SAS: Who Dares Wins kicks off a lot of filthy sex fantasies

Image by the awesome Stuart F Taylor

“Tell me a sexy story,” I asked him, and he thought for a full three seconds before saying:

“OK. Picture the scene: you’re wandering past a bar, and inside there’s a raucous group of guys out on the town for a stag do…”

Although the reality of the British Stag Do is often cunt-witheringly unsexy, there’s potential there that he recognises as something I may well enjoy. It’s not just the fact that there’s a large number of men, although naturally I am a fan of any situation in which I am the sole sexual outlet for a gang of eager guys. There’s something about the stag do specifically that flicks that switch.

It’s often taken as a given that straight blokes will be keen on cheerleading squads, women’s hockey teams, and all the rest of it. They want to see the cotton-panty-clad pillow fights and soapy shower scenes that definitely happen when women get together (and they do, I promise. Like, that is literally all me and my mates ever do when we get together. Pyjama-clad romping, excessive giggling and showing each other our fannies). Yet when I have, on occasion, mentioned my desire to be wined and dined and slapped and tickled by an entire university rugby team, men I am with have expressed some degree of surprise.

I am thinking about this a lot recently, because I have got very solidly into a brand new trashy reality-TV show called ‘SAS: Who Dares Wins’ and apparently my overtly sexual running commentary on the programme is somewhere between ‘dogged’ and ‘aggressive.’ Long story short: I want to fuck all the men who are in it, over and over, until their dicks are raw and they can barely muster a single drop of wrung-out spunk.

Machismo and all-male environments

This whole thing falls, I think, into the category of ‘fantasies which would fail in real life.’ Let’s consider, for a moment, that I am the last woman alive and the only other humans are a group of sexually frustrated men. Let us consider it for a while longer while I take a break to have a lovely wank about that.


In reality, this would probably turn into a nightmare scenario. Realistically I wouldn’t have the same kind of power that I have in my own head – the power to tell the guys to do (and, crucially, not do) whatever I wanted. What’s more, there’s something quite troubling, in real life, about enforced single-gender groups.

In my head, though, all-guy groups gives ample opportunity for all the things I want to see in my head. When I watch SAS: Who Dares Wins, I am not rooting for a particular individual to be able to fall backwards into cold water or complete a 10km run over hill and dale. No: I am rooting for all the guys to tumble into their bunks at night, exhausted and aching, balls throbbing gently with an idle desire to be emptied. I am rooting for one guy to reach his right hand out to the bunk next to him and grip tightly onto the next man’s dick. For the recipient of this generous late-night massage to reach to his right and do the same thing. For a group of sweating, exhausted men to have an unspoken yet explicitly eager agreement that at the end of a hard day they’ll daisy-chain in their bunks, and vigorously wank each other to a healthy climax.

On the stag do, I am thinking about the entire group passing me round like I’m a cross between a competition and a treat: just as they compete to see how many delicious Jägerbombs they can down, so they compete to see who can fuck me hardest in the cunt and mouth, and the groom-to-be gets an extra special shot (and the opportunity to come hot and hard in my ass).

This is all, naturally, hugely problematic for a whole host of reasons. On one hand I am fetishising the kind of gendered bullshit that I usually rage against, getting horny at the idea of men playing up to aggressive, competitive, macho stereotypes. On the other hand: sweaty gang bangs in which I’m the winner.

I could probably dissect this fantasy in minute detail (and maybe at some point I will), exploring exactly why this kind of thing turns me on, and offering an interpretation that follows similar lines to the interpretations of my more problematic submission fantasies: that exploring this stuff in your head bears little resemblance to things you want to happen in real life. In real life I’d love for a ‘stag do’ to be something that isn’t strictly limited by gender, or for SAS: Who Dares Wins to have women competing alongside the men (so far I’ve seen no reason not to include women, FYI). But just as no straight bloke I’ve fucked has ever wanted to hear the real truth about sleepovers (they usually involve more vomit than vagina), so right now I’m not keen to shatter the fantasy that’s in my head.

