#we’re content living like this even though we’d all be horrified if we actually ripped someone open

[cheese-water]

Generation Loss being a tv show makes so much on a meta level. Like remember how Ranboo said there’s a reason why it’s streamed on his twitch channel, and how we all thought it was because he was secretly broadcasting it? That was disproven quickly with Showfall Media publicly promoting the viewpoint and the existence of Squiggles on the broadcast.

So let’s look at the the episodes through the lens of a tv broadcast instead of a twitch stream. It becomes clear why Ranboo always gets himself into these wacky situations and miraculously survives till the end unlike his friends. Ranboo is the main character. Ranboo is the protagonist.

Compare them to another tv protagonist, like Ted Lasso. Sure other characters contribute to the story of each episode, but we as a viewer always follow the main character’s highs and lows, successes and failures, rights and wrongs. They are how the plot moves forward and conflict is created and dissolved. There’s a reason why we don’t see Sneeg’s escape attempt, Ethan Austin and Vinny being freed from the machine, Jerma’s demise; because it doesn’t matter. We don’t care. Showfall doesn’t want us to care.

Our viewpoint is Ranboolive. Who cares if a couple side characters die when the main character is about to solve the next puzzle. He is what keeps the show running, an essential cog in this beautiful machine. He will keep this broadcast rolling whether they like it or not.

Makes you wonder how many other “viewpoints” there are. Are they similar television channels, different people, sets, situations all at the press of a button? Is Showfall Media just beginning of interactive experience entertainment or is it one of hundreds of other programs following the same protocols, each baring a long list of missing persons cases that have yet to be solved? Who really was the “Founder?”

I guess we have to wait and see…

[sencire]

I can see right through you

There's a package in her bag and a plan to spend the night. There's a beautiful stranger who is lost. And Clarke is not sure what the hell they're even talking about. But it's making her hot.

Featuring a very mischievous Lexa, a very flustered Clarke and a very innocent container of lubricant.

Chapter 1

Read on ao3 instead

Clarke Griffin is lost in music, dancing along the sidewalk and humming to her favorite song. She’s eager to get home and in an exceptionally good mood. The bag of groceries dangles on her shoulder, bumping into her hip every now and then. It’s Friday afternoon and inside her bag, underneath her groceries is a package she has just picked up from the post office, ripped open impatiently the second she stepped outside. Now she wants to go home quickly to open it properly.

She looks up at the dark clouds with a frown and that’s why she notices the woman standing there barely a split second before she crashes into her. The force makes them both stumble but the stranger catches herself first and Clarke feels strong arms around her hips to support her. It doesn’t help with the grocery bag though which slips off her shoulder and empties its contents onto the side walk.

“Fuck.”

Now she has to go buy more eggs, she gathers after a look at the broken eggs on the side walk. Lifting her head, she meets green eyes that study her, with thin wrinkles around the corners as a visible sign of amusement.

Clarke drops her eyes down to lips that move but she can’t hear any words. Pulling her ear buds out, she apologizes.

“God, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

The woman shakes her head.

“I was more afraid of you falling actually,” she says and with a look down at Clarke’s spilled groceries, she adds: “I’m sorry about your groceries.”

Clarke shrugs.

“That’s what you get for walking around with ear buds. I didn’t even look where I was going.”

“No, you were dancing.”

The woman is beautiful. Clarkes takes a moment to appreciate the fact. She’s probably around her age, maybe a little older. Slightly taller but that might be the shoes. Clarke is wearing sneakers. For her quick run to the store she also chose an old pair of sweat pants and a simple white t-shirt. Her day-off-look. Not quite the outfit to meet strangers.

Clarke points at the map the woman is holding.

“Are you lost?”

The woman sighs deeply.

“Actually, I am. I cannot seem to make sense of this stupid map!” She flaps the map against her thighs. “And everything looks the same. This guy gave me directions too but I still have no idea where I am or where I’m supposed to go.”

She gives a little smile, holding the map out to Clarke.

“Can you help me out?”

