“In the world we live in, what we know and what we don’t know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion.” (Sputnik Sweetheart – Haruki Murakami)
I always talk about love. Today let’s change. Let’s talk about sex. Rough sex. Just kidding. No, no kidding.
A few days ago, I went for lunch at a sushi place, where sushi was displayed on a rail like a train rail, you pick what you like to eat. I was sitting there, waiting for my lemongrass tea and was about to choose my first sushi, when suddenly a young man, sitting next to me started to say hello. I said hello back. He was less than thirty years old with a student style look. I could see that he wanted to start a conversation and not just stop at a hello. It was okay with me to chat a bit. Small talk first for ten minutes. Usual stuff. He looked trustworthy and kind. Like I said, like a student. He could be my student. Then suddenly he asked: “Could I tell you something quite delicate? I just feel the need to tell this to someone I don’t know.” I was like, okay, shoot! “What do you think about sadomasochistic practices?” I looked at him. Quite surprised. “Where are you going from now, young man” I asked myself. I answered: “Never thought about that until today. You bring up the subject so you want to tell me something. Please continue”. As a criminologist with a very brief education of profiling, I was interested to hear more. Of course. Sociologically speaking, it could be an interesting observation. Also because he was kind of sincere and he did not look like he wanted from me anything else than just an ear to listen to him. So the whole story was about he could only get excited with SM practices. Normal sex never turned him on. And he knew that since the age of 24. He had a girlfriend who did not know anything about it. And he could never reveal that to her. He did not suffer about it. Just some guilt he could feel sometimes when he had to satisfy his needs somewhere else.
He said he wanted to tell me his secret because we would never see each other again, and behind my serious appearance with eyeglasses and all, he somehow thought that I could have some dark secrets too. The conversation was not about me so I did not answer him. We said goodbye and I wished him a great day and always a good sex life. It happened to me a few times already that people confide to me some secrets. Probably because I look really serious.
I thought about that encounter for a few days. It is always strange for me that some people totally need to live in a kind of fantasy to spice up their sex lives. I am so far from that. I have no idea of how that could feel. But I just think even though when one thinks he is free while putting a mask, wearing leather clothes, whipping his partner, how free is he really in that moment? His freedom of wanting to live that fantasy, being another person, playing another role, going through with his fantasies, is all that really liberating? Of course, the excitement is real, is fabulous, I can understand and concur. But is he still kept prisoner in his own fantasy and sex scenarios? New scenarios need to be invented each time, and finally it would be all about the scenarios, the fantasies, the accessories and not about the partner, anymore.
I don’t really know. I just ask questions and think about it. I don’t have any judgments, whatsoever. I don’t know which sensation one could have before, during and after a SM session. Totally an unknown world for me.
But it leads me now to share a small story about fantasies. I once had an affair with a man who was all about fantasies and scenarios. It was a very short affair as we spent more time arguing about me not having any fantasy or desires for fantasies and about him who was too much into it. I remember I commuted sometimes to see him, after a long day of work and he asked me to come to his place, dressing like a nurse. I remember that time, I texted him and said: “No, no way! I come back from 10 hours of work, do you think I would go to a shop now and buy a nurse dress??!!” I remember I cancelled that date. Another time was about “you let the door open in the night, I will come, you don’t know when and I will be like a stranger”. I was like “come on, drop it, I will know that it was you and really it does nothing to me”. Yes, it was a short affair.
And yes, maybe because I am a scientist with a rational brain. I am never turned on with scenarios. Wearing no clothes but only sexy lingerie under your coat. Going to a bar. Meeting your partner/husband/boyfriend and pretending not to know him, then hitting on him like a stranger. No, not for me. My only explanation for that is maybe because I have a poor imagination and I am a down-to-earth scientist.
But to end this long post, do you know what really turns me on?
His eyes turn me on. The expression in his eyes when he looks at me. The way he talks to people in front of me. The way he carries humanity in him. That turns me on. So badly. His mails turn me on. His songs turn me on. Our talks about movies, love, life turn me on. The way he laughs, the way he talks, the way he feels free, his witty spirit. Yes, all of that.
My fantasy, yes, it has a name. I just found it. My fantasy is called “HIM”.