I used to go to bed with the same fantasy playing in my head. My eyes affixed to a small clipping of the hottest boy in Tiger Beat or Bop magazine. I'd memorized his cute face and picture him in school, talking to me, holding my hand, taking me to a dance or kissing me. Soon my little fantasies took on a whole story with a plot and he was the star and he was his starlet.
I found myself going back to one fantasy over and over. The Victorian setting was perfect for my ideal guy to own a mansion and to employ me as his maid.
I know this is generic but I was young. Maids are good for many things, aren't they?
When I got older, there was more going on in my story than kissing and dusting my "master's" vases. He had a mansion and a lot of rooms, so naturally a teenage girl's mind is hormonally charged with ideas seen in movies, sex scenes in books or information heard from her best friend about third base.
I would have to confess my imagination at a young age was "ripe" and would rival the adopted lie that women aren't nearly as perverted as men. I, for one, blame my genetics. Instilled in me is some of the most obscene things and lucky for most people they do not see that when they look at my "sweet" face.
In my fantasies I was irresistible and whoever I was infatuated with at the time would play the part of my "master"; River Phoenix, Leonardo DiCaprio, my crush in school
there was a lot of those. The list goes on ; singers, actors, real people. Until my man's face started to take a specific form and specific characteristics stuck. He ended up with pitch-black hair because he's dark and mysterious,
of course. Big sapphire eyes to melt my insides to mush. They would seemingly glow in the dark as he would watch me perform my "duties",
making his bed wink*. His eyes were the focal point in ever mini-movie i made; it's always the part of him I remember precisely.
Eyes are the windows of the soul. He was tall because he overpowers me when he's greedy or he can look down on me when he's admiring my precious face. His frame was always obscured under a dark cloak; he always wore black. I couldn't make up my mind what he looked underneath because I was only fourteen or fifteen. Aside from brief nudity in movies, I had never seen a man naked before. So he stayed covered. Still, beneath his black cape intrigued me. I often left his body something to wonder about even after knowing what a my ideal man would look like.
Even teasing myself was titillating. He eventually had to take his cloak off, o
f course. His slender, yet firm and strong body could carry me to his bed.
s know it's lame but it happened, in my head! Hey, this is the stuff ladies think about every night or at least I do. Sounds like something out of a Harlequin book but I assure you my ideas dive further into the inappropriate than romantic. I like crossing lines and breaking laws. wink if you only knew what that meant, ha!
I perfected his face, his body and his personality until characteristics I've left out still screamed at me. I love blonds and most guys I like happen to be blond so I decided I needed to be fought over.
of course, I'm irresistible, remember? My "master's" rival had to be equally handsome yet completely opposite in every way; he would take on the traits I wanted to use but couldn't on my dark knight.Where my blue eyes God was sweet, his rival had to be vicious. If one had secrets the other had more. If one laughed the other cries. I created the rival in contrast to my first man. My second lover has gray eyes, lighter than the deep blue of my first lover. His hair varied from blond to brown because he could never be the black like my first. They never truly had names; just the dark man and the light man, with an occasional last name for dialogue purposes.
"Oh, I shant, Mr. Thompson, I shant!"
I know it's lame but it happened!
When I wrote my first stories down I realized these men needed names. I designated a color to each. Red and Grey. Red can be a first name and the word itself signifies a dominate, deep, primary color just like my first dark dream lover. Grey can be a first or last name and the color signifies lightness from darkness or an in between color which this lover always signified in my fantasies.
I wrote down my bedside erotica for myself but both Red and Grey began to develop hearts and minds and my stories started to build up. Before I knew it, a structure of a real story was taking form.
Now, I have a series I've written based on these two teen-hood fantasies. Pull, the first novel in the series sets the stage of the old fantasies I rehearsed in my head over and over again. Red is still the dark and mysterious lover and Grey is his wicked rival. They both became anchors to the entire Sanctuary series.
Interesting....
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