FOREWORD (21 page)

I get even more excited knowing that she loved the feel of my hard penis shooting syrupy sperm into those hot and receptive bowels. Immediately she goes off and we lay together in rap-ture.

Occasionally during this fantasy, I’ll finger my anus while rubbing a lot of hand cream on my cock and balls. The hand cream produces a kind of airless suction on my genitals which simulates the sensation of a great fuck.

HENRY

I am a man in his sixties; a widower after thirty-six years of marriage; father of two sons and two daughters. All are married and performing well in their jobs.

I was an only child of a very strict and rigid upbringing; my mother got a divorce; I am deeply convinced she did her best. However, there were missing links in my education. I did not get any sexual instruction at all; that field was severely taboo, and I had to pioneer my own way.

My wife was a university student as well; during studies we were very good comrades, and we took painstaking care for the education of our children. But sexually, our marriage Nancy Friday

156

suffered from continuous incompatibility. Being taught in early youth that women did not aspire to sexual activity and sex was a mere exertion of men, I now was confronted with other prejudices about sex. Sex in itself was absolutely super-fluous, according to my wife, and only a means to bear children.

My most favorite fantasy is: women, of their own initiative and freedom, exposing their bare buttocks. I do not mean young women or girls. No: I think of full-grown, mature women of forty, fifty years or older, endowed with bulging, fleshy bottoms, showing flowering cheeks. They must have a vital, robust, square-built bum with massive, weighty buttocks, fully and roundly developed. I hate formless, plump, or baggy buttocks or drooping members. I am a very artistic and over-sensitive man. Visualizing naked beauty is the very root of my existence. I like those cushion-like bottoms the Greek sculptors achieved for us, like the “Venus of Syracuse.” And the modern artists: Maillol and Rodin. I see my fantasy woman greedily bending over, pushing out her asshole in full relief, pushing forward, lifting her ass up to me to be licked, or fingered deep inside. She is intensely desirous for analingus and presses backward to meet my mouth. I love it when my face is taken within her cuddling buttocks in a firm grip: Analingus means the culmination of sexual intimacy; and being long engaged in that anal intertwining. I leave it to the woman to choose later to be fucked in her cunt.

For me, however, the crucial point is:
The woman herself
must be covetous of displaying her bottom,
of challenging my watchful eyes to her ass, of raising her spread buttocks in heat. My sensitive tongue slips all over or into her for true release in analingus.

Sometimes I fiction that there are three or four women, with massive bums and large buttocks, boldly pushing forward and openly showing their assholes. They compete together as to who has the most magnificent bottom or the most lascivious, lusty ass; and they join in provocative movements to display their anal graces, eagerly awaiting my choice. I’ll Men In Love

157

never try to watch a woman surreptitiously or to look at her bottom when she is afraid or ashamed. The very emphasis lies in the utmost pleasure the woman herself takes in offering me her behind.

7

Starry-Eyed Oedipus

TIM

I am married to a lovely woman and we have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. We both teach music, and our income is twenty-five thousand dollars per year.

My fantasies are about my beautiful mother and me. In them, my mother is thirty-six but looks much younger. I am a sixteen-year-old boy with a perpetual hard-on. On a Sunday morning in summer, we go for a walk in the country. It is peaceful, sunny, and warm. My mother has a white simple dress on. Since the path is narrow, I walk behind her. I cannot help but notice her beautiful legs. Her calves are shapely, like upside-down bowling pins. As she walks, her dress flaps; and her beautiful milk-white thighs flash before me. She has tied her long blond hair in a ponytail, which goes so beautifully with her round face and makes her look much younger. She sways her wide hips unintentionally and rolls her round, ample ass. When my mother stoops along the way to pick a flower, her dress rises, exposing her thighs and her snow-white panties that hide her big and delicious ass.