Clarke can’t help but notice her hands. The woman looks fit, probably works out a lot or maybe just lucky. Much unlike Clarke who has to work hard to keep her curves just right. Which is pretty much all she’s been doing lately with nobody to care about her curves but herself. It must be a year now, she muses, and Raven is already making fun of her. Why, of all times, does she have to run into the most beautiful woman she has ever seen right now and in an outfit that is anything but sexy? But then, she already has plans for tonight. She’ll be okay.

Oh shit.

“I’ll just need to pick up my stuff and then I’ll have a look,” she says quickly but the woman beats her to it.

“Oh. Oh, right. Yes, of course. I’ll help you,” the woman says, already bending down to pick up the box of cereal. She hands it to Clarke who quickly picks up her bag to stuff it inside. She can tell by the woman’s widened eyes that she wasn’t quick enough though.

“I’m afraid the eggs didn’t make it. But the milk and the bread survived the fall.”

The woman bends down again and holds both out to Clarke who stands frozen in her spot. She slowly takes the milk, then the bread. She can feel a slight panic rise up her throat when the woman comes up with the last item. Gulping, she watches as the woman looks at the lubricant.

It was meant to be a really quick run to the store to get the bare necessities. A little food to bring her over the weekend and, well, something to help her enjoy her new little friend that she was planning to get to know intimately later. She’d been looking forward to it. Now she only feels embarrassed.

“It’s very good.”

“Huh?”

“The, uh, lubricant. That’s a good one.” She holds it out to Clarke.

Clarke stares at the woman and gulps. That was a wink, wasn’t it? She wonders if she likes girls. Blonde girls. Girls that think she’s really hot.

“Thank you.” She stares at the small container for a moment after taking it from the woman’s hand. Warily lifting her eyes, she sees the green eyes study her but the woman’s face is unreadable. Despite her chiseled features, there’s nothing hard about her. Her eyes have a bright shine to them and look like the next wink is already trying to push out. She seems to be very sure of herself but it’s no surprise. Someone who looks like that has every reason to be confident.

“I know.” Clarke twists the container in her hand and the woman grins. It gives her something mischievous and Clarke likes it a lot. She realizes she’s staring and the woman has noticed. She doesn’t seem to mind though.

“So,” Clarke clears her throat, “where were you headed?”

The woman looks at her but doesn’t say anything. Clarke waits, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well,” the woman finally says, holding Clarke’s gaze. “I asked a guy for directions a little while ago but I guess I misunderstood him. I think I’m in the right area but all the streets look the same. I’m looking for …”

She finally drops her eyes and Clarke lets out the breath she’d been holding. The woman unfolds the map again and scans it.

“Where the hell are we?”

She holds out the map for Clarke to have a look. Stepping closer, Clarke takes the map from her, finding the right spot. She turns so that the woman can see as well.

“We’re here,” Clarke tries to point at the spot but when she lets go of one side of the map, it collapses. She reaches for it the same time the woman does and their fingers brush. It makes Clarke blush.

“Sorry,” she whispers, too aware of how close the woman is to her suddenly. She smells divine. Maybe Raven is right and Clarke just really needs to get laid. Taking a deep breath, she lets the woman hold the other side of the map and points.

“We’re here,” she repeats. “Where do you want to go?”

“Oak Street.” The voice is too close to her ear and Clarke turns her head.

The woman’s lips look extremely kissable. She catches Clarke looking at them and smirks. Clearing her throat, Clarke quickly looks away.

“Hey, I live on Oak Street. You can come with me,” she says, letting go of the map.

The woman licks her lips and Clarke can’t help but stare again. She feels hot all of a sudden. God, she’s pathetic.

That’s when the rain starts.

“Ah, fuck, I didn’t bring an umbrella,” Clarke groans. “We’d better hurry.

“I’m Lexa,” the woman says as she folds up her map and puts it away. “And you are?”

“Clarke.”

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” she gives her a long look. “I’ll come with you.”

It’s the way she says it that makes Clarke wonder if she’s heard her right.

