Forbidden Flowers (11 page)

Aside from the few weeks my friend and I escaped into the bathroom, I remember nothing sexual until I was fifteen. I was attempting to read Masters and Johnson's
Human Sexual Response
and asked my mother how to masturbate. She told me, and ever since then, I've enjoyed myself almost every night.

That was seven years ago.

My early fantasies often started with me dancing around the bedroom, performing for a hidden audience of aroused men.

Once in a while, a few were allowed to participate, and I'd rub my breasts against the cold mirror and manipulate my clitoris and eventually get back to the bed to come and collapse. Sometimes, especially when I first began masturbating, I'd time the

“session” and see how quickly I could come.

Up until just a few months ago, I always stimulated my clitoris only. I never enjoyed simulating intercourse, because until recently, I never enjoyed it in reality. Even now my clitoris is the focus of my masturbating.

My present fantasies are very varied. (
My Secret Garden
helped me expand my nightly choices!) Sometimes the woman is aggressive, but mostly she is what I refer to as “the dumb broad.” She is busty and naive. She wears low-cut tops, but is unaware of the lustful glances she gets. Usually, she is conned into drinking more than she should or smoking some powerful pot. She bends over and more boob comes out or a strap slips down, and the man continues to move in, slyly. Eventually, things get too hot for her to want to stop him. I never see my 72

face in these fantasies. I either make up unknown people or use scenes from movies and the stars from those scenes. When the fantasy begins, the woman is not thinking SEX. The man is.

And what first begins me getting high, my climb toward orgasm, is seeing the woman's chest; I am the man at this point in the fantasy. During the man's approach, I am both feeling the sensations of the woman's body and, also getting excited as the man because of the progress toward and anticipation of getting this woman. When the actual fucking is about to begin, I and solely the woman, raising my hips, desperately anxious for that cock to enter and satisfy me.

You spoke often in your book of how fantasies are often expressions of what one would like to experience in reality. In analyzing my fantasies, I found it really interesting that the woman I can't let myself be (dumb, naive, unaware of my sexuality) is exactly the woman who dominates my daydreams.

In reality, I am never passive. I ask men out occasionally. make love when I want to (if the opportunity is present), and present myself as a whole person rather than a game-playing female. In some ways, I hate the fact that I get most excited when fantasizing the “dumb broad” role. I'm hoping someday to be close enough with a man to feel free and act out some of these fantasies. I'd like to see if they get me more excited, quicker than I actually get in reality. I'm usually too conscious and aware to let go and enjoy myself. Actually, in three years of fucking (not regularly all that time), I have come a few times from oral sex and once during intercourse, only when my clitoris was stimulated at the same time. I've rarely fantasized when with a man.

(I plan to start though.) I always come when I masturbate.

I'd also just like to support your comments regarding the sharing of fantasies. Because of my family's openness, I never felt strange or bad or guilty about my fantasies or masturbating, But I've talked to many friends who had never shared their experiences of masturbation or fantasies. And what a great experience to be talking to a friend about fantasies and find that we use the exact same scene from a book!

I thank you for your first book and hope your next is successful. Please feel free to use any of what I've written. I've enjoyed sharing it with you, and if there's anything else I might 73

be able to write about to give you more material, please send me a note, and I'll get something to you. I enjoy thinking about sex and talking about myself.

Good luck.

During the turmoil of our adolescent years, we try to find our own identity and often over-identify with pop heroes or movie stars. We become rabid Mick Jagger fans, we collect photos of David Bowie, we join fan clubs for this or that television idol. This is a particularly feminine attempt at the solution of the problem of identity: young boys do not have our capacity for loving identification, and so there are no female equivalents to – let's say – David Cassidy. This was true of our mothers too: there never was a female Frank Sinatra. Collecting photographs, concert programs, and LP records, we lose ourselves in being in love with someone whom everyone else loves too. For the moment, we find our identity by losing it; if nobody else screamed at a Sly concert, we would not scream ourselves. We do not want to be uniquely in love with him; it is our joy to submerge ourselves and our flickering sense of identity in that powerful mass that adores him, but whose sheer numbers give us power over him:
he must please us
.

