The other day, I got high and went to Zumba. It was on my way home from Zumba that I passed a Victoria's Secret and realized I had hardly any pretty lingerie in my closet. Well, I did have one or two hand-me-downs from my big sister, but there was nothing that I'd taken the time out to buy and feel comfortable in. Still kind of stoned, I popped in and started to look around.
I was waiting for something to strike my fancy when I saw it: a turquoise bustier babydoll top with matching panties. It was love at first sight. I had to try it on.
As I stood in front of the dressing-room mirror examining myself, I wondered why I'd never bought something sexy before. Sex has always been a priority of mine; I make it a point to always have a f*ck buddy if I'm not in a relationship. But I couldn't say I'd ever desired something like this.
Regardless, I bought it. Not just because it was beautiful, but also because I felt like it was my duty as a sexually liberated woman.
Last night, I got home and put on some Wet, an all-female band with a soothing, sensual sound. I grabbed my turquoise babydoll top and put it on. It was time to experiment with it one-on-one and tap into my inner sexual prowess. I lay down in my bed and closed my eyes.
As I let my mind wander, I noticed I wasn't thinking back to an ex-boyfriend. No hot celebrity. No dominatrix in regular man's clothing coming to save me, the damsel-in-distress. I was fantasizing about me, lying in a bed, wearing a white bralette, touching myself.
It was so … meta. Like, WTF is that? Did it mean I was just bored? Or narcissistic? That's where my mind goes when no one's watching and the imagination has no limits?
What about all the bedroom scenarios I secretly want to try but haven't had a chance to? Wait ... did I even have sexual fantasies I want to try IRL? No wildly repressed desires? Everyone's got one, right? Isn't it strange not to have one?
I'm an incredibly sexual being. Turning 25 was a huge deal for me; my libido skyrocketed, and it's one of the most visceral changes I've ever experienced. So the fact that I don't have a magnetic draw toward trying things considered outlandish or "taboo" makes me feel disconnected from my body, from the human race and, well, from myself.
Every now and then, I watch porn. I'll type in “sweet” in the search bar at the top -- because strangely enough, that's what I want to see: two people in love, making love the old-fashioned way. I guess I'd never thought about envisioning -- or doing -- it any other way. That is, until my co-workers and I started to talk about exploring different sexual fantasies at work.
But my co-workers weren't the only ones to talk about it. The other day, the guy I sometimes have sex with finally brought it up.
“What's your wildest sexual fantasy?” he asked me.
“Uhhh, I don't know. I have them written down somewhere. I will discuss them with you in detail," I said, trying to sound both enthusiastic and mysterious.
"Should be interesting," he said.
F*ck. I didn't have anything written down. Immediately after sending that text, I picked up a pen and pad and started brainstorming. The pressure was officially on. I write about sex for a living, for Christ's sake. How hard could this be?
Licking chocolate off your hand.
Finishing at the same time.
Saying "I love you" right when we're done.
I sat back and read everything. OK, the first one just sounded like I wanted to low-key f*ck chocolate. But there was nothing fantastical at all about the last two. I was genuinely surprised at what I was reading. No handcuffs? No whips and chains? No role-playing of any kind? I'm kind of a freak outside the bedroom, so why don't I have an obscure sexual calling inside the bedroom? Not to mention I'd feel dumb actually telling my guy any of those things out loud. They just sounded so ... ordinary. Like what a married couple would do.
Unless lovey-dovey sexual fantasies could be classified as a thing? A fantasy's a fantasy, after all. To me, there's nothing like sweet, slow, romantic sex. Nothing crazy. Even though my fantasy was unoriginal, maybe was crazy enough on its own. It's just that I've spent my twenties getting so used to one-night stands, sex without meaning and sex with a damn-near sociopath. At this point, having intimate sex seems seems unattainable. "Love sex" is my version of the unknown. It's foreign and weird. It's everything I haven't had much of, and it's everything I want to do more of.
I was glad I'd nailed down my wildest sexual fantasy. But in order to make it a reality, I've got some work to do on myself first. In the meantime, I'll play around with my flirty lace pieces and with myself. That's the beauty of fantasy: I can immerse myself in it whenever I want.
So I've come to a point in my life where I close my eyes and see two people in a solid relationship having sex. They're connected with their bodies just as much as they are at the heart. The man is looking me in the eyes and really present. To me, that is hella sexy.
He doesn't have a face yet in the fantasy. It's more just a point of reference for giving me a certain feeling: the feeling of being loved. Hmmm. For a love and sex writer, I've surprisingly got a very vanilla fantasy.