The original title was going to be the “puzzle” of female sexuality, but I couldn’t resist a little double sense after recalling a story a friend once told me about how her boyfriend didn’t like to touch her “down there.” When she asked why, he said because it was wet and slippery. No, that relationship didn’t last long.
Noel put up a post which got me thinking, always a dangerous idea, about some of the more problematic aspects of female sexuality. Now, this has very little to do with his actual post and is more of a tangent.
Like many women, I have a veritable library of masturbatory fantasies inside my head that I keep on file for necessary occasions, like an inability to fall asleep or bad menstrual cramps. As it happens, and it happens often I’m afraid, the sight of a stranger passing by on the street brought a particular fantasy to mind.
Now, my fantasies can be described as falling broadly into two rough categories: those I would try in a heartbeat and those I wouldn’t really ever want to do. Now those that I would try in a heartbeat remain in the fantasy realm for no better reason than the opportunity has failed to present itself, for instance, sex with two bisexual men who are also into each other. That fantasy is liable to remain unfulfilled because it requires finding the right two people, everyone being mutually interested in one another and none of us having feelings or relationships that would complicate the situation. At the other extreme… well, let’s not go to the true extreme, there are a few thing’s I’ll keep private… but let’s say being tied up, blind folded and fondled and penetrated by dozens of people. “Dozens” is usually a pretty clear indication that I’ve entered the world of “things I don’t actually want to happen in reality.” In a fantasy, a person is never tired, never sore, needs no inconvenient bathroom breaks. So this second fantasy would be next to impossible to do in a safe, sane way, and, even if I could figure out a way, it probably wouldn’t actually be that much fun – better left in the imagination.
Now, like a lot of things that could be put into categories, there are items that don’t quite fit, and that’s the sort of fantasy I’d like to address today, the fantasy I had yesterday, the one that was prompted by a stranger passing by on the street. Let’s say that this man was of the ugly-sexy sort, if you understand what I mean. He’s not going to make it to the cover of GQ, but still I got a bit of a twinge down there looking at him. Well, that was as far as the reality went. The fantasy, I warn you, is terribly banal. It starts with some comment, usually a pleasantry of some sort, which escalates with improbable speed to sexual innuendo, then fairly unmistakable hint. Now, I don’t know about your fantasy world, but mine is just awash in conveniently located dark alleys, roomy supply closets and single stall public toilets. This particular one involves being up against a wall in an alley. Normally, it’s a brick wall, but being in Paris at the moment the wall was made of that yellowish limestone. I guess that’s the kind of detail people mean when they say that we ladies have a greater need for context in our fantasies.
Now, I must ask you, why would this fantasy fall in the second, “I would never do it,” category rather than the first, “looking for an opportunity,” category. I can’t find a good answer to that and it’s my fantasy. I’m pretty sure in reality it would be quite a thrill and has as good a shot as being pleasurable as anything else, so it doesn’t have to do with a lack of pleasure. It has a lot to do with inhibition – that weird sense that I shouldn’t fuck “just anyone.” But why not? Add a few more words, a cup of coffee and suddenly we’ve gone into a totally different realm rapidly approaching acceptable behavior.
I’m not going to pretend to have an answer for this, because I don’t.