This is Part V in a series on the psyche and sexuality, based on the author’s research, reflections and analysis, and looks at the sexual fantasies that seemingly pose a threat to our feminist politics. The essays in this series explain key psychoanalytic concepts and offer pedagogical possibilities while working on sexuality. Part I explored bewilderment and Part II, the relationship between desire and lack. Part III looked at the limits of rationality in matters of love, and Part IV investigated the yummy-yucky nature of sexual desire.
In a survey on sexual fantasies, first introduced in Chapter II of this series, two respondents mentioned experiencing inner conflict because their sexual fantasies involved people from marginalised identities.
They mentioned that their fantasies, which feature sex workers or men engaged in manual labour, made them feel uncomfortable — they were well aware of the harsh lives and realities these groups face.
In a similar vein, a different respondent wrote, “As a feminist who has constantly stood with people who have been through abuse, the fact that I fantasise about rape leaves me very conflicted.”
Another source of inner conflict was around gendered roles in sexual fantasies — roles that have been challenged in real life by some of the participants. One respondent, who had described a fantasy involving her Dominant in the role of ‘Daddy’ and her as the ‘Princess Slut’, wrote, “I think my feminist politics guided my sexual education and consequently [my] desires, which is why the daddy scenario was and continues to be so conflicting. To acknowledge for myself that I need care from a man was quite hard to do.”
The other aspect of their fantasies that generated inner conflict was humiliation.
A respondent described this as a “huge” contradiction. “To be in thrall of your feelings — both romantic and sexual — despite it involving humiliation, can be very disturbing,” she says.
This conflict around their desires was sometimes also expressed in relation to porn. Someone wrote about the guilt she experienced over watching porn that included the performance of non-consensual sexual acts.
Looking at these responses, there are two broad sets of inner conflicts. One was around the harsh realities of the real lives of those who featured in their sexual fantasies — the violence faced by sex workers, the exploitation of labouring men and the trauma experienced by survivors of rape. The other was the feeling that the way participants behaved, in their fantasies, was against their values and ideology.
The rape fantasy straddled both these categories. The inner conflict expressed around it was both about the reality of actual survivors of rape, as well as a perceived incongruity with feminist values.
Either way, the conflict seemed to pivot on the strongly held notion that their fantasies are reflective of who they are in the rest of their lives. A recurrent theme in the responses: how can it be that I (a feminist, a liberal, a progressive, an ethical/moral being, an activist and so on) have such fantasies!
In order to settle the question of whether there is, in fact, a conflict here, let’s begin dissecting with some key incisions:
- Who is the source of the prohibition? Is there more than one?
- Who is the source of permission? Is there more than one?
- What is being prohibited and what is being permitted by whom?
A small introduction to the ‘Big Other’
Vital to understanding the play of prohibition and permission is the psychoanalytic idea of the Other, developed by Jacques Lacan (which I will refer to as the ‘Big Other’ since I find that to be a clearer articulation) and referred to with a capital A in the original French word, Autre.1
The Big Other, through its norms, lays down what kind of pleasure-seeking is acceptable for the infant, the child and later the adult to pursue.
The Big Other takes many forms. Its first manifestation is language.
Akin to the womb’s uterine fluid, in which an infant grows for nine months, language surrounds infants with words or symbols. This strange and exciting world of sounds, which in time will become signifiers and carry meaning for the child, is the first source of authority that the child encounters. Without obeying its rules, the communication (verbal or non-verbal) required for survival is impossible.
The Big Other is also the ‘parent’ — the authority figure — and as we grow, the role of authority is performed by norms, culture, community and the law.
However, the Big Other continues to be the eye for which we perform, the omnipotent observer. In Jacques Lacan’s words, this is the Other who watches our every action and conversation.
Whether we obey or disobey the Big Other, our desires must always be in relation to it. It is only in relation to the approval and disapproval, the wishes and desires, the dreams and despair of the Other that we find our own desire.
