When I realized my sister was talking about strap-on sex as "actual sex," I replied no. My sister pressed on: "Have you thought about that anymore? Cause I bet it's pretty important to her." I was stunned. Was my sister pushing me to have strap-on sex? No: "Avery, it might blow up in your face. If you're not interested, maybe you should break it off soon."

My sister was probably right. I should probably break it off with Sasha.

* * *

I really liked Sasha. Was I really so against strap-on sex that I would not continue to see her? I could pretend that the humping was just foreplay and that I was still the man, the fucker. But if Sasha penetrated me, well, there was no denying she was the fucker, and I would obviously have to be the fuck-ee. I had no idea how relationships worked from that side. Did Sasha want me to dress up in women's clothes? Would she want to really degrading me? I watched pegging porn and read message boards. All the "you're my bitch now" stuff wasn't helping. I realized my biggest question was: If she pegged me, would she treat me any differently?

One night, I decided to strike up a conversation. After sex. So I decided to do something I hadn't done before: initiate. Sasha was watching TV from the couch, and I went upstairs to change. I pulled off my jeans and my underwear and pulled on my thin pair of pajama pants. I went back downstairs. With my heart in my throat, I croaked, "Hi, sexy," and straddled her. It was a passive way to initiate sex, which felt odd. The whole thing caught her by surprise, but she was into it. She kissed me, pulled off my shirt, and ground into my crotch. I stopped feeling odd. We came right there.

I had to do this in one swoop, like tearing off a Band-Aid. "I've been thinking about penetration..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm still not comfortable with it, but I've been thinking about it."

"What makes you uncomfortable about it?" she asked.

"It's hard to explain," I said as I searched for the words. "I worry... that you'd think less of me, you know? A man's supposed to be the strong one in a relationship, but if you use a strap-on on me, that makes me weaker than you. Would you still respect me?"

She started laughing.

"Hey, fuck you, it's not funny," I said.

"You're worried how I could respect you in the morning? You sound like a lady from the '50s"

My frustration faded away, and I had to smile, too.

"Would you want me to dress up?"

"Like in lingerie? No, I'm not into that." She smiled. "Although you have such a nice ass, you'd look good in anything, even panties."

* * *

Sasha and I had both studied philosophy in college. I asked her one day, out of idle curiosity, what had drawn her to it.

"I read a bunch of self-help books in high school, but they only ever made me feel worse about myself. You know, I could never will myself to be as positive as the books said I was supposed to be. Then one day I picked up Nietzsche. I don't really have any family, not anyone close, I mean. The 'life is emptiness and suffering' rap made my own life seem not quite so awful... What about you?"

"Me?" I asked. "You know I was mostly interested in political philosophy. But I think I liked philosophy because of its detachment. It's a way to step back from the day-to-day and just think."

Sasha just nodded.

"Plus, my mom's really overbearing," I said.

She laughed. "Now you sound like a psych major, you cheeky bastard."

* * *

Sasha got a whole lot more direct in the bedroom. She had always talked sort of dirty during sex, but now it was explicit. "Oh, Avery," she rubbed against me, with my legs spread wide, "oh, I want to fuck your ass. Fuck it so hard." And I was getting drawn in. It turned me on to hear her talk, with such lust, about penetrating me.
* * *

Sasha asked me to go to a romantic dinner. The restaurant was only 10 minutes from my house, so she came by to pick me up. As I put on my tie, I chuckled a bit to myself. She had asked me out, and she was picking me up.

Sasha rang my doorbell right on time. I opened the door and was knocked back by her beauty: a simple black dress, knee-length; beautiful black ringlets of hair; and a big smile. "Hi, handsome," she said. Before I could say anything, she motioned me out. "Come on, I'm double parked."

Something about my own reaction as I opened the door and saw her struck me as odd, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Philosophy is about being aware of your own biases, as much as is possible. So I pondered. What thought had drifted through my mind that I had only very peripherally noticed?

She had reserved a table for us in the garden, which was unnecessary. Since it was late, the restaurant was nearly empty, and there was only one other couple in the garden. We barely noticed them, and they left just as we received our entrees: sea bass in garlic wine sauce. After we ordered deserts, Sasha changed the conversation.

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said to me about sex." Thank goodness we were in an empty restaurant! Oh right. Sasha planned this. Something about our moment at my door dawned on me right then: It was what I hadn't thought. While I had thought she looked incredibly sexy, I had had no thoughts of fucking her.

