Here's one. But it's more of an enduring image than a fantasy. To exist, poised at the edge of an infinite, orgasmic moment of pain and submission, and finally to fall into it and dissolve. The image is of the night-time of space, with the cold hot stars endlessly in the background, and just wisps of self drifting across them - and then the wisps disintegrate, and are dispersed forever on a solar wind.

For some reason this is less scary than it sounds. Oops, two sentences, though.