Forbidden Flowers (34 page)

I know my husband sometimes fantasizes about other women, because he's told me he has. Part of the problem may be because he is fairly quiet during lovemaking, while I'm pretty noisy – moans, etc. I perform fellatio on him, and sometimes he performs oral sex on me, but not as often or as long as I'd like him to. I've told him this, but he ignores it. I really enjoy doing oral sex on him.

Well, this fantasy I have is about ice hockey players. We live in a city with a professional team, and I've always liked the sport since I was a teenager. My husband doesn't care for any other sport except hockey. I've talked to some of the players.

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What I fantasize about during our lovemaking is about these players, and the uglier-looking they are, the better I like them.

My fantasy begins with me in the locker room. Of course, I'm all dressed up in an attractive pant-suit, makeup, and my hair has just been done. There's a table there, sort of like the kind doctors use to examine people. Maybe it's the one players use when they get a rubdown. The players come in and ask me what I'm doing there. I make up a story, saying I'm writing a story on them for the newspaper.

They start taking off their equipment and skates, acting like I'm just another one of the guys. Then my very favorite player, still in his uniform, comes over to me and gives me the “once over” look. He asks me to go out with him after his shower and change. I confess to him that I've always wanted to have sex with him. He seems pleased, since he's a single, swinging-type.

He walks me over to the table and says, “How about now?” I protest because there are the other players around. In fact, they are watching and listening while pretending not to, and now my favorite player tells them what I just said. They laugh and make comments, but really, I know they envy him.

As long as I've gone this far, I go ahead and tell them that some of them are men I would like to have sex with too. Not all of them, but only certain ones and in a certain order. My favorite is the biggest man on the team, very masculine and ugly, with hockey scars on his cheek. I place the others in a descending order of size and this certain kind of mean look.

Some of the players on my list are married, but they are very hot for me and never dream of saying no to being on my list.

(Naturally, in a fantasy, no one can refuse me.) The rest of the players go ahead with whatever they were doing. The ones I chose stand by the table, waiting their turn, and telling each other how lucky they are to have sex with a beautiful woman like me. Sometimes they say that my few extra pounds are exactly what they like, that it makes me more of a woman. Other times, I imagine myself to be more slender than I really am, with a body that drives these men wild.

My favorite, first choice then approaches me, and slowly strips me under the overhead light that hangs over the rubbing-down table. He's kissing me all over and telling me how much 234

he likes my large breasts. (My husband is a breast freak – the larger the better.) By this time, I'm feeling all those hungry eyes that I did not choose watching me enviously from the darkness as they slowly go on changing their clothes, but I'm also getting turned on by the feel of my favorite, who has been slowly taking off his uniform all the while. He is on top of me, caressing and kissing me all over, especially my breasts –

which turns me on in reality just as it does in fantasy. Then, while the waiting players are all watching, and I can see them growing erect themselves as they wait their turn, my favorite slowly goes down on me, eating me until I'm writhing with pleasure. The next man in line can't wait, and while the first player has his face buried between my legs, the second man is licking my nipples. The two feelings at once, a tongue between my legs and another licking and sucking my nipples has me in such a frenzy that I come – without knowing which man has made it happen. But I can't even think about that because almost with a shock of happy surprise, before I am even out of orgasm, I realize that the first man has moved his body up higher, and he is fucking me. I feel his hard-on pumping up inside me like some kind of great, powerful machine, his balls banging up against the backs of my thighs and asshole as he lunges deeper and deeper into me. I tell him how big he is and how good all that bigness feels inside me and for him not to stop. I like the way he laughs a little right here in my fantasy and says for me not to worry, he won't stop until he's done –

which takes a long time.

(My husband doesn't take a very long time to reach orgasm, which often leaves me feeling unsatisfied.) The player then tells me how much he enjoyed eating me and how much it turned him on. Now it is the turn of the other players, starting with the man who was licking my nipples. He has an erection that is so big and painful, he has to hold it in his hands; rubbing it to soothe the ache. When I open my legs for him, he rams it in so fast and hard he almost pushes me off the table. Starting with him, each man doesn't take very long to come. They are barely inside me when with a wriggle of my hips, and a squeeze of my inside muscles, I milk them, and they come in a big explosion. I don't care because I want them 235

to come quickly, I want to feel how fast I can make a man come and besides, as soon as one man is finished, there is another one on line to step forward and begin to fuck me as if the last man had not yet stopped.

