This is Your Brain. This is Your Brain on Fantasy
The gossip around the water cooler has it that, contrary to popular consensus, intercourse is not the cardinal sex act of human beings.
The Chatty Cathy gleefully imparting this particular tidbit went on to say that the ultimate sexual act is masturbation, because, after all, it is a “one hand operation,” and we don’t need anybody around to “pull it off.”
“You know what they say,” Scuttlebutt Sam snickered in agreement, “Ninety-nine percent of us masturbate and the other one percent is lying about it.”
“Yeah,” Flibbertigibbet Frannie chimed in, “You know what Woody Allen said, ‘It’s having sex with someone you love.’”
You have to admit that — jabber jaws that they are — Cathy and her buddies do have a point. Let’s just hope they don’t point it at us! Of course, being a Phone Sex Operator gives me a kind of a “fly on the genitalia” perspective on this sort of thing. (The beat goes on, if you know what I mean.) But I’m not about to share it with these gossipmongers. While they flap their jaws and chortle and titter, let’s you and me sneak off to the coffee shop around the corner for a Frappuccino, and I’ll give you—but only you—the real scoop.
Make sure to bring your wallet, darling, because you’re buying, of course. You know, I always did like you.
*****
There we go. Comfy? Good. No, don’t sit too close; scoot over just a tad.
Yes, that’s much better. Now where were we? Oh yes, masturbation.
Let’s face it, mi amigo; you’d have to be dumber than ditchwater not to figure out that self-gratification is the favorite sexual activity of Homo sapiens. What the water cooler gang failed to mention when they were busy wagging their frivolous, pink tongues is the brain-work that goes into a feisty little round of masturbation. Don’t look so surprised. Surely, you knew this?
In comparison, fucking is the easy stuff of sex—at least it is once you get past the butterflies, general ambiguity, and extra five pounds you’ve recently acquired. Ok, I’ll admit that there is a bit of a “catch 69” with the hanky-panky of conjugation; but once the little peccadilloes have been dealt with it’s pretty much easy sailing!
After all, everyone needs and desires a measure of tummy-tickling now and then. We hunger for the intimacy of flesh on flesh. Not to mention, the kissing part is pretty nice. All we need is two bodies, a fair-to-middling amount of willingness, and a mutual attraction to get things started. Sometimes, we are so eager for a bit of the bouncy-bouncy, we even (shame on us!) forgo the mutual attraction part.
But singular sex is an “intercourse” of a different color. The glib patter and off-handed remarks of our water cooler pals just doesn’t do it justice. When it comes to masturbating, we are much more than naked apes. We are fully-realized human beings using every God-given brain cell, because that is, after all, what will get us from here to there. And we frantically want to get to there.
And just what are those busy little brain cells up to, pray tell? Well, they’re up to the beeswax of fantasy, of course! They know what we want, know what we need, and are hell-bent on getting the job done. And getting us done! This is us-focused and us-blameless unconditional love. Why not wallow in it once in a while? And we better appreciate it, because—in lieu of a hot-to-trot lover beside us, atop us, behind us—these little eggheads are all we’ve got. They’ve got us by the balls and the tits, and we’re loving every minute of it.
These little cerebral prodigies know us better than we know ourselves, and certainly know more about us than a hot-to-trot lover ever could. Tenacious and constant, they feed on our deviant fetishes and profane desires (Talk about brain food!), and then serve them back to us, delicious and dirty with a cherry on top. (Yum! Yum! Dessert always was my favorite part of the meal!)
What I’m trying to say, as I finish off this Frappuccino, is that we all need the magic, the thrill, the escapism of fantasy. It starts with Mother Goose and never goes away. We look for it in the books we read, the movies we see, even the dreams we dream. What’s wrong with looking for it in a steamy round of solo sex from time to time?
So, when it comes to sex, why not let our brains do the work once in a while….while our fingers do the walking?
Go ahead and rack your medulla oblongata! It’s begging for it!
Now, we need to get back to the water cooler.
Oh…and don’t forget to leave a tip.
Have You Been a Bad Boy?
“Get to my room, now!”
Martin, hanging his head with the embarrassment of being caught, bent down to reach for his jeans.
“Oh no you don’t! Just leave them there.”
Turning, he started hobbling in the direction of Tandy’s bedroom, pants around his ankles. Behind him, he could hear the click of her heels on the hardwood floor as she followed.
“Now you tell me, little man,” she continued as they preceded down the narrow hallway, “just what you think you were doing in that bathroom. I have warned you, time and again, about touching yourself without permission.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Tandy, I promise I won’t do it again.”
As he turned into Tandy’s bedroom, he could see that the new wooden hairbrush and well-used riding crop were already placed in the center of the bed.
“You know what to do. Get in there.”
He shuffled over to the bed as best he could, then stood with his hands to his side as Tandy moved around him to sit on the edge of the bed, her red skirt riding up to stretch taut across the top of her thighs. He couldn’t help himself. At the sight of her perfect legs, the womanly spoon of her lap, he felt his prick swelling. Tandy noticed and laughed, slowly moving her head head back and forth.
