Forbidden Flowers (25 page)

After a long, sweet love, they all took their turns caressing her from head to foot, moaning and chanting and filling her with their love.

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And as she drifted off, weary and complete, the face of the first David filled her mind. The star filled her eyes, and a drowsy lassitude, her body. She fell asleep.

Debbie

I am seventeen and have been screwing for over two years.

My lovers have ranged from nineteen to thirty-four, although I prefer the older men. I am very experienced and very good –

and I know it. I have had many affairs with married men and have loved every minute.

I had had fantasies ever since I was in the fifth grade. The fantasies I had up till the eighth grade involved my male teachers. My freshman year, I began screwing around. It was extremely painful the first couple of times, and I never was satisfied, but I knew there had to be something terrific about sex, so I kept at it until I was one of the hottest numbers around.

My fantasies lately have involved me driving in a mountainous area. My car goes into a skid and I crash. A gorgeous man finds me. He feels instant compassion for me. I'm in a strange town, so the man decides to look out for me. The climax of the story comes on a dark stormy night. I am living in his house. It is thundering very loudly, and I am frightened. There is a knock at my bedroom door. I clutch my flimsy nightgown to me. He walks in and looks. at me and tries to act cool. He has come to find out if I'm all right. I sit on the bed with my legs tucked under me. I reach for something, and my legs spread apart. (I have no underwear on, of course.) His eyes never leave me. Our eyes meet for a long look. I call his name, and he sits on the bed beside me. He kisses me, his tongue going deeply, and he fondles my tits. He parts my nightgown and his tongue caresses me everywhere until finally he comes to my clitoris on which he concentrates all his efforts. All the while, he finger fucks me in my vagina and anus (which I love) until I climax.

After this, I take out his cock and lick and suck his cock and balls.

One other fantasy I have is being raped by six or more men.

One frenching me, one on each tit, caressing and licking it, one 170

fucking me with a huge cock while another licks my clit and another fucks me with his finger – a big finger – in my butt.

I hope I have been of some help to you. I could write lots more, but I am superhorny and would like to go masturbate.

Connie

My husband and I have just finished reading
My
Secret
Garden
(he did most of his reading in the bathroom; I read it usually lying on the couch). I felt I'd like to share some of my fantasies with you. But first let me tell you a little bit about myself.

I am twenty-six, have been married for nearly seven years (not always so happily, but still married). We have a four-year-old son. I work in a radio station, without pay. I have some college. I also do some writing (fiction, poetry, the like). My home life is exceedingly dull, and were it not for my fantasies, I would soon find I could do without the usual sex altogether.

(Without fantasies, I find it all quite boring, sorry to say.) I'm not excessively attractive, being somewhat overweight.

Now, let me get to my fantasies. I have several, so I will try to remember all or most of them.

I think my favorite and most successful fantasy is a bondage-rape type thing. This always starts as my Husband manually stimulates my clitoris, and as the excitement builds, I transport myself out of our bedroom and into a large, dimly lit chamber. Faceless, hooded, sexless people are tightening straps to my wrists and ankles. They then gag me, and I hear a door slowly creak open. I try to stretch my taut body that I might see who has entered, but I never can see the person. (I never know if it's male or female, so I'll call it “it.”) But it's dressed in long, dark, flowing robes, and it approaches me slowly as it pulls a feather from a pocket in its sleeve.

This person checks the straps and gag to make certain everything is in place, then slowly proceeds to run the feather across my breasts and down my stomach to my cunt. It starts tickling me there, laughing a deep, throaty laugh all the while. The more I struggle to free myself (oh, the pleasure), the stronger it 171

laughs. It continues this until I am all wet and creamy and quite ready to come. Then it suddenly stops, bends down, and touches the lips gently and carefully, as though it were examining me. Then it starts a soft, gentle blowing. I am still on the threshold of orgasm, but I feel a bit more relaxed, despite the wonderful agony. (Secretly, I just love the thought of being tied up and “tortured” by a feather and a mouth and a tongue.) Suddenly, I feel teeth biting me, fingers pulling at me, tongues (more than one, it seems) licking and eating me up.

