Dear Sweet & Low,
Whenever I fantasize about a woman, my go-to scenario often involves her being weak or limp. Regardless of how she ended up in that state, the common thread for me seems to be her inability to resist. She could be really exhausted, hypnotized, drugged… it doesn’t matter. Totally unconscious is a turn-on for a while, but I really get off when she is barely conscious because then I get to see and hear her confusion or feeble attempts to make some sense of what’s going on. Deep down, my fantasy women want to play with me too, even if they don’t realize it until they are in a weakened state.
There is never any blood or injuries of any kind in my mind. It is more cartoonish, like from the old Batman or Wonder Woman TV series. I remember as a kid getting a rise out of Lynda Carter or Catwoman getting gassed or knocked out in some fashion. I also have vague recollections of re-enacting fake fights in the shower (where I would play both sides) and getting aroused when I knocked myself out. This affection for hot women getting knocked out carried into my young adulthood with GLOW, WWE Divas, and the like.
How do I explain to my partner that this kind of sleepy limp play is arousing to me but has nothing to do with wanting to hurt or rape someone? I can totally understand why this would seem scary, or at least weird, to a woman.
Mr. Luster, your scenario sounds fun! But then, give me anything remotely icky or twisted, I’m on it like strings on a puppet. I’ve read about sleepy play, toyed around with it, and like to experience it (usually when I can’t get my brain to shut down at night and foreplay sounds like more work) because it resonates with a fantasy I’ve had since I was a kid. That is not to say if a partner came to me and explained that he wanted me to pretend I was drugged and semi-unconscious, I wouldn’t have some questions. I’d try hard to phrase those questions in a non-judgmental way, but I wouldd be looking for his body language, along with his words, to assure me he isn’t:
- Tired of me talking incessantly about our “relationship.”
- Exhausted by my weird fluctuations in mood and horniness.
- Wanting to explore his dark side without interference.
- Trying to get me to play in a way I don’t want to.
You see what I did there? I just made my lover’s fantasy all about insecurities I have. It sounds like I am talking about his psychology, but I’m not. It’s deflection. I am thinking, Why does he want this? Is it something I can give? Am I not giving enough? Am I capable of giving more? And perhaps the trickiest to figure out, If I give him what he wants, will that open the door for other requests I can’t handle?
This is what we do when we don’t understand a fantasy. It is natural to make it about ourselves when a request is made, and we aren’t sure if we are ready to be completely vulnerable. Your fantasy, however layered with innocence from childhood, is all about a level of intimacy that most people feel they need to protect themselves against, as it might be used to hurt them.
I grew up feeling safe and secure, if not a little bored, in a sheltered environment. This gave my imagination plenty of time to wander and to invent scenarios where there was danger, mysteries to solve, and more than a fair share of dark, subversive characters who didn’t follow the rules. In the summers of my prepubescent youth, my sister and I would go swimming in my aunt’s backyard pool and play for hours. I’m a good swimmer. I know how to hold my breath and not panic. I would go to the deep end, pretend a watery underlord captured me, dragged me into the depths of his dark kingdom, and enslaved me. While I didn’t envision him raping me—I didn’t know what a penis looked like, or care for that matter—there was eroticism running through the fantasy. It made me tingly. I would struggle to the surface, enough to take a deep breath, and be pulled down again. It never crossed my mind that the underlord wanted to hurt me. His power was omnipotent, patient, and diabolical, but that was okay, because I was wanted. A magical creature who could live underwater chose me as his victim. As many times as I was captured, I escaped. The cycle of innocence, exposure to sexual dominance, and escape was delicious. There’s something to that.
As a kid, I was told not to talk to strangers and never to accept food or drink from people I didn’t know. There were men that were BAD, women that were BAD. If I ever saw these human monsters, I’m not sure I would know them. All I knew was that they existed. You would think there’d be some telltale sign: horns, rotted teeth, purple skin and tentacles. Every demon or devil I’ve seen in magical or religious lore is descriptively ugly, twisted, putrid, and menacing. They promise pain, pain, and more pain. If this isn’t what you want to enact, don’t waste your time worrying about being creepy.
The fantasy you describe doesn’t feel dirty, wrong, or shady, but it could come across as all of those things if you’re not confident about what they mean to you and your significant other. You make a point of wanting the woman to want this kind of treatment. I doubt you would get off on it if she felt bad about herself in any way, before, during, or after the scene. It’s not uncommon for women to fantasize about wanting to play the victim. If they’re exhausted, emotionally depleted, and grew up in a household where the man was the dominant, they may want to be sexually manipulated IN THEIR MINDS, where they are safe and their lover knows all the right buttons to push. With no decisions to make, no instructions to give, they would love to get rid of the “work” part of the foreplay entirely. If I want to relinquish control and feel great, but I have a list of excuses the size of my arm as to why I’m not worthy of this pleasure, I will fantasize like crazy about someone who can yank me out of daily routine. Half the fun comes from it being against my will. If I am half-asleep, or so tired I can’t think about all I must do to reinforce my image of a good woman, my attention isn’t splintered between mother, daughter, boss, maid, and chef. Therefore, I can let it happen, and I’m not guilty for slacking.
