FOREWORD (4 page)

28

woman, a photo in a magazine, might be stimulation enough.

Hard reality, linked with the fastest route to orgasm, is what male masturbatory fantasy is all about.

The last thing most men need, once they are in bed with a woman, is a fantasy to spur them on to greater heights. On the contrary, rather than dream up erotic images, men tend to focus on bringing their partners to their level. To keep from reaching their own climax too soon, they may even do arith-metical sums in their minds.

Nature is wicked to women. Once the man ejaculates, the species has been served. Nature – often called Mother Nature

– doesn’t care if women come or not. Reproduction can take place either way. Feminine fantasies tend to follow the same curve as female physiology – a slow buildup, a high plateau, and a slow decline. Woman’s training adds reinforcement to her biology; raised on a catalogue of inhibitions, she needs sexual fantasy to give her permission to get past her lifelong habit of saying “No” to sex.

It was not ever so. At the beginning of life, both sexes respond equally to erotic stimulation: It feels good to touch your genitals. At two or three, the little boy approaches the little girl (or vice versa). Hey, there is something about her/his body that’s different from mine! The hand goes out.

There is no guilt, only attraction and curiosity.

Notice how many men in this book trace their first sexual fantasy/sensation/experiment/experience back to that magic age of four or five. These are the oedipal years when sex is burgeoning. How mother reacts to our doctor games, how she answers our questions, becomes prime data for constructing our lifelong ideas about sex. Nowadays, she knows not to overreact, and tries to make her answers warm and comforting, but we hear something missing in her voice. Her gestures, body language, facial expression all the signs we’ve learned are more important than what she says – declare what mother really thinks: Sex is anxious, guilty business. When she took our hands away from our genitals when we were infants, our guilt was not conscious. Now it is.

Men In Love

29

We don’t like to think of four-year-olds as sexual. However, any observant, honest parent knows better. Classic psychoanalytic thinking was that during the so-called latency years of six to ten, sex went to sleep so that other parts of the psyche would grow. Child psychiatrists now think sex is not so much slumbering as it has learned to hide itself more successfully from mother’s anxious eyes. Note how many men in this book cite the ages of eight and nine as the time of their first masturbation, fantasy, or sexual sensation.

Other ages that pop out of these pages like old friends are eleven and twelve, the beginning of adolescence (earlier these days than ever). By now the girl has introjected her mother’s example; sex has become something to be avoided. The boy wants to be like his father. What he learns from dad validates and contradicts what mother taught him: When dad cracks off-color jokes, mother looks pained. Dad waits till she’s not around to tell them. Sex may not be nice, but men do it and women don’t ... at least, not nice women like mom.

The simple erotic curiosity and pleasure of the three-year-old has changed and begun to run on separate and sexually defined tracks, but what the young boy and girl have in common are feelings of shame and anxiety.

DRAKE

I have always had a conflict, apparently irreconcilable, between sexuality and personal ethics, a conflict which (I now realize) could have been avoided had I not been given in adolescence a view of women’s sexuality quite remote from the facts. I was brought up to believe that sex was the expression of married love, and that in courtship the man would lead the girl to marriage and to the realization of her own sexual nature.

Girls I regarded as paragons of purity. Photographs of (not really) nude women revealed beautiful curves, with no ugly penis, and nothing messy. Nothing had indicated that women cultivated sex per se. They wanted to have babies and preNancy Friday

30

sumably were prepared to “undergo” intercourse, as they were prepared to undergo the pain of parturition.

Meanwhile, my own experience of myself was different.

Semen was messy, but I could not keep from masturbating, from enjoying my penis. I had thoughts in which women actually enjoyed seeing, handling, even receiving my penis.

Words came into my mind which no respectable girl would tolerate. So my spontaneous sexuality seemed to involve degrading women, and this went right against my deep conviction that we have no right to treat anybody as less than a person. I felt guilty. I invented symbolic subterfuges, in which garters replaced genitalia.

