I’m a lazy writer. Often times ideas evoke in my mind only to disappear partially or completely in the next few days. But I believe, what remains is the one that matters, the rest all is chaff. Like dirt settled on an old furniture, which gets swiped by a rugged cloth. I believe in memories which stand the test of time. Today, I’m picking one such memory of a day when I sexually fantasized about my partner as I saw him work out in a gym. And the mental script of that fantasy left me stumped.

On that day I and partner went as usual to work out together. He is into weights and I’m a light treadmill runner. There is a giant walled mirror in front of the treadmill, that gives a 360 degree view of the gym. That day, as I ran on the treadmill, I caught sight in the mirror, of my partner who was lifting weights from behind. Oh my goodness! My heart stopped for a second.

The partner was all soaked up in sweat as he skipped for half an hour before. Because of the intense heat generated in his body from that workout, he had to open his t-shirt. What remained after that t-shirt was undone, was an insanely sexy looking man in a black vest, navy joggers, with his headphone wires running deep somewhere near his torso. All soaked up in hot, warm sweat that can set the temperature of a woman soaring and her vaginal petals quivering. Dribbles of sweat pearls swooned on his ripped muscular arms like the good old song of Eminem.

The sweat pearls gave his jacked muscles a nut-brown sheen, I had never seen before. I lowered the speed of the treadmill from 10 to 6 to ogle at him in detail. I felt a sensation down there and my fingers trembled as they struggled to avoid slipping from the armrest of the treadmill I ran on. My thirsty eyes consumed every minute detail starting from his shoulder to his bicep curls up to his stiff wrist. In between the partner lifted his black vest to wipe sweat off from his face and that moment flashed his bare abdominal abs.

In that moment, in that imagination…

I felt like a tigress, an erotic slaughterer wanting to eat him up. I wanted to cut his body into pieces and eat with my fingers his calves, quads, buttocks, chest, triceps, and biceps, all served on a large platter, smoking hot with melted butter. The hunger was momentous. I don’t know where has this hunger been, all these months and years. In a moment it erupted like a dormant volcano, poked by the throbbing beats of Punjabi music mashup that played at the loudest volume.

My lips were part open in awe of the black baba ji locket that dangled up and about as he did push ups. It seemed my ravenous, blood gorged heart got stuck on that locket and that locket started pulling me in its direction. My hands trembled as they feebly clasped the armrests of treadmill. My stare followed him where he went. I lusted in that erotic imagination till 15 minutes of treadmill running got completed. I lost count of time, so engrossed I was in consuming his body.

It was an aha! Experience for me. Just the night before, I shooed him off as he wanted to make love to me. Not tonight! I’m too tired is my signature statement. But my erotic stillness reversed in that gym. Probably because my share of workout boosted my hormones; activated my brain and the outdoor location away from the boring bedroom in which we sleep every night after a stressful day. 

Indeed, this is what our sexual fantasies do to us.

In earlier times, fantasies were thought of as fodder for those deprived of sex. The poor man’s mental masturbation. But no more. In current times, the rich imaginations of our erotic mind can be just the right stimulant to spice up our dead erotic life. The ability to “do anything” in our imagination is a pure expression of individual freedom. You can be most horny, screaming orgasm, kinky, experimental, cowboy or a cowgirl in your fantasies. By giving us an occasional escape from our otherwise dull sexual relationship, our fantasies act as a powerful booster shot to bring the X back in sex. Like it happened with me that day. I found a renewed attractiveness in my partner post that mental alchemy.

Esther Perel states:

‘Fantasies expresses the problem and provides the solution. It is a fervid space where our inhibiting fear is transformed into brazenness. If we feel insecure and unattractive, in our fantasies we are irresistible. If we are a withholding woman, in fantasy we are insatiable. If we fear aggression, in our internal reveries we can feel powerful without worrying that we might hurt the other. If we don’t dare ask, in our erotic imaginings, the other knows our needs even before we do. Fantasies are an ingenious way our creative mind overcomes all sorts of conflicts around desire and intimacy.’

In real life, I dare tell my partner about my wants and desires. Not that he is defiant but I simply hesitate too much. Most of us are schooled in silence about sex, where it’s a source of shame for a public discussion. Resulting discomfort is so much that we remain tight-lipped and hesitant about our sexual desires with even our partners. This includes me.

But in my fantasy I turn the opposite. I imagine becoming flirty like a high class courtesan. I like to be offered. I like to be solicited from a band of men standing in a row with cash in their hands in a bustling street with red and yellow neon lights and stench of beer. Doesn’t mean that I become one. It’s a pure imagination of my erotic mind. My fantasy is a safe psychological space; a dense wild sanctuary of mind, where I become liberated from all chains of morality and code; from all shoals of anxiety, guilt, and inhibition. I become free. And this free mental wandering works wonders for my real life. Like a much needed kit-kat break from the usual and boring.