I remember when I was single. It was a long time ago. In those days my sex life was mine alone.
I would go to bed early, sometimes to watch TV or to read but then to lie back and pursue a story in my head, to follow it wherever it led me. Invariably I would wank myself to sleep. At one stage I remember having an imaginary lover who would come to me (through the bedroom window) every night and we would… well, let’s just say that’s my little secret for now.
I realise now how much I miss some aspects of that time. Being able to go to bed in my own bed, alone, and enjoy my fantasies to the full, acting out such parts as were possible.
My fantasies too were my own. My secrets, told to no one. Crafted to satisfy my desires. Unreal and unassailable.
Nowadays my fantasies are more hybrid. Fantasies told to my Boy are often shaped to satisfy his desires. Kinky, perverted, extreme lusts which feed his desire and allow me to give him pleasure. Fantasies here are often written to explore an idea, for the intellectual challenge or because I enjoy arousing my readers.
My own fantasies, the private ones, are hard to find time and space for. It’s rare for me to have a bedroom to myself and the time to relax and enjoy it without expectation of interruption. It’s hard for me to let my mind go these days without trying to ‘improve’ my fantasies to make them more acceptable or realistic.
I think however it’s time I tried. So I’m going to make time for me to wank. And when I find a fantasy of my own I’m going to post it here without apology. They’re not real, they’re merely fantasies but they are entirely my own.