My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (7 page)

We enter the palace. And there is the potentate sitting on his throne like a great Buddha, a rajah. I have been instructed by my mother exactly what I must do; there is no hesitation on my part, I
must
perform well, it is the culmination of my training, or I will not be bought. And it is a great honor to be bought. My mother begins by describing my abilities to the Rajah. In fact, she begins by demonstrating on him herself just what it is she has taught me to do. She fucks him, sitting on top of him on his throne, she goes down on him, she plays with him all the while talking to him of me.

Then she performs on me, she goes down on me, she fucks me, but not with any apparatus – there’s never any of that – she does it with her finger. I lie there, responding just as I should as her finger or her tongue enter me, my beautiful body reacting perfectly.

It gets confused here…let me think…The Rajah himself is passive throughout all of this. But he’s pleased with my performance, very pleased, that’s the most important thing, of course.

He says, "Yes, she will do, she’s marvelous, she will have a high position in the court …"

It never has anything to do with, "She’ll be the most bejeweled or the richest"; it’s not that kind of harem. The idea is that I’ve performed beautifully and that I’m the most sexual figure he’s ever seen and he wants me there by his side. (I suppose this all has to do with pleasing the man, but it does get me worried afterward sometimes just why he is so passive, why I’m always doing to him. Let me try to remember more.) He, the Rajah, never leaves his throne. He sits up there and my mother and I perform below him on a kind of stage, a platform.

We are naked at this point, but when I was brought in I was beautifully robed. I was taken to him and he parted my robes and 44

murmured appreciation. But it’s my mother who undresses me, pointing out all the beautiful parts of my body as she uncovers them, "Look at this body, the beauty of the breasts …" (That’s another thing; I used to be very hung-up about being flat-chested

– I’m over that now – but certainly in fantasies I’m beautifully endowed.) "Look at how I’ve nurtured her," she continues, her hands moving over my hips, parting my ass for him to see, "look how beautifully she’s shaped, just to please you."

Then she has me lie down and she parts my legs, exposing my cunt so that he can see how perfect it is. This is when she performs on me. All this time he’s masturbating. And so are the courtiers, oh yes, it’s a big M-G-M court, with Nubians standing around holding torches (they’re very tall and they aren’t masturbating, but the others are, and the women courtiers too).

Then I go and sit on the Rajah’s lap, he just parts his gown, and I fuck him…after I’ve gone down on him. I sit there naked on his cock on his throne and through it all he does nothing, nothing to me, nothing for me. I do all the work…which is what I’ve been trained to do, so in the fantasy it doesn’t matter, but now that I think of it, it’s strange that there’s really nothing in it for me sexually. What matters is that I’m the best, I’m accepted.

The sex part with the Rajah isn’t what counts – whether he’s big or skillful or anything; I have other fantasies where size and skill and three men at once are what turns me on – but this one, and it’s my favorite, it’s all about being accepted. What I mean is, if I’m being fucked in real life, and I have this fantasy…it’s the greatest pusher in the world. [Taped interview]

Sondra

Music is playing on the record player. As I sit listening to the plucking of the harpsichord, I wonder if Dali must have dreamed up this fantasy to torment me. You see, one of my fantasies 45

concerns him…not that I want a wispy end of his mustache to tickle my cunt (a word I prefer to clitoris, which sounds so clinical, or clit, which is so flip) but I want that big black octopus to take me in every way all at once, with every tentacle going full force at the same time since I tire so easily.

The big black octopus, I must explain, was in a gallery off Fifth Avenue. It was a Dali vernissage and included a huge painting of Jesus preaching his Sermon on the Mount. Well, exactly opposite this hedonism were several beautiful and erotic drawings, and the one I really fancied was this octopus having a girl. As I stared at it, I lived it…each black rhythmic finger in and out of her body and my body, winding all the way up (because I’m a very deep person) and ending in a thin point – not like a knife, but all the same gentle and definite. A corkscrew arrangement follows the end of the point with a kind of rubbing, twisting power and force; it makes me reel and scream with delight. One after the other, each tentacle makes me come again and again, many comings per black thing, and there is Jesus still talking to these poor infidels from his lofty place, but really He is watching me while I gaze into the eyes of my taker, this huge body – head like the end of a giant orchid penis as it fucks me and engulfs the whole of me with those spent fingers but with many more still poised, still ready to come as I come again and again…aaaahhhhhh! "Bless you, my child … " [Conversation]

EXPLORATION

The next three fantasies are from women who are sexually happy in their beds. At least they say they are, and I’m prepared to accept what a woman tells me about her sex life. The alternative is to say that because each of these women fantasizes beyond what is actually happening, it follows that the real sex is inadequate and she dissatisfied. But that would be playing more 46

than amateur psychiatrist, it would be playing God. No thank you.

