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Mrs. Robins,” to which I replied, “Yes, we are.” She motioned us to be seated. Also in the courtroom was an old girl friend of mine who had left me due to my failure to establish a sexual relationship. She had developed, since our last meeting, into a strikingly sexy lady. The woman who was acting as judge then began the proceedings.

“I am Rose Chancy,” she said, “and your case has been brought before me by a friend of yours.” Upon hearing this statement, I remembered my date with my friend and then realized that this was his doing. “It has been brought to my attention,” she continued, “that your marriage lacks a very essential element: sex. This hearing is to hear the facts and remedy the situation.” At this, I glanced over at Sarah, my ex-girl friend, and I received a wink.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Rose inquired.

“Nothing, Your Honor, I mean Miss Chancy,” I replied.

“From here on you will address me as Rose. Is that understood?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Cha – I mean Rose,” I stammered.

“Okay. Now, Mrs. Robins, what do you say for yourself?” asked Rose.

“Only that I love Dale but do not desire sex with him,” she answered.

“Well! How can you love a man and refuse him sex?” demanded Rose. “I am afraid, Mrs. Robins, that you do not deserve to be married. Therefore, I now annul your marriage.

Will you please rise, Sarah?”

Sarah rose and awaited Rose’s verdict.

“Sarah,” said Rose, “will you please state your relationship with Dale?”

“I was once his girl friend,” stated Sarah.

“And your reason for leaving him?” inquired Rose.

“Rose,” replied Sarah, “the reason I left was because my sexual appetite was not being cared for.”

“Dale,” said Rose, “will you please stand next to Sarah.” I did as she asked and wondered at the events taking place.

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“Now,” said Rose, “what do you feel for Dale now, Sarah?”

At this Sarah reached down, unzipped my fly, and withdrew my dick for all to see. It immediately achieved a hard-on as she held it in her hand.

“Okay, Dale,” purred Rose, “what would you like her to do?”

I whispered to myself that I must be dreaming; nothing like this could be happening to me.

Sarah heard me, and she merely said, “If you wish to think this a dream, feel free. But let’s be sure it’s a pleasant one.” At this she knelt on the carpet and started sucking my cock.

Rose looked on happily and my wife, Jenny, stared in amazement. As Sarah was working me up for a climax, Rose stepped down from the judge’s seat, came over to me with her dress lifted exposing her delicious cunt, and got on her knees over my face. At this, I stuck out my tongue and started lashing at her pussy. She moaned in ecstasy as her love juices started pouring. At this time, my dick exploded in Sarah’s mouth and she gulped down the hot cum eagerly.

Jenny, meanwhile, seeing what was taking place, got up and stormed out of the room and my life, Rose, when she saw this, said cheerfully. “Good riddance. I believe we have remedied the situation.” We all chuckled at this. We continued our menage a trois for approximately two more hours, at which time Rose announced, “Dale and Sarah, by the enjoyment we have received, I now pronounce you husband and wife and may the bond of love which unites you never be broken. I shall, when time warrants, drop by for more mutual enjoyment.”

At this I replied, “Thank you, Rose, for all you’ve done.

You’ve really helped me more than I imagined possible.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” smiled Rose.

With that, Sarah and I departed for home and were happy ever after.

And so there you have it. An inner look into the way my brain works. To date I am still a virgin, awaiting anxiously Nancy Friday

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the day when I taste my first pussy. As my dreams tend to indicate, however, it will have to be the female who initiates the act of love as a result of my passiveness. I’m twenty-two years young and live alone.

FOSTER

I only recently read your books on women’s fantasies. It was quite a shock to realize that I fantasize! I’d simply never thought of it before. I’ve discovered that just about every encounter I have with a female becomes a sexual experience

... in my mind.

Before I go on, you should know a little about me. I’m a slightly overweight but very athletic white male. I have earned a B.S. degree in Education, have a very poor self-image, am thirty-three years old and a VIRGIN. Nobody suspects in the least. Even if they did they wouldn’t believe it. I’m hoping to find “Miss Right,” but the hope fades every day.

