There’s a lot of discourse going on these days about enthusiastic consent. A tweet from Elf Sternberg led me this morning to a 2001 fisting anecdote that includes a funny and excellent example of what enthusiastic consent can be:

At one party I attended several years ago I had an opportunity to fist a young lady who had never done fisting with a man before, only other women. It took us about half an hour to get to the point where my hand was finally entering her vagina fully, and just as I goosenecked my hand, my thumb pressed to the palm, I and her girlfriend were coaching her softly. She was completely spaced out on the sensations what I was doing were sending into her brain, and I felt I needed to get in touch with her before I went further. So I started to talk to her softly, trying to get her to talk to me. I said her name several times, and then said, “Red, yellow, or green?” She was gasping and moaning and I couldn’t make out anything coherent. The colors are a common tool among sadomasochists for communicating what they want: “stop”, “go slow”, or “more!” I asked it again. “Red, yellow, green? Red, yellow…”

“Green! Green! Kelly fucking green!”

About thirty seconds later, well… let’s just say it’s rare I get to see a woman orgasm that amazingly hard. Damn near cut off the circulation in my wrist.

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