"...followed by a brisk mauling."

When I was a kid, just coming to understand lust and love and boys and girls and nowhere near understanding gender, sexuality, or the boundaries that don’t really exist, I had not exactly a fantasy, but…

I was a weird kid. I watched a lot of movies and read a lot of books that were probably too mature for me. My parents definitely believed in the school of thought that one should be honest with a child, and allow them space to grow and learn about the world. Sometimes that meant getting to see things I maybe shouldn’t have (though I think I grew up better for it). Anyway.

I first saw Silence of the Lambs when I was 8. I loved it. It never scared me (though it probably should have), most likely because the really scary parts were the ones I didn’t pick up on. But it was great. It became and probably still is my favorite movie, and one I’ll watch on a bad day when I just want to feel comfortable. It’s basically the mashed potatoes and gravy to my soul. 

And Anthony Hopkins. Oh, Anthony Hopkins.

I saw the movie once when I was 8, and not again until I was solidly into my pre-teens. But I had the hugest crush on Hannibal Lector for a large amount of that decade. Not Anthony Hopkins, though I thought he was a great actor. But Hannibal Lector. He was intelligent, cunning, clever, and detached. And he was dangerous. He was in my mind the quintessential bad boy, made more so because you would never expect his crimes if you had met him on the street.

So yeah. I guess that’s the most bizarre fantasy I’ve ever had (though I really don’t fantasize in that way). I had a hard-on for a fictional cannibalistic serial killer.