Multiple Simultaneous Sadists

The Couple

The most pedestrian is serving a couple. In response to an old personal - vanilla and gay - a man offered me the privilege of fellating him. Even without the latter, his claim of heterosexuality repulsed me. But pleasing a couple means all the enjoyable bits of human anatomy are available.

That never worked for me really. If only because my hypothetical hetero couples were just too damned normal. Perhaps influenced by what I saw in ads seeking such.

Even in vanilla life I’ve turned down the few offers of threesomes that have come my way. I should’ve been open trying the experience. Many of my friends did it.

In high school one of the most beautiful girls in school tried to humiliate me. Among two thousand students I was the supreme outsider, the weirdo everybody knew. Happily for the sake of nerdy boys everywhere her attempt failed.

It was Alexandra who pointed out to me the cruel schoolgirl as icon. Being enslaved by a pretty but shallow young thing was so hot I felt sort of ashamed for having never thought of it.

So this smug young beauty - now likely a bored housewife with ungrateful children and a SUV - finally had her way with me. Mockingly bending my horny young self to her will she extracted my consent to do anything she demands. Out popped two of the jocks she hung out with and … ahem …

There’s an ethical dilemma: the boys are straight. My feelings about gay men who lust for heterosexual males because of their heterosexuality are complicated. As a young homo I was torn between pity and disgust.

This one must have been beamed into my brain from the planet Mars. I pictured myself on the floor of a limousine licking a woman’s shoes. She wore a discreet black cap and a veil: high couture widow’s wear circa the 1940s. While kind of nice it corresponded to nothing I could think of. Maybe a brain cell mutated.

She announced that I would be turned over to women who would train me to serve her. The latter derive I suspect from female bodyguards in some forgotten spy or adventure movie.

The trainers were specialized. One subjected me to physical violence. Another psychological torment: conditioning me to protocol and ritual. The last was a nurse specializing in cbt. (She came from a photograph of a cruel looking redhead whose appearance made me swoon. Otherwise I have no medical fantasies.)

I’ve bought three issues of Playboy. For interviews with David Bowie, Jimmy Carter and Fidel Castro. Some years back I wound up with stacks of the magazine at home. They were for my store but we were afraid to sell them because we were near a public school (Eventually we sold them to another shop.)

Those magazines helped me learn that having a woman control and hurt me was exciting. One particular centerfold made me realize that my masochism wasn’t restricted to my own sex. Like many of my psychosexual revelations this left me feeling very boneheaded: why didn’t I already know that?

Of course it was a bit of a surprise to find that I liked Playboy pictorials. I tended to think of the magazine as very anti-female. And the airbrushed women a bit - I’m not sure - wrong somehow. My shift probably stemmed from being on the rebound from the breakup with the woman I’d lived with for five years. (I was never able to look at any of the similar magazines. Playboy’s exploitation seemed good-natured. The others seemed creepy.

I’ve put aside worries about sexual objectification. And even though I haven’t bought one since the Castro interview I can think of the photographs as enjoyable. And have a fondness for some of them. At least up to recent times. (Though the women made of silicone have a masochistic appeal. The inflated lips and too symmetrical faces seem inhuman.)

But on to the fantasy. It makes me feel so shamefully ordinary.

It is impossible to imagine the average playmate as dominant. But given enough issues to leaf through I found several with the right posture and look. Which one to dream of? So hard to choose. How about a house filled with them? That worked.

The entertainment was in having so many different personalities. Though I could only imagine being with them serially. Too cumbersome a fantasy to sustain.

None of these evolved into regular fantasies.

Even when looking at drawings featuring multiple tops I focus on one woman and one guy. Any others I pretend aren’t there. More often I’m just turned off.