FOREWORD (73 page)

If I could only meet girls and get to know them, I’m sure I could satisfy them sexually (or I’d sure as hell try!). I’d eat them or whatever they wanted indefinitely, if that’s what it took to satisfy them. A friend of mine got laid last Saturday.

He didn’t enjoy it a whole lot, because (quote) “She’s fat and even her tits are ugly. When I put it in she bled like the pig she is all over the floor.”

BUDDY

I am just fifteen; however, my fantasies always make me feel like a twenty-year-old. I have always had fantasies, but I never told anybody of them. I come from a religious family and sex is a “no-no.” I have an older sister who is twenty and still unmarried.

My first fantasy is about my thirteen-year-old cousin. We have always been very close and we used to play “house,” where we would kiss and make believe we’d fuck. She’s very pretty. We never did it! In my fantasy, she is sixteen and a virgin. She has large breasts and sexy legs. She wanted to remember old times and asked me to play “house.” I agreed.

When we kissed I pushed my tongue into her mouth. She got turned on. With my hands, I unbuttoned her blouse. She didn’t stop me, and I undid her bra and fondled her large tits.

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took out my erect dick and rubbed it. She urged me to go on:

“Suck me ... fuck me.”

I put my hands under her skirt and I felt her wet panties. In my excitement I ripped the material with my fingers, and I fondled her clit. She unhooked her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Immediately, I pulled down her panties and buried my face in her pussy. She had a big bush of hair and it smelled good. I flicked my tongue in and out of her cunt until I heard her
ooohs
and
ahhs
and felt her come flood my face. When I mounted her she told me she wasn’t on the pill or anything, so I shouldn’t get her pregnant. I heard her but I came in her and she got mad. She got pregnant, and I thought it was all over, because she’d tell her parents, but she got an abortion.

My second fantasy is about my sister. She has large boobs and a round, plump ass. She’s a virgin. I have seen her in her bra and panties, but she doesn’t seem to want me. I saw her naked once, when I passed her room. She looked radiant. She covered up when she saw me.

In my fantasy, I am naked in my room reading a porno book, and she comes in wearing a sheer nightgown. Instantly I cover myself, but she sees my erect cock and she says,

“What have we here?” She pulls my pants away and looks at my cock. “You like it?” I ask. To answer, she would close the door and pull down the straps of the gown, and let it fall to the floor. I leap up to her and pull her on the bed. I suck her tits and move down to her dark black pussy. I get between her legs and lick and suck her clit until she comes. I fuck her with my eight-inch prick and make her want more and more.

From then we fuck regularly. She’s great.

In my next fantasy, I have a harem of chicks. I like blacks the best. Their skin is so slick. I go into my apartment and fifty girls leap out from hiding. They rip my clothes off and make me fuck each of them. All those wet cunts. Tits flying all over. There are five girls on me at one time, while the rest finger-fuck themselves or fuck each other.

Another fantasy is me raping Raquel Welch. I, would take her to a country house and gag her mouth. I would rip her Men In Love

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dress apart. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her tits sagged a little, her nipples were pink and already erect. I told her,

“You bitch, you want it. Look at your nipples. I’ll bet your cunt is dripping wet.” Sure enough, it was. I sucked her muff until she urged for me to fuck her. I didn’t. I played with her, getting her more and more excited. She had come twice.

Then I put my cock in her moist cunt. I kept her there all week and she and I have a fucking great week in fantasy.

Every chick I pass on the street, I look up and down. I like big tits in a tight sweater. I wish I could go over to a blond chick on the street, and put my hand in her blouse and fondle her big boobs. Then while everyone watches, I strip her and myself and fuck her in the middle of Broadway.

SHERWIN

I am eighteen and a college sophomore, but I have only begun to relate to women sexually (dancing, a couple of dates), in the past year. As I was very introverted and ill at ease with other kids until a few years ago – when I went away to boarding school – this isn’t surprising. You have to crawl before you can walk. But because I reached puberty early and always identified with older kids intellectually, and because of current norms for teen-age sexuality, I have hurt a lot inside.

