My Secret Garden (Women Sexual Fantasies) (24 page)

sugar and butter, the dog nestles between my legs and licks me. I hug the bowl to me, working on it, smoother and smoother. I am slumped in the chair now, my legs spread far apart, the large bowl obscuring the dog. The warm sweet smell of cake baking fills the kitchen. Inside the oven, through the glass partition in the oven door, I can see the cake slowly rising. My finger dips again and again into the Bovril jar, smearing my cunt so that the dog licks harder and harder, going from side to side now, excitedly working around me as he might worry a bone. The sweet smell of cake fills my head as I imagine the bright red thing of the dog’s slipping in and out of his penis sheath. The cake is getting larger and larger in the oven, so that it seems about to fill the oven, to push open the door and explode into the room, engulfing us in its sweet warmth. I pray that the dog will not stop and that the cake will not explode all over my nice clean kitchen before my husband gets home, before I am ready, before I have finished, before the dog has finished…. [Written down on request]

Rosie

My first sexual feeling that I can remember was one day, while playing with my dog, I suddenly wanted it to lick my cunt. But as suddenly as I thought it, I pushed the dog away and felt very guilty. Now, years later, I do rather fancy at times having sex with a dog, or letting it lick me. But only in my mind that is, the idea of it excites me, but I would never actually do anything about it. [Letter]

Dawn

Once when I was about fifteen, I went downstairs in the morning to get breakfast completely naked. It was summer and my parents were out, and it just felt good to walk around that big empty house naked. The dog was in the kitchen and he woke up 178

and began to bark, then he started to nuzzle up and sniff me (he was only a young dog, not very well trained and a bit stupid). I suddenly realized that the dog had this huge hard-on, and he kept trying to climb up me. I think I was fascinated and I kept stroking him. Half of me wanted to let him – let him do what? at that age I didn’t really know what he’d do – and the other half was ashamed. But God, it was a strong impulse, to close my eyes and let his nose go where it would. I’ve always wondered what it would have been like if I hadn’t got on with my breakfast. I’ve elaborated the picture a thousand different ways, complete with the dog’s prick inside me, and my family walking in on the scene…you name it. [Letter]

Wanda

My fantasy begins with two men breaking into my cottage, making me dress, and carrying me off blindfolded. I end up in a big farmhouse, and my blindfold is taken off. I find myself in a room in which there are three couples, including a man and woman who put donkeys to stud. I find out that they are part of a group who hold wife-swapping, free-for-all parties every month at each house in turn. It is the responsibility of each hostess to provide sexual entertainment.

I am stood up in the middle of the room and they hold a mock court. I am accused of being a peeping Tom, of watching the man and woman manually mate two donkeys. This is a terrible offense, and I am found guilty and sentenced to be fucked by the donkey and also to be the slave girl at the party. I must do everyone’s bidding or be whipped.

All the couples are high on drugs and drink and they carry me off to the stable where the donkey is; it is very well lighted. They strip me naked and make me put on long black nylons and a suspender belt and lead me over to a low table, where I am made to kneel on all fours and open my legs wide. There are straps 179

fastened to the table, and they put these around my arms and legs so I cannot move. There have obviously been other girls here before me. To the cries and catcalls of the couples, the woman leads the donkey up behind me. She has pulled into place a wooden frame above my backside and lifts the donkey’s front legs onto this. Then I feel someone spreading grease around my cunt and right up the hole. They must have played with the donkey’s prick to make it stiff, as I feel the hard stiff shaft against my ass as they pull it toward me. I feel the long knob end against the lips of my cunt. It forces them apart and begins to enter my hole as the woman guides it up me. I let out a cry of pain as it stretches the walls of my cunt. Inch by inch it slowly goes in and begins painfully moving up and back, in and out. The donkey’s prick has been well greased, and after a few abrasive thrusts the fucking rhythm becomes easier. When they have about six inches of the donkey’s prick up into me, they hold me still while the donkey pushes his massive prick up and down my cunt just like a piston: I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but I am being fucked by a donkey!

