My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (12 page)

Alix is twenty-four, married four years, and mother of two. Her husband’s frequent business journeys give her a lot of time for her fantasies. These fall into two principal categories, lesbian and masturbatory.

Alix has told her husband of the latter, and as he has his own, they often share their masturbatory fantasies together. But Alix has never mentioned her lesbian fantasies to her husband, even though, as is characteristic with many men, he thinks of a lesbian episode as essentially a frivolous matter, of less serious import than male homosexuality; for instance, he has told her he wouldn’t think it "cheating" if she had sex with another woman.

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Most of my lesbian fantasies occur during masturbation. The most common is one in which I am watching women masturbating themselves in demonstration for me. I visualize many different positions and techniques, all under spectacular circumstances.

For instance, I fantasize that I am held captive by native women who dance around me in a kind of pagan rite and then make me watch them masturbate. Then there is the fantasy where I am walking through the woods and come across a woman making love to herself. These fantasies of women masturbating really stir me up. Then, while I am actually masturbating myself, I fantasize that someone, like a neighbor or my husband, has walked in the room just as I am at the height and am climaxing over and over, but I can’t stop – even though someone is watching – because it is so good.

My preoccupation with masturbation extends to idle daydreaming, or imaginings when I see or meet someone attractive: I invariably wonder whether that woman or that man

"eats" his or her partner, and whether he or she masturbates. I don’t think of these things in connection with myself, but I simply wonder whether or not they do these things.

My husband does not know of my fixation with masturbation and of my secret desire to have a woman make love to me.

However, the fantasy we engage in together is very enjoyable and leads to wild times together. I love to hear him tell about masturbating himself that day (if he did that day, if not he tells the circumstances of another time, which excites me even though I’ve heard it before).

My husband is a carpenter and he will tell me, for instance, that during his noon hour he went to a part of the building that was finished – all the other guys were nowhere around – shut himself in a closet, took out his penis and jerked off for ten to fifteen minutes, then shot his semen on the floor. All the details of these circumstances really excite me. Sometimes he 84

masturbates in the bathroom during his coffee break. He says he gets to thinking about me giving him a blow job and he just has to masturbate. Sometimes he tells me about masturbating in the woods when he goes hunting. When I take the kids to see my mother – she lives 350 miles away – I am gone several days. He masturbates while I am away and tells me the details during our lovemaking when I get back.

Then he says, "Honey, did you do it today?" and I tell him the circumstances under which I was masturbating and where I did it. He gets very excited. He always wants to know if I took my clothes off or if I just put my hand up my panties, whether I used an object in my vagina or if I used my two hands – one to stimulate my clitoris, and the other rapidly in and out. However, I do not tell him of my lesbian fantasies during masturbation. I tell him that I was thinking about us.

All this time, while we are exchanging tales, we are engaging in serious foreplay. We also like to masturbate together and watch each other masturbate.

My orgasms during masturbation are very different from those I have during intercourse. Eventually we do have intercourse, and by this time we are wild for each other. I must tell you that before we brought this aspect into our lovemaking, that we made love infrequently and all passion on my part was fake. For three years of our marriage ‘l never experienced an orgasm unless I masturbated.

Then one night during foreplay, I said to him, "Do it like this,"

and tried to guide his fingers.

Then he said, "You do it, baby," so I played with myself, but very inhibitedly because I didn’t want him to know that I had done it very often before. He saw how excited I was getting, though, and said to me, "Fuck yourself, baby," and he played with his penis while I did it.

That was the start of our new great sex life. It took several more sessions before we both made full confessions, but it turned 85

out that he had been masturbating since our marriage and long before. I never tried it until we were married one year, and I had never done it as a teenager. The guilt I felt was awful until I started looking into the subject and learned that it is common and natural. I still, felt guilty, though, until we started doing it together.

I really think I am more intrigued with masturbation, both sexes, than with lesbianism. The latter is just part of the former.