For many women, fantasy is a way of exploring, safely, all the ideas and actions which might frighten them in real. ity. In fantasy they can expand their reality, play out certain sexual variables and images in much the same way that children enter into fantasy as a form of play, of trying out desires, releasing energies for which they have no outlet in reality. Thinking about it, even getting excited over the image, doesn’t mean you want it as your reality…or else we all, night dreamers that we are, would be suppressed robbers, bisexuals, murderers, or even inanimate objects.

Karen

I have this fantasy quite often while Ben is fucking me. In fact, I’d say I have it during our best sessions, when my body is most relaxed and inventive. Ben gets so excited when I’m into this fantasy it’s as though he were having it too. Yet I know if it were to really happen it would scare the hell out of him – and out of me. I don’t think we have any room in our lives for any kind of group scene; it simply wouldn’t fit in; we wouldn’t know how to handle it. But in fantasy, it’s fantastic.

The three of us are in the living room, me, Ben, and my friend Helen. Our living room, here at home. Only the windows are larger, big bay windows with large panes and no drapes, no curtains, the way those windows are in the endless little houses –all lit up along the endless roads that stretch across the countryside, the people’s lives exposed, like…We have just come in from shopping, the three of us, and as I go into the kitchen to put away the groceries and start dinner, I see Ben help Helen out of her coat. I stand at the sink, watching them behind me reflected in this huge polished window. Ben is standing behind 47

her with his hands on her shoulders, on her coat, but she takes his hands quickly and slips them down, cupping them around her breasts, holding them there. They don’t realize that I can see, as their backs are to me. I make little noises with the groceries to reassure them that I am busy putting things away. I run the water in the sink, giving them time to go on. Ben hesitates, letting her press his hands against her breasts. Then she presses back against him, rubbing against his groin. I can feel the rush of excitement that charges Ben, that gets him instantly erect as I can get him, as I so often have by rubbing my bottom against him.

I go back into the living room, but first I clear my throat and start talking so they will know I am coming. I walk through the room, telling them I’m going up to have a quick bath, telling Ben to fix Helen a drink and keep her company. But I don’t go upstairs. I stand just outside the door and wait, watching them.

Ben sits on the sofa, shy as always, and it is Helen who moves in, kneels in front of him, unzips his fly and takes his penis in her hand, puts it into her mouth. Ben’s hands start to push her away… He looks quickly in the direction I’ve gone. But the pleasure is too much. He sees Helen, sees her lips round his penis, her mouth full of him, her lips bulging around it as though she’s going to swallow it. He reaches for her breasts again and fondles them; they seem to grow in his hands, to swell in size.

Until they are as large as mine. Her blond head moves faster and faster, up and down on his penis, pushing her lips back so that Ben can see her teeth, small and white, moving as though she is eating some delicious piece of meat. The tip of it slips farther and farther down into her throat; Ben is practically paralyzed with ecstasy. He falls back against the sofa, his hands reaching for his trouser front, unfastening it altogether so that she can really get at him. He is no longer the Ben I know at all. Helen undoes her blouse, never letting his penis rest, sucking away on it. She takes her breasts in her own hands, and kneads them so that drops of milk gush from them onto Ben’s pubic hairs, soaking them. I 48

move quietly into the room, knowing they won’t stop now, and wanting to watch them more closely. They have forgotten now that I am even in the house. Ben is about to come in her mouth, but he wants the milk even more and he lifts her, drags her onto the sofa, so that he can suck her breasts while his hands undress her, fondle her until she moans for him to put it into her, there on our sofa, their clothes half on, half off, in front of the huge picture window. I shake off my clothes and naked I go over to them. I get on the sofa behind Ben. I want so badly to join them, to give Ben even more pleasure in return for all the pleasure he is giving Helen – who is really part me and part Helen – and suddenly I have this warm wet thing to put into him, a penis, my penis. I press it into him slowly, but all the way in. Ben gasps with excitement, and I feel the same wild sensation as though it really was a port of me going into him, as if it really were my penis.

