The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies (12 page)

'Looks fine to me,' I said. 'I'm just a beginner. I'll take the
purple one.' Purple seemed to fit my mood perfectly.

'There are books there. A wonderful one called simply
Clit.
'

'I was looking for
The Best of
,' I said. 'I can't get those in
Geneva.'

'There are no sex shops?'

'Not like this. I bought some pink balls though. They were
the only things discreet enough. It was a shop in the middle
of town,' I added hastily.

'And how are they?'

'The balls?'

The redhead nodded.

'I tried them once. I didn't dare bring them.'

'X-rays at the airport,' she said and shook her head.

'Oh, my God. Wearing the balls and then having them ding
as you go through the controls.' I started to giggle.

The redhead giggled with me. 'There's worse,' she said. 'Wear
a harness to JFK and see where that gets you.'

'I'm not that far yet,' I said.

She smiled and gave me a postcard. 'There's a masturbation
marathon this Sunday. You're welcome to come.'

I took the card. A 40s-type playmate, who reminded me of
my mother, sat atop a Hitachi wand, stroking her cheek with
a daisy. Masturbate-A-Thon. 'I'd love to,' I said. 'But I fly out
that night. I'm here for a meeting. Work.'

The redhead nodded. 'Another time then.'

'I'll just have a look at the books before I go.' I didn't want
to leave, but I had to. I was awaited in my hotel by the Empire
State Building. There was no pocket of time for me to come
back. I bought three anthologies and the purple finger fiddler.
It was a start. When the mind loosens the vagina luxuriates.

Back in Geneva the Earth Mother was calling. I had to nurture
and care for and hold those I loved. But I would fantasise, and
my cunt would drip with Tahitian pearls as my muse fondled
my puckering butthole with creamy fresh butter, his fingers
slipping so gently, easing, stroking and poking, making way
for his cock so eager to sink home, and thrusting me beyond
space and time.

Then came the eleventh day of September. I emailed the
redhead. She said she was safe.

I slept in chunks of three or four hours. I did not have headaches,
but the Earth Mother in me had to learn once again as
I tried to pretend I was still this side of bruised. And so I curled
up like the child I once was, hiding my hands between my
thighs, seeking safety and comfort in that foetal position. It
was then that my fingers began their own life and traced gently
to dip to my moist inner reaches, and I rubbed and I rubbed
until I found sleep.

Josie, age 36
Bisexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
Master's degree (PhD candidate)
Computer programmer/Website designer/Writer
Wales, UK

I've always had a vivid imagination but now I have more ideas
to work with. I've seen more and done more, so a lot of my
fantasies are based on memories of good times rather than
plans for the future. But I still do fantasise about things I've
never done. I think that I fantasise a lot more about men now
that I'm comfortable with being a lesbian. This sounds strange,
but when I was a teen, I was quite militant about lesbianism
as I felt I had to continually prove that I was really a dyke and
not going through a phase. This was mainly because people
kept telling me I was too pretty to be a lesbian and crap like
that, so being turned on by a man or men in general made me
feel guilty. It doesn't bother me any more now – I know that
my fantasies are my own and not for anyone else's judgement.
Just because I fantasise about sex with men doesn't mean I
have to move one in with me and cook his dinner, wash his
dirty pants, and listen to him gobbing on about football and
cars, ewk.

I fantasise a lot of scenarios, with the lead up to having
sex, the situation, build-up, romantic stu-. There used to be
a lot of touching and kissing but very little else in my fantasy;
usually they involved a particular person, e.g. a film star
(female). This went on for years after I became sexually active,
so it wasn't about not knowing what to do. Lately, since my
late 20s I'd say, my fantasies have been much more graphic.
Hang the build-up, I just want the sex! They involve strangers
mainly (feels less guilty than thinking about friends), male
and female, both at once, group orgies. I often still have the
build-up ones too. Some recurring themes are that I pick up
a prostitute (either while I'm pretending to be a man), or I
pick up a butch dykey type and I play the high-class whore
– very unrealistic as my prostitutes are usually healthy and
intelligent and I take them out to dinner and woo them
beforehand. I'm rich and pay for everything, of course.
Another theme is the deflowering of a virgin – an older teen
shy boy, where I teach him what to do, and there's a similar
one with a girl, where I get her to strap on a dildo and show
her the ropes there as well. A lot of it is about control. I'm
calling the shots, but at the end I'm on my back totally out
of control.

