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Case: A fisting accident, first hand

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Case: A fisting accident, first hand

Hi. This is a much awaited entry written by a friend. I met and fisted with this great guy not long ago, and he told me the story of a serious fisting accident he had while under the influence of crystal meth (street names include Tina, T, and ice), a drug that numbs the nervous system, increases horniness, and enables play to extend over several days. Among other forms of recreation, it’s popular for sex. You can smoke it, inject it, or even put it up your butt, known as a booty bump. It’s highly addictive, and people have died from overuse as well as secondary complications, like the rectal tear and subsequent hospital complications that happened in my friend’s case. Thankfully, his fist partner acted quickly and responsibly, and he was able to be rescued. This is his story, told in his own words from his beginnings as a fister, through the fisting accident, his hospital visits, and his thoughts looking back now. I hope this serves as an educational resource for people making choices about drug use for fisting, and how to react if something does go wrong during play. My personal stance is everything in moderation, but T is where I draw the line for myself and my partners. Though he mentions using G as well, in my experience this is not something that alone leads to an inability to know what is happening around you. Now take a breath, this is a messy ride…


I’d been playing with big toys for years and have a particularly accommodating ass. I was fisted for the first time on 15th December 2015, and that very first time I was doubled. I was strictly a poppers and alcohol boy – I had no interest in chem sex at all. Over the next year and a half I played hard and regularly in the UK and various European events.

In September 2017 it all changed, I played with my best friend and fisty buddy as well as another guy, on chems for the first time. We had an amazing weekend, my friend swore blind he’d been bicep deep in me – I didn’t know and I didn’t believe him until I watched the video back; not only was he beyond elbow in me, I had the other guy in me at mid forearm at the same time… Eeek. Anyway we went away for fetish week Gran Canaria in October 2017, I played very very hard for about 10 days, again no chems just alcohol and poppers, I took big toys arms, feet, basically anything that anyone could push up my hole. Ffantastic holiday.

And then a much foretold play, the night that changed my life, 27th October 2017. A night that I will never forget. The sling was up and lube all made, my collection of big bad dragon and Mr hankey toys dotted around , Poppers, shot glasses, plenty of water, soft drinks and sweets ready. Note-pad and pen ready, porn and music all lined up; everything was set for a ffun night. My friend turned up as planned. We chatted, caught up on gossip and headed upstairs to my playroom, stripped to our jocks, socks and harnesses. We were ready. We took Viagra, as you do. We did our first shot of “G”, noting time and quantity, and set our phones to record the action. Play time began. We loosened each other up, fisting, fucking – both of us vers so we flipped for about an hour, playing with toys , double-ender etc, some arm riding – just the usual really, and then I booty bumped my first lot of “T”. We played hard for a couple of hours, passing toys between our holes , fisting, fisting with toys in and generally pushing each other’s limits.

And then those four little words that rocked my world “YOU’VE GOT A HOLE,” he said, and then the blood started to flow. For a moment I thought he was kidding, and then all the colour drained out of his face. I hadn’t felt a thing, it was about this point we realised I was well and truly in trouble. I had a cold douche to try and stop the blood flowing , all I managed to do was wash the blood clot out, it looked like a scene from a horror film in my bathroom.

My friend called an ambulance, we were told “It’s very busy tonight, we will get to you as soon as we can.” He explained what we had been doing and what happened, it was no time for modesty!! We played for a little while longer, before the panic , fear and enormity of what had happened hit me. What was I going to tell my friends, my family and my colleagues?? I think I cried. I began to shake. My friend called 999 again , the ambulance was still an hour away. He said he would drive me to hospital… I talked him out of it – we were both still flying (Editor’s note: flying refers to being high, in this instance on G and T).

I got dressed and laid on the sofa. An hour passed, still no ambulance, they couldn’t find us – the joys of a newly built housing estate that wasn’t on GPS, and to make it worse no mobile phone signal so the paramedics couldn’t even call us. It must’ve been about another 30 minutes and the welcoming sight of blue flashing lights reversing down the drive. From here on in I was a passenger… Three paramedics came in and we explained what we had been doing, showed them some of the toys we had been playing with , and they were like “NO WAY” when I showed them my Assmaster plug. After a while of doing checks, I was put onto a trolley and wheeled into the ambulance, at which point my friend woke up my boyfriend and told him what had happened. He packed me a suitcase. I was going to be in hospital for a long time.