My fantasies are two basic types. For some reason I’m erotically attracted to young girls. Invariably they are pubescent, innocent virgins. Ten to fourteen is probably the age group. I constantly undress them, and if I’m attracted, want them to be totally one within me. It’s as if I want to absorb their beauty and innocence through every pore. I even find myself hoping that they feel the same toward me. I want to be their whore, totally desirable, and they are mine if just in fantasy. Secretly they crave my permission to approach.

They want to consume me sexually, but as I, they cannot show it when we are together or just passing. I find myself very aroused but very fearful of discovery. I know if I let it show I would turn them off. Any time I make a favorable appraisal, there is an immediate desire to know them as a person, to know their minds as well as their bodies. There is never any physical contact.

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Until two years ago my fantasies always failed to include definite female genitals. An encounter with an X-rated film enabled me now to imagine a cunt and what you really can do with it. It has to be the most beautiful pleasure center a man or woman could wish for. When I was five or six, I heard about “fucking,” and wondered about it a lot, but my fantasies were always incomplete. Just when I’d get to the

“good part,” I’d come back to reality ALWAYS. Since seeing the film, I want to go down on women very very much; intercourse plays a minor role now. Regardless, my fantasy ends just before any intimate physical contact can occur. I think this happens because I have no real experience, no real sensory information as to how it will be. It must be so fantastic though. Fear plays an important part also. I am terrified that any offense to their minds or harm to their bodies might occur. On my part, I could not be more considerate of their well-being. Their excitement, their pleasures are paramount always.

My second type of fantasy has me always as a boy. I have reached puberty, and an older woman, a “Mrs. Robinson,” is turned on by my innocence. She is gentle, persuasive and very horny. She wants to seduce me, she wants my virginity.

She has done this before to others, she knows how many times and with whom, she never forgets, she is an EXPERT. I am both fearful of the unknown (what will she do?) and terribly excited. She teasingly masturbates me by hand, time and time again bringing me just to the edge of coming, but not; quite there. I want to explode and try to come, but she senses exactly when to slow down. She seems to want to suck my cock but never does. My never having seen such activity probably causes this. I have no real information to act on. I masturbate to this fantasy to a beautiful climax.

It just occurred to me that the second fantasy has me completely reversed in roles. In the first I am a leader, in the second I am led. In real life I am a loner with careful selected friends, yet inside I am turned on to everything and everybody. However, any sexual feelings I have are about Nancy Friday

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girls. Just the thought of “Gay” men makes me fee! like throwing up. Oddly enough, lesbianism doesn’t seem repulsive at all. I think I could learn from them. Who really knows better how a woman feels than another woman?

Could my fantasies ever become reality? I doubt it very much. Absolutely, the other person would have to come on to me; I’ve been rejected, it seems, my entire life. The thought of someone I worship rejecting me would cause such heartache and dejection, I would not want to live any longer.

Nobody has ever been interested in me, I’m sure, and never will be. There is nothing worse than loneliness. Just writing this has my insides knotted up and tears in my eyes. To know me you would never suspect my unhappiness, for my whole approach to the real world is but a fantasy, and I’ve practiced it to PERFECTION. If only someone would really care. I would do anything to be loved and able to return it a thousandfold. I would be their total whore, gladly.

I hope to find out from your book just how, and if, I fit into the cruel “male world.” From other male fantasies I hope to learn why women everywhere feel they are second-class citizens. Women’s liberation, I feel, will be men’s liberation too.

DAVEY

I am a fourteen-year-old boy. I am very talented in sex. In fact, when any of my friends are troubled about sex, they come to me. My parents think I know nothing about sex, but really I learned the hard way.

There was nothing in your book I did not understand, for I own many sex books myself. This may come as a surprise to you, but I have this problem which is bluntly I do not know how to kiss. That is my fantasy – to really kiss a girl. Let me explain: Like I know my tongue is supposed to go in her mouth, but where and what do I do?

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As you can probably see, being fourteen and not knowing how to kiss can be a problem. I hope you understand and do not laugh at me.

P.S. If you only knew how hard it was for me to write this.

