Here’s another reader’s response to my question about sexual fantasy and the role it plays in your life :
I just happened upon the piece in DoubleX about sexual fantasies, and I’d like to respond. I guess you still want answers to the original question, so here goes:
Before I begin, there are a couple things you should know about me: I’m pretty young (22) and I grew up in a home where there was sex almost everywhere: in films, on TV, in magazines, and in those Mills & Boon romantic novels where the man is always impossibly handsome and his member is always throbbing with desire. But, somehow, we were Christian, and it was taboo to talk about, or even acknowledge, the existence of sex. I discovered how to masturbate around the age of 13 and haven’t looked back since. My upbringing is so ingrained in me, though, that I’m still overcome by a terrible sense of guilt right after I orgasm. But that’s a whole other issue. I’m also black and grew up in Europe around a lot of white people. As a result, I often felt that I wasn’t quite beautiful enough (something I’m still dealing with today). I found myself attracted to white boys, but all the boys had crushes on the girls with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Not much has changed, and it’s not very different here and now in America. So today, my fantasies are of a white man, whom I’m attracted to, being unable to control himself sexually. I like to imagine him beautiful beyond words (perhaps because I know this is something I can’t have). He is tall and tan with azure eyes and thick, dark hair.
Typically, I use porn to aid my fantasies. I usually go for the dominatrix kind where the woman is bound and suspended, and the man is walking around her with a raging erection, but instead of taking her immediately (which is what his body clearly wants), casually whips her ass and her breasts with a leather whip as he walks around her, inspecting her all the while. When he finally does fuck her, it’s unrestrained and debauched.
Depending on my relationship status, my fantasies take one of two forms. If I’m not in a relationship (and if I’m not having sex with my significant other), the fantasies are more bizarre, they are more violent-the faceless white man slams me against a wall and holds me in place with his elbow as he strokes out his rock-hard dick. He whispers right into my ear all the vile things he wants to do to my body. He tells me he’s going to shove his cock so far into my pussy, I’ll feel it in my belly; he says if I don’t behave, he’ll call in his friend (who’s right outside, ear pressed against the door, violently masturbating) to come fuck me as well. Would I like that? he asks. Would I like two hot cocks in me? He takes me rough and hard from behind, standing up and he is calling me a bitch and a slut and a whore (note: not a “ho”). Just as he begins to cry out loudly as he comes inside me, his friend bursts in and comes on my ass. Both men are calling out in such pleasure that it almost sounds like they’re crying. I should let it be known, though, that in real life, I’m so aware of being black and being a woman, that if any man called me any of the things the fantasy lover calls me outside of sex and without my consent during sex, I would slice his penis off and feed it to walruses.
If I’m in a relationship, my fantasies are gentler. I think this is because the things I imagine mirror my actual sex life to some degree. This recurring “relationship fantasy” comes to me when I’m making love with a boyfriend: I imagine that the man has had his eye on me for a long time. Maybe we work together, and I notice he often sneaks glances at me from across the conference table. Then magically, we are in a dark room with just enough light that I can see the powerful curve of his bare shoulders and the strain of his stiffening penis against his pants. He is suffering when he takes his time to gently press his lips against mine. He wants to tear my dress off and throw me to the ground and take me there from behind, but he doesn’t. Then our clothes are off and we are standing opposite each other. He softly takes my hand and wraps my fingers around his hard cock as if to say, “Look at what you do to me. I know it shouldn’t be this way, I know that society and logic say I shouldn’t be attracted to you, but my body can’t help it.” He communicates this by looking deep into my eyes while his are large and helpless. Then I throw myself into him, and he quickly, but gently lays me down on a thin mattress on the floor and makes love to me. The love-making is savage and slippery, but his inability to control his hunger for me makes it tender.
I fantasize about sex a great deal. I do it so much that for a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me hormonally. When I see a good-looking man, I immediately imagine what he would look like fucking me from behind as we stand in front of a mirror. I work from home now, and take as many as three masturbation breaks a day (things are going to suck when I start working in an office again!), all fueled by the sight or the thought of a man and how I imagine him walking around me with a stiff penis, denying himself immediate gratification. Sometimes, if I’m in public, I store the fantasies up for when I come home to my boyfriend (or vibrator, as it were). I need these mental and actual images (through pornography) to make me orgasm whether I’m having sex or I’m masturbating.
As a side note, though my fantasies are always interracial, I notice that none of the men ever say anything racially derogatory. They never say a thing about my skin. In fact, the fact that we’re different colors only seems to really occur to me, except in the fantasy where the man knows that according to society, this is sort of taboo. But to me, what makes the fantasy exciting is the fact that the man is stepping outside of societal bounds because he can’t control his feelings. I am never in control in these fantasies, really. On the other hand, in real life, a lack of control makes me severely anxious. I am especially aware of being lorded over by white men in real life. Whenever I can, I won’t let it happen, but it’s all I want during sex; it’s what I need in my fantasies. It’s all that gets me wet; all that makes me come. I’ve never told anyone about my fantasies because I still harbor a bit of that embarrassment about and self-reproach for thinking about sex as much as I do, and also the fact that I seem to only be attracted to white men-which is a WHOLE other issue.
Thanks for reading. I hope this helps your research. Best of luck to you.
Photograph of a woman by Medioimages/Photodisc/Getty Images.