Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (10 page)

o u r V a g i N a i s d i r T y , s m e l l y , N e V e r T o B e m e N T i o N e d ,

a N d T o B e s a V e d F o r T h e m a N W e l o V e

What do we find so alluring about “the handsome stranger”? Our own sense of newness with a hero of unlimited fantasy, for- eign hands tentatively cupping our breasts, spreading our legs, and a mouth, oh, my God, hot breath, lips, a tongue licking that part of us! For all our bravado, “it” remains open to judgment with each new love. Only in fantasy can we be absolutely sure that he loves the forbidden fruit he is eating.

In the popular fantasy of the stranger, “the hunk,” is the desire for something more. He drifts into town and gets the women all hot and bothered. The play
Picnic
and the movie
Dirty Dancing
come to mind. We in the audience intuitively understand the ingénue’s desire to reject the Nice Guy and risk everything with the Bad Boy, whose forbidden aura makes him absolutely ap- propriate for sex. Yet, we wonder why shy young girls, with their whole lives ahead of them, risk everything for a taste of forbid- den sex. The answer is in front of us: if you have a “sewer” be- tween your legs where no Nice Girl goes on her own, of course you hand it over to the Bad Boy, who yearns to go there, to bury his tongue, his lips.

Tammy

Tammy, who fantasizes making it with a stranger as she masturbates, writes that she has “dark hair, a curvy figure, and large breasts.” When she was eighteen, a lot of men started asking her out. But she goes on to admit that because of a fear of getting hurt, now, at twenty-three, she’s quite choosy and has only met a few

men in her life that she’s really sexually attracted to, an attraction that is as much mental as physical.

I have a recurring fantasy of asking this stranger to come with me for a cigarette, then leading him round the corner of the building where we can be alone. I am wearing a short skirt, knee-high boots, and no knickers. He immediately realizes what’s on my mind and gives me a huge grin that tells me it’s been on his mind too. We start kissing and gently run our hands all over each other’s bodies. I want to feel his shape and smell his smell. He pulls up my top and starts licking and stroking my breasts. I am getting very horny and start gasping and undoing his shirt buttons. He slowly moves his hand up my thigh and realizes that I have no knickers on and that my pussy is soft and wet and hot for him. I undo his trousers and take his dick in my hand, feeling the shape, the size. I start stroking his dick and balls in different ways to find out what turns him on most, and I get incredibly turned on by watching the expression on his face and listening to his groans.

He pushes up my skirt and presses his face into my pussy. He gently licks me with long, slow licks until I’m shaking all over and have to pull him off because I’m about to cum and want to cum with him inside me. He parts my lips, and I ease his dick inside me until it’s all the way in, and it’s filling me up and making me gasp with pleasure and then we both cum.

We imagine ourselves in an alleyway, on a beach, with our husband’s best friend. We are close to orgasm, closer still, but wait! There are voices of people coming over the dunes about to discover us, naked, our orgasm almost upon us, their voices close,

closer still and, dear Lord in heaven, we cum! We win! We live to complete another day against anti-sex rules. We triumph in the gamble of almost getting caught.

Faye

Faye, an educated thirty-one-year-old woman, having recently discovered mastur- bation, fantasizes being caught masturbating by her husband. married for nine and a half years, monogamous for over eleven years, she’s the daughter of divorced par- ents, has one child, a daughter, age four, and runs a small company. Of the five men she’s been with, starting at age fifteen, three of them were long-term relationships.

This spring, I recently found out my husband was having cybersex via digital cameras and emails with women online. He never met up with these “women,” but the act crushed me. I feel it was infidelity, but I know most think I’m being ridiculous. Either way, through therapy and much soul-searching, we decided to remain married, unless he messes up again. I don’t want my daughter to see me as a doormat or, even worse, become one herself.

In January of this year, I discovered the joys of masturbation and sex toys. No, I didn’t play with myself all day and ignore my husband. Until this January, I never experienced an orgasm. But I didn’t know it! During sex, I felt my walls contract, and I would get damp and assumed this was an orgasm. My clit was always too sensitive to be touched. And I enjoyed sex…honest. My husband is a very giving man in bed and out, so I know I got more than enough foreplay.