There is conflict between what we desire and how we want to be seen. In this day and age, if a woman were to say, I wish a man would drug me and have his wicked way with me, it would not be well-received. The feminists may suggest this is the programming of the patriarchy, and they are using the exploitation of power, drugs, and erotic domination as yet another thumb to press a woman into the helpless world of the slave. I would agree, if it weren’t a fantasy that was being confused with reality. To have a fantasy does not mean one wishes to enact it scene by scene—quite the opposite.
So what happens when we are drugged? Since a large portion of recreational drug use* is about exploration and the desire for altered states of mind, your fantasy woman represents a chunk of the feminine that appears unavailable to you: softness, relaxation, passivity, non-resistance, and the ability to experience pleasure without the need for consent. Your partner may be pressed for time or stressed about whatever we tend to stress about: work, the kids, aging, sexiness or lack thereof. This accumulation of anxiety pretty much guarantees a tough transition into utter relaxation, deep breathing, and the trust needed to let her lover stroke, poke, examine, explore, please, and tease her during love-making. It’s not uncommon to start down the path of pleasure, only to hit a wall of overanalysis that triggers the defenses to go up. Then it is doubly hard to get back into being present. So much for sexy time.
Depending on how you tell her, this could get weird fast. So don’t tell her the fantasy, and don’t enact it without her consent. I love the idea of being seduced from sleep into the erotic realm, but if I had a long day and need my sleep, no matter how good it feels, my mind may take umbrage. Then I will reject my lover and his attempts to be intimate, even though his wish is to provide pleasure and relaxation! We want the same thing, but we’re on totally different wavelengths.
Instead, here’s how to sprinkle the fantasy into the play. Ask her to set aside an hour of time for HER. Run her a bath. Turn on a playlist of spa music. Light some candles. Deliver a glass of wine or other refreshment. Then leave her the fuck alone for that hour. Once she’s out, ask if you can massage her. Everything you do at this point is to help her get into deeper states of relaxation. Don’t wander into the erogenous zones. If she likes the massage, ask if she would like anything else tended to. If not, leave her be and go reflect on how it felt when she was limp, relaxed, and open. Make this be enough, because it is. You just got the majority of your fantasy.
She does want to play with you, and it is easier to be open to pleasure in a “weakened” state, particularly since the conversation is all about how a female gets to stand up to her abusers. Fuck it if this isn’t more pressure and anxiety to be on the lookout for BAD men. But that doesn’t mean we don’t need the good men to remind us they are good men. A man who is patient, kind, and thoughtful, who doesn’t need to rush toward his own pleasure and can lay back knowing the pleasure will come to him…that’s sexy as fuck. You must BE that man before you can have the play you crave.
Developing a practice where you become a center of relaxation is HUGE. The more relaxed she gets without having to do anything in return, the more she will allow herself the space for gratitude and playfulness. Sometimes all it takes is a chance to remember how good the world looks and feels when she takes time off the gerbil wheel.
If she does want her lovely parts tended to, then it’s light, slow caresses, building relaxation. Remind her to breathe deep, let her muscles melt into the sheets, and put her attention on how good it feels to be tended to.
If the engine is humming and ready to race, don’t jump on that trampoline like you’re prepping for the Olympics. It’s smooth sailing. If she starts to tense up, back off until she’s relaxed again and start over. A common misconception is that there needs to be tension to build towards climax. Nonsense. There are muscles contracting and expanding and energy flowing. There can be aggressive movements in rougher sex, but this isn’t about that. Once again, it is the opposite. There’s no race to any finish line. Pleasure doesn’t live in a box. It is a wild horse. It needs mountains, pastures, and unlimited space to run and frolic.
If she really enjoyed relinquishing her worries and tension— this could take anywhere from a couple of days to several months ,depending on your communication and dedication to go with the flow—take her on an exploration of your childhood. Find the Batman and Wonder Woman clips. Tell her how they made you feel. Tell her she reminds you of Wonder Woman; she is that cool. She can connect the dots in her own time, in her own way.
Stuff will come up: body anxieties, pain, shame, fear, you name it. Maybe you want a woman who is limp because she can’t see you, your flaws, your anxieties, your broken parts. If she can’t see them, maybe they won’t exist, and you will feel free to be the lover you want to be. Once again, it takes practice, but our minds are so powerful. We want to be relaxed. We want to be submissive to those we trust. We want to be dominant over those we love. We want to play every hero, villain, victim, rescuer, and sidekick. We want to connect.
If you’re thinking, WHOA, I don’t know if my fantasy is worth the effort, then I’m here to tell you, IT IS. It’s worth it. You are worth it. She is worth it. It’s easy to jump online and find sleepy/limp porn. It’s easy to not talk about fantasies that are hard to explain. It’s easy to let the fear of being seen as weird, wrong, or silly stop you from creating erotic masterpieces with someone else. It’s easy to waste time and vitality. So don’t do it. Do the hard stuff. Eventually, it won’t be hard. Slowly but surely, the joy of those childhood moments will grow stronger than the fear of rejection. That energy will flavor everything you do and say. It’s a very small pebble thrown into the pond of your relationship, and the ripples have the potential of creating a Paradise you get to live.