Behind the bravado of their four-letter words, one senses that the inexperienced young men in this chapter are awash with self-questioning: If ever the exciting – but perilous –

opportunity should present itself, would they measure up as men? Out of their wide variety of anxieties about The First Time, male virgins invent specific types of fantasy women to meet their special needs:

1.
The Permission Givers.
Enter the older woman, the neighbor; the woman for whom Andrew (above), for instance, baby-sits. These women carry some of mother’s authority about the right and wrong of sex. If they initiate the boy, he needn’t feel guilty. The obliging married woman also carries an air of nurturance and easy tolerance. She will teach him what to do and not laugh if his efforts seem a bit naive.

Being married, she also provides an extra kick: The boy is beating out an older man. Best of all, she is not a virgin. She knows what it is all about. The sight of an erection, his groping hands, are not going to drive her into the fear or fury young men expect from girls their own age.

2.
Wild, Wild Women.
These are often contemporaries; but unlike most females the boy knows, they are aflame for sex.

Once again, it is all their idea, their responsibility. Wild women are pictured as living at the very edge of climax, and so there is little or no male worry about performance. Since they often go out hunting for pickups in groups of two or more – so ravenous are Wild, Wild Women for sex – if the young man should tire, they’ll bring each other to orgasm.

“Yes” from one girl is heaven, but permission from two is even better.

3.
Tame, Tame Women.
This is the sweet girl next door, a cousin who is a year or two younger, the boy’s blossoming Nancy Friday

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little sister. Venturing into the unknown world of sexuality, he is anxious lest he meet voracious females he will not be capable of handling. Young girls like the thirteenyear-old swimmers in Mitt’s fantasy and Shep’s niece (both above) reassure by their very familiarity. They are safe, known, homey, less sophisticated than he, allowing him to play the macho stud of his dreams. These girls are so inexperienced, how could they compare him to other, possibly more virile men? If he gets the sexual proceedings wrong, if his technique is not as masterful as he would like, how are these girls to know? Their ignorance of sex is permission all by itself.

These three categories are convenient prototypes; they mustn’t be taken as watertight compartments. For instance, Milt has a fantasy of the older woman next door but goes on to another about two wild girls at school. Dale (above) compensates for real rejection by one female by fantasizing about sex with two others. As if to put his timidity to bed forever, he imagines a scene in which a lady judge
orders
him to have sex with his old flame. Finally, to cap it all with the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, the judge suddenly becomes a Wild, Wild Woman herself. Lifting her skirts as she gets up from the bench, she joins Dale and Sarah in a trio.

Still a virgin at thirty-three, Foster (above) may not be the statistical norm, but his inability to. fuse the good little virgin with the bad older woman into one sexual peer is evidence that keeping women divided into moralistic categories is a way to remain a little boy.

Young women want sex, too, of course, but they want safety even more. In a sense, things are simple for a girl: She sees sex as love. Not raised for independence, not comfortable with it, sex for its own sake threatens her with choice and autonomy. She would rather it be the symbiotic glue of eternal love. She offers her boyfriend half a bargain: the sexual liberty her mother forbids
if
accompanied by the commitment forever of which mother approves.

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While girls dream of sex as a home away from home, boys see it as a defiant step toward freedom. It is not that they cannot be tender, but with manhood/ independence still insecure, love means getting involved, rules, strings: “Don’t ever leave me.” He is being asked to stop just when he wants to start.

Virgin men also dream of love and hope that someday they will find love
and
sex; but right now the still familiar softness of love is like a letter from home: It weakens the tough stance he has to take if he is ever going to make it, not as a lover, but as a stud. He presses the girl to go further; but for all his hard-won daring, he runs into an old, familiar powerlessness.

Sex takes two people; and in the end, the pace is set not by the swifter but by the one who says “No.” Lost somewhere between the nice girls he feels will not accept his sexuality and the bad ones who will (but who are so frighteningly experienced they will render him impotent), Eddie cries out for “the liberated woman the media are always panting about.” He sees her as offering him a third alternative, someone who will help him get over his anger at women without smothering him at the same time. Any relationship that falls short of this ideal, he says, “disturbs me so much that I’d rather be alone with my hand,” Here are the age-old sorrows of Goethe’s Young Werther, the lonely despair we have all felt at fifteen, twenty-two or even thirty-three-as the virginal Foster laments.