FOREWORD (44 page)

That experience has been the basis of endless fantasies when I’m out on the road, and on my commuter train. I fantasize that we will get together again and go further. She never gets enough fucking. So next time, Jack and I will begin by massaging her on a soft rug in front of the fireplace. Then we will undress her and take turns eating her. Finally we will take turns fucking her until she is totally satisfied – until she is begging for mercy.

Homosexuality is usually perceived as the greatest of all threats to the male psyche. In no other aspect of life are men so guarded. Everyone had parents of two sexes, everyone has Nancy Friday

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introjected characteristics of both mother and father. Women will often say they are like their dad in this or that; the older I get, the more of my grandfather I see in myself. But it is the rare man who will say how many of his mother’s qualities he has inherited. If lesbian contact comes up in feminine fantasies (as it often does), it is usually dealt with easily and in passing, with little or no disguises or excuses. But it is almost a joke how eagerly (anxiously) men pronounce themselves

“201 percent macho he-male and a yard of barbed-wire wide.”

The question naturally arises: Why, then, do so many men in this book introduce their fantasies by speaking about real boyhood encounters with other boys? I suspect that having read my other books on sexual fantasies, my contributors have decided I am non-judgmental. If they can tell me everything about themselves, including homosexual ideas or history, the pressure to air these impulses will have been expressed; but their masculinity will have been reaffirmed. It is expected that, like the writer himself, I will take the confession as a matter of very little moment, kid stuff that happened a long time ago, boyish horsing around until the real thing (girls) came along.

Few boys get all the father-son closeness they would like.

Dad works too hard at his job, is out of town on business, or just plain resigns the task to mother. The hunger for male companionship persists into adult life and is socially sanc-tioned in such forms as nights out with the boys or all-male hunting trips. But isn’t this a charade of the passionate closeness boys once had together when their newfound camaraderie was life itself, and mutual loyalty forever was sworn with blood and campfire oaths – totems and emblems of entrance into the mysterious company of men and an identity greater than that of self alone?

I sense from my contributors that too much rivalry has entered into their relations with other men now that they have grown, too much competition, a loss of belief and distrust of emotion, especially between themselves. “‘Women feel, men Men In Love

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do
.” Women may have access to intimacy with other women they may not have with a lover, but is women’s cheek kissing and embracing anything like the innocent and heartfelt broth-erhood young boys once shared? Even as a young girl I sensed boys had something together we girls did not, beginning with the simple fact that boys would tell lies to protect one another and we girls would have betrayed our best friend for the chance of a boy’s heart. Having once had this closeness, can the grown man ever entirely forget it? By denying he has any feeling left for men, isn’t he denying a part of himself?

It was for the love of women that men gave up their boyhood idylls. “Wedding Bells Are Breaking Up That Old Gang of Mine” goes the lament. How can men not be angry, at some level, that women have hoodwinked them into intimacy, offered them closeness without honesty, sex with guilt? Vance’s fantasy (above) works toward putting that anger to sleep, re-establishing the good old days before friends became sexual rivals. He does not want to see the successful Jack as a competitor, but wants to feel as close to him as possible instead. With Mrs. Vance’s agreement, the trio is fixed up in a moment. Jack and Mrs. Vance may be seen as Vance’s two split selves. Sex – note that the woman agrees it is okay – makes him one.

TROY

I can hardly believe I’ve begun this, so the possibility remains it’ll never be finished or mailed. Living in a small summer resort town whose businesses are open hardly at all during the winter, I’m incredibly horny. Nearly always. Some friends say it’s because I’m a Scorpio with five planets also in Scorpio. It all means nothing to me, and I’m not sure the theory of astrology holds any water. I’m nearly twenty-nine, blond and bearded. Some women have said I’m very attractive, even handsome, yet being so damned introspective, it’s Nancy Friday

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honestly hard to believe. I wear a beard only to hide as much of my face as possible, which is only one facet of my hiding my true self.

As for sex, I love it. I’ve been with a woman now, off and on, for over four years. Very good at times, awful at others.

