Boyfriend confessed an odd fantasy....I want to understand.

[baltimoregirl42]

I have been dating a great guy for almost 3 months now and he's fantastic. Just the other night though, he confessed something that really wierded me out: he confessed that when he was with his ex (they were together for about 2 yrs) that he used to masturbate while thinking about her having sex with her ex boyfriends. He said it made him angry and jealous but also kind of turned him on.....I'm not at all concerned that he is having the same kind of fantasy about me, and I know he cares about me and vice versa. I trust him completely.

 

My question is: why does this bother me so much? and Is this a relatively common male fantasy that I have just never encountered?

 

Enlighten me, please.

[STLguy]

If I were a girl, I'm sure that would wierd me out too. As a guy I can honestly say I've never once masturbated to a GF having sex with one of her ex BFs.

[Outcast]

Yes, it's a common fantasy. There are many wierder. People often fantasize about things they'd never actually do.

[whichwayisup]

I don't think you were expecting to hear that and it shocked you. OC is right in both cases, there are other weirder fantasies out there and most fantasies are just that, fantasy.

[Sami_D]

Don't fret, it's common.

[ehead]

baltimoregirl42,

I feel particularly qualified to comment on this, as I have experienced this before in two relationships. This is a very powerful fantasy/problem/fetish, and I think it's power comes from some degree of inner conflict surrounding sexuality and it's connection with love. I say "problem" because in my own experience some negative things have resulted from this fantasy, though of course everybody is different so that doesn't mean your boyfriend is like me.

 

That weird mix of jealousy and being turned on can be extremely powerful. It is more like an addiction or obsession in some ways than a true fantasy. Ask him if he finds himself thinking about these things even when he doesn't really want to. Be aware that it's possible this fantasy, if it's indulged in enough, could have a subtle effect on the way he feels about the relationship. My girlfriend used to tell me stories about her sexual past while I masturbated. Sometimes images from these stories would come back to "haunt" me while we were having sex.

 

Once she told me I was her third best ****, though I was the best if she compared based on just how long we had been having sex. After she told me this, my libido took a nose dive for a really long time. I couldn't have sex with her without thinking about how she wasn't enjoying it as much as she had with others. My confidence really went down. A lot of the silly things I used to do during sex, like growling at her, spanking her, etc ... seemed preposterous and self-indulgent with this new knowledge that I wasn't the stud I thought I was.

 

In short, sex can be a very complicated emotional thing for some people, particularly if you are in love. The "specialness" of it can be diminished for some people by thinking too much about your sig. other having done all these things with other partners. It makes them feel less unique ... which in turn can make them think their role in your life in not so unique. You can see where that line of reasoning can lead. Treat it carefully, treat it with caution. The fact that he has this fantasy says nothing about his feelings for you ... in fact, this "fantasy" only has power for me if I am in love with the person. Ask him how he really FEELS, both during and after fantasizing about this. Be on the look out for him acting more distant.

 

Somebody once said, We are what we think.

 

There is a tendency among sex professionals to consider most fantasies harmless, but I think fantasy can be a very powerful thing. Never underestimate the power of the mind, and the capricious nature of human emotions. Not everyone can so easily seperate sex and love ... but some people can, so just ask your boyfriend. If he, like me, cannot so easily seperate the two, then maybe he should find more positive, relationship affirming fantasies.

[ehead]

Perhaps you and your boyfriend could benefit from reading over this blog entry I wrote about it. If he can identify with this at all, then you two may want to consider making these types of fantasies off limits:

 

 

----My Weird Fetish----

 

My fetish consumes me.

 

Obsessive.

Uncontrollable.

Unrelenting.

Dominating.

 

It is an addiction, a renunciation, a brash shout at reality, and a

cowardly retreat. It makes me act in ways I am not proud of. It keeps

me up at night. It makes my throat dry. It makes my heart pound

against my rib cage like a rabid animal against the bars of a cage. I

have difficulty working. Difficulty thinking. Difficulty talking. My

fetish cripples me inside. Make no mistake, this is mental illness. My

fetish could probably kill me. It is a cancer.

