I Dream of Sparkplugs

This article originally appeared on sex-kitten.net in their guest room. Must be 18 to visit. It is not pornographic, but adult themes are discussed.

“You’re there, pumping away on top of some girl you ‘do’, not noticing that bored look in her eye…”

“Be fair. I ALWAYS notice that bored look in their eyes.”

We all have fantasies; some more involved than others. One of my favorites includes Colin Farrell, a bottle of olive oil, and a waterbed mattress stripped down to the plastic. In fact, there is a man I am acquainted with who is quite into working on cars, and he has inadvertently discovered that hearing him talk about it turns me on. I didn’t know this about myself until he was talking cars one day and I was nearly panting. It’s now become a running joke between us for him to come up and whisper sweet automotive nothings in my ear. Somehow, hearing him say things like “cam shaft”, “piston”, or “torque” really gets me, even though I barely know what those items are. It’s just sexy. One day, I am just going to show up to his house naked with a grease gun.

When you’re a kid, your fantasies are relatively innocent and plentiful, if only because an average teenager’s ratio of sexual thoughts to sexual encounters is about two billion to every one. You learn what turns you on from a young age by masturbation fantasies. I recall a certain teacher I had a thing for in high school. He was only eleven years older than me – a paltry sum now, but wildly inappropriate at seventeen. I’m positive that I wasn’t the only senior girl lusting after him though, and he probably knew it.

The most terrific thing about fantasies (when you’re by yourself, anyway) is that you can visualize any crazy thing you please, and there is no one there to laugh at you or give you that “You’re a sick fuck, you know it?” look. If you want to picture Jenna Jameson as quintuplets who chain you to a tractor tire and coat you with hot wax and toenail clippings, you can have at it. It doesn’t even matter than in real life, Jenna Jameson would probably mace you and stick her stiletto-ed foot up your ass. Unless, of course, you’re into that. Then by all means approach her, you twisted freak.

As you get older and more comfortable with yourself and what you want, it becomes a rare treat to get involved with lovers who not only encourage your fantasies, but indulge them on occasion. I used to have a terrific penchant for public sex. Still do, but I’m trying to grow out of it. If a guy is willing to throw down at a moment’s notice, even if there’s a good chance we’ll get caught, that’s just gravy. For me, it’s not the possibility of getting caught which appeals to me. The part that turns me on is being with someone that you want so badly that you just simply can’t wait to jump them. It’s that sense of urgency; that having to have them right then and there that’s the turn-on. That’s another terrific thing about men. Most men, being large fans of getting laid, are pretty game for indulging a woman in any way she likes if it means they’re going to be on the receiving end of some kinky sugar. Hell, plain sugar is enough of a reason. Lifesavers satisfy a sweet tooth just as well as a chocolate torte, most of the time. It’s said that women need a reason to have sex; men just need an opportunity. And that’s partially true.

We women try though, don’t we? If we don’t, we SHOULD. My grandmother gave me a piece of advice when I was a girl. “Husbands are like fires. If you don’t tend them, they go out.” How true that is. Relationships are relatively easier to maintain if you just pay the person a bit of attention on a regular basis. “The care and grooming of the opposite sex”, if you will. I recall a Valentine’s Day with an old boyfriend, where I was completely stumped over what I should buy him. My plan was juicy and twofold. Yes, most men hate lingerie stores, but I believe that they hate insecure women more, don’t they? No man wants to answer the question “Do I look fat?” for the umpteenth time. I bought him a “man gift” (I believe it was tools or athletic gear), and then handed him an envelope as well. Inside the envelope was $200 and a list of my sizes, with no self-consciousness at all. I said “Go to Victoria’s Secret, and purchase anything you’d like to see me in.” I refused to go with him because I knew that I would veto some of the stuff he picked out, and that takes the fun out of it. A promise is a promise. And I was right – he selected a few things that I ordinarily wouldn’t have been caught dead in. But he was also VERY appreciative of the “fantasy gift”, and said that it was great fun to shop for it all and that all of his friends were jealous of his “amazing girlfriend.” Score one for me. I’m even a bit fond of the neon blue tropical-print thong.

Most people also have a series of fantasies about what they’ll do with their lives – rock and roll lifestyles, private eye double-oh fantasies, etc. In my experience, living up to someone’s fantasies is really just as simple as behaving like one. My bad *ahem* behavior aside, a seduction depends largely upon one’s expectation of what something will be like. You merely have to create the appearance of being the real-girl equivalent of a Penthouse forum letter. One of the finer seductions I’ve ever performed was just such an incident – I’d met the man earlier in the afternoon through a friend, and decided that it was imperative that I seduce him as soon as possible. (Yes, women decide within minutes if they’re going to have sex with you. MINUTES.) We ended up at a party later, and I, armed with the confidence that only three margaritas and Ferrari-red lipstick can lend you, sauntered over to him sucking on an ice cube, which I slipped into his mouth with my tongue, ran my hands down his chest, and whispered in his ear “Do you want to get out of here?” Indeed, he did. There is a time for subtle sexiness, and there is a time for blatant lust. We had a terrific summer.

In speaking to men, the “great sex” stories that most of them remember are also the simplest ones. It could be the night she shaved her pubic hair into the shape of his initial, or the night she read to him from a sexy novel and then made love to him. Sensuality is as mental as it is physical. It could be as raw as going down on him while he’s driving in traffic, or surprising him in the shower. Seduction could be as simple as the look you give him, or a simple gesture from across the room. I had an ex that would catch my eye from across the room and curl his index fingers toward one another and then touch the pads of his thumbs together, to form a heart. It was a simple, childlike gesture, and one I have never forgotten.

After years together, once you’ve outgrown your more adventurous exploits, and hanging from a chandelier is more likely to throw your back out than get you off, an occasional fantasy can do a lot to cover the fact that your partner is no longer quite the golden Adonis of his youth, or that your wife is now less Bettie Page than Betty White. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Because in the end for most of us, isn’t it really our ultimate fantasy to just grow old with someone we love?

As for me, I’ll be in my room, stripping the waterbed.

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