“You’re cute when you’re blushing.”

Ah. She did hear her right.

“If we stand here any longer,” she says, “we’ll get wet.”

“Uh-huh.” Lexa inhales deeply, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I guess so. I don’t mind getting a little wet.”

Clarke’s jaw drops. She feels herself blush again and heat creep into other areas. She really needs to get home.

They set off in slightly awkward silence. It’s raining harder now and they start to run. They turn into Oak Street after a few minutes and by the time they reach her house, Clarke is panting and soaked. Lexa has fared better but she’s wearing a light coat that holds off most of the rain. And she’s not even breathing harder.

“This is my house,” Clarke says, trying to catch her breath. “Which house are you looking for?”

“Number 7.”

“That’s just a few houses down the street on the other side.” Clarke points in the direction. The house Lexa is searching for is just around a little bend.

“Do you want me to take you? I could take you,” she says eagerly. She wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with Lexa.

“Do I want you to take me?” Lexa repeats slowly. Her eyes search Clarke’s face. Clarke feels her heart beat in her throat. Should she ask her in?

“Nah, I think I’ll manage,” Lexa says the moment Clarke opens her mouth. She closes it again and presses her lips together, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Well, good luck and maybe I’ll see you around,” she says finally, letting the grocery bag slide from her shoulder. “I’d better get inside.”

“Yeah,” is all Lexa says to that. Clarke can't take her eyes off her face. Long seconds tick away before Lexa speaks again.

“Thank you for your help.” The smile she gives Clarke is blinding. Lexa tilts her head slightly. “Maybe we’ll meet again. You know what they say.”

She pauses, lowering her eyes for a moment before meeting Clarke’s gaze again.

“You always meet twice. Enjoy yourself.”

“Huh?”

Lexa laughs. Her laugh is clear and melodious and it comes from deep inside. Clarke feels herself relax at the sound of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought we were on the same page.”

“On the …,” Clarke starts but trails off.

“I saw the package. And I saw the way you look at me. Never mind. I’ll go.”

She leans in closer.

“Have fun with it. I’ve enjoyed our little innuendo.”

Lexa turns around and saunters off. She has almost reached the bend before she looks back over her shoulder. Clarke is still glued to the sidewalk outside her house. When Lexa lifts her hand to wave, Clarke hugs her grocery bag in front of her to wave back. She only moves when Lexa has finally disappeared around the bend.

***

“Oh fuck.”

There’s a large mirror just inside the door. Clarke puts down the grocery bag on the dresser below it and looks up. She is horrified by what she sees. Her shirt is transparent, wet, clinging to her skin and very clearly outlining her breasts with extra emphasis on her nipples pushing through the fabric.

And she's not even wearing a bra.

“Shit.”

She can feel the tips of her ears burn, the burn sinking slowly down across her whole face.

Lexa saw her like that. And she didn’t even flinch. So that was that last look she gave her. Oh god, how embarrassing. Not that she’s ashamed of her breasts. Quite the opposite. Still, the whole thing was so damn pathetic.

Leaning her head against the mirror, she closes her eyes and groans.

Continue with chapter 2 on ao3

[lettucetacoboatsix]

Like hurt me, but make me feel safe: Non-Consent Fantasies and Shame

Anonymous asked:

Fear: my sexual fantasies. I get aroused by rape fantasies and thoughts about my physical pain. It makes me feel like a slut and I hate it.

Content warning: Those who find discussions of rape and sexual assault may find this article triggering.

Hello friend,

That sort of fear has the potential to shake you to your core. Our sexuality and sexual identity is something so intrinsically tied to the self and to privacy that when it shows us something that we fear, we begin to question our very being. It’s easy to get lost in that initial reaction of self-loathing and disgust. We can’t always control which dark corners our minds will wander to, just like we can’t always control our physical arousal response to stimuli. Those responses do not make us gross or slutty or evil. Really, all they show is that we are human and that we are alive. Especially if you are still able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

Sexual fantasies run the gamut because personalities and interests do. They range from outlandishly unrealistic to entirely plausible. Maybe you fantasize about a trans witch, her anthropomorphic dinosaur lover and a sentient motorcycle with a human head (yes, that’s a real thing. Seriously, the rabbit hole of self-published erotica available on the internet is a glorious exploration of the human condition). That’s totally okay! It’s probably never going to happen, but role playing can be a lot of fun.

