My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (42 page)

I would think of an abnormally large man with a tool so big it would take me a long time to accommodate it. In my fantasy I would watch my bare slit being stretched further and further open, as his huge penis penetrated me to the hilt. (I have even pictured taking two men at once – as I know that this can happen.) And as my slit, totally free of hair, is visible in its entirety, the man in my fantasy can watch me as well, the movement, the reaction of my cunt. I see him thrusting, stretching me, stabbing away and then withdrawing completely for our mutual inspection of the red shining knob, over which the skin is then forced back just as hard as the man can stand without too much pain, which broadens the knob, making it just as wide as it can possibly be made before reinserting it again.

Eventually, of course, when my husband began to see the reaction his stories of other larger men had on me, he began to suspect I fantasized. At first I was rather loath to admit them to him. I didn’t want to talk back to him during intercourse; I 323

wanted to stay with my fantasies. I also thought he might be hurt.

But I soon realized how excited he got when I shared my fantasies with him, even told him that in them I was exposing myself to other men. He urged me to tell him more and our lovemaking suddenly took on a whole new excitement. He began to encourage me to think of other men. My husband is jealous of me, but he gets a definite kick from this "near attempt" at flaunting his wife before other men, even if only in fantasy.

Eventually, however, this developed to the point where he did, in fact, encourage me to have other men. We have also got so worked up at times that we have fantasized together about incest, which brings on a fantastic climax.

When my husband talks to me during sex – now that he knows that I have other men, and with his consent – he asks me all sorts of questions about the other cocks I have, and this gets him into such a state because, although he knows very well that he cannot fuck me like they can, he gets pleasure from at least trying. He now even encourages my real exposures to other men; in fact, he loves to shave me. These exposures later add a great deal to our sex as we fantasize together, talking back and forth, what it would be like if I had indeed taken on the man to whom he watched me expose myself – which, of course, is done simply by parting your legs a bit if you’re sitting across the room from a man. Other times, of course, I do indeed take on the other men …

and then tell my husband all about it. Now my husband even assures me that having other men regularly – and sharing the experience with him makes me a better ride and far more relaxed and able to give of my best in bed. [Letter]

Adele’s husband

I have read and reread your article, and having eventually decided your research work is a serious one, I have at last decided to write to you.

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I am a heterosexual male, a widower, in fact, but I think you may find it quite interesting to read of the sexual fantasies of my dear late wife, who sadly died five long years ago.

We were married in the latter part of the last war, and when I was demobilized I was twenty-three years old and she was twenty-one. Right from the word go our married life was wonderful, both sexually and in every other way.

To come to the matter you’re interested in. We had been to see a film with Alan Ladd in it at her instigation, because she always said how much she liked him. How much, I did not realize. The film had only been on ten minutes before she was kissing me very passionately and, of course, I slipped my hand in her blouse, undid her bra, and found her breasts hard and her nipples really erect. So naturally I went up her skirt with my other hand, having spread my raincoat over both our knees. She was wearing those silk panties without elastic – very handy – so I slipped my hand under and found her absolutely soaking wet. She had already come and as soon as I felt her clitoris, she came again. I finally had two fingers in her and she went wild. I hardly saw the film myself because she got my cock out and slowly tossed me off.

When we got home I asked her if seeing Alan Ladd always did that to her, and she replied that it was so and that she often fantasized about him when we were making love. But she said it wasn’t the same as seeing him in a film because I wasn’t tough enough with her. In fact, she thought I was too kind with her, so there and then I knocked her onto the settee, stripped off her clothes and mine, switched out the lights and told her to call me Alan and to do what she wanted with me or tell me what she wanted Alan to do to her. It was fantastic! She told me she had always wanted him to fuck her while he was on his horse and she was sitting astride facing him. So we pretended this, with me sitting on the settee while she played jockey on me.

