Prefaced by the modern world of technology and the cult of celebrity that’s seemingly been with us forever, I find my sexual fantasies have become increasingly elaborate dystopian dream worlds instead of being simple bursts of horny fun.
Take the kind of waifish celebrity women I like, who have the screen gloss and unobtainable air around them. I imagine them taking on a detached, alien aspect, like the persona we see at a distance through screens and magazines.
Now, having imagined them taking on a form more than human, I imagine them imprisoning me and making me something less than human. As if I’m a human sacrifice to them, with everything about me and my entire life stripped away. Existence as an abstractly fetishistic worship to them. Existence as an imprint of someone else. Massive scenarios I can constantly expand on since they exist somewhere just outside of reality.
Of course these fantasies of elaborate masochism are nothing new. For example, there’s a Japanese book I’ve never been able to track down called Yapoo : The Human Cattle. From what I can gather, it concerns a miniature dehumanized race called the Yapoos who enter a religious sadomasochistic fervor by becoming the servants of their white human overloads. Strip the racial satire and overtly sci-fi elements and you have something resembling what I’m getting at. There are definitely similar ideas in Yukio Mishima’s autobiographical Confessions of a Maskand J.G. Ballard’s Atrocity Exhibition.
Whilst I find positives in how creative and bizarre these fantasies can be, I also feel a bit unsettled by how abnormal and obsessive it all might seem. It also feels like deep-set unhappiness and suicidal ideation, mixed with the libido that booze gives back when depression takes it away.
I don’t feel that visiting a dominatrix or being in a sadomasochistic relationship with someone would help much because of how the artifice of celebrity has become such a central part to it. What do I do?
I don’t have a degree in psychology. I don’t work out of an earth-toned office complete with a mahogany desk and a Crate & Barrel chaise lounge for my rotating cast of helpless patients. I didn’t drop $500 on potted palms to add life to my waiting room. I didn’t spend my twenties asking patients, “And how did that make you feel?”
However, I play professional every week with this column and I think I’ve become a decent poser. All a therapist really does is listen carefully, ask the right questions and pepper in just enough sage advice so that the patient comes to their own conclusions about their so-called problems. One read of this email you sent me and I can already tell you are more self-aware (and well read) than most.
I don’t think these fantasies are that fucked up. You should sell the movie rights ASAP. Female dominance and sci-fi are all the rage right now.
Is this fantasy the only thing that works when you masturbate? Do you think about this when you are having sex with another person? Is the alien waif running through your head as someone else’s lips run down your dick? I once interviewed this transgender porn star who had a baby fetish. She loved wearing diapers, wetting herself and sleeping in a crib. She explained the difference between a kink and a fetish. “A kink is a thrill, but a fetish is a must,” she said.
If these fantasies are a must, then you have yourself the world’s most specific fetish. Unlike putting on a baby bonnet and some Depends, your fantasy can’t be recreated in this hemisphere. Besides, it feels much less sexual to me than it does about wanting to disappear.
What is going on? Is this elaborate escape into an unobtainable reality your heroin? Your gambling problem? Your bulimia?
“It also feels like deep-set unhappiness and suicidal ideation, mixed with the libido that booze gives back when depression takes it away.” Read this sentence you wrote me. Now, read it again. In your entire email, this is what stands out. Addictions and obsessions are unhealthy reactions to overwhelming emotions that feel beyond our control. Only you can figure out what is really making you miserable. Sometimes a professional with an actual degree can help.
We are all unhappy in some capacity. It’s part of being human. Fantasies are concerning when they aim to harm people. Until one crosses the line into reality and an innocent bystander ends up in a body bag, fantasies are just a thought that can be extinguished once understood. Looking inward is emotionally exhausting work, but you have to figure out the why. I worry that the only person you seek to hurt is yourself.
Maybe I’m way off. What the fuck do I know? (Diddly squat.) But what I do know is that I want you to like yourself and be happy, even if it’s only 75 percent of the time. (Anything above 50 percent means you are winning.) Go talk to a professional. This poser needs to read some more textbooks before I open my office door.
• Send Mish your own sex questions and queries to [email protected]
