Alpha Male Fantasy

Louis C. is an alpha male who has grown tired of the chase.

Alpha Male Fantasy

Louis C. is a 34-year-old, 6’ man in generally good health, except for a touch of phlebitis. Although he is developing something of a paunch, Louis C. has powerful, sloping shoulders and looks as if he might have been a good athlete in his youth. As sales manager for a medium-size corporation, he averages $20,000 a year.

I’m the kind who likes to dominate women. I like to dominate them and I like the thrill of conquest. But after thirteen years of marriage—after conquering my wife about 5,000 times—it’s hard to hear those bugle calls without a little help. Fantasies are a real necessity for me now. One of my favorites is to imagine I am back in college doing door-to-door selling.

I never sold ladies’ lingerie or stockings, but I talked with a lot of guys who did and they told me it was a job tailor-made for getting laid. A lot of it was probably cock and bull stories, but it’s not hard to imagine that a guy who really worked at it could wind up in somebody’s bed every day of the week. These days, of course, door-to-door selling is tough because so many women are afraid to open the door to a stranger, for obvious reasons. But in the old days, this wasn’t true.

What a lot of people don’t know is that many of the conquests that door-to-door salesman made weren’t accidental. Some of the guys were so horny they’d spend more time plotting how to get laid than they would plotting how to get sales. One of the favorite tricks was to hang around a supermarket until you saw something good and then trail her home. It was a real broad-stalking. And that’s what I think about in my fantasy.

I go into a supermarket and I see this gal who is built like a brick shithouse, and she’s got a kid with her who is squalling. I figure that this is one tired housewife who might be willing to have a little fun on the side. So I follow her home and I watch her ass wobbling all the way. The next day I’m across the street, bright and early. I watch her husband go out the door and he’s taking the kid to school. That means Mama is all alone in the house. I give it about another half hour to make sure the old man isn’t going to come back for something he forgot. Then I knock on the door. At first, there’s no answer, and then I hear, “Who is it?” I give her some sweet talk through the door about free prizes and that crap and pretty soon she opens it up. She’s all rumpled and in a housecoat and it doesn’t take much imagination to know there’s nothing under that housecoat.

Photo by Viva

She’s got long brown hair and big smoldering dark eyes, and those tits are fighting for room in that skimpy housecoat. I talk my way into the house, telling her what wonderful stuff I’ve got for her, and I give her the whole salesman’s line. I’m eyeing her good, and letting her know it, but nothing fresh, you know. I’m warming her up. I can see she’s already beginning to get ideas, and when she offers me some coffee I know I’m in.

We sit down on the sofa and I go into my spiel. I bring out the stockings and slip one over my hand to show it to her. And then I say, “Of course, to really appreciate them you’ve got to see them on your leg…” And then, with this kind of fuck me look, she extends one leg toward me. I start putting the stocking on and I’m rolling it toward the knee. But when I get to the knee she stops me and turns away and pulls it up by herself. Teasing, see? Then I tell her, no, that’s not the right one for her, let’s try another shade. And we do. And she sticks out her leg again and gives me this look. And I start rolling the stocking up and this time she doesn’t stop me until I’m past the knee. Then she turns around again.

I’m hot now because I see she’s really playing the game. The third pair does it. I roll it up and up and up her leg until the housecoat parts and there is all that dark brown hair and a soft round belly. She doesn’t say anything, but when I reach over and pull her to me for the kiss she starts with the “Please don’t, I’m a married woman” routine. But I don’t pay any attention. I tell her she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I tell her I saw her in the supermarket and knew even then that I had to make love to her.

Little by little I turn her face until I’m able to kiss her. And once I do she caves in. We mix our tongues and I start my fingers playing with her pussy, which is already wet. The housecoat just falls off. So do my pants, and in about one minute flat I’m between her legs, sliding it in. But she’s still whispering, “No, don’t. This is wrong. You mustn’t.” And that just turns me on all the more. Then she raises her legs and wraps them around me and pretty soon she’s humping like crazy, really humping. And all the while, through the whole thing, she’s whispering, “No, no.” And I’m whispering, “Yes, yes.” When I get through and I’m ready to go, I tell her I’m coming back tomorrow. And she, all breathless and kind of starry-eyed, keeps saying “Oh, no. You mustn’t. What if my husband found out?” But I do. I keep coming back. And it keeps getting better.