She’s run the gamut from the sweetest, most selfless person alive, to the most vindictive catty bitch ever. Sex with us, when we’re okay, is fantastic. But in spite of her ability to make me feel incredibly good, I’m constantly fantasizing other scenes with and without her. I’ll relate them in the sense of having happened already to make them less complicated to write.

Once while dressing for an afternoon out, she answered a knock at the door to find a black man in a utility uniform wanting to read the meter in the basement. When done, she offered him a cup of coffee, and while he was drinking it, she decided to seduce him. So sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, she opened her robe, smiling quietly, and leaned back, legs slightly spread, and began fingering her closely shaved, but not bare, cunt. Then she laid back completely, opened her lips and calmly said, “Please suck my cunt, just a little,” which was an offer he couldn’t refuse, and she held his head gently while he circled every inch of her pubic area and licked her inside and out with his tongue. She came in his mouth with a great sigh and more pearly white liquid than I’d ever seen before. Then she sat up and licked his mouth to taste herself, which she’s always loved.

While he then sucked her nipples, she freed his great black cock, and gave a start for a second at the size of it. Then in a voice one ordinarily hears from the blonde on shaving cream ads, she asked him his name, which he said was Christopher.

After barely touching his immense balls and tip of his cock with her nearly shaking tongue, she said, “Christopher, if I take your cock in my mouth and suck it very slowly and make it slide as far down my throat as I can, will you promise you’ll come? Promise me you’ll let yourself relax and let your cock squirt all of your come into my mouth? Please, Men In Love

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Christopher. I love the taste of come, and your cock is so magnificent, I want you to fill my mouth with that hot creamy come.” With his smile, she knew he was not saying no. So she began. Floating her tongue from his asshole slowly over his balls, up the underside of it, over the top and down again, over and over, rolling his balls in her mouth, and tickling his ass just enough to make him squirm a bit. She wouldn’t allow him to hold her head, so he just sat back, lit a smoke, and enjoyed. Her skin appeared so white against his beautiful black skin, like lightning on a dark night. She’d by then forgotten I was even in the room.

Soon she began earnestly to take as much as she could in her throat, which was not more than half of that great, shining rod, and occasionally tickled her own clitoris with a free hand, as she raised to her knees and moved her ass in the air, almost magnetically drawing me nearer to fuck her from behind. Then, dammit, another knock at the door. I ran and answered it. Another utility man, black as well, wondering where the hell Christopher was. With a gesture of quiet and a knowing wink, I led him to the kitchen where Claire was alive with motion, and whimpers of pleasure I’d never heard before. Christopher had a glazed look on his face, but acknowledged the presence of his partner, who very calmly asked Claire if she would like to feel even better. Taking her flushed lips from Christopher’s nearly bursting cock, she said, “Yes, please hurry. Fuck me anywhere,” and with a wet groan slid back onto the shaft she hadn’t let go of for a second. The newcomer removed his pants, knelt, and lightly tasted Claire’s cunt, which was visibly moist and puffy, nearly spreading itself in anticipation. His cock was nearly as big as Christopher’s. He wet his index finger with her juices and slowly worked it into her ass, as his thumb enter her cunt.

Her ass began to move much like a kite on a gusty day, as he seemed to be making up his mind as to which hole he preferred. Just as suddenly, he pulled his hand away, and without a pause at all, literally rammed his cock in her cunt so hard, it caused his balls to strike her tummy, and a low aniNancy Friday

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mal growl of pleasure emanated from her pelvis and erupted around the cock in her mouth.