Recognising the existence of the multiple Big Others in our life is key to navigating our inner conflicts, vis-à-vis our desires and fantasies. Returning to the survey, the responses suggested that inner conflict was experienced around a single set of sexual norms relating to elements of sexual fantasies that involve humiliation, control, non-consent, etc. Almost no inner conflict was reported around the other set, which prescribes sex to be with only one person (who should be of the opposite sex/gender to oneself) and which must happen in private, and so on.
A sets of sexual norms, then, needs to be understood in terms of its Autre — the Big Other that prescribes it. Let’s begin with the second set. The Big Other that dictates these can be labelled as mainstream, traditional or conservative; but a more precise analysis can emerge when these norms are understood as ones that preserve patriarchy.
The Autre associated with the first set of sexual norms (which seem to censure humiliation, non-consent, control, etc.) can also be called several names, such as liberalism, modernity or progressive ideologies, but I will choose another name.
Along with patriarchy, I suggest we look at sexual norms as they relate to feminism.
Why feminism? One reason is that many of the respondents to the anonymous survey self-identify as feminists. The second is that as feminists, we are rather good at implicating ourselves. Even self-flagellation, performed alone or together, provides us a rich site for inquiry into inner conflict in relation to the Big Other.
The third reason why I select feminism is because it is an ideology with strongly articulated values. Bringing it into the fray will help in the inquiry vis-à-vis the other clearly articulated ideology of patriarchy.
The Big Other of Feminism
As an independent woman, M had expressed strong feelings of conflict about her sexual fantasy around giving up control and enjoying forced sex.
J, a transman and avowed queer feminist, had a gang bang fantasy that left him deeply conflicted, especially around exercising control over another person and inflicting acts of violation.
What had troubled M and J, both of whom who identify as feminists, was that in their sexual fantasies, they transgress the norms that sex should involve mutuality, consent, dignity and agency. These feminist norms invoke rights and justice, which, alongside personhood and autonomy, are sacrosanct to feminism, and which these respondents presumably try to live by in their daily life.
Whether here or in the case of fantasies featuring marginalised identities and lives, there seemed to be an absence of a sense of permission from the Big Other of feminism for the aspects of sexual fantasies that appeared to violate feminist norms related to justice, equality, dignity, mutuality, agency, consent and rights.
I’m using the words ‘seemed to’ and ‘appeared to’ deliberately, since whether the Big Other of feminism, in fact, prohibits such sexual fantasies is a question yet to be investigated here.
Relationship with the Big Other of Feminism
The data from this particular group of respondents showed that they hold feminism in high regard, while wishing to disregard patriarchy as best as possible.
For M and a majority of the respondents to the survey, the norms of the Big Other of patriarchy were not taken particularly seriously, at least at the level of fantasy. The permission from feminism mattered insomuch as it played such an important role in their lives, including their sexual lives, as evidenced in survey responses about their relationship with feminism.
Feminism as a source of sexual empowerment, as well as perceived prohibitions, was succinctly summed up by S, another respondent, when she wrote that she sees a contradiction with feminism “only in terms of desiring forceful sexual encounters,” but she appreciates how feminism underlines “women’s right to their own sexuality.”
Feminism as a source of permission for other aspects of sexuality, or other aspects of life more generally, thus performed an empowering role. This will be key to understanding why we might experience, more acutely, the feeling that feminism as the Big Other does not grant us permission for those aspects of our fantasies that seem to be in conflict with the values it upholds.
We already heard about the deep sense of conflict that J, the trans respondent, had experienced with respect to his feminism. He wrote in particular about the conflict that he experiences because his fantasy “pivots so much around dominance and humiliation and overwhelming control on feminine bodies.” In response to another question in the survey, which was specifically about the relationship between feminism and the desires he experienced in his life, he wrote:
Many respondents who identified as feminist wrote more specifically about how feminism enabled them to explore their desires. D identified as a woman and wrote that feminism allowed her “to become more and more comfortable with my body, identity, desires…” C shared how feminism had helped her explore newer terrains and politics of desire — a different way of understanding and relating to desire. She wrote:
Is there in fact a conflict between sexual fantasies and feminism?
