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Fantasy confessions

I want to talk about sexual Fantasies a little bit, and I know that I am probably saying a few things that I've said before - I apologize if that's the case - but if nothing else, I am consistent!

I really am pretty fascinated with sexual fantasies. It's a part of my own sexuality that I haven't yet truly explored, and which I do wonder about.

I used to have sexual fantasies as a young girl - though I didn't realize that's what they were. I used to lie in bed at night in the dark with my eyes closed, and imagine myself in some situation that was so thrilling, so exciting, so very desirable. The plot often came from Nancy Drew stories, for she was forever being tied up, or abducted, or dragged away, or kidnapped. She would have her head covered, her hands tied, she would be kicking and struggling - but to no avail.

Not much later I started to read the bodice ripper, grocery store check-out-line romance novels in place of Nancy. These fed my fantasies so much more directly, I was utterly entranced with them.

Tall Norwegian princes who eschewed their birthright, but desired the heroine beyond all thought. Elegant dark-skinned arabs who rode white horses and lived in billowing white tents. Misunderstood cowboys who roamed the prairies. Men with foreign accents who traveled the world. These men would love only one woman, they would grab her or snatch her or take her or steal her. They would tie her up, drag her away. They would toss her on their horses or throw her in their cars or hijack her train.

It didn't matter just how it was all done, but in the stories I loved, the woman was always taken forcefully by the man who wanted her. Eventually in these stories, it all came down to love. She was always tamed by love for her man.

And this is where all my fantasies germinate. This place, this idea, this sentiment and construct is where all my fantasies today still begin.

Abduction. It's a fantasy that has been a part of my personal, private world since I was a girl. The root of it hasn't changed.

Back then, it was always a book or novel or story I was telling myself - that I knew had a happy ending - no matter what transpired in the meanwhile.

It's the same today. I fantasize about abduction, but always under the auspices of Sir - Sir being the happy ending for anything I might experience in the meanwhile.

Sir is essentially my own, real and true, arab prince on a horse, cowboy with a gun, and knight with a sword.

I truly believe in real life and in fantasy that He will take care of me utterly, and be there for me no matter what hardship may intervene for us both.

He is the reason I can have vibrant fantasies of my own today - because He is real, and because I am weak with the separation of fantasy and reality.

It's not that I don't understand the difference at all - it's that I feel, underneath it all, that if fantasy doesn't have the slightest chance of being reality - then it's not worth fantasizing about.

I know it's not really the usual way of thinking about things... but then, I am not usually someone who thinks about things in the usual ways.



This post first appeared on Strength In Submission, please read the originial post: here

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Fantasy confessions

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