A new fantasy
I’ve been thinking about this fantasy, which is a little different from any fantasy I’ve ever had before. Unlike most of my fantasies, it’s centered on sexual activity. Usually, my fantasies end with sexual activity. (And usually, they actually don’t just end with sexual activity; they end in reality, in real sexual activity.) This fantasy began with sex, and only after spending some time in the sex realm, expanded into the period preceding sex. And, if I’m honest, it just keeps returning to the sex part. And, I don’t imagine it likely will lead to sex.
The antecedent setup—usually where all the heat in my fantasies lies—is of something like gestural import in this fantasy.
My memory is a little hazy, and my subsequent surfing hasn’t really led me to anything like a conclusive reconstruction of the origin of this. I’ve been able to find exactly one video that comes close to enacting what I have in mind, and I’m almost certain that this video is not the one I saw, because, honestly, I don’t find this video that hot. It doesn’t really get at what’s hot to me about the idea.
Maybe there was some other video that I saw that I did find super hot. Or maybe I just saw something that set my mind whirring. I honestly don’t know.
The fantasy takes shape
What I do know is that, the other afternoon, for the first time in my life, I found myself excited by the idea of my simultaneously being pegged by one woman and fucking another. The thought had, literally, never previously crossed my mind. To my knowledge, I never saw such a thing in a video. But there I was, in that space.
And in the not-so-very-many hours since then, I’ve done a couple of things. One, I’ve tried, not too hard, just a little, to find some online examples of what I’m pondering. The closest I’ve come is the one to which I linked above, and as I said, I don’t find it particularly hot to look at.
What I do find hot, though, is imagining the scenario. Imagining me – with two specific women – engaged in this specific combination of activities. [I should note: there definitely need to be two specific women for the fantasy to be hot to me. It’s not a generic fantasy at all, and it doesn’t work with notional hot strangers. They need to be genuine, actual women, women with whom I have a real-life relationship.]
I keep finding it hot to think of different pairs of women, to think of different positions for each of them. I think, for example, of Saya and Cee. If it were to be the two of them, would Saya peg me while I fucked Cee? Would Cee peg me while I fucked Saya? Damn, each is hot. And each is very differently hot.
And then if I switch out Shakira for Saya, but keep Cee, I’ve got a radically different situation. If I switch out Cee, then, having Shakira, and switch in Serena, now I’ve got yet another different permutation (or two). I find all of it surprisingly hot. And not just hot, but interesting. Never mind women from my past. Charlotte. Isabel. Sofia. Veronique. L. The Rockette. Hope. Marina. And so on. And so on. And so on….
What’s going on here?
Why is it that I, who normally doesn’t fantasize about fucking, find this particular version of fucking so compelling? I should say, I’m not saying I want to do this, necessarily. I’m not saying I could do this, necessarily. I’m saying something relatively unfamiliar to me, as it relates to my own fantasies: I’m saying, without reference to whether I do this or not, I find it hot to ponder.
Something similar happened a few months ago, when I conjured a fantasy involving a number of people I know, in a setting in which I sometimes find myself. For a variety of reasons, not only could I never make that scenario happen, I didn’t even dare write it down in a way that could be recognized by any of the participants. I think, at the time, I wrote a little about the unfamiliarity of that construction—a fantasy that I didn’t especially want to happen, but that I could simply delight in imagining. There haven’t been many of those. This might be number two.
So what is it about this? What is it about the pegging-fucking chain that transforms fucking—usually an activity to which I’m essentially neutral—into something about which I’m genuinely excited?
Sensation and absence
While the physical sensation of my fucking is in fact very much a part of this fantasy—the sensation of my cock sliding into my chosen target, of my thighs pressing against the thighs of the woman I’m fucking as she lies beneath me, or kneels before me—the action behind me is much less fleshed out.