"I want you to know that this isn't just about sex for me. I love you," she continued. I had seen the outline of her breasts and thought they were beautiful, but I had had no thoughts of grabbing them. I had seen her shapely ass through her dress and realized she was wearing a thong or no underwear at all, but I had had no thoughts of bending her over and fucking her.

"I want to be with you. Always," Sasha said, looking right at me. I loved her. And I was not worried about the sex anymore. It did not feel odd to have Sasha take charge in bed, to undress, lick, and pour over my body. It did not feel odd to let Sasha spread my legs wide and do all the work. It did not feel odd to hear Sasha talk about ramming my ass. I realized that at the door, when I saw how sexy she was, I had thought about bending over for her.

I realized that, to me, sex had always meant: pushing the accelerator gently, and a woman pushing the brake. My fantasies had been about what I was going to get a woman to do. With Sasha, I have been the one pushing the brake. Now I knew that I wanted to be fucked. Sasha was on her knees with an open ring box. "Would you marry me?"

A plain band. My girlfriend had just proposed to me. "Yes, of course," I said, and she got up and hugged me.

Dessert broke up the conversation. I had cheesecake, with bright red raspberries, and an espresso. After we finished, I headed to the restroom. Sasha said she needed to go too. At the last second, she ducked into the men's room with me. I was going to ask her what she was doing, but she immediately started kissing me. At least the restroom was empty except for us!

Twenty seconds later, I broke it off. "I really do need to pee..." I said.

"Me, too," she said, and she strolled over to the urinal. Sasha reached under her dress, fiddled with her underwear, and then started to pee. In the urinal. She trailed off, shook a little, and readjusted her clothes. I was standing slack-jawed when she turned around. "I like knee-length dresses and skirts because it's easy to reach my underwear and pee standing up. I piss into the toilets in the ladies' loo standing up, 'cause they're too gross to touch."

"I ... I didn't realize it was physically possible for a woman to do that."

"Don't take too long, dear," and Sasha strode of the restroom.

* * *

The next day, I called my sister and told her about my engagement. She was overjoyed. "Oh my goodness, Avery! Congratulations! I didn't realize you were thinking about this. How did you propose?"

I had felt fine about Sasha proposing to me the night before, but for a moment, I felt a little embarrassed. "Um, well, it actually caught me off-guard..."

"Wait, wait. Did Sasha propose to you?" asked my sister, incredulous.

"Yes." My heart caught in my throat.

Pause. "Well, how romantic!" Ariel said, sincerely. "Tell me how it happened." And I gave her most of the details while she cooed.

"There's one more thing, Ariel. I'd like you to be the 'Best Woman' at the wedding."

"You mean, stand up next to you, carry the ring..."

"... and plan the bachelor party," I finished.

"Wow, I'd be honored. I have to admit, it'll be a little weird to go to a strip club."

"I don't know, Ariel. I don't like strip clubs much. Let's just go get drunk. Play pool or something." And seven months later, that's exactly what my twin sister, my friends, and I did.

* * *

A day after my conversation with my sister, I told Sasha.

"Oh, fiancée," I said.

"Yes, fiancé," she said.

"I talked to my sister yesterday, and she agreed to be my 'Best Woman.' "

Sasha stopped. "I really wish you had run that by me first." There was a lot of tension in her voice. "I don't like that much."

I was pissed off. "Why not?!"

"It's just bizarro."

"You know that we wouldn't be together if it weren't for my sister, right?"

Her tone eased. "No, I didn't know that."

"Why does it make you upset?"

Sasha laughed a little and wiped a tear away. "Oh, I'm a twit. Ariel's a looker, Avery."

"So are you."

"I want all eyes on me at my wedding. God, I'm being petty, aren't I?"

I thought for a long moment. "What about your bridesmaids?"

"No, I don't want her on my side. I don't know her well enough."

"That's not what I meant, Sasha. Are you worried about people staring at the bridesmaids?"

"Not really, no."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because they wear ugly dresses. I've worn enough in my time. What's your point ..." Sasha trailed off.

"You can pick out something ugly for Ariel to wear," I said.

"I could ask her to wear a tux," she ruminated.

"Too far. But it can be plain and none too revealing." Pre-marital tranquility restored.

* * *

I decided to let Sasha peg me on our wedding night. I guess I wanted to surprise her. A few more months' wait wouldn't hurt her. And it would give me time to practice. I went online and ordered a few different size dildos. I had never seen Sasha's strap-on, but I wanted to make sure I had worked up to something large.

