Diary of a Gay Boy: What’s Your Fantasy Baby?

I still remember my first pornographic video. I was fourteen, and
while I had seen plenty of still photos of men having sex,
masturbating, and indulging in all sorts of erotic pleasure, I still
lacked that integral aspect: putting it all in motion. The first film
was perhaps the worst porn I had ever seen. Two hunky blonds in a
studio locker room (you could actually see where the set ended and the
warehouse began), thrusting unconvincingly with a voiceover of heavy
grunts and breathing. But to my virginal teenage eyes, it was pure
ambrosia. The next week, I went to gym class with an extra spring in
my step. Contrary to all fact, I was convinced that I would open the
door to find the entire hockey team engaging in nonchalant sex. They
would motion to me to come over and join in, and in a fit of ecstasy,
my awkward pubescent body would be lifted to the highest plane of
existential pleasure known to both man- and woman-kind. What I found
instead were moldy floor tiles, dried blood, and three ominous looking
guys just waiting to beat my scrawny baby-gay body.
Fast forward four years, hundreds of porn videos, and even a few hook
ups with hetero-identified athletes, and you find me moving into my
college dorm room.

Can’t you wait for all those big hunky guys?? my friend asked coyly
during our goodbye.
“Life is not a porn video,” I replied, an air of self righteousness
seething from my lips.
“I know, but a boy’s gotta dream!”

I began to wonder, what if my floor actually is a bastion of sex.
Yes, I was falling directly into the trap I’ve always feared, that of
blatant homo-optimism. I didn’t take long for me to realize my folly.
My floor mates are far more interested in bodily functions and drunk
girls than any gay boy seething with sexual tension. ?Young, dumb,
and full cum? may describe them, but at a school with a 60:40 ratio of
women to men, they lack the desperate quality of which such fantasies
rest. So yet again, I had debunked the popularized myth, and been
left satisfied that my true desires lay beyond the typical
hetero-centric narrative. In fact, I often dream of sex in a library
or museum, surrounded by great art and literature. Clearly I was
destined for a classist and academic life narrative.
Recently, I received a phone call from the friend who had first
planted the idea of sex at my dorm.

“So, dish the gossip,” he ordered.
I sighed. How could I break his poor heart and inform him that the
heterosexual fantasy was simply more complex. It did get me thinking
however, in the realm of sexual desires, where do truth and
phantasmagoria intersect?
As any dutiful college student would, I began to do my research.
?Acting Out,? a sexual liberation era experimental documentary
explores this very question. Through interviews with average New
Yorkers, the filmmakers sought to help individuals fulfill their
fantasies with a little help of actors and elaborate Hollywood sets.
Outfitting a suburban New York manor, they expertly recreated
fantasies both bizarre and mundane. One woman dreamed of a foursome
with football players. Another dreamt of a complicated narrative
involving a grieving bride whom he chases, kills, and then wears the
dress of. Some felt satisfied and electrified by the experience
(particularly the altho-centric woman), while others were left
mystified, confused, angry, or unfulfilled. One man, in particular,
who had imagined an American colonial scene involving humiliation of
sinners, felt so upset he nearly stormed out mid-scene. A complex
conclusion emerged: sometimes fantasies are in fact what we bargained
for, while other times, they are best left to mental exercise during
masturbation. Upon further inquiry, utilizing everything from
Craigslist to dominant characterizations in pornography, I came to my
own realization: fantasies are beautiful, exciting, titillating, and
dramatic in their unattainability. While fulfillment may be the
ultimate, it is often the mere realization that exists that is most
exciting.
My dreams of a library fuck are enthralling, but I wonder what my
response would be if I ever did experience it. Would the threat of
banishment be too much, or would it provide the rush I so desire? I
decided I?d rather not find out. Instead, I relish the mental image,
for it is the hunt that I find more exciting than the act. But by all
means do I support those who seek actualization. Sex-positivists must
encourage the fantasy, no matter how outlandish, for it is the drive
that keeps humans sane. To regulate ourselves to Puritan idealism of
sexuality can really only lead to depression. Rather, I encourage
individuals to explore, to expedite, and to imagine the possibilities.
The world is our oyster, and as long as sexual-beings are aware of
the complexity of orgasmic satisfaction, then we must, in a sense, go
westward to the land of possibility. American narratives are filled
with ideas of independence and exploration. While Lewis and Clark may
not have approved, it is their spirit that should drive sexual beings
to satisfaction. With that said, realism must be heeded, and failure
must be recognized as a potential outcome. But we mustn?t let it get
us down. Rather, we must accept this fact as part of the journey, and
create safety nets for when we do stumble.
And thus, I leave with one conclusion: sexual fantasy is what drives
us, and by all means, must be nurtured as long as ones sexual
fulfillment is not done at the expense of another?s life or liberty.

*****

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