Tag Archives: fantasy
On fantasising about old obese men
Well done, humanity, you have done me proud. When The Guardian printed this problem page question from a lady who fantasises about being passed around a group of old, obese men who struggle to get erections, I expected the comments section to be a sulphur-stinking pit of hellish mockery.
Because that’s generally what happens when someone admits to a fantasy that doesn’t fit with one of our traditional stories. I was going to say ‘an uncommon fantasy’ but to be honest, given the horror this woman feels about admitting to her fantasy I’d have to go out on a limb and say this dream may be far more common than we think.
To my surprise, though, the comments were mostly sensible.
“Why on earth would you feel guilty? And why do you think of yourself as ‘sick’? Those are strong statements. Your sex life is fine and If you don’t want to share your fantasy with your fiancė then don’t.”
“Of all the fantasies I’ve ever heard, this has got to be one the of the most easily realizable.”
Hot fantasy about old obese men
One of my favourite wank fantasies involves a pair of older guys. Ideally (because I love my backstory) in a position of power or authority over me. Traditional scenes begin in an office, where I play up to patriarchal stereotypes by wearing an incredibly short skirt and bringing coffee into the business meeting being held by these two men.
One of them is usually relatively young – thirty or forty – and he’s staring at my arse like he wants to bite it. The other guy is older, perhaps fifty or sixty, calls me ‘sweetheart’ and leers inappropriately through the stretched fabric of my tight shirt as I bend down to put the coffee tray on the table. One of them, inevitably, slaps my arse.
The older guy (my boss) remarks on how obedient I am, and asks me to show his friend just how willing I am to please. He leans back in his chair, unzips his flies, and pulls out a thick, twitching, semi-flaccid cock. I drop to my knees in front of him, and as he croons ‘that’s it’, I slip his dick into my mouth.
He’s big and looks bigger – looming over me with his paunch and his jowls and his filthy, smug grin. He knows I feel obliged to do this to him, and that’s part of the turn on. The other part being, of course, the ability to show off his toy to his friend.
As I suck him harder, he pulls my head down so that my lips are around the base of his cock, his thick head pushing hard up against the back of my throat. Occasionally he makes small grunts to show just how much he’s enjoying it, or mutters ‘good girl, just like that’ through gritted teeth. But in between these interjections he keeps talking to his friend.
“Good, isn’t she?”
“Absolutely. I should get one for my office.”
“You can… ungh… you can have a turn when I’m done if you like. She’d be only too happy to oblige.”
The friend sits there watching, stroking at the erection that’s pressing against the crotch of his suit trousers. But I don’t fuck the friend – I never get a chance. Because as I picture the thick, desperate hardness of the older guy’s dick pushing solidly against the back of my throat, and imagine the strangled grunting sounds he makes as he comes, and conjure up the feeling of his thick, hot spunk gushing down the back of my throat… that’s usually the moment when I come.
The younger guy rarely needs to fuck me in order to complete the fantasy.
Being ashamed of fantasies
So, to all the Guardian readers who refrained from making comments along the lines of ‘ewww’, when someone confessed to fantasies of obese older men, I salute and thank you. I guarantee you that this particular fantasy isn’t limited to one individual, and that there are many more people who like that sort of thing.
To the woman who wrote the letter in the first place: don’t be upset. Most people have at least one thing that gets them horny in secret but that they wouldn’t want to shout from the rooftops. There’s no need to be ashamed of if you get off on something unusual. You’re not hurting anyone by doing it, you’re just pushing the specific set of buttons that happen to have been wired in your brain that way.
As one of the Guardian commenters so excellently put it:
“There is nothing wrong in a fantasy, like emotions, they are not good or bad. they just are. We can’t control them but they do no harm to others (it is our actions that may hurt others, not the thoughts in our heads), so whatever they are they are nothing to be ashamed of.”
Someone else’s story: on Daddy role play
Not everyone likes the same sex as I do. And not all of you will like the same type of sex as today’s guest poster. As we’ve discussed before, the brilliant thing about fantasy is that it allows you to explore things that would horrify you if they were actually real.
I like to host things by people who have different opinions and perspectives to me. This includes people who have jobs I don’t have, disagree with my opinions on foreplay or indulge in fantasies that aren’t specific turn-ons for me. Because there’s no bloody point in me banging my ‘everyone’s different’ drum if the only ever sex you read about on this blog is mine.