I practiced in my apartment alone. At first, I didn't even know where to go. I usually masturbate in the shower, but that wouldn't work. I settled on the bed, on top of the covers. I put a towel down. It all felt so deliberate and unsexy. I laid down on the bed, lubed up my smallest dildo, which was scarcely thicker than my finger, and started poking it around my crotch. My legs were flat on the bed, so my anus was underneath me. I pulled my legs up to my chest, and now I could reach my anus. And as I prodded the dildo in, I could tell immediately that the angle was wrong. Ariel once mentioned hitting the wrong angle with a tampon. I re-angled and pushed the dildo in an inch.

It didn't hurt, but it was uncomfortable. I had read that it takes time for the muscles to relax. So I waited. The muscles relaxed, and I worked the dildo in a little farther. After five minutes, I had the dildo in all the way, and I started stroking it in and out. It felt good, but I could not imagine having an orgasm from anal sex.

I kept at it for the two months until our wedding, at least one anal masturbation session a week. I kept working up in size, and eventually I did not need to begin my sessions with the smallest dildo. By the time I could take the large dildo – one and a quarter inches in diameter – I barely needed any warm-up other than my lubed fingers first. Despite vigorous thrusting during my sessions, I never came. What if being pegged just wasn't very good?

* * *

This was my frame of mind when the bachelor party rolled around, one week before the wedding. Just as I had suggested, Ariel had organized an evening of pool and intemperance. If any of my male friends had expected a night of strip clubs, they never let on any disappointment; I imagine my twin sister had brooked no guff about that. Although it was great to see all of my friends at one time, a pall had settled over me. My friends had picked up on my mood, and through the alcoholic haze, interpreted it as cold feet. The single men gave me a few "wish I had a girl to marry" lines, and the married men added their "marriage is wonderful" thoughts. Not that it made much of a difference. My friends all left, one by one, until only my sister and I remained at the bar, nursing scotches but mostly drinking water. We didn't normally smoke, but we had bummed a packet of cigarettes from my friend Steve and were enjoying them.

"You O.K.?" said my sister.

"I guess."

"Cause you don't seem O.K."

Of course I was going to unload my problems on my sister. I just wanted to preserve my dignity, but I was drunk enough that I really couldn't judge where that line was. I thought that as long as I didn't give graphic details, it would be fine. "I'm nervous."

Ariel took a drag. "Sex?"

"Yep."

She thought for a moment. "Still at an impasse?"

"No, I decided to have sex with Sasha on our wedding night." So far, this conversation was going brilliantly in my mind. I'm speaking in code, but Ariel's picking up on the meaning.

"Whoa. And you don't have any experience with, um, at all... You're a virgin," she said.

"I've been practicing," I said.

Ariel raised an eyebrow. "So how is that going?"

"Doesn't hurt, but it won't make ... doesn't feel, you know, ... awesome." I had thought about saying, "it won't make me cum," but had steered clear at the last second.

Ariel smiled the way she does when she's trying hard to keep a straight face. She is a terrible poker player. She reached over for her scotch, turning it a quarter turn like she does, took a sip, and set the glass down. The smile still sat at the corners of her mouth. Ariel finally looked up at me. "It's rare for women that intercourse alone does it, you know?" she said.

"I, um, what?"

"Despite male fantasies, most women need more direct stimulation."

"O.K." Pause. She stared at me. There was point I was supposed to be getting. "What's your point?"

"I'd assume that's the same for – "

"Got it. Right." I was trying to find a way to end this conversation.

When I had imagined Sasha on top of me, pumping in and out of me and grunting away, I had always imagined that it would of course lead to an orgasm for me. My thinking had been that once I got over my fear of penetration, the actual anal sex would be mind-blowing. Ariel had a point: it might not be.

All this went through my mind, and I looked over, and my sister had an inquisitive, concerned expression.

"Right," I said. "Good talk." And with that, I changed the topic to wedding logistics. But I did feel better.

* * *

"What about children?" I asked Sasha.

I had caught her by surprise. "Uh, I like them."

"Do you want to have them?"

"Maybe. Yes, I think," she said.

"Explain to me how that is supposed to work," I prodded.

"Well, there are turkey basters."

"You're joking." Her expression was flat. "You're not joking!"

She shook her head "no." "Look, there's more than the one way to get sperm into a uterus. Other than the one way that I can't do."

* * *

We moved in together just two weeks before the wedding. It just so happened that it was when Sasha's lease expired.

I had just dried off from the shower and was looking at myself in the mirror, deciding whether to shave. Sasha came up behind me, fully clothed, and pressed into my naked back. She was two or so inches shorter than me, so she was kissing my shoulder blades. "You have such a sexy ass, Avery." She grabbed my hips and ground her pelvis against my butt. "When do I get to fuck it?" she purred.

