My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (16 page)

And all the time I’m lying on the table, I never move, except once in a while I put my two hands down, and with my fingertips just delicately open the lips so they can see the juices inside, glistening inside me, and then all the men begin to cream and some of them have unzipped themselves, and from under my closed eyelids I can see hundreds, thousands of erections just screaming to get inside me.

But all
the time, I know that Charlie is waiting for me in a dressing room off-stage where he has a warm bed, and where in just a minute or two more, the uniformed ushers will wheel the table in, and lock the door behind them as they go out. Charlie is there, waiting for me, but it’s a strange Charlie, naked, standing up, with a giant erection so big that the skin is stretched and I can see the purple veins. What’s strange about him is that he doesn’t speak to me, or smile at me. He’s wearing the same kind of emotionless, unmoving, unmoved face that I had just been wearing when I was outside on the platform with all the men screaming around me. Charlie doesn’t even wait for me to get out of the stirrups, but just pulls me to him without a word, standing up, standing between the stirrups, and sometimes at this point I imagine myself on a kind of operating table, the kind where they strap you down at the wrists and ankles so you can’t fall off. And I feel the tip of that enormous hard-on just touching the lips as he pulls me onto him. He still doesn’t smile, doesn’t say a word, 115

shows no pleasure, no excitement, but I can feel myself tighten, my stomach muscles tighten as if anticipating some sexual blow, some sexual assault…but it’s really my inside muscles, doubling over on themselves, that intense, silent moment before orgasm when your stomach and vaginal muscles almost feel as if you’re having cramps, and it’s at that moment when instead of a blow, I feel him penetrating me, impaling me on his body, that I finally get free of the stirrups and wrap my legs around him as my cramped muscles release…release and release again in an ecstasy of pleasure all the greater because of the almost-pain of the tightness they had felt a moment before. Release after release after release. I sometimes finish this fantasy weeping. With just the pleasure and happiness of it, you understand?

You always hear about men exhibiting themselves on trains or on deserted beaches or somewhere. I wonder if other women have this hidden exhibitionistic desire the way I do? [Interview]

ROOM NUMBER THREE:

RAPE, OR, "DON’T JUST STAND

THERE, FORCE ME!"

Rape does for a woman’s sexual fantasy what the first martini does for her in reality: both relieve her of responsibility and guilt. By putting herself in the hands of her fantasy assailant

– by
making
him an assailant – she gets him to do what she wants him to do, while seeming to be forced to do what he wants.

Both ways she wins, and all the while she’s blameless, at the mercy of a force stronger than herself. The pain she may suffer, the bruises and indignity, are the necessary price she pays for getting the kind of guiltless pleasure she may be unable to face or find in reality.

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It’s worth repeating my conviction that fantasy need have nothing to do with reality, in terms of suppressed wish-fulfillment. Women like Julietta (coming up), whose fantasy life is focused on the rape theme, invariably insist that they have no real desire to be raped, and would, in, fact, run a mile from anyone who raised a finger against, them, and I believe them. The message isn’t in the plot – the old hackneyed rape story – but in the emotions that story releases.

Julietta

"I believe I can love more than one man at a time. That’s not a theory. I always do. That’s why I don’t want to get married, and why I prefer my affairs with men who already are. They are in no position to demand monogamy from me." That’s Julietta.

With strong views like these, it didn’t come as any surprise to me when she told me during our conversations that she is a strong believer in Women’s Lib. "But it would frighten my mother to hear me say it," says Julietta. "I grew up on a little farm, but I left as soon as I was old enough to travel by myself.

My mother stayed on the farm. That’s the difference between women of her generation and me."

It may sound freaky coming from me, but while I enjoy going to bed with some guy I dig almost anytime, I especially like it if there’s something in the air that lets me think I’m doing it against my will. That I’m being forced by the man’s overwhelming physical strength. Something like that. The doctors call this kind of thing a rape fantasy, but that’s as far as I want it to go. On the fantasy level, not the real thing. I don’t go out by myself on dark nights, and if any horny stud threatened me, even with a gun, I’d scream my head off. All this doesn’t sound like me, but you might say that the person I am today is totally at war with the girl my mother tried to make me. So whatever there is left in me of the girl my mother preferred, that 117

girl wants to think that it’s not really her fault, that she’s being forced into this sexual scene. That I’m really good little Julie.

