Forbidden Flowers (12 page)

unzipped almost to his navel. Zowie! I would have given my eyeteeth for just one round between the sheets with him.

Well, enough of what makes me horny. I hope you can use my fantasy. I know it is nothing fantastic, but when I am feeling low or nonsexy, all I have to do is imagine it, and I feel full of zip again. It is especially good to imagine it on nights when I am with my real boyfriend – it brings me to orgasm in ten seconds flat.

Katherine

My fantasies are nearly always about public figures – movie stars, baseball players, etc. I am twenty-two, pretty, single, in love twice, both times disasters, now cautious about men.

I have one fantasy wherein I am a fifteen-year-old girl named Marjorie, and Christopher Lee (the English actor) is my godfather. He is visiting my parents, and I somehow spirit him into the wooded area of our estate. I tell him I have a surprise for him, and he should turn his back to me. Soon I tell him to turn around, and he sees I am standing nude, smiling mischie-vously at him. He tries to think of a gentle let-down, but I throw myself at him, and he takes me there, in the middle of the woods.

Another fantasy is one where I seduce Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes at 22B Baker St. In it, I am his twenty-year-old niece. Dr. Watson (Nigel Bruce) is amazed his aloof pal Holmes finally fell for someone.

I have another fantasy in which I am dancing at a ball; all the women are in flowing gowns and everyone is waltzing. My gown is so low-cut that my partner can look down and see my rosy nipples. Since it is Victorian times, I am a real virginal prude. My partner (let's call him Errol Flynn) takes me to a dark stairway outside the ballroom and pulls the top of my dress down. I object feebly as he massages my breasts. I get so aroused I can't fight it, and he lifts my long dress up and puts his fingers into me. The fear of being seen by the other guests adds to the excitement.

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I have fantasies wherein a man fingers me under the table-cloth in a crowded restaurant.

Another one is that I am really drunk, too drunk to know what's going on, and I'm parked in a car with, oh, let's say Robert Taylor. He lays me across the front seat, lifts my dress, and pulls my panties down. Then he puts an empty wine bottle, thin neck first, of course, into me and moves it in and out really fast. I
writhe
in drunken ecstasy!

Well, those are a few of my most popular ones. I just LOVE

those public figures! I often wonder how I'd react if I ever met one in the flesh; oh, I know some are already dead, but Christopher Lee, David Carradine (“Kung Fu”), Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner (“Star Trek”), and many of the N.Y. Mets, Nets, Jets, and Sets are still around. Sigh! I wonder what
their
wives fantasize about – or if they have to fantasize at all!

Muffie

I know the will sound stupid, 'cause I'm not a silly teenage groupie, but rock singer Cat Stevens turns me on something fierce. I once stayed up until 3 A.M. watching a concert of his on television and masturbating myself senseless.

I fantasize that he and I are on a deserted beach laughing and running, naked. I trip and fall, and he rushes over to see if I'm all right. His hand on my naked back makes me burn, and with a moan, I roll over and pull him onto me, holding him gently, kissing his face and his eyes, his lips, and then burying my head in the soft hollow of his shoulder.

His caresses are gentle, like a thought, and his eyes are loving. Then without speaking, my legs open, and he enters me, pushing his cock against me easily, as if asking permission.

Then we are fucking, and it seems like we are one with the sand, the sea, and the moon. When we finally come, it's graceful, unhurried. We fall asleep still entwined; when I awaken at dawn, he's gone, and I find a beautiful seashell in my hand, and it seems to be smiling at me.

I have really enjoyed being able to put the private me into words, so thank you. I am trying to get my friends to write you, 80

but most are wrapped up in their garden clubs and dinners.

Telling a fantasy to me and writing to you are worlds apart.

Maybe one day they can be really free.

God bless you, Nancy. I'm glad someone cares enough to undertake understanding the
whole
woman.

