My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (17 page)

childish and immature. He doesn’t know what he’s missing, in my opinion.

Other fantasies of mine include a fraternity initiation where I am tied to the bed hand and foot and all the brothers take their pleasure with me while the initiates. watch. Then the new ones take their turn with me. There is always a certain "officer" in the fraternity’s organization whose sole purpose is to arouse the girl chosen so that she can’t help enjoying herself – although she’s protesting. Or. I fantasize that I am a "bottomless" waitress; every time I bend to serve a customer, someone attacks me from the, rear. As waiting on tables is my sole means of support, I’ have no choice. Even if I do one of those "Bunny Dips" (that the Playboy Bunnies do so that they don’t have to bend over), I will then be assaulted from the customer in front of me, who simply pulls me forward onto his lap, onto his prick, which is erect and exposed.

I know that they say that women aren’t turned on by visual stimuli; I think it’s untrue. It’s another unexplored area where women are silent or ashamed. I am very aroused by hard-core pornography. If I see a picture, for example, of a black man and a white woman, I’m ready for sex almost immediately.

Incidentally, I am twenty-four, have a B.A., M.A., am white, Catholic, married six years and no children. [Letter]

ROOM NUMBER FOUR: PAIN

AND MASOCHISM, OR,

"OUCH, DON’T STOP!"

Women are always being tied up or down in fantasy. They use "force" words liberally, almost involuntarily – "He made me do this …" "I then had to …" – in describing their fantasies, even when the fantasy has nothing to do with rape or pain. We are 123

made to understand that even in her fantasy the fantasist doesn’t have control over what’s happening to her – unless, of course, control is what she is after, as in some of Barbara’s fantasies (below).

But even when the force is intended, there is a clear distinction as to whether what is going on is indeed rape, or a pain-for-pain’s-sake number. I would hope that whoever is in charge of the Masochist Wing of our House of Fantasy – he of the mask and heavy hand – would be familiar with the subtleties of his specialty. He must have separate rooms: the first, for the rape fantasists; the second, for the masochists. Otherwise, the "Ouch!"

cries from the latter would disturb or distract the rapees, who are more intent on being forced than on feeling pain. For them, any pain felt is merely the cost of fulfilling their desire, a means to their end. For the other women like Sylvia (below), the desire is for pain itself and the pain is everything. Carried to its extreme, as in Amanda’s fantasy, this desire for pain becomes genuinely disturbing and shows to what ends – imagined though they may be – a woman will go to feel something at last, to feel at least something.

Barbara

We have not yet come to the difficult question of people who want to turn their fantasies into real life actualities, but while we are in this room, I think we can appropriately say that Barbara’s fantasy of being spanked or caned is the type my contributors most often feel driven to experiment with. This may sound contradictory, since many of them go on to say that they in fact hate real pain.

But as Barbara says, I think the explanation lies in the fact she feels she can make a bargain with the spanker about just how many strokes she will receive, and how hard – and that if the sexual experience should turn out to be more painful in fact than 124

titillating in imagination, the proceedings can be called off at a word.

I am not a lesbian, and I preface my letter with this comment because it may be thought that I am one when you hear about my fantasies. My particular fantasy concerns punishment with the cane, and by talking about it once, I was introduced to a woman who looked normal outwardly, but within a few minutes at her home, when I first went there, I realized that she wanted to whip me before having her usual larks in her kind of sex. I made the bargain with her that the only instrument to which I would subject myself was the school cane – not a garden cane or something about an inch thick. I cannot tell you why, but my fantasy has always been that I like to imagine myself as a naughty girl of about seventeen, hauled up in front of the headmistress for a caning, and that I am wearing the old-fashioned type of gym tunic and Directoire knickers down to my knees. From this stage I like to be told to bend over, after a lecturing, and then get caned with my gym tunic raised, the cane corning on my knickers. Therefore I told my lesbian friend just how far she could go, and the date and scene were agreed upon.

Naturally I found that the whipping I got with the cane wasn’t half so thrilling as the fantasy, and while I had no heart in masturbation with the lesbian woman, it came easily after the punishment.

Since then I’ve found a young man – much younger than I am by the way – who enjoys playing these caning games with me, and in addition allows me to flog him with the cane, on his bottom. When our bottoms are red and smarting, but not horribly marked with a real thrashing, we get down to sex. All my fantasies are concerned with various methods of being caned, and various methods of me giving the cane to someone else. For instance, I would like to be tied hand and foot, and then given twelve strokes of the birch, but if this happened, I would probably faint with the awful pain. Another of my ideas is to be 125

strapped down on a wide seat of a swing, secured to the ceiling.

As the swing comes backwards, my bottom would make a fine target for the person caning me. Another idea is that I would like to be strapped down over a flogging bench, just in knickers and bra, and the flogging bench would have handles in front which I would grip with my hands. As I pressed these bars down, by leverage there would be a rubber penis at the other end, and this would come right into me between my legs. I imagine myself being caned in this way, and enjoying masturbation via the rubber penis once the caning got going.

Yet another fantasy is that I would like a man to get on top of me, both of us naked, then gently lower himself until his enormous erect penis was resting in between my breasts. I would like to watch it as he moves up and down, then when it is getting near his time I would like him to lower himself and push it into me in the right place.

I must tell you that whenever I have sex with a man, all the time I am pretending to myself that I am wearing long knickers, bending over in the headmistress’ study, and getting soundly caned on my bottom. I can only think of two possible causes of my fantasies. The first happened when I was about six or seven. I had an elder sister who was then about fourteen, and for probably a series of misdemeanors, my stepmother said she would cane her. My sister was ordered out of her frock, in front of me, and then stepmother pushed her over the settee arm. My sister Jean was wearing the usual school Directoire knickers at the time, much longer than those worn today, of course, and with her bottom in the air and her feet off the ground, the knickers tightened around her buttocks.

