Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age (22 page)

One last thing I would like to tell you that I have done, which relates to my penis. As I have gotten in touch with my primal desires, I realize that at my most narcissistic level, I want all females, young and old, throughout the entire world to worship my beautiful cock. I want it to be adored and pampered and purred over. In keeping with this, I recently emailed some nude photos of myself to women I consider myself close to but with whom I have never had a physical relationship. I got a certain high knowing that they would unexpectedly open my email and be exposed to the sight of my mighty rod.

“Look at me, damn it! Look at me!” the exhibitionist’s posture demands. There is in fact so much on display on the street, the bus, the subway, that sometimes potential voyeurs look away, refusing to loan their gaze. It’s a buyer’s market, and they’re having a feast.

Anything that one can own or wear, from cars to Prada shoes, is wanted by men and women desperate to create a persona. People have always wanted to be envied, but the degree today is breaking thermometers. As Tad says, “I think in part that I am very envious of women’s sexuality, the way men turn to look at them, gawk, whistle. I want women to do that to me.” Envy is a mean emotion. Nothing good can be said of its nasty “grrrrrrr.” “Why you and not me?” But the exhibitionists, to feel alive, would rather be hated for what they own than to be invisible.

Women’s nipples (forget the bra) abound, barely concealed by sheer fabric; the outline of the curled penis is meant to be seen and admired. Go ahead and stare, that is what they are there for, eye candy. Help yourself. Don’t be embarrassed. The owner is being fed by your eyes.

By putting him- or herself in our line of vision, the exhibition- ist has “caught us.”

Sexual exhibitionism is, of course, the final shame barrier, meaning fantasies of being watched in the sexual act bring the biggest bang. Those of us who build to orgasm with the fan- tasy of exhibiting ourselves are playing with the primal Do’s and Don’ts of childhood. You could say, for the man or woman who masturbates and/or enjoys sex while fantasizing an atten- dant audience, the voyeurs represent the forbidding parents. The

power felt at defying parental/societal anti-sex rules, along with the thrill of doing “it” in spite of the onlookers, all this becomes kindling to the sexual pleasure.

I have a certain kinship with the exhibitionist. I choose to write about sex. I went for the subject, straight as an arrow, back in the ’70s when the curtain was raised for what women could do, could show and be. While I’ve had success with my chosen subject, I took my share of abuse at the beginning, from my family, from certain friends, from the media. For better or worse, today, sex is front and center, selling everything from cars to paper towels.

F e m a l e F a N T a s i e s o F e x h i B i T i o N i s m , o r ,

“Open the Door—I’m Naked!”

Today, both men and women use everything to draw attention to themselves. Being seen, yes, even being envied for one’s sexual beauty is not just allowed but sought after. The old parental ad- monitions, “Don’t draw attention to yourself,” and, “Don’t stare,” are seldom heard.“Yes, please look at me!” the fashions today cry out. With the sexual revolution came a release from inhibition. We are beautiful! Look at us!

I remember the opening night of the musical
Hair
, with

which I was involved. The previous night, the discussion was whether the cast should drop their clothes and stand naked. The audience went crazy with delight when they did. Exhibitionism was in.

I built a life in defiance of my mother’s disinterest in me. Very well, if you won’t see me, I’ll find others who will. And I did. Everybody in our little town loved me. But it came too late. It

doesn’t feed me. It doesn’t get to the bedrock deep inside where I’m still invisible.

Today, without the loving eye that takes in the child, without the gaze holding them close that first year, then letting them go, he or she can feel invisible. We adults have had times in our lives when we too felt alone and invisible. Imagine how a child, who can’t provide for him- or herself, feels when the frightening awareness of not being seen settles in.

Terry

I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman from an Australian town near Sydney. You asked for biographical details, and these I gladly supply. I have tried to identify why my sexual fantasies and whims are as they are by thinking back on past experiences in early life. My fantasies always seem to center on embarrassment, subjugation, humiliation, abuse, and, perhaps, exhibitionism. I also think that in some small way, they are masochistic, although I have never sought physical pain as such and, indeed, would probably shrink from it. But the threat of such pain, abuse, or misuse can easily turn me on.

I was brought up very strictly. My mother and father had separate rooms and separate beds, and I never saw or heard of any physical relationship they had together. My mother always impressed on me that my body was personal to myself and perhaps to my doctor—who should always be a lad. It should never, ever, be seen by anyone else. And from a very early age, I was taught that it was wicked to fi myself “there.”

I never masturbated deliberately until I was in my late teens, although as early as twelve, I would sometimes close my legs very tightly together when thinking of something “wicked” and get a strange kind of relief.

My earliest sexual experience was when I made a visit to some relatives. We had some cousins who lived in the outback, and some of them came to visit us occasionally. The event which I believe started some of my fantasies occurred when bath night arrived. A large tub was brought into the kitchen and was filled with hot water for the family baths. As my uncle was the head of the family, it was the tradition—so it seemed—that he should bathe first, followed by the children and lastly by my aunt. I remember that I was partly terrified by the thought of what was going to happen and partly, I realize now, exhilarated by the prospect of “having no choice.”

I had imagined that we would all be sent out of the kitchen whilst the bathing took place, but this was not so. My uncle arrived for his bath in his dressing gown, which he took off, and stepped into the tub. I had never, ever seen a man naked before and remember well his huge genitals, which protruded from the mass of black hair which he had between his legs.

