Not Your Mother’s Playground

Play the above while reading. Just for fun.

Whether it’s wanting to grow up and be an astronaut, dreaming of how to spend your lottery winnings, or imagining yourself in bondage ropes, suspended from the ceiling watching helplessly as your girlfriend fucks your best friend … we all fantasize about something. Or a lot of things.

Having fantasies is a normal part of life. They can be a place to visit where we cannot go in reality. Sometimes fantasies can be thoughts that if we given the chance in reality to pursue, we never would, and other times they are based on ideas we have done in the past, or cannot wait to do in the future.

Over the years of knowing myself, almost 30 to be precise, I have realized things about the way I fantasize. I am a daydreaming, sentimental, romantic, horny, lame ass sap. These things, when combined with the option of having multiple partners can be pretty messy in normal life and require a little extra effort to contain, but in the fantasy world, I am so ridiculously grounded in reality that sometimes I bore even myself.

I remember my first active daydream / fantasy. It consisted of me going to a male friends’ house, sort of in the middle of nowhere. The guy wasn’t anyone in particular. (ie: I think this was when I was starting to dream about having a boyfriend which I never thought possible when I was a young, fat, dorky teen.) To convince myself that it was plausible that I would end up staying over at his place, there had to be a massive snowstorm. Think “Baby it’s cold outside.”, for inspiration, just less old man pervy. As I grew older I used to pretend I was completely drunk and couldn’t go anywhere, but for the sake of sounding less alcoholic, let’s stick with a snowstorm.

My friend, the gracious imaginary man that he was, offered me his bed. So, wearing just my undies and one of his big button shirts – don’t women always look so sexy like that? – I tried to sleep there while he slept on his couch. At some point in the early hours of the morning, I would awake to find him sneaking into the bedroom to grab an extra pillow and blanket because he was cold and uncomfortable in the living room. His linen closet was in the bedroom you see, because things like that make sense in fantasies.

I would wake up and tell him to just come and sleep in his bed with me. We were just friends and I wouldn’t stand for him sleeping on the cold couch. He’d fight it, I’d say that if he didn’t join me I’d sleep on the floor beside him and then he’d feel like a real asshole.

And so he’d climb into bed with me, and we’d say a sweet good night. And throughout the night I’d maybe touch his feet and accidentally snuggle with him.

Then that’s it! We’d get in bed, and the fantasy would end. I would never dream about the foreplay, the touch, the sex, the orgasms. Instead I would dream about the set-up, the story, the personalities involved. Then I’d end my daydream and go to sleep.

Before I met Steph I had a very close friend who I had a massive crush on. The first night that he stayed at my house, after a night of drinking, my fantasy pretty much came true. Except the difference being that he was flirting with me all night, and then convinced ME to sleep in my bed with him. Years of thinking about it, and what happened?

Nothing.

I didn’t know what to do with the actual reality in front of me. I had spent so much time perfecting the fantasy that the real life I had waited for didn’t stand a chance. We continued to share a bed and almost date after a few months, but never as we should have and then he left my life.

You’d think I would have learned my lesson but every fantasy, every daydream from then on was the same. If something didn’t make sense logically when I’d lie there and close my eyes, it wouldn’t happen in my dreamworld. When I fantasize about lovers, current and past. I think of the situations that I sometimes wish existed. I imagine a world, albeit momentarily, with a totally different set up and just when I’m about to fall into that fantasy my brain says “Hey, what about Steph? What about your job? What about the family? How could you fantasize about being in this house or their house when other people live there?”

And when I can’t come up with an answer, I’m back at square one. I have an incredibly vivid imagination and yet I cannot even find a mental closet to store my husband in for a little while!

When I talk to Steph about his fantasies, they’re mainly all about sex. A lot of guys, and girls that I know are the same. They picture the act from start to finish and I picture the set up leading up to the act. While my friends in high school were mentally fucking Brad Pitt, I was randomly running into him at a bar and making sure the story made sense before anyone mentally undressed anyone.

It’s not that sex and things I want to try aren’t on the brain all the time. I’m one of the most perverted people I know but I put things on to-do lists instead of in fantasies because if my vagina is going to think about it, you can be damn sure I’m going to try my hardest to make it happen. I use memories or visual aids – fancy term for porn – to aid in sexual fantasies if I’m masturbating or just thinking dirty, but inventing things to do when naked just isn’t my strong suit. Maybe because I really just enjoy being with someone so much that I’m often not fussed and will gladly do feels right or what they tell me when we’re fucking.

However, leading up to that? If you don’t make sense in my little logic daydream or memory bank, you ain’t getting close to that stage.

Sorry Brad. I’ve tried a million times and you and I will never work.

(Wentworth Miller, you can ignore everything I just wrote and just come home with me. We shared a moment in that dream I had once a few years ago where you kissed me and I probably should’ve mentioned that anything that happens in “sleeping dreamworld” vetoes all of the above.)

Addendum: Though I wouldn’t categorize them as fantasies, but maybe they are kind of the same thing, my dumb logic brain does allow me to have wishes. I have wishes about those I love that I know cannot come true. But see wishes inevitably make me a little sad so I don’t like to count them.