Forbidden Flowers (6 page)

But all this, good though it is, somehow pales in comparison to the real thing for me. I like giving her pleasure in this way; I enjoy it myself. But it's all only play to me; I remain unaffected in the ultimate sense. But for her, it seems to be rapidly assum-ing the proportions of an obsession. She doesn't want it any other way now. I'm worried – she's really a very nice person, 36

and I do like her – lest I may be encouraging her in a sexual aberration that may eventually do her harm.

Oh, well, you've listened long enough. I don't expect you to reply, and perhaps this report may be of no use to you at all.

But if you're interested in the sexual fantasies of women, here's one that came to life. You're welcome to use all or any part of this account as you like, no obligation. In any case, good luck to you in writing more about this interesting subject of women and their fantasies.

Lana

Congratulations on a sensitive piece which rightfully credits women with a high degree of creativity.

After reading your book, it sounded like fun to write down a fantasy I have been having – it seems a little more difficult to share it. Actually, my fantasy does not materialize during sex, but rather acts as kind of a “sleeping pill” when I have had a particularly tiring day at work.

It begins as I am sitting in a waiting room which is painfully antiseptic and severe. I feel very uncomfortable being there, for it seems it is somewhat against my will. Other girls are seated around me also nervously shifting in their chairs.

Finally, my name is called by a woman who resembles an old grade-school librarian. Very unchic and clinical. She shows me into a huge office painted white, with a cold metal examination table in the middle. She asks that I remove my clothes and carry them to the corner of the room. When I bend down to put them there, she tells me to stay in that position while she prepares an injection to tranquilize me. She finally returns and feels all over me for the correct site – usually on my rear. As she is giving me the shot, three men enter the room. One is deadly serious, and the others are his students. They are all surprised at the position I am in. The teacher appears cross with the woman for not doing a better job of relaxing me.

I am told to mount the examination table. I do and lie on my back. But one of the students laughs and asks me to turn over, saying he needs the relaxed end up. It is at that point, out of the 37

corner of my eye, with my head resting on my hands, that I see a large machine being wheeled in with a tubular device attached to a long rubber hose. One of the students asks me to relax and spread my legs as far as they will go, while the other student, amid sideways winks and donning rubber gloves, lubricates my rectum with his fingers. The teacher then slowly and with some difficulty (because I keep tightening my muscles) inserts the tube into my rear and announces that this is an enema designed with both an outflow and inflow suction.

Water swishes, legs are held apart, and I am constantly told to relax. After a while, it is all over, and the tube is removed.

By then I am usually asleep.

Should I need to fantasize further, I am prepared.

The teacher tells me I am to be the model for a mold or casting of a dildo to better fit all women. Another injection, and then I am turned over. My legs are spread on a trapeze affair suspended from the ceiling. The students busy themselves with a thorough douching of my vagina, while the teacher feels my breasts and asks me if it hurts.

Then another machine is wheeled in with a larger tube inserted into that clean vagina. The plaster oozes out of the tube and seems to fill my whole body. It's warm and keeps expand-ing. One of the students pushes his hand on my stomach, while the other closes the slit with his fingers. Meanwhile, the doctor inserts a lubricated thermometer in my rectum.

Others are called to help remove the casting – usually men that I have never had affairs with, but have thought about it.

They enter the room slightly surprised to see me, but don rubber gloves and aid in taking out the form.

The final bliss comes when it is tried out on the librarian-type.

I am amazed that I wrote this, but really did have fun doing it. It is a genuine fantasy.

Robyn

I just finished reading your book,
My Secret Garden
, and I must admit I enjoyed it very much.

38

To give you a bit of my background, I'm female, eighteen, and am presently engaged to be married in one and a half years. Please, no comments! I've had enough objections from my parents and relatives already! John and I are very much in love, although we've known each other only eight short months!