It seemed as if my turn was next, as I was a guest, so I was asked to undress there and then and jump in the bath. I was quite terrified, but my younger cousin shouted hurry up—we don’t have all day, and the water will get cold. So, I was about to get into the bath when my uncle said, “Let me see this little girl; she’s beginning to grow up.” I remember I tried to avoid him, but somehow my aunt said, “Come—don’t be so shy, let your uncle see you now that you are undressed—like a proper big girl,” and catching me by the arm, she pulled me so as to make me face him. “Yes, you are growing up nicely,” he said and turning to my aunt said, “You see her breasts are starting to grow, and her nipples are harder now—and she has some hair between her legs.” He touched me there on my hair and said, “Yes, fine, you’ll be a really big girl soon.” My uncle continued to dry himself, and as he did, and the towel parted, I noticed that his penis, which I had thought was huge, seemed to have become even bigger still.

The experience stayed with me but didn’t traumatize me in any way— in fact, the reverse, for when I thought of it—as I often did—it seems to give me some sort of inner satisfaction, leading to a kind of sexual stimulation. Of course, I said nothing at all to my mother and father. Three years passed before I revisited the outback. It was bath night again. This time, my aunt said I could undress in another room and wear a robe. I was a little disappointed at this. But when I came back and my uncle got out of the bath, I noticed that his penis had, this time, become almost erect. Being big in any case, he now seemed gigantic. For fear of being called a prude, I dared not cover myself with my hands as I got into the bath. My cousin was naked before I sat down, and I noticed how enormous he was between his legs and how he too had become quite erect. My aunt, seeing him, just said, “My, my, you seem to be disturbed by your cousin who has grown

into a big girl.”

These incidents stayed on my mind and fermented into one of the fantasies which makes me so sexually stimulated today—fantasies in which I am forced one way or another to be exposed to and be seen by people. A friend of mine at the university was turned on to some bits of bondage fantasies and told me he’d like to have me tied up and then “do whatever he wanted to me.” I should’ve told him, “Go for it!” But I was too shy. It was with this same boy, however, that I first had oral sex after he asked me to suck him.

I’m now in a great marriage. I love everything about my husband except our sex life. It’s very conventional. Sometimes, it leaves me unsatisfied. Sometimes, I need some fantasy to help me out.

I imagine that I live in a modern age but one in which women have neither rights nor redress. They are dependent on men and are required to obey their demands and instructions. It is in such an environment that I pretend that my husband decides to sell me and advertises me in

the newspaper. Of course, I presume to be very upset that he doesn’t want me, but he is quite severe and ignores my protestations.

He tells me he had an interested enquirer, who is coming to see me that evening.

A gentleman who is tall and big and perhaps fifty or more arrives. He is very elegant and well-dressed—like perhaps a diplomat. He is accompanied by his wife, who is younger than he but also elegantly dressed. She is about forty years old. There is also their son, whom they say is fifteen. He is wearing a tracksuit and trainers. My husband invites them into our big lounge, and immediately I am introduced. My husband is quite severe with me—treating me as chattel that he wishes to be rid of. The lady then turns to my husband. She asks: “I take it there are no restrictions on the purposes for which we can use her? My husband has

certain unusual physical needs that I find it hard to satisfy.”

“I am sure she will suit you well,” says my husband without showing concern.

“Before we firmly say yes, though, we would like to examine her more thoroughly,” says the lady, “and perhaps that can be arranged.”

I go to my room and strip. Then, totally nude but for high-heeled shoes, I return to the lounge. I feel terribly shy—even in front of my husband, for our life together has always been very discreet. I cover myself with my hands as I enter. I am terrified to be seen by these people and especially the young boy. “Come face this lady and gentleman,” says my husband, “and let them see your figure. Put your hands behind your back so that they can see you properly.” I have to obey, and as I stand there, I see the boy looking at me quizzically, and I see the bulge in the man’s trousers as he surveys my body. The man then touches the top of my thighs and begins to push his finger between them.

“Stand with your legs parted,” says my husband, “and let the gentleman examine you properly if he wishes.” I do as I am told and

feel his fingers between my lips, and then as he slowly pushes one finger inside me, I squirm. The man stops and says something to his wife. She then asks my husband if I can lie on my back on a long coffee table we have in our lounge and open my legs and draw them up a little. My husband orders me to do so immediately. The lady then spreads open the lips of my vagina and calls her husband over to see my clitoris, which she touches lightly with her long red fingernail.

“She has much too much hair here,” she says. “Some of this will have to come off.” I am then asked to stand again.

“Down on your elbows,” my husband says, “and part your thighs slightly so that you can be seen properly.” The man then fondles my big hanging breasts more roughly and moves onto my nipples, which he squeezes and pulls. I feel myself being opened at the back—the cheeks of my bottom being pulled wide apart and something cold touching my anus. I hear the lady open and then remove something from the inside of a vanity bag which she brought with her and then the cold end of something being pushed into my uterus. It is thick and long and fills me. It is then expanded somehow and fills me almost to the bursting point. I feel her touch my bottom again.

“She’s fine for my husband in her vagina,” I hear her say, “but her anus is too tight for him—he would split her, and I don’t want the trouble of that. But I think she will do. I can have her anus checked and opened by some people I know.” The young boy watches her intently as she takes that “thing” out of me, and I see his penis quite clearly outlined through his track suit and notice how erect is his apparently large organ. He puts his hand on the inside of the top of my thigh, but his mother pushes him away quietly, saying, “No, not now. You’ll have lots of chance when we get her home.”