Forbidden Flowers (10 page)

It is at this age that we begin to fall in love – over and over again. While this is obviously an expression of our growing sexual maturation, it is also an expression of our search for identity: one of the great wonders of first love is how each new man seems to help us find a new person within ourselves.

For this reason, I think it is unfortunate that contemporary mores demand that love be certified by sex. It may not really be what the young girl wants yet. Sex itself can become one more force pushing her ahead too far, too fast, in a direction she is not yet sure she wants to take. “I love you,” she wants to say to him, but is afraid: it may be the final signal he needs to open the door to the bedroom.
Put up or shut up
. She may or may not want sex right now, but what, she does want, desperately, is for him to speak. She wants him to say he loves her too so that she can ask him to describe this woman he loves. Who is she? What is so wonderful about her? Is she really me? She has a sense of unreality about herself; she needs to find herself reflected in someone else's affectionate eye, shaped and formed 65

there into an image of herself she can see and understand. She has been looking into mirrors too long. “Tell me the kind of girls you like,” we ask the young men we know.
Tell me how
to be
. A little shiver runs through me every time I hear that request in a young woman's voice, no matter what the actual words are. It is
the
ontological question, a search for a base upon which to build our being. We look to each other for clues, but it is a question we all must answer in our own time, in our own way. What makes “plastic people” not ring true is that they have not listened within for an answer; they have built their conforming, counterfeit selves out of the meretricious junk that society has handed them. Dr. R. D. Laing (
The Divided
Self
) finds this question at the very heart of schizophrenia – or perhaps, the lack of an answer to it. The job of creating our authentic identity is one of the great tasks of adolescence.

It is why teenagers spend so much of their emotional energy and time in talk: it is all work toward definition. In their endless speculations about eternity, truth, beauty, good, and evil –

just as in their giggly bits of gossip – they are uncovering layers of personality, assaying for the gold of their true selves.

One of the most hopeful developments of our time, I feel, is that young women no longer listen only to young men for clues of who they are. We ask that question today of other women too, each one of us strengthening every other in our determination to define our sex for ourselves – and not merely in terms of what it is supposed men want. The Great Male Buyer's Market is over; we will no longer sell ourselves out.

Fantasies that arise out of the crises of adolescence are characterized by trying on different personalities, testing various likes and dislikes, rehearsing our sexuality for events that are yet to come. Sis proudly tells us in her letter that she is an A-student in school. But immediately she feels she must fight the goody-goody definition this seems to bestow upon her by telling us she has “a very strong sex drive and wants to make love.” Does she? Or is this merely one of the okay things girls of her age feel they must say? (Just as their mothers, a generation earlier, felt they had to say the opposite.) When the opportunity for sex is actually presented to Sis by a boy she knows 66

well and who promises to be “very gentle” with her, she literally jumps up in alarm and cries, “I won't!” I am very sympathetic to young women like Sis. Despite all their brave talk, something deep within them knows they aren't ready for sex. Sis doesn't know why this is true. She is not reinforced by her peers – everyone around her seems to take sex for granted. She is alone with only her feelings to guide her –
but
they are enough
. She doesn't have to know why she is not yet ready for sex; she only has to be in touch with her feelings: her body informs her mind, and her answer is
no
. I applaud her for going along with her gut reaction, particularly so because it is a self-determined response at odds with what seem to be the accepted slogans and ideas of her friends. Our lifelong struggle is to teach our reason and emotions to move in tandem on the same tides. Just as I believe every woman has the right to say yes if she feels like it – and is willing to take the responsibility for her actions – so has she the perfect right to refuse, if the mysterious ebb and flow of desire is not yet upon her.

In the fantasies that Sis sends us, we see that she is getting ready for the truly sexual time she knows lies ahead. But that time is not yet.

