Agony aunt Susan Quilliam reveals how 25,000 letters a year have taught her that sexual fantasies – however bizarre – are the most natural thing in the world.
I tear open the envelope and take out the thick sheaf of handwritten pages. Leaf through. Read sentences here and there. “Four men… bed strewn with roses… tied down… make me touch myself… take me in every orifice… screaming with pleasure… they kiss me and leave…” I refold the pages. Put them back in the envelope. Then file them, along with the numerous similar sheaves of paper, under F for Fantasy…
I’m an agony aunt. I write a magazine advice page, present a radio agony hour, and have six online columns. Every year, on average, I receive 25,000 letters from my readers. And every year a surprising number of these letters focus on just one topic; fantasies. Fantasies about the celebrity on the TV, the work experience student, the security guard at the supermarket. Fantasies about doing it over the boss’s desk, in a phone box, in the middle of a traffic roundabout. Fantasies about working your way through the Ssh! sex toy catalogue, having anal sex while gagged and blindfolded, seducing the entire cast of Chicago (that final one’s mine, by the way!)
None of this surprises me. Sure, when I first started, I had to grit my teeth a little (the ones involving Alsatians are always ‘interesting’), but now I’ve seen everything and am truly unshockable. Which is what my readers need me to be. They usually confess their fantasies because they want permission, sometimes even forgiveness. They want to know fantasising doesn’t make them weird (if it does, as I always say, then I am too), or perverted (ditto).
Typically I reassure. Women who fantasise have richer, fuller sex lives and deeper, stronger relationships; particularly if they can share their fantasies with their partners. I would now never take a lover in whom I couldn’t confide; I want a man who’ll be unthreatened by my dreams.
Equally, I reassure my readers that their fantasies do not mean they’re evil, or – a much worse sin in our society – weak. A fantasy about having a sex slave, or about being one, doesn’t mean you are cruel, or a victim. It may mean you currently need to feel more in control of life, or to let go of everyday responsibilities. Fantasy is about writing your own script: no critics, no blame, just ecstasy.
What I have learned, then, is (to misquote Walt Disney), “if you can dream it, you can masturbate about it”. Only in two respects am I wary. First, if you’re in a failing relationship, then regard fantasies about available and interested men as a wake-up call. However bad you’re feeling about your partner, imagining sex on the back of a BMW 650 with Orlando Bloom (yes, I admit it, another of mine), does not pose a serious threat. But, if you’re married or long-term attached, imagining sex on your own couch with that guy from accounts who just asked you for a drink may mean you need to ring Relate.
Second, don’t believe that turning fantasy into reality will always work. One of the most typical letters I receive begins, “We fantasised about a threesome with my best friend…” and usually ends, “Now I hate them both”. Acting something out in the privacy of your own bedroom is an unbelievable act of intimacy. Acting it out in the real world – and thinking that it’s going to be as it was in your dreams – is often a disaster.
But enough doom and gloom. The infinitely more positive truth is that almost all of us fantasise regularly, enthusiastically and with imagination. When we’re single, it delights. When we’re in relationships, it also bonds. If you fantasise, then join me – and my 25,000 readers!
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