Is there a conflict between feminism and the sexual fantasies that transgress its values?
In thinking about this question, respondent F can help. Regarding her feelings about her fantasies — one where she sexually desired her domestic helper and the other about her being a sex slave — she had said, “Actually, I don’t feel any conflict at all. Though I do believe that my fantasies are abusive, I don’t feel it conflicts with my politics for some reason. Perhaps because they are fantasies. They are played out in the safe space of my mind.”
Precisely — they are fantasies, not reality. What F helps see is that there is no one-to-one relationship between fantasies and reality. Like with dreams, the unconscious has a strong role to play in our fantasies. A rape fantasy does not mean I want to rape someone in real life, or to be raped.
Fantasies, like dreams, cannot be read literally.
The similarity between fantasies and dreams expresses itself in everyday language where the words ‘fantasy’ and ‘daydreams’ are sometimes used interchangeably. While social, economic, cultural and political factors influence the content of our dreams and fantasies, this link with reality does not mean we will act upon them in our real lives.
Fantasies might be enacted as role-play with the consent of other participants, but this is fundamentally different from acting out a sexual fantasy in reality, non-consensually, with another person. This is key to busting the myth that there is, in fact, a conflict with feminism.
Given the history of feminist movements and struggles against sexual and other forms of violence, there is a clear prohibition against violating consent. Feminist movements also recognise and fight against power being historically and systemically concentrated in ways that privilege men and others who are higher up the socio-economic ladder. This is why there is an insistence for mutuality, dignity, rights and agency.
There are of course rapists and child sexual abusers who violate consent to act upon their own sexual fantasies, but it will take much more than just a sexual fantasy to make someone commit a crime.
Sexual fantasy alone is neither a sufficient nor a reliable cause of sexual violence.
While taboo fantasies are common, most people never act on them. Committing a criminal offence usually requires other factors to come into play, including deliberate intent and justifications, which stem from the psyche and dehumanise victims.
There is another reason why there is no conflict between fantasies and feminism. For this, we need to go back to the rule of the psyche that ‘prohibition eroticises’, and to then consider whether there might be an erotic charge when we as feminists, in our sexual fantasies, transgress feminist values of mutuality, dignity and rights, precisely because this transgression is prohibited by feminism. What to do — such is the ulta-pultaness, topsy-turvyness of the psyche!
Within the frame of permission and prohibition, if prohibition eroticises, surely it is precisely the transgression of feminist norms of mutuality, dignity, rights and agency that carry an erotic charge in sexual fantasies. Once again, a vital reminder: the transgression is taking place in the realm of sexual fantasies, not in real life (lest you forget, just because I have a rape fantasy does not mean I want to be raped).
When feminist norms of mutuality, dignity, rights and agency are transgressed in real life, the implications are dire. When transgressing these norms (which, we know very well, feminism forbids us from doing) in sexual fantasies, the implications are hot! There is no harm to self or other(s), simply erotic satisfaction, which surely we deserve.
We stumble and fall when, like M, we start to think that even imagining or fantasising about transgression of feminist norms could violate feminism. At that point, we stop seeing fantasies as mere fantasies. Fantasies do not require the consent of those we fantasise about. They do not even require, or even care about, our own consent.
The inner conflict experienced by respondents between their sexual fantasies and feminism is not only heartbreaking, but utterly unnecessary. The possibility that there need not be a conflict between feminism and sexual fantasies is expressed by E, who had shared a fantasy about having sex with a man in a skirt while they dance in a nightclub, as another man behind her aroused her.
Reflecting on her feelings regarding the fantasy, she wrote, “My sexual desire to sometimes surrender completely comes from my liberated feminist heart.”