The fantasies that you mentioned, though, are often more realistic and play on our sense of safety and control. I do want to caution how we talk about them, though.  While easily recognized as a “rape” fantasy, a more accurate term would be a non-consent fantasy or a forced sex fantasy. Rape is, by definition, sexual violence—a violation of the body and mind. Your sexual fantasies, while they might include elements of saying “no” or being bound or even physical harm to your body, are your fantasies, and are therefore empowering to your sexual identity. Sexual fantasies let you explore your sexuality. They are what allow us to find self-gratification on those cold and lonely winter nights without WiFi. We get to recall our fantasies through roleplay scenarios to make our sex lives even more fulfilling. This type of fantasy plays off of our feelings of sexual shame (if we’re saying we don’t want it, it’s not our fault when it happens and we enjoy it), and, because of that, we generally do not talk about it candidly. Rather than releasing ourselves from that shame, we internalize and we are disgusted by our own thoughts.

But this type of fantasy is incredibly common. A 2017 study (and seriously… PubMed is an amazing database of references and abstracts on life sciences and biomedical topics) showed that between 31% and 57% of women have fantasies in which they are forced into sex against their will. For 9% to 17% of those women, non-consent fantasies are their go to deposit in the spank bank. Another study, showed that 62% of women had had a non-consent fantasy at some point, and 14% reported that they had such a fantasy at least once a week. The cultural narrative would tell us that men fantasize more about domination than submission, and, while research does anecdotally support this, socialization isn’t absolute, and a person of any gender can embrace that desire to let go—to be seduced against our will or to be forced to have sex. It is a completely normal fantasy to explore.

It is understandable if those statistics make you uneasy. In real-life contexts, non-consent is deeply traumatizing. It is not at all sexy to feel that we have no sense of agency or safety in our daily lives. It is an intense violation that causes high levels of mental anguish and anxiety. It seems like there is some serious cognitive dissonance that we would use violent sex and non-consent as the basis for our sexual fantasies – but so many of us do.

It’s absolutely vital to note that while non-consent fantasies are common, this does not mean that anyone secretly wants to be raped. There is a huge difference between acted out role-play, imagined scenarios, pre-negotiated scenes and real-life experiences. No one asks to be raped, no one deserves to be raped, and how common forced sex fantasies are in no way justifies unwanted sexual contact of any nature. It is impossible to know exactly what these fantasies entail, because, they are going on in someone else’s mind. If you do choose to engage in a scene of consensual non-consent, pre-negotiation is absolutely mandatory and a safe-word must always be respected. Acting on these fantasies in real life requires an intrinsic trust with one’s partner and a thorough discussion before anything actually happens.

For some, fantasies of forced sex steered away from experiences that would be close to reality. Rather than lines of consent being crossed by friends or bosses, we fantasize about high drama situations in which we are forced to have sex to survive, entering into sexual contracts rather than having our right to consent taken away from us outright. We might share the relatively common fantasy of being kidnapped and held hostage, then having one of the guards forcing us into sex to survive, or we might fantasize about thieves breaking into our house and being so overwhelmed by our presence and attractiveness that they have to have sex with us against our will. In both of these relatively common scenarios, we start out by resisting the advances. Then we begin to enjoy the sex midway through, as pain and terror give way to pleasure. It is this relinquishing of control and giving in to desire that is the turn on, rather than the very real trauma of real-life sexual violence.

For others, though, these fantasies are more true to life. It may not be about feigned struggle, but imagining consent and control being ripped away as a major turn on. Why are so many of us aroused by forced sex when we’d be horrified of it in reality? Why do we find the idea of rejecting sex then being made to do it anyway a turn on? There are a few theories.

