My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (39 page)

fast. Then he would come, and I would feel his warm semen spurting.

That then is my sexual fantasy. It never actually happened. I did have an affair with this married man, but most of the rest is just a daydream. [Letter]

ACTING OUT FANTASIES,

PROS AND CONS

While only the woman herself knows whether acting out her fantasy would enrich her life, even knowing herself isn’t a guarantee that what worked in fantasy is going to work as well in reality. It’s a gamble; some women have told me that just talking about their secret desires – forget about living them – was not only disappointing, but ruined the effectiveness of the fantasy forever.

Some of the spine-chilling fantasies described back in the Pain and Humiliation Rooms at the House of Fantasy are enough to turn anyone off the idea of making their "dreams" come true.

Luckily, the women who have these frightening sexual images usually say they have no real desire for the "Ouch!" treatment and would run a mile to avoid any real pain. Their gory fantasies would seem to be similar to the horrific, but beneficial, nightmares dreamed at night. (But if your nightmare fantasies aren’t therapeutic – if they frighten you, not with the delicious thrills of a Dracula movie, but instead tempt you to find your own real-life monster – a little professional help might be in order.) Women who see no conflict whatsoever in their fantasies, who want to get closer to them rather than further away, look around them and see everything changing and everything being tried; from films, magazines, and billboards, it seems life itself is full 300

of fantasy, getting closer to each other every day; why not merge her life with her fantasy? Here are some interviews and letters from women who’ve had various degrees of success at doing just that.

Sylvia

I’ve been married for twenty years, have two children, and I’ve just celebrated my forty-second birthday. Both my husband, a newspaperman, and I have college degrees; we are middle-class people.

Years ago, discussing dreams and fantasies with my husband, we confessed to each other that we did, indeed, think of others during sex. Further, like many. of my friends, I find it somewhat of a relief during the course of a hectic day to masturbate and fantasize about the red-haired producer and writer for television who is a neighbor of ours.

But I’ve had disappointing results in actually experiencing my fantasies. They both sort of just happened. The first had to do with a lesbian fantasy that’s vague, in fact more just random thoughts about what it would be like … after all, who knows women’s vital sexual areas better than other women? Well, a few years ago a close friend paid me a surprise visit early one morning. Since I had not had the time to finish dressing, she caught me in my dressing gown. As we sat on the divan and had coffee, she gradually worked herself closer to me. That’s when I began thinking about my fantasy, and wondering if this was it.

But before I could decide if I even wanted it, like a bolt out of the blue she suddenly reached over and started fondling my breasts. I started to admonish her for such behavior, but she was not to be denied and gradually lowered her face onto my lap. I confess that while it was quite a shock at first, I wondered to myself whether she would be as good with her tongue as my husband (and a couple of other males I know) or as exciting as some of the 301

lesbian scenes so prevalent in today’s films. Did you see
The
Conformist?

Well, sadly she wasn’t. She did bring me to a climax, masturbating with her hand. I can still see her doing it.

Fortunately, she has moved away. I really could never have brought myself around to seeing her again.

The other incident has to do with what I am sure must be a prevalent female fantasy: the male Negro and his reputed size and talent. This happened during the last presidential contest. My husband was called to Washington to cover some Senate hearings. During his absence, I attended a dinner party which brought together two presidential hopefuls and a group of pseudointellects (forgive me). One young Negro, well groomed and with a Ph.D. in political science, spent most of the evening with me discussing subjects from sales to sex. He offered to drive me home. By now, the fantasy had begun to play through my mind, and wondering what he was like sexually, I had already begun thinking about whether I wanted to find out. During the drive he pulled into a parking lot and proceeded to make advances. Of course you know what happened: he took out of his trousers his very hard and pulsing penis which he placed in my hand. I was actually holding it, this thing I’d imagined so often.

He pleaded with me to let him "go down on you," and before I knew it, I was lowering my briefs and pantyhose. He ate as though it was his last meal. Fortunately, the children were away at school, and so I thought it best that we drive to my home and continue the action there. I’m not one who can relax in a sedan.