In our fantasies, we go one step farther: the beloved idol, whose fate and fortune are made of enormous numbers, sees only one: us. Errol Flynn picks out

Katherine to dance with, among all the other beauties at the ball. Elvis “picks me out of the whole crowd to come to his hotel room,” writes eighteen-year-old Jenny (who is a virgin),

“and I end up going off to live with him … .” The star picks us out to love; he seats us beside him at his table, takes only us to his bed. Not only must we exist, but we must be beautiful, exciting, lovable over all other women. In these fantasies, the star gives us part of his magic and charisma. He shares the plentitude of love he gets from his fans with us. We grow rich on other women's envy; we are excited in ourselves by his fame. He is the sun, and we are the moon, shining beautifully in his reflected light.

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All of which is enough –
plenty
– when we are in our teens.

When we are women, these fantasies come to an end. We want to be seen in our own light.

Jenny

I enjoyed your book,
My Secret Garden
. It's for, by, and about the female sex, and we need more books like that. I must admit that I was shocked at first by some of the fantasies –

mine are never that explicit or far out. But perhaps they will become more so as I grow older. They've given me some great ideas, and I must admit that the pieces on animals fascinated me.

I am eighteen years old, and a virgin. Perhaps this is why my fantasies are so “mild” compared to the ones told in your first book. I fantasize going to a Hollywood party, and there meeting someone like Roddy McDowall or Gene Kelly (older men really turn me on). They immediately fall for me, and end up marrying me, or living together.

Sometimes I fantasize that I am at an Elvis concert, and he picks me out of the whole crowd to come up to his hotel room, and I end up going off to live with him at his home in Grace-land.

Another fantasy I have concerns Mr. Spock from “Star Trek.” He is very unemotional and calm, but I could be the one to arouse him, and we'd end up making love, in a very digni-fied manner, however.

I also have the “classic” fantasies – being a kidnapped maiden, tied up in scanty rags, and just as the evil henchmen are about to attack me, the hero comes and whisks me off, but I assist him in fighting off the bad guys, with karate, etc …. No

“weak damsel” for me!

I never plan on marrying, that's not the life for me – I want to be someone, go places, and see things. But I am also a Catholic, and that puts pressure on my moral beliefs. I would like to feel free to go to bed with anyone I like, but my religion forbids this. I don't want to be forever damned, but I don't wish to become a hermit, either. It's a bad scene.

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Once again, thank you for the work you are doing. I hope it serves to show women that they're not alone in their dreams, and to encourage them to fantasize more. I truly believe that no man can ever have as great fantasies as we women have!

Veevee

I have read and reread your book,
My Secret Garden
, about a hundred times now, and I would like to make a contribution.

Before I start, I want to tell you, that book is the greatest. What a relief when I learned that other girls fantasize too.

Now, about me. My name is Veevee. I am eighteen, I want to be a rock singer-costume designer, and I am very horny. I lost my virginity only last year to my boyfriend, who I am still dating. We have sex regularly, every weekend, even during my period. It's kind of messy, but he likes it, because he doesn't have to use a safe.

The men in my fantasies are neither black nor white, but Oriental. I find them extremely sexy, and I simply cannot warm up to any other kind of man (I'm not Oriental, though, myself).

I detest hairy chests and faces … pale hair, eyes, and skin are too milky to be erotic. I adore slim bodies, smooth golden skin, and cute asses, and Orientals have it all. Japanese are my favorites, and my boyfriend is a Japanese. I have also slept with a delicious Korean boy whom I met in another city recently. I haven't had a chance to lay out a Chinese yet, but I'm working on it.

The star of my fantasies
is
in fact a star, a Japanese rock singer superstar. He is incredibly gorgeous, with a mane of dark hair, great big black eyes, a complexion that a girl would envy, and a sensuous mouth just right for long deep kisses.

