"6": Fantasy and taboo

My sexual fantasies generally follow a similar trajectory: uber-exhibitionism and being a fucktoy for many men. These are the fantasies I masturbate to, the images that inevitably bring me to clitoral orgasm.

It's always been like this, for a long as I can remember.

A friend sent me a link to this article in the Economist, Secret Cinema. A few highlights from the article: "Some people, not unexpectedly perhaps, fantasise about celebrities. A handful imagine romantic tenderness with their real-life partners. But many of those surveyed say they like thinking about doing disgusting things with, to, or in front of, total strangers, or (perhaps more unsettlingly) the people they love.... The upshot is that nine out of ten people have sexual fantasies, mostly pretty lurid ones—and Mr Kahr thinks the remaining tenth are crippled by shame, guilt or repression."

We all have them. Some of us (though I'd wager it's a small number) act on them. My first foray into playing out fantasies was with a very willing partner. He had an acting background, was very animated and could improvise very easily and convincingly. He was game for every fantasy scenario I suggested: Me, office slut interviewing for a job, must fuck every employee daily; me, on my way home from grocery shopping, I am thrown into my stairwell and molested by forceful stranger, etc. However, no matter how engaged he was, or we were, the fantasies were never quite satisfying. I never felt like I was completely in them, like they could take on a life of their own.

Until I met Andre. With him, the line between fantasy and reality was constantly blurred. Since I agreed early on to concede control to him, I never knew what was going to happen next. We journeyed together into my dark places and the territory felt very real, and very fraught with uncertainty and potential danger.

I could say no at any time but I had challenged myself not to. Ever. I was a perpetual yes. I exposed to him the underbelly of my desires and let myself succumb to them. To him. To myself. The more I *realized*, i.e. made real, my internal experiences, the more the nature of my own reality began to change. By unleashing my demons, the secret, masturbatory fantasies I'd carried with me for years, I found myself feeling different after these experiences. I felt less fear. More self-assured. More whole. I felt less concern about what other people thought of me and freer to be more of who I was/am. The less I judged myself (by owning my fantasies and sharing them openly, outwardly), the less I felt susceptible to judgment by others. I simply wasn't fazed any longer about what people thought of me. I felt free to be myself. I've also found that being able to share these parts of myself with a lover, someone who accepts me, and vice verse, has brought us closer together. I think a lot of us live in fear of judgment about our sexual desires, when in reality, these experiences are amazing portals to self-realization.


This idea that the key to wholeness lies in exploring and understanding our "dark sides" is a theme that is repeated consistently in mythology and psychology the world over. I'd hesitate to label these areas as truly "dark" though. They are secret, often uninhabited areas of our psyches and, from my own experience, fertile territories for growth. For example, the Greek story of Persephone sees her banished to spend six months (half the year; quite a long time when you think about it) in the underworld. When she returns to the earth's surface for the other six months, spring accompanies her - rebirth and illumination.

Jung talks about the shadow as being areas of the unconscious that are socially unacceptable, as well as undeveloped positive potential. He suggested that the more these thoughts and behaviors were suppressed, the larger the shadow grew. "In spite of its function as a reservoir for human darkness—or perhaps because of this—the shadow is the seat of creativity."

The Senoi dreamers of Malaysia apply the same concepts of approaching "darkness" to their dream travels: whenever encountering danger in a dream, the dreamer was encouraged to confront and conquer his or her attacker. Once obliterated, the dreamer asks this now defunct "demon" for a gift. There is transformation.

The greatest gifts I've received from the people in my life, Andre being one of them, was their understanding and utter acceptance of me and my myriad shadows. This lack of judgment - of ourselves and others - liberates us. It isn't achieved without courage though, both in the revealing and the accepting.


Photos: Lauren Bentley, "Where I buried my secrets"
Other photos: Sources unknown.

Find a place you trust and try trusting it for a while

Rule #1 from Sister Corita's Immaculate Heart College (Art Department Rules).

I put in the brackets because I like the sound of a college where people go to build immaculate hearts.

*found via The Carrot Revolution

I play with, I photograph, myself

From Uwe Ommer's "Do it Yourself."

Spreading the love and smut

Thank you to Jefferson at Fleshbot. It's nice to share.

