Fantasies I Could Do Without

Warning - mature content, graphic and sensitive words, stories, thoughts, and/or issues ahead. Continue at your own risk.

When I was a child, I was sexually molested, first by a trusted friend and neighbor, then in later years by a family member. I never spoke of these events with anyone until I was an adult, talking to the first shrink I'd found who I trusted implicitly. As an aside, he ruined me for other shrinks - I haven't even bothered looking for one since I moved some twelve years ago, because no on else will be him. It sucks losing a really good doctor!

Anyway.

In addition to the molestation, I was raped when I was in my teens.

These things had a fair bit of impact on how I viewed myself, the world, and people in general. I believe, and research backs me in this, that my weight ballooned as it did as a defense mechanism - after all, everyone knows that fat girls are ugly and no one wants to have The Sex with them.

The above is history for the following. Hopefully you'll see the connection.

I think it's perfectly healthy to have a fantasy life, to mentally act out scenarios while having sex or masturbating (you have no idea how hard...er...difficult it was for me to type that!). I mean, what are you going to think about, the laundry? Hmm...come to think of it...I have thought about laundry, dishes, chores, or scheduling while doing the nasty before. Sad.

One of my recurring fantasies is a rape fantasy. Yes, you read that right - and if it weren't for the utter anonymity of this blog, I wouldn't admit it. Hell, I don't even like thinking about it. It's true, though - I have several scenarios that run through my mind when I'm....well, you know.

Sometimes it's a priest, on an altar or in the confessional, or as I kneel and pray (from behind). I would like to note that I'm not even Catholic, and never have been.

Sometimes it's a cop, against the back of his cruiser.

Sometimes it's a whole gang, taking turns.

There are others...but honestly, I can't bring myself to type them all. Always it's violent, messy, dehumanizing, and I'm an unwilling participant...in the fantasy, anyway.

I don't know why I have them. You'd think I wouldn't, considering my history. You'd think I would shy away from such thoughts, be disgusted by them. You'd think.

I don't know...maybe I'm trying to take back control...to turn those moments of pain and powerlessness into triumphs - a way to thumb my nose at what was, change what is, empower what will be.

Maybe I'm just sick in the head.

I don't feel proud of these thoughts...I don't feel good about them, after. I wish I could cleanse them from my mind, erase them from my slate. They are dark thoughts, feeding other dark thoughts, and I am shamed by them.

Why write about them? Because I need to put them somewhere...somewhere they can fade, turn to dust, or maybe be explained by someone who gets it. Gods know, I sure don't.