I had romantic feelings about girls as far back as I remember, but my earliest specifically sexual fantasies came when I reached puberty at eleven. Those fantasies were still basically romantic and conventional images of lovemaking (gleaned mostly from books and magazines), somewhat hazy, but sufficient for masturbation. They began to change when I turned fourteen, after a couple of girls rebuffed my clumsy, albeit thoroughly romantic and unphysical, approaches. My masturbation fantasies shifted to less threatening material like incest, rape, pedophilia, even incredibly gory sadistic fantasies. At least I didn’t want to actually realize these Nancy Friday

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fantasies, whereas the old romantic conventional dreams of girls reminded me too much of my real world failures. I feel guilty about some of these new far-out fantasies, but at least I know now, after reading your books, that I’m not the only one to have them, that I’m not so weird after all.

While I’m a believer in sexual egalitarianism, and the abolition of sex roles – I wish women were free to make passes at men – there’s another level where I blame women for my frustration and would like to make women pay for it.

Hence my homosexual fantasies, fantasies about female homosexuality and about women and animals (none about men and animals – I think it’s another antiwoman fantasy).

They’ve almost all been tried in both fast and third person; third person is especially good when something makes me feel too guilty in first person.

Until last winter, I was confident that my homosexual fantasies were as improbable as the others. Then I got stoned with some kids (which I do very rarely – the kids I usually hang out with don’t smoke), and suddenly I had the hots for this guy whom I’d been avoiding all semester, because (I’d told myself – and it may’ve been true) I thought he had designs on me. I was very upset for a while, but finally I accepted, at least intellectually, that I was probably potentially bisexual – at the same time as I promised myself I wouldn’t express it, if at all, until after I’d confirmed my

“credentials” for heterosexuality. There are too many things I want to do that can’t afford the label “queer.” One of my favorite “conventional” fantasies a few years ago was based on the movie
The Effect of Gamma Rays on
Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds.
I imagined that I met a girl like Matilde, about twelve, very bright, neglected. We became friends and very slowly became closer and after a couple of years, we became lovers. Finally I turned eighteen and married her and took her away from her awful home. But the erotic part was just before that (“happily ever after” isn’t sexy).

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Last summer I lived under the same roof as my sister (age sixteen now) for the first time in several years. There were no other teen-aged females in my life at the time, and I became aware that she was very sexy and started to fantasize about her. I’d imagine that she would suggest that we get stoned together. We would, and then I would have sex and I would spend the night in her bed (this one still makes my pants rise).

Naturally, I never told her any of this,, though I’d lie there each night thinking about her on the other side of that wall.

I’d be frightened that she would be upset with me if she ever found out how I felt, because I’d like to know her better as a person.

I will describe one fantasy I got into after I accepted my possible bisexuality. I would meet a guy in his twenties in a cafe. We would start rapping and he would invite me up to his place. Once there, we would have something to drink, and while we were talking he would unzip my fly and masturbate me. Then he would ask me if I wanted to stay the night, and I would say yes, and he would teach me all kinds of sex.

P.S. My parents broke up when I was seven, were formally divorced four years later. My father remarried, had two kids, is getting divorced again. Both of my parents have liberal values both sexually and politically, but my mother didn’t feel comfortable discussing sex with me, and after the breakup, I had a poor relationship with my father – who is a very pushy person. My sister and I lived with our mother, spent many summer and other vacations with our father. Last summer my father told me I ought to go out and pick up a girl on the street.

“
Virgin
. How that word fascinates me, with sick, gnawing despair, hysteria, amusement, awe,” says Eddie (above).

“How often it seems Eternal.... It is hard, torturously hard, to show a woman you like her when you’re terrified by the fact that you want sex so badly!”

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For eight years I wrote about women’s plight, women’s enforced passivity, women’s needs and fears, and the injustice of it all. It was only around the sixth or seventh year of research – two and a half books along the way – that I got this feeling of something left out, something missing, something I cared about a great deal: men.