If there is no real conflict between feminism and fantasies, is it possible for feminism, as the Big Other, to grant us permission to touch taboos, including those which feminism itself holds to be precious?
Although all too few, there are instances of feminists who have recognised the role of the forbidden in sexual fantasies. Patrick Califia2 (2009), a US-based writer who was also active in the historic lesbian BDSM group Samois3, made the distinction between “what really gets us wet” and “what we think should get us wet”. This resonates with Simone de Beauvoir’s comment4 that “no aphrodisiac is so potent as deviance of the Good.” Such reflections will help us be less judgmental about being, as Paula Webster says, “good” women who want and get “bad” sex.5 Judging ourselves and others depletes us. We need not judge at all.
In the Indian context, one of the few voices critically reflecting on feminism’s relationship with pleasure is that of psychoanalyst and writer Amrita Narayanan. In her book, Women’s Sexuality in Modern India: In a Rapture of Distress, Narayan writes of questions of desire and feminism based on her work with clients.
Narayanan calls for a feminism that does not militate against pleasure, police women’s desires or act like a superego, like patriarchy does.6 Although Narayanan uses the Freudian ‘superego’ and I use the Lacanian ‘Other’, there is a strong resonance: the common thread is the hope that instead of prohibiting, feminism will offer permission for desires that seem to go against it.
Narayanan also offers a mirror to the powerful contrast between the communities that men have access to, as compared to women. While men can be sexual in the company of other men (although not in uncomplicated ways, since there is also the pressure to perform particular kinds of masculinity in the expression of sexual desire), women are forced into an alone-ness with regards to their sexual pleasure. Given the specificity of the Indian context, Narayanan feels that feminist communities that give room for sexual pleasure are particularly important, given that they are less individualistic, and that there is a greater importance placed upon community to find “a way of experiencing the self: not as an atomized individual, but as part of a composite whole.” In the absence of such women’s communities, Narayanan feels that as a therapist, addressing this gap is one of the roles that she has been playing.
With permission from the Big Other of feminism, I’d like to conclude this part of our inquiry with permissions we may or may not be granting ourselves.
The hope is that an openness to seeing that there is no conflict between feminism and sexual fantasies that violate dignity, mutuality and rights will help us feel an okay-ness about them.
Recalling that prohibition eroticises might also help see that our fantasies are bound to be not okay — and that’s okay.
In giving our selves permission, we are moving into the terrain of consent to self. For far too long, we have thought about consent only in terms of consent to the other. Shame and guilt about our desires do not bode well for negotiating consent with others. And in any case, we deserve better, much, much better.
Read the entire Psyche series here.
- Jacques Lacan, Alan Sheridan, and Malcolm Bowie, “The Subversion of the Subject and the Dialectic of Desire in the Freudian Unconscious,” Écrits: A selection (Routledge, 2020), p. 323–360.
- Patrick Califia, Macho Sluts (Ser. Little Sister’s Classics (Numbered))(Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 2009), p. 8.
- Samois was a lesbian-feminist BDSM organisation based in San Francisco that existed from 1978 to 1983. It was the first lesbian BDSM group in the United States, taking its name from Samois-sur-Seine, the location of the fictional estate of Anne-Marie, a lesbian dominatrix character in Story of O, who pierces and brands O. Among the co-founders were writer Pat Califia and feminist academic Gayle Rubin. The roots of Samois were in a group called Cardea, a women’s discussion group within the mixed-gender S/M group, the Society of Janus. For more, see: https://archive.org/details/comingtopowerwri00samo
- Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (United Kingdom: Random House, 2014), p. 30.
- Paula Webster, “Pornography and Pleasure,” in Caught Looking: Feminism, Pornography and Censorship, Ed. Kate Ellis et al (East Haven: Long River Books, 1986), p. 30–35.
- Amrita Narayanan, Women’s Sexuality and Modern India: In A Rapture of Distress (United Kingdom: OUP Oxford, 2022).
