Strapon, pegging and the night the roles turned

A strapon is the one object in our bedroom that changed something permanently. Not because of what it does to him — because of what it did to me: for sixteen years he was the one who entered, and then one Sunday, with a black harness buckled over my hips and his face in the pillow, that was no longer true.

These are my notes on pegging as a married woman who was scared of the technique and found the technique was the easy part. How the box sat in the wardrobe for three weeks, how he prepared, what I said, what he said into the pillow, and the ten minutes afterwards with his forehead on my knees. Also: milking, prostate play, and what a man looks like from behind when he is entirely yours.