“Don’t even think about it, Martin. Here, put this on, because I am not touching that thing.”
She handed him a thick rubber band, pointedly looking away from his groin area. As he started winding and rewinding it around the base of his cock, Tandy ran her hands across her lap a few times and shifted on the mattress, as if preparing herself. “I’m so disgusted with you, I might make you wear that rubberband to the restaurant later,” she said, tossing her long blonde hair. He knew he was going to get spanked and that he was not going to cum.
“Three spankings for you today, Martin, three! One with the hand, one with the rod, and one with the brush. Now get over my lap.”
The rubber band tightly in place, Martin complied, his rigid but useless organ sliding between the softness of Tandy’s thighs.
Tandy rubbed his bottom and cooed, “Such a tender little bottom. Why, oh, why can’t you behave?”
Staring at the carpet beneath him, hearing her deep intake of breath, feeling her body tense and flex as she raised her arm, he braced himself.
“Have you been a bad boy?”
“Yes, Miss Tandy, I have been a bad boy.”
Then the sharp sting of her hand was upon him.
Nobody Knows
Remember the picnic?
That is when you became my goddess, though you didn’t know. You were about the business of being a girl, while I was falling in love with you. And you didn’t know. I watched behind the safety of my sunglasses and fell in love with you. And you didn’t know. Deirdre didn’t know. Nobody knew.
Which is best, don’t you think? That I keep my love secret, even from you? That this filling of my heart and loins should be enough?
When I put Deidre to bed last night, I imagined she asked me if I loved her. I kissed her on the bridge of her nose and pushed the bangs from her forehead. “My beautiful wife,” I told her, “I will always love you.” I imagined her eyes were opened and clear. That the oxygen, the wheelchair, the small refrigerator of medicines weren’t there. That she smiled at me.
And I thank you for that, but you will never know.
miss mar
“I’m sending you away for a while. I don’t know what else to do.”
You’d heard Miss Margaret’s car pulling into the driveway, even as your mother started to cry. Sitting here now in the spare bedroom of her summer house, you’re waiting for Miss Margaret, wondering what she is going to do. She won’t break me, you think to yourself.
When the door finally opens, Miss Margaret is not alone. Two teenage girls, beautiful teenage girls, and some bulked-up guy–probably one of those weightlifters, you think– enter the room behind her.
“So this is the naughty boy,” the blonde says, “He doesn’t exactly look tough to me. What do you think, Barry?” She looks at the guy expectantly. He doesn’t answer her, but looks at you grinning. You don’t like that grin; there’s something menacing about it. And for the first time, you start getting a little nervous. Miss Margaret sits beside you on the bed. Miss Margaret’s voice hisses at your ear as she suddenly grabs your balls through your jeans.
“Do you know what Miss Margaret does with smart-ass college boys who don’t know how to behave?”
Before you can react, the redhead in the purple dress has pulled out a cord of rope from somewhere and you’re feeling a sharp pinch in your right shoulder muscle. You try to say something, but your words come out thick and slurred. Then everything goes dark.
***
You are swimming. No, it only feels like you are swimming, lead weight against your waking slumber, pushing you back. Forcing your eyelids against the heaviness you try to think, try to remember. Blurry shapes, movement. Something in front of your face.
“Open your mouth.”
The voice is deep, a man’s voice. Somebody is giggling. Something fleshy, bulbous is pushing against your dry lips. You want to lick them, moisten them, but don’t dare, because somewhere deep inside of you, you know what that something is.
“Rachael, why don’t you tell my nephew exactly what is expected of him.”
Miss Margaret’s throaty voice. The giggling again. One, no–two girls. You remember them, the blonde and the redhead. I need to get the hell out of here, you think. You try to move, feel the tight restraints across your chest and arms, your hips, your spread legs. Something cold, cold metal between your legs. The blonde is looming above you, sneering wickedly. “You feel this,” she asks, reaching between your legs, and you feel the the smooth, cool band of metal tightening around your testicles. She smiles as you moan in pain.
“Now here’s the deal, college boy,” Rachael purrs, pushing your bangs back with her free hand, then cupping your face. The redhead is there now, reaching for your cock and beginning to stroke it as Rachael wraps her free hand around the dick bobbing against your cheek. “You are going to suck my boyfriend’s big, fat dick and you are going to swallow his load.” She moves the head of the cock, a slick bubble of precum teetering from its slit, down the bridge of your nose, across your upper lip. You try to turn your head, but her fingers tighten around your chin as she smears the precum across your tightly pressed lips.
“Either you open up and take it like a good boy, or I’ll tighten this so quick you just might lose these balls.”
She gives the metal device a quick turn. “I’m not kidding.”
Your mouth opens in a groan as Rachael slides the head of Barry’s cock onto your tongue.
“Does our college boy dick-eater have a stiffie, Marla?”
As Rachael forces the prick into the back of your mouth, you hear the blonde and Miss Margaret laughing.