I've had sex with two other guys before John, but I never really enjoyed it. With John, every minute we are making love is heaven. I am the first girl John has ever fucked, and John is the only guy who's made me reach a climax. We fuck about three or four times a week (I'm on the pill), usually in his car, occasionally we rent a motel room, although I have to be home by 1:30 A.M. I guess I should tell you our favorite ways of fucking before I tell you my fantasies. First of all, we both get greatest satisfaction with me on top. He can touch my clitoris when I'm this way, and I can fondle his balls. When in the car, I kneel over him while he's sitting, and this way he can use one finger on my clitoris, and another finger up my anus. I adore the feeling I get when his finger is in my asshole. I come the best this way. We use every possible word, while fucking. I love to hear him say what he's doing, and really letting the words flow. However, we never use these words
any other
time. I also enjoy a good sound spanking on my bare bottom before making love. (He can't stand me spanking him, though.) It feels great when he puts a lotion on my fiery bottom afterward.

We both enjoy the sixty-nine position, with me on top. This way he can also use his hand. I can't come when he's not using a finger on my clitoris. Often, he'll go down on me before we make love; I usually come while he's doing this.

Now, for fantasies. I guess mine are basic, not too unusual. I often daydream of having sex with another woman, but I never think of this while we're fucking. I'd really like to try it with a girl, but truthfully, I don't know anyone I could do it with. By the way, none of my girl friends, except one, know that John and I fuck. If the opportunity ever arose, I'd definitely try it.

(And I'd
never
tell John.)

39

I'd also like to pretend that John was a doctor, and he'd have to give me an enema. I can see him wearing the kind of white gauze mask that doctors wear and leaning over me. I am on a special gynecological table, with my feet in the stirrups, but because he is going to carefully examine my anus before giving rime an enema, I am lying facedown, so I am all spread open for him, my cunt and my anus. First, he pokes his finger in my asshole and tries to look in. But he can't see enough. So he takes out a kind of surgical pliers and warms the cold metal in a bowl of warm water. Then he inserts the pliers in my anus, and when they are in good and deep, he slowly opens them so he can have a good look in. For some reason of anatomy I don't understand, he has to put his fingers in my vagina while he is examining my asshole. Perhaps this helps open it up more.

Then when he has it figured out, he says to me, “Well, I will have to give you an enema. That will fix you up.” But instead of having me sit on a toilet, he puts me in a kind of swing, so that I am supported under the shoulders, and from the knees down, but my bottom is hanging naked down below. John brings in an enormous enema bottle and hangs it up high over my head. “This will really fix you up,” he says, and begins to insert the rubber pipe into me. He is down below the canvas swing, so I can't really see him, but he's shoving in inches and feet of rubber piping, really shoving it in. And then as he turns on the warm water, he leans over to kiss me. As he does so, he puts his fingers on my clitoris and lovingly plays with it. I can feel the water gently running up through me; John is holding my cunt lips tenderly in his hands and telling me I'll be all right soon. The feeling is very peaceful, but even as I write this, I can feel myself almost beginning to come.

That fantasy may seem a bit gross, but I'd really like it to happen. (Wherever could I get stirrups and the canvas swing and such?) I don't know if I'll ever get enough nerve to ask John to do this, but maybe if I get drunk enough … I'm sure he would agree – he never refused to try anything. I'd also like to shave all my pubic hair off, but he is repulsed by the idea.

We also masturbate together (I seldom do it alone), and we've seen each other pee. It's most romantic in the dark deep woods!

40

I hope I've helped you in some way. Please hurry and publish your next book. I can hardly wait to read it.

Maybe, I'll invite you to our wedding! Remember – SEX IS

BEAUTIFUL!

P.S. He also loves to suck on my large tits. He can't wait till I'm pregnant.