So when I’m in bed with someone, I don’t mind if he wants the lights on or if it’s daylight. I like the look of a man…all of him. But when I get to a certain point, when I really become excited, I close my eyes, or bury my face in the pillow, or fling my arm or the pillow over my eyes. That way, while I can feel everything, I can also be back there in the dark, having my own thoughts. In fact, having something over my eyes gave me a fantasy I really dig. I imagine that I’ve been brought to some warehouse, or place like that, against my will. I’m stripped naked and the only thing I’m allowed to wear is a black silk mask. This is because whatever powerful person has brought me there does not want the men – yes, always more than one in this fantasy –for whom he has procured me, to know who I am. In this way, though he’s brought me there against my will, he somehow wants to protect me too. I never know who he is, and he himself never fucks me. I just know that he’s somewhere in the background, enjoying this feeling of power he has, not only over me, but over the men, too. That’s because they’re so hot with desire for me that they can barely control themselves. But he can take me away from them whenever he wants to. In my mind I can imagine the men, all big and powerfully built. They’re naked, too, while they wait their turn with me. I think of them watching each other as each of them performs, talking about various techniques, and what they’re going to do when their turn comes with me.

Meanwhile, the guy who is really with me, every time he tries a different position, or a different idea, I pretend to myself that it’s the next man in line. So it’s always exciting this way, because I seemingly have an endless supply of men fucking me…but .they never know who I am. Even if I met one of them on the street the next day, or had lunch with him, he wouldn’t know.

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But that’s all I think of, me naked on this rough bed with just this little black mask on my face, and these five or six naked men all waiting their turn to fuck me. That picture in my mind makes me come every time. [Taped interview]

Gail

I am thirty years old, have two children, and have been married for nine and a half years.

I have a frequent sexual fantasy about being raped, by one or more men. These fantasies do not take place, however, while having sex with my husband. They take place when I am alone, and with time on my hands. I know it sounds weird or even crazy, but at times I feel as if I want to actually act my fantasy out, as if it were truly happening! I don’t know why this happens, or why I should even feel this way.

At the age of seventeen I was almost raped by a boy who was my best friend’s boy friend. The act was never completed…he was finally stopped by my crying. This all took place in his car, while he was supposed to be taking me home from a party after he’d had a quarrel with his girl friend. She left the party, and he stayed and drank pretty heavily, as did the rest of us. He volunteered to take me home, after my boy friend, who is now my husband, called me at the party from his job and told me he had to work late and couldn’t make it.

I remember wondering what my girl friend actually saw in the boy, who was nothing but a rough, tough, and more or less foulmouthed bully. He had always been nice to me, but treated her like dirt. And yet she loved him, and took any kind of abuse from him, including getting pregnant by him, and then losing the baby by miscarriage in her fourth month.

Anyway, on the way home he pulled into a deserted spot in our neighborbood. l immediately sensed what was about to happen and I had mixed emotions about it. I thought to myself how 119

awfully exciting this was in one way, and then again I was truly scared!

He immediately pulled me to him and wanted to kiss me, but I automatically refused. I really wanted to, just to find out if it was his animal charm, so to speak, that my girl friend was in love with.

He told me to relax, and that he wouldn’t hurt me, and not to be afraid. He then asked what I saw in my boy friend, and whether he had really ever satisfied me sexually. I went to my boy friend’s defense, of course, explaining that he was decent, kind, and a gentle person, in contrast to this fellow. He laughed and told me to cut out the "mushy stuff," in his exact words, and to relax and let him show me how it should be. I let him kiss and hold me, but when he started to explore me with his hands I panicked, and started to struggle to make him stop. He became angry and said he wasn’t going to stop. We struggled for what seemed to be hours, and I was physically exhausted and by now really terrified. He kept saying that he wouldn’t make me pregnant, if that was my worry, and to just let it happen and enjoy it. But I couldn’t, and then just as it seemed that nothing would or could stop him, I started to cry uncontrollably. That did something to him, because he finally stopped, let me go, and started straightening my clothes, etc. He said he’d take me home now, but that I’d better not make trouble and tell anyone at all. I promised, of course.

