I had an idea not long ago while kicking cans with a brilliant if scattered woman whom I shall refer to as Techno Liz. Gamer, Polynesian, tomboy Hugo Boss with her thick mass of black hair and dark-rimmed glasses. She’s young, mid 20’s, just making room in herself to poke at parts of genius. When we get together, anything is doable. Anything is possible.
We talked relationships, the usual biz of living, and wished upon shooting stars there was a warehouse for Amazons in combat gear. She tells me she doesn’t know what she likes in bed. Who does at that age, right?
If I’m being honest here I’d say, Everyone does. Age is relevant in matters of responsibility, consequences, and self-awareness. The patterns that sculpt our sexual pressure points have been formed through years of programming and influence, childhood years. We are sexual creatures from birth. What we like in the arousal department not only starts young, it lasts until the motor dies out. That’s all psychobabble to a twenty-something under duress.
The challenge isn’t in knowing if and what your kink is, it’s in creating a space where you feel free and safe to figure it out without the fear of rejection and too often humiliation.
I experience this inability to speak freely from both men and women. I used to have the same affliction and would bullshit my way, focusing more on the seduction than the person behind it. Granted, the older you are, the more practice you’ve had and it takes work like a normal garden you wish to harvest. Necessity being the mother of invention, and coming from the wherewithal that at 23, had there been a fun, interactive playground to discover the burgeoning buttons when I needed them, I would have drastically reduced crappy encounters with playmates. Better late than never.
I digress. My dream resource for figuring out what the fantasy is, what it means, and what you want, if anything, to do about it, is the Find Your Fantasy App. I know. Not another brightly colored Madison Avenue storefront window. Please spare us the well-intention sexual calorie counter and meal planner.
This is when I ask my inner child her opinion.
I’m not the most technologically advanced. When I surf, I want a wetsuit and salt water up my nose. BUT. An app would allow a person to find their fetish, prompted by questions that would horrify match.com, pictures that rival the Playboy vault, and a database of thousands of acceptable outcomes. I’m excited by the prospect of a “Choose Your Own Adventure” for adults.
It sounds fun, doesn’t it? Those without open-minded confidantes and limited reading libraries could navigate different scenarios, contribute new ones, and watch their erotic selves unfold.
What do you fantasize about? A set of strong, muscular legs trapping you? Or maybe a Super-V set of shoulders in chains? Would you like to be dominated or you’d love to hold the reins? Take any sexual fetish, set up the scene, and let your avatar run with it.
In an algorithmic sense the combinations are limitless. Except when they aren’t. Whether you are Freaky McFreakdom or Polly Purebread, there will be a common denominator see-sawing it’s way through every encounter from the zebra furry fuckfest to the Jessica Rabbit PattyCake playdate.
Power.
Back to Liz. Liz, what do you fantasize about?
“I think about having other people in the room and a girl gets me off underneath a sheet or hidden behind a pillow. Having people in the room but them not knowing that I’m getting off, gets me off. Having to be quiet and acting like nothing is going on, is hot to me.”
No, surprise, its undercurrent is a shifting from her normally dominant roll to that of being the one who is seduced and controlled. She sees herself, outside of herself, exploring a self that seems familiar and exciting.
It’s not easy articulating what she wants but her subconscious mind seems to know what’s up and is showing her with a mix of visuals and sensory clues. Her feelings are engaged. I’m often on the same quest. I know what I like but being able to fit that feeling into its own Mason jar like a bunch of fireflies and hand it’s well being to another, a part of me wants to make sure those insects are going to be released back into the night at the end of our date and not doused with alcohol and set on fire.
The chances for a good reception lie in accepting and owning what I like. Articulation comes with practice and recognizing enough of what I don’t want to avoid throwing blame at anyone other than my communication skills.
Not everyone wants or needs to play to figure this stuff out. Everything in its own season. Education without persecution is edging its way into the light. And if one gets off on the persecution, they can skip to that chapter. Liz could pick her character, a submissive set up, her ideal playmate, and the machine would allocate the next steps. This is not the answer to courage and vulnerability. It’s practice. The more comfortable she can get with that inner dialogue, the easier it will be to have that conversation with any playmate she wishes.
This app wouldn’t replace porn, heck no. Instead, there’s plenty of space for porn—really high quality porn to make it’s appearance in a way that shows layers of a person’s psyche and not just ginormous cocks plowing 102 pound women. Not to say that size does not factor into fantasy. Of course it does. If you like penis, poof, there’s a fun pictorial, a digital sliding scale, and “Choose Your Size” option. Same goes with vaginas. There are artists doing stunning work with pussy and it’s transferable to a style page.
Where is this going, you ask? The outcome? Any way you’d like. If you’re choosing the adventure, you’re also in control of it’s ending. Meaning, the final pages must be written by the player.
Best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario. Every case scenario.
In my ideal scenario, I’d want options depending on my current mood. Sometimes that looks like French dairymaids and German soldiers. Sometimes it’s pegging a man in a barn on the back of a dirt bike. I’m open to surprises and improv. Most of it will never happen and I wouldn’t want it to in real life.
Suffice it to say an App like this would take much work, years of input, and having a program that is able to evolve with its players. There. Now we found a good psy-fi scenario for Liz to work on.
Anything is possible. If we can dream up an app, we can create fantasies in our waking world.
My last thoughts however, were not in making sure Liz figured out the minute details of her fantasy and what they meant. That’s going to happen anyway when she’s ready. Instead, I told her of a man I had played with years ago whose fantasy involved a strong, seductive woman wrestling him into submission with neck scissors as she ground his face into her pussy. In fantasy, he put up a good fight but she wore him down to the point where he was helpless to do anything but what she wanted. In fantasy, he wanted her to use him sexually.
In reality, he was about to tie the knot and wanted one last hurrah before his head went into a different kind of yoke. (His sentiment, not mine.) In reality, he was surprised by the effort it took and how when he was worn out, his fantasy wasn’t stroking his cock for being a good boy.
In reality, the other character is human and has no problem saying, “No, I don’t want to do that.” Sometimes the chemistry just isn’t there.
Then what? When all that build up comes to a head and it doesn’t pan out?
I told her afterward he wrote me an email saying had he to do it over again, he would have skipped the session.
“Good for you! Now you know,” I wrote him and meant it. Not knowing is sometimes much worse than trying and taking a header into a rosebush.
In the kindest way possible, I told Liz what has taken me years to figure out, “In order to get your fantasy the way you want it, you may have to BE someone’s fantasy first.”
The outcome, as it were, is NOT to hole up with a vat of lube and separate oneself from a world that the fear-mongering crowd wishes to convince you is unsafe. The goal, however gilded in the light of a thousand computer screens, is one day, with much surprise and delight, stumbling across another wet-haired surfer of equal caution and vulnerability. In an exchange of grace, the climax would not be from a well-played scenario that tweaks every button, but from the ability to say, “I like this” and know it is so.
There is no program, book, or application to replace the finding of a kindred spirit, watching their eyes go round with delight as they clap their hands and exclaim, “I like that too!”
Does it really happen like that? Yes. It can. It does. Well, maybe without the hand clapping part. Usually not in the package we expect or the scenario we envisioned. It’s not the most refined moment and we don’t see media coverage in anything less than Tony Soprano fashion. It comes from out of the blue, when we’ve stopped wanting it to happen, but if we’re open to it, it does come.
Better late than never.
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