Prompt #13: Imagine you found a magic lantern (or other container) and inside lived a genie who only granted sexual wishes. If that genie gave you 3 wishes, what would you wish for? And why?
I couldn’t think of anything at first. Probably the first sign that I’m pretty happy with my lot, broken and damaged as it might be. I asked my ogre: If you had three sexual wishes, what would you want?
His answer: “I have everything. What more could I want for? My wife already does everything I could come up with.” (Yup, that’s me.)
It’s the same for me.
So either we’re the most boring, unimaginative people this side of Eden, or we really are this happy. In which case: Yawn.
Yet, the truth is different. Yes, I can’t think of anything I could wish for (except to come for once, but I’m okay as is, too). But also: I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to find a genie with the power to grant me sexual wishes. I don’t want to, because I don’t dare to think about it. Let’s be real: I would want everything.
I would want with every fiber of my body.
I’m scared of wanting. I would want too much. I would never stop wanting. Gobble up the world, forget myself, indulge and never stop indulging. This would be exactly what I would wish for: to forget myself. Shed that self-consciousness and don that confidence. Dare to inhabit this body. Flaunt it. Gorge on sensations.
In a way, this ties into the post about what makes you feel sexy that was last week’s prompt for the EJC. The post I didn’t write because sexy is so complicated. I would wish to feel sexy… And the genie would quirk his eyebrows and say “Sorry, can’t do that. Can’t alter people’s minds. Can’t make them fall in love.”
And that’s the crux: I would have to fall in love with myself. What genie can do that?
So, am I not allowed to wish and want because the condition is that I have to love myself?
At this point, the genie would roll his eyes and groan, and beg me to put him back into his container. “And don’t forget to cork it real tight. And then throw me away. Real far. Please!”
My ogre would probably agree that I’m much better at fulfilling wishes than at making them. It’s easier to give others what they want than to journey into the self and face the emotional truth of what I want.
Hell, I can’t even make proper birthday wishes.
(Apart from the obligatory and ever-growing list of books I want to read. Now, if only ogre could get behind the concept of buying books off a wishlist. Revolutionary!)
Besides: there’s something iffy about the whole genie business.
There’s the issue of consent. This ties into this week’s topic at the Sex Bloggers for Mental Health: The Power of Consent. I could only ask for things involving myself.
Magical compulsion is still coercion. If you want other people to do your bidding, you have to negotiate and get their consent.
It’s fine to ask for that orgasm. Bad fashion to ask your genie to procure Tom Hardy or Viola Davis so they can make you come. Everything’s fair game in fantasies, but real life is something else. (No, I do not fantasize about Tom Hardy. My mind’s populated with fantasy-people copulating, and like in real life when I take off my glasses, their faces are blurred.)
In the end, that leaves only the genie to fulfill your wet dreams. As he’s bound through magic to do your bidding, it’s ethically questionable to make him do anything. Which means I don’t have to wish for anything. Phew.
On the other hand, what if not making any wishes hurts the genie? Now is the time I wish I were more knowledgeable in genie lore. What if I set him free and he turns out to be a dangerous megalomaniac? Ending up with the lives of half of human mankind on me is not how I imagined this day to go. I’m not Thanos.
I wish I’d never found this container. It’s entirely too much responsibility.