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For years, I’ve had a recurring fantasy: getting gang banged by a hockey team. Not the whole roster—just five or six of my choosing. They’re between 19 and 24, pulsing with that specific kind of primal, barely-contained horniness. We’re in what looks to be an elevated frat house in that it is clean. Each one is an adonis with a boyish face, giant biceps and a twinkle in his eye. All around 6'1 to 6'4. They wear shit-eating grins like badges of honor. One by one, they take me while egging each other on. No DP—frankly, I don’t trust these boys with my asshole even in fantasy—but there’s always one in my mouth, one in my pussy. They’re shouting over each other:
“She fucking loves it, look at her.”
“Let her fucking take it.”
“That pussy’s fucking insane.”
They’re high fiving each other and cheering. Each one has a beautiful cock. They all taste good. There’s an underlay of BO, but the good kind blended with Old Spice. I have a favorite. He’s the quietest one. Also the prettiest, with smouldering icey blue eyes. He’s directing the others and they’re clueless to the fact that we are puppeteering this whole thing. The boys start cumming in me one by one with their STI free ejaculate. “Fill her up fill her up” they chant. And that’s where it stops. I don’t quite know how it ends.
Last week I came face to face with a moral crux. Pun intended. You see, I read about a sexual assault case involving 5 players from Canada’s World Junior Hockey Team . In 2018, a then 20 year old woman alleged she was sexually assaulted by multiple players in a London, Ontario hotel room. After consensual sex with one player, she claims he invited teammates via group text to join him in his hotel room, where she says up to eight men entered and coerced her into group sex acts. The young woman described feeling terrified, objectified, and unable to leave, stating she dissociated and adopted a “porn-star persona” as a survival mechanism. The trial has ignited a national debate about rape culture and consent, with the defense blaming pornography for the young men’s modeling.
As I read the article, I started to get aroused. Then I got anxious as I recalled I had just shared my gang bang fantasy at an erotica reading two weeks prior. Shit shit SHIT I thought. Before I knew it without any awareness a wave of shame washed over me. The oh so familiar feeling. I’m not normal. I have dark sexual yearnings. But I also yearn for deep monogamous love and commitment. I don’t deserve that. The man I want would never want me because I am bad. Then I caught myself…
I have a whole database of knowledge and tools to apply. I work with clients who have these very same beliefs. So, in a radical act of self-compassion, I turned inward—and guided myself through a session.
Let’s start with Sexual Nonconcordance.
Nonconcordance, a term popularized by Emily Nagoski, refers to when the body shows signs of sexual arousal—such as erection, lubrication, or genital engorgement—while the person simultaneously feels distress, fear, or disgust.
Arousal can describe both physiological responses (what the body is doing) and cognitive ones (what the mind is thinking, such as sexual thoughts). This differs from desire, which refers to the subjective, emotional experience of wanting to engage in sexual activity.
In short:
Arousal is physiological and cognitive.
Desire is emotional and subjective.
Though they’re interrelated and often influence one another, they are not always aligned. This is why fantasies about rape or non-consensual sex are among the most common, even if rarely admitted.
The body and desire may whisper, “I want this,” while the mind insists, “This is wrong—I would never act on it.”
That tension—the dissonance between our physical response and our conscious values—is the very heart of nonconcordance.
Next, we have to identify the Emotional Aphrodisiacs. In Jack Morin’s The Erotic Mind, he explains how emotions factor into arousal. He breaks it down into three categories as follows:
Exuberance: joy, celebration, surprise, freedom, euphoria and pride
Satisfaction: contentment, happiness, relaxation and security
Closeness: love, tenderness, affection, connection, unity (oneness) and appreciation
Anxiety: fear, vulnerability, weakness, worry, nervousness
Guilt: remorse, naughtiness, dirtiness and shame
Anger: hostility, contempt, hatred, resentment and revenge
The first two emotional states—exuberance and satisfaction—are consistently rated as essential components of peak arousal. By definition, then, peak turn-ons generate these deeply positive feelings. Yet, as vital as these emotions are to sexual enjoyment, it's not entirely accurate to label them as emotional aphrodisiacs, since they don’t trigger or amplify arousal—they emerge from it. For this reason, Morin classifies exuberance and satisfaction as response emotions: they are the rewards of high arousal, not its source.
