Note: User contribution with erotic content on the topic: Fisting Experience Control Trust
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I never would have thought that I would one day speak so openly about this topic. Not because I feel ashamed, but because for a long time I didn’t understand myself why this experience affected me so deeply. When I think about it today, for me it is less about a sexual practice than about trust, about communication — and above all about the difficult, sometimes frightening, but incredibly liberating learning to let go of control.
The story begins with Jonas.
We met a few years ago at a birthday party of a mutual friend. It was one of those evenings when you didn’t really want to go out, but then end up staying because the conversations are surprisingly good. Jonas was quiet, attentive, someone who listens more than he talks. I immediately liked the way he asked questions — not curious in a superficial sense, but genuinely interested.
At that time, I, on the other hand, was someone who liked to have everything under control. My daily life was tightly scheduled, my work demanded precision, and in relationships too I felt safer when I set the direction. Control meant security to me.
Jonas and I slowly grew closer. For weeks we only met to go for walks, to cook, to talk. At some point he told me how important honesty in relationships is to him — even when it comes to topics that are uncomfortable. He said a sentence that stayed with me: “Trust begins where you stop hiding.”
As our relationship became more intimate, we began to speak more openly about wishes and boundaries. It wasn’t one big conversation, rather many small ones. At some point Jonas mentioned that he had been interested in the topic of fisting for quite some time — not driven by sensation, but from a perspective of closeness and trust.
My first reaction was a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. I immediately noticed how strongly my need for control was triggered: questions, scenarios, doubts. At the same time, I felt that there was something here that went beyond the obvious.
We decided to take our time. For weeks we talked about fears, expectations, boundaries. Jonas never pressured me. On the contrary — he repeatedly emphasized that it would only make sense if I truly felt safe.
What surprised me: even these conversations changed something in me. I had to learn to say things out loud that I would otherwise have kept to myself. I had to accept that trust does not mean controlling everything, but creating together a space in which uncertainty is allowed.
At some point it felt right to share the experience together.
What I remember most is the atmosphere: calm, respectful, attentive. We had talked at length beforehand, agreed on signals, consciously taken our time. It was never about “going through with something,” but about staying present.
In that moment I realized how much control is often a protective mechanism. I was used to steering situations — but here that didn’t work. I had to perceive, communicate, trust.
Later, when we talked about it, Jonas said something that touched me deeply: “For me it’s like this, it’s about: fisting experience control trust — without trust it doesn’t work.”
That sentence stayed with me.
In the weeks that followed, I thought about it a lot. I realized that the real challenge was not physical, but mental. Letting go meant, for me, not wanting to anticipate everything. It meant believing the other person when he is careful. And allowing myself to be vulnerable.
A few months later, another person came into my life: Leon.
Leon was very different from Jonas — extroverted, humorous, someone who brought energy into every room. We met through friends, and quickly a close friendship developed. Leon knew about my relationship and also about the topics I was dealing with.
One evening, during a long conversation about relationships and personal development, I told him how much these experiences had changed me. Leon listened attentively and then said: “To me that sounds like a fisting experience with control and trust — not because of the practice, but because of what you learn from it.”
I had to laugh, because he captured exactly what I could hardly put into words myself.
Over time I realized that these experiences had changed my perspective on many areas of life. At work it became easier for me to share responsibility. In friendships I could speak more openly about insecurities. I began to understand that control is often an illusion — and that real security arises from connection.
Of course, there were also doubts. Moments when I wondered whether I had revealed too much. Whether vulnerability does not also carry risks. But every time I spoke with Jonas about it, I felt that this very openness strengthened our relationship.
A particularly formative conversation took place on a Sunday morning. We were sitting by the window with coffee, and I said: “I think I was always afraid that without control I would lose my orientation.”
Jonas replied calmly: “Maybe it’s not about losing control, but about gaining trust.”
This thought accompanies me to this day.
What I have learned is difficult to put into simple words. It is about the interplay of boundaries and openness, about recognizing one’s own needs, about the courage to endure uncertainty. And yes — it is also about the fact that intimacy can be more than closeness in the traditional sense.
When I look back on that time today, I see two men who, in different ways, contributed to my growth. Jonas, through his patience and his calm way of opening spaces. Leon, through his ability to name things clearly and reflect perspectives.
And I see myself — someone who has learned that letting go is not a loss of control, but a conscious step toward trust.
Perhaps this sounds unusual to some. But for me it is a deeply personal journey. One that has shown me that growth often begins where one is willing to question familiar certainties.
Today I would say: the most important insight from that time is that trust must be actively shaped. It does not arise on its own. It requires conversations, honesty, patience — and sometimes the courage to engage in experiences that lie outside the comfort zone.
If I had to summarize the core of my story, it would probably be this: Letting go does not mean giving yourself up. It means creating space — for yourself and for others.
And sometimes a fisting experience is precisely what helps you understand this lesson in a way you never would have expected.