Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby,
And I’m a monster on the hill.
— Taylor Swift, ‘Anti-Hero’
From an early age, I felt a constant need to express myself sexually. I wouldn’t call myself ‘sexual’ (even as the sexuality educator in me screams, ‘There’s nothing wrong with being sexual!’). On the sexuality spectrum, I lean towards demisexuality. I’m also one of those ‘overly sensitive’ types, as identified by my dada. This was decided early, based on my being a person who chose to express herself — an anomaly in my passive-aggressive family. Basically, think of Geet from Jab We Met, but with much less self-love. Desi, raised Muslim, newly queer and currently working as a sex researcher in an American university, with access to language such as ‘consensual’, ‘non-consensual’ and ‘monogamy’, I am privileged to write about my khatarnak (risky) sexual desires.
When I was seven, I’d get this cyclone-like feeling in my tummy when I saw a rape scene in an ‘80s or ‘90s Bollywood movie.
I remember Shakti Kapoor or Gulshan Grover trying to harass and undress the main heroine without her consent. Consent, the word, arrived at my door in the 2020s, but when I was seven, the non-consenting heroine seemed shy. Please note: these would be the only ‘sex’ scenes I had seen at that tender age.
I remember the same weird tummy feelings when I saw Zeenat Aman emerging from the sea in a bikini in Qurbani. The memory still gives me shaky knees. I never talked about these movie scenes with anyone, unable to pinpoint where the feelings were coming from and why I felt so guilty.
When I was 14, I’d log onto online chat rooms to chat with cool older guys (middle-aged men showing paedophilic tendencies). Waiting for everyone to fall asleep, feeling the thrill of the dial-up router tone in the quiet of the night and finally getting online and opening Yahoo Messenger was, quite simply, dhoom pichuk dhoom. The possibility of being caught by either parent while doing dirty things on a computer meant solely for educational purposes added to the atmosphere. I would come across horribly veiny dick pics on Omegle for my efforts, but isn’t that the risk of sexual exploration?
***
I grew up knowing I was supposed to like V-mein-P sex, and only with men. On the way to becoming a sex researcher and educator, I realised that there were so many different kinds of sexual experiences. I can now name the tummy-feeling (sexually excited or tharak) and I love it. I am thrilled with Zeenat Aman’s re-entry into my life via social media, but it’s not as sinful as before — or as hot.
I prepared for, and then studied engineering, like so many other people in India. I see these IIT-aspirant shows online now and feel a deep sense of grief for those young people (and my younger self), losing those pimple-wala horny teenage years to that insane pressure. My biggest dream at 20 was to get a job. When I did, all was well for a while, until everything started falling apart. I was in a bad relationship and I had to get out. The freedom I found living away from home, coupled with financial freedom, when added onto sexual freedom, hadn’t worked so well; there can, in fact, be too much of a good thing. I made my way into the non-profits, working on gender-based violence, abortion and sexuality education.
As a sexuality educator, I teach an undergraduate class of American students who range from 17 to 19 years in age.
In one of my classes, a female student asked, “Are rape fantasies ethical?”
Once you are single and miles away from your family and community, your thoughts are less constrained by the possibility of social disgust. So, questions like ‘how powerful would it feel to peg a guy’ or ‘does liking anal sex make me fond of poop’ are entirely possible to be asked.
Can fantasies have a right or wrong direction? What does it mean for me to acknowledge that I have experienced sexual violence while also acknowledging that I have harboured rape fantasies for a while?
Is it okay for me to think about the enactment of rape as a consensual act — one that I desire — in a controlled environment with a trusted partner?
Shouldn’t I feel disgusted with myself for having rape fantasies?
In my 20s, I did. Why didn’t I want neat and clean things like the missionary position and oral sex, I would wonder. I liked the idea of being bruised, bitten, the force of pressure; not being treated delicately.
For me, relating to demisexuality means needing months of a deep emotional connection to develop something romantic or sexual. I want to have this experience with a person I have developed trust with, feel safe and comfortable to explore sexual freedom with. ‘Hey, this is how you can love me. This is my love language.’