Very gradually, I have discovered that female reality is not far from male reality, though I can’t pretend to have completely shed my instinctive response of guilt. When I first saw a real woman’s body, I was amazed to find it as complex and as messy as my own. My wife obviously enjoyed sex and indicated a few things she wanted me to do to give her pleasure, but that was still an offshoot of legitimate lovemaking. It left a lot of my own thoughts unaccounted for.

In the last few months I’ve had my eyes opened by a long and frank discussion with a woman I have a great deal of respect and affection for, who amazed me by telling me that she goes to bed with men regularly because it’s “pleasurable,” better than masturbation, which she also enjoys a lot.

This inspired me to open the subject with my wife, who told me she masturbates frequently – I had never guessed. Without wishing to change my life-style particularly, I just feel relieved to know that I’ve no reason to feel guilty about my thoughts and feelings, that I am not degrading women by having them.

Planning this letter has been very useful, too. I have never analyzed my fantasies before, and I’ve found that doing so has taught me a lot about myself – and also made me more ready to accept myself. I have the best orgasms by fantasizing about a particularly good-looking woman that I have seen Men In Love

31

that day. When the penis stiffens, prior to ejaculation, the images change radically and are quite uncontrollable.

One incident – a real happening, not a fantasy – brings together many of my fantasy themes. As I walked through the city center on my way home, I felt I just had to relieve myself. So I slipped up a darkened passageway. I had already got my cock in my hand when I realized I wasn’t alone: Crouched against the wall was a pretty girl, aged about nineteen, pissing. I was no gentleman on that occasion: I stared transfixed at the sight of panties down, garters, pubic hair and urine, my cock getting fatter every second. She looked at me and said, “Enjoying your fucking self?” I said nothing, but I watched while she pulled her pants up and moved off, trying to look dignified. As she reached the street, she turned round and said loudly, “Fuck off.” Two friends were waiting for her; I heard their merry laughter.

This incident has many elements I’ve used in masturbating fantasies since: underclothing, peeing, and using what was then definitely taboo language.

My fantasies are of three kinds: seeing, conversations, and action.

My sight fantasy has had the same decor for as long as I can remember – a wooded area near a stream, with a grassy bank. Three teen-age girls sit down on the grass. I am watching from behind a tree on the other side of the stream. I very rarely make contact with them, but I watch and listen. Sometimes they take off their stockings or discuss ways of keeping stockings up. One, for example, may be wearing a garter belt, and another separate garters. Sometimes one or more of them pees. Once or twice I have “witnessed” mild lesbianism.

Sometimes they masturbate! Sometimes they talk about sex, sometimes they use lewd language. Sometimes they see me; I’m masturbating or peeing. They sit quietly, watching me intently like birdwatchers. Sometimes one of them will call me over. If so, the fantasy becomes type two: conversation.

We talk about what I have seen. They are a bit embarrassed, but not for long. They continue their uninhibited strip-Nancy Friday

32

ping or talking, sometimes asking my opinion. Curiously, though they might talk about sex, they take no notice of my cock, which I’m playing with all the time we talk; and we never fuck.

Conversation fantasies betray my fascination with the liberation scene. I find myself talking to young women about their decisions to screw freely, to use “unladylike” language, etc. Are they self-conscious?

Action fantasies are wilder. I go into a store and tell the young lady I want to buy a cunt. “What size?” “You’ll have to measure me.” I lay my prick on the counter. She calls her friend, who looks at it and says, “I’ve got just the right cunt for you, please come this way.” We go into a changing booth.

She slips her skirt off, she has no panties on, just stockings and a garter belt. My mental screen is then filled with the sight of a cunt. Then I fuck. Images of shocking the bour-geois are quite common. Standing on a crowded underground train with my cock out. A girl facing me undoes her coat. No skirt, no panties. We kiss, gently masturbating each other.

Or I’m in a park with a girl. Sometimes we lie on the grass, and I play with her clitoris. Passersby notice but don’t comment. Or she deliberately provokes people, peeing behind a bush (visibly), or saying in a loud voice, “I’m hot, I’m going to take my fucking knickers off.”