"How about on our wedding night?" I said.

"Oh, so traditional!" she laughed. She bent down and spread my cheeks wide. "Look at your sexy asshole, just begging for my big dick." And then she licked my anus, a big, wet, hard lick. I nearly fell over.

"Oh, shit that's great!" I moaned. I bent over a few inches to hold on to the sink. Sasha kept up her hard licking, then she tickled her tongue around.

"My husband's going give it up. Oh, just wait till you feel the tip of my cock pushing on your hole. Like this," she said, pushing a fingertip against my now-wet anus. "Then you'll be begging me to bury my whole, fat cock in you, won't you?"

I realized she needed some reassurance that I was into pegging. So I played it up. "Oh, please, Sasha, please fuck me with your finger." She didn't need to be asked twice. Her finger was knuckle-deep in a second. She started pumping in and on, and I reached down to stared rubbing my dick. I came all over the bathroom floor with a grunt. "Oh, fuck, wow, Sasha."

* * *

A week before the wedding, Sasha went on her bachelorette party. The next day, she finally woke up in the late morning, and we went out for lunch. She looked wrecked. "What happened to you? Where'd you go?"

"Strip club. Got a little drunk." She was speaking too slowly and over-enunciating.

"You see lots of men in G-strings, then, while you laid the groundwork for this impressive hangover?" I was peeved and being a jerk.

"No. Don't like other cocks. Went to see the ladies dance."

I knew the opposite of "other" cocks was not my cock. It was Sasha's cock. "You're an odd one, Sasha."

"As long as you'll continue to love me, I think I need to go barf now."

* * *

We were married in a small church at 11 am on a bright, clear Saturday morning. Neither Sasha nor I was religious, but the church's pastor was a friend of mine, and he performed the ceremony. The church was plain and simple, and we had decorated only modestly with some flowers. My sister stood beside me, in her rather unflattering outfit, plus my friend Dave. Sasha was beautiful. Her college friends, Tiffany and Amber, stood with her. The whole ceremony took less than fifteen minutes but was charming. My friend the pastor kept it short and sweet.

After the ceremony, we went into the back of the church to sign the papers. If you've ever bought a house or a car, it's laughable how little paperwork there is for a marriage. Sasha and I had decided the best solution was for only one of us to hyphenate his or her last name: either Sasha T.-S. and Avery S. or Sasha T. and Avery S.-T. Our names would look "married," but it would be very easy to deal with records too. There was no real reason to prefer either her or my last name hyphenation. So the only fair way to decide was to have the pastor flip a coin for us. Sasha T. and Avery S.-T. it was. My mom had tut-tutted before the wedding about this possibility. "Your dad would have wanted the family name to continue."

"Mom, Ariel didn't change her name when she got married. You can still convince her to give her kids the S. name." That got Mom out of my hair.

Upon signing the legal paperwork, we headed downstairs to the church's reception hall. Ariel had warned me beforehand that the food at "your wedding is for everyone else to enjoy – trust me, the bride and groom only get to cram in a few bites now and then." She was right. I was so busy talking to friends that I barely ate anything. We all got drunk in short order and had a lot of fun dancing. Sasha's extended family and friends were there, and they were a vivacious bunch. I've never been to a wedding that was more fun.

* * *

That evening we were on a flight to our honeymoon. We changed planes after midnight in Houston for a redeye to, eventually, Aruba. We finally got to our hotel about 9am, and we took a quick nap in our room. After, we got into swimsuits and had lunch on the beach. Sasha looked smoking hot in her suit, and I thought about kissing her, straddling her, and riding her cock. "Sasha, I know it's not our wedding night, but do you want to go do it?"

She smiled. "I thought you'd never ask!"

Once we got to our room, Sasha gave my bottom a tweak. "Get all nice and clean, stud. Use lots and lots of soap."

I didn't have an erection – I was too focused on doing this whole thing right to be turned on. When I got out of the shower, I decided to walk out of the bathroom naked. Sasha had drawn the curtains, but the midafternoon light was strong and the curtains were not thick, so the whole room had a luscious blue and green glow. Sasha was under the covers. "Come on over," she said in a seductive voice. I walked over and stood next to her, my penis only a few inches from her face. "Turn around." She squeezed my ass. Then she slid over. I lifted the covers and cuddled up to her.