You probably won’t struggle to identify the positive emotions connected to your peak turn-ons. However, Morin’s research reveals that anxiety, guilt, and anger can be just as erotically influential as love and affection. He refers to these as the unexpected or “negative aphrodisiacs”. While these emotions can certainly interfere with sexual enjoyment, they can just as easily intensify it. In this way, they function as paradoxical emotions.
Take a moment to reflect on your peak fantasies, desires, and erotic experiences. What emotional themes consistently show up? The more you can embrace so-called “negative aphrodisiacs” as valid parts of your erotic lexicon, the more integrated and whole your sexuality becomes. Emotions—whether labeled positive or negative—are fluid. Each has the potential to transform into the other. Let me explain…
According to Morin, emotional aphrodisiacs are specific emotional states or psychological themes that fuel erotic excitement. They often emerge from the tension between desire and resistance, or what turns us on and whatholds us back.
These emotions act as psychological accelerants—they give arousal a narrative, a why behind the what.
Morin proposed the “Erotic Equation”: Attraction + Obstacles = Excitement
In other words, what we want—and what we believe we can’t, shouldn’t, or aren’t allowed to have—creates the tension that fuels desire. This friction often gives rise to fantasies, kinks, and fetishes that revolve around taboo, power, or transgression. It’s not necessarily about wanting these scenarios in real life, but about the emotional voltage they generate. The very act of brushing up against the forbidden or the unattainable can amplify arousal, transforming inner conflict into erotic intensity or even obsession.
I’ve always been drawn to the so-called negative aphrodisiacs—particularly fear, shame, naughtiness, and revenge. There was a stretch in my twenties when I knowingly slept with sociopaths, because, quite honestly, I got off on it.
So how does this develop? Through a combination of early life experiences, cultural conditioning and nervous system adaptations.
We develop our attachment style between 0 and 3 years old. Our nervous system, brain, and body are developmentally wired for connection, especially in infancy. We rely on caregivers not just for food and safety—but for co-regulation, soothing, and emotional mirroring. This is why we need the full presence of mom and dad for secure attachment.
In my case, my dad was a touring rock musician who left for six weeks at a time from the moment I was born. He’s a great father, and we’ve always been as thick as thieves—but because of his intermittent absence during my formative years, I developed a proclivity for emotionally unavailable men. I began to equate love with intensity, fantasy, and longing.
Since my dad was never fully present, closeness with the opposite sex became terrifying. From a distance, I could maintain control. That’s where I mastered perception—and seduction. Because I never saw my father as a whole, flawed human being, my inner child filled in the gaps with fantasy, which eventually became a pattern: I glorified, then eroticized, the unattainable.
Growing up—cue eye roll—I was a nerd in school. On top of that, I was bullied by both boys and girls and more or less rendered mute until my mid-teens. The bad kids were the popular kids. I envied their recklessness. They feared nothing. There was a freedom in fearing nothing.
My mother, a social worker who worked closely with street-level sex workers and rape survivors, raised me with the belief that sex was dangerous—bad, even fatal. Having been a victim of childhood abuse herself, she tried to protect me the only way she knew how: by inadvertently instilling fear. In her worldview, sex outside the bounds of true love and commitment was predatory terrain. I remember her specifically telling me a man’s sexual proclivities was a direct reflection of his morality — that only slow, tender lovemaking was acceptable. To her, boys only wanted one thing, and they would lie, manipulate, and coerce to get it. And safety, she believed, could only be found in abstaining all together.
I was terrified of boys. I couldn’t even make eye contact with one. What my mother never taught me—perhaps never knew herself—was that childhood crushes and recess romances are a healthy part of learning how to form safe, affectionate bonds with the opposite sex. Holding hands, sharing secrets, a kiss on the cheek—tiny rituals of connection that teach us intimacy without danger.
