My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (43 page)

… I am Queen Elizabeth (the First), ensconced in a castle with Hannibal, Rhett Butler, and Elke Sommer. The four of us do a variety of filthy things together. This is a serial fantasy, and I always take up where I left off. In my childhood fantasies I tortured various other women; but now that I am grown up, I don’t have this particular type anymore …

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… I’m spread-eagled on a huge roulette wheel that hangs on a wall. As my partner penetrates me, the wheel spins faster and faster and faster …

… I am attacked by a pack of German Shepherds (sexually, that is) …

… I have been smuggled into a male prison and am being passed from cell to cell. It is the "long-termer" section (they are ravenous!) …

… I am completely passive having things done to me against my will. It is not actually rape, I don’t struggle, I enjoy it but against my will. Sometimes I hear a voice, like on a PA system, describing what is being done to me and my reactions …

… I am out on the street with no underwear. I approach two men walking together, lift my skirts, and offer to do anything …

… I often borrow some of the more vivid scenes from
The
Story of O
, like the one where she wears no underwear all day long and is constantly on call for her lover, who requests that she make love with other men while he looks on. And straight whipping scenes, like the bit from that same book where she is in the special beauty shop, sitting naked on the chair, having various interesting parts of her body prepared for sex. For orgies, I lean heavily on
My Secret Life …

… I am not very imaginative. I simply fantasize scenes that have actually taken place between me and my lover which I have found particularly interesting …

… I am a stripper, performing on stage. Then I enter the audience and have sex with various men …

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… yes, I’m ashamed to say I’ve had fantasies about love and sex ever since I was at school. My headmaster never suspected it, but I was often
his
mistress in the most romantic surroundings. I sometimes fear that I am a nymphomaniac, but only in my

"Walter Mitty" world. My favorite "trip," while plodding down our local Main Street, is into the harem of some virile potentate.

When I awake, I am carrying … a load of shopping …

… The men in my life have all been a bit wishy-washy. My fantasies are always about a he-man who knows how to put his foot down. In my dream, he puts me across his knee and wallops my bare bottom. Then we make love …

… I daydream about a certain bulky lump of male muscle I see pass up the road each day right in front of our house. He has a big black beard and marvelous twinkling eyes. Well, daydreaming’s free, isn’t it? …

… my erotic fantasy is to walk stark naked through a spring meadow on a really hot day. A great "horny" hulk of a man (also stark naked) grabs me, and without a word spoken throughout, makes wild erotic love to me. (I think it might be as well if you only use my initials.) …

… my fantasy love takes me for a trip up the Empire State Building. He knows of my love of music, my fear of heights. As we soar skyward, he calmly takes me in his arms, first very affectionately, then more possessively, until he becomes very demanding. Once at the top we make love, accompanied by Scheherazade type music. A wild, passionate affair, a conglomeration of sounds and sensations, all madly exhilarating.

(How I’ve enjoyed writing this!) …

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… my secret fantasies concern sex in the air or on the sea. If I won the state lottery, I’d hire a plane and a boat, just to find out which rocking movement is better combined with sex …

… why is it when I’m a happily married mother of four lovely children and have a darling husband, why is it I always go off in a trance when I see our good-looking delivery man walk up the path on Monday and Wednesday mornings? My heart misses a beat as I open the door. While I wait for him to put down his packages, I stand there transfixed, my mind wondering what it would be like to make love to this six-foot hulk of a man. I’m sure I would die if he knew what I was thinking, as I’m only four feet ten inches tall …

… my fantasy finds me swimming in a pool, filled with champagne, along with two handsome men, one blond, one dark.