 

My fetish is my girlfriends sexual past.

 

Each erotic story she has shared with me is cherished like ancient

ritual bones. They are mysterious keys or runes, a priest's vestment,

the totems and simulacrums used in some strange shamanism. Some have

been stumbled upon accidentally, innocently, during casual

conversation. I will subtly and lightly inquire for more details,

while trepidation and fear grips my heart, until her words and my

imagination have fashioned a new totem. Others have been revealed

through more overt examination and dangerous curiosity. I will never

forget her telling me once, when asked about whether she swallowed or

not, that she was "a fan of the easy cleanup". These playful words

resonate with indescribable power and have been seared into my psyche.

When called upon, this totem reverberates with infinite erotic

potential in my mind.

 

If I am lucky, my love will lie next to me in bed naked during this

strange rite. Side by side like ancient statues, her thigh gently

brushing mine, she will gently hold my hand and begin to slowly

recount a past erotic experience. My spirit will tremble slightly as I

listen, and I will begin to masturbate. The journey has begun. This is

emotional BDSM, and she is my dominatrix. There is no safe word, and

the session never ends. This is real. The wounds can only slowly fade

and become more diffuse with time. I am unsure of the degree of her

complicity, but surely she does not understand the full power of this

ritual.

 

The sum collective of these stories form the oral history of my

emotional masochism, which is sometimes deliberate, but often

nightmarishly involuntary. Images and thoughts will blaze through my

mind during sex, like the flashbacks of the victims of post traumatic

stress disorder. Other times I lie awake at night haunted and

perversely aroused. Thoughts of her past pierce the night like

splinters. Finally I will sidle across to the left edge of the bed,

half in a trance, pull my underwear down and grasp my dick. It becomes

hard instantly as I conjure up some romantic interlude from her past.

I might think about the time she was ****ed for 2 hours by her

anorgasmic boyfriend and had 25 orgasms. I envision her moaning and

screaming in ecstasy as she experiences one cascading orgasm after

another, her pussy sopping wet from pleasure, drenching the sheets and

her lover's dick. The smell of sex permeating the room like incense.

Finally he climaxes inside her and his cum mingles with her cum. Then

I see the young lovers collapsed together on the bed like marathon

runners, with the blissful euphoria that can only come from utter

depletion. They lay together contentedly on the bed in a stain of

their combined fluids, their skin shimmering and soaked in sweat, too

exhausted and euphoric to care. Endorphins pulse softly through their

spent limbs.

 

Or I might think about her sucking her previous boyfriend off. Her

moist and soft lips wrapped over the head of his penis. Her kissing

his shaft gently and running her tongue up its underside. She squeezes

his balls firmly as he finally erupts inside her mouth. Still holding

his balls, and with great care, she gratefully sucks the last few

drops of cum from his dick as she looks up into his eyes. His cum

tastes pleasant. It is the sweet cum of a vegetarian. A serene smile

graces her lips, tinged with a cheerful naughtiness. She has pleased

her lover.

 

Invoking these thoughts unlocks the door to an inner cacophony of

emotions. Pins are lifted and the cylinder tumbles. A preternatural

rush of pure emotion swells inside me almost making me nauseous ...

jealousy, passion, anger, helplessness, agony, confusion, excitement.

My chest and abdomen will light up with palpitations, begin sinking

and rising, as sensations pulse quickly through them like phantom

bottle rockets in an emotional fireworks show. If, out of this chaos,

a single feeling coalesces from all the others, it must be the

distillate of my tangled self. This distillate would be hard to

describe in words. Pain, tinged with sadness and so many other things

... the mysterious ingredients of an impenetrable emotion.

