Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (17 page)

Reading this, I wonder how Sylvia will accept other women in her son’s life if he continues to be the focus of her sexual fan- tasy? Should he marry, is she doomed to become the interfering mother-in-law, only wanting the best for her son, a role no other woman can fulfill, or because of her guilt, believing she’s a bad mother, will she overcompensate by showing little judgment of any of his sexual partners?

I understand loneliness, I have been there, but the harm done in incest is not readily discernible. Being allowed into the Queen/King’s bed feels like an honor. If it is mother, the breast, once the child’s favorite cushion, is absolute heaven.

Without another grown-up upon whom to lean, single parents often do not, or cannot, hide from their children their loneliness, tension, fear, the lexicon of emotion that might more appropri- ately be shared by a partner. No matter how we cover, at some level, children know the truth.

I’m pro-fantasy, as escape, leading us into a higher realm of ecstasy. But children are intuitive, sensing if they are in the

parent’s bed to be comforted from their nightmare or if for an- other reason. The child we bathe, protect, and feed is recording life’s lessons, not irrefutable, but still, they will be the bedrock from which will emerge the erotic circuitry wired into a com- plex adult. Hopefully, Sylvia’s second husband, her husband’s brother—keeping it all in the family—will fill the emotional vacuum from her husband’s death.

I’ve always imagined how my own life would be different had there been a man in the house. I like to think he would not have been as occupied with cleanliness as my dear mother, something I’ve inherited. But I’ve never doubted that my own fondness for breaking the rules came from a very early determination
not
to be like her. I could never imagine my mother discussing with anyone a “daddy fantasy.” Mine are not a daddy I’ve known and touched but, like Daddy Colbert, the all-powerful loving male that will force me gently into submission, into ecstasy.

Kieran

Kieran, an attractive twenty-one-year-old working as a “go-go boy,” speaks light- heartedly, reminding me of my own story of the missing father. We fantasize not of the father we know but of the father about whom we dream.

My mother was married to someone else when she got pregnant by my father. Yeah, that marriage didn’t work out. She pretty much raised me on her own. I think she always knew I was gay. Like she says, “How many little boys pluck their eyebrows?”

The whole incest thing wasn’t an issue. I only saw my father a few times a year. But now he’s in the Army, and about a year ago, he told

me he’s bisexual. Suddenly, he’s all about how beautiful I am and coming on to me but not like totally explicit. I told him, “You gotta cut out that shit. It ain’t happening. I’ll cut your dick off if you ever try to fuck me with it.” His attitude’s been a lot better since then.

Maybe it’s ’cause I didn’t see my dad much growing up, and I’m not into my dad at all, but I have a big daddy fantasy. I won’t see a guy under twenty-five unless he’s super mature and, of course, hot. I had one boyfriend in his forties who’s a porn star. I met him online, he started calling me his “Baby,” and I called him “Daddy.” When we met, it was so fucking hot. I got hard the second he said in my ear: “Is Baby gonna make Daddy happy? You gonna be a good boy?” Was I ever! It was amazing sex for a few months. He’d touch me, and I’d quiver. Then, he got all crazy because he found out I slept with a few other guys. I couldn’t believe it. What did he think I was doing when he was on a film shoot, baking cookies? Jesus, he’s a porn star!

I find it telling that one of the beliefs held up by the patri- archal society, well into the feminist years, was that “real men” didn’t suffer from early sexual abuse. Not that long ago, no one explored or wrote about the fact that some men, as boys, were molested. The abused man himself simply did not want to admit to something as “unmanly” as carrying those demeaning scars. As women joined in the stature of “provider,” men could more easily own up to their vulnerabilities.

We women, now the head of most single-parent families, have become more assertive with regard to incest. Without the pres- ence of an adult male, more women have access to the authority that comes with economic independence. When a woman takes

a son to her bed these days, or an aunt her nephew, as in Case’s situation, I suppose the act is less fraught with anxiety. We are still taught that the man is the aggressor, that he unequivocally desires sex. But what effect does this have on the boy’s life?

Case

I’m in my fifties now but first had sex with an older, somewhat domineering aunt when I was fourteen. I never shared this with anyone until I went online and read about others who’ve had similar family experiences. I’ve written a few people on Craigslist and was glad to know that it occurs more than I thought.

My aunt’s still alive, but we rarely see each other except at family funerals. She’s somewhat the matriarch and something tells me I wasn’t the only young man in the family she’s had relations with. I was sent to her one summer to help out around her bed and breakfast. It was around the time when I learned how to masturbate and ejaculate. I’d used my mother’s and older sister’s panties to wrap around my penis and masturbate because it felt so good.

I started doing this with my aunt’s half-slips the first week I was there, and she walked in on me in the bathroom while I was doing it. She screamed at me, and I started to freak out and was crying when she pulled me close to her and told me it was okay, she wouldn’t tell anyone. But I had to do exactly as she instructed; otherwise, there would be real problems in the family.

She had me run a bath, then she stepped out of her clothes and into the tub where I was told to scrub her back and everywhere. I was more scared than turned on, but after she was done, I helped towel her off, and she had me strip and get into the tub where I cleaned myself in her bath water.