“He’s as hard as a fucking rock.”
And you know she’s right, because despite the shame, despite everything, you are hotter than you’ve ever been.
“That’s a good boy,” you hear Miss Margaret say as you start sucking the dick in earnest.” Now swallow that big load. And when you do, Marla will let you cum. Won’t you dear?”
And you do.
Miss Danielle
“Take it out.”
He had to obey. She was his owner after all. Disobedience was not an option. She’d made that perfectly clear when he’d signed the slave papers.
“You like that thing way too much. It makes you stupid. Do you know that?”
“Yes, Miss Danielle.”
“When was the last time I let you relieve yourself?”
“Three months, Miss Danielle.”
“Go ahead and play with it, for goodness sake. I know you want to. It’s already dripping.”
She watched, bemused, as he tried not to squirm or groan, as he tried to refrain from stroking too quickly. “How badly,” she purred, “do you want that orgasm?”
“Oh, Miss Danielle, I want it so badly. I would do anything, Miss Danielle.”
“Be careful with your words, beloved slave,” she ran her long nails down his arm, then over across his left nipple. He shivered. There was something about her today, something calculating and sinister. It both excited and frightened him.
“I’m considering castration.”
“Oh, please, Miss Danielle”
“Please, what? See what I mean? That it makes you stupid? Speak clearly. Please castrate you or please do not castrate you? What are you trying to say?.”
But he was in the throws of orgasm, his fluid gushing, his member jerking, tears pouring down his face.
“Never mind. You just told me.”
Ten
- Smelling the lilac print panties and jerking off. They were your sister’s.
- The crack whore you fucked every night for two weeks. In your mother’s bed. You didn’t even bother to change the sheets before she came home from vacation.
- The Dominatrix you saw in Phoenix. She fucked your ass. So did her dog.
- How many times have you beat off thinking about your wife’s friend? Her sister? Her mother? Her colleague?
- The guy you sucked off at the rest stop.
- The girl you fucked in the ass. Then you made her suck your cock. She was crying the entire time, but she loved you and did it. And you didn’t care.
- Your daughter’s friends. A little young for you, eh? But then, nobody but you knows what you’re thinking about when you fuck your wife…do they?
- Bet you’ve never told anyone about the threesome in Mexico and everything they put up your ass that night.
- The gangbang after the football game when you were a senior. You went last–after four of your buddies. Why did you go down on her before you fucked her? Did you like the taste of all that spooge mixed together?
- The time you wore your wife’s panties to work under your Dockers.
everytime i see you
i remember
the smell of the hair on your arms, your chest
the way you called me baby
over and over
whispering it:
into my ear
through my hair
against the curve of my hip, the flesh of my thigh
and how it made me crazy hot
even though i don’t like being called that
i think about how soft your lips were
on my mouth, and then my clit
the way you looked in my eyes when you fucked me
how i came so hard i got a stitch in my side
everytime i see you
i remember
Will You Tell Her?
You are quiet, standing still behind the stall door. Your heart–thud, thud, thud–is slamming against your rib cage, because you think you might really do it this time.
Will you tell her? If you do it, will you? You don’t know, you’re not sure. Because if you do it, all bets are off, everything changes.
You’ve talked with her about it time and again. She’s always laughed, told you that you didn’t have the balls. You’ve laughed with her, telling her that she’s probably right, that she knows you too well. She’s always seemed rather fond of you, and you like that. You want to believe that you mean more to her than the other guys.
The outer door opens. The sound of music, voices, laughter. Dying off as the door slowly swings shut. A crisp swoosh when it meets the doorjamb, then silence. The click of a lock being turned. Footsteps.
“Are you in here? Where are you?”
His voice is deep, husky. It thrills you.
And then he is opening the stall door. You swallow, your mouth is so dry. But you are lowering yourself to your knees. Oh yes, you’re going to do it this time.
***
Hi.
Well, hello, baby. Where have you been? I waited for your call last night. I missed you.
I, um, I was out. A friend was having a party, so I went, ended up staying late.
Did you have fun?
Michelle, I’ve got something to tell you.
Yeah? You can tell me anything, you know that.
I did it. I really did it.
Did what? Oh my fucking god! You mean….?
I mean I sucked a cock last night. I did it for real.
Damn! Well, did you like it? Was it as good as our fantasies?
Well, Michelle, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’ve been a doll. I really like you.
But?
Well, the thing is, he’s coming over in a little bit. And, well....
Yes? Well, what?
I told the service before they connected us to cancel my account, that this is my last–
Cancel your account? What the fuck?
Michelle, this phone sex costs a lot. And this thing that is happening. It’s hot.
Fuck you!
I wanna see where it goes.
You’re a bastard.
Try to understand, Michelle, I have to pay him, and I can’t afford you both.
FUCKING FAG!
…….click
Hello? Hello? Michelle? FUCKING WHORE!
when i look at you
when i look at you
mostly, i know you love me
and mostly, that’s enough.
but i can’t see you now
and i’m not so sure anymore