I’d come home from third grade and tell her that Katie L. was dating Mikey P., and she’d scoff—“That’s stupid. They’re children.” So I learned to desexualize myself through her lens, scrubbing away any trace of longing, silencing even the smallest flickers of curiosity.
Still, my innate curiosity and desire seeped in . I’d buy J-14 magazines in disguise at the local convenience store, hands trembling, and lock myself in the bathroom to gaze at photos of Jonathan Taylor Thomas in peace. I remember the day she found my stash. She mocked me for being silly then she threw them away.
And yet like many of us little girls, I’d stack my barbies on top of each other and rub them together. I’d play doctor with my cousin until tingly feelings arose. Even then, I sensed it was illicit. A clandestine act carried out beneath the radar of adult eyes.
One day my little sister, neighbor and I decided to go into her closet and show each other our “private parts”, ages 5 and 7 respectively. Her stepdad walked in on us. The look on his face was a violent blend of horror and rage. He unleashed his fury on our neighbor, a girl no older than I, scolding all of us as though we’d done something shameful and unforgivable. Then, with a chilling edge, he made us promise not to tell our parents. I couldn’t stop shaking. Even at six years old, I lay awake that night, gripped by the fear of being discovered.
Societies and families that are uncomfortable with their children’s sexuality inevitably instill guilt around sexual thoughts and feelings. This guilt distorts a child’s natural curiosity about their body and its pleasurable sensations, turning it into something uncomfortable or shameful. The link between guilt and sexuality either stifles the innocent sexual exploration that’s vital to healthy erotic development—or pushes it underground, where it festers as a dirty little secret.
Guilt is a powerful saboteur of eroticism—it fuels sexual dysfunction, suppresses desire, and places genuine fulfillment just beyond reach. Put simply, guilt is second only to anxiety as one of the world’s most powerful aphrodisiacs.
As John Waters, ever the irreverent dandy, once quipped, “I thank God I was raised Catholic, so sex will always be dirty.”
Remember with the erotic equation, whatever tries to block our urges also intensifies them.
Another prerequisite for my arousal was validation. I was the unpopular kid—the one never asked to the dance, always picked last in gym class. In the small Canadian town where I grew up, social currency belonged to the male hockey players. They were gods. And to them, I didn’t exist.
My father had grown up a rink rat alongside his two brothers, steeped in the culture of cold arenas and early morning practices. I still remember my mom asking what I wanted for my birthday in first grade, and my dad answering for me: “Hockey tickets.” Hockey, in our household, equaled his approval.
I hit puberty at fifteen, grew tits, thinned out, and became attractive enough to garner male attention. At this point, I could no longer manage the image of the perfectionist, sexless daughter - so I split. I became the bad girl. The promiscuous one. “One of the guys”. This way, I was in control. I was the one they could shotgun a beer with, pass a bowl to, spew vulgar jokes with, watch porn in the basement without flinching but I’d also let them finger me and suck cock with unmatched enthusiasm and no drama. I made myself undateable. I preempted rejection by never allowing myself to be a real prospect in the first place. In short, it felt a hell of a lot safer to be the “all-knowing” than the “all-known”. And I loved the attention. I loved not being “like the other girls.” For once, I was seen as something different—and I became fixated on that. I had eroticized rebellion and, without fully realizing it, stepped into the role of the whore.
In addition to the psychological factors, fear and anxiety activate the same branch of the autonomic nervous system as sexual arousal—specifically, the sympathetic nervous system (also known as the fight-or-flight response). This activation causes physiological changes such as an increased heart rate, faster breathing, elevated body temperature, and heightened blood flow to key areas, including the genitals. Fear and anxiety also trigger an adrenaline surge, which amplifies both arousal and alertness. In other words, it can feel good to be afraid.
Without conscious awareness, many of us unconsciously place ourselves in unsafe or high-stakes environments in order to evoke peak states of arousal. In the realm of sexuality, this pattern is often referred to as “repetition without agency”—the compulsive reenactment of unresolved emotional wounds. For instance, someone who was verbally humiliated or physically bullied on the playground may later find themselves drawn to partners who demean, degrade, or even abuse them, both in and out of the bedroom. The body seeks what is familiar, even when it’s painful, mistaking intensity for intimacy.
