Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (14 page)

I had my one and only sex education lesson from a teacher I now think is gay. He told the class the mechanics of male masturbation and likened the orgasm to “a huge and wonderful sneeze.” The next chance I had, I tried it out. I remember it was a Saturday morning, and I was lying in bed at home. At first, there was no sensation as I stroked my cock, but I soon felt a sensation that grew and grew. After about five minutes, this feeling developed into a buzzing, tingling surge, and I came. To my surprise, there was no emission. I was overcome with delight and an almost euphoric sense of well-being. My family was a fairly strict Baptist one in which there was a strong taboo on sexuality and related
talk
, never mind
activity
. At this moment, I also had a sense of relief that I hadn’t done anything “wrong.” Without ejaculating, it didn’t count as a sin. But after a few more times, I ejaculated and continued

to from then on. I realized it had moved into the guilt-laden phase, but I was also fascinated by the sight of the white, hot, sticky liquid I was able to produce.

I called on my friend with the porn magazines, but his mom said he was out. She was wearing a thin housecoat, and I could see the outline of her breasts quite clearly. She asked me in to wait and sent me up to his room. As soon as I was in there, I went for his collection of magazines. Leafing through one, I started to get aroused and pushed my hand into my jeans to stroke my thickening cock. I dropped my pants and heard a noise downstairs. My friend came bounding into the room before I had time to zip up or hide the magazines. He just grinned when he saw what I’d been doing. “Feel like a wank myself,” he said and took his jeans down, pulled out his very long cock, and started going at it. I heard his mom coming upstairs and was almost paralyzed with panic. What if she saw us? But he didn’t seem to care. He was staring at his magazine and breathing very loudly when his mom walked in. Neither was shocked. In fact, his mom stopped and looked quite proudly at her son’s cock and smiled at me, holding my own temporarily wilted cock, before demurely leaving, closing the door behind her.

One fantasy has me in my friend’s room on my own, waiting for him. I get out his magazines and just stroke myself when I hear his mom coming up the stairs. She walks along to her room, humming almost absentmindedly. She then calls my name softly, asking if I could help her for a minute. I feel very turned on at not being caught and her proximity. I walk into her room. She’s sitting on the bed with one leg down, the other on the bed. She has stockings on and is adjusting her garter. “Which do you think is best?” She holds out two bras: one black and the other white. I can hardly breathe. She then opens her housecoat and stands up. I don’t know what to do. Her breasts are large, heavy but not drooping. She takes my hand and places it on her boob, smiling. “Have you done this

before?” she asks. I can only shake my head. “Lick and kiss,” she says. I lean forward and take her nipple in my mouth. She’s breathing deeply and is clearly turned on. I lick, tease, and suck on one, then the other, backward and forward, with my cock straining for release.

She undoes my jeans and sweeps them down. She sits on the bed and looks at my stiff cock. Her face is one of concentration and lust. She takes me in her hand and gently pulls me toward her mouth. She kisses the purple crown and then opens wide and very slowly sinks her mouth over my cock. I think I’m going to cum there and then, but she very slowly moves her head backward and forward, sucking quite hard on my cock and drawing the most wonderful buzzing feelings from me.

She stops, lies back on the bed, and tells me to get on it with her. She slips her bottoms off, and I get on. She then straddles me with her knees on either side of my head. She lowers her mouth onto my cock and her pussy onto my lips. I’ve never seen one, and here I’m eating the most delightful, musky-fragranced pussy. She’s sawing her pelvis back and forth and heavily lubricating. I push my tongue well in, swirl it around, and before I know it, both she and I are cumming noisily and profusely. There’s a noise downstairs, and I freeze. She makes no move as the person comes upstairs. It’s her husband. He just puts his head round the door, smiles at us both, and says, “Hi.”

We girls all knew the boy grows up handling his penis, for no other reason than to urinate. And even if he doesn’t bring himself to erection, the penis has a mind of its own. Roy, a hand- some man, says, “I spent a lot of time scratching my head when I was eleven over what the Boy Scout Handbook meant by ‘noc- turnal emission.’ Then came a dream in which I remember tall

blondes in high heels. They were naked otherwise, and I could see their titties and hairy pussies. And I woke up with the crotch of my briefs soaked with something warm and sticky. I thought I’d wet the bed and so I told no one. I didn’t really know what was up until I was in the ninth grade.”

He wakes in the night with a wet dream.When you think about it, the boy’s body is teaching him—literally—precisely what turns him on, what his favorite aphrodisiac is, and just when and where he wants it. What a marvelous tool. Is it any wonder that young girls—myself included—envy this magical wand of the lad that allows him to stand and pee? Oh, yes, when very young, I tried it and thoroughly drenched my socks and shoes.

Do I romanticize the boy’s sexual coming of age? God knows, I wanted to be a boy when I was ten, stood at the end of the diving board, alone one summer eve and tried to pee a high arc into the water. Yes, I envied the boy his freedom, until a short time later when I didn’t want to be him but to hold him, be held by him. No longer wanting my own penis but to feel his pressed against me, precisely against that sensitive button that rocketed me to the moon when he held me very close in the dance.

d oes p rac T ice m ake p er F ec T ?

Kris

Kris is a forty-three-year-old financial advisor. Both he and his wife lost interest in sex about halfway into their marriage. it had become “routine.” They both felt, “Why bother?” For the last ten years of the marriage, until his divorce, his only sexual activity was masturbation.