Photo: Nicola Ranaldi

"I never knew I wanted to be a geographer until I saw your body"

"If I was more socially adept I probably wouldn’t take pictures. But I’m not. So I do. I look at you and all I need is a glass wall between the two of us for you to come alive, as if you weren’t alive already. To come alive for me specifically like one of those hothouse flowers that only bloom at night. I put the glass there and the machine here and I ask you for small things, little favors, lie down, open your blouse, lift your hair that way, pull your bra down the other way. You doing these things for me is a way of moving oceans, shifting continents, creating new landmasses, shadows, thunderstorms, earthquakes. I want to map all of your cavities. Pressing the button is my way of loving you more."

Text and photos Autumn Sonnischen

*

The same analogy I can apply to having lovers rather then deeper, more committed relationships. The structure of those relationships was the glass shield of the camera: An intimacy that was contrived (but not unreal) and emotionally safe (but not totally). Eventually, the heart wants what it wants. There comes a time to put down the camera and try without it.

Abandon

Photo: Deborah Anderson

"6": Share me

Andre shared me most often with his friend David, the entrepreneur. David lived in a breathtaking penthouse with floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the ocean from any angle. He was thirty floors up, high enough for me to both sweat and lubricate in the elevator to his suite. On this particular evening, David was there, along with another man I was to meet for the first time, Gabriel.

The three of them were a formidable lot. They were all tall, imposing, very masculine figures. Both Andre and David had shaved heads and strong, capable bodies. Large hands. Andre was born in Saudi Arabia but grew up attending boarding school in Germany. His demeanor and accent were unfailingly elegant. He spoke with hints of Arabic and German with an English overtone. He was very articulate so even when he'd be telling me to do dirty things, it was always couched in genteel speech. David was more of a lumbering farm-boy-made-it-big, who could throw me up against the wall, my hair in his hands, and devour me. He did. Frequently.

The two of them (and sometimes more) had a way of making me feel desired, encased and protected. I could let myself be soft and vulnerable.

*

David’s door is unlocked. As usual, when we arrive, Andre has me take off all my clothes the moment we walk in. Andre takes my coat and gestures to the center of the living room. “Go,” he says.

David's apartment is sparsely furnished - the kind of bachelor pad that's in need of a little woman love. He has a minimum of furniture - a few armchairs, a couch, coffee table, plasma TV and a massive stereo system. No decorating touches or color. Just the basics. David and Gabriel are already sitting in armchairs. There is light, chill out music playing and I see the city lights glistening through the windows, with the ocean filling up most of the panorama. There are lamps giving off a dim light. Andre sits down in another chair to watch me, leaning back with his hands on the armrests and his legs open. They all sit like this. There is an expectancy in their eyes that warms my chest. They watch as I remove my things, eyes bright, with half-smiles.

I am self-conscious and nervous, but very, very aroused. I unbutton my lacy black blouse and savor the moment of opening it, exposing my breasts. I let it fall to my feet. I love watching their eyes follow my hands. Roaming. Pausing. Like I can imagine their hands doing. I unzip my red leather mini skirt and slowly shimmy it down my hips. I immediately spread my legs and place my hands behind my back, jutting out my chest. My pussy is throbbing.

"Good," says Andre. "Now come here." He gestures to his lap. I straddle his legs, facing him, again placing my hands behind my back. These simple movements, that make me feel even more exposed, shoot fire into my cunt.

Andre strokes my nipples and I can feel my clitoris pulse. I must already be dripping because even from his view of my back and ass, my legs spread over Andre's thighs, David says, "Andre, she's wet." Andre's hand moves down to my pussy and he plunges his fingers inside. He flicks back and forth, untethering me. I collapse into his chest, my head resting on his breastbone, my hair falling into my face. "I'm telling you," he says, "she's always wet." He laughs. As he plays with my nipples, I feel my body vibrate. I'm going into a zone, almost a trance, where all I can think about is wanting to be touched and played with. I want them all to touch me. I feel like one huge tactile pussy, hungry for hands, mouths. Andre suddenly squeezes my nipples hard. I jolt. "Go down onto your hands and knees," His voice is soft but firm. I lose myself in that voice and let it hold me. He nods toward the ground. "Show us your pussy."

I stand up, my movements slow and jerky, feeling unsteady. I lower myself and crouch down on all fours, arching my back, feeling cool air hit my pussy. "Open wider," says Andre. "Move your ass up higher and spread your pussy for us." I open my legs wide and feel the weight in my pussy as it swells. I reach back over my hip and spread my lips for them.

I hear someone’s breath suck in. I am shaking on the ground, my head bowed, eyes half open, almost panting. My cunt is all a heave.