This drives me to a frenzy that is unimaginable. (Actually, it obviously isn't, is it?) While in reality I am really quite free to move, while my husband is going down on me, I thrash and flail as would a person who is tied down and being driven beyond what the senses can bear. I love it! This is truly my favorite. I know I'd like to be fucked or eaten while tied down, although I can assure you I don't wish it to happen the way it does in my fantasy. Just very sexy.

I very frequently have fantasies of women making love to women, of men making love to men. I love to watch them in my mind. These really turn me on. But none of these does quite as well as those of me and another woman. I have real lesbian tendencies, but, as yet, have only fulfilled them in my fantasies.

Someday, maybe ….

My second favorite, though most common and enduring, fantasy involves a semi-popular singer/composer/ novelist/poet whom I've never met, but who has the reputation of being mad, crazy, lusty, kinky, and nearly insatiable. I fantasize about him with other women, with men, with animals, with himself, with me. With the others, he is hard, demanding, awesome, almost brutal. But with me, he is all but brutal. He is, however, still awesome. We have oral sex, anal sex, coital sex, group sex, freaky sex, kinky sex, at great heights of passion and lust. I couldn't get by a day without him. I'll put on his records and slip into a never-never land. If I'm at work or someplace and can't get hold of myself without creating a scene, I'll almost always be able to stimulate myself mentally to near orgasm just by listening to this man's music and letting him enter me in my mind, without my ever having to outwardly appear to be doing anything except my job. It's better than a coffee break.

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I hope you've enjoyed reading these as much as I've enjoyed writing them down. I never discuss these with my husband, since he finds women's fantasies a threat to his virility. By the way, I never fantasize about him.

While I was reading the book, by the by, I discovered it was absolutely marvelous getting off on other women's fantasies, things my own mind had absolutely never dreamed of. Thank you so very much.

Now, back to my music and my never-never lover.

Excuse me while I COME.

P.S. My husband says he never has fantasies. How does he do it?

Elaine

I have just finished reading your book –
My Secret Garden.

It was marvelous and like nothing I have ever read before!

Thanks to your book, I now realize that I am among a good majority! I no longer feel ashamed or guilty!

I have a fantasy that brings me to an explosive and overpowering orgasm each and every time I have it.

The doorbell rings, and I answer it; as I open the door, a good-looking young man pushes his way in, grabs me, and tells me to keep quiet and cooperate. I am shocked and speech-less. He smiles and pushes me down on the couch, and his body is immediately on mine – he fumbles at my clothes, and I start to struggle with him, pleading, no please, no no! He starts panting and tells me not to waste my energy because he is going to fuck me whether I like it or not. While we are struggling, he manages to get my vital parts exposed and starts sucking my breasts and rubbing his cock against me. He gets my legs open, and I feel him slip into me with one long powerful thrust!

I gasp, and so does he, and as he moves in and out of me, he starts pleading with me to answer him with my movements.

“Answer me, baby, please answer me,” he keeps repeating –

and I do! His pleading and groaning turn me on, and I start fucking with all my might, moaning – “Yes, my God, yes!!!” 173

It's at this time that I have a beautiful and truly explosive orgasm that I feel from head to toe! With this fantasy, I never even have to touch myself – because it's as if it were really happening!

It makes me sad when I see old, old movies on television late at night and realize that for all intents and purposes, the pill and liberation seem to have killed off romance. Films today no longer present the lovers with insurmountable obstacles that keep them apart, giving us scene after scene filled with the bitter-sweetness of life that brings lovers together, but separates them again after only a quick, stolen kiss. Today, James Bond has barely had a gun battle with the beautiful blonde spy than they are in bed together. If sexual freedom has been an important gain for us, it must be admitted that there has also been a loss: too easy sex, sex without emotion, the very hall-mark of our time, may be sex without guilt. But it is sex without romance too.