I tell them all how good each one is, and they tell me how good I am. Also, while they fuck me, they're noisy about it. I love to hear their groans, shouts of impatience, and, above all, their obscenities like, “I'm gonna fuck the hell out of you,” etc.

Of course, I have to really imagine each one nude and what they'd look like, but I have practice in this, because I like to imagine them naked while they are skating and playing their hockey game, so by the time they enter into this fantasy, I have already thought up how they look, and I am almost “at home” with their nakedness.

After they have all had a turn – they have only fucked me, only the first player, my favorite, went down on me – I turn back to him, my first choice. I tell him he's so good that I am dying for another fuck. He's very pleased because he's so good at it. He moves me forward to the edge of the table, so that my hips are almost off the edge. In this way, he can fuck me standing up. I wrap my legs around his hips to hold him close to me, and he slowly puts his arms up over his head, like a prize-fighter who has just won the fight all the while continuing to pump away inside me. “Go to it!” “That's it – fuck her good!” all the other players are cheering him on, but he and I know without saying it that he wouldn't be this good – certainly not this second time in such a short space of time – with any other woman but me. This time, he comes while I watch him. He just groans as if his last breath is escaping him, and he slumps down and falls across my stomach. He's out, and all the players are crowding around me, kissing me, telling me how great I am, what a woman I am, etc.

I also use this fantasy when I masturbate, since I can change the players and make them do anything to me I want. (Except I don't fantasize anal penetration, because I don't think I'd care for it.) I really get turned on thinking about having sex with these guys who are so big. The only time I masturbate is after I'm left frustrated when my husband doesn't give me an orgasm. I've got pictures of some of the players, including my 236

favorite, and I look at them and close my eyes while I masturbate with the smooth, rounded handle of a hairbrush. I can always give myself an orgasm.

My husband doesn't know I masturbate, but I think maybe he might get turned on if he ever did watch me. Once, he made me rub my own breasts while he watched and got turned on.

He was fingering me at the time. I didn't like doing it myself.

I'd rather have him rub me.

That's my fantasy. I can't help but have it flash through my mind at least briefly whenever we go to a hockey game. My husband knows I like some of the players, and he sort of goes along with it sometimes. Like a couple of times, when we were making love, he'd say, “I'm(player's name), and I want to fuck you, baby.” He does this because part of him knows this turns me an, and he enjoys my excitement, but part of him doesn't really like it, that it is the idea of the other man that is getting me so excited – even though my husband himself is the one who brings the other man to my mind.

Thank you for reading this letter. I hope it didn't sound too weird! It's similar to some of the ones I read in your book, except my fantasy
isn't
a gang-rape fantasy. It's one guy at a time, and they aren't forcing me to do anything. In fact, I have chosen them and make each one wait his turn till I'm ready for him.

Maybe if you write another book, you could use this fantasy.

I'd be thrilled to see it in print, being read by millions (maybe) of people, who wouldn't know it was me. (Please
don't
use my real name.)

P.S. If my fantasy ever does happen in reality, It'd be interesting to see a player going down on me since all my favorite players have rather large noses.

Kate

Your book was excellent. I thought my fantasies were abnormal, and I felt very guilty about them. Now I realize almost everyone has them.

I am twenty, well educated, and well traveled. I have been married less than two months. My husband and I both used to 237

use drugs heavily, but now we only smoke pot once in a while.

I tell you this because I think that drugs and smoking help a great deal to heighten awareness of your fantasies.