One theory is that it is an echo of the dominant narratives shown in our media-saturated world and masculine-controlled pornography. Our culture sells sex, and that vision of sex is a masculine man being dominant and losing control around a meek, diminutive and submissive woman or multiple women or parts of women or women acting as furniture or other objects. Our fantasies of non-consent are just an extension of that narrative—an internalized misogyny. Personally, I get that this might provide the framework, but it really seems like more is going on in those fantasies.

Another theory is that fantasies of non-consensual sex can be boiled down to lingering guilt and shame around sexuality. Young people are taught to hide sexual feelings or encouraged to fit narrow gender stereotypes of the acceptable ways that sexuality can be expressed in society. This leads to feelings of deep-rooted guilt and shame in expressing one’s own sexual desire. Being forced in the fantasy allows freedom since what happens to us and what we enjoy are not our fault with that added level of narrative. It’s not us, it is a fantasy version of us that doesn’t have a choice. We can’t be ashamed if we don’t have a choice.

If it seems like I am belaboring this point, please recognize how important it is to be clear here. Just as having fantasies about being abducted by an insectoid alien queen and being penetrated by her ovipositor to become an incubator for the next generation of our future overlords doesn’t mean you want to quit your job and become an astronaut, fantasizing about non-consensual sex does not in any way mean that you want to experience sexual violence in real life. It does not make you less human. It does not make you a slut. All it does it make you aware of this particular branch of your sexual fantasies. One more time for the folks in the back: people who have fantasies of experiencing sexual violence do not want to experience real-life rape. Fantasies are not permission to do such a thing, and what people find erotic in their minds can be deeply distressing when played out in reality. Having fantasies about being raped also doesn’t make you a terrible feminist. It doesn’t mean anything about who you are as a person, other than that you’re a person, who occasionally fantasizes about non-consent.

You are also no more likely to experience non-consent fantasies if you are a survivor of sexual assault or rape – fantasies can come up for anyone, at any time in their lives – and, if you are a survivor of sexual violence, it is incredibly important to note that experiencing non-consent fantasies does not mean that their real-life experience was in any way less traumatic. While renegotiating a scene on your terms might be a very therapeutic way to process and heal from a traumatic event (whether through role reversal or putting yourself in a submissive role by choice), having a fantasy at a later date is not indicative  that what happened to you was somehow less traumatic. It’s important to understand your own feelings around fantasies of forced sex. If you’re enjoying them and are free of any guilt or discomfort, you don’t need to worry – fantasies of being forced to have sex are entirely normal and very common. If these thoughts feel intrusive, out of control, or distressing, though, then they’re no longer fun sexual fantasies – they’re an issue which needs resolving. Echoes of shame and guilt can often be addressed through open communication and understanding. But with that being said, though, if in the moment of fantasizing these fantasies are causing you distress, please seek professional help in the form of an understanding therapist. Fantasy is a tool for exploration. It is nothing to be ashamed of.  If you’ve established that your fantasies are just that – sexual fantasies well within your control, that you find arousing, not distressing – you should feel free to enjoy them.

It’s entirely normal to find something arousing when it is played out in the safety of your mind but upsetting in real life. It’s normal for your own mind to push the boundaries of your comfort zone, and it’s normal if being out of that comfort zone makes you uncomfortable. Don’t panic, and bring a towel. Don’t judge, and treat your mind as a safe space to explore your sexuality in whatever way tickles your fancy at a given moment. If you do want to role play, have that discussion with your partner(s) as openly and honestly as possible. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Especially a sexy, sexy mind. So treat yourself. Let go, and enjoy.

With love, friend.

[thequietuptown]

Fear: my sexual fantasies. I get aroused by rape fantasies and thoughts about my physical pain. It makes me feel like a slut and I hate it.

Content warning: Those who find discussions of rape and sexual assault may find this article triggering.