Having all of this is not easy, as you can imagine. In fact, I have questions for men as heterosexual partners: Do you think going on a first date with you is not dangerous enough? When I decide to come to your house for the first time, do you think it will feel safe for me to do that? In the case of unprotected sex, do you not see the danger, given the state of emergency contraceptives and abortion accessibility? None of these are regarded as dangerous situations by you, are they? Let me not raise these boring questions though; mood kharaab ho jayega sabka (it’ll ruin everyone’s mood).
When I moved to the United States as a student, I found a short-term lover who was open to experiencing new things. On our second date, during our first kiss, he began to choke me. In my panic-stricken mind, I was asking, “What is he doing? He never told me that he wanted to choke me. There is no such thing as spontaneous choking, is there?!” I waited (extremely patiently) for it to end, so we could have a talk about boundaries. The talk never happened; I did not meet him again, though it was more his choice than mine.
There can be many reasons for a person to have rape fantasies.
My reason is the exploration of power.
As a Muslim queer woman with my Hindu heterosexual male partner, I’m not always thinking of this dynamic. But the dynamic always exists; like when I feel scared to participate in protests in Shaheen Bagh; when the owners of a house don’t rent to a non-vegetarian like me, who must love biryani.
There is always a power dynamic in a relationship, and it’s often influenced by structures that surround us. My interest in rape fantasies is about reversing the dynamic from the real-life act. During sex, with a trusted partner, I am in control of how the scene plays out.
It scares heterosexual men. Maybe they are scared of crossing the line, or being accused of false rape.
None of my partners have showed any enthusiasm for the idea of play-acting a rape fantasy.
When I was in pehla pehla pyar (first love), my partner talked about ‘false rape’ with trepidation. I agreed: yes, sahi baat (that’s true). In India, there is 1 rape case every 16 minutes, which is about how long it will take you to read this article twice. And that’s what the major issue is. False rape cases (please join me in rolling my eyes).
I watched Shah Rukh Khan fall for Rani Mukerji upon her hair flip on the first day of college in Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. All my life, I have wanted to be the object of desire for men.
Much of Bollywood showed girls shyly giggling in order to communicate desire. I watched Katrina chase Hrithik down to kiss him in Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara, and I — actively — wanted to do things. But I didn’t know what things.
During my research on pleasure, a young Indian woman said to the group, “I didn’t know we could ask guys to do things to us.”
Is it still freedom if one doesn’t know they can ask for it?
***
Further into my 20s, I was having more non-pleasurable sex and had become quite used to lying to my parents. The relationship had soured and the abuse continued for years, but I didn’t tell anyone at home. I haven’t told them even now, after years of therapy and medication. I took emergency contraception pills without anyone’s guidance. (Please don’t do that! Find any 30-something woman and she will help you.) In retrospect, I wish my mother had been with me, even if she wouldn’t have known what to say.
My family had taught me, early on, that a little bit of slapping here and there, an affair or two, are all part of all relationships. When I was actively pursuing khatarnak situations (as I call them now), I never saw the danger in it.
What I saw was the thrill of freedom, of exploring prohibited things.
And yet, when I see a teenager now, I realise I wouldn’t go back to that time — to those horrible teenage years — for any amount of money. No adult support, so much peer-led misinformation, and parental boundaries clashing with our raging sexual desires… It was a hot mess.
I have also been taught, all my life, about the risks of sexual desire — by parents, teachers, biology textbooks and random aunties. What if someone had told me about the fun parts of sexual desire and fantasy? What would my relationship with prohibited things be like? How would I feel about being an object of desire?
When I was seven, I poured all my creative juices into writing original songs about breasts and genitals. At the time, I thought I would die of shame if someone found my songs. If only I had known the actual meaning of ‘choli ke peeche kya hai’! People were earning money from writing songs about the exact same sentiment.
Now that my deepest, darkest desires have whispered their secrets, I want us to think more about the desires we ask to be met; about the desires we don’t ask to be fulfilled and instead keep hidden deep inside, lending them a powerful charge. Taylor is right; one really can feel like a monster on the hill in a world that doesn’t value pleasure for or afford sexual freedom to women, queer people and other marginalised folks.
But here we are, nonetheless. Why not enjoy our wild fantasies, whether they’re dark, delightful or downright scandalous? I hear the best sexual pleasure comes after the age of 30. Abhi to main jawan hoon (as of now, I’m still young).