Carina

I read your book and enjoyed it very much. Thank you for bringing out into the open that women think about sex more than some people realize. Here is a fantasy of mine for your new book.

First off, my name is Carina. I'm eighteen and live with my mother and two young brothers. My fantasy always takes place in the shower when I stand in a certain was so that the water hits me in the right spot of desire. In the fantasy, I'm washing in the shower and don't hear the doorbell ring. James Caan, the movie star, is at the door, and he walks right in (because he finds the door is accidentally unlocked). He's there because he's met a friend of mine who told him all about me. Well, he comes (I mean he pokes his head through the shower curtain) right into the shower, shedding his clothes and says: “Your friend was right. You are as marvelous as she said you were!” We make love while the water trickles over, around, and under our bodies. By this time, I have an orgasm and the fantasy ends.

I hope it is one that you can use.

Though June is nineteen and married, she fantasizes about a girl friend she has known since she was thirteen. “In real life, as far as we got was to hold and kiss each other,” she writes in lament about the children's sexual games they used to play in early adolescence. It seemed so easy then, so comforting to our loneliness, to see our friends as our other selves. We clung to each other for reassurance in young fear and bewilderment of our burgeoning sexuality. In exploring our friend's body, we explored our own.

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This element of narcissistic identification seems clear in June's fantasy: she does not see her friend as a rival in the tri-angle she wants to set up with her own husband; she is not

“the other woman” – she is an accomplice. Her fantasy reminds us of those days when doing anything was much more fun when we shared it with a girl friend … those early days when the true excitement of a date was not so much when we were with
him
but when we could describe it afterward to our friends.

One important point remains to be made about fantasies like June's: it is as common for women to have sexual fantasies about other women as it is rare for men to have fantasies about other men. The bugaboo of homosexual fear does not haunt our sex the way it does the other, but this does not mean that every woman who has a sexual fantasy about another woman is a lesbian. (The phrase “latent lesbian” has no meaning. We are all “latent” – it is imaginable for any human being to do something sexual with any other human being in the right time and circumstances.)

Some women who have fantasies about other women describe themselves as lesbians. Many women who have similar fantasies do not. You know yourself better than I do. Having a fantasy in your mind is a very far cry from meaning you have done something in actuality … or that you “really” want to do it. June has sexual fantasies about other women, but does not for one moment mention the idea that she might be a homosexual. Tina writes about her attraction to Barbara in terms that may well mean that in time she will enter a homosexual relationship. Scattered throughout this book are fantasies by other women who have erotic reveries about sex with other females

… some letters are from women who have put this idea into practice. None of these sexual paths is better than any other, none is right or wrong. All that matters is how your sex life makes you feel. If you feel whole and happy, released and vital, it is nobody's business how you reach that goal. Some of the women concerned call themselves lesbians, others do not.

What you call yourself is your business too.

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In general, it can be said that sexual fantasies of other women can usually be traced back to feelings and emotions of babyhood, when our mother was our first love object. In time, as we grew up, we made the crossover to men – starting with father, who we took to be our first model for all men. But some leftover emotion about mother, some unconscious image of how she smelled, touched us, and gave us our first idea of love, is often still buried somewhere within us, just as there is a little bit of the child left over in every adult.

June

I have just finished reading your book. I have really enjoyed it, and am glad someone has finally written about women's fantasies.

I have a few, but this is my favorite. This fantasy is always about a girl friend I've known since I was thirteen years old.

I've always wanted to make it with her. In real life, as far as we got was to hold and kiss each other. I have had women make love to me, but it's always turned me off. I know that (I'll call her Sue) Sue would be the only one that could turn me on.

I am nineteen years old and am married. I have told my husband before about my fantasy, but after I read your book, I got really excited and decided to really describe to him my fantasy and how I'd like him to be making it with the both of us. It really turned him on. We had the best time in bed than we've had in a long time.

We both hope someday our fantasy will come true. I think then I would be the happiest. We live far from her now, but plan on moving back soon.

