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My First Strap-On: What Pegging Taught Me About Self-Love and Sexuality

"This is the cock I’ve been waiting for."

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Written by Shayna Murphy.

Art by Lu Fuhrmann.

Some people spend their whole lives looking for the right partner to explore their deepest sexual fantasies with. But me? I found mine on a display shelf in a sex shop one afternoon, after I’d given up searching.

This is the cock I’ve been waiting for.

So beautiful, I thought to myself as I inched closer and drank in the sight of my future love: the silicone flesh, which looked so soft and life-like; the artistry of its veins, which rippled along the shaft like little capillary waves; the way it felt so firm yet yielded when I closed my fist around the base and squeezed. The price—almost $150—made me wince, but I knew with certainty that I had to have it. This is the cock I’ve been waiting for.

I’d never purchased such an expensive toy before, let alone a used a strap-on. I was a few months shy of my 29th birthday and my sex life had been largely vanilla up to that point. Coming out in college as bisexual hadn’t scared me—I was fortunate enough to have several friends who were already out, and belonging to that circle made me feel accepted. But coming to terms with my other sexuality—my secret hope that I might one day get to consensually punish, verbally degrade and peg my lovers—felt absolutely terrifying.

But in my real life, I worried that there might be something wrong with me

In my favorite porn, I watched leather-clad femdoms spit orders at their slaves before bending them over and penetrating them and I longed to do the same. But in my real life, I worried that there might be something wrong with me—that getting off on humiliating partners and pegging them meant I was an awful person deep down.

One cishet male partner whom I confided in told me that these fantasies of mine sounded “foul” and burst out laughing. Another said that he respected where I was coming from, but he wasn’t gay and pegging seemed like something he’d have to be gay to find enjoyable.

Neither seemed to think that they were shaming me, even though I’d eventually come to feel that they had. Rather, it was almost as if what I wanted—to fuck a submissive using a strap-on and have them relish it as much as I would—had struck a raw nerve, and that made it okay for them to react as negatively as they wanted to.

My gait was thrown off and my sense of my body and its proportions completely changed.

In the end, neither of those relationships worked out. Pulling my new cock and leather harness out of their respective packaging, I couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t all for the best actually, and a sign of new beginnings on the horizon.

A part of me envisioned that wearing a strap-on for the first time would be like pulling a sword from stone, King Arthur style. Bells would chime and I’d feel a rush of euphoria hit me, unlike anything else I’d ever known before. Instead, putting it on reminded me of when I was a little girl trying to balance in my mother’s heels. My gait was thrown off and my sense of my body and its proportions completely changed.

To make it feel more natural, I wore the strap-on around the house as I cooked and cleaned. At times, I’d be sweeping and forget it was even there until I’d hear the thud of the broom as it whacked against my silicone member, always at attention. Over the next several months, I also became a student. I read books like The New Topping Book by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy, signed up for FetLife to find local events, and joined a queer-friendly femdom group, where I felt safe enough to open up and share my experiences, and most of all, my fears.

Through the group, I learned just how common my anxieties were. The self-identified femdoms I met were not the towering, impenetrable mistresses I’d seen in porn, but warm, vulnerable individuals who revealed that they’d encountered a lot of internalized homophobia from cishet males. Many had also grappled with self-doubt and rejection. In a society that encourages assigned-at-birth women to be soft, small and passive even in their own sexual experiences, a woman who wants to be difficult—who wants to take charge, stand out and have a cock—is a radical figure, and not always easily accepted by others.

The all-black catsuit I wore for my first time fit like a second skin.

It helps to have community. Armed with the knowledge that topping could be great—that verbal degradation and pegging weren’t foul at all if negotiated and consented to by all parties involved—I started dating again. Only this time, I didn’t feel wracked with guilt. The dark little thought that always gnawed at the back of my head before, that these desires made me a bad person, were scuttled away.

The all-black catsuit I wore for my first time fit like a second skin. Zipping up my boots and then fastening the strap-on into place, I knew I looked the part and moved just like a femdom should, the cock and harness like an extension of me now, not just a floppy accessory. Still, I wondered if I had what it took to command a play session. We’d discussed this evening for several weeks, my new lover and I, and I was relieved when they said they’d been pegged before. My time with other femdoms had helped me see how important an experienced sub could be—just like tops could be nervous and unsure, subs could be decisive and help to run a scene, especially useful for a newbie like me. Slipping a condom over my cock, I took a deep breath and felt ready.

When it was over, the funniest thing happened. I settled down on the bed and started laughing, then shook. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling all at once so overwhelmed by what had just happened.

They drew me into their arms and gave me a hug. “Was I too mean?” I asked, gripped by the fear that I might have been crueler than agreed upon. But they shook their head. “No, you were just right,” they replied—and at last, I believed it.

 


About the Author

Shayna Murphy is a freelance writer based out of Boston. Her work has appeared in Bustle, Ask Me About My Uterus, Pop Matters and other sites. She enjoys reading tarot cards, sipping tea and bossing naughty babes around—consensually, of course.

 

Follow on IG: @goregoregirl723 | Follow on Twitter: @shkmurphy


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