The Fantasies : The End
» Prior Relationship
Closer to the red-hot center would be Hermes, the Greek messenger and trickster often known as the cunning deceiver. A lover of both men and women, Hermes had several sons including Pan, the horned satyr who loved both men and women (giving birth to the English word “pansexual”). Romans gave Hermes the name of Mercury, and both traditions considered him to have invented masturbation.
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Then again, self-love is a kind of love. And sometimes, especially after a bad break-up, or when you’re sick, or stressed, or physically separated from your lover, it’s the best kind of love.
That I continued to have a large if often daft fantasy life even since I fell in love with Alexandra I confessed long ago. This site would be worthless were I dishonest.
And acknowledging my compulsion was - perhaps a funny way you’ll think - a way of expressing my gratitude in having a lover who could accept this. There’s no escaping that it is a sort of virtual infidelity. I’d hate to be one of those guys whose girlfriends write to advice columnists and say “I love my boyfriend but “
She invited me to have these fantasies about her - surely would’ve preferred that I do so. That would’ve been easy but I was afraid to. Some are too edgy for where we are now. Others impossible. Fantasies - especially those rewarded by orgasm - can be conditioning.
Keeping her out of them was emotional hygiene. Lest I associate the specific acts with her and find myself unhappy if she didn’t (couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t). The scenarios worked the extreme end of brutality and duration.
In being free to exercise them I’ve come to exorcise them.
Shortly after we got together the physical fantasies began to abate of their own accord. Those of heavy psychodrama emerged. Why? Maybe my brain was seeking something that offered the same level of stimulation of what was fading. Like a crack addict seeking the next fix.
Concentration camp nights finally dimmed as well. Not that I tried to stop them. Whatever was in me seems to have exhausted itself. Now my most potent erotic image is very mild: myself at her knees.
