When I was about 12, I had a recurrent fantasy that I focused on as I walked home from the school bus stop. Actually, it's only in retrospect that can I refer to it as a fantasy. At the time, I was deluded enough not only to believe that I had a pretty good shot at it, but that it was inevitable.
The inevitability was that one day when I was walking home from the bus stop, Rod Stewart would land his private jet on the street, slide the door open, greet me with a glass of champagne, signal me to come aboard, and then kidnap/rescue/fuck me.
He would save me! He would recognize that despite my tremendously unappealing outer disguise of a 70-pound, glasses-and-braces-wearing nerd I was a truly compelling woman that he just had to have. I mean, Rod seems like a pretty tuned-in guy, right? Someone equipped with the psychic wherewithal to not only know that I existed and was perfect for him but also to find my exact geographic coordinates? Back then, I thought so.
My excitement usually reached fever pitch by the time I was in front of the house where the cop beats his wife and their kid always has a new bike, which was halfway to my parents’ house. Any plane overhead could be Rod's!
Oh God, is that plane actually slowing down?? No cars better drive down this street and block his landing path. I will kill them if they wreck this for me! But as I got closer to the street I lived on and that day’s ration of hope and excitement would wane, the neurotic dismantling of my fantasy would set in.
Oh no, maybe I should walk slower. What if he lands after I get home? He'll have to come back again! Rod can't keep justifying these fly-bys of a Boston suburb to his pilot even if he IS paying him! Shit! And if I'm already home he's not gonna come to the door and ask for me. He doesn’t want to deal with my parents. And I don't WANT him to have to come to the door because that wrecks the champagne wave-aboard!
Oh well, I'm already home so I'll just go in, conduct business as usual, and hopefully tomorrow will be the day Rod gives it to me mid-flight. Actually, he probably won't be able to wait. He'll probably just ravage me the second the door closes.
Know what? I don't even care! I'll have sex with him right in my own neighborhood! I don't care about these assholes; I'll never see them again. We can save the champagne for “after.”
As ridiculous as it was, my Rod Stewart fantasy was actually a healthy step up from prior ones, mainly because it involved sex with just one person. When I was 8, there was a show on TV called "Alias Smith and Jones" that took place in the Old West. Both lead characters were extremely attractive to me. So I became obsessed with fantasies of having stagecoach sex with them. How hot is that?! We'd be in a STAGECOACH!
Maybe I'd be molested by one at a time while the other watched and then switch it up and they could both molest me at the same time. Anything goes! We're in a stagecoach; no one can see us! No one will know. We'll just act classy when we get out at the depot.
While the show was at the height of its popularity, one of the stars blew his brains out on New Year's Eve. This, of course, crushed me; but I took it as a sign that he was even more perfect for me than I had previously realized. Pete Duel, we hardly knew ye!
From then on I only had fantasy molestation sex with HIM, the dead one. His co-star Ben Murphy was no longer allowed inside the stagecoach in my mind. He had to sit outside, up top, and drive it instead; and the actor they hired to replace Pete Duel most certainly was not allowed to molest me. No matter how badly he probably wanted to...
But my inner childhood depravity doesn’t end there. It gets even sicker. I remember even younger me lying in bed, surrounded by my favorite stuffed animals, sending myself off to dreamland with a little sexual fantasy that I’ll call Boy Scout Jamboree.
This involves tiny me being splayed nude on a table in front of a large assembly of boy scouts and cub scouts. There would be three adult troop leaders in charge of this delightful operation, the purpose of which was to teach boys what a girl is. The boys would proceed in an orderly line up to the "exhibit," me, and they were allowed to look, touch, do whatever they wanted to me.
As an added bonus, sometimes the adults would touch me to demonstrate something. I would lie there completely silently, just enjoying "helping out" the cause of education. I find the memory of this fantasy unsettling, not just because it's pretty gang rapey, but mostly because I had been kicked out of Brownies, so why would I even give a shit about these kinds of organizations?! Screw them!
There was never any actual masturbation; it was all just thoughts, depraved and ultra pervy child thoughts. And, with the exception of Rod, the fantasies didn't involve actual sex, just forbidden nudity and touching. At that age, I had no clue about even the most basic mechanics of sex.
But still, is it normal to have this kind of sexual fantasy when you're a child? I gotta go with my gut on this one and say “Uhhh, NO, you idiot.”
But come on. I cannot be the only one who had a filthy mind at that age! There’s gotta be at least one other person out there who found the evil Child Catcher character in “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” super sexy, right? Right?? Maybe I shouldn’t ask.