When we come to a secluded spot, Mom wants to pee. I pretend I too want to pee and turn away from her. Then I turn around, fumbling with my fly and letting my mother see my huge hard-on, while I take a good look at her pussy. My mother seems embarrassed, but she steals a glance at my erect cock. Whether my mother is pleased or annoyed at my bold-ness, I don’t know. Women are too clever for us men.

We continue to walk. We come to a farm where they are raising race horses by inbreeding. We see people trying to get a stallion to mount a mare. My mother suggests we stop and watch. She tells me that of all animals, only horses fuck in a similar way like people. She tells me that mating horses Men In Love

159

closely related makes them a better stock. The stallion that is about to mount the mare is her very own offspring. We are both fascinated by the huge size of the stallion’s cock. As we watch in awe, the stallion, with the help of men, finally finds his way and sinks his cock slowly into the mare’s belly. My mother seems very excited and is rubbing her thighs together.

I ask her if inbreeding is desirable among horses, why not between people? She does not know the right answer and only tells me that society frowns at such matings.

Then my mother tells me that this is more of a sociological than biological problem. The rivalry between siblings. But I have no brothers or sisters. My father no longer cares about my mother and has left her. “Where there is a will, there is a way.” If, this rule has any truth in it at all, then it should apply to my mother and me as well. Would sexual union between two close relatives who love each other deeply make their relationship more beautiful? Of course it would. My mother agrees with me and feels that many things do not make sense. Being a practical woman, my mother feels that it is all right for me to fuck her as long as nobody knows about it. I mount my mother from behind, as we observe the stallion fuck the mare. My cock throbs and expands in my mother’s sweet, receptive cunt. I dare not move in and out lest I come too soon. It was so simple and so natural. I wonder what the fuss is all about. Fucking my mother was the most beautiful and rewarding experience in my whole life.

Here is fantasy number two.

My mother and I have been lovers for four years. We are celebrating the anniversary of four years of bliss. At dinner we have filet mignon and caviar and the best champagne. My mother is dressed in an evening gown which is black and strapless. Her white, smooth skin shines blemishless. She wears no panties or bra. Just black nylon stockings and garter belt. We sit opposite each other at the table with candlelight and eat to music of Mantovani. We eyeball each other across the table like in the Tom Jones movie. Then I dance with my mother. She puts her arms around my neck, and I take her big Nancy Friday

160

ass-cheeks in my hands and caress them lovingly. My mother rubs her belly against my throbbing hard-on. Then we sit on the sofa and watch television. She sits in my lap, lifts her dress over her hips, and impales herself on my huge prick.

We sit like that for a long time while I caress her beautiful breasts. Then my mother turns around and straddles me face to face. Then she puts her arms around me; and so coupled, I lift her and carry her to bed. My mother is a big woman, but I am bigger, and it is easy for me to carry her like this. I put her lovely legs on my shoulders and she doubles up until they touch her breasts. In this position, we can achieve the deepest and most satisfying penetration. I fuck her lovingly for a long time.

Why do I love to fuck my own mother? Why do people climb mountains? Why do they cross oceans in small rafts?

Why do men go to the moon? Because it is a challenge. I want to be different. I want to prove to myself that one does not have to be an imbecile to enjoy incest. I want to prove to myself I can do it and survive. What young, healthy man did not have wet dreams about his mother?

Since I grew up without a father, it was my mother who had to tell me about the birds and the bees, and teach me all about sex. It was a blessing to know that the solution for our sexual needs was within us. It was so convenient. We were both very busy. My mother painting pictures, and I practicing music six hours a day and working besides. We had no time for the outside world. Of course I would want to meet a nice girl and marry some day, but how about right now?

My mother watched her little boy grow into a young man with satisfaction. I was her ideal man. I could do everything to her my dad could not. She would teach me how beautiful sex is. To abandon myself to the sweet joy of copulation without a trace of guilt. To feel that sex is as normal and as natural as breathing.

