My friend Stacey loves to have sex in mid air. I don't think mid air sex would do it for me but it’s Stacey's favourite position. She rolls around with her partner, hovering under the ceiling, in contortions that defy the laws of gravity. Now, obviously she doesn’t do this in real life – that would be impossible (unless, of course, she ends up in outer space, which at this stage seems rather unlikely). But Stacey, like me, has a rich fantasy life.
The difference between Stacey and me, however, is that her fantasies are without constraint, whereas my fantasies have to be plausible. Not probable, as probable fantasies would be limited to having sex with my husband in our marital bed after the kids have gone to sleep. But possible. Could potentially happen. Within the scope of (a very, very broad definition of) reality.
So this means that, unlike Stacey, I don’t fantasize about floating on the ceiling. Nor do I fantasize about having sex as some other version of myself, or being a character in a TV show, or having sex with a cartoon character (which a surprising number of people – i.e. one that I know of – do).
My fantasies all revolve around real people having sex with the real me. But even then, I can’t just sit down and let the fun begin. Oh no. Being the annoyingly literal person that I am, I need to construct a whole context around my fantasy. So if I’m fantasizing about Simon Baker, for example, I have to figure out how to get him to Australia and into my neighbourhood where he can bump into me and realise he needs to ravish me. And the difficulty with this, of course, is that even if I work out a way to get him to my front door, getting him to ravish me is a huge challenge to work around. I mean, I’m okay for a 41 year old, but why Simon would choose me over his stunningly gorgeous wife is too great a problem for my brain to figure out.
Even when it is a real (i.e. non celebrity) person who is my current fantasy, I still have to figure out the details. How do we end up alone? How do we end up in bed? Where is his wife? Where is my husband? And who is looking after the kids? It's incredibly rewarding once I actually get there, but the challenges are so enormous that I can spend 45 minutes constructing my elaborate set up, and then fall asleep before the real fun begins.
I wish it didn’t have to be like this. I wish I could just lie back and dream of Don Draper and I getting down and dirty with two glasses of Scotch and two smouldering cigarettes. And I do try. But then I remember that I don’t like Scotch, and cigarettes make me feel sick, and Don Draper wouldn’t be interested in me, and he’s just a character in a television show anyway. I guess I’ve always had a problem with the suspension of disbelief.
So what about you? Are you like Stacey? Do you do the wild thing on the ceiling? Or, like me, are you stuck in a fantasy land of logic?