Forbidden Flowers (9 page)

My sex drive is stronger a day or so before my period. Just being around young men (in their twenties) will “turn me on.” I almost always respond to my fantasies and photos of nude men by getting very wet.

If I am around “George” – a few days before my period, have been looking at photos (nudes), the wetness goes down my legs, and I pull and tug.

People would be surprised to know that while I speak to them on the street – I am “opening up” and ready to have relations.

As a young teenager, I dreamed of having relations with black men and animals. Just recently have tired of the thought of having relations with monkeys.

I have tried fantasies with women, but it seems too silly to continue.

Ms. Friday, I don't believe in marriage – I think it is rotten for all concerned. I plan to live with men, whom I really want, at the death of both mother and grandmother.

I get along very well with men and am popular!! So don't let Helen Gurley Brown tell you that virgins are not attractive nor popular. Nuts.

I allow men to discuss sex with me. But I refuse to be in-sulted with dirty jokes.

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Because I really like men AS PEOPLE and accept their sex drive – I am a popular virgin.

Many of the non-virgins have made fun of me at work (I never say I am a virgin to anyone, but they seem to know it) only to have the new men and boys employed at the library go AFTER me. It serves them right! Ha.

Also, I accept my own sexual drive – enjoy it – BUT I refuse to let it destroy my life.

I am enclosing my photo so you can SEE a thirty-five year-old virgin! And a FAIRLY happy one at that.

Good luck with your research – because of people like you –

I know I am not alone with my “dreams.”

In Brenda's fantasy, which follows, she uses words in a very special way: to heighten her erotic moments. While the sexual act is going on, Brenda verbally describes it to herself, making a running commentary on events that one would think are so vivid they would leave nothing to be described at all.

This internal monologue is, I feel, another layer of sexuality: while her lover is exciting her body, Brenda's verbal description to herself becomes a fantasy that excites her mind, making sex itself more real to her … one more example of the idea that the mind is the most powerful sexual organ of all.

Brenda

I am twenty-one, a musician, and gay.

I loved your book,
My Secret Garden
, and congratulate you on your bravery.

The first sexual fantasy I can remember is vague, but it had something to do with bugs (the little black pill bugs that roll up when you poke them) crawling on my clit. (I was only about two or three). When I was sixteen, and was in love, I used to dream of sucking his cock all day at school! And I would suck it every chance I got in reality. After about a year, he was gone, and I began to fantasize about my best girl friend who was twenty-two and was a “bad girl.” (She had a couple illegit ba-58

bies, abortions, etc.) When I slept with her, I couldn't sleep at all, thinking of how beautiful she was, and how any guy would love to be in bed there next to her. (My real sex life was limited to hetero.)

We went our separate ways, and when I was nineteen, my new best girl friend would come to see me, and we'd talk about sex and get ourselves all worked up, and then we'd have a hard time sleeping. I would think of how I'd like to run the tips of my fingers lightly over her vagina walls and clit! And touch her clit lightly again and again with my finger.

Eventually, we acted out our fantasies, and she swears it was the best orgasms she ever had; however, she is now back with men (for social reasons, strict upbringing, etc.).

I have had five affairs with women (from fifteen to twenty-three) that have lasted longer than my heterosexual affairs lasted. (I have had about thirty men before discovering my preference.)

I found my hetero experiences sexually unsatisfying. While my girl friends get me off every time. Though once when this girl I dug was going down on me, I had to envision the one girl I wanted more eating me before I could come.

I like young girls (not really young, about sixteen), and when they go down on me, I think “That beautiful long hair, and lovely graceful body; she's sucking me. Now she's inserting her fingers in and out of me, and it feels better than the biggest cock.” When I am the aggressor, I think of what will make her feel good; what I like, or if she'll tell me and show me what she likes, I concentrate on this.

Gena

I wish first to compliment you on
My Secret Garden
. It is truly what I believe to be the
first
book to take the giant step toward really understanding female sexuality. It deals candidly, openly, and honestly with women.