I was about thirteen when I started fucking my mother regularly. To have fucked my mother gave me self-confidence, and I was elated that I had become a man.

Men In Love

161

Women today take better care of themselves and look years younger. They are very appealing to their young and horny sons. Watching young girls on the beach clad in string bikinis that only cover their nipples and the triangle between their legs, one wonders how their fathers can possibly resist them.

There are more fathers fucking their daughters than there are brothers fucking their sisters. Motherfucking is considered rare and that makes me much happier. I am different. I am unique. I am daring. I have done something most young men wish they could do if they had the guts. How many young men know what their mother’s cunt looks like? Are their mothers frigid, or do they love to fuck? How does it feel to penetrate the womb you came out of with your cock? To revisit the place that nourished you for nine months?

Most people are revulsed by the notion of an adult having sex with a minor. The moral and/or religious arguments against it are well enough known; I would base my own aversion on the possibility of danger or damage it holds for the younger partner. There are plenty of adults who cannot handle the physical and emotional intensities of sex; putting this kind of overload onto the immature nervous system of a child may be more than he/she can bear. That is why in cases of statutory rape, the fact that Lolita does or does not invite Humbert Humbert into bed is legally irrelevant. The law wisely says no consent is valid before someone is old enough to understand the perils and consequences of his/her agreement.

How much more strongly we feel when the older person is a mother or father, and the younger a son or daughter. Adults have difficulty even in thinking about the idea, and yet almost every week brings us another TV documentary on the subject, another novel, drama, or film that explores erotic ties between family members. I don’t think the whole explanation is that we live in a sensation-hungry world and incest is the Nancy Friday

162

last taboo still not commercially overexploited. The subject is so fraught with anxiety that mere shock value alone would not be enough to keep people from turning the dial. On the surface, show-biz explorations handle this anxiety by viewing incest with alarm, but wily producers know that their real message lies underneath, in the audience’s unconscious: At one time of life, these ideas were not shocking at all. Incest is a lively topic today, not because it is strange and alien, but because it is an expression of emotions loose in the air we breathe: This is the age of the single-parent family.

“Oedipus, shmedipus, who cares?” goes the old joke. “Just as long as you love your mother.” The oedipal phase of development is so familiar, the notion so accepted, that even uneducated people laugh. Okay, so all boys go through a childhood triangle in which they love their mothers and resent their fathers. What else is new?

This is new: Medical opinion now puts less emphasis on the old Freudian fear of the castrating father who will punish the little boy if he becomes a rival. Instead, one of the everyday facts of family life is seen as more important in determin-ing why boys give up on mom and look for love in girls their own age: Dad is already there, always around. He is just too big, too powerfully implanted in place for the son to hope to substitute for him. When it finally sinks into the little boy’s heart and soul that mother is not going to give up this grown man for him, he sighs and turns his attention elsewhere.

This is the reality principle working at its best, teaching us to give up dreams that can never come true.

Or can they?

This dynamic is a description of psychological events in what is fast becoming an old-fashioned, almost storybook family, in which there was indeed a father who came home every night, talked or played with the children, handled his share of discipline, and dealt with problems that faced the family as a whole; at the end of the evening, he took mother into the bedroom and closed the door. Why would a boy give up the security of having a father like this by trying to be-Men In Love

163

come his rival; how could he hope to succeed if he did?

Needless to say, it is not a description of the growing number of American families where dad often has to work late at the office, returning only after the children are asleep – if indeed he isn’t out of town on a sales trip, run off, or married to someone else.

Even in those families where father is physically home every night, he may be emotionally absent, too worn out by the competitive world to have anything left over for his kids.

Or for his wife either.
Tim (above) tells us that his father “no longer cares about my mother and has left her.” The nuclear family is splitting, perhaps never to be mended again in any foreseeable future.

The
New York Times Magazine
(July 10, 1977) called the number of pregnant, unmarried teen-age girls who are determined to keep and raise their babies on their own a crisis of