I don’t know if Charlie was any representative of his race, but he was a
lousy
fuck. It was my first and last experience with the other race. But I shall never forget the experience. I thought it would also be the end of the male Negro as a fantasy for me, but I find it hasn’t finished the fantasy, it’s changed it. I may not do it again but I’ll always remember it … in a way. One more thing: he begged me to suck him off – which I had done in fantasy – but 302

which I naturally refused to do. I admit his instrument was mighty handsome to see and to hold, but beyond that, his sexual talents were zero. Incidentally, a close friend of mine also had intercourse with a black, and she, too, agreed that their sexual prowess is just so much baloney. It is a status symbol, I fear.

Women would be smart to stick to their fantasies.

So, there’s my story. I hope that it has been enlightening. Of course we mortals dream … for that is what life is all about.

[Letter]

Babs

My fantasies are so personal, and the pleasure I get from them derives so much, I think, from the fact that they are private and locked away in my imagination, that I wouldn’t dream of trying to make them come true. I’ve thought a lot about this, especially after writing this letter. I almost didn’t write it for fear of diminishing this pleasure; I was afraid that putting them on paper would lessen their effectiveness. Luckily it hasn’t, perhaps because I don’t know you. I mean, if someone, even a close friend, asked me to speak them aloud so that the words actually made sound for someone to hear, I don’t think I could do it. And if I could, it certainly would spoil them for me, especially the ones involving love. But act my fantasies out? Make them come true? No, absolutely not. My real life’s not what they’re about; I don’t want those things to really happen to me, I simply want to imagine what it would be like. So that’s where they’ll stay.

[Letter]

Elizabeth

I am twenty-five years of age and have spent most of my life in Kansas City. My husband and I have been married nearly five years and we have a son four years old. I am a college graduate, 303

interested in painting and music, and after graduation I spent a short time working as an actress in summer stock. My present job is that of a telephone solicitor. Good luck in your research.

Here goes.

Usually during sex I concentrate on what I’m doing and who I’m with. However, I sometimes fantasize that I am with an old boy friend or a complete stranger, that another man in addition to my husband is making love to me. There is a friend of my husband’s with whom I once had a sexual encounter (at my husband’s urging) and I often imagine him as the extra man. This fantasy happens when my husband and I are having anal intercourse. While I am stimulating my clitoris or my husband stimulates it for me; I pretend that the other man and I are enjoying vaginal intercourse while I’m having anal intercourse with my husband at the same time.

I sometimes think about the other women I know my husband has been with and wonder if he did the same things to them and how they reacted. I imagine that I am he, making love to one of these women. Also, when I am blowing my husband I try to imagine how it feels to have a penis with someone sucking it or tickling it with her tongue. I can almost feel the semen being sucked out when I would (when he does) obtain orgasm. I thoroughly enjoy my fantasies and find talking about them increases the excitement.

My husband encourages me to fantasize and urges me to describe my fantasies to him. He becomes very aroused for instance, if I tell him that I masturbated that day and describe to him what I was thinking about while I masturbated. I have even at times told him of some of my fantasizing while we were making love. Any verbalization of this kind adds to his excitement. He has at times asked me to pretend he was an old lover and to describe my feelings and reactions. I have also asked my husband to pretend I am someone else while making love to me. I have once or twice pretended I was a boy and asked my 304

husband to pretend the same while balling me anally. But although it excites him to hear me telling him my fantasies while we’re making love, he later becomes depressed at the thought of what I’ve been thinking. He asks to hear my fantasies, but later I’m afraid they repel him; he becomes disgusted with himself for becoming excited by that kind of thing. All in all, I think I’ve decided to keep my very pleasurable fantasies to myself in future.

[Letter]

Winnie

Okay, here goes … (I may have to go and masturbate before I can finish this, as my mind goes blank.)

