“Come on,” my
boyfriend whispered in the midst of trying to convince me that we should 69. “I
know there’s something crazy you just
want to try.”
“Maybe there is,” 15-year-old me
wondered out loud. Truth be told, I had nothing. But, to put an end to his
constant questioning, I told him I’d say what I wanted after he told me.
“I want to come on your face,” he
way or another, the topic of sexual fantasies always seems to slither its way into
conversations with my partners. It’s come up in the middle of foreplay, in a
tent on a summer camping trip, while folding laundry and right before family
dinners: randomly, and out of curiosity to hear about the other’s weird turn-ons.
Daydreaming about everything sexual under the sun has always been a favorite pastime of mine. I’ve wondered my way through relationships ad nauseam, thinking through various positions and reimagining my
favorite hook-ups, as most of us curious and horny humans are bound
Ranging from long-ago considerations of what sex would be like to how I’d like our
bodies to intertwine after months away from a partner, these ponderings have one
thing in common: No matter how vividly I imagine or how
acutely I remember a past feeling, the actual scenarios are always completely different (for
better or worse) from anything I’ve assumed before. Fantasies are representations of what we think we want—not always scenarios that would be sexy in practice.
either of us 15-year-olds had ever had sex, my first boyfriend was impossibly curious when it
came to imagining and discussing his fantasies (aka porn
city). While he rattled off his dreams on the phone, I was silent
and calculating on the other end. I’d wondered a whole lot, but I lacked the long list of scenarios that he had compiled.
What did I want? I wondered, as he went on about
three-ways and boob jobs and whipped cream.
he finally talked me into phone sex—the ultimate time to vocalize all your inner desires—I felt like I was lying as I
whispered about things I’d do to him and timid in my own requests. I was
speaking to sex with which I didn’t have an ounce of experience.
To that end, I still find it difficult to fully conceptualize my
sexual fantasies before they happen. Once,
years later, I envisioned the possibility of a partner saying my name in sex
and decided I’d ask when the time was right. In the midst of morning
sex soon after, things were coming to an anti-climatic end, and I made my move.
my name,” my inner fantasy demon suddenly felt the need to blurt. It came out
as a strangely vocal request—out of place, yes, and uncalled for in the reality of
our lazy Tuesday sex. My boyfriend looked away from me and continued as if he hadn’t heard anything while I inwardly cringed.
As I learned the hard way, fantasies don’t always play out as they do in our minds.
When it comes to the unknown, however, I’m as curious as the next person. The
fantasy of sex with an attractive stranger is appealing because it takes those
who have been around the block back to square one. When I’ve hooked up with strangers, I’ve most remembered the more experienced older
individuals who have taken the reins to surprise me in some way—maybe with sloppy, salamander-lip kisses, or
maybe with promises to keep me coming all night long. Either way, something to
the moment, I usually find myself satisfied (or really not at all) and
contentedly anonymous either way. Looking back, the experiences take on a sheen in their one-time occurrence (the good ones, that is). They’re
fantasies with no strings; impossible to predict before they happen, and with a short shelf life.
the thing about fantasies, though: The real ones, I think, are those you don’t
expect or see coming. While a bucket list of bedtime activities is never
a bad thing, the most memorable experiences seem to come from in-the-moment inspiration.
certainly didn’t head into a recent camping trip imagining subtle sneak offs and lingering soreness after the weekend’s conquests. I’d gone into the trip, frankly,
thinking that my boyfriend and I wouldn’t get much of a chance to be alone.
first night, however, found us having sex in a hot tub, our bodies pruned
and exhausted as we jointly agreed that we couldn’t do it anymore after about an hour. We
later scrambled down rocks and had urgent quickie sex on the beach
until the fluorescent glow of flashlights and drunken yells forced us to scatter.
stole away into the shower to do it beneath the lukewarm faucet, water
gathering around our ankles as our slippery mouths tried their best to be
utterly soundless. While the rest of our group slept, we hit the deck outside as the sun began to
rise, casting grainy light over our freezing bodies intertwined under a thin
the last night, we found ourselves prying off our clothes on a hammock, swaying
back and forth while the rest of the world continued beyond our private corner
of yard and summer and stars.
was utterly unexpected, that hammock adventure and our various explorations of
places. And looking back, that’s what it made it so dreamlike.
So, perhaps, fantasies and their actual meanings should dwell on the back burner, to let go of when we’re actually given free reign to explore—in the moment.