Women in uniform appear quite a bit; often I'm in prison
and there's a sexy guard who knows how to use her truncheon,
so there's power play too. I'm not always in control. Uniforms,
muscled women (body-builders, martial arts, etc., but not
overly muscled), tattoos, women in men's suits – this makes
me sound butch-obsessed, but I'm also turned on by stockings/
suspenders, make-up, revealing dresses, glam. I swing both
ways in that I'm turned on by wearing this stu- and by others
wearing it as well. I also like to see men in drag. I'm such a
perv!

I never thought I would, but I have a Pavlovian reaction
to the sight of a strap-on dildo. Initially I thought they
were hilarious and couldn't get turned on by them, but,
after about ten years of using one, the association with
pleasure overrides how ridiculous it looks. I got a leather
jacket when I was nineteen, and have since been very turned
on by leather clothes. I especially like feminine women
wearing leather, for instance a basque. I love burlesque on
men and women. I like contradictions, butch and femme
clothes in a mix, such as wearing stockings with kick-ass
boots, gender fuck stuff. I think that's why I like drag queens
and drag kings.

I love to strap on a dildo and fuck a woman, and I also love
to be fucked in the same way. I like a slow build-up, I'm quite
tight at first and need to get worked up before I can enjoy the
penetration. But then once I'm going at it, it's the best thing
ever. That's why I can't get going with men because, by the
time I'm warmed up, they're already finished. Unless it's a
whole rugby team, lol.

I have enough material for a feature film-length fantasy.
I've deliberately written it quite matter-of-factly as I can't
stand purple prose. Sometimes I get all the way through this
fantasy on insomnia nights; sometimes I skip to the chase
or dwell on particular scenes. In my fantasy I'm a wealthy
businesswoman; I've made a killing on the internet, selling
sexy underwear and sex toys. I've decided to open a club in
LA or San Francisco, and have to travel there to scout out the
place. I contact an escort agency to set me up with someone
who can act as my guide. I select the guide I want based on
photos (she's young, butch dykey, spiky hair, etc., a bit like
Shane from
The L Word
but not so skinny, more muscled),
and get to know her via email before I go. The trip is due to
be a month long, and I pack one case full of business suits
plus another of stock: sexy clothes and my own brand of sex
toys.

At the airport my cases are opened and the (female) guards
see the contents. I'm taken to a private room for a stripsearch
by two guards. Predictably, they are both gorgeously butch. I
flirt with them while they're searching and they flirt back.

Then they ask me about the toys in my case and I demonstrate
to them. They watch while I masturbate, then use the toys on
me and on each other. Two hours later I manage to catch my
flight.

It's a long flight and I try to sleep for some of the way.
However, I can't sleep as I'm uncomfortable in the seats, so I
call an air hostess. She's very feminine and sexy and gives me
the come-on look. I tell her I can't sleep and she says that the
first-class compartment is empty – I can use that if I like, and
she joins me there. We kiss and she says it's her first time with
another woman. She wants me to fuck her, which I do.

I get to LA and I'm met by my escort, who is even sexier in
person than in her photos. She takes me to my hotel and shows
me around, then leaves me to sleep. She is friendly and I flirt
with her, but she is quite cool and professional with me and
doesn't flirt back. The next day we go through my plans. I want
her to show me around the various clubs, shops and sex shows
in town, and introduce me to some people. She says we'll start
with a lap-dancing club.

We go to the club and watch some dancing on stage, then
my escort asks if I want to get a dance from a girl. I say yes,
and ask if she's going to get one too. She says she won't. We
go to an area behind the stage and I sit there while this scantily
clad girl writhes all over me. Meanwhile, my escort leans
against the wall watching us and smiling slightly. At first I'm
disconcerted and a bit embarrassed that she's watching, but I
forget she's there and enjoy what the girl is doing. Every club
we go to things like this happen. The escort acts as my protection,
so that I can go and do anything I want and she'll stay
on guard and stay sober, but she always watches. I feel her
eyes on me when I'm having sex with prostitutes at the back
of a club, or when I'm dragged up onstage by a stripper.
Anything that happens, the escort is there.