 

Finally I turn and ejaculate into the darkness. I hear my sperm

splatter on the hardwood floor. Laying on my back, my agony atomizes

and escapes slowly through the porous membrane of my psyche. Now I am

an emotional vacuum. It is in the next few moments that I am most

convinced of the meaninglessness of the universe. There is nothing

special about me or about anything. Sexual and romantic nihilism

settles on me like a ghost ... and then there is regret. Regret at

this perverse act of sexual gratification. Regret at this emotional

flagellation. The regret of a vandal who has blemished the very thing

he finds most beautiful.

 

I write this after two tortuous and sleepless nights. I have lain

awake, with thoughts racing through my mind too furiously to allow for

sleep. I have masturbated in an endless frenzy till my dick is bruised

and dry. Now I feel like I am returning from a long trip that has

lasted for weeks, and am slowly drifting in and out of consciousness

to the sounds of the train as it conveys me home. Or as though, after

surviving some strange tribal rite of passage, I am sitting somewhat

dazed as time drains my sense of reality like a leech. I am sure there

must be some microscopically thin and transparent bubble around me and

the rest of the world. Maybe I have been secretly transported to some

parallel universe, where everything outwardly seems the same ... but

on some deep level, just below the threshold of my senses, my psyche

can barely discern the slightest ripple in reality, the slightest

shift in my emotional and psychological world as things ever so

delicately realign, the plate tectonics of the soul.

[SuperMonk]

Perhaps you and your boyfriend could benefit from reading over this blog entry I wrote about it. If he can identify with this at all, then you two may want to consider making these types of fantasies off limits:

 

 

----My Weird Fetish----

 

My fetish consumes me.

 

Obsessive.

Uncontrollable.

Unrelenting.

Dominating.

 

It is an addiction, a renunciation, a brash shout at reality, and a

cowardly retreat. It makes me act in ways I am not proud of. It keeps

me up at night. It makes my throat dry. It makes my heart pound

against my rib cage like a rabid animal against the bars of a cage. I

have difficulty working. Difficulty thinking. Difficulty talking. My

fetish cripples me inside. Make no mistake, this is mental illness. My

fetish could probably kill me. It is a cancer.

 

My fetish is my girlfriends sexual past.

 

Each erotic story she has shared with me is cherished like ancient

ritual bones. They are mysterious keys or runes, a priest's vestment,

the totems and simulacrums used in some strange shamanism. Some have

been stumbled upon accidentally, innocently, during casual

conversation. I will subtly and lightly inquire for more details,

while trepidation and fear grips my heart, until her words and my

imagination have fashioned a new totem. Others have been revealed

through more overt examination and dangerous curiosity. I will never

forget her telling me once, when asked about whether she swallowed or

not, that she was "a fan of the easy cleanup". These playful words

resonate with indescribable power and have been seared into my psyche.

When called upon, this totem reverberates with infinite erotic

potential in my mind.

 

If I am lucky, my love will lie next to me in bed naked during this

strange rite. Side by side like ancient statues, her thigh gently

brushing mine, she will gently hold my hand and begin to slowly

recount a past erotic experience. My spirit will tremble slightly as I

listen, and I will begin to masturbate. The journey has begun. This is

emotional BDSM, and she is my dominatrix. There is no safe word, and

the session never ends. This is real. The wounds can only slowly fade

and become more diffuse with time. I am unsure of the degree of her

complicity, but surely she does not understand the full power of this

ritual.

 

The sum collective of these stories form the oral history of my

emotional masochism, which is sometimes deliberate, but often

nightmarishly involuntary. Images and thoughts will blaze through my

mind during sex, like the flashbacks of the victims of post traumatic

stress disorder. Other times I lie awake at night haunted and

perversely aroused. Thoughts of her past pierce the night like

splinters. Finally I will sidle across to the left edge of the bed,

half in a trance, pull my underwear down and grasp my dick. It becomes

hard instantly as I conjure up some romantic interlude from her past.

I might think about the time she was ****ed for 2 hours by her

anorgasmic boyfriend and had 25 orgasms. I envision her moaning and

screaming in ecstasy as she experiences one cascading orgasm after

another, her pussy sopping wet from pleasure, drenching the sheets and

her lover's dick. The smell of sex permeating the room like incense.

