Monday, August 2, 2010

They Shoot Fantasies, Don't They?

You know the feeling you get when that question is asked in an interview about “where do you see yourself in five years?”. When someone asks me about what my fantasies are, I get the same feeling.

I never know quite what to say.

I used to have a lot of fantasies. But over time, either I’ve managed to adapt those fantasies to my reality, or I’ve given up on them completely. I used to wonder if I’m defective for not having simple, mundane fantasies about school-girl spankings, Story of O whippings, or pirate ravishings.

But what it really is, is that I’m a little afraid of telling anyone what my few remaining fantasies are. I’ve learned over the years that one of two things will happen: they’ll either try to make them come true for me and because reality seldom matches the fantasy, it’ll be just another time when I re-arrange my fantasy to suit the reality; or, the fantasy scares the hell out of me and I’m not altogether sure that trying to make them come true is exactly the best thing at a particular moment. I also don’t fantasize about people, places, or activities. I fantasize about feeling something in particular.

While I think it’s admirable that people have fantasies about naughty secretaries, school-girl spankings, and gangbangs, my fantasies revolve around one thing. Fear. The kind of fear that terrifies me, makes me really uncomfortable, and gets my heart racing. The kind of fear that’s hard to fabricate. The kind of fear where I believe I should be afraid. The kind of fear where you realize that someone really does have a power over you, and not necessarily one that you’ve given them implicitly.

For someone who goes out of her way to please, who cringes at the very thought of criticism, who rationalizes humiliation in such a way that it’s hard to actually humiliate me, fear is an aphrodisiac. I’m often drawn to natural disaster movies for that very reason. The uncertainty of what I’d do in that same situation, the fear that I wouldn’t be able to survive it. The fear of what I'd have to do to survive it.

Fear play is hard for me. I’ve learned over the years to hide my fear and so it’s rare that Daddy is able to find a piece that I’ve left open. Once in a while he hits on it and exploits it. And he knows that there are a few that can’t ever be touched on. It’s difficult for us to play with fear. We love each other and there’s always a risk playing with fear that the fear will put a tinge to everything else. But that’s what makes it so alluring. The hardest thing to figure out is how to experience the fear, when you know that the person trying to give it to you, really wouldn’t do a damned thing to harm you.

It’s not that I don’t have fantasies. I just haven’t figured out how to explain I want to “feel fear” and give a concrete example. Fear, like love, is one of those things that you know when you feel it.

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