What would it take, I asked myself the other night, to make this happen? (I did make it happen once, with money; but next time, I want it to happen with women who want to make it happen for me.)
As I imagined actually conjuring a scenario like this, I noticed something about my fantasy – something so obvious, so banal, it almost isn’t worth writing: the fantasy has me at the center of it in a radical way. My being at the center of it is, in fact, the fantasy.
I imagined assembling a group of women for this purpose, and thought, “So what would those not fellating, or being gone down on or kissed by, me, be doing?” The answer is, they would, most likely, be masturbating for my visual pleasure, or else not yet present (or, in fact, not even yet extant – it’s almost as if they simply would be conjured for my pleasure). They wouldn’t be fooling around with one another, they wouldn’t be having sex with other men. They would be… well, they would be waiting their turn – to appear. The whole point of the evening for them, as for me, would be my pleasure.
In my thinking about gangbangs, I noted my fear of female desire, the extent to which I’m intimidated by, even terrified of, it. And in this fantasy (as in my dominance) I neutralize that danger by placing it entirely subordinate to my own desires. What these women want isn’t me, it’s what I want.