As Rev. Jesse Jackson often preaches, you can blame somebody else for getting you down, but you can only blame yourself if you stay there. Blaming men and putting the boot in their face (for a change) will accomplish for women the last thing most of us want. I for one do not want to live separate from men, even if I live there in moral triumph.

Can anyone, male or female, read Eddie’s words and not empathize? What saddens me is that Eddie is probably more open to his own real feelings and to women now – while still in his deplored virginal state – than he will be later. Why is it that sex so often distances us, leaving us less in love with the reality of ourselves and the other?

Buddy’s spontaneous use of the word “radiant” (above) to describe his sister when he catches a glimpse of her naked is a lovely tribute from a fifteen-year-old, suggesting all the sweetness and surprise boys and girls can hold for each other.

He is furious when she covers up. The idyllic moment is lost. In retaliation, he constructs a fantasy in which she comes into his room and seduces him. Not only does the fantasy guarantee he will not be rejected again, but he has punished this chaste, superior creature by making her a bawd.

Buddy’s next fantasy about his cousin takes anger a step further. When the girl asks him to stop because she fears pregnancy, it must be remembered that her fear is his intention. If she is frightened, it means he can be masterful, to the point of blandly going on with his fucking despite all her protests.

In Buddy’s final fantasy about Raquel Welch, the conflict of love versus rage intensifies: He wouldn’t talk to his nice sister the way he does to this sex queen movie star. A girl is either a lady or a whore.

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“Rejection kills me,” says Omar (above) whose mother taught him that nice girls don’t do it. She herself “likes men plenty well,” but is “a real puritan where I’m concerned.” When his mother found him reading girlie magazines, she threw them out. Mother taught Omar about sex; but her second, contradictory message was that it was not for him.

One result is that Omar remains “a damned virgin.” The undercurrent of revenge and hostility toward withholding females spills out in the story of his friend’s sex with the ugly girl: “She bled like the pig she is.”

Sherwin had always been a romantic, he tells us; but at fourteen, girls began to rebuff his “clumsy albeit thoroughly romantic and unphysical approaches.” Another boy, another temperament, might have gotten over these turndowns; Sherwin brings a deeply wounded history to his emerging adult sexuality. His fantasies have now turned to “less threatening material like incest, rape, pedophilia, even incredibly gory sadistic fantasies.”

What are we to make of this startling statement? Is he joking when he calls such fantasies “less threatening”?

Sherwin’s own explanation is touching: This dungeonful of imaginary horrors is safe because he is not impelled to try to put them into action – as once he did his romantic fantasies.

In his last paragraph he says, “last summer, my father told me I ought to go out and pick up a girl on the street.” What a job it is to be a man! He has to live up to his father’s macho demands, while still carrying the anxieties about sex learned in the first years of life. Even if Sherwin summons up all his courage and tries to approach young women, what happens? They laugh, recoil in fear, reject him, call him filthy. A cry echoes throughout this chapter, as one young man after another protests always having to be the one to make the first move, always to be the one who risks rejection. “I wish women
were
free to make passes at men,” says Sherwin, “I blame women for my frustration and would like to make women pay for it.”

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Can it be so surprising that often the solution is to angrily turn your back on women and all the conflicts they pose, and make the easy slide into homosexuality as. Sherwin describes in his last fantasy?

ANDREW

I am a boy fourteen years old and a virgin. I have a good sex outlet because there is a pool at our house, and I have holes to look into the dressing room which is next to my bedroom. I get to see a lot of cunts and tits this way.

I have many fantasies of which I will tell you a few.

A lady I baby-sit for is a big fantasy. Usually after her son falls asleep, I go into her bedroom, lay on her bed and pull my pants down. Then from her dirty laundry basket, I get out a pair of her worn bikini underpanties. I rub it against my dick for a while, and then sniff it for a while, then I stick the crotch area around my mouth and suck and lick the partially dry vaginal juices into my mouth, as though I were eating a cunt. I do this until I come.