Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (16 page)

All by ourselves, masturbation teaches that while it’s lovely to lie down with a partner, there is another course of erotic pleasure that is ours alone. Ideally, we can have both.Th y enhance one an- other, as do the fantasies that we bring to each. Masturbation says, “You are whole unto yourself.” Knowing this opens doors, options, a deeper knowledge of self. It makes us stronger individuals.

iNCEST

i N c e s T

“All in the Family” Fantasies

Tentatively, we reach back in time for an understanding of our sexual lives. While we like to think we are architects of our sexu- ality, we know our past helps provide answers as to why we pre- fer a certain form of sex, or fear it, or have decided to altogether leave sex out of our lives. Incest is one of those acts in our culture that has always been painful to address.

Hollywood’s nonexistent incest was safe, reassuring, although at some level, along with Hollywood’s nonexistent homosexual- ity, we knew it lacked truth. I don’t refer to films willing to look at the darker side of life but to satisfying blockbusters such as
Back to the Future
, where the teenage boy kisses his now-teenage mother, both instantly knowing it is wrong, a sexual turnoff. “It’s like kissing my brother,” she says.

We saw the look of our teenage friend’s father as he steals a glance at his beautiful daughter or our teenage boyfriend’s mother as she takes in her handsome son. Why should we ad- dress something that doesn’t exist or, at the least, isn’t permis- sible in any society we know of?

Dr. Laurence R. Tancredi, a prominent New York psychia- trist, in his book
Hardwired Behavior
says: “Sex between parent and child is forbidden in all cultures, as it is between brother and sister, but in ancient Egypt, brother and sister relationships were allowed in the royal family. In contrast, the incest taboo in some cultures may extend as far as to second-order cousins.”

Cleopatra, killing her younger brother/husband when he tried to usurp power, hardly attests to the beauty of incest.

When asked if incest is permissible in any society today, Dr. Tancredi says, “Some assume there are secluded tribes, cut off from the world, where incest is an acceptable norm, but Margaret Mead assures that while incest may occur in every so- ciety, none have been discovered where it is acceptable.”

I remember my schoolteacher telling our class that the great deterrent of incest is biology, citing how certain ancient empires collapsed because of inbreeding in the royal families.

Western European birthrates are dramatically falling as more educated young men and women focus on personal pleasure, career, success, holding off indefi y on the de- votion to the care and nurture of children. With all of our knowledge of birth control, is inbreeding really the reason for our aversion to incest or is it a more visceral understanding of its emotional impediments?

Incest happens now, or at least is talked about, at a rate I never encountered before. I am not just referring to fantasies of incest but to recaptured scenes of actually lying with Mom or Dad in the parental bed.

Memories of incest range from so nightmarish they are forced to the deepest recesses of the mind to memories as sweet as family picnics at the shore. To this day, many of these men and women with positive feelings continue their intimate relation- ships with members of the family or, at the very least, maintain through fantasies the erotic thrill of what was once shared.

We tend to exaggerate our parents’ flaws and weaknesses. They can be projected onto us, threatening our survival. These magni- fied flaws help repress sexually fantasizing our parents. When

a man asks in the heat of sex, “Who’s your daddy?” an honest remark would often kill the moment. It certainly would in my case. In the throes of passion, who wants to hear a long speech about not having a father? Longing to submit, we respond, “You…you are, Daddy!”

But we can fantasize about other, similar people without these flaws. It’s said that “girls marry their fathers; boys their moth- ers.” I wouldn’t know, but I’ve heard it so often, I believe there must be some truth to it. Jesse, after attending to his plus-size mother’s and aunts’ sore feet to much appreciation, now craves to caress the feet of heavyset women. Jesse, never a victim of incest, never imagines a family member in his fantasies.

But the fl of our parents and older siblings are but small hurdles to sexually fantasizing about them when considering the power of these gods. In their turn, the rush they feel as they are idolized by beautiful, innocent, adoring eyes can be a powerful force. Given the right ingredients, can we resist sub- mission to them?

In my small immediate family—my mother, my sister, and I—the ingredients weren’t there. I envied my sister, Susie, for her beauty, kindness, for being everything a girl should be. My mother’s constant focus on her, judging her walk, talk, attire, even with a constant critical eye, only enforced my invisibility. I’d still like to know how it feels to be so beautiful your mother can’t take her eyes off of you, even if only to nag.

It forced me to go out into the world, find friendship wher- ever I could. Eventually, it gave me the freedom to write these books. I denied my envy with a firm belief in my superiority. After all, I, two years younger, could beat my sister at any game, get better grades, and be the most popular girl in town.

My anger, a deeply hidden rage, left no recipe for incestu- ous thoughts of my mother and sister. But I understand the power of incest. I know how it feels to worship the god of the family.

My grandfather was younger than most grandfathers. He made a point of this by insisting I call him Daddy Colbert in- stead of Granddaddy. Unlike my shy, nervous mother, Daddy Colbert enjoyed strength, power, money, sex. When he entered a room, people took notice. I adored Daddy Colbert. I wanted to be him.

During his brief visits, I’d run and jump on his lap. He’d laugh with approval as Susie disappeared into the wallpaper and Mother anxiously attended to his requests. My true prize of get- ting straight As, winning competitions, selling the most rat poi- son door to door was seeing his face light up with a loving look of approbation, to know that I was Daddy Colbert’s girl.