Several times I make a move on the escort but she gives me
the brush-off. She says she doesn't get involved with her clients.
She stays professional with me and never lets me get intimate
with her, although she sees me in various states of sexual
excitement, inebriation and undress. I am deliberately provocative
knowing that she's watching. I get sleazy and dirty.
Eventually I stop enjoying the sex with other people, because
I want her so much. I'll be lying there letting someone fuck
me and I spend the whole time making eye contact with the
escort while she stands in the corner of the room with her
arms folded.

The month passes in a haze and it's my last night there.
I've established some business contacts and have agreed on
a premises; it's all going smoothly. I tell my escort that I
won't need her services any more as I'm going home the
next day. I decide that I'll stay in the hotel that night. We
say goodbye and I settle up her fee. But that night I can't
sleep and I decide to just go out for one last time. I head to
one of the clubs my escort has taken me to before. I'm
enjoying the show when out of the corner of my eye I spot
her: my escort! She hasn't seen me because she's engrossed
in flirting with this femmy woman whom I recognise as
someone I had sex with while I was last here. They leave
together and I follow them.

They go to an alley behind the club, and I hide behind
some bins to watch them have sex. I am so turned on now,
because in all this time that she has been watching me do
things like this I've never seen her being anything but aloof
and cool. I had assumed she was celibate or didn't like sex.
Now she's losing it with this woman and I'm itching to join
in. But I don't. Something stops me from approaching her, I
feel anxious that there must be something about me that
turned her off. After they've finished, they begin to walk
back to the club and the other woman goes on ahead while
the escort lingers. I have to squeeze behind the bins to hide,
but I knock one of them over. She turns around and sees
me.

The escort is angry that I've followed her and she shouts at
me. I shout back, saying I had thought in all this time she had
high ideals and that's why she didn't want to fuck me but she's
just a slut after all. She gets more angry and we start to fight
and, as we're struggling, she kisses me. Then she breaks down
and says that it wasn't that she didn't want me, but that she
wanted me too much. She knew if she allowed herself to feel
for me then she wouldn't be able to bear it when it was time
for me to go back home.

We go back to the hotel and we have the most amazing sex
that lasts all night. I unpack my case of toys and we use everything
several times – she straps it on for me and fucks me
senseless. It's the best sex ever. In the morning, of course, I will
have to go home, but I don't usually get to that part. In the
fantasy the night never ends.

Pamela, age 51
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
Some college
Freelance Writer/Editor
Iowa, USA

I grew up with all of my uncles' and dad's friends around,
mostly musicians and race car drivers. When I was about
thirteen, I became enamoured with my dad's friend who
wore silk shirts and a gold watch. The sleeves were always
unbuttoned and the cu-s rolled up twice. He always left a
couple of buttons undone, and he had a very hairy chest.
Once I asked him if I could feel his shirt and he let me. To
this day I cannot resist that look. I used to encourage my
husband to dress like that. Touching his chest and feeling
his muscles was one of my biggest turn-ons. I also love men
with long hair. I married at sixteen, and, yes, he is an older
man, six years older, in fact. Experienced older men still
turn me on big time. I still love silk on both men and women,
and long hair really gets to me. Handcu-s and men's aftershave
– certain kinds – trigger memories that really get me
hot.

When I first started fantasising, I didn't really touch
myself. Well, I did, but not to orgasm, just more to get turned
on. It wasn't until I was sixteen and married and had an
orgasm that I began wanting to orgasm when fantasising.
Now that I'm more mature, I have a toy-box full of toys and
I actually orgasm every time. I also have an online dominant
lover who helps with that. The one thing holding me back
is the fact that my husband does not understand my submissive
needs and it would hurt him if I went elsewhere to
a real dom. He is very vanilla and no matter how I try
to explain it, he just doesn't get it. I have never kept
secrets from my husband and he knows I have an online
dominant.