What I mean is I’ve always been fascinated with men and would never want to live with a woman. I remember as a child of about seven, when I saw my father and some pals of his urinating behind a barn. Penis envy was my first fantasy, and how I wanted one. I used to think that if Daddy put his penis between my legs that I would grow one too. I think men, their penises, are fascinating; sometimes I think how much I’d love to "catch" my husband masturbating, to secretly see his actions and passion when he was completely alone and uninhibited.

I find that with time, with talking about them, our fantasies and our love life get better and better. I wish we’d started talking earlier. [Taped interview]

THE LESBIANS

There is nothing consistent about women and fantasy, the reasons and circumstances for it. It varies from woman to woman. And with each individual woman, from night to night and lover to lover. Even with the same lover within the same hour a woman may or may not fantasize, depending on so many things, all the uncharted tides and moons of a woman’s psyche.

But lesbians are different. Their whole lives contain an element of fantasy – that they are both their own sex and another. It is my belief, therefore, that lesbians fantasize more often than other women.

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During sex a lesbian’s fantasies have to be especially active to help make rational to herself her often wildly veering changes of identification between one sex and the other, as she switches from the male to the female role and back again. In Marion’s fantasy, the first in the group that follows, she admits she has to fantasize when she’s actively exciting her girl friend just so she can be excited too. And even though Marion is the butch lesbian, her favorite part of the fantasy is when Lilly grabs the Ronson dildo and becomes the man, and she, Marion becomes "just a simple cunt, being fucked by some motorcycle guy."

Most women, I have found, have what they call their "lesbian fantasies" from time to time, that is, sexual fantasies that involve other women. They have these even though their real lives are totally or predominantly heterosexual. Some women accept these images as naturally as their own female anatomy – "of course women think about other women"; for others they raise a question, the possibility of their own latent bisexuality, while still others ponder guiltily over whether thinking about it means they really want it. Women’s secret thoughts of other women; it’s like a mystery within a mystery, and a topic I’d like to save till later.

For now, these fantasies are from lesbians, women who accept and/or practice their preferred attraction to women.

Marion

Marion was born on a farm in North Dakota, and her first name is really Marianne; she changed it to the more sexually ambiguous Marion when she came to an understanding of herself later in life. She has never liked men.

Maybe it was my father’s jokes that turned me off men so strong. My father wasn’t really intelligent. Even as a kid, I knew he was hopeless. A big-boned, large – I don’t know,
unfinished –

kind of man. I remember even today the phone calls that would make my mother cry. Other women phoning him. I remember 87

thinking about one of these other chicks – Why does my father like her over my mother? This other one sounded so stupid. Once there was a terrible fight over a letter he got from one of them.

But I remember more than anything else in, my childhood the phone calls, and my mother crying. I can even remember saying to myself as a kid that I never wanted to be like her. Like my mother.

You won’t laugh? Fuck you if you do. What the hell do I care what you think. What I want is for a lot of cunts like you to understand how it is with people like me. Lesbians. The fuckin’

word sounds so rotten. And I don’t like to be called "gay." I’m no faggot. But why should the word sound so rotten? You like lettuce and I like apples.

You like men and I like women. So what? What the hell is so criminal about that?

Shit on the soapbox. I mean, on preaching. But it’s a downer –always having to defend yourself. Okay, here’s what goes through my head:

Lilly and I, we like to use an electric toothbrush. The battery-operated kind, so you don’t have to worry about the electric wires, or plugging it in. [Laugh] Except that’s just what you do – plug it in.

You ever go to a doctor or a dentist, and he’s cut his finger, and he wears a little rubber cap on his finger? Like a little condom? Anyway, we use that – we use epoxy glue to glue the toothbrush itself onto the little metal head otherwise the vibration’ll shake the brush off. Then I use the same glue to put the rubber cap on the brush, so that it covers the bristles. Some of our friends do this, too. It’s like our own "in" joke. "What are you using tonight, Jack?" we say to each other, when somebody’s picked up a new girl. "A Schick?" We trade brand names. I like a Ronson. It’s got four, or maybe six batteries, I forget, but it really goes.

