When I was a teen I used to jerk off thinking about Keanu Reeves. It was back when The Matrix came out and Neo was The One that made me cum. Something about the trench coat, the pale skin and the serious expression did it for me. Then when The Matrix Reloaded came out, watching Trinity and Neo together was even hotter, especially because she wore all of that skin tight leather. My fantasies involved some kind of clandestine meeting with Neo where I was born off via his powers of flight to Zion for an all-night fuck fest.

Then there was Pierce Brosnan fresh from his final stint as 007 in Die Another Day. His older, rougher, debonaire style made me hot. Plus the accent. I wanted to be his Halle Barry, lying on a bed full of diamonds, fucking every which way to ensure that by the end of it my twat would be full of buried treasure.

Next up was Angelina Jolie in Original Sin, a temptress who had an unapologetic and insatiable appetite for sex and men. I wanted to be her and I wanted to fuck her. Hard and fast. In a Cuban hacienda or a cheap, skeazy brothel. There was an especially gush-worthy scene where her former lover and con artist companion hunts her down, subdues her on a staircase and finger fucks her in his lap. You can’t really see it because his hand is obscured by a ridiculous number of petticoat layers but judging by the way his hand burrows deep into the fabric and the expression on her face you can tell what’s going down. At first she resists, but then slowly, deliciously, she gives in, and the fact that you can’t see it makes it even hotter.

It’s interesting, looking back on those masturbation fantasies to think about why they were so cream-in-your-jeans hot at the time, and the types of memories associated with them. The characters and scenarios that I play in my head while I’m flicking my clit change with the seasons, with partners, with new kinks, and with my mood. They are evolving, static and unpredictable. But some stand out because they mark the progression of my sexual identity, of my sexual appetites, and of my knowledge of my own body and pleasure.

Keanu no longer makes my clit throb, but I know that back then that it was the mystery and the quiet strength in that character that turned me on. Also the nerd factor pretty much nailed it for me, because I was big into sci-fi obsessed guys at the time and that hasn’t changed.

As for Angelina, I felt my first bisexual stirrings when I realized that that woman is pure, unadulterated sex. And something about her aggressive, shameless pursuit of pleasure struck a chord with me because it mirrored my own. I was seeing my first cinematic example of a woman with a high libido exercising her sexual autonomy. Also, she liked to be subdued and dominated. And her tantalizing struggle with that need got me off because I needed it too.

Fantasies tend to be the things that we rarely discuss outside of the bedroom with our partner(s), mostly because they reveal vivid, sometimes shame-inducing truths about our kinks and desires. Those hot triggers that make us blush and squirm. And whether we own them or feel embarrassed by them, they are markers on the roadmaps of our sexual journeys. That’s what makes them so valuable and telling. They show us where we’ve been, where we are and sometimes even where we’re going. But the best thing about fantasies is no matter how we get there, they’ll always make us cum.


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