I really want to write about what happened yesterday after I popped the pill and stopped being a complete ass. The effect was visible only after fifteen minutes or so, because after the fifteen minutes we were hugging, caressing each other and kissing softly under the kitchen lamp. But I feel I can’t because it’s about Wonderboy consenting to something we hadn’t done before. So, I’m going to talk about my fantasies that lead us there.
My fantasies often involve men sticking their meaty lucious things up each other’s asses. There’s always an air of a certain power dynamic, mainly the other one is to some degree not consenting or unable to consent (very, very often sleeping) and the other one is taking advantage of that.
I guess I’d be considered cis-gendered, although I’m kind of volatile and used to play about with that. For those unfamiliar with the consept, cis-gendered means I’m comfortable in my own biological gender. Many people of course never even consider it worth questioning so I think even recognizing the uncertainty is a sign of something. Anyway, I am, for the most part, happy to be a girl. But my fantasies have, for a longer time than I can remember, consisted of men fucking men, or at least, a man fucking a woman who is unconscious or otherwise non-part-taking. I take the place and body of a man in my fantasies, the one that’s taking advantage of the other. I’m turned on by the thoughts of not being allowed to do what soon turns out inevitable because of the poor self-control of my “main character”. I guess losing control is even in these fantasies my main trigger.
Most of the people I know, who are kinky in one way or another, say that they always knew. They fantasized about dark things and played bondage games with their barbies. I thought, huh, well I don’t submit in my fantasies. I don’t dream about being tied with rope and being hurt. My fantasies on the other hand I felt were weird. So weird in fact, that I never thought of letting anyone know about them. I didn’t really think about them myself unless I was using them in a way you are all familiar with. Before I met Wonderboy.
For me, nothing is more sexy than a man fighting not to come, but coming none the less. Even better if he’s able to fuck himself in the ass. Oh, dear god, all you guy exhibitions out there. I’m your dream audience. So yeah, Thumper’s blog’s like my ultimate fantasy, as long as he’s sometimes unsuccesful with the denied part. An-nyway, in my fantasies I’m usually, no let’s be honest here, I am always the man. Sometimes it’s like watching a movie but I can hear people’s thoughts but sometimes I just really get under his skin to feel what it feels like to fuck, as a man. Because that’s what turns me on. The thoughts of the guy trying not to come, contemplating of how it’s wrong and how he really shouldn’t be doing it.
The main theme in my fantasies is that it is all very strictly forbidden. Taboo. You can’t even say it out loud. Incest. Rape.
So, on to more important things… The spring is coming!
No, really. I have to say it because there is a point to all this madness. This is my fantasy life. Here’s where I get off. God, it’s so embarrasing. But that’s what it is. Fantasies are our minds’ ways of telling us what’s most important. What’s sacred. For me, this is it.
This it where it gets heavy. Because playing with Wonderboy I’ve felt how good it is to let go of control, give it totally to his hands. And still, I can’t fantasize about that. I can only fantasize from his point of view. So, if his petting and licking me, I am fantasizing about fucking (someone) up the ass. No, really. A step dad secretly grinding his dick up the ass-crack of his 17 year old sleeping step son while camping. (Disclaimer. No, the incest scenarios never include small children because I don’t get turned on by actual hurt or real, painful emotions.)
I find I can relate to Dev on Devastating yet Iconsequential when she says she usually fantazises about bottoming – but is in real life mostly topping and a acting out sadist. Because, for me, submitting is too important, too fragile, too real to fantasize about. So, my mind found a way. I fantazise only from the point of view of the opressor, the top, the abuser, so I don’t have to face the very real and very bothering emotions that would surface if I thought about the abused. What gets me off, are the abuser’s inner turmoils, battles he fights trying not to do it – and always loses. I cannot relate to the one who is being fucked, especially if they are women. It’s a huge turn-off if I start to think about what she feels.
What I realized from our play with Wonderboy is that I’ve been dealt with so much pain that in my fantasies I need to turn the tables in order to enjoy what I really need. Submission. I’ve been abused in so many ways, most of them through my own consent, that I can’t yet imagine a consenting yet not hurting scenario where the woman would be submitting, bound, even hurt. That’s why I think that Ranat has a really essential point at Beyond the Hills. She says that the fact of consent is not enough to define the difference between real life abuse and BDSM. I’ve always hated the general stereotypes that women are by their biological mechanisms thought of being passive and men aggressive. If we fuck, even if Wonderboy is on top the traditional way, even if he´s choking me, I am all encompassing, writhing, breathing, throbbing, watering, devouring want. We are both part taking, violently, in the same play. It’s not about consent. It’ about finding ways to get closer to the other, finding new triggers of joy, and enjoying them together.
So, yesterday, I got the chance for the first time with Wonderboy to feel what it feels like to be inside him. He was as all encompassing, welcoming, wet, wonderfully soft and warm as I always imagined. I felt completely liberated from both of the expectations as a submissive and as a woman in the hetero sex act. It was beautiful.
So here’s my fantasy life inside out. It’s still lagging behind my realizations and new, healthy and loving experiences, but I’m not worried. As long as it gives us pleasure, I can let it live it’s own life.
On an mostly unrelated note, I can’t believe how hard it’s raining right now. I imagine that if I’d go outside right now it would be like metal pounding on my head, back and shoulders. Big, heavy drops lashing from the sky. I really like the rain and never even thought that even that could be a hint of my inclination to submit to something bigger than me. How have I fooled myself for so long?