And, wow, what a body! Not skinny at all, but smooth and well-muscled. I have some pictures of him wearing only shorts and track shoes, and I don't know how many times I have masturbated while looking at these photos. Anyway, I can fantasize him onstage, wearing a white leather outfit, with high boots and gloves, all studded with rhinestones. The pants and vest are really tight, and the vest is low cut. He is sleeveless, and 76

his golden skin is gleaming with sweat under the lights. His hair is wild, and his eyes are flashing as he writhes and gyrates to the heavy throb of the music. Thousands of girls are screaming around him, but I watch him triumphantly, knowing that I am the woman who will possess that beautiful body, straining against the leather. Of all the women in the audience, only I can close my eyes acid remember the exact shape of his cock –

something no one else in the audience has ever seen, except tantalizingly when the excitement of his singing makes his erection show to the audience of screaming women through his tight trousers. Now he is taking his final bows, and I move off, out of the crowd, to grab a taxi to his apartment. As I walk through the crowd, nobody turns to look at me. They are all straining for a glimpse of him, but I have the secret power of knowing that if only they knew where I was going, and who I was soon going to be with, they would be clutching after me too.

Once in his apartment, I relax on his huge double bed.

It has satin sheets and a canopy with embroidered quilts. I sip a drink, until I hear the door open. He strides in and regards me for a moment through narrowed eyes. I can see that all that heavy music and dancing has had its effect, and I quiver with anticipation. I can feel the moisture begin between my legs.

Without bothering to take anything off, he seizes me in his arms and kisses me firmly and urgently, meanwhile stripping off my clothes. My panties get snagged, and there is a satisfying sound of tearing, as he rips the cloth off my hips.

Now he removes his gloves and begins to caress my body, his golden hands moving from my breasts down to my belly, to my cunt (which I keep clean-shaven). He stands right in front of me, one arm around my neck, pulling me closer to him, the other hand down between my legs, his middle finger inside me, stirring up the juices as his tongue inside my mouth licks mine.

I can hear myself sigh as I take a step with one foot to open my legs wider for him to put in two fingers.

His kisses become more insistent as they now begin to fall on my naked flesh lower and lower down, down, down, and his tongue in my hot cunt is just too much, and I heave and writhe in the most wonderful climax I have ever had – the cunt juices 77

just flowing out of me and making a river down the crack of my ass.

This drives him wild, and he leaps on me and drives his long hard cock in so deep I moan with ecstasy. He is still wearing the leather vest, and I can see him thrusting and my legs wrapped around his ass in a mirror. He sees that I like looking at us in the mirror, and with a strong lunge of his cock, while he is still inside me, he pushes my ass around so that now we are parallel to the mirror, and I can actually see his long cock sliding in and out. I put my hand around it, as if to make my cunt longer and more firmly gripping. It excites him even more to be held by my hand and my cunt at the same time, and just as I slip my hand between his legs and shove a finger in his asshole, he shrieks as if he's being murdered, and he comes!

He is thoroughly exhausted by now, and I roll him on his back and gently undress him. I go to the washroom and clean myself up and fetch a cool towel to wipe him off with. I rub him with the towel on his back and chest, while he lies there watching me through half-closed eyes and smiling. Then I massage his legs and back, and he sighs contentedly. I crawl back into bed with him, and we snuggle together and go to sleep in each other's arms.

This is one fantasy which I hope to make come true, but I don't know …. I intend to go to Japan this year. We'll see then.

I get a real thrill out of pampering a guy and being pampered by him too. I like to be dominated somewhat. Because I am a big girl, I do most of the dominating in real life, but I'd like to take the passive role – in sex, anyway,

It was also great to find out other girls like to look at guys too. I enjoy supertight hiphugging pants with button flies on a guy with a pert, round ass and tapered thighs. I also like the curve between the shoulder and hip to be well-defined, and shirts to be unbuttoned at the neck. Tight high-waisted pants are great. I find boots very sexy, while shoes for some reason really make me cream my jeans. When my boyfriend wears his white shoes, it takes all my willpower not to take him then and there. White boots are superdynamite! I met a Chinese singer in a rock group who wore them, along with a tight jumpsuit 78