Well, thank you for the book you've written. I'm looking forward to your next book. I hope this can help you in some way.

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Tina

I am thirty-seven years old and have been with my husband for fifteen years, the last ten of which I have known Barbara.

My husband is sexually okay, but not passionate – his value as a husband is based on other qualities. My strongest emotional need has been to be able to be open, to share all my thoughts and feelings (including sexual fantasies). I have done this not with my husband but with Barbara. She has also shared more deeply with me than with anyone else until recently, when someone new entered her life.

I have had sexual fantasies about her and other women for as long as I can remember having sexual feelings at all. The reason I am writing to you now is because of “the change” in me – none of the fantasies in your book seem to cover that part of me.

As time has gone by, the outward sexuality between Barb and me has grown from no touching at all to spontaneous kisses and embraces and back rubs that take me close to orgasm. (I think the next time I will ask if she minds for me to masturbate in her presence. I will have to think about this for a while since we live in separate cities, and our direct contact is only once or twice a year.)

Until last year, Barbara said that she wasn't sexually attracted to women. Now she is living in a lesbian relationship.

You can imagine the mixture of joy for her and pain I felt for myself when that happened. Until the beginning of that relationship, my fantasies about women had always been about Barbara. I would imagine her saying “Yes, I do have sexual feelings for you,” and going down on me, hugging, kissing, etc. Once I imagined Barb walking in while I was masturbating and sitting down beside me and holding my left hand. Last winter, I visited with her and her lover and had the deepest back rub yet. The whole time she was much more open and affectionate than ever before, but still clear that I wasn't to be her bedmate. The next night, we three women did pot together (my first time). Eventually, they went to the bedroom, and I lay down on the couch. I felt like I was with them, part of their sex.

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And then suddenly switching from explicit masturbatory images, I was talking to Barb, sharing with her words of love and deep feelings, some of it even admissions of jealousy. But even though what I was telling her was not all positive feelings, I could sense Barb's understanding and love. Her nonsexual but deep love for me wanting me to feel good and enhancing my sexual intensity. Since then I have often incorporated this sense of feeling close with a woman, feeling her love with my masturbation. I told Barbara the next day, and she felt it was a beautiful thing. I shared all the feelings too that I had verbal-ized in the fantasy when I had imagined the two of them making love in the other room, and she understood all of that too. I suppose you might not call this a sexual fantasy, but it turns me on deepest of all when I masturbate to imagine how deeply a woman (Barb) understands me, accepts and loves me. Sometimes I try to incorporate this feeling into my time with my husband (but I do feel guilty thinking of someone else when I am with him). I have since last winter slept with three women.

One of them touched my deepest feelings along with my body.

I fantasize about her both ways at once – the feelings that we share, plus the memories of our sex. Love and sex together can be a very powerful stimulant.

I see myself as bisexual, by the way, and have been working within my religious denomination to spread understanding of homosexuality and bisexuality. I initiated a consideration of these issues in Barb's state last summer, before it was an active concern to her. This summer, she stood where I had stood with the others and carried it through, while I stayed in my own territory. I am more than pleased by the feelings of togetherness and sisterhood I get from these activities.

I told one of my lovers about this kind of fantasy, and she tried it and really liked it. I hope I have explained it well enough so that you understand. It's the strength of emotional intensity and general closeness that heightens sexual feelings.

Also, one of my explicit fantasies wasn't mentioned until now.

I'll say it quickly before I lose my nerve. I am drinking breast milk and eventually floating in it, and as I approach climax, I feel myself drowning.

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Toby's first fantasy, like most in this chapter, stems from a time in her life when she was not yet ready for sex. She was fifteen, she writes, when she began to fantasize about the man who lived next door. He was “about forty-five, with sexy gray hair (sophisticated-looking).”

Ah, these sophisticated-looking, gray-haired older devils!