Fantasy vs. reality
I just finished proofreading a very hot book, which was kind of a take-off on the old Fantasy Island series, but with kinky fantasies. It followed the exploits of four couples, intertwined throughout the story, and of course, because this is fiction, everyone’s fantasy was realized with utter perfection. Which got me thinking (always a dangerous thing) about fantasies that were far better than their real counterparts.
I was extremely lucky in the spanking department. One of my biggest fears, when I was about to be spanked for the first time, was that the actual experience wouldn’t come anywhere near what I’d built up in my head after years and years of thinking about it. But that first time, as many of you know, was mind-blowing. However, I’ve had a couple of other sexually related “flops” that I thought it would be fun to share, and hopefully encourage others to share theirs.
Remember, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 26. But in the years prior, I’d read a ton of romance novels, which made the simplest actions sound like four-star interludes. Like showering together.
The morning after I finally had sex for the first time, my partner asked if I’d like to take a shower with him. Would I!! Oh, the imagery. I’d read plenty of scenes about steamy showers and baths with a lover, kissing under the stream of water, soaping each other up intimately, being slammed up against a shower wall… bring it on, baby.
However, I didn’t realize that this particular gentleman, once he exited the bed, reverted back to a buddy and nothing more. No morning-after snuggles or cuddles, no lingering looks or touches, nothing. When I got into the shower with him, that’s exactly what we did: shower. He went about the business of washing his hair and so forth, and left me on my own. The only encounter we had was when he took the washcloth and scrubbed my back for me. Not sensually, but in a very brisk, impersonal manner. Well, crap.
You can imagine how I felt — newly de-virginized, my head spinning, my body aching, disoriented from lack of sleep and new stimuli, and now, this same man who engaged in all manner of intimate activity with me just a few hours ago would barely acknowledge me. What the @#$% was wrong with this picture? More important, what the @#$% was wrong with me??
Meh. Fortunately, I learned later (from the man himself), that he wasn’t the touchy-feely type, or the romantic type. Whatever. Y’all will be happy to know that since then, I’ve had my share of sexy showers. Much, much better.
But wait, there’s more.
How many movies and TV shows have we watched with this familiar scene: The lovers, near a table, or a desk, or a counter, or pretty much any flat surface, shove everything aside with a rustle and a clatter in the heat of passion, and make mad love right on top of said surface? Hot stuff, yes? Yes, please. I really wanted to experience that.
About 20 years ago, I was “dating” (I put it in quotes, because really, it was little more than screwing) a younger man, who had a libido that wouldn’t quit and loved to do it anywhere, anytime. One night, we were making out in my kitchen — items of clothing had been removed and he had me backed up against the counter. Suddenly, in one of those delicious rom-com moves, he grabbed me and hoisted me up onto the counter.
And after that, it went spectacularly wrong.
As he did so, I crashed into a small turntable of items (salt and pepper shakers, kitchen timer, can of cooking spray, etc.) and sent them rolling around behind me with a ruckus. I leaned back, clunked my head on the bar behind me, then struggled back up, partially sitting, but leaning back on my elbows. Very uncomfortable. Meanwhile, he was trying to angle himself properly, but the counter was just a little bit too high and, well, let’s just say it wasn’t quite working. Trying to get situated, he grabbed my hips and shifted me forward toward the counter’s edge, which made my coccyx (tailbone) bang against the hard surface (not a good pain). And finally, we, er, connected, but the angle was still so awkward, my tailbone hurt, I could feel an errant salt shaker grinding into my vertebrae, and it was about as sexy as a pelvic exam.
After a few thrusts, he paused, looked at me and said, “You know, this kinda sucks.” I burst out laughing and replied, “It always looks so hot in the movies!” He laughed too, and then he lifted me off the counter and carried me to my bedroom, where we finished things properly.
So, do tell. Any fantasy-gone-wrong stories out there? Spanking or purely sex? Would love to hear. 🙂
(And no, I’m not seeing Steve this week. But we will make up for it next Tuesday. As it happens, it’s good timing that he can’t make it, because I’m swamped with work. Break time is over — must get back to it.)