For Beth Anne, too, fantasies are exciting strategies for getting used to an idea about which she is still ambivalent. She tells us she is a virgin, and too shy to buy
My Secret Garden
at the bookshop where she works, even though she could get it there at a discount. In her fantasies, we see her other side: she is a woman who would like to have sex with “a customer, a stranger in the street, someone I don't know too well.” And then she adds a sentence that reminds us how much she is like Sis. “Boy,” writes Beth Anne, “when it does happen, I'll be really ready after all these rehearsals in my head.” Penelope's letter shows us another exploration of sexual identity through fantasy. The child of intelligent, permissive parents, she felt free enough with her mother to ask to be taught how to masturbate, after reading Masters and Johnson brought the idea to mind. In her letter, we see that she has grown into the kind of young woman we would expect from 67

such a family: she is sexually knowing, sophisticated, one who feels free and secure enough to ask men out herself “occasionally,” instead of always waiting passively to be asked. But in her fantasies, she explores a totally opposite identity, “the woman I can't let myself be (dumb, naive, unaware of my sexuality) … .”

Even if we had parents like Penelope's, something in us still wants to establish ourselves as people in our own right by rebelling against them. But when the parents are decent, reasonable, and intelligent people, rebellion itself becomes unreasonable; their very permissiveness is frustrating, giving us no firm base to push off against. But our negative emotions want to be expressed anyway. In fantasies like Penelope's, the problem is solved. She is the woman she “can't let myself be.” That is, she is the
dumb broad
that her parents' training has made it impossible for her to be. She has circumvented them in her imagination: rebellion at last.

Sis

I am young (fifteen) and a virgin. I have met many boys I like, but have never had sexual relations with any as far as making out. I think the reason for this is I am very shy, and I worry that boys are going to tell my friends what we do. I am an A-student in school and popular, and I don't want to spoil that, but I have a very strong drive and want to make love.

The latest turn down I made was while visiting some friends that live a long distance from my house (we have known them since they were small). One of their brothers' friends was my age and came over to see us. The brother's friend has a swimming pool, and they go there often. He invited us to go swimming that afternoon. So we did. When we were fixing to leave, they said they left a towel at the pool and for me to run and get it. The boy my age was there and no one else, while getting the towel. He said he liked me and to ask my friends that I was staying with to let me stay awhile to swim some more. They said yes. We swam awhile, and then we got out to get some-68

thing to eat. His mother was on a trip, and he was staying by himself.

As we walked through the door, he put his arms around me from behind and began kissing my neck; I turned and kissed him and we made out on the sofa about fifteen minutes, but he was not satisfied. He escorted me upstairs to his bedroom and pulled off his swimming trunks while I was laying on the bed.

I jumped and said, “I won't,” and he said that he knew how I felt and would be very gentle with me. He said that all he wanted to do was show how much he liked me and only wanted to explore my body with his fingers and mouth and for me to do the same to him, that he didn't want to fuck unless I wanted to. I ran out of the room and called my friends to come and get me.

I often fantasize what would have happened if I hadn't run out. Here is the best one:

After long persuasion, I would not let him touch me. He says, “What if we go to the pool, get in up to our neck, then you take off your swimming suit, and I feel you, that way I won't be able to see you … .” I say okay.

We get in up to our neck, and he unfastens my top and slips it off, the same with the bottoms. He kisses me once and then slips his hand between my legs. He watches the expression on my face as he does. He clutches one of my breasts. He then separates the lips of my pussy and rubs his finger back and forth over my clitoris, stimulating me out of control. Then he takes his cock and slips it in between the lips rubbing it quickly as with his finger. I can't stand it any longer and beg him to suck me; still in the water, he lifts me up onto a raft with my legs hanging over in the water and my pussy at the edge, he sucks me vigorously and then slides his tongue as far as possible in my vagina. I then change places with him, this time he is on the raft. I take his cock in my mouth and suck hard. THE END.

When I was little, my cousin, a male, lived beside me. One day, he said he would check me himself so I wouldn't have to go to the doctor. I agreed because I hated to go to the doctor.