When I started dating again, primarily meeting women online, I was so used to masturbating I found I couldn’t orgasm inside them. I’d have to pull out and jerk off on her. It was very frustrating and unsatisfying. A few mentioned that I was like a porn star. I couldn’t tell them that their vaginas just weren’t working like my hand.

I usually fantasize taking a beautiful woman, one I’ve chatted with online, but what always brings me to instant orgasm is thinking of a female bodybuilder taking me, using me to satisfy herself. I try not to masturbate to that fantasy too much because if I get used to it, it makes it harder for me to orgasm inside the woman I’m seeing.

I was finally able to cum again in a woman by changing the way I masturbate, shaping my hand more like a vagina and fucking it. I also learned not to jerk off to completion in the morning if I thought I might be having sex that night. I know—“Duh!” The reason I masturbated once in the morning and once at night was more fear of “use it or lose it” than of just being horny. There’s so little we’re taught about sexual function. If we have some muscle ailment, it’s the most natural thing in the world to discuss it with your colleagues, but I’ve never heard anyone say in pre-board-meeting meeting chat, “You know, I think I’m jerking off too much, and that’s why I’m not able to cum inside a woman.”

m a s T u r B a T i o N a N d T h e c u r s e

I was thirteen before I knew that the boy masturbates. How could he not when his penis stands, demanding attention? But it isn’t just the design of women’s bodies that distances us from practicing masturbation. Because we are the same sex as the woman who bore and raised us, she is the unavoidable model of

how to be, act, how to do and feel almost everything. Unless of course we take her as a negative role model, as often as not out of spite, as in, “Very well, Mommy, if you don’t love me then I’ll do and be everything different from you.”

Just when a lad’s been looking for a way to free himself from mother’s hold on him, his own body points the way. In an in- sightful and evocative letter, Nelson, who was raised by a single mother, comments: “It is a cycle. A boy is raised by a woman. He becomes her best friend or, as in my case, the little husband. It took a long time before I could have a serious relationship with a girl. I had to finally detach myself from my mother.” He and Mom meet all of each other’s emotional needs, but, of course, that time occurs when his sexual needs assume a dominant posi- tion. He can’t conceive of Mom in those terms, but since Mom is meeting all of his emotional needs, he is really not able to be emotionally involved with a girl.

As adolescents, boys, naturally separating from their mothers, begin to “hang out” in secretive places where competitive games involving penises can be played. It’s still one of the few “No Girls Allowed!” zones. The locker room will reinforce solidarity. It’s a guys-only place where naked cocks of all sizes and shapes “hang” together.

What a symbol for separation—the penis! With every stroke, he is defying Mom and simultaneously reinforcing his own sep- arate identity.

Women often wonder why the man, fully grown, is so devoted to what lies between his legs. Years go by, and grown men still eye each other’s cocks in the locker room. Of course, he may want a woman to hold it, but he’s been holding it, first to urinate and then to masturbate, for most of his life.

The camaraderie we women had in our youthful sleepovers gets tossed by the competition that begins with adolescence, when every girl finds herself bleeding once a month—alas, not a ritual bolstering solidarity.

Menstruation, earlier these years than ever, reinforces the girl’s tie to the woman who bore her. Whatever gains in separation we’ve attained so far can be diminished in the absolute replica- tion of mother. Menstrual blood further soils the damp “cloaca” between our legs. And it happens at the same time when a girl is first drawn romantically and sexually to boys who are eager to touch “that place,” to see it.

Whatever curiosity the girl may have had about her vagina is put into question. Now that she is menstruating, she may feel more than ever the desire to arouse herself, but her feelings about “that place” have changed. Her masturbatory fantasies are likely to become filled by imaginary scenes of being forced, overpow- ered into spreading her legs and succumbing to the boy-man’s brave exploration of “the sewer.”

A lot has happened in the past thirty years, but are moth- ers today that much more aware of the healthy benefits of masturbation, not just pleasure but responsibility? How can you expect a child to grow up taking care of her body if she harbors a “sewer”?

It’s tough for young women to think well of the vagina when one day, out of the blue, and just about the time we’ve got every- thing under control, there is blood coming out of “that place.” What if we soil our clothes in public with blood? So many women take menstruation as a time to stop touching themselves, bringing themselves to orgasm, when the time couldn’t, in fact, be better. Bleeding once a month is power; so is masturbation.

Betsy

Betsy, a fifteen-year-old high school studentwhosemotherhasneverspokentoher about sex, sometimes stays home from school, sick, due to menstruation. all her sexual knowledgecomesfromromancenovels, to whichshemasturbatesonaregu- lar basis. But the “heroines never menstruate”; therefore, for them, it’s a nonissue. She says she wants to wait until marriage for sex because it has to be with someone who won’t mind if she bleeds.

My cousin introduced me to romance novels, and I’ve been addicted ever since. When I read sex novels, I get very aroused. I climax from reading them and masturbating. I only cum if I massage my clitoris. I also become aroused when I read about human/animal sex. I’m not sure why.

I don’t usually need my own fantasies because I read other people’s. One of my old ones is people on a cruise ship as a sexual getaway with orgies, homosexual and heterosexual versions of it. A recent fantasy is a woman who is addicted to sex, and when her husband is at work, she has all kinds of guys (high school jocks to plumbers to neighbors) over to have sex. It could be with one guy or a marathon with several.