Firmly. quickly, I move it in and out in rhythm with his fucking Helen, whose pleasure I can also feel. Having it both ways, having everything, it is overwhelming. I can’t stand it, it is too much, and I press deeper and deeper into my husband until it seems my penis goes through Ben and into Helen, into me myself, and I die with pleasure. [Conversation]

Abbie

I’ve been thinking more and more about my fantasies lately.

I’ve even tried talking to my husband about them, that is, the ones I think wouldn’t make him angry. I wouldn’t dare tell him that I often think of my old boy friend, of how it used to be with him, nor of my thoughts of some unknown man who has forced himself upon me, which in my imagination I seem to enjoy.

For some
odd
reason, while having sexual relations with my husband I prefer him to be fully clothed, and while we are in bed, I’d rather not see his "parts." I’d rather we have sex when I didn’t have to see his penis. Although he enjoys studying my "areas," I 49

cannot bring myself to do the same. It turns me on more when things are left to the imagination. But my husband tends to parade his "parts" in front of me, even though I’ve asked him not to, and mentioned that our sex life might improve if he didn’t.

You may therefore find it strange that in my latest fantasy I tell my husband that I
think I
would enjoy watching him having sex with another woman. Not really someone we know – preferably some strange female. That way we’d know no relationship could come of it. But if it were to come true I don’t know if I’d have the nerve to allow it. Yet I keep thinking it would be fun.

I also have fantasies of me with other women. But these women have no face, I mean they are no one in particular. These occur usually during masturbation, which is maybe two, three times a month. I don’t
really
have lesbian fantasies, because for me to do the act on a female, to me it seems repulsive, but the idea of a female doing it to me seems pleasurable. (Selfish, perhaps?)

I know I began this letter by saying I do discuss some fantasies with my husband, but I’m afraid that even that is a fantasy! I can’t think of any fantasy we’ve discussed, but then we have a communication problem! [Letter]

Hilda

I am thirty-seven years of age. My marriage is a happy one and the sexual part of our life together extremely satisfying. I like to think of my husband’s penis as being small but very powerful. I often get on top of him, squatting in a knees-up position. He strokes my buttocks and caresses my anus while he thrusts from underneath. When I feel his fingers exploring my bottom, my fantasy is that a very long but delicately thin penis is penetrating my anus. I can feel this thin shaft penetrating me from behind and the feel of the palms of his hands pressing against my buttocks reminds me of another male attacking me from behind.

50

This causes me to relieve the muscular tension which I have built up in my pelvis as though to admit this second party to my body.

As my husband and I come to our climax, I imagine that this thin shaft inside my rear is pulsating and thrusting to fill me with a double ration of semen, thus ensuring that the act of intercourse, if not successful by my husband, has been achieved by the fantasy "thing" behind me. I have no feelings of who might be the owner of this aggressor from behind me. He or It is a nothing in my mind, but is a very real sensation of additional intrusion within my body. Sometimes the tension in my rear is so great that I lose all control, and the moment after my husband has come, my bladder relaxes completely and I pee, flooding back to him the semen that he has just shot into me. We have only once tried to have anal intercourse, but because of the thick dimension of his mighty dwarf I just could not take him. The fact of my involuntary release of just a little urine gives my man a tremendous thrill.

I have seen cows being served by a bull on a farm that belongs to some friends. One particular bull is very broad across the back, like the flat top of a. table. My husband and I frequently have sex in the lounge or the kitchen after the children are in bed or away for the weekend. Then I imagine that I am lying on the back of the bull, while the bull is mounting a cow. I experience a distinct feeling of the kitchen table or the lounge settee on which I lie heaving up and down. My hands automatically go down on either side of the table to grasp the legs, to prevent myself from falling off the back of the frantic bull as he works away at the cow. I can feel my body thrusting up and down in time with the thrusts of the bull into the cow. Sometimes my husband has extreme difficulty staying inside me. Invariably I experience a climax before my husband in these situations, and his continuing action to bring off his own climax results in me having a second orgasm, which I imagine in my mind to be the bull flooding the cow with his sperm. On these occasions I imagine my husband’s 51