He took off my clothes and did everything possible he could.

He opened the lips of my pussy and felt, sucked, and licked 69

them, then he made me do the same to him. He put an ice cube between my pussy, which drove me crazy. Then I told him I had to use the bathroom, so he stood me up, placed his mouth over my pussy, and I used the bathroom in his mouth. This delighted me more than ever. We did this many times up until I was eight. The first time he did it, I was four and he was seven.

Now the way I meet my sexual urges is to vibrate myself. I lay on the bed, pants off, vibrator between my legs for two to three minutes, and I stimulate myself to orgasm. It's a wonderful feeling; I think when I get up the courage to let a man do it, I will love it.

Beth Anne

Hello. I was already in bed (alone) and almost asleep when I got this urge to write to you!

I have just finished
My Secret Garden
, and I would like you to know that the book was one of the most informative and interesting ones I've ever read, and believe me, I read a lot.

I work in a bookstore here in Philadelphia. Your book arrived last week. Our manager, who was very staunchly and religiously brought up, was on vacation, so we all took turns leafing through the book. Our assistant manager (who incidentally is homosexual) told me the book was filthy. I'm seventeen; he's thirty-three. I picked the book up occasionally, halfway on the sly for a few, days, and then last week, I bought it from a “rival” store, because I was too embarrassed to ask if it could be “stripped,” or to write up the sale in the employee discount tablet.

What follows now is a conversation that took place between myself and the other salesperson, Tina, who is twenty-three, married, no kiddies. It took place when we were sort of slow and didn't have anything better to do than stand around and B.S.

Tina
: Have we sold any
M.S.G.
yet?

Me
: Yeah, a few, considering we just put them out.

Tina
: Hmmm….

70

Me
: I bought a copy today downtown, 'cause I was a little nervous about buying it here.

Tina
: Really? I'd love to read it when you're through. I said it was filthy because Jim [Asst. Mgr.] was there; and I figured he might get upset if I showed an interest…. I was also afraid Mary [Mgr.] might walk in, and I'd REALLY be embarrassed.

So you see, it's something that just about every woman is interested in, although it's probably considered more socially acceptable not to be.

The sexual fantasies I have now occur usually at night when it's quiet, and I have time to elaborate without being interrupted. I'm still a virgin, although I'm not so sure I want to be one that much longer. Just reading your book and thinking about the guy I'm in love with have made me think twice about resisting his advances. He's twenty-five, and really supernice, although I'm not sure if he'll be around much longer, and I'd kind of like my first sexual encounter to be with someone I truly love.

The funny thing is, when I'm dating someone I really care for, I never fantasize about them. It seems rather unfair to fantasize about them when I don't even know if they could live up to my fantasies in real life. I think I’d like to be surprised.

Usually, my thoughts center around a man I find fantastically attractive and very nice, i.e., a customer, a stranger on the street, someone I don't know too well. I can imagine him doing all sorts of things to me, all the things I've ever read about.

And I can respond to him wholeheartedly, because there's no problem about what will happen afterward (he'll probably go away and just leave me totally satisfied). But, of course, what I really want is that these fantasies happen with a man I love.

Boy, when it does happen, I'll be really ready after all these rehearsals in my head! When I meet that man, I can be drunk, stoned, angry, or happy, and so can he but as long as we love each other it will be all right. I suppose this is all because I am a basically insecure person and need to be assured of my attractiveness frequently.

All luck in your next book. We need it! Take care. Peace.

71

Penelope

At the end of your book,
My Secret Garden
, you ask for suggestions, comments, or more fantasies. I'd like to share some of my garden with you.

My earliest memory is when I was probably ten, or eleven.

A friend and I had somehow discovered that her family's electric toothbrush when placed on a certain area, caused mysterious sensations. I didn't know what I was feeling, but I remember always taking the device off me when the extreme tense-ness began. I never continued to what I know now as an orgasm.