Today, Mimieux is going to talk about her penchant for Daddy/daughter role play, and why she finds older men compellingly hot. It’s hot, and it’s feisty, and it’s the sort of thing that may well offend some people. Before you start I’m going to assure you that a) both people involved in their relationship are well over 18 and b) she is deeply excited about sharing her fantasy with you.
Please don’t read if this is the sort of thing that offends you, or if you have difficulty drawing a line between fantasy and reality.
On grunting
Guys, you know that sometimes when you’re masturbating, you make a deep, sharp grunting noise in the back of your throat as you come? I like that. I like that a lot.
In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is the hottest thing about masturbation.
Not when I make that noise, of course. When I make that noise (as I occasionally do) it’s a shameful thing – something that I’m embarassed about, that makes me worry that the neighbours might be compiling a tally chart of just how often I make it so they can write a disgusted letter to the council. I expect you feel the same, which is why I’m here to tell you that it’s not shameful. Or disgusting. It is hot as all hell.
Warning: pervery on the horizon
Be warned that this post is building to something I’ve been informed is relatively disgusting, so if the idea of boys making this noise while they masturbate themselves to a grim and functional climax horrifies you, look away now and come back next week for some less gross but probably more enjoyable feminist ranting.
I frequently ask for cock pictures, and many generous dudes are more than happy to oblige. But the problem with having a steady stream of rock-hard dicks from myriad internet strangers is that the guys I actually fuck sometimes find it hard to compete. I say ‘problem’, but given that my current boy is a playful and competitive sort, ‘challenge’ is probably more accurate.
He once sent me an mp3 file. Yep. Just sound. Because he knows I know what his dick looks like, and he knows I’ve seen enough dick that there are phallic shapes burnt into my retinas, he didn’t want to send me something that was the same as the pictures that other people send me every day.
So he placed his phone on the arm of the sofa, set it to sound record and had a delightfully energetic and incredibly noisy wank.
A wank that ended with a grunt.
Unngh.
Scenes we’d like to see…
I get scenes in my head the way some people get earworms. While you might be humming the chorus from ‘Call me maybe’ because you’ve heard it five hundred times too many when walking around a shopping centre, I’ll have a snippet of hot filth that runs on a loop in my brain for approximately a week or so until I can get it out of my system by either doing it, watching it, or writing about it.
For reasons of etiquette and possibly legality, I can’t do either of the first two. So here goes:
A guy walks into the public toilet at Liverpool Street station, and goes into one of the cubicles. He’s achingly hard, probably suffering from a similar problem to my own – something hot playing on a loop inside his head.
He unzips his flies and pulls his solid cock out from his pants, gripping it tightly at the base and tugging slightly so that the foreskin rides back over the head. A tiny bit of precome leaks from his dick.
He braces himself with one hand against the back wall, and rubs hastily at his cock, biting his lip to avoid making any noise. His hand moves faster, and I can hear the slight shuffle of his hand against his skin, his straining fist rustling at his pants and jeans. It’s furtive, frantic, and there’s an element of practical necessity about it: he’s not horny in the traditional sense, he just needs release. He just needs to do this, to get there, to spray excess spunk into the toilet and relieve the pressure on his aching dick.
After thirty seconds, maybe a minute, he aims his cock down slightly, pointing it directly at the bowl, gives a few more angry rubs, then grunts.
Unngh.
On religious perving
Update 2017: this is one of those blog posts that I really regret writing – at least regret writing in this way. Bear in mind it is a very old one, and the views in it may well be shit. I don’t write these ‘beware’ intros for many posts, because I figure you can see the date stamp and realise I may have been ignorant years ago. But this one is insensitive to people of a variety of different religions, and as an atheist it’s probably not my place to get all publicly pervy on stuff like this.
It’s not always the obvious things that get you off. Unless you hadn’t realised it already, I’m an atheist. Organised religion alternately bemuses and horrifies me. I find the suppression of sexuality (which seems to come packaged with most major religions) terrifying. The idea of taking a large group of people and forbidding them to act on their sexual instincts seems to me a recipe for misery and trouble.