One night, I saw on cable a show where a woman got off using a “wand” on her clit. Up until then, a vibrator only numbed my cunt. So, I asked that night if we could try it—and
boom
! It happened! I was crying it felt so good. I was nervous about doing these things with

my husband—afraid I would hurt his ego (as he’s very well-hung and such)—so, I felt embarrassed about asking to use my toys during sex. Then, his cyber thing happened and sex ceased. When we “healed,” I realized maybe my new adventurous side might help us rather than hurt him. It has. He loves to watch me masturbate with my toys, and for the first time, he masturbated in front of me. I love it. Also, I ejaculate when I cum, and before reading up on the matter, I thought I was urinating. I can only g-spot when I have something (my husband’s cock, hand, toy) penetrating me and a vibrator on my clit.

I never masturbated as a child. My parents were strict, and Dad was off having affairs most of their marriage. Mom raised me, never talking about sex. After their divorce, she became more open.

My fantasies are simple and kinda silly when compared to the details of others I read. I never fantasize about other men, just my husband.

In one fantasy, it’s really snowy and cold out, and we have a hot tub in our backyard (which we don’t). We relax in it as the snow falls and fuck like animals in it.

In another one, my daughter is not home, and I’m extremely horny. So, I lube up my favorite toy (a twisting, turning vibrating clit and vaginal machine—it’s a must-have for any woman!) and get stark naked on our bed and begin to play. As I’m writhing around, I don’t hear the door open. It’s my husband, home from work early. He’s an electrician and is filthy from work (plus that musky smell he gets from working hard, which I always love). I am embarrassed, but he’s so turned on, he wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt, which he knows turns me on, and takes off his shirt and undoes his jeans, just enough to pull his cock out to jerk off in front of me. I finally cum, and he pulls my toy out, falls on me (with his jeans still on), and fucks me senseless.

It was The Great Architect’s decision that the heart of sex- ual desire and the place where we urinate are the same, both of which we learned to control at the risk of losing mother’s love.

The fantasies that some women invent begin with the absolute certainty that the
cloaca
—Latin for sewer—between our legs isn’t a sewer at all but a garden of earthly delights. Wise men know this. He whose hot breath convinces us that our vagina is ambrosia is halfway home.

meghan

meghan’s fantasy of her unusually well-endowed boyfriend has everything to do with his fantasies of her and his desire, lust, hunger of her vagina. The size of his penis would be inconsequential had he showed indifference.

I recently concluded a three-month relationship with a man who had the biggest penis I ever encountered. It was so big around that it would hardly enter me, and in fact, he could never penetrate me in any position other than the missionary one. (I am very tight.) On our first date, having met at a singles party, it was so obvious that we were very sexually attracted to one another, he reluctantly admitted to having a fantasy about me. I was not shocked or embarrassed but eager to hear about it, and he let me know in a few words that he had fantasized about eating me. (In fact, he fantasized constantly about eating me, even after we had begun having sex. He uses olive oil.) This made me so wild to experience it that after that date, I began to masturbate frequently, fantasizing about sex and oral sex with him. Within a few weeks, he ate me in the back of his van, which had curtains for privacy. It took another couple of weeks (in the van and in bed) before he could get his tremendous shaft all the way in

without hurting me. That’s when I found out that he screamed when he came.

Then, I discover that in spite of his having this gloriously huge penis, none of his previous lovers had ever paid a great deal of attention to it or had given him a real blow job, swallowing his cum. I loved to go down on that gigantic shaft, teasing him while he moaned and bit the pillows. Once, I gave him a blow job in his van after we had been to a restaurant, him helping by jerking it off as I sucked on it until he came in my mouth. This was so exciting for both of us! I thought about that often as well as how he screamed when he came. He was the best lover I ever had, and I know I was for him. He was more relaxed with his sexuality than any man I have ever known.

Years ago, when I began research on women’s sexual fanta- sies, masturbation was a pleasure still untried by many women. Putting their hands between their legs was admitting failure at finding a man—meaning, failure as a “real woman.” Add to that mother’s warning that no “nice girl” went there. Pamela, a professional with an advanced degree, tells me, “I had sexual intercourse and was engaged before one night when I touched myself. I realized that I could give myself an orgasm…I imme- diately called my fiancé, ecstatic!”

Masturbation has now become for both sexes one of the handi- est exercises in reducing tension, anxiety, and, yes, the iron grip of loneliness.I don’t want to sound like I’m peddling a drug,but I must mention the
cosmetic
effect, the post-orgasmic blush to an other- wise pallid complexion, the easing of facial expression that invites others to say: “Have you been on vacation? You look wonderful!”