Finally he climaxes inside her and his cum mingles with her cum. Then

I see the young lovers collapsed together on the bed like marathon

runners, with the blissful euphoria that can only come from utter

depletion. They lay together contentedly on the bed in a stain of

their combined fluids, their skin shimmering and soaked in sweat, too

exhausted and euphoric to care. Endorphins pulse softly through their

spent limbs.

 

Or I might think about her sucking her previous boyfriend off. Her

moist and soft lips wrapped over the head of his penis. Her kissing

his shaft gently and running her tongue up its underside. She squeezes

his balls firmly as he finally erupts inside her mouth. Still holding

his balls, and with great care, she gratefully sucks the last few

drops of cum from his dick as she looks up into his eyes. His cum

tastes pleasant. It is the sweet cum of a vegetarian. A serene smile

graces her lips, tinged with a cheerful naughtiness. She has pleased

her lover.

 

Invoking these thoughts unlocks the door to an inner cacophony of

emotions. Pins are lifted and the cylinder tumbles. A preternatural

rush of pure emotion swells inside me almost making me nauseous ...

jealousy, passion, anger, helplessness, agony, confusion, excitement.

My chest and abdomen will light up with palpitations, begin sinking

and rising, as sensations pulse quickly through them like phantom

bottle rockets in an emotional fireworks show. If, out of this chaos,

a single feeling coalesces from all the others, it must be the

distillate of my tangled self. This distillate would be hard to

describe in words. Pain, tinged with sadness and so many other things

... the mysterious ingredients of an impenetrable emotion.

 

Finally I turn and ejaculate into the darkness. I hear my sperm

splatter on the hardwood floor. Laying on my back, my agony atomizes

and escapes slowly through the porous membrane of my psyche. Now I am

an emotional vacuum. It is in the next few moments that I am most

convinced of the meaninglessness of the universe. There is nothing

special about me or about anything. Sexual and romantic nihilism

settles on me like a ghost ... and then there is regret. Regret at

this perverse act of sexual gratification. Regret at this emotional

flagellation. The regret of a vandal who has blemished the very thing

he finds most beautiful.

 

I write this after two tortuous and sleepless nights. I have lain

awake, with thoughts racing through my mind too furiously to allow for

sleep. I have masturbated in an endless frenzy till my dick is bruised

and dry. Now I feel like I am returning from a long trip that has

lasted for weeks, and am slowly drifting in and out of consciousness

to the sounds of the train as it conveys me home. Or as though, after

surviving some strange tribal rite of passage, I am sitting somewhat

dazed as time drains my sense of reality like a leech. I am sure there

must be some microscopically thin and transparent bubble around me and

the rest of the world. Maybe I have been secretly transported to some

parallel universe, where everything outwardly seems the same ... but

on some deep level, just below the threshold of my senses, my psyche

can barely discern the slightest ripple in reality, the slightest

shift in my emotional and psychological world as things ever so

delicately realign, the plate tectonics of the soul.

 

Dude, you and the threadstarter's boyfriend need some therapy.

[ehead]

@SuperMonk

 

Ha. I'll accept that.

 

There is one benefit to being so dysfunctional about sex though, when I am having it and things are going well, it is amazingly hot ... both emotionally and physically.

[Tangerina]

Hmm... I don't think anyone needs therapy for this, I mean unless it is harming the relationship... but many many couples do role playing with power exchange and to me this is just another form of it... it is about humiliation in the same way that some people enjoy being humilated by being tied up, or spanked... they get off on the loss of power and control they experience thinking about their girlfriend being fckd by other guys... psychologically it is so common to be turned on by humiliation or loss of power, just as it is very common for people to be turned on by having or taking power... even in the sense of accomplishment one gets when they give their partner an orgasm....

 

Now, if these fetishes and fantasies are affecting the relationship outside of a bedroom there is a big problem, but as long as the sessions have a defined begining and end it is just a part of sex play and nothing to worry about....