The loss of control – that’s my fantasy. That’s what I think about, when my head touches the pillow at night. When I’m waiting to cash out, in almost any line, or pumping gas. The hand at my throat could be anyone that I’ve run into that day. If there’s someone that I saw in the grocery store three months before, he might still be in my fantasies, holding me down by pinning my wrists at the small of my back. Someone, that posted something on Twitter, may get a shadow for a face, strong hands, biting teeth, perfect lips… and a deep, growling voice.
His hands don’t make small talk.
I let him hit me, let his arm fight to get my wrist. I really don’t know what time it is. I’m trying to stay in, with whoever, in my fantasy, who fills this need.
Don’t interrupt me, I’m always preoccupied. Because I've thought about it so much, so violently, I've realized a man can be a monster. A man wants to rip you to shreds, and start over with you.
Once I have that, I can have everything: punches, caning, slapping, crying… and being taken. My mind can work any scene, or any situation, over in a different way. I think of some sick shit, while I’m working over my cunt.
Some of the things I dream-up and imagine, I’m ashamed to think of as a person, but more so, as a woman. I know that other women have rape fantasies as well. I know that some women have been raped, and even talking about it triggers bad thoughts for them. There was a time when I never would have thought that this would become part of my major fantasy; it just happened.
I have started thinking about how much trust this type of play involves. I don’t know anyone who I trust that much. I can’t say that I ever have.
Maybe my lack in trust of people is why I have this loss of control fantasy, or maybe it’s a fantasy for some other reason. I enjoy having the fantasy and I enjoy thinking about the fantasy coming true. I love talking about it and writing about it. I love fucking myself, when I think about it.
But that’s all it is. Day after day, I think about this. What if I want to think about something else? Then what does my fantasy become? Is it just some fetish that I never got to experience, but that I’d really like to do if the situation were perfect? Perfect? Perfection never shows its face does it? Too many red flags? There should be, it’s dangerous and it’s scary. This is serious shit. If you want it - your fantasy - then go get it. Otherwise, the fantasy is all but lost. It will wipe itself out and will have become too much trouble.
You’ll begin to forget the actual feeling.
Then your fantasy really becomes just your fantasy.