Suddenly someone is behind me, lightly fingering my cunt, playing with my lips between his fingers. "She has a beautiful pussy, Andre." I can feel his breath first. Then his mouth. Wet, soft, gentle. Little groaning noises emerge from my throat. His mouth is slowly more vigorous as he sucks on my pussy lips, chewing them lightly, winding his tongue in a circle around them. I drop to my knees, feeling weak to hold myself up. Whoever it is, grabs my hips, digging his fingernails into me and pulls me onto his face, licking my cunt hungrily. I’m sinking. "Roll over onto your back," says Andre. I obey him, flipping over and lying down, immediately opening my legs. As wide as I can.

It’s David’s mouth that’s been exploring me. He now has his hands on my knees and he’s pushing them open, staring at my cunt. The other two flank him and they now hold my legs open as David unfastens his pants. He keeps his eyes riveted on mine, then his gaze wanders down to my breasts. He stands to remove his jeans and his cock juts out.

He’s long, thick and perfectly proportioned. A beautiful cock and a very hard cock, perpendicular to the ground now. I love it when a man is so erect that his cock shoots straight out from his body. I’m squirming as I see the pre-cum glistening on its tip. I want it in my mouth, the slightly salty taste. I want it on my face. I involuntarily move my head toward him but the others push me back down and keep me pinned.

David kneels in front of me, stroking his cock, moving his hand slowly up and down his thick shaft. “Hold her open for me,” he mutters. The other two, also naked and kneeling now, reach down to my pussy and stretch open my labia, from either side. I love this feeling of being opened. Forcibly. Andre reaches inside me, feeling my wetness and spreads it over my lips. “Fuck,” he mumbles. He does this again, and my back starts to arch up. He pulls my knee open wider. “Massage my cock,” his voice is thick and guttural. “And Gabriel’s.” I reach up to grab them. They are both a little smaller than David, but just as hard. They are so hot in my hands. Gabriel’s cock is straining and all I can think of is that I want to liberate it.

David rolls a condom onto his cock. I have the other two in my hands, and I’m moving up and down their shafts, my hands gripping hard. David bends over a little further, so he can mount me. I’ve always loved this moment, the first probe, feeling the head of a cock pushing into me. He’s thick, so he’s working himself in slowly.

I’m tremendously excited. Gabriel thrusts two fingers inside my mouth and I fasten my lips and tongue on them. Andre seizes my nipples. I’m groaning and euphoric and frenzied. Gabriel holds my face as he readjusts his body so he’s lying next to me. Rather, his pelvis is lying next to me. I can smell his cock, his balls as he pulls my face into his groin, nuzzling my face in his pubic hair. I’m rooting for his cock to fill my mouth.

David has worked his cock inside me, calmly edging it. I can feel him on the walls of my cunt, the way I can feel anyone with a slightly thicker cock. He’s glorious. Thrusting. Slowly in and out. My body is rocking with the movements of his hips. I have Gabriel in my mouth and I’m trying to draw him deeper, I want them all deeper. I love his taste. Musky, salty.

“Turn her over, I want to fuck her ass,” says Andre. Gabriel pulls his cock out of my mouth, my saliva following it in a string. David, goliath that he is, grabs my hips, pulling me close to him, kissing me. I lose myself in his mouth. He’s biting my neck, grasping my hair with one hand as he uses his other to fasten my ass to him as he flips us. He’s now on his back, with me on top of him, still engulfing his cock. He pumps me solidly, faster, deeper, that hardy cock of his bringing me to near-delirium. I’m crying out and he’s murmuring, “That’s a good girl.” He’s nailing my hips with those huge hands, plunging me down on him hard. "That's a good girl." His voice pushes me over the edge. I'm coming and my body is wracked with spasms.

Andre is behind me, his hands cupping my breasts, his chest pressing firmly into my back, supporting me. Gabriel is pulling my hair, reaching for me to kiss him. His mouth is fierce and I can feel his stubble scratching my lips and my chin. I'm utterly soft and pliable.

But they aren't finished with me yet.

***


Photo: Roy Stuart

Better bondage

Originally, I thought this sculpture by Philippe Meste was just a tribute to a fine, fine positioning of limbs. It's more than that though - when a woman kneels into it, it encloses her so that only her breasts and her pussy are exposed, effectively locking her into place. I can't imagine needing to be locked, but I suppose such a device would reduce mobility and increase precision.

I *can* imagine somehow getting myself into that thing (though it looks like I'd need help) and arranging myself so that I'd be in view for my lover when he walks in the door. I'd have to time it well, so I wouldn't be waiting very long, but a little anticipation would be worthwhile.