Violent fantasies

Let’s start with the things that need to be said. Rape is a crime. Victims’ stories are often discounted, and going to police with an experience that doesn’t fit their expectation of what a victim should look and behave like is often an exercise in futility. That this is so is a travesty. My discussion of fantasies in this post should not detract in any way from the seriousness of rape.

 

Bear has what he calls ravishment fantasies. He fucks a man against his will, and that man comes to love the experience. Eventually, over weeks, the sex stops to be rape and becomes consensual. Love develops, and they live happily ever after.

It’s pretty dark stuff, complete with Stockholm syndrome. Disturbing, and so Bear is disturbed by it. He is afraid that, if he allows himself to explore this fantasy, he will lose control and hurt me.

I had always told Bear I’d be happy to explore this side of himself with him. That is what the homework was about: Building something he could tie me to so he could live out part of his fantasy, safely.

I took to that idea with a passion. Bear dithered. When his “yes we will play today” fell through one more time, I felt hurt. I felt like an idiot. This had been Bear’s idea in the first place, but somehow now I am the one pushing for it, and making a fool of myself in the process.

Bear explained that he had gotten cold feet. When the possibility of trying the fantasy on for size got real, he got scared. But he didn’t tell me he had second thoughts, and that’s how we got to where I am feeling foolish.

That was in early August. Since then, I’ve done some reflecting. The other night, when we were lying in bed with Bear’s hand wrapped around my cock, I asked him whether now would be a good time to talk about fantasies.

“Sure,” he says.

“Well,” I say, “you have these ravishment fantasies, Sir. And I’ve always told you I am happy to explore those with you.”

“Uh-huh.” Bear looks wary.

“The truth is, Sir,” I say, “that’s the safe thing for me to say. I can say I am interested, even enthusiastic, in exploring these fantasies with you, and I’m not on the hook. They’re still your fantasies. But, see,” I say and take a breath, “I have rape fantasies, too. Of being the one who is raped.”

“You do,” Bear says. Now I have his attention. He is engaged, no longer wary.

I nod. “I do, Sir. Remember how I told you I came when I saw my Skyrim character being raped? And I didn’t even touch myself!”

“I’ve always wondered about that,” Bear says.

“Yeah,” I say. “These fantasies are very intense.” I pause. “And, Sir, you are the only one I can explore them with safely!” I take another breath. “So please, Sir, take me roughly! Ravish me!”

Bear gives a little laugh. “Not right this minute.”

“No,” I say, “not right this minute. But sometime. Whatever form that takes. Maybe we get back to those dowel rods after all. We’ll see.”

“Maybe,” Bear says. Then he rolls on top of me and kisses me passionately. I return the kiss with just as much passion. He breaks off and gets lube, and lubes my asshole. He doesn’t ask whether I am clean, as he usually does. He must not care, right now.

He kneels on the bed and I raise my hips and guide him in. We jiggle about for a minute before realizing that this isn’t happening like that.

“On your belly,” Bear says.

I comply eagerly. And then Bear fucks me passionately, demandingly, and hard, while I writhe under him and arch my back.

 

It took a lot of trust for me to tell Bear what I did. Fantasizing about being the victim of rape isn’t a comfortable place to be. Whether we will explore those fantasies, and in which form, we will need to figure out in the months and years to come.