The first time I heard the word “Spank Bank” I had no clue what it meant. Neither did Nikki which made me feel better at the time, because M was laughing at us. Turns out that I had a Spank Bank, I just didn’t call it that. Ladies aren’t supposed to have a file folder, real or imagined, full of pictures that get them off. Luckily for everyone involved, I’m not most ladies. Trust me, both Nikki and I fantasize about real life people, but this week we’re talking about the famous people that get us off…er, famously. Enjoy!
Heather:
In my fantasy life there is lots of office sex, and who is the epitome of sex appeal and 1960s repressed desires? Mr. Don Draper, of course.
Starched shirts peeled apart and ties loosened. Frantic hands pushing aside papers on the desk in preparation of hasty fucking. I’ll work late every night, Mr. Draper, and I take excellent dictation.
Nikki: Ties loosened? I prefer them tied tightly around my wrists.
Heather: You want me to add you? We’ll tie you to the desk and then have our wicked way with you.
I think I’ve loved her forever, but something about Penelope Cruz in Vicky Cristina Barcelona pushed me from crush territory to obsession. Have you seen the movie? Cruz plays this unbalanced bisexual artist who can melt your pants off with a smoldering stare. The fact that she’s married to Javier Bardem just seals the deal for me. Please seal MY deal in a sexy hot Cruz-Cole-Bardem sandwich.
Nikki: Sorry Miss Smokin’ Hot Penelope Cruz, but the only woman I fantasize about making sandwiches with is the legendary Heather Cole.
Heather: Awwww…you say the sweetest things. Let’s get in our Hello Kitty pjs and knee socks and drink!
One thing about my spank bank is that I like characters. Glossy abs and Hollywood polish don’t do it for me. Craggy faces and compelling stories are much more my thing. Hence Señor Benicio del Toro:
In the movie Traffic he plays a frustrated Mexican police officer. In my fantasies, he comes home to me, harried and impatient, and we have in intense fuck on the table amidst the warm tortillas and carne de asada. Now that’s my kind of lunch break.
Nikki: Since he’s a police officer, I’m assuming handcuffs are involved, right?
Heather: You know it. Hopefully he’ll let me handle his gun. A lot.
Nikki:
Yeah yeah, I admit it. I didn’t know what a “Spank Bank” was. When I squeezed my eyes shut for those five minutes every few weeks, I envisioned unshaven faces, strong arms, and of course, tattoos to get me to that mediocre orgasm, but I had no idea my go-to fantasies had a name.
Let’s take Adam Levine with the dark hair, the body, and the tattoos. He’s had me palms to the wall more times than I can count.
Oh dear God in heaven to be those hands….
Heather: Too bad you couldn’t have volunteered your hands for the project. You would have been arrested for fondling.
Nikki: There would have been some very inappropriate behavior.
Now I’ll move on to Colin Farrell because DAMN. Who doesn’t want some of that? And I’ve had him many times, many ways.
Heather: Damn, that man could bring me to orgasm just whispering in my ear. THE ACCENT! Did it get warm in here?
Nikki: Ah yes, the accent, but he played the ultimate bad boy in Fright Night. Bite. Me. Please.
Let’s be realistic here for a minute. Adam Levine and Colin Farrell are “fuck me now” hot, but my number one fantasy has it all. He’s a total package, and you can believe me when I say his “package” is quite…. large.
Heather: My problem with fantasizing about Mr. Timberlake is that it always ends up with him teaching me dance moves which leads to us laughing and then…oh. Never mind.
Nikki: He is hotness on a stick. He doesn’t look like a bad boy on the outside, but I imagine that on the inside, he is one volcano of badness waiting to spew all over me.
Don’t misunderstand, I have plenty of real life masturbation inspiration, but no one wants to hear about the hot waiter at Longhorn Steak House, or the young, sweat-soaked men on the basketball court, or even the cop who directs traffic in front of my kid’s school whose handcuffs never fail to catch my eye as I drive by, bra-less.