I have often thought it would be very yummy (and now that I think of it, very messy, too) if somebody would pee inside me (depends on who’s washing the sheets). I never had this actually occur, but often thought about it and talked about it to men who seem to think it might be impossible. It is impossible – why?

think I – because they can’t pee and have a hard-on at the same time? I suppose this is destined to remain a fantasy, unless I can find some physical wizard.

Also, I’ve been thinking about something and can’t remember if I talked to you about it when we met: I recently was wondering if it isn’t unpleasant to have all. of your fantasies played out and then you don’t have any more. See what I mean? Like … if a person does all those things she thinks she would like to do, where will she get any more fantasies? Just a thought. [Letter from a friend]

Loretta

The most significant thing I have discovered about my fantasies is that they are far more exciting as fantasies than as 305

reality. I speak from experience. Carrying them out was a disappointment. The fantasy was, in truth, more exciting than doing it. I shall say no more than that my fantasy was to be dominated, to be tied up. [Letter]

Sheila

I was left a divorcee with two daughters at the age of twenty-five, and after a while I began having fantasies about young boys. I used to imagine them in bed with me, dressing and undressing me and all sorts of peculiar things, such as kissing me on the vaginal lips. It made me masturbate and also wear very sexy underclothes.

I used to picture the newsboy who delivered my papers having an affair with me. Then one day one of my daughters got lost and the newsboy eventually found her, and as a result a friendship started between us. Sometimes when he came to visit us he would sit in a chair opposite me. Staring at him "there" – as I was facing him – I used to imagine what his penis was like. Then one night after we had all gone to the pictures and the girls were in bed, he and I sat on the settee. Suddenly the urge came over me and I asked him if he was fond of me. I felt his hand moving under my dress, and before long one of my fantasies was realized and I actually found that his penis was in excess of what I had imagined. After two years we were married, even though I am twelve years older. We are very happy and have three children, one of which was the result of the night we came home from the pictures.

Fantasies tend to keep one going. I certainly enjoyed them, but the real thing is even more enjoyable. [Letter]

306

Claudine

My most exotic and rewarding masturbatory/copulative fantasy has remained a constant throughout my sex life, and this from the age of perhaps seventeen or eighteen when masturbation managed to find its way into my life more or less regularly every day for about two years. Where this fantasy comes from is still a mystery, but it has very often influenced my choice of lovers, and within the boundaries imposed by society on those relationships in which the fantasy has become a reality, I have truly been

"living" my dream on several occasions.

It is possible that the Scorpio/Sado-Masochistic/Florence Nightingale superfuck that I imagine myself to be on these noble occasions is a giant myth, but my ability to make it seem real is very unmythical, and it is in that way I manage to bring myself off to its sweet music each time it rears its lovely head.

The aberration explained away, I may now be capable of explaining the fantasy with the lucidity it demands.

I like gangsters. When I was a teen-ager, the masturbatory stories I told myself had to do with a sort of Mafia chief type of fatso who hired girls or even had them captured by his henchmen for his pleasure. Since all of the masturbation I ever do, or did, was clitoral and I then thought that was blatantly abnormal, the sequence of my fantasy is rather important.

These henchmen types would have me on a table and I never had the chance to do much talking. I was being masturbated in this artificial clitoral way to a peak of excitement which was designed to turn the gangster guy on when he actually poked his head through the door and suddenly got a whopping hard-on from seeing me ready to come. Needless to say, he always had a very big cock. He was dressed but would show me his hard-on because the boys told him I liked big cocks. He would then say that he wanted me to be brought off, because he didn’t want to enter an "uncome" cunt. That gave me an excuse for having my 307

orgasm, and that was usually the end of my story and I went to sleep.

Now … there are variations on this theme which have had to be dealt with throughout the years. This dangerous character of whom the whole world is obviously scared shitless sometimes comes through the door of the room where I am being masturbated to readiness by the "boys," and when he sees me and talks to me he decides he really thinks I am just the grooviest chick he has ever seen or met, and that I have the most delicious looking pussy around, so he tells the guys to lay off and he fucks me good and proper and likes it and tells me that I will be his.