Like always, she was an aggressive kisser. She was up on her elbow right away, leaning on top of me, kissing me hard and back into the pillow. She thrust her tongue in, and then she took a tour, kissing my neck and ears before returning to my mouth again. I lay back and enjoyed it. All of a sudden, she switched to licking my nipples. She gave a nice round lick to each nipple, then a little bite. I gave a sharp inhale because it felt so damn good. I would have been happy to reciprocate, but Sasha didn't really care to have her nipples played with or her breasts squeezed. She had kept her black bra on.

Sasha moved down. She spread my legs apart and gently kissed the inside of each knee. She slowly moved her kisses up my legs. The last kisses were divine, as her face sort of nuzzled in my crotch. She gently grabbed and lifted my cock and balls and started to lick my perineum. Not just soft licks. Really vigorous, left and right swipes of the tongue. "Oh my god, that's fantastic!" Sasha planted her tongue on my anus and gave it a gentle back to front lick.

"Lift up your legs," she told me. I quickly hugged my knees to my chest. She dove in, with swirling licks with the tip of her pointy tongue tracing the edge of my anus and big slurping licks that got me wet everywhere. It felt unbelievably good. Then she moved to reposition herself and something brushed against my upper thigh. Her strap-on! She'd had it on the entire time, and I hadn't realized it!

"Sasha," I said, putting my knees down, "Do you have your strap-on on?" I was looking down now and could see that she had on tight black boxer-briefs. There was a clear bulge. She moved up next to me. "Can I touch it?" I put my hand on the outside of her underwear. I could feel her giant cock. "It so big, Sasha."

"I have such a big dick. You're a lucky husband." She reached down and started to fiddle with the underwear. She opened the fly and pushed the strap-on through. It was so life-like, and so big. I rubbed my hand on it. It felt cool and rubbery, but its firmness was just right. Sasha pressed in on me, kissing me and rubbing her strap-on against me. Her underwear held it tight. It was so odd to have her strap-on poking at me and jostling against my penis. "Do you want to suck my dick?" Sasha had an inquisitive tone. She couldn't tell whether I would go for this or not, and she didn't want to force it. The idea didn't repulse me. Oh, what the hell. Why not?

I moved down. I put hand on it. Even though it wasn't real, it was disconcerting. I had never been this close to another person's penis, and even though this one was fake, it was still shocking to realize how big it was compared to my mouth. I opened up wide. It filled up my entire mouth. I gave some tentative sucks. "Jesus, that's fucking hot," Sasha panted. She thrust into my mouth. "Your tight little mouth filled with my big cock. Jesus. Want me to pump your mouth until I cum? Just fill up your mouth with my cum? I bet you'd love that." Her hand was on the back of my head. "Oh, that's it. I have to fuck you right now!" With that, she pulled the strap-on out of my mouth. She reached for the lube on the nightstand and started rubbing it on.
"Sit on my dick."

I threw my leg over and straddled her. I started to sit down, but it was hitting me in the perineum. I reached my hand back and put its head right on my anus. I pushed down. It popped in. I worked up and down a bit. Whenever it stung, I slid back up a bit and started down again. God, I felt so full. After a minute, I slid all the way down, and my butt hit her thighs. "You did it, Avery. You look so hot."

"I've been practicing."

"Aren't you full of surprises. Look at you just sitting there with an ass full of my cock. How does it feel?" Sasha was leering at me.

"Awesome."

"Wait till you feel this." She started thrusting up, slow, then hard and fast. Every couple of thrusts she'd really drive it in to the hilt and wiggled it around. It made me so aware of the fact that my anus was spread wide open. I moaned. She continued to leer at me and started to tweak my nipples. "On your back now," she said. "I can't fuck you hard enough to come this way."

Sasha put her hair into a ponytail and got between my legs. With confidence, she lined up the strap-on and shoved it in. She hooked her hands under my thighs and just started to pound me. I was getting bounced around on the bed. I felt the penetration so exquisitely. I was letting my wife just take possession of my body, just letting her use it for her pleasure. It was sexy as all hell.

She was getting close. She was grunting and thrusting so fast. I gave an encouraging, "Come on, baby. Do it."

"Yeah, you love it. You love getting fucked by my big cock. Fucked in your ass!" and with that, she came. She gave a couple of half-thrusts, then buried it especially deep and probed around a bit. She collapsed on top of me, panting and sweaty.

After a minute, I asked, "So, should I take care of myself here?"

"No... just wait... I'll take care of you, just need to catch my breath." Sasha got up. "Now this time, I can be more patient and find the right angle for you. She started poking this way and that inside me. "We'll find that prostate of yours."

"Sasha, I don't know that – " I stopped talking and started moaning because she'd found it.

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