Guys wanking each other off in sparsely-furnished SAS dorm-rooms. Guys fucking me with running commentary to try and outdo their mates in nonchalance, exactly as they do in my dinner-party fantasy. Two men fucking hard in the showers, out of what they profess to be ‘necessity’ – the kind of guy/guy sex I imagine straight men having to prove to the other just how straight they are.

Men doing men and doing me and getting sweaty and hard and angry and feeling good things and bad things together.

Harnessing aggressive and competitive notions of machismo and – instead of challenging them, as I would want them to in real life – embracing the fantasy, acting up to whatever porn director lives in the centre of my brain, channeling this real-life horrorshow into a gritty, no-holds-barred fuckparty.


  • Thrasymachus says:

    Is it specifically the playing up to stereotypes that you are fetishising or is it the behaviour itself that is the fetish and it just happens to be part of the “macho” stereotype?

  • Paul says:

    GOTN , do you ever worry you will run out of fantasies? It’s great to open up the wank bank when needing some light self pleasuring relief as I often do but don’t you find a fantasy looses its edge once it has become a reality? Not that the reality is any less of a turn on and in some cases even better than the fantasy, the type you want to keep going back to for more. But more often than not I find that the fantasies that did get an airing in my mind now get left in the bottom of the bank as they are no longer just a fantasy and just don’t have the edge they used to….

  • I’ve never been to a stag do which has been exclusively for men…

    …you may or may not be pleased to hear. ☺️

    • Girl on the net says:

      I *am* pleased to hear – good that people are rejecting the whole ‘stag/hen must be rigidly single gender events’ thing. All-guy groups are great in my fantasies, but in real life it’s a shame. And from a selfish perspective it means I miss out on a bloody good piss-up when my male mates get married.

  • SpaceCaptainSmith says:

    This type of fantasy is not altogether new. These excerpts are from the 1859 poem ‘Goblin Market’, by Christina Rossetti:

    “Lashing their tails
    They trod and hustled her,
    Elbowed and jostled her,
    Clawed with their nails,
    Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
    Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
    Twitched her hair out by the roots,
    Stamped upon her tender feet,
    Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
    Against her mouth to make her eat.”

    “Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
    Coaxed and fought her,
    Bullied and besought her,
    Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
    Kicked and knocked her,
    Mauled and mocked her,
    Lizzie uttered not a word;
    Would not open lip from lip
    Lest they should cram a mouthful in;
    But laughed in heart to feel the drip
    Of juice that syruped all her face,
    And lodged in dimples of her chin,
    And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.”

    A children’s poem, allegedly! Man, people were *filthy* back then…

  • SpaceCaptainSmith says:

    Also: I had all-boy sleepovers as a teenager for which ‘Pyjama-clad romping, excessive giggling’ is an accurate description. I remember one where we got drunk on champagne, stayed up talking about wanking, and then shared a bed together. Teenage years are weird.

    Never knew anyone who admitted to partaking in a circle jerk though, or the infamous ‘soggy biscuit’…

  • Twiglet at hundred acres says:

    I hold and hide similar tensions. A declared and proud feminist (who hates gender stereotypes of any kind and believes in working alongside intersectionality and trans people in their lives to overcome the amount of nonsense on sex/gender in this world) but my fantasies usually undo all of it. My (over) thinking is that by messing up my ‘head rules and norms’ I can just be in the body and let go to enjoy it all…

  • Went to a hen night at Uni which ended up with us all using vibrators on each other. LOL.

    Have wondered what it might be like to have more than one man, but have never done it. I was too scared and too late now.

    Curious. How many have you had in a session? Anyway near a rugby team, a bridge match or a chess match like me? I suppose it could be worse – solitaire.

    • Girl on the net says:

      Haha, I like the way you phrase that – ‘rugby team’, ‘bridge match’ or ‘chess’ =D Sadly I’ve never managed more than two at once, although I should clarify that two at once was spectacular on at least one of the occasions I’ve done it, and is definitely nothing to be sniffed at. I think in an ideal world I’d love four, and then maybe a few extras ‘observing’ from the sidelines and occasionally tagging in. Not that I’ve thought about this in great detail or anything…

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