Sex magic is real

and other lessons I've learned recently

Do you ever fantasize during sex? About people who aren't your partner?

I’ve only done it a few times, always accidentally. It just happens. It’s usually the first indicator that a relationship is no longer right for me. I don’t think it’s sinful or intentional, at least it never was for me. Fantasies speak to subconscious yearnings—for something different, something more, a neglected need, perhaps. Your fantasies are data providing valuable information about your desires, and there's nothing shameful about that.

Sometimes, you can integrate their messages to enhance your current relationship, and other times, the presence of the fantasy alone a red flag—a sign the person you're sleeping with is so bad for you that a part of your subconscious needs to take over and turn them into someone else, because this one part of you absolutely disapproves and demands something different, even if the rest of you isn't quite on board yet. Does that make sense? That's how it went for me, at least.

Two months ago, I was having sex with someone—someone who was bad for me, but who I thought I wanted—and I started fantasizing about someone else.

It wasn't intentional at all. Out of nowhere, the image of another man filled my mind. I couldn't stop it from happening. The "fantasy guy" didn't quite make sense to me—we had kissed once at a party a year prior, but I barely knew him and rarely thought about him. It's not like this fantasy was something I actively yearned for and was just itching to play out during sex. It was random. My brain just planted him there, probably because things weren't feeling quite right with my sex partner. And for whatever reason, this fantasy did feel right, as if my subconscious knew exactly what I needed—so I leaned into it until this imaginary man brought me to orgasm.

I feel guilt admitting this, but my brain did it for me, innocently, because I absolutely was not supposed to keep sleeping with the other guy. I was being treated poorly, but I was unhealthily attached and kept coming back. My subconscious decided to intervene, to plead its case for something different.

The next morning, I woke up to a message from the man I fantasized about, asking me out to coffee.

This came as a shock, of course. It was out of the blue. We had never once spent time together one-on-one, unless you count my fantasy the night prior. It didn’t make sense to me. I could only assume I had performed sex magic.

His message was very sweet, with a good amount of care put into it—nothing over the top, but a thoughtfulness and intentionality I hadn't seen in God knows how long. The timing was too eery to be coincidental. "I manifested this," I told myself. "Or we have a psychic connection!" Or I performed sex magic on accident. My fantasy unveiled a subconscious yearning for something different—more sweetness and care, perhaps—and the presence of the fantasy affirmed my readiness to receive it. I cast a spell through my orgasm, and it was dropped into my lap the next morning.

Given that I had performed magic, it was challenging not to build up the situation in my head. I tried my best to let go of any expectations and curiously watch it unfold.

When we finally met up for coffee a month later, there was a thick and palpable tension in the air, but not a sexual tension—it was a nervous tension, like we weren't quite sure how to act with each other. We sat very far apart, we didn't touch each other at all, and the conversation was mostly small talk. No flirting, no wild chemistry, no dopamine surging through my brain, and no signs that he was interested in me at all. It was sweet, but it was uncomfortably platonic for my liking.

"Is this a date? What are we really doing here?" lingered in the air while we mutually withheld all signals. After two hours of innocent, aimless chit chat and no sign that he wanted anything else from me, we parted ways.

I was disappointed. I texted my friend, who I had been hyping up my "sex magic" to for a month, and blabbered about how hilariously awkward it all felt.

I figured I failed at being an object of desire, or something. This coffee date was supposed to be the start of a passionate new romance because I ~manifested~ it. He didn't seem to want anything from me! He didn't make any moves. I couldn’t fathom the possibility that he wanted to be my friend, or that maybe there was no motive driving him at all. He didn't seem to have a motive. I felt confused and a little bit silly.

At night, as I was getting ready for bed, I texted him—trying to redeem myself, probably—and he texted me back with polite words, but again, no desire. No motive. He wasn't trying to get anything from me. He was just being kind. And that made my brain explode, pretty much.

It was an experience I hadn’t felt before, or at least one I was never conscious of. If a man was kind to me, there was a catch. There was always a deeper motive, a transaction pending—sex, or mothering, or proximity to creative genius, clout by proxy 😏. People always wanted something. Always. And this man didn't seem to, or at least I couldn't decipher what. I sat with this foreign concept like an alien observer, or a child learning math.

It hit me like a brick. I no longer felt rejected, or embarrassed, or awkward. I felt complete relief. Safety. I spent the evening sobbing in my bedroom, giving thanks to a feeling I didn’t know I needed.

This was a new experience—someone treating me as a human, not a means to some end. I felt like a sex object and emotional support animal for the man I was previously sleeping with, desired only when there was a specific need of his to be met. Care was transactional, as it had been my entire life—care came when someone wanted something from me.

So, to not be wanted for any clear, particular purpose felt very strange. “Two hours of innocent, aimless chit chat and no sign that he wanted anything else from me”—that’s exactly what I needed, so much that I sobbed, like the burden of a lifetime had been lifted. Or perhaps a curse.

Oh, it felt so good to not be wanted for anything. I wanted to lean into the feeling. I thought he was so sweet, so kind, and, oh, I really wanted more kindness.

I also wanted to be wanted by him, because he didn't want me for anything, which made me trust him and want him all the more. He felt safe. I didn’t think it could lead anywhere, but I wanted to chase the sweet feeling of relief. So, I chased the man a little bit. I wasn’t very good at it. I guess that means my magic wasn’t very good, either.

Or was it?

I think it was. I think, through my fantasy, I cast a spell that helped catalyze my departure from an unhealthy relationship by showing me what kindness from a man felt like. I was returned to my innocence, and I remembered how it felt to be treated as a full person. I think that was my fantasy all along—to be treated as a full person. That was the purpose of the sex magic, the purpose of the wildly awkward coffee date. The spell wasn’t to get the guy, it was to get me to a different place.

My subconscious did that for me. Or the collective unconscious did that for me. I sent a call out into the collective psyche that night, and this boy decided to pick up the phone. He did me a great service. I could’ve graciously accepted the message, then hung up the phone, but I got a little bit greedy. I got a taste of something sweet, something I hadn't tasted in years, a corrective experience, and I wanted more. At the very least, I wanted to thank him, express my appreciation somehow. Consider this my attempt.