Content: Discussions of gender dysphoria and sexual abuse, and their impact on my relationship with my sexual fantasies. Smut. Exhibitionism. Domination/submission. Oral sex.
Fantasy is an essential part of sexual exploration for me. But I haven’t always been comfortable with my desires. My experiences wove shame, gender, sexuality, and sexual expression together.
Remember, I grew up in the 1970s. We didn’t discuss gender openly in my family. Sure, my grandparents whispered about my uncle’s XXY karyotype (they said it made him “soft”). And if my family perceived my uncle as deficient, what would they say about me and the days I felt so disconnected from my vagina that I felt wrong in my skin?
I also kept my sexuality hidden. I knew from an early age that I felt sexual attraction to folks of all genders. Silence, again, ruled. Even though there were queer people on the periphery of my childhood, I knew it was essential to keep my mouth shut when it came to my own truth.
I grew up with contradictory messages about acceptable sexual fantasies and sexual expression.
As a sexual abuse and incest survivor, I questioned every sexual fantasy and impulse. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know if it was my want or the want I’d been programmed to have. Was it normal to fantasize about power dynamics? Was wanting to be put on display, spanked, and forced to orgasm for a crowd of onlookers just a demonstration of my own broken upbringing?
Then there was the pressure of embracing womanhood as a feminist. Feminist thought painted sexual expression as a political battleground. The D/s fantasies I explored in my mind ran counter to the messages I heard about sexual freedom. Everything I read said I was free to express my desires as long as those desires weren’t internalized submission to the patriarchy.
My gender identity also impacted my sexual fantasies.
Treating my clit like a cock when I was masturbating also became a source of shame. I had no idea how to cope with feeling at odds with my own cunt. Some days I felt connected to my body.
But there were also days where the disconnection was so pronounced I wanted to crawl out of my skin. It was excruciating to wade through all that psychic muck.
So, I kept silent about it all. I masturbated to what I considered my dark fantasies. After all, I was an expert at hiding. But, as I grew more connected to my body, I started craving wholeness. Understanding my own sexual expression became an essential part of my recovery.
Broaching the subject of my sexual fantasies with my therapist was a challenge, to say the least.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I wanted to hear that I was normal? Or perhaps I needed to hear that my fantasies were mine, not something I was trained to want. Unfortunately, my therapist, though brilliant in some ways, was deeply judgmental about sexual expression.
How was I supposed to unravel my feelings about wanting to choke on a cock, when she said oral sex was inherently disrespectful?
I’m grateful that I was strong enough to search out answers on my own. It took years of self-reflection to parse what wants were mine and what wasn’t. I’m lucky. I have a supportive partner. Mr. Crispy and I have a rich and fulfilling intimate sexual relationship.
We work on it every day.
Constant check-in’s, open communication, and honesty are the hallmarks of our relationship. That doesn’t mean it’s been easy. We learned what worked for us as we grew together. And I’ve learned to accept and embrace my desires. Does it mean I’ll realize each and every one? No. Of course, some fantasies will remain fantasies. But I no longer fear myself or the things I want.
Be well, be wonderful, and above all, be you.