Though I’d never seen her this way before, it appeared she knew exactly how to move her body to achieve full penetration of both cocks at exactly the same instant. I was, beside them in an instant feeling every part of all of them, and stroking my own cock as near to Claire’s face as I could. The floor actually trembled like a high speed train, as she brought everyone closer, closer, closer. Claire’s eyes opened wide, wild with excitement, as she pumped that great black cock, her mouth stretched wide, but still smiling somehow. Her knees lifted off the floor with every powerful stroke of the man behind her creating slippery slaps, then finally, suddenly, loudly, incredibly, we all came at once. With the most unbelievable groan in her throat bubbling up through the come she’d wanted to swallow, her whole body off the floor, from the sudden implacement of the cock of the newcomer being violently, unexpectedly thrust in her ass just as he came, and Christopher holding her shoulders, lifting her completely, her free hand spread the come I’d squirted all over her face on her swinging breasts. Come drooled and dripped from everywhere, and everyone collapsed in a pile together with sweet, insatiable Claire clinging to three cocks, with mouth, asshole, and hand, soaked with come, whimpering, drooling, giggling, spent. Four incredibly sexual people in a pile, wet with sweat and come, panting, sighing, no words being spoken, other than Claire asked how often the meters were read.

VIRGIL

I have fantasized continuously since I was thirteen (I am now eighteen, and I don’t plan to quit. Most of my fantasy life developed from books I read like
The Happy Hooker
, ones with lots of sex in them. Here are a couple of my favorite, overused fantasies:

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Back in high school, there was a girl I knew who had a beautiful mother with a fantastic body, and lots of guys thought about her. The daughter was great too, but didn’t seem very nice. However, the mother liked people, and always wore very sexy clothes.

One day, my best friend and I ride somewhere on our hikes, and we spot her with her husband and daughter, also bike riding. We follow them and overhear that Mr. M. and Laura have to go somewhere, but Mrs. M. is going home.

Dick and I follow her home, and we instinctively know exactly what we are going to do.

After about ten minutes, we knock on the door, and when she answers, we can’t believe our eyes. She is wearing a stretch top with no bra underneath, hot pants, and very high boots (maybe she knew we were coming). Quickly jumping inside, Dick grabs her, while I shut the door and close the curtains. She tries to run, but we catch her and take her to the bedroom. While Dick holds her, I remove all her clothes except the boots, and begin removing my own. Dick strips and moves beside her, while I am on the other side, all of us lying on the bed. We both kiss her face, neck and mouth while fondling her large tits; and after a while, she stops struggling.

When both of us suck on her nipples, she gets excited, groans, begs us to continue. I move to her cunt, licking her slit, finally sucking her clitoris. She locks her legs around my head, and Dick begins tonguing her ass, while she massages one cock in each hand. She starts begging to be fucked, so we switch, Dick fucking her, while she sucks my throbbing cock.

She comes for the third time, which causes Dick and me to shoot our loads into her simultaneously. We quickly dress and leave the house, leaving her tired but contented.

Stories about two men and a woman often contain sadistic elements. The men do not like her. Sex is used to express contempt, and the woman is humiliated.

Such emotions are not what my contributors express.

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I opened this book by saying it was about men who like women. In fantasies like Troy’s (above), even though the woman is not experienced solely for herself, but also as the vehicle and permission giver for one man to enjoy otherwise taboo emotions about another man, it is important to the fantasist that he not lose his connection with her. She must like what is going on. Here is what Troy invents for his Claire to feel while she is sexually enmeshed with another man: “wild with excitement ... smiling.”

The only sadistic touch in this chapter comes from eighteen-year-old Virgil (above). At that age, a man is still so close to home – and the first great no-sayer – that he is far from believing girls his own age will ever say yes. Force often seems the only way a man will ever get a woman to do anything sexual. Angry at women, angry at himself perhaps for still wanting some of the old homoerotic horsing around with the other guys – pleasures only recently given up –

Virgil creates a fantasy in which he and his buddy force an older woman into sex. Do they hurt her? Does she react with pain and horror as most women would in reality? No. “She comes for the third time, which causes Dick and me to shoot our loads into her simultaneously.” The woman ends up

“tired but contented.”

In these fantasies, the line between the woman’s pain and pleasure, between the man’s anger and desire, is delicately, ambivalently balanced but the creators of these scenarios always make sure the final weight falls on the side of the woman’s ecstasy. In this way, she is perceived as an all-wise mother who recognizes a small boy’s inchoate furies; one who returns them not with an aggression of her own, but with love.