P.P.S. I also get turned on by hard porno. (He doesn't.) In all the fantasies that follow in this chapter, the writers themselves describe their fantasies as growing out of childhood experiences – or else their early beginnings are evident in the emotions they express. I always feel grateful to women like Ivy and Sophie who write to confirm the value of sexual fantasies in their lives; just as their own therapists have told them that sexual fantasies do not mean they are freaks, so have several other psychoanalysts written to me of the usefulness to human health and happiness of sexual fantasy. As part of their therapeutic approach, these doctors have begun to encourage their more inhibited patients to invent their own fantasies, often beginning by having them read
My Secret Garden
first.

I especially appreciate the generosity of Dr. Harrison's letter, not just toward me but clearly toward all his women patients.

The fact that he would also enclose his own fantasy makes him even more dimensional to me, not just a doctor but a man too.

We may not all be able to afford, or want, psychotherapy, but the experiences these women have shared with us – acknowledging how difficult it was for them to accept and enjoy the guilt-ridden early sexual pleasures of childhood – can help us all. You were sexual as a child; the thrills and sensations you felt then are still with you. You may have felt guilty about it when you were six or ten, but you are grown-up now and can understand how unnecessary this guilt is. More important, you can put those early sexual experiences and emotions to work for you. When we were children, many of us were made to memorize a passage from the Bible: “When I was a child, I spake as a child … . When I became a man, I put away childish things.” I submit that this is not entirely correct. We may 41

put away childish words and games, but our earliest sexuality is the foundation on which our sexual maturity grows. These women recognize this. Maybe you can learn from them.

Ivy

I've just finished reading
My Secret Garden
. For me, it was one of many approaches I am currently taking to work through numerous sexual hang-ups. Mostly it helps by confirming my therapist's statements that my fantasies and sexual desires are normal, shared by many others.

I am thirty-one, married nine years, two children, returned to graduate school a year ago. Both my husband and I are in therapy; hopefully this counseling, plus attending a clinic for sexual disfunctions will enable us to remain married. But if not, I think we will both be at the point that we can survive divorce, and come through the whole experience with some positive gains.

Fantasy 1
: My therapist (who is female) has arranged for me to be sexually counseled by a male friend, also a therapist. I meet regularly with him, once a week, in his apartment. He is very perceptive and sensitive; in the beginning, we only talk.

He is very slow to introduce sexual activities. The second time I am there, he merely has me lie fully clothed next to him. It's as though he always sensed at what point the fears I have regarding sex negate the excitement, and always takes me on one step beyond where I think it's okay, but one step short of what would scare me away. This is my sweetest, gentlest fantasy, and I haven't yet gotten us to the point of actually making love, and orgasm (which I am only able to achieve while masturbating in real life).

Fantasy 2
: (This is wild.) The beginning part of this borrows and adapts part of a science-fiction novel I once read.

There is some group of people who have instituted a colony of

“superpeople” … beautiful, strong, intelligent, etc. (Naturally, they want me. Such egotism.) Anyway, they get their population by kidnapping desirable persons.

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I'm kidnapped, and awaken in a sparsely furnished bedroom. For the next two weeks, someone comes each day and takes me for different types of tests – a thorough physical which I really enjoy, especially the rectal examination for can-cer (I never had this, but someone once described it to me), I.Q.

tests, physical stamina tests, tests for pain threshold, sexual desire thresholds (i.e., they studied my physiological responses to sexual stimulus à la Masters and Johnson). What is turning me on, aside from the discreet experiences of pain, sexual stimuli, etc., is the feeling of someone or something knowing all of me in such intimate detail.

In the meantime, they are also carrying on at this place social-psychology-type experiments. After a few days of testing, I return to the room and see drapes parted so that I can see a man in a similarly furnished adjacent room – apparently he can't see me. Later (on a different day), we see one another and try to talk through the glass; all we are able to communicate is that neither of us understand where we are or what's going on.

Finally, usually the day I endure the pain threshold experiments, I return quite shaken to the room, and see that now there is a doorway in the wall, and I cross over to his room, where he comforts me and holds me. Sometimes we screw, sometimes not, but it is always a gentle act.