Some women try to supply from within the romance they no longer get from the films they see, the songs they sing, the books they read. Sophie writes that her fantasies are “romantic daydreams – similar to a 1940 movie.” During intercourse, she does not so much try to enhance the erotic intensity of the moment as to make the time more beautiful by daydreaming of “a kaleidoscope of colors” or floating in a still stream. Killie daydreams of an “Earth Man” lover, Libby's fantasies are about

“the old white-knight-take-me-away-from-this-all syndrome”

… Phyllis writes a letter she will nearer send. Each woman in this chapter, in her own way, is trying to supply something she is not getting from life – or may not even really want if she did get it. Whether these daydreams are about other women, enema experiences, or even sex with children, they are truly harmless excursions of the imagination.

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Sophie

I recently finished reading
My
Secret Garden
and believe that for many women who have been thinking there was something wrong with them because of the thoughts in their heads, that your book will provide a great service.

I, personally, however, was a little put off by the undertone of apology throughout the book – an air of justification for something that should not need to be justified, approved of, apologized for, etc.

Women have been apologizing since Eve ate the apple for the actions of their bodies and the thoughts in their heads. I would just like to see a simple statement of “this is where women are – take it or leave it” without constant reaffirmation that “it's okay to think these thoughts.” As for myself, my fantasies are sexual, involving men other than my husband, usually men I have just met and am attracted to, or to some of my husband's very good-looking friends. But for the most part, my fantasies are simply romantic daydreams

– similar to a 1940 movie – the meeting or encounter, our eyes meeting, a warm embrace, and then the fade out. Also, during intercourse, I often see a kaleidoscope of colors usually within the same spectrum, such as shades of reds or shades of yel-lows, and sometimes I feel as though I were floating in a still stream, then into rapidly moving water, and then over a water-fall (this one is in all different shades of blue). These are more of sexual imagery, rather than fantasy; and occur during intercourse, unlike the romantic daydreams which occur at will when I'm alone, or bored. They do not excite me sexually, but they are a delightful way to pass the time.

I am thirty-one years old, married almost ten years. We have two children. I am a teacher and part-time graduate student. I would describe my relationship with my husband as fulfilling, sexually and otherwise. I have never had sex with anyone but my husband, nor do I intend to, but after reading your book, I've become very curious as to what it would be like to have sex with someone else (ergo, the sexual fantasies about other men mentioned earlier). This curiosity, however, is just that –

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wondering what it would be like, rather than active sexual desire.

Good luck with your next book.

Killie

I just bought a copy of your book,
My
Secret Garden,
and I can't tell you how thankful I am that you wrote it. Although I always thought masturbatory fantasy was okay, I have often thought myself downright deranged because of my “daydream” type fantasy.

I am almost twenty-four years old, a college graduate, and unmarried, though still with the same lover I have had for about three and a half years. I was always a very imaginative child, and even though I was brought up in an extremely repressive environment, my fantasy life flourished. The first fantasy I can remember is imagining myself married to the star of a certain television Western, at age six or seven. I didn't know what married people actually “did,” but the unknown was always there in my fantasies.

Until a year ago or so, I thought only schizophrenics had a

“fantasy life”; what I now know were fantasies, I called just

“thoughts.” Consequently, I never thought of myself as a very sexually oriented person, although it was just about all I have thought of most of my life.

I am indeed a “watcher” – a watcher of crotches, asses, hands, beards, and hair. I try to imagine what attractive men would be like in bed, and usually comment mentally on the ones I don't fancy, even if only about how “blah” they would be. I find erotic literature very exciting. Some favorites are
Lady Chatterley's Lover, My Secret Life,
some of Walt Whit-man's poetry, D. H. Lawrence's story “Love Among the Hay-stacks,” and H. E. Bates's “The Little Farm.” (!) This brings me to my fantasies of the “Earth Man.” I guess the best way to describe him is a hippie Oliver Mellors (gamekeeper in
Lady
Chatterley).
He is strong, but not overly muscular; simple, yet not crude or ignorant. He is of rather large build and has dark hair and a thick beard. When he holds me, I feel completely 176