Sweet Little Fantasies

October 24, 2011 at 10:03 am (Sex) (, , , , , )

Perhaps it’s due to the change of the seasons and the onset of cooler weather, when I start feeling more domestic. The nesting instinct kicking in. Trying to settle the chaos in the house down to a dull roar and fewer piles, wearing more layers, deliberating when to turn on the heat. My erotic imagination turns to more tranquil scenes, sweeter intimacies.

A few days ago I woke up with the specific longing to spend the day in kneesocks and a cardigan, alternating between reading and fucking. This is rooted in an experience from over ten years ago, when the boyfriend of the time took me home with him for the weekend to his cozy little house in a small Ohio town. He undressed me upon arrival, and I never bothered to re-dress until it was time to leave. He was working, I was reading, curled up on the sofa or across from him at the table, and periodically he would reach for me. He liked the way the sweater covered my breasts but let the curve of my ass peek out, and he liked having only that simple piece of clothing to remove when he wanted more. I enjoyed keeping him company in this way, free to do what I wished with no responsibilities over my head, just the assumption of willingness to open my legs to him when he wanted. And he wanted often, burrowing into me in a nest of quilts spread on the living room floor, or guiding me to my knees as he leaned back in his chair. There was no question of denying that wanting when it arose, and it was a luscious weekend of comfortable silence and warm, friendly desire.

A hot shower also triggered another fantasy, also based in reality, of being bathed and pampered. I imagine a large, deep tub full of bubbles, and being scrubbed all over with a rough cloth until I am red from heat and friction. I would be rinsed, wrapped in towels and patted dry, then stroked all over again with lotion until soft and sweet. Taken to bed, I would be heated through with desire as this imaginary lover focused first on my breasts, sucking and biting my nipples, licking and caressing them like the objects of his deepest lusts. Fingers would then find my center and the hot, throbbing point, followed by lips and tongue, followed by hard cock and our bodies pressed together, and the enveloping heat of orgasm.

Such sweet, simple fantasies, yet so unlikely to ever be experienced. It interests me that in both, I’m rather objectified – an adored and desired thing, but one that serves a purpose of pleasure above all else. Cared for and caressed, but with no expectations or burdens. This speaks to a deeper, more difficult desire to escape a little from the daily weight of obligations and responsibilities, a longing to be a receiver rather than a caregiver. A need much harder to fill. But perhaps one that really needs to be heard.

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