Conversely, if your father was the captain of the hockey team and called you worthless for losing a game—especially if that humiliation was coupled with physical punishment—you may grow up craving power and psychological redemption. That unresolved shame can morph into dominance-seeking behavior: becoming the abuser, eroticizing non-consensual acts or violence, or pursuing partners you don’t respect as a means of reasserting control. In both cases, early wounds shape erotic expression through compulsion.
When you develop awareness of your early attachment and trauma wounds, you gain the ability to move from “repetition without agency” to “repetition with agency.” In this shift, you’re no longer unconsciously reenacting painful experiences—you’re consciously choosing to explore those same emotional terrains in a safe, empowered, and consensual context.
This might look like engaging in power dynamics—such as degradation, humiliation, or name-calling as a form of erotic play held within a clearly defined container of trust and mutual respect. You and your partner/s communicate openly: these acts are desired, they are consciously chosen, and they do not define your worth or identity. The bedroom becomes a place of alchemy, where past wounds are not erased but transformed—revisited on your own terms, with sovereignty, awareness, and self-compassion.
So now you’re starting to see the building blocks of the gang bang fantasy:
Fear: Boys only want sex and they will do whatever possible to obtain it.
Shame: I feel aroused by boys. I must be bad.
Naughtiness: Could no longer align with “mommy’s little girl” and had to break rules.
Revenge: Look at me now. I’m no longer invisible.
Validation: I am of use to boys. They can’t control themselves around me. From rejection to obsession.
Exhibitionism: I am seen, witnessed and worshipped by boys.
Attachment Wound with Dad: Craving intimacy but terrified of full presence, hockey = dad’s approval
Biomarkers of Fear & Anxiety: It feels so good to be bad.
Attraction (unavailable men i.e. popular hockey players) + Obstacles (social ostracism and parental abandonment if found out) = Excitement
Reflect on how the specific themes outlined above interact with and contribute to the broader, overarching narratives at play:
1. Total Surrender: At its core, the gang bang fantasy taps into a woman’s deep craving to relinquish control. This is especially potent for Type A women or those who live primarily in their masculine—women who’ve internalized the belief that they must constantly perform to be worthy.
2. Hyper-Feminine Validation: Her very presence is so powerful that it magnetizes many men at once. This fuels a deep, sometimes subconscious craving for unrelenting, insatiable desirability.
3. Reclaiming the Whore Archetype: The gang bang is a highly taboo act in most cultures. For some women, fantasizing about it is a form of radical reclamation—of the "whore" identity, of sexual agency, of being the one who wants it. This can be a form of healing through transgression, especially for those who’ve been shamed for their sexuality. “If I choose it, and I want it this way—then it’s mine, not theirs.”
4. Shadow Integration / Trauma Alchemy: Women who lacked control in their formative years and experienced sexual repression, shame or violation eroticize themes of being used or dominated as a way of metabolizing past powerlessness into something felt as intensely pleasurable, chosen, and safe (i.e. repetition with OR without agency)
5. Anonymity & Dissociation: The gang bang can allow a woman to escape. It can feel like erotic ego death—liberation from identity, performance, or emotional labor.
We assume that certain emotional or psychological states can't coexist. But in reality, the human erotic psyche is nonlinear and non-exclusive. Sexual responses—especially in complex or taboo scenarios—often involve multiple, even conflicting emotions at once. Arousal can coexist with disgust. Desire can coexist with guilt. Curiosity can coexist with fear. When people internalize a mutually exclusive model (e.g., “arousal = consent” or “desire cancels out harm”), it creates confusion and shame. Survivors may question the validity of their experiences. So part of deconstructing shame is recognizing:
You can feel arousal and not want something.
You can feel desire and feel disturbed by it.
The presence of one emotion doesn’t negate the other.