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I have a kind of strap. It goes around my waist and up over my shoulders, crossing in the back and then down under my ass and coming back up to the belt again. I had a sandal-maker make it for me. So the Ronson is really anchored right down low and in place. I mean, it’s rigid. [Laugh]

Look, you talk to any guy, and the first thing he wants to know, Has he made the girl come? That’s their mark of virility.

That’s what they’re anxious about. But me and my Ronson, I can make any girl come, every time. It’s simple biology. Men have this business, they don’t even understand. to get deep inside. To plant the seed. That’s biology. Okay, I’m butch, I’m also a woman. I understand the clit. I don’t have that urge to go deep into a woman. Maybe I’m competitive with men. Or maybe I don’t want to just give in to biology. But I don’t care about going in deep. I know about myself and I never forget that the clit is where it’s at.

So I know what Lilly’s getting out of it. But there I am all alone in my head, very excited, but still somehow ally. alone. I know Lilly is going to be okay, but I have to make up these images in my mind so that I can get excited, too. What turns me on is that I’m raping a motorcycle rider. One of these butch studs in the polished black leather, and the big machine. I’m moving in and out of Lilly, giving her a little bit of clit, a little bit of cunt, and then a lot more of clit. But meanwhile, I can see myself in my mind, I’m still wearing that Ronson, but it isn’t Lilly anymore.

It’s this stud, and I’ve got him over his bike. He’s got his ass to me. He’s that big, butch faggot, get it? And I’m giving him the Ronson up the ass. And he loves it. He’s shoving that ass up at me. He can’t get enough. And in my mind, I reach down under, to tickle his clit. As if he were really Lilly, and I was deep inside, but I knew she wanted her clit tickled too. And – I can feel it right now – I’m suddenly surprised. He doesn’t have a cock at all. He
is
a cunt. He does have a clit. I have him from the back, and I reach down under his hips and push my finger through the 89

hair and he’s got a cunt. A clit. And then he flops over on his back, and I can feel the Ronson really plugged into him, and my own clit is vibrating too. He’s got his legs wide open and then he puts them up over my shoulders. He’s all cunt and I know the vibration is going all through Lilly, but it’s going all through me, too, and sometimes at this point, Lilly grabs the Ronson out of its holder and shoves it up me and I love it.

She suddenly becomes the guy in the motorcycle leather, and I’m just a cunt, just a simple cunt, being fucked by some motorcycle guy, and I love it. I love it that Lilly is so excited that she’s changed roles. Changed positions, so that suddenly I’m not the guy any more, but she is. Then I put my finger inside her cunt, and when I feel her stomach muscles begin to heave, that terrific contraction, spasm after spasm, I find myself almost screaming. I’m coming myself. [Taped interview]

Jeanne

Jeanne was born in Belgium, but has lived most of her twenty-five years in the USA. She had her first lesbian experience with her cousin Renee, who was a year older, and with whom she was sharing a summer at their uncle’s farm.

Jeanne considers herself a lesbian still, "by choice, rather than the result of ùnhappy home-life,’ economic conditions, socioeconomic factors, etc…." At one time she felt ashamed of her desires, but now "a lover who really cares brought me to the realization that I’m not mentally ill simply because my sexual preference is for another woman." Jeanne has been living with this lover, Paula, for the past two years.

The incident that became imbedded in Jeanne’s mind, and forms the seed from which her very elaborate fantasy grew, took place in the hayloft of her uncle’s farm, where she and her cousin Renee were lying in each other’s arms. The two girls were interrupted in their love play by the sight of Anjou, the cousin’s 90

young dog, mounting a bitch on the floor below. Both girls were intrigued by Anjou’s "bevel-pointed maleness" entering into the bitch, and took turns describing to each other what an experience with Anjou might be like. Today, those descriptions have become ritualized into sexual fantasy, extremely detailed and lovingly elaborated. As with any work of art, it is this exactness of detail which makes the emotion of the fantasizer so real to the reader.