I should acquaint you with myself before I make my own contribution to your next book. I am nineteen, married two-and-a-half years, and soon to be a mother for the second time. I 59

consider myself oversexed – if there is such a thing! – and bisexual. I hope I have gained a wider-than-average acquaint-ance over the past few years with life, love, sex, and the self-improvement arts.

I can remember that my fantasies began at an early age; five or six. At this age, I would often think how very nice it would feel to have someone older do these “naughty, but oh so nice,” things to me … as I lay in my bed, night after night, riding a tightly stretched piece of sheet with my tiny “cunny.” In particular, I hoped it would happen with a seventeen-year-old boy who was a neighbor. I also couldn't wait to know what a boy's

“thingy” looked and felt like. Then one day, in the spring following my seventh birthday, all my fantasies were answered.

Terry (I remember him well) asked me to join him in “listening to some music.” The stereo was in his room, which was actually a bunkhouse well away from his parent's house and the rest of their farm. When we began talking, I soon felt we had become close, and so I thought it would be “proper” for me to ask him some pretty personal questions. He seemed to get a strange gleam in his eyes and said, “Shoot!” I remember the first and only question I had a chance to ask that day was,

“What do boys look like down there?” He made me promise not to tell a soul, and then asked if I really would like to see for myself – that would be easier than trying to explain, he said. I very anxiously said yes. He took down his clothes and stood before me. I remember staring at his penis and wanting so badly to touch it. He sensed it. “You want to touch me, don't you?” he said. “Take off your jeans, and I'll show you how nice we can feel.” Again, I anxiously did so. He then “felt me up” until I almost died because it only kept feeling better and better. Then he showed me how to “bring him off.” How delightful that first experience was, and I doubt it will ever be forgotten.

Through age ten, I continued having more and more sexual adventures, but about that age, I began to have fantasies about what it would be like to hold and be held by another of my own sex. At age eleven, I found out.

My parents were good friends with another local dairy family, and the children of both families got on well.

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In fact, they were the favorite playmates of my brother, sister, and myself, and we would often spend entire weekends together. They were our ages exactly. Marie and myself were the eldest at eleven, R. (my brother) and Ted were nine, and C.

(my sister) and Rosalie were eight.

Both Marie and I felt funny in the world of children by then, as we were both wearing size 34B bras, and each had a healthy bush. We had often told one another about out sexual encounters and curiosities on the subject. So one evening when we were in bed in her room (during one of our stays), I initiated our mutual “female body” curiosities. But I did it only after I thought she was asleep. I reached around to her breasts (she was lying with her backside to my tummy) and began touching them ever so gently so as not to awaken her. But soon she was breathing heavily and moaning softly. I froze, knowing these as a sign of sexual excitement. Softly, I called out her name. She answered with “What?” in the same soft voice. All I could say were what turned out to be the two most beautiful words I would say for years to come: “Touch me!” She did it, and we then proceeded and spent the rest of the night caressing one another's bodies with both hands and mouths, although we did not know about cunnilingus; that was the only act we did not perform on one another.

I grew to puberty with fantasies of lesbian affairs, but also what it would feel like to have a man. Then in 1969, I met the men who is now my husband. We lost our virginity to one another.

When I got married, my fantasies stopped until September or October of 1972, after six months of marriage and the birth of our daughter. Our marriage began to fall apart, and we separated a year later. He left me with our daughter and went back to Washington State where he was born, and where we had made our first home. I remained in Arizona, which had been our second home.

The fantasy that I began having in October of 1972 would be to think of meeting one of two types of fellows. One was Indian, easy-going, very considerate. He would be willing to learn and experiment in sex. Above all, he would have great 61

control, so our sex could go on for hours. We would have no problems, no jealousy or embarrassments.

The other fellow would also be an Indian, but very rich, huge in structure, and very carefree in a kind of crazy way. I would be satisfied with him sexually because of his willingness to give wholly of himself, and his size; also because he would introduce me to sexual trios.

As fantastic as it may sound, in the two months that my husband and I were separated, I
did
meet these two types. I formed a very loving relationship with them both; yet it was definitely not the kind of love I had for my husband.