The next bit is very hazy, I remember moaning about the bumps in the road and that I was plugged into may monitors and stuff. I had a resting heart rate of about 160/180 and an unhealthy blood pressure. The paramedics had prepared just in case I had a cardiac arrest. After what seemed an eternity we arrived at hospital, with 3 very shocked and educated paramedics. They had learned far too much about me and what I’d been up to. A brief handover and I was in the hands of the hospital staff in the Emergency Room. I thanked the ambulance crew, they wished me good luck and then they left.

I was x-rayed and had an ultrasound, and this only confirmed what we already knew: I had a hole. The surgeon came in (a very cute guy). His first words were “You have a potentially fatal injury, an upper rectal puncture into your peritoneal cavity,” followed by, “I need to operate or you will DIE. I’ve run statistics, you’re young, fit and healthy, so you stand a 26% chance of dying on my operating table.” They prepped me for theatre. I have a big prince albert with a screw. They nurses tried cutting it off with jewellery cutters – no chance. They had to find a screwdriver. Then the Viagra kicked in – I had an erection that wouldn’t go away. For some reason I whatsapped a colleague and said I wouldn’t be in to work on Monday. He rang me immediately. The rest is a rollercoaster, I’d signed consent forms, I was anaesthetised and taken to the operating theatre.

At some point on Sunday I woke up with a few additional features: a colostomy bag, an abdominal drain, a catheter and lots of pain. I remember crying uncontrollably. My world was over, my boyfriend looked destroyed and my parents still didn’t know. I rang my parents myself. I remember the conversation as if it were yesterday…
“Hi Mum.”
“Hello darling, you ok?”
“Erm yes but I’m in hospital. I had emergency surgery yesterday.”

I could hear my mum crying as she asked where I was. 30 minutes later my parents walked in.

The doctors said I would be in hospital for 3 – 4 weeks. I was in the high dependency ward (1 nurse to 2 patients). My medical team was amazing, never judging, just very supportive. On Monday I had given up and just wanted to die. My survival statistics had dropped from 74/26 to 50/50 at best. I didn’t eat, didn’t want to see anyone. I just cried and slept. On Tuesday my critical care nurse told me they really really needed to put my Nasal drain tube back in, which I categorically refused. My stats kept dropping, as it turned out I was poisoning myself from the inside. The ward sister was more forceful this time, saying “WE NEED to put it back.” Still my answer was NO. an hour later the surgeon came in and he told me I would die. I didn’t care, but I allowed him to do whatever he wanted. Ten minutes later my private room was covered in green, brown and orange foul smelling goo. It was like a scene from ghostbusters… Slimed. The nurses were covered the walls me the bed everything… they had breached my stomach and it let loose. I remember my nurse Christy saying that I instantly looked better. My reply was, “You don’t,” and I giggled.

From that moment on I got some of my resolve back. It was a shit situation but I would be ok. Everyone was supportive, I had visitors every day and I was getting stronger. Wednesday was my first physiotherapy day. The guy was super hot and had great Nikes, a great reason to get up. Two laps of the ward I was done. Lunch, dinner and visitors. Thursday was my first shower since the accident. It was the best thing ever, they started taking out my canulars, the drips and everything, took me off critical care and put me in a general ward. They told me that if I could do a colostomy bag change on my own then there was a very good chance I could go home on the Friday.

Friday. I’d proved I could do the bag, and they discharged me. My Parents picked me up and brought me home. I cried again as we turned into the close; my home that I thought I’d never see again, and my cats. Then my boyfriend arrived. Massive cuddles and hugs being mindful not to crush the colostomy bag hanging from my stomach. I wasn’t allowed to drive for 6 weeks so that ruled out work and also meant isolation as we live in the middle of nowhere. My self confidence was non-existent, I didn’t want to go out, I felt safe at home. I got into the swing of the bag changes, ordering supplies, etc. My colleagues visited and gave me a card that they had all signed, it made me giggle. One of the comments was “Have bags of fun,” and, “Did the hamster survive?”.

I was lucky that it was winter and the bags couldn’t be seen under my hoody and body-warmer. In the six months I had the colostomy bag, I only had one accident that I remember. It makes me laugh now, but at the time it was humiliating. I was standing at the supermarket checkout and there was an overwhelming smell of shit. The bag had come off and my t shirt hoody and stomach were smeared in stinking faeces. I cried as I paid for my shopping, and headed for the safety of my company van, where I cleaned myself and changed my clothes.