Dr. Chartham Comments:

The whole point of a fantasy is to help you to get in touch with a sexual experience that you wouldn’t have without it. This assumes that the subject of the fantasy is going to be one that is unlikely to occur to the fantasizer in real life, because the unattainable is nearly always more exciting than the attainable. The fantasy is also going to express something—maybe even a great deal—of the sexual character of the fantasizer. Louis C.’s fantasy fulfills these conditions exactly.

At the age of 34 a man is often approaching the peak of his sexual performance, not in terms of how often he performs but in terms of the quality of his performance (which comes from experience) and the quality of the satisfaction that he derives from that performance. So something must have happened to Louis that makes him say, “It’s hard to hear those bugle calls without a little help. Fantasies are a real necessity to me now.”

Louis has been caught up in the rat race. He has been married 13 years, has “conquered his wife 5,000 times,” and has produced three children. I don’t know whether Louis has counted, and really has “conquered his wife 5,000 times,” but if he has it works out that he made love to her every single day of those 13 years. That is quite a high rate, high enough to indicate that he should have a very well-developed sexual imagination. And people with good sexual imaginations do not usually need, at 34, the boost of fantasy to the extent that Louis confesses he does. This reinforces my conclusion that he has gotten caught up in the rat race.

$20,000 is not a great deal these days, when it comes to supporting a family of five. Bringing up three children in today’s conditions places a heavy burden on both parents. Would I be near the mark, I wonder, in thinking that Louis sometimes worries about his finances? Perhaps his wife, weighed down by domestic pressures, does not respond sexually as readily or as excitingly as she did when she was young. This is the kind of situation that can give rise to inadequacies as well as frustrations.

It is to counteract his present predicament that Louis goes back in his fantasy to a time when he was a lusty young stud and had no difficulty in “conquering” women. But he really has lost his self-confidence. In the fantasies of most men whose sexual activity is based on the necessity to dominate their partner, the partner is usually in the “princess” class. To dominate a really superior woman adds to the quality of the conquest. Louis, however, selects “this gal who is built like a brick shithouse… one tired housewife who might be willing to have a little fun on the side” and not be too critical of his performance. Tired as she is, she won’t put up much resistance.

And she doesn’t. Just a little gentle teasing, sufficient to turn him on, and a few mild verbal protests to foster the impression—so necessary to keep him turned on—that he is “conquering.” It is all rather sordid. There is no finesse about anything he does with her. It is little more than “whip it in, whip it out, and wipe it.” If this is how he has gone about it in real life, no wonder he depends on fantasies. His wife must be more bored than he is. I don’t believe this is how it always was. But he’s tired. He still wants it occasionally, but soon he will opt out of sex altogether. Even fantasizing will become too much of an effort.

Photo by Viva

$20,000 is not a great deal these days, when it comes to supporting a family of five. Bringing up three children in today’s conditions places a heavy burden on both parents. Would I be near the mark, I wonder, in thinking that Louis sometimes worries about his finances? Perhaps his wife, weighed down by domestic pressures, does not respond sexually as readily or as excitingly as she did when she was young. This is the kind of situation that can give rise to inadequacies as well as frustrations.

It is to counteract his present predicament that Louis goes back in his fantasy to a time when he was a lusty young stud and had no difficulty in “conquering” women. But he really has lost his self-confidence. In the fantasies of most men whose sexual activity is based on the necessity to dominate their partner, the partner is usually in the “princess” class. To dominate a really superior woman adds to the quality of the conquest. Louis, however, selects “this gal who is built like a brick shithouse… one tired housewife who might be willing to have a little fun on the side” and not be too critical of his performance. Tired as she is, she won’t put up much resistance.

And she doesn’t. Just a little gentle teasing, sufficient to turn him on, and a few mild verbal protests to foster the impression—so necessary to keep him turned on—that he is “conquering.” It is all rather sordid. There is no finesse about anything he does with her. It is little more than “whip it in, whip it out, and wipe it.” If this is how he has gone about it in real life, no wonder he depends on fantasies. His wife must be more bored than he is. I don’t believe this is how it always was. But he’s tired. He still wants it occasionally, but soon he will opt out of sex altogether. Even fantasizing will become too much of an effort.

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Robert  Chartham
Robert Chartham
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Robert Chartham

Sexologist. Studied the erotic fantasies of men, their meaning, significance, and contribution to the human sexual condition. 1911-1985.

See all posts by Robert Chartham