She kept having me soap my penis until it was hard and then she hosed me off, and we went into her bedroom, where she proceeded to teach me how to pleasure her, with my hands, my mouth, and, eventually, with my penis. She had had a hysterectomy, so I learned it was safe to ejaculate in or around her, and we had sex almost daily for the entire summer. We would sleep together in her bed, and I remember many Sunday mornings waking up and having her straddle my face until she was ready for intercourse.

I now masturbate regularly to mature/young websites that show pictures of middle-aged women and young men having sex. Being in my fifties, mature may be younger than I am!

When my wife and I were more sexually active, we’d tell each other stories about past sexual experiences and even role-played some of the scenarios. She thought the most outrageous thing either of us had done was when she had sex in front of an open hotel window with a past lover. I never told her about that summer at my aunt’s, but it’s embossed in my brain.

I find that some women who have been with underaged boys feel they are actually doing a service, teaching them the skills of satisfying a woman. Other women may be aware that sex with the boy is for their own sexual pleasure, but they feel the boy couldn’t perform if it weren’t consensual. Their justification gives them little concern for the long-term effects.

Before feminism, if a man did confess to having been molested as a child, there was reluctance to give credence or sympathy. With a woman, we understood, sympathized with her alcohol- ism, bitchery, insomnia. But men were expected to “take it like a

man!” What kind of fantasies were created, how were they acted out for these men? How are they acted out now for people, still reluctant to show weakness and vulnerability, who are unable to deal with their abuse in a healthy manner?

i m p r i N T s o F i N c e s T

“Unforgettable, That’s What You Are”

Women’s absence from their children’s lives, due to career and work, isn’t the only reason younger contributors to this book have experienced so much more sex than the generations before them. There is also the biggest educator of all, one that doesn’t discriminate—the media. Studies have shown children who spend more time in front of the TV and computer from an early age experience sex earlier.

We live in unique times. We have a yen for a certain kind of sex, sit at our computers where, sure enough, someone else has been there, done that, and is perhaps still living it. There is no precedent for the thought process aided by the Internet today. The plethora of incest sites go from parent/child/siblings all the way up to and beyond quintuplets and their family pets. The Internet’s long arm, with its endless supply confirming the pop- ularity of these sexual fantasies, has a way of eliminating almost any nagging sense of responsibility.

The parental bed has always been the sought-after terrain that children wanted to own. Now, in a cyber world, there is a quick stop to a site confirming, even prompting, parents to invite the child to climb aboard, to tuck in beside Mom or Dad.

Books have been written about the “beauty”of incest. Whether there can be positive aspects, in all my years, I’ve never heard of anyone resentful because they
weren’t
molested as a child.

The “polarization” of a young person’s life that goes on when a parent involves a child in a sexual act isn’t far from the kind of isolation that occurs when young people “lose themselves” in cyberspace addictions. In the end, sex with Mom or Dad can eliminate the meaningful experience of sexual awakening with people of one’s own choice.

In the days of my earlier books, women would be so cau- tious about admitting to erotic imaginings, they would often have the entire fantasy in places such as a steam bath, where the swirling clouds of steam hid her face as well as the identity of the person approaching her as she lay naked, awaiting her invented assignation. Th Internet is the new “facelessness,” the anonymity engaging us into the raw sex we desire without societal reprimand.

Many fantasies of incest began as a reality long ago. When we are young in the parental bed, what do we know of the dark side of incest? Having been invited to share the bed of the King and/or Queen, the most powerful people in our lives, what later invitations can measure up? Twenty, thirty years later, our imagi- nation still trips back to what seemed like paradise.

Sex is a powerful tie. It arouses the need and desire to bond and merge with the partner who has brought these feelings. Should every sexual partner later in life be compared with Mom or Dad, the first all-powerful caretakers? I’m not speaking of the pyrotechnics of sex but the deep emotional feelings that are aroused by intercourse. We will never have with another person the unique emotional attachment that we had with our parents nor should we expect others to provide it. The purpose or busi- ness within a family focuses on the child’s growing up and away from the parents and into his or her own identity.

Sex is usually the act of separation, orgasm being a climax that confi ms in the most pleasurable way our existence, unique unto ourselves. Jodi says that when she fi had sexual intercourse with her boyfriend on the couch in her parents’ den, each time they “did it,” she felt that she had broken away, “naturally,” from her parents and her childhood. To mix up, to confuse that brilliant statement of individuation with parental/child symbiosis, can forever confuse the child’s future. Too pliable and needy, the soft clay may bear the imprint of your body parts for the rest of your child’s life.

For Lorena and Erica, the images are transfixed. How can they let go, erase them and start their journey afresh, on equal grounds with a loving partner?

Lorena

Raised in a strict Baptist household, Lorena says she was about five years old when she began to masturbate.

My first sexual experience was with my father. I was about seven when my dad asked me in a hushed way if I would “jack him off.” I didn’t know what it meant, but I could tell by his tone that it was naughty.

He would have me lubricate his dick with an oil and masturbate him while he held my naked body next to his with one arm. He usually held a pornographic magazine in the other arm. I remember my arm would get tired, and I would have to switch.