“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.