One night recently, I seemed to be taking too long to come, so I started fantasizing. (This is the first time I remember doing it during sex.) It had a remarkable effect on arousing me. I fantasized that I was a prostitute – well, not exactly a prostitute, but a woman with nothing to lose by fucking every man she wanted – and I was out to fuck every man in town. As I fantasized, my whole body began to feel like it was being fucked by every man imaginable; there wasn't a shred of me that wasn't being aroused by some man. I got off better than I ever had before with my husband or the five other lovers I have had.

Another fantasy I have is that my ex-lovers are all doing me at once, each doing the thing he did best. However, my favorite fantasy, the one I use mostly now (and find the most erotic), is that I am tied up, and a gang of rapists are making me fuck a dog. They are all watching me and all getting hard-ons and waiting to fuck me themselves once I come with the dog. The dog is licking my clitoris, and I am made to perform fellatio on the dog. Soon the dog and I are both getting out of control as we both want more and more. We both come at the same time.

Then the dog fucks me. All of my moaning has made the men even more aroused. Then they each take turns, doing what the dog did. Each one is hornier than the next, and each one is a better fuck. I come with all of them. I think that seeing me fuck that dog aroused those men more than any sight imaginable.

I should mention that I was once raped. So that the idea of this last fantasy really happening disgusts me. Actually, after I was raped, I was violently ill; it happened in an alley, and I remember vomiting after they left me. I never hitchhike anymore or even walk at night without my husband, unless it's down a well-lit street. My favorite pastimes used to be walking in the country, the mountains, or the woods, just getting off by myself, but now I wouldn't dare. If I must walk alone, I carry something that could be used as a weapon. I always thought I'd never be able to kill a person, but if an attacker should ever 238

approach me again, I wouldn't hesitate to maim or kill him.

When you are 4' 11” and 86 pounds you need protection.

I suppose you wonder how I could be so aroused by this last fantasy, given what has happened to me. It makes me wonder too. The best idea I can come up with is that the dog is the best fucker in the group … no man can top him. I'm not
really
angry at men, certainly not my husband, but I guess there's some anger left over somewhere. Anyway, the fantasy does the trick for me, and that's all that matters.

In Kate's fantasy, which appears immediately Move, I am very impressed by the self-analysis that she gives us at the end of her note. As we have seen in many other women's letters, the seeds of the fantasy that she seems to tell with the most relish and erotic excitement were sown in an actual, horrible event.

She was raped. “I always thought I'd never be able to kill a person,” she writes, “but if an attacker should ever approach me again, I wouldn't hesitate to maim or kill him.” Her murderous feelings are still unappeased in real life, but by an imaginative use of fantasy, she has found some place to put this anger so that it does not come between her and her husband. Her fantasy turns the tables on the men who raped and humiliated her, and expresses a kind of exquisite sexual re-venge: she would rather fuck a dog than any of them. “I'm not
really
angry at men,” she writes, “certainly not my husband, but I guess [the rape left] some anger left over somewhere.” This anger is expressed and used up in fantasy, even while having sex with her husband. Whether he knows or not, he is as much the gainer as she is. “The fantasy does the trick for me,” she happily concludes, “and that's all that matters.” Neither Helen nor Riva have to keep their sexual fantasies hidden from their husbands. Helen's fantasy, in fact, was originally invented by her husband for the two of them to share.

While it is all about him assisting while she is fucked by another man, Helen credits the excitement this idea brings to their bedroom as one of the prime ingredients of a “wonderfully happy and successful marriage” of many years. Her husband, 239

Helen says, “is the most wonderful, kind, thoughtful, considerate and lusty man any woman could ever hope to have for her own.”

Riva also finds that talking about her fantasies during sex adds to the spice and erotic satisfactions of her eight-year-old marriage. But while Helen and her husband say they would now like to find a man to act out their fantasy with them, Riva has no such idea. “I have never done any of these things,” she writes, “and have really no desire to even see them happen in real life … too scared, I guess … but they make great conversation in bed and make me wild with my husband, usually bringing him to come at the climax of the fantasy.” How wise both husbands sound to me. They do not see the imaginary lovers who heat their wives' sexual imagination as impossible rivals, but as sexual assistants instead, who help each man bring his wife to the kind of excitement that makes marriage alive and tingling.