Where do our fantasies stem from? Our first sexual experience? Something someone talked about? Something we did? Something we read about?
I am from the world of books. I am lucky as this is where my darkest needs are sated. I can live out a desire safely in my mind. I can even put it to paper; as I have done with my book Hero.
 Vampires have done a revival. Only the ones of today are not nearly as dark as the one I fell in lust with. Today’s blood suckers no longer feast on young virgin women, but rats. They no longer take what they want at will. They have a conscience. I mean how unsexy is that? Bram Stoker got it right. Our darkest desires should take us out of our comfort zones, even into orbit, where we gasp for air that is not forthcoming. Fantasies should terrify otherwise what’s the point of one.
 Fantasies are safe places for our bodies to rest, but a dangerous world for our minds to inhabit. The cruelty of the original Dracula (please see concise historical write-up on Vlad the Impaler) is not particularly a genre of person we might jerk off to: but Count Dracula of Bram Stoker is another matter.
What of the Sultans during the Ottoman’s period? Images of gossamer clothing, sea breezes touching bodies and black eunuchs down on their knees. Harems and Sultans. Odalisques and slaves. Now, there’s another fantasy running wild; but again the reality is never so appetising, unless it’s in role-play of course.
Fantasies allow us to live lives we dare never enter. Some of us might actually get to live what I call a minor fantasy. These are ones that are possible within the sphere of reality: the threesome, the policeman, the priest (I’m still waiting for the priest, so if there is one out there please get in touch).
And then there are the very safe fantasies where the mind just doesn’t get a chance to roam into all its dark crevices – the ones about princes and movie stars – hardly fantasies – just dreams. Fantasies should be dark and should cause someone’s eyebrows to rise in the telling of them. They should even make some scarper in the wishing to live one out.
To go where you are afraid to tread (but wish experience, some excitement beyond an orgasm) we have the mastery of role-play to thank. Within its scripted restrictions we have a chance to live without becoming the undead; or excommunicated by the Catholic Church (although I’m willing to go to hell for the priest fantasy). As we settle down to read a book and become one with the protagonist it is not difficult to invite your partner to play out the role of the other, and live in flesh the stirrings of what you have read in words.

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