I clamber out of the pool and lie on the table, while they massage me gently, but possessively, all over. The three of us dive back in, and I make love, right there in the champagne, to first one and then the other; tempestuously with the dark one, then languidly with the fair one …

… I go to my doctor and find a gorgeous Doctor Kildare type instead of my usual doctor. He asks me to go behind a screen and undress. I do so, and when I’m down to my bra and panties he comes behind the screen, looks me up and down, and compliments me on my body. I am embarrassed at first, but afterward feel flattered. He asks me to undress completely. I do so. When he examines me with the stethoscope, he repeats how much he admires me. When he says he would like to make love to me I willingly agree. Then he undresses and we make love on the examination couch. Afterward I dress and leave as though I had just paid a normal visit to the doctor. My husband, of course, 334

knows nothing of my little daydreams and our marriage is a happy one…

… I’m lying on a low, large bed, wearing a long, bright red, see through, antique Roman toga that would suit my long blond hair. Near me are two pet snakes and a cat. Lounging about are eight tall, slim, long-haired men, wearing short roman togas, pure white. They serve me and talk to me on erotic topics.

Meanwhile, another eight sexy guys, wearing purple or red bell-bottom velvet trousers, black belts and flowered shirts, are singing and dancing to the sound of stereophonic, psychedelic music. I can choose any of them at any time to make love to me.

(I’m not underaged.) …

… whoopee for those delightful dirty daydreams. I often dream about what sort of bed partners certain men would make, and my little mind went berserk recently when we had these lovely men installing a new central heating system. Our house may have been cold that week, but my thoughts kept me pretty hot …

… when sex got a bit mundane, I found myself imagining one night that I was "Jane" in a jungle but being made love to. I screamed out "Tarzan!" and tore at my lover’s hair. The fantasy ended miserably when some .of hubby’s last strands came away in my hands …

… I am being made love to in a huge, dimpled, whiskey bottle, hung from top to bottom in tiger skins. My lover is dressed as an executioner, with eyes glittering through his mask, and when he takes me, the tiger skins slither down to reveal my entire family gazing in shock, horror, and bewilderment. Please don’t print my name or my family really will be shocked! …

335

… I have only one romantic fantasy about men, and that is that I would love to walk out dressed to kill with my three children looking like TV model children. As I pass, every man looks at me and desires me, thinking how beautiful I keep myself for a woman with three children …

… my fantasy always takes place on a deserted beach. I am taking an evening stroll when I meet my heart-throb. I have had this fantasy ever since I was a teen-ager. Of course, the heart-throb changes from time to time …

… although I am over sixty, I am still a romantic at heart, and a very happily married woman. I must confess I often look at an attractive man at a social "do," or while waiting for the bus, and wonder what sort of partner he would make on a stolen weekend.

I suspect not all the virile types make the best lovers! It is an exciting fantasy, and I’m thankful no one can read my thoughts, most of all my dear husband …

… I’m tall, elegant, and intelligent. I am always at a masked ball where I am made love to by every man I desire. I never take off the mask. Of course, in reality I’m short, thin, not very intelligent, and middle-aged. But I’m happily married …

… killing my daily traveling boredom, my mind always drifts to the jungle. Tarzan has me prisoner in his treetop home. He is wild, passionate, making love like the primitive man that he is.

But how I enjoy every rough, clawing moment, so different from civilized delicacies. I’ve lost count of the times Tarzan has forced me to indulge in his animal sexual pleasures, but they keep getting better …

I’m the seventh wife of Henry Tudor,

Each night he comes to my boudoir.

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By day I am Olde Englande’s Queen,

But by night it’s a different scene.

There’s love, there’s passion, and there’s lust,
On Saturdays an orgy’s a must.

I know I shan’t go to the Tower,

For through my sex I have great power.

Of all his wives from one to seven

I only transport him to seventh heaven .

… I am a divorcee and live alone, but am not ever lonely, even though I do not go out and about much. My "fantasy" lover is always with me day and night, and I find
her
very exciting. She is a "masculine" looking woman dressed in "drag" (men’s dress).

