If you’ve read more than a couple of posts on this blog, you know that I am not a gangbang kind of guy. A gangbang holds no appeal to me. Not gangbang porn, not watching, not participating, none of it. It just does nothing for me.
But as Margot and I were talking — as I told her about a certain fantasy I had conjured for a certain friend of mine, about which I haven’t written here because reasons — I asked her: “Do you have any fantasies that are unrealized?”
She misunderstood me, thinking I meant: “Are there any fantasies you haven’t yet realized that you have?” I meant realized in the sense of “caused to happen,” I clarified.
Her first was double penetration.
“Why hasn’t that happened?” I asked. “Why haven’t you made it happen?”
*I don’t know*, she said. *It just hasn’t. The circumstance hasn’t presented itself.*
I told her I could make it happen. For sure.
With Margot, I can never tell whether she’s performing or authentic, whether she’s acting or genuine. And I’m not sure the lines are all that bright between those. She may be doing a little of all of them — performing, acting, authentic, real. I have a hunch that’s where the truth is. Everywhere and nowhere.
But in any event, as our conversation continued — as we progressed past two cocks to more, to a full-on gangbang — I thought to myself: “This would be fun to make happen.”
Not in a sexual way, as I said. The gangbang itself doesn’t excite me. What I like in it is the possibility of Margot putting her trust in me. Of her feeling safe enough with me to imagine I could keep her safe while curating an evening in which she got the shit fucked out of her by two, three, five, or ten men.
That trust — that makes my cock hard.
And I’ll go one step further. The fantasy, such as it is, is even hotter if there’s a “thank you.” If Margot is sufficiently grateful that she thanks me in a currency I value. That sounds hot.
So, just to riff for a moment. In my initial vision — prior to any conversation beyond what I’ve already reported with Margot — I picture three or five or seven men dressed to the nines. Suits, maybe even tuxes. And Margot in an elegant dress. Maybe white, maybe red — in any event, a color that sets off in contrast to the suits and/or tuxes.
I imagine I would be dressed differently. Most likely in jeans and a t-shirt. Both to set me apart and to indicate, in a convoluted way, the power I would hold in such a setting.
Maybe there would be drinks. Seated around a table. Maybe a full-on meal — though the truth is, sex is always better on more of an empty stomach than a full one.
That’s where this fantasy comes to rest for now. Pending corrections and details from Margot.