Stepmother then started to smack my sister’s bottom with the cane, and I don’t suppose it was a terrible thrashing. But ‘it was stinging enough to make Jean yell out at every stroke of the cane.

The second incident happened when I was fifteen, and getting to know a few things about sex. There was a boy next door aged 126

about seventeen, and I used to get him to help me with my school homework. We used to cuddle and kiss. One night he said that I was so bad at math that what I needed was a good spanking, and then he pushed my face downward across his lap. After making a pretend resistance and wriggling, I had my gym frock well above my waist; I knew he could see my knickers from waist to leg.

Moreover, I also knew that this had given him an erection, which I could feel. So he spanked me, good and hard, but I still enjoyed it. After that, almost each night I went to see him it ended up in me first getting spanked, and then he turned me round in the armchair and got on top of me, and we both masturbated. Later, I asked him . what it was like at his school when naughty boys got the cane. It was a loaded question, and it brought the answer I wanted. He said he would give me a demonstration, and when he told me that "tonight was the night," before going in to see him I put on some very thrilling white knickers, long in the leg, and with fancy pink lace at the leg ends. His parents were out, and having the place to ourselves we lost no time in the caning demonstration. He showed me how to bend over the end of the settee with my arms stretched forward, and in that position I felt my knickers tighten up round my legs and thighs. I’d slipped out of my short frock beforehand, and we’d kissed and hugged, so that already he had a big erection. Then for the first time I got the cane on my knickers. He gave me four terrific swipes, and they certainly made me wince and yell. When he’d finished, I took hold of the cane and told him that it was his turn for punishment.

I found that I was terribly thrilled on seeing his trousers tight round his bottom as he bent over, and I gave him a severe caning, enjoying the feel of the cane in my hands.

Another of my fantasies is when I imagine I am secretary to the headmistress of some school for girls between the ages of fifteen and nineteen. One of my jobs, being a big strong girl, is to cane girls who have been sentenced to be caned by the headmistress. Two or three nights in the week I imagine I have 127

about six girls waiting outside my office in a queue for the cane, and one by one they enter at my command, strip off their gym tunics, and are then ordered to bend over the whipping block, where they get the number of strokes of the cane ordered by the headmistress. Then I change the fantasy and imagine that I am one of the senior girls, aged about eighteen, caught smoking and sentenced to twelve strokes of the cane. We stand outside the door of the secretary’s room and listen to the sounds of the caning going on inside. Then it is my turn. I go in, get out of my gym tunic, and stand there feeling tense in my tight knickers. The secretary points to the flogging block, says Bend over, girl, and I get across it, ready for my thrashing with the cane on my knickers. While I am pretending that I am getting caned, I masturbate.

I’ve read many stories of how women used to be punished in the old days, and many of these appeal to me in my fantasies.

There is a lovely tale of a rich man, in the 1880’s, who employed a governess for his large family of eight daughters and six sons.

Frequently the children were caned, and at all such canings the master was present while the governess administered the punishment. The boys had to drop their trousers before being lashed down across a bench, and the girls had to remove outer clothing, the caning being given on their frilly long white drawers. I picture myself as the governess, first because I would enjoy giving the cane, and secondly because I fancy that after all this corporal punishment I could go to bed with the master of the house, who was widowed.

In another book of stories about the Midwest in the early days, there is a story of how girls found guilty in the courts were publicly punished. They were taken to the front of the courthouse in the one main street, and there had their wrists fastened above their heads to a whipping block, so that in their underwear, and bending forward, they were unable to move. The number of whacks with the cane varied according to their crimes, but after 128

the sentence had been passed, the girl was left there so that passersby could pick up a cane and give her another whipping.

The culprit was released after three hours.

What happened, of course, was that whenever there was a public caning of a nice young woman, practically the whole population was present, and when it was over, most of the men had erections and were ready to take their own females back to the bedrooms. Then again, in the Middle Ages, and even in later years, there were some priests who used the cane as punishment for young girls after confessions. The girl was made to undress and lie over the priest’s table, where he caned her bottom, afterward getting into bed with her, so that many young girls who fancied their particular priest simply went and lied in the confession, knowing what it would lead to. [Letter]

Edith

Several years ago my parents became members of a certain religious denomination, and I began to receive religious instruction in preparation for my own acceptance. At first I was very happy about this, until a friend told me something about the man giving me this instruction.

I know you will think I must have been stupid, because at twentythree years of age I saw nothing wrong in anything that had happened and I really thought it was all part of the instruction, even though I felt that he touched me a lot. In the end he began to undress me altogether, although I want to say that nothing else then happened except that he handled me all over and did things to hurt my body, especially my busts.

The disgusting thing was that although I then knew it was very wrong, I did nothing to stop him. I even longed for him to do it to me, even though he sometimes hurt me dreadfully.

Afterward I used to feel very ashamed, and eventually I told my parents what had happened. Although they, too, were disgusted, 129

they asked me not to make a complaint in order not to upset their own position in the church.

In the end, and as a direct result of all this, I left home.

Although at the time I was very unhappy about this, it seems now to have been for the best. My husband, who is a Methodist minister, is the kindest man and most sympathetic. I have no complaints, except that at the times when my husband is being very attentive to me, my thoughts return to this man and what he did to me all those times. I know this is perfectly dreadful, but it happens every time. [Letter]

Rose Ann

My husband has tried to get me to tell him about my sexual fantasies, but so far I have told him that I have none. It’s almost as though he knew there was something or someone, in addition to himself, that was exciting me…perhaps because of the cries and noises I make while he is making love to me. They are not just cries of pleasure, there are also the cries of pain that I feel in my fantasies. In fact, I wouldn’t know where to draw the line between the two.