I had zero sex drive, my friends tried to involve me but I wasn’t into it. The months rolled by, I had routine hospital visits, check-ups etc. Then one magic day a letter from the hospital arrived. “Come for a leak test,” is not actually what it said, but that’s in essence what it meant. So off I went to hospital. Basically it’s a butt plug they put liquid through and pressurise, to check if the rectum is repaired. I joked as the nurses got me ready saying they were going to need a bigger plug than what they had. They had the ultimate last laugh when they taped it to my hairy bum. I giggled as they filled me with solution. I passed the test. A few days later another letter had arrived: reversal day would be 6th April 2018. I had won the lottery. Pre-op check was on the 31st March, all good. I bought a new car as a celebration.

Friday April 6th. Operation done, back in the ward. A huge open wound on my tummy, I needed a pee… I got up and tried to walk to the toilet, far to early. I ended up being grabbed and supported by my boyfriend and a sexy nurse, and plonked on a commode. Embarassing… Once I could prove that I was able to have a natural poo, I would be allowed to go home. Saturday my friends arrived and stalked the sexy nurse, so embarrassing. He and I joked that it was so nice to have friends visit but so much nicer when the embarrassment was over and they left lol…

I was the youngest on my ward, and ended up running it. the 84 year old opposite me wouldn’t eat as he hated the food, so I fed him all the chocolate and goodies I’d been given. He and his family loved me. Another guy came in with major bowel issues and didn’t want an enema, so I teased him and in the end he gave in. Being the trouble-maker I am, I told him I was going to video him whilst they did it and send it to his wife. I’m still in contact with him now.

Sunday morning the doctors did their rounds. They were amazed, I was awake, showered and sitting in shorts and a t-shirt reading a book. They couldn’t believe I was so chilled and making such a good recovery. But still I hadn’t been to the toilet, and that was the remaining hurdle. I was eating everything they gave me trying desperately to escape the hospital. Meanwhile, I wasn’t sleeping. Snoring, a ventilator and movement from the other patients kept me awake. Sunday evening I felt movements in my tummy. I’d been warned that there was the possibility that I may mess myself. I was determined that this wasn’t going to happen to me, so I basically camped in the toilet and finally at about 4am a tiny pellet passed. I felt it go and it felt huge and hurt and had a red halo, but there it was. I went to the toilet few other times in the early hours of Monday morning, and on the doctors’ rounds on Monday morning I was discharged. I was free to go home, with one condition: I had to visit my local hospital every day for a dressing change; the open wound had to heal from the inside out. I had a 2 metre long ribbon dressing tucked into the hole in my stomach. It should’ve been easy to get the dressing changed as the hospital is 3 miles from my house, but again I wasn’t allowed to drive for 6 weeks. Mum’s cab service everyday. So as the days rolled on the length of the ribbon dressing got shorter and I healed, my self-confidence grew, but I still wasn’t ready to play…

Until one evening some very dear and trusted friends got my drunk and fingered me, then tied me up and I took my first post-accident fist. I still have a picture of this evening on my phone as I still had a plaster on my tummy. Since then my best friend and fisty buddy gently pushed me and built up my confidence. Always playing without chems, just alcohol and poppers. I’m fully healed physically now, but sometimes mentally I wonder about fisting…but love it so much. Just this year I’ve taken a true triple fist, done bicep deep; I’m wider and deeper than I ever was before, have met some amazing people and made some lifelong friends.

Whilst writing this I found the video of the evening of the 27th October 2017 on my laptop, from when the accident happened. The first time watching it I cried. You can actually see when it all changed and the blood started flowing. I’m very grateful to my friend for the way he looked after me when he discovered my hole. He was amazing. I’m not sure I would have been quite so composed during an emergency like this. As I was admitted to hospital to undergo emergency surgery, I had given him my belongings to take care of – phone, wallet etc. That day, the 28th October, my iphone walked 27000 steps, the most it’s ever done in one day.


If you ever find yourself in the same situation as I was, DON’T ignore it, seek immediate medical assistance; and be honest – it’s in your own best interests. The more the medics know, the quicker they can repair you. I was lucky that I didn’t get septicaemia (deadly blood poisoning) for two reasons: I was immaculately douched, and I had immediate medical treatment. It’s a rough time but you will get better and live to fight another day. DON’T leave it and hope it goes away.

Happy safe fisting folks!

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