When my husband and I reunited after our separation, I felt better, because I had lived out my fantasies, fulfilling them. I had my shit together, and we both felt our relationship would be better than it had ever been. We have become much more open and honest with one another and are now expecting the result – our second child.

I now see my husband in a new light sexually, physically, and mentally. I bring myself to a mind-blowing climax in masturbating or sex with him by thinking about his beautiful body and how good he is to me. I can honestly say that with him life couldn't be better!

Although I am satisfied with him as I've just said, honesty does make me admit that I often fantasize still about other women (and truly wish it would happen on a more adult basis).

I have a friend who might share these wishes for a sexual encounter, and I often wish she would, but I never talked to her about it at any length. I think of giving her as much pleasure as I possibly could with both my hands and mouth. The idea of going down on her excites me tremendously! Then after I have fulfilled her completely, she would in turn give me the same beautiful pleasures. It would be so good for both her and me, because who could possibly please a woman better than another? Who knows better what it feels like? I would definitely do it if the opportunity arose.

Much good luck to you on your second book.

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Joyce

I've just completed reading your book,
My Secret Garden
.

When I saw your address in the back of the book and the request for comments, I felt compelled to write. I'm now a college grad, age twenty-two, and was first turned on to the wonder of having sex only one year ago. My first and still current lover is a sexual dynamo. He can keep it up and going strong for as long as one hour, in which I have so many orgasms that I lose count. I don't fantasize while we're fucking, because I have such a tremendous time enjoying the good fuck. Basically, I read your book for more ideas to vary my sex life, and to bring more enjoyment to my lover and myself. Whatever I think of, I make a point of putting into reality, but tonight, my lover is out of town on business, so I must resort to fantasizing in memory that we are doing some of the things together we have done in the past.

These are the fantasies I had tonight. My middle name to my boyfriend is Linda Lovelace. Needless to say, I am now considered a pro at this technique, and I imagined that I am eating his whole cock by getting it down my whole throat as far as I can to overcome the gagging reflex. I have a beautiful mouthful of saliva which I use to further wet his lovely cock, balls, and inner thighs. I also thought of a scene in which he was fucking me from behind. While in this doggy position I bend my head so as to watch him fuck me. He is doing various things too, like, “Look, ma – no hands.” He is also fondling my breasts as I massage his massive balls, and I can see and touch his beautiful cock as it moves in and out of my cunt.

My boyfriend is also the greatest lover for me (I have had three other men, by the way). For example, he will lick and kiss my cunt and suck my clitoris. Then he sticks his tongue up my wet, juicy cunt (that's what he calls it, “juicy”) and makes like he's fucking me with his tongue. I just love this.

Writing all this down has resulted in my cunt becoming soaking wet and ready for action. But alas, I must hold tight until I'm with my lover again, and we can make up for lost time.

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So to all of you out there – Get Fucked (and have a Ball doing it!).

P.S. I think that what makes all my sexual activity so enjoyable to me is that my parents were so strict with me when I was growing up. I was the last virgin in my crowd of friends, and was always very fearful of what people would say if they

“found out.” So you can imagine what great pleasure I felt when I came to sex, late as I did, and found it was so marvelous, instead of being the frightening thing my parents wanted me to feel.

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CHAPTER TWO

ADOLESCENCE

With the advent of menstruation, childhood ends, adolescence begins. We are suddenly thrown into a larger world than we feel prepared for, given more choices than childhood ever offered. Much as we longed to be thought mature and adult, now that it has begun at last, we suffer role and identity confu-sions. “What are you going to be when you grow up?” – the question throws us into despair. We wanted to do one thing yesterday, but that's no longer true today, and we suspect we will change our minds again tomorrow. Above all, we want to say, “I don't know. I'm too young to make up my mind.” But that's not allowed. Only
kids
can say that. Instead, we lapse into sulky silence or give top-of-the-head answers. The pressures of family and society, the mandates of an educational system that rushes us on express rails into the future seem to give us no pause to rest and think about who we are.