She is very sweet and she takes me out every Saturday and Sunday evening. She works in the Ambulance Services as a driver (senior). When we go to bed she is very gentle and understanding and a great lover – much better than a man. I would never exchange her for a man. Every time we have sex it is more exciting than the last time, and we manage to make love often (about twelve times per night – when I feel hot). Each action short, fast, but satisfying. Of course, this is just a fantasy or daydream,
but
the woman exists; however, not in
my
life (lucky devil who has her). I have only seen her in passing. I have been holding the "torch" for her for
nearly six years
now …

… there’s this giant centipede or prawn, or a cross between the two, crawling into me head first, my legs being really wide apart to accommodate him. As he crawls into me, his thousands of fuzzy legs fall off onto the sheets around me. He tickles and excites me as he undulates and wiggles from side to side getting further and further in, and he becomes drenched with my nectar, which he licks up and is strengthened by. He goes on up and up.

This all takes hours as he is ten thousand feet long, but I like every inch of it …

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The next morning, happily exhausted, I begin the ritual of carefully gathering up the thousands of orange fuzzy legs that surround me, and take them in a wicker basket to the kitchen.

There I dump them into my blue enamel jam making pot, and add sugar, orange peel, lemon, nutmeg, banana peel scrapings, and a bit of hash when available (very optional). At the hard-ball, or so-called crack stage of cooling, I pour the orange mass into penis-shaped molds (can be bought in your nearest sex shop), and allow them to cool and harden. To be sucked later when desired, but I usually give mine away to my friends, as the penis-shaped mold itself is far more satisfying and I share him with no one. You’d be surprised how many of my friends drop by for their sucks.

As you can tell, these aren’t things I really think about while fucking. They’re not even masturbatory fantasies, just the kind of idle daydreams I have after a bath, while I’m lying down for an hour or so, half asleep, half awake, waiting until it’s time to get dressed and go out for the evening …

… once every three or four months my husband trims off all my pubic hairs. He first uses scissors and then a small lady’s electric razor. I always like him to be naked when he performs this task. Throughout the exercise I hold his penis in my hand, and with gentle movement insure he maintains an erection. When I know he is nearly finished, I can feel in my mind a mounting impression of wanting to turn his penis like the throttle of a motorbike to make the noise of the shaver louder. This gets me so aroused that I almost climax, and so I turn the throttle even more to increase the noise of the motorbike in order that my husband will not be overwhelmed by my cries of passion …

… showering together, we occasionally have intercourse standing face to face. I like to lean back and watch as he puts just the tip of his penis into me. Then, as the water cascades down 338

between our bodies, I imagine that I can feel an enormous quantity of his semen flowing out of the shower and into my stomach and pubic area. It heightens my sensations so much that I actually feel he is pumping gallons of semen into me and I always have a prolonged orgasm, even without there being any mutual motion between our bodies. I only experience this fantasy when he holds just the head of his penis inside me. I have to be able to look down and see some part of his penis between our bodies … if he is in too far and I can’t see it, I can’t have the fantasy …

… having sex with two men who are going down on me simultaneously. Or having sex with the television on inspires the fantasy that the TV performers are watching. Or masturbating in front of a crowd and turning them all on. Or fantasy of reaching down a man’s pants on a crowded bus and masturbating him. Or being raped by a strong, handsome stranger, with constant profanity: "My cock is in your cunt and it’s on fire," "I want to come all over you, in your eyes and your ass, etc.," plus assorted

"Fuck me’s." …

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AFTERWORD

“IN DEFENSE OF

NANCY FRIDAY"

by Martin Shepard, M.D.,

psychiatrist,

author of
The Games Analysts Play

and
A Psychiatrist’s Head

I

Frequently when we condemn, criticize, poke fun at or derogate traits in others, we are refusing to accept the same traits in ourselves. "I can’t stand her being so dependent" often means

"I’m ashamed of my own dependent feelings." "I think his rudeness is terrible" can be translated as "I won’t accept my own rude moments." Similarly. "I think her fantasies are the products of a diseased mind" means "I would
never
allow such thoughts to enter my mind – for if I did I would be either sick or disgusting."

On the other hand, deepest contentment occurs at those moments when we are fully accepting of ourselves. At such times we respect our actions, feelings, bodies, thoughts. Failure to accept any of these aspects of ourselves is synonymous with self-alienation.