Hello friend,

That sort of fear has the potential to shake you to your core. Our sexuality and sexual identity is something so intrinsically tied to the self and to privacy that when it shows us something that we fear, we begin to question our very being. It’s easy to get lost in that initial reaction of self-loathing and disgust. We can’t always control which dark corners our minds will wander to, just like we can’t always control our physical arousal response to stimuli. Those responses do not make us gross or slutty or evil. Really, all they show is that we are human and that we are alive. Especially if you are still able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

Sexual fantasies run the gamut because personalities and interests do. They range from outlandishly unrealistic to entirely plausible. Maybe you fantasize about a trans witch, her anthropomorphic dinosaur lover and a sentient motorcycle with a human head (yes, that’s a real thing. Seriously, the rabbit hole of self-published erotica available on the internet is a glorious exploration of the human condition). That’s totally okay! It’s probably never going to happen, but role playing can be a lot of fun.

The fantasies that you mentioned, though, are often more realistic and play on our sense of safety and control. I do want to caution how we talk about them, though.  While easily recognized as a “rape” fantasy, a more accurate term would be a non-consent fantasy or a forced sex fantasy. Rape is, by definition, sexual violence—a violation of the body and mind. Your sexual fantasies, while they might include elements of saying “no” or being bound or even physical harm to your body, are your fantasies, and are therefore empowering to your sexual identity. Sexual fantasies let you explore your sexuality. They are what allow us to find self-gratification on those cold and lonely winter nights without WiFi. We get to recall our fantasies through roleplay scenarios to make our sex lives even more fulfilling. This type of fantasy plays off of our feelings of sexual shame (if we’re saying we don’t want it, it’s not our fault when it happens and we enjoy it), and, because of that, we generally do not talk about it candidly. Rather than releasing ourselves from that shame, we internalize and we are disgusted by our own thoughts.

But this type of fantasy is incredibly common. A 2017 study (and seriously… PubMed is an amazing database of references and abstracts on life sciences and biomedical topics) showed that between 31% and 57% of women have fantasies in which they are forced into sex against their will. For 9% to 17% of those women, non-consent fantasies are their go to deposit in the spank bank. Another study, showed that 62% of women had had a non-consent fantasy at some point, and 14% reported that they had such a fantasy at least once a week. The cultural narrative would tell us that men fantasize more about domination than submission, and, while research does anecdotally support this, socialization isn’t absolute, and a person of any gender can embrace that desire to let go—to be seduced against our will or to be forced to have sex. It is a completely normal fantasy to explore.

It is understandable if those statistics make you uneasy. In real-life contexts, non-consent is deeply traumatizing. It is not at all sexy to feel that we have no sense of agency or safety in our daily lives. It is an intense violation that causes high levels of mental anguish and anxiety. It seems like there is some serious cognitive dissonance that we would use violent sex and non-consent as the basis for our sexual fantasies – but so many of us do.

It’s absolutely vital to note that while non-consent fantasies are common, this does not mean that anyone secretly wants to be raped. There is a huge difference between acted out role-play, imagined scenarios, pre-negotiated scenes and real-life experiences. No one asks to be raped, no one deserves to be raped, and how common forced sex fantasies are in no way justifies unwanted sexual contact of any nature. It is impossible to know exactly what these fantasies entail, because, they are going on in someone else’s mind. If you do choose to engage in a scene of consensual non-consent, pre-negotiation is absolutely mandatory and a safe-word must always be respected. Acting on these fantasies in real life requires an intrinsic trust with one’s partner and a thorough discussion before anything actually happens.

For some, fantasies of forced sex steered away from experiences that would be close to reality. Rather than lines of consent being crossed by friends or bosses, we fantasize about high drama situations in which we are forced to have sex to survive, entering into sexual contracts rather than having our right to consent taken away from us outright. We might share the relatively common fantasy of being kidnapped and held hostage, then having one of the guards forcing us into sex to survive, or we might fantasize about thieves breaking into our house and being so overwhelmed by our presence and attractiveness that they have to have sex with us against our will. In both of these relatively common scenarios, we start out by resisting the advances. Then we begin to enjoy the sex midway through, as pain and terror give way to pleasure. It is this relinquishing of control and giving in to desire that is the turn on, rather than the very real trauma of real-life sexual violence.