Unfortunately, that first time didn’t last long, as you can well imagine. Now I realize how totally uninhibited we were then for 325

such a young couple, because all the time she was crying out,

"Fuck me harder, Alan – what a lovely big cock you have," and so on and so forth; no wonder I came quickly. As soon as I had come, she knelt in front of me and said, "I’ve always wanted to suck you off, Alan, and now I am." And my God, so she did! We went to bed and she was insatiable. In fact, it was so wonderful that next day I went to an army surplus store and bought an army officer’s trenchcoat and also a felt slouch hat of the type he wore.

I wore them home from the office, and when I went in the house she burst out crying. Apparently she had been afraid of what I might have thought about her behavior ‘and would regret what had happened the night before. May I say that I am one man who never objected to my wife – I should say, my late wife’s –fantasizing with Alan Ladd. In fact, I must have seen more of his films than any other man in the world.

This, however, was not the end. When Sean Connery made his debut as James Bond in the films of the books by Ian Fleming, she found that he "turned her on," as the modern idiom says, and away we went again. Of course, we had become more sophisticated as we grew older and would have looked silly necking in the cinema. But as soon as we’d left the cinema, and I was driving home, she would have my slacks open and would suck me off, while I was driving with one hand and bringing her off with the other. This is not advocated in the Highway Code, by the way, but as I always drive an automatic, there was no hand brake or gear lever in the way.

I trust you do not mind my writing to you and I do think you may be surprised that there are some men who encourage their wives to fantasize while making love. It certainly enriched my life, and how lonely these last five years have been. [Letter]

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This is as far as some women got in telling me their fantasies … just a fleeting thought or two off the top of their heads.

… I imagine I am at the shore with the water running out from under my feet. The dizziness and the feeling of flight are overwhelming. I am being sucked out to sea. It is incredible …

… I am being raped by a Harlem gang, or seduced by my boyfriend’s roommate, or I am seducing a virgin myself, or being filmed for a porno flick, or being discovered in bed by my parents or younger brother, or being in bed with other couples (that act works wonders!) …

… I think of my lover as a madman … , or conversely as a virgin …

… I pretend that my lover is the boy I loved and wanted to marry when I was sixteen and we were separated …

… just knowing that this lover controls my life, since becoming pregnant again was something my doctor warned me not to consider …

… in my fantasies I always have my clothes on. I’m sure it has to do with rape, or why else would I be dressed? Having my clothes on adds to the urgency; there is no time for preliminaries, or even time to think. But it’s the most exciting sexual image I 327

have … me dressed and being totally and fantastically raped by some unknown man, who will then disappear into the night, leaving me wonderfully satisfied and yes, dressed …

… I fantasize very typical stuff … our running through the fields, making love at the beach, whispered talks in bed, his asking to marry me …

… I discovered the existence of sex through a chance encounter with mating guinea pigs and was then filled in on the human details by a girl three embarrassing years younger than I.

Once I knew the act existed, I did everything to try and visualize it: stung Kleenex up my vagina, then sitting down to watch hours of television, wondering if it felt like that. Picturing some crew-cut boy looking at me naked (he’d undoubtedly have been repelled by my almost non-existent breasts) and wondering what we’d do from there. Trying to imagine the actual penetration painful? disgusting? joyous? I really couldn’t picture it. When I tried, it seemed so intimate you could only do, it with someone you really … cared for. But if you really cared for someone, how could you do such a terrible thing? It was a dilemma, and nearly stopped all my sexual fantasies … until I fell in love at sixteen …

… I imagine I am my husband’s mistress while he is making love to me. I imagine I’m trying to seduce him away from his prudish wife. Or I think of myself as a call girl or prostitute. After my husband and I once went to an all nude bar, I imagined for about a week that I was one of the girls we had seen. Strangely, when we are actually making love, I never fantasize that
he is
someone else. I’m always the one who is different …

… I used to have sex dreams, when I was reaching puberty; it all centered around the penetration. I was fascinated by how wonderful it seemed in my dreams, and thought I would simply 328

die and go to heaven when I actually engaged in sex some day.

