Foolish brains, filthy scenes

Dirty thoughts come in waves. One day they are silent; the next, they fill every corner of my brain. When I should concentrate on something more important, I make up stories that make my peach wet.

For the last month, I have been devoting all my free time to studying sexology, and in every book I pick up, there is a little something written about sexual fantasies, daydreaming, and scenes that visit us when we are fast asleep. Sexual fantasies are normal; some people have them regularly, while others do not think about them at all. For those of us who have them, sex stories allow us to escape from reality, relax, plan our next encounter in bed, face our taboos, or fight anxiety. They can be triggered by anything, even the most stressful work or reading a book.

Some people want to avoid them at any cost, to kill the filthy imagination, because they are ashamed and because they think sex fantasies are supposed to be a reflection of their wild desire. They often wonder whether fantasies might be the answer to their actual sex, perhaps an indicator that they want something more, or whether fantasies are a sign of fixation. They can be all these things, but in most cases, these are just dirty thoughts until we start trying too hard to make them come true. Till then, we can just sit back and enjoy the show. 

The first time these sex shows crept up on me was in my early teens. In a semi-conscious or perhaps even in the REM phase, I dreamed about having romantic sex with one of my classmates. I no longer remember which one it was; I only knew we listened to slow music and candles were burning. It happened before my first sex, that was far from this romantic notion. I woke up soaking wet, with an intense tingling sensation under the sheets. I was ashamed, even though it was only a dream. I didn't know what it meant: if the scene reflected my desire or what the hell it was supposed to mean. I was so embarrassed, especially as I had to attend school, but the dream scene still played in my head.

As I got more and more familiar with sex, in practice and on screen, the wilder my fantasies became. Candles, music, and slow sex were a thing of the past, and fantasies of threesomes with two men and sex in public flooded every brain cell. Both are still very present today. I also fantasized about wild sex with guys with whom I was in a relationship or exes. Fantasies with the latter were more frequent right after the breakup. Pretty soon, I started beheading my fantasy partners. The only thing left was the body, which didn't have much meaning and the hot act.

On the contrary, men in a threesome sometimes have a head, too, depending on the circumstances. Usually, I find one of them attractive, but the other I wouldn't touch naked in real life. I can easily have a coffee with him, but I wouldn't go further than that. The other one was usually a man who physically attracted me. The fantasy always takes place in a summer house, and the scenario is always the same. A table to start with and a sofa for the sweet ending. I don't care how the other two feel in this fantasy; I just want to be cared for.

Another fantasy is sex in a public place, in a market, at a concert, or on a dark side street. In this fantasy, wearing a skirt is obligatory. Usually, this fantasy occurs as a Pavlovian reflex when I dress up in something that you can just move on the side and have sex, like a dress, and catch a glimpse of my figure in the mirror before I leave. 

But when fantasies are not so far from reality and are more likely a memory of sex just had. That's when the people are from real flesh and blood. It is the same when my head doesn't listen to me, and whether I want it or not, it inserts into the fantasy a person I can't tolerate very well or a man who could be my grandfather. Then I urgently must occupy myself with something else to get it out of my head. 

Men's fantasies are often seen as competition, especially by women, so they are usually not discussed. Often, quite unnecessarily, they provoke jealousy since we see them as a desire to be fulfilled. But most of the time, this is not the case. 

A fantasy is a story, a picture in the mind that makes us burn below the waist, but sometimes it just comes and goes. It can be deliberately provoked, or life situations can push us into it. Fantasies can be wrong, but most often, they are good. Sometimes they relate to actual people, sometimes to entirely imaginary ones, or in my case, decapitated people. We use sex stories before we go to bed, they wake us up pleasantly from sleep or brighten up a grey afternoon over coffee. Dirty shows feed our brains and make the moments when we are alone more beautiful.