When we got to my home, as I was getting out of the car, he suddenly took my arm and told me that he was sorry, and couldn’t I please forgive him, and he started to cry, actually cry. I felt so strange then, actually sorry for him. I told him to forget it, and that everything was okay, that I wasn’t angry or anything. He left, after giving me a kiss on my forehead. And that was that.

Since then, we’ve always acted as if nothing had happened, have remained not good friends, but friends nevertheless, as he finally married my girl friend, the one who worshipped him so.

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But he is still an animal, as everyone knows. He beats her, is a very heavy drinker, and is still foulmouthed.

My whole point in telling you this is that at times, even though I know it’s wrong or crazy, I have fantasies that he is trying to rape me – either in his car, my home, his home, or even in his own gas station. I become awfully excited at these thoughts.

I also have fantasized that he and a couple of his rough tough friends attack me. At times, however, it’s not him at all, but anyone I happen to dream up.

I don’t know why I have these sexual fantasies. At other times I envision rape scenes, and actually shudder and become nauseated at the idea or thought. So, at times I enjoy my fantasies, and at other times I become almost sick.

I hope all this has helped your work in some way. I know it has helped me to finally get my experience off my chest to someone at last, after all these years. [Letter]

Dinah

Hi! I just read about your work and wanted to contribute. I am twenty two years old, white, Latin, and a university student. And, of course,
female.
That is, bisexual. Actually, I don’t fit
any
categories. I have been a lesbian, also I thought you might want background info. But to get on with the fantasy business. I have a few really interesting ones. I fantasize not only when I masturbate, but also when I am making love. (Then I feel a little guilt, but it’s such fun.)

Fantasy 1: I
walk into a drugstore in a small Southern town. I am a stranger. I am dressed outlandishly, like a whore. There are several local men in the store and they all look at me with lust in their eyes. I go to the counter and order a tube .of contraceptive cream. The druggist gives it to me. I take it and try to leave, but the men close the door and tell me I should "try it out" (the cream). They rape me. They squeeze cream into my vagina and 121

anus. They make me go down on all fours and come in from behind. At one point I have to get on top of a man and come down on his penis while another is coming in through my anus from behind and another is inside my mouth.

Fantasy 2: I
am speeding on the New Jersey Turnpike. Two policemen stop me. I tell them I will "do
anything
not to get a ticket." They make me get in the back seat and spread my legs very wide (one of them is in the front seat, the other in the back seat). While one of them drives, the other one has me. They take turns. And then they meet a friend and he gets in on it too.

Fantasy 3:
I am in a woman’s prison. I tried to escape or lead a demonstration or something illegal like that. The warden is a big black woman. While two women guards hold me, she pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties and spanks me with a ruler. Then she takes out a dildo and fucks me with it very roughly. When I get excited, she laughs. Then she tells the guards to hold me down on her desk. She looks over my cunt and says, "Mmm mmm, this is some nice pussy," and then she licks my cunt and sucks it till I come.

Fantasy 4:
I am at a convention. I am the only woman there. I have no choice: I bend over a chair and all the men are in line to fuck me. I act very nonchalant.

I
could
go on…. [Letter]

Sadie

I have always fantasized during intercourse and masturbation.

I am being raped by one man or a group of men, while many of them watch the others "abuse" me. My attackers are always very handsome – dark hair, muscular, sexually well endowed – and brutal, in that they take what they want and the hell with what I want…or pretend I want. (I’m after what they are, really.) My husband is very curious about my fantasies, will occasionally enter into them, but puts them and me down as 122