I’m not imagining a dildo sliding into my ass. I’m not imagining thighs pounding against my ass. I’m not imagining anything physical, in fact. All I’m imagining is the positioning. The woman behind me. And somehow the fact—if not the sensation—of her pounding her dildo into my ass. Or, if I’m honest, sliding it gently, cautiously, sensitively.
As I said, the rear element of this fantasy is not so physical. It’s mental. And somehow, I think, this is a hint as to some of what’s going on. I think there’s something about the idea of my being fucked, of a woman’s being in a position of power over me from behind—with the power to please me or to hurt me—that inoculates me. Against at least some, if not all, of the danger that typically plagues my relationship to the act of heterosexual fucking.
Pendulums (pendula?) and fulcrums (fulcra?)
I was discussing this with a wise woman recently, and she wondered if somehow the fantasy didn’t erase me, didn’t produce a scene in which two women were fucking, and I was almost irrelevant. She said this, and I briefly remembered the pendulum toy that sat on my maternal grandfather’s desk—a wood frame with five steel balls, each suspended by two lines of clear thread. (“Newton’s Cradle,” I just learned it’s called.)
For hours at a time, I could play with this, dropping the rightmost ball against the four stationary ones and watching the leftmost ball fly up. And then it would fall back, strike the four stationary balls, sending the rightmost one flying. If I dropped two from the right, two from the left would fly up. If I dropped three, magically, the two leftmost ones and the middle one would fly up. As I said, I could do this for hours. The physics and the math were incredibly compelling to me.
While this wise woman pondered my erasure from the scene, I imagined myself the middle ball in a three-ball such toy. But that was a momentary conjured image. It somehow didn’t quite capture the emotional reality.
Emotionally, I’m the fulcrum here—not the disregarded, physically inevitable, and somehow irrelevant object with mass and volume, doing nothing but standing between the other two balls, conveying the force of the one to the other. The feeling in doing nothing, with all the force passing through—that’s not right. [Ed. note: I tried to use Veo 3 to make a video of this, and it’s simultaneously astonishing, and completely wrong.]
In my image, it’s more like the fulcrum of a seesaw. The center point, without which the other two would come crashing down. On which each depends, not just for its movement, but for its very existence in space. Drop the center ball from my grandfather’s toy, and nothing changes for the others, except for how they interact with one another when let loose. Remove the fulcrum from a seesaw, and the seesaw comes crashing to the ground, transformed into nothing other than a plank.
Danger, power, safety
But back to power. I’ve long hypothesized that there’s something about the act of fucking that scares me — not that it causes me to fear harm to myself; I fear the harm I might cause to another. In this fantasy, that danger is somehow eradicated. It evaporates.
The woman fucking me (re)assures me that the woman I’m fucking is safe. The woman fucking me? She somehow emasculates me of all my destructiveness, while leaving my hard, fucking cock to plow relentlessly into the woman beneath me. While somehow sparing her any destruction – any of the destruction that normally renders fucking so… unpalatable… for me.
I don’t know how or why this might be. It’s hard for me to wrap my arms or head around this. And as I said at the outset, it’s notable that while this fantasy turns me on, it turns me on in a way that is somehow utterly divorced from the physical world. I don’t know that I have any interest in making it happen. Even as I have lots of interest in contemplating it. And this is relatively unfamiliar to me.
Off to the races?
So there I am, here I am, my cock in my hand, imagining the women in my life – the women of today, the women of yesterday—all of them in a steady parade behind and in front of me.
Just like my soiree fantasy with a dozen women, only now it’s only two at a time, one in front and one behind. And somehow, the flavor is very different depending on who’s where.
If I imagine any two women, the mood shifts entirely if I switch them around.
I’ve been doing this now for much of the last 24 or 28 hours. Cycling through the women in my life, past and present, and positioning them behind me, in front of me, beneath me. Just taking my temperature. Seeing what feels how in my mind.
More than anything, I suppose, it all just feels surprisingly, confusingly hot. [And not, I feel compelled to add, in a way that I think in any suggests I actually want to do this – which is a whole other interesting topic to explore.]