Why Women Don’t Share Our Fantasies With Men is the Reason I’m Sharing Mine. Right Now…

There’s so much sensitivity, shame and fear around sexual energy; it’s no wonder we have a  hard time being honest with ourselves, let alone others. I believe that vulnerably sharing is the way to untangle the big ball of truth and lies and wounds and gifts that make up sexual energy. Honesty is uncomfortable, but it’s what sets us free. What we’re most ashamed of or afraid of in ourselves is where our greatest gifts to the world are.

So, in the spirit of honesty, moving through uncomfortable spaces (together), and freedom (sexual and otherwise), here goes…

Men are much simpler than women when it comes to fantasies.  Their porn consists mostly of tits, ass, dick in pussy, dick in mouth, girl on girl and cum shots.  Did I miss anything guys?  But there really isn’t porn for women (with the exception of lesbian shit, which can be super hot).  The rest of the stuff is only the small minded crap guys think we want.

Maybe it’s an economics thing. Because to do it right, women’s porn would probably cost a fortune to shoot.

We’d need highly creative directors like Quentin Tarantino. Because women’s fantasies are complicated and twisted. They’d be disturbing to watch on the screen.  They’d make the average male loose his hard on.

 Here’s a fantasy that came to me this morning while pleasuring myself:

I’m walking in the desert and this aborigine tribe of about twenty men appears out of nowhere. They aren’t particularly hot aborigines-they’re more the big fro, skinny leg protruding belly type. They’re all wearing loin cloths and carrying spears.  The leader knocks his spear several times on the ground. I’m not sure if he wants me or the tribe to respond.

He knocks again and I somehow understand that I am to have sex with all of the men.

I am strangely unafraid.  I take off my clothes and lean face first against a boulder, as one by one the men take me from behind.  I feel each one cum inside me and when the last one has finished, all of their cum is dripping down both of my legs.  Then several of the men wrap me in a large cloth like a cocoon, tie me to a pole, and carry me back to their camp, where I am unwrapped and placed inside a hut.  Every day in the hut my belly grows with all their seeds until one day I squeeze and squirt out twenty babies.

Then the men tie me back to the pole and carry me to a fire.  They plant me and the pole vertically in the center of the fire and circle around us, singing songs.  Again, I’m not afraid.

I just watch myself burn.  I watch my flesh char and my limbs hang off the bones. It’s a strangely erotic experience seeing my woman’s body transform into a large piece of meat.  When I am fully cooked, I watch two of the men break off my arms and divvy up the meat.  Another two break off my legs and so on.

I can’t begin to construct fantasies like this. They just sort of happen. For a moment I think, “This is so fucked up!  I shouldn’t be thinking this twisted shit! Some psycho is probably tuning in.”

But the more I judge myself and try to resist, the more turned on I am.  I plunge my fingers as deep as they’ll go inside my yoni, moaning as I watch the men, in my mind’s eye, hungrily tearing the meat off my bones with their teeth, grunting and licking their greasy lips.

I come to climax when the leader of the tribe reaches into my skull, pulling out a handful of my brains, sucking them down his throat like an oyster.

I black out in bliss.  When my awareness returns, I am hunting a wild boar.  Only my body is different.  It is the body of one of the men in the tribe.  I am seeing through his eyes and he is seeing through my awareness, that is now within him.  Not exactly after-sex-spooning-oneness, but there you go.