The dream was so potent that I would engage in fabulous masturbation, which I loved, imagining that real sex between men and women would be even better. I ran into some trouble later on with priests who said it was "dirty" and a "mortal sin" to masturbate. So for a while I didn’t, or if I did, I felt guilty. And finally I didn’t do it anymore …

… I imagine what various men would be like in bed. I’m very happily married, so I would never go to bed with them, but if a friend of my husband’s is attractive to me, I have fantasies about the two of us making love. As we are seated across from each other having cocktails, etc., I will picture him without his clothes.

I get to the point where I am actually physically aroused by this

…

… I had just broken up with a lover and in my masturbatory fantasies I would imagine I was making love with a woman, one of my best friends and a very attractive girl. In my fantasies the ex-lover would discover my friend and me and would be bitterly hurt …

… I wonder what it would be like to masturbate with a dildo and it always arouses me to see pictures in sex books of these devices in use. Explicit sex books (you know, the full-color pictures of men and women in all those positions) really turn me on. My husband and I have two of them and every once in a while we look at them. If we didn’t make love after this, I would have to masturbate! However, I never fantasize about perverse sexual acts, like doing it with a horse.
That
turns me off …

… I began to have sexual daydreams about the age of four.

There was a dark-haired, mysterious-looking man in the orchestra that played for Saturday night dances at my 329

grandfather’s country club. He played bass, and I would daydream from Sunday on through the week that he would come some night around dusk and whisk me off in the bass case. To this day I am attracted by dark-haired musicians, especially bass players, and have allowed myself time and time again to be carried off by them (not in their bass cases), only to discover that their lovemaking, no matter how wild, can never live up to my now quite grown-up fantasies of what I’d really like them to do to me …

… I am not with the obvious he-man muscular type. My sex orgies are with intellectual, almost shy men, who you think wouldn’t know what to do in bed, but I picture them as experts under the surface. As if I’m the only one who knows their prowess …

… I am chained, being beaten, forced to make love against my will. This surprises me, because I’d never allow a man to lay a hand on me … yet I keep coming back to this situation …

… I just think how much I love him when we make love. But every once in a while, I play the pussycat and he the affectionate owner …

… I have had erotic dreams which have produced orgasm. I am making love with a black man, a mysterious stranger, teen-age boys, once, to tell all, even with a woman, and there was one with a stallion who looked like a man I know but was a horse all the same …

… I imagine, while I am masturbating, that I am being raped by a man who has just kidnapped me because he couldn’t resist my fantastic beauty … or I imagine I am making love with an old high-school sweetheart who was maddeningly sexy but whom I 330

never went to bed with because I was too virginal (my husband really is the only man I’ve ever been to bed with!) …

… I guess it’s a submission fantasy, having my will overcome by sexual arousal. The man, my partner, has no identity, he is depersonalized. He never becomes another real person, like a movie star or my first love. He is not sadistic but he is not loving either – more like a cold unfeeling machine. Sometimes conditions are put on my achieving climax … I cannot make any noise or move or something like that. Sometimes there are two men … or more. I guess you would say my fantasies are somewhere between rape, victim and prostitute, sort of half and half. I never imagine being beaten or hurt in any way, and I never do anything myself; I am just acted upon. The man is an impersonal manipulator. There is no definite setting to these fantasies, no props or anything or fancy clothes. Sex fantasies are quite recent with me. I never had them when I was younger. I don’t now have fantasies unless I know a man well and the sexual routine is familiar and comfortably old-shoe …

… I conjure up this ultramasculine, coarse, strong fellow, and in my most climactic moments he becomes very tender, very soft in his lovemaking to me, very, very much the right man for me. It turns me on to realize how fully this man can give of himself to me. Usually my men are totally indulgent …