Fantasies - Do They Make You Feel Guilty?

Her Fantasy (semi-erotic scene)

(Blog post to follow!)

She’s drifting, taking in her semi-darkened bedroom and the way a slice of the full moon’s light streaks through a gap in the curtains. He slumbers next to her, and she’s left wanting, loins throbbing for release. A sigh leaves her, one of resignation that tonight she must meet the man in her dreams, the one who gives her what she craves. The one whose touch—rough calluses and strong, swift strokes upon her skin—is so different from the man beside her. Those sweet, soft touches, made by the hand of the man she married, are a different kind of love.

Sleep comes, embracing her wholly, and she succumbs to the realm of dreams, where her subconscious orchestrates what she sees and does. What he does. He arrives, bathed in the moonlight she has so recently seen while awake, his naked form a silhouette against the creamy brilliance behind him. He steps forward, his body revealed, all muscular planes, hardened dips and swirls. Her breath catches, the sight of his beauty infusing her with a longing that consumes her, body and soul.

He doesn’t speak, just holds up his arms for her to run into. And she does, loving the feel of his skin against her bare back, wishing he would remove the silk nightgown that molds to her body—the nightgown her husband ignored. She’d picked it especially, hoping for a night to remember, but the steady sound of his breathing and his closed eyelids expressed more than he realized.

But this man loves her, adores her, and his hands smoothing up and down her back tells her so. She clasps his shoulder blades, pulling him into her needy body, and his want for her presses against her upper thigh. Her folds moisten. The trickle of lust with its heady, musky scent ignites her desire, fills the air, and she looks up at him, time suspended, her universe stilled.

He dips his head and takes her mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips. She clings onto him, reveling in the feel of him, the emotions he inspires. He makes love to her, long and slow in the grass of dreams, the moon their only witness, and she allows release to come…

***

A harsh light flickers across her closed eyelids, and she opens them to see the bed empty beside her. The scent of coffee permeates the air, and she sighs that another day has come where she wasn’t woken by real hands, real arms keeping her warm.

Out of bed, she wraps herself in her dressing gown and pads downstairs, a glance at the clock along the way. He will leave now, breezing through the front door in a flurry of gray suit, red tie, and polished shoes, briefcase bumping against his leg. She smiles as he rushes past, his quick kiss on her cheek bringing sadness and the scent of his cologne, then follows him to the door to watch his departure.

Where has the passion gone? When did he stop wanting me like I still want him?

He drives away, and she closes the door, resigned to another day of loneliness. Remnants of her dream return then, shocking and sweet, poignant and hot, and she blushes. Heated cheeks and a sense of shame don’t stop her returning upstairs, to the warm embrace of her bed—and him. Will he come to her again? Will he be waiting as she closes her eyes and wills sleep to come?

She’s drifting, taking in her bedroom and the way a slice of the bright sun’s light streaks through a gap in the curtains…

~ ~ ~

Fantasies. We’ve all had them. Whether you’re in the situation like the woman above, happily settled, or single, our dreams are something we just can’t control. Daytime fantasies, or those we have while awake in the dead of night, however, are a different matter. We direct those, orchestrating where his or her hands go and what our dream partners say.

This subject came up for me while interviewing author Shoshanna Evers this week. I asked her a fantasy-based question, and her answer was the same as I would have given: “Even in my fantasies, I’d feel guilty snuggling up to Clive [Owen] when I have a perfectly good hubby at home.”

Many women feel this way, and I wonder, is it to do with upbringing, or is it down to the individual and what they’re comfortable with? For me—and I rarely have the kinds of dreams in the above snippet, and if I do, the man is my husband—I’d feel so bloody guilty at having thought of another man this way, almost as though I’d cheated. Now, this is just how it makes me feel, and I have no problem whatsoever if others relish a good old bit of fantasy. After all, I’ve heard it’s a healthy thing, and that many couples share their fantasies, which helps them keep their bedrooms antics hot! If you have total trust in your partner, which enables you to share in this way, I imagine expressing your dreams and desires can be quite enlightening, learning things about one another at the same time.

My husband and I are quite open about who floats our boats on TV, but it doesn’t extend to people we know. Neither of us are happy looking at other people in that way, and we feel if we did then something is missing from our relationship for us to want to look elsewhere. Again, this is something personal to us, and if other people enjoy browsing then good for them!

What I’m really waffling about is, am I one of the very few who don’t fantasize? Or is my writing my form of fantasy, where what I want leaks onto the page without me even realizing? Do fantasies enrich your relationship? If you imagine getting up to all sorts with other people, wink wink, does it mean you love your SO any less? Or is it just a healthy release? I’m interested to know your take on this!