In This Way, We Fall in Love

I have a sexual fantasy in which I am fucked by all of the white men who have ever said something to me that I considered to be mean, racist, or sexist. I am the submissive in this situation. The white men call me things like “slut” and “whore.” I beg them to stick their giant cocks inside me. I feel very guilty about this sexual fantasy because I recognize that it is very normative and heterosexual and likely a manifestation of my own internalized misogyny, my lazy desire to simply lie down and take all the violence. To combat my guilt, I revise the fantasy. The first thing I do is replace the cocks with vegetables, which I believe are much less threatening than cocks and have a less pronounced masculine energy than cocks do. Then I replace the white men with women of various races. My revised sexual fantasy involves women of various races inserting vegetables into my various orifices as they call me things like “slut” and “whore.” This is good for a while, but I worry that I am creating too much of an association between women and vegetables, that this implies an association between women and earth, women and gardens, women and kitchens, women and the limp passivity of coma. I cannot relegate the women of various races to a vegetable fantasy. Because of this, I get rid of the women entirely. My revised sexual fantasy involves no living beings beyond myself. It merely involves the vegetables, now animated, now wrapping their stems around my neck, applying pressure to the sides, and calling me things like “slut” and “whore.”