Vulgar Fantasy

Would you like to hear about the fantasy I’m most ashamed of? Here it is, suspect you’ll be disappointed.

When woman worship first became a clear desire of mine I had a couple of boxes of Playboy magazines in the house. They were bought for resale.

I ransacked them trying to find women who weren’t merely attractive but whose face suggested they’d enjoy ruling a man. A tougher task than you might imagine: superficial, airbrushed beauty isn’t enough.

Eventually I acquired a virtual harem of dominatrices. Women with a self-assured, smug or cold look in their eyes.

One day I came to fantasize about being a 24/7 slave with all of them living in one house. Always at their beck and call.

Variously, depending on what her face suggested to me, each one would be cruel, indifferent: wanting merely service or inflicting humiliation and pain. One wanted only spank me (naturally), another to be waited on, many - huge surprise - mostly wanted cunnlingus.

One with an hefty load of silicone in her teats I converted into a hermaphrodite. Can’t say why but she was always the most demanding and ruthless.

There’s no shame in enjoying the surface appeal of handsome women or pretty men. Still it is about as un-self-realized, commonplace as the imagination gets. And admiration of beauty isn’t the same as worship or service.

I’ve often felt a little guilty at having such a cheap fantasy.

But I did enjoy it.