Now that we’ve dissected and liberated ourselves in fantasy, we must determine whether it is to remain a fantasy or is this a desire we wish to turn into a reality. In order to properly assess, allow me to define the following:
Fantasy: A mental or imaginative experience, often elaborate, that may or may not reflect something you actually want to do. It's about exploration in the mind. You can fantasize about something without ever wanting it to happen in real life.
Desire: A felt longing or urge to experience something, either emotionally or physically. It often has an embodied quality—it lives in the body and can lead to action.
When a fantasy is a desire, you imagine something and genuinely want to experience it in real life. There's an emotional, physical, or erotic charge behind it. When Fantasy isn't a Desire, you enjoy the idea only in your imagination, but have no interest in acting on it. It might feel unsafe, unrealistic, or not aligned with your values or lifestyle.
Because Western society teaches us to fear, suppress, or moralize sex—especially during our formative years—we often grow up without the language or emotional clarity to distinguish between fantasy and desire. When all sexual thoughts are shrouded in shame or silence, there’s little room to explore or understand the nuances of our inner erotic world. As a result, many of us carry confusion into adulthood about what we imagine versus what we actually want.
This lack of clarity often contributes to mixed messages around consent. One person may share a fantasy through sexting or role play—an exploration of power, taboo, or surrender that lives purely in the imaginative realm—while the other interprets it as a literal expression of desire or intent. Without explicit communication, the lines blur, and misunderstanding can easily take root.
I knew the gang bang was a fantasy, but recently I started to ask myself if this was truly a desire. I could certainly make it happen and curate the experience to be physically safe, but did it align with my sexual values? In my case:
- STI Clearance: All participants must provide recent proof of being STI-free.
- Anonymity: I require advance knowledge of each participant’s identity in advance though they are not entitled to mine.
- Respect: Degrading language (e.g., “whore,” “bitch,” “slut,” “cunt”) is strictly off-limits.
- Character: Only those with kind, respectful dispositions—*“good boys” before and after the scene—*will be considered.
- Safety: A trusted facilitator of my choosing must be present to choreograph the experience and check in with me regularly throughout.
- Privacy: Phones and any form of recording are not permitted under any circumstance.
- Aftercare: Participants must offer verbal praise or affirmation following the scene, then exit promptly to preserve the container.
What about the prerequisites and approved acts?
• Physical Preference: Must be highly attractive, 6 feet or taller, and selected exclusively by me.
• Oral Boundaries: No cunnilingus, anal or DP.
• Kissing: French kissing is permitted.
• Spitting: Allowed within negotiated context.
• Manual Touch: Light fingering permitted—featherlight external touch, with up to 3 fingers internally.
• Hygiene: Must be freshly showered and practice exceptional personal hygiene.
• Verbal Skills: Must excel in offering praise and sexual affirmation throughout.
As I unpacked the fantasy, it became increasingly clear that the odds of it converting into genuine desire were next to none. In reality, they’d likely be missing a few teeth, their scent a pungent blend of onions masked poorly by stale Old Spice. The sex would be clumsy and relentless—juvenile jackhammering paired with misguided attempts to locate the clitoris, culminating not in pleasure but in dominating discomfort. I’d grow irritated when the so-called ringleader failed to intuitively eject the one who slipped and called me an whore when he should be kissing the ground I walk on. Their collective overwhelm and sexual insecurity would almost certainly manifest as performance anxiety, softening any illusion of power with limp penetration. One of them would inevitably stumble across my face on their Instagram Explore page, and I’d risk exile from my community—ostracized at best, attacked by furious family members at worst. And as for the finishing touch? Their semen would taste like sour beer and poor hydration.
Sometimes, understanding a fantasy is more liberating than acting on it. It reveals what arouses us, what shaped us, what still holds power over us—and in that recognition, the charge begins to soften. Even the profane can be sacred when we meet it with honesty instead of shame. And perhaps that’s the true climax: reclaiming the parts of ourselves we were told to hide.
Maybe when the Prime Minister fornicates with a pig on live TV… but until then, I’ll keep it tucked away in the dark corners of my erotic mind.
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