Yes, we should exercise some sexual restraint. We are, after all, highly evolved enough that we don’t need to go around rutting on street corners and killing each other over who gets the biggest share of antelope. But by cutting people off completely and telling them that their sexual desires are not only sins but some of the worst sins we can commit, we end up with groups of people who have a warped and not entirely healthy attitude towards the perfectly natural contents of their pants.
That’s the tedious moralising over and done with, let’s get onto the sexy stuff. Alongside my worry that sexual repression causes untold misery and heartache, is my genuine conviction that religious paraphenalia can not only be sexualised but that religious fetishes can be deeply, cunt-wettingly hot.
It’s obscene in one of the truest senses, because some of the things that I masturbate over are things that I have a genuine moral objection to. Take this as your disclaimer for this entry – some of the things I am about to describe are horrible.
My secret shame – I don’t love God, but in the degraded fantasy playworld inside my own head, I love some of the things he makes people do.
Mormon underwear
Did you know that Mormons are required to wear what are called ‘the garments’? Long underwear beneath their clothes, with special stitching and markings to remind them of their duties to God?
Well, I only know this because I also know that there are a number of websites dedicated to explicit shots of Mormons in these garments.
Why is it hot? Well, boys in their underwear are especially sexy anyway, but with the Mormon garments there’s the added thrill that they’re not supposed to be thinking of sexual things. The garments themselves are ones of purity and chastity. And there’s nothing quite like a garment of purity and chastity stretched to almost splitting point by a nice thick dripping erection.
Christian spanking
Oh yes. There’s a group of people who believe that the man’s role in the house is to maintain order and discipline by physically chastising his wife. My initial reaction on discovering this was one of disgust – is it domestic violence? In some cases perhaps it is, and that’s horrific – something that is less likely to arouse than to terrify me.
However, having come across quite a few of blogs, forums and discussions about it, it seems that it’s mostly a front for Christian couples who really like a bit of corporal punishment play. And men spanking women who deliberately play up because they want to be spanked? Couples that do it feeling so guilty that they need to invent special reasons to justify it to their imaginary god? That is hot.
Many of the women’s posts read like the posts on BDSM forums – anticipation, delight, the joy of submission. One woman even asked “does God think it is wrong that I am sexually aroused when my husband spanks me?” the resounding answer from the boards: no. God loves that you’re in a loving relationship, and as long as you don’t disobey your husband just to get a spanking, God’s pretty happy with the whole situation. No doubt he gets an excellent view of your nice pink arse from his throne somewhere up in the sky.
Inappropriately cut burkhas
I once had a 4 hour stopover at an airport in Hong Kong, at the same time as a large group of people who were obviously travelling to or from a strongly Muslim country – burkhas everywhere. Usually the burkha is a sign of oppression – women are forced to wear them so that men don’t see any of their good bits. Or, in fact, any of them at all.
But on this occasion I saw a burkha-clad lady who shattered all of the rules. Her burkha was a light beige in colour, and slinky as fuck. Cut from beautiful silky material that skimmed her slim hips and showed a waist Cosmo would hold up as a shining example of womanhood, she sashayed down one of the airport walkways in 4 inch heels like she was on her way to fuck a superstar. Her husband, a suave, rich-looking gent, couldn’t help but hold the smuggest grin in the entire world.
I got wet just looking at them and imagining the filth they’d get up to as soon as that burkha was off.
The silver ring
The ultimate. The final. The key ingredient in all religious pervery – the silver ring. The ring represents a pledge someone has made to Jesus – a pledge not to fuck before marriage. Some young ring-bearing couples take it even further – to avoid temptation they don’t give handjobs, they don’t kiss, they only cuddle from the side (to avoid that awkward moment when the guy pops a boner because he can feel his lady’s tits smooshing against his chest).
These are hot because they represent a challenge. They represent the desperate, trembling need of young twenty-something virgins to fuck and be fucked. They represent the beauty and joy of instant ejaculation on first touch. To Christians they might look like symbols of chastity and purity, but to me they look exactly the opposite. A silver ring says not ‘I love Jesus’ but ‘I am positively bursting with sexual anticipation. Touch it. Go on. Touch it. Pretty please.’
I won’t, of course, but I’ll have a good wank about it later.