On Fantastic Things
Previous - this entry written on August 13, 2007 at 1:04 pm - Next

So I was asked a question in an email, and the answer ended up being interesting enough to me at least that I am posting it, making sure I can't lose it. The question: What are the basics for a fantasy-type Man? My answer:

Mmm... oh that's a complicated question. There are three types of fantasy men that my subconscious has latched onto as OMGYUMMYGLEE!

First off, there's the Slaveboy. Slender, a hint of muscles that might be built up when he's older... but he's young now, still fragile. Wide, almost childish eyes, the sort where you can see everything he's feeling, every hint of emotion. Wrists and hands should be delicate and agile - a piano player's hands, or an artist's hands. Hair long enough to fall just below his collarbone, usually tied back or braided, but a few strands have to fall free and brush across his cheeks. Not much in the way of body hair, he still looks young and it's clear that even as he ages, he's not likely to get much in the way of hair on his chest, or anywhere else for that matter. Bruised, I like the thought that someone before me hurt him oh-so-badly, and now anything I do will seem like an angel's mercy. *amused* The collar, or cuffs, or whatever form of restraint, should be steel, and locked. No way he could get it off by himself. Definitely he should be a bit tanned, and there should be a feral grace about him; if you can't picture him suddenly morphing into some sort of animal, something's wrong. I like my playtoys... dehumanized? Dark hair, dark eyes, and the expression of someone who has spent most of their recent waking moments wishing they were dead. *licks her lips*

Next, there's the Tiger. This is someone who I could regard as an arch-enemy, if we were at cross purposes, someone intelligent, clever, cunning, strong, demanding, fierce, controlling, manipulative, vicious, wicked... *purrs* ...everything I love in a man. With the Tiger, it's not so much about him as it is about the background, the props, what he's chosen to wear and hold and be near. The body? Unimportant to him. A vessel, a tool. What matters is his mind. There would be books, some of the titles recognizable, some not. Little souvenirs (which gmail tells me is spelled wrong and dictionary.com agrees with me that it is spelled correctly) from his travels on the shelves with the books, on the table beside his chair, or on his desk; a blowgun perhaps, a strange little statue, a ring that was once worn by an emperor, perhaps a wallhanging of an old seer's weavings, or a globe showing the continents as a mystic born a thousand years ago predicted they would be a thousand years from now. Strange things, occult, deadly, you can walk through his library and know that no matter what you do, or say, or even think, he will already have considered it and either acted on it or discarded it. Someone who you simply must respect. Hair... likely kept short enough at least in front that it won't interfere with reading. You don't really see body hair on him, what with the clothing and all; perhaps in the bedroom but that's honestly not the room I picture him in, it's either a torture chamber or a library, every time. Eyes possibly hidden behind glasses; though he'd carry contacts with him, or a spare pair of glasses, if he had to travel. Pale skin, of course, and likely he'd be dressed in a suit, or just in practical, comfortable, but clearly expensive clothing. He would carry a cell phone AND an old-fashioned wind-up pocket watch.

Third is the Adventurer. He's similar to the Tiger in many ways - souvenirs from his travels, well-read, carries a spare for anything he thinks he might need - but when you look at the details, you'll find the differences. He's scruffy: there's always a hint of a 5 o'clock shadow on his chin, his hair is never neatly combed, his favorite clothing looks like an elephant sat on it, his boots are the sort that he may have inherited, they're that sturdy, and they are in no way stylish. He's got a little bit of body hair, too - definitely hairy arms and legs, but I suspect his chest is pretty hairless, ditto his back. His prizes from his journeys aren't weapons or horribly valuable trinkets or weird occult objects; he prefers old maps, tiny statues, fossils, a scrap of cloth from a queen's skirt or a carved box that held nothing more important than a long-dead concubine's earrings. Think Indiana Jones and you've got it. He's the one who could meet and match the Tiger, and if you see them face to face, it's quite sight - the polished, deadly poise of the Tiger and the vagabond courage of the Adventurer... yum. Hair color doesn't matter as much here - it's mostly dirty anyway, ew - and this is the only one of the three who has some serious muscle put on him. He's not the most clever man on the planet by a long shot, but he's quick, and he does his research, and somehow Lady Luck ends up on his side nine times out of ten.

The Slaveboy, I could live with, 24/7, having him there every moment of the day. I would purr with pleasure when I woke to see him curled on the floor at the foot of the bed, and fall asleep content knowing he was chained there the next night.

The Tiger, I would worship. I know I'd always be the minion, the second-in-command, the girlfriend, the mistress, the secretary... but I'd BE there. I'd get to see his mind work, I'd feel him rewriting my life to suit me, I would never doubt that he was in control.

The Adventurer, I would have a passionate week-long affair with, fuck senseless, rob him blind, tie him up, deliver him to the Tiger, and take considerable pleasure in watching whatever happened next. ^.^ See, the Adventurer? Like I said, not as bright sometimes as he might wish he was. And the "Oh, it was horrible, he bent me to his will, please save me" would ensure that I'd get out alive if he DID manage to somehow take the Tiger, not that it would be all that likely.

A perfect picture: the Tiger and his Lady, seated in two comfortable and obviously expensive old wing-back chairs in the library... the Slaveboy kneeling beside the Lady's chair or perhaps between the two chairs, holding a tray with drinks. Her hand is in his hair, he is obviously nuzzling against the hand, enjoying the touch. The Adventurer, looking messier than usual, is bound quite thoroughly and placed in front of the Tiger and the Lady. The Tiger is leaning forward, a torn portion of a map clasped in one hand, the other hand gesturing at the bound man, who in turn is glaring back at him, teeth bared, a trickle of blood running down his forehead from where he was hit over the head by his kidnappers. The Slaveboy watches the Lady... the Lady watches the Tiger... the Tiger watches the Adventurer... and the Adventurer watches the Slaveboy, who looks surprisingly similar to him, a family resemblance perhaps. *grin*

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