Near to climax, I do think of fucking. Nothing very precise, just the sensation of plunging into a vagina and ejaculat-ing. That is pure pleasure.

HARRY

At forty-six and a half years of age, I suppose I fantasize more than many men, but then, I have been doing it practically all my life, even before I knew what sex was all about.

Back when I could not understand why my little thingy got hard (at about the age of five) I had fantasies.

Men In Love

33

The anonymity you guarantee is necessary because I work for a real puritan-type man (although he is of a religion with a history of some sexual freedom) who would really fix my wagon if he knew the things about me which I shall tell you. I am also in the military and the powers that be in Washington would get me, too.

I remember trying to look up women’s and girls’ dresses while “innocently” crawling around under the table at the age of five or so. I did not then know what a pussy was but I knew that girls and women were different from men “there” and I wanted to find out how.

Also, at the age of nine or ten, I used to play a little game with a neighbor girl in our garage. I called the game “heinie business” and as the slang name implies it concerned itself with playing with the buttocks of my little charmer. Neither of us knew at that time enough to do anything with her pussy.

My sister, who was four years older than I, heard about my activities and one day asked me to explain and demonstrate the game to her. I did and she liked it, but asked me to stuff some rose petals into her pussy. I did that, but remember being turned off by it as I thought that there was something wrong with hers since there was hair growing around it and there was no hair growing around the lovely little slit of my playmate.

We had extremely repressive parents and after that first experiment, my sister was too scared to cooperate with me openly in my little games. However, on many occasions when the folks were out during the day, Penny (not my sister’s real name, of course) would pretend to be asleep in her room for an afternoon nap and I would come in and play with her ass.

I never again thought of playing with her cunt, as I still thought all that hair was disgusting. I know now and even knew then that she was not asleep. Since she was so much older than I she was also much heavier than I and I found it difficult to move her about and get her into the positions necessary to remove her panties. At these times I would just ex-Nancy Friday

34

press my wishes aloud, like, “I wish Penny would roll over in her sleep so I could get these panties off.” Then, to and behold, a few seconds after that she would miraculously do in her “sleep” just what I had wished she would do. When she was bare, I sniffed, kissed and licked her asscheeks and gently tickled her asshole and the base of her cunt (where no hair was growing as yet) but never went anywhere near her clit. I didn’t even know what one was until years later.

During this whole time I used to fantasize about getting various women and girls I knew with their panties off. These fantasies took the form of daydreams that I had some underground laboratory with a magic sidewalk over it which would enable me to look up the dresses of women and girls as they passed overhead. When a pretty one with nicely shaped legs and ass would pass overhead, I would push the button on my control panel and she would slide down a special chute into my clutches. Then I would reassure the victim that I did not intend to hurt her but wanted her to feel good. She would be placed upon an operating table or examining table like the ones in the doctor’s office and her legs would be tied into the stirrups. Then I would remove her panties, slide her skirt up around her hips and just sniff, kiss, and lick her ass and cunt for the longest time. In these daydreams, none of the cunts had hair on them, not even those of the grown women. I had not seen a mature pussy and thought that the one of my sister was sick or something because of the hair.

At thirteen years of age, I accidentally discovered masturbation. I was lying in bed one day and playing with my prick because it felt so nice. At the same time I was having my favorite fantasy about the underground laboratory and got a very very stiff hard-on. I kept playing with it and rubbing the head and all of a sudden, I got this wild funny thrill feeling all up and down my spine and my legs twitched and some egg white-looking stuff shot out of the end of my cock all over my belly and hand! Wow!!! It felt better than anything I had ever felt before. I tried it again and again and finally did it four times before I had had enough. These four times were Men In Love

35

in a total time span of about ten to fifteen minutes at the outside. The thing I noticed was that the later thrills (I did not even know that this was called coming) were more severe and intense than the earlier ones even though there was less stuff that shot out of my dick. In fact, the last one, you might say it just sort of oozed out of my prick, but it felt just magnificent.