For others, though, these fantasies are more true to life. It may not be about feigned struggle, but imagining consent and control being ripped away as a major turn on. Why are so many of us aroused by forced sex when we’d be horrified of it in reality? Why do we find the idea of rejecting sex then being made to do it anyway a turn on? There are a few theories.

One theory is that it is an echo of the dominant narratives shown in our media-saturated world and masculine-controlled pornography. Our culture sells sex, and that vision of sex is a masculine man being dominant and losing control around a meek, diminutive and submissive woman or multiple women or parts of women or women acting as furniture or other objects. Our fantasies of non-consent are just an extension of that narrative—an internalized misogyny. Personally, I get that this might provide the framework, but it really seems like more is going on in those fantasies.

Another theory is that fantasies of nonconsensual sex can be boiled down to lingering guilt and shame around sexuality. Young people are taught to hide sexual feelings or encouraged to fit narrow gender stereotypes of the acceptable ways that sexuality can be expressed in society. This leads to feelings of deep-rooted guilt and shame in expressing one’s own sexual desire. Being forced in the fantasy allows freedom since what happens to us and what we enjoy are not our fault with that added level of narrative. It’s not us, it is a fantasy version of us that doesn’t have a choice. We can’t be ashamed if we don’t have a choice.

If it seems like I am belaboring this point, please recognize how important it is to be clear here. Just as having fantasies about being abducted by an insectoid alien queen and being penetrated by her ovipositor to become an incubator for the next generation of our future overlords doesn’t mean you want to quit your job and become an astronaut, fantasizing about non-consensual sex does not in any way mean that you want to experience sexual violence in real life. It does not make you less human. It does not make you a slut. All it does it make you aware of this particular branch of your sexual fantasies. One more time for the folks in the back: people who have fantasies of experiencing sexual violence do not want to experience real-life rape. Fantasies are not permission to do such a thing, and what people find erotic in their minds can be deeply distressing when played out in reality. Having fantasies about being raped also doesn’t make you a terrible feminist. It doesn’t mean anything about who you are as a person, other than that you’re a person, who occasionally fantasizes about non-consent.

You are also no more likely to experience non-consent fantasies if you are a survivor of sexual assault or rape – fantasies can come up for anyone, at any time in their lives – and, if you are a survivor of sexual violence, it is incredibly important to note that experiencing non-consent fantasies does not mean that their real-life experience was in any way less traumatic. While renegotiating a scene on your terms might be a very therapeutic way to process and heal from a traumatic event (whether through role reversal or putting yourself in a submissive role by choice), having a fantasy at a later date is not indicative  that what happened to you was somehow less traumatic. It’s important to understand your own feelings around fantasies of forced sex. If you’re enjoying them and are free of any guilt or discomfort, you don’t need to worry – fantasies of being forced to have sex are entirely normal and very common. If these thoughts feel intrusive, out of control, or distressing, though, then they’re no longer fun sexual fantasies – they’re an issue which needs resolving. Echoes of shame and guilt can often be addressed through open communication and understanding. But with that being said, though, if in the moment of fantasizing these fantasies are causing you distress, please seek professional help in the form of an understanding therapist. Fantasy is a tool for exploration. It is nothing to be ashamed of.  If you’ve established that your fantasies are just that – sexual fantasies well within your control, that you find arousing, not distressing – you should feel free to enjoy them.

It’s entirely normal to find something arousing when it is played out in the safety of your mind but upsetting in real life. It’s normal for your own mind to push the boundaries of your comfort zone, and it’s normal if being out of that comfort zone makes you uncomfortable. Don’t panic, and bring a towel. Don’t judge, and treat your mind as a safe space to explore your sexuality in whatever way tickles your fancy at a given moment. If you do want to role play, have that discussion with your partner(s) as openly and honestly as possible. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Especially a sexy, sexy mind. So treat yourself. Let go, and enjoy.

With love, friend.