After leaving the South to go North in my first year of college, I finally acquired the fine curve of an ass, a face men didn’t seem to mind. Suddenly, my 5
´
10
´´
body and grade average weren’t handicaps. My looks came too late to ever fully trust, compli- ments always seeming directed to someone behind me. But I remember the wonderful thrill when Daddy Colbert would now come to New York on business and show me off to his friends: “Gentlemen, this is my granddaughter!”

Once, while having drinks with him at his hotel, the evening ended with an invitation to join him in his suite. I declined as prettily as possible, hugged him, and hailed a taxi.

At nineteen, having experienced every sexual pleasure except penetration, I was still a technical virgin. Had my first techni- cally nonvirginal act been with my grandfather, the one person I

had always been in awe of, how could anyone else ever compare? How impossible would it be for me to let go, for us to return to the relationship that I cherished?

Some people who have had incestuous relationships with par- ents they worship can only orgasm by fantasizing about that parent, no matter who the lover is. Had I joined my grandfather in his suite, would that now be me?

T h e s i N g l e p a r e N T

“What a Big Bed for One Person”

In single-parent families, there is no fear of punishment from the other parent when the child desires the mother or father. Amelie remembers on Sunday lying in the big bed next to her father, while her mother was downstairs making pancakes. “He would be turned away from me, reading the paper, and I would be lying next to his back, running my fingers up and down its expanse. But I would always remember—perhaps glad and fear- ful—that Mom was down in the kitchen, and she could come up at any time.” Young Amelie had a sense of danger and excite- ment but also knew the boundary and the rules.

When there is a second parent, the child may not have the incest fantasy because of fear of reprisals from the other par- ent. Such fantasies are repressed or put out of consciousness. With no fear of retribution when the child crawls into the bed of a single parent, it is the parent’s responsibility to deal with the child’s awakening sexuality. How we deal with the natural processes of the little boy wanting to sleep with mommy, the little girl’s naked dance for daddy will affect their entire lives. Pushing the child away with disgust can be as harmful as acting on the advances.

Often, it’s the single, lonely parent who has plenty of room in a large, cold bed. Men and women alike recount growing up in bed with either Mom or Dad. If this modern sharing of the big bed has been consistent since earliest childhood, it’s under- standable that sons and daughters will think nothing of the ar- rangement when it comes to their turn at parenting.

The child who grows up in a parent’s bed feels he or she be- longs to that parent. It’s difficult enough for young people to separate from mother and father, who, without sex, already have an extraordinary hold over us. If we grew up in the parental bed, how will traditional monogamy not be boring?

Young children can be seductive, but he or she who keeps a roof over the family and provides sustenance has all the power in the world in these young eyes. Playing in the big bed, pil- low fighting, is one thing, but sleeping beside Mom and/or Dad night after night, these first tentative, innocent arousals can be knitted into the erotic imagination. How can they not?

Does a single parent whose own life is barren of sex bring a different attitude to a child’s sexual curiosity? What do the chil- dren know of a parent’s loneliness, the emptiness in his or her bed at night? When a child sees a parent cry, it is confusing and frightening; after all, this is the person upon whom life depends, and crying is a sign of weakness, frailty, arousing not just sym- pathy in a child but anxiety.

To children, the parent is god, source of everything they need. The idea that this colossus’s needs might go beyond their world doesn’t occur. They have everything; they have us, and they con- trol our lives. “But, Mommy, I’m here,” the boy says when she weeps. Should she answer “But, darling, you’re not enough,” his heart sinks.

As for my friend, needing me to powder him, baby him, eter- nally craving to be adored, his incest fantasy was practically carved in stone.

Sylvia

Sylvia, a young widow poised to marry her late husband’s brother, is waiting un- til their wedding night to make love. How will her loneliness for her late husband, manifesting into sexual fantasies of her son, affect all their lives?

It was several months since Sam died when my son, Freddy, who’s now eleven, came to my bed in the middle of the night asking if he could stay with me a while. He’d had a nightmare about his dad and was crying. I welcomed him into my bed, and he put his head on my breast. I comforted him and stroked his hair. We drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I felt really good. Freddy tells me that I must have been tired because Sam Junior woke up, and so he brought him to bed so I could nurse him. I am a really sound sleeper. Freddy thought I was awake because I opened my gown for Junior to nurse. Freddy tells me that he took Junior back to the baby bed because he knew I didn’t want him to get used to sleeping with me—especially since now I would be marrying his uncle Kenneth.

I’m a good mother. I love my boys and would never sexually abuse them. I always want them to know that they can trust me, that I’d only act in their best interest. But I’ve had this erotic dream, which I admit, I’ve also used for masturbation. The orgasms it brings on are like explosions. I think it may be my way to mix reality and fantasy, to bring Sam back, as Freddy looks so much like his father.

In the fantasy, I’m just lying there when Freddy climbs into bed. He snuggles up to my breasts and starts to lick my nipples like a baby seeking

his mother’s milk. He gently takes my hand and puts it on his erect penis. I concentrate on pretending I’m asleep, but I am aroused when I feel that he has pushed his underwear down, and he is almost the size of his dad. He starts talking like Sam: “Oh, Sylvie, I love you. Come on, honey, give it to Daddy.” By this time, I am so aroused I decide to pretend I’m having an erotic dream and start begging, saying, “Baby, don’t leave. Make love to me. Fuck me. Fuck me, damn it!” Needless to say, Freddy is obedient and fucks me but then pulls out before he cums, then leaves before I “wake up.”