Nimble fingers from the crowd feel around my cunt to feel the donkey’s prick sliding up and down in me. The fingers begin massaging my hard clitoris, which is hanging down with excitement, and I am really excited now. Hands finger my vagina and breasts, squeezing and fondling them, and just as I am overcome with excitement and reaching my orgasm, the donkey gives a sound. The woman knows what is happening and holds the donkey’s prick inside my cunt. I feel it throbbing in me as it begins tossing off, and she puts her hand around the entrance to my cunt. She can feel the donkey’s throbbing prick pumping its hot spunk into me. The donkey has just beaten me to it, as I was just on the point of having my own climax when he did. My cunt is on fire as his juices squirt up me. After a while I feel the prick getting soft, and immediately the woman pulls the donkey’s prick out of my cunt. Immediately my cunt is unplugged, the donkey’s 180

spunk pours out of my cunt in a stream. I look down between my open legs and see the juices streaming out just like a waterfall.

Someone holds a basin between my legs to catch the juices. My cunt feels so big after being stretched by the donkey’s prick; now it feels like my insides are dripping out. It is so sore and I feel the dripping will never stop. Then someone kneels down behind me and begins to lick my cunt dry of the donkey’s spunk and quickly to drink all of my own juices which now pour out. [Letter]

ROOM NUMBER TWELVE:

BIG BLACK MEN

The black man is cut out for sexual fantasy. Everything about him, real and imagined, throws fuel on the fire: He’s forbidden because of his color; his cock has been endowed with mythic proportions; and the story’s been around for years that his expertise at fucking comes close to black magic.

All black people are promiscuous…white people think.

They’re always fucking or they’re about to. They reek of sexuality. The most loaded question in the contemporary bedroom after "What are you thinking about?" is "Have you ever made it with a black man/woman?" Most (white) women haven’t, and for obvious reasons. But in their fantasies they do, and everything that worked against it ever happening in reality adds mileage to the fantasy.

The first thing a woman does in the black-man fantasy is to remove the guilt by making it a rape. Being raped allows her to throw her (helpless) self more wholeheartedly into the act, so that every determined thrust can be read as one of struggling protest.

After that, the black man’s rumored skill and size can go to work on her. (I can’t help wondering how rough all this advance 181

billing must be on the black man in reality; it’s a great deal to live up to, whether or not his desire for the forbidden white woman is as strong as the real cases of alleged rape would have you believe. Whenever I read of a white woman yelling "Rape!" I half suspect her cry was more an accusation of disappointment than a protest against her black assailant.) Size is the real power of the black-man fantasy. It’s never just a black man, it’s a big black man. Never just a black cock but an enormous black cock. Though size is everything, I don’t think the fantasist wants to really be fucked by a black cock the size of a baseball bat…unless pain is an added turn-on. As with the fantasies of stud animals, I think the idea of more cock, of so much cock, is an expression of the wish for more of everything sexual; the exaggerated size, the attack by something bigger than life, represent the wish to know something bigger than her life.

She doesn’t want to have her cunt enlarged, but to have her whole sexuality enlarged; to be filled, yes, but to be sexually fulfilled too – to know more, to feel more, to have more novelty and experience under her belt, thanks to the life-enhancing mythical prick and promise of the sexy black man.

Someone has defined a puritan as one who is plagued by the fear that someone, somewhere, is having a good time. When it comes to sex, we secretly think we may be the self-inhibited puritans ourselves, after all, and that someone, somewhere, is having a better sexual time. In fantasy, the "big" black man promises to take us to that final exploration of sex, the most absolute orgasmic time it is humanly possible to experience. And then, forever after, at least we’ll have known what "it" is "all about."

Margie

Margie is a former model, now married and living in the suburbs. Although she loves the creature comforts her husband 182

can easily afford to provide, I think she misses her bachelor girl days in the city. She does the usual things suburban women do to keep themselves from going crazy with boredom, but the last time we met she said, "If I had it all to do over again …" and shrugged.

I have this fantasy usually in the bathtub, masturbating either under the faucet or using the hand shower. (I can’t help having the idea that all across suburbia, at about four p.m., all us ladies

– the smart ones – are lying in our tubs or on our chaise longues, playing dreamily with ourselves as we anticipate the imminent arrival of our husbands, who will probably be too tired to lay us that night anyway.)

I’ve never had a black man make love to me. In the days when I was single, black wasn’t as chic as it is now, our eye wasn’t attuned to it as a sexual turn-on yet. Now when I see an attractive black man, I look at him with as much interest as I would an attractive white man. More. But the idea that there is a black man in the fantasy probably comes more from the old myth about black men being bigger than from the current black-is-beautiful fad. Because you see, size is very important in this fantasy. The fantasy is really very simple: As I lie in my tub in the warm, Estee Lauder perfumed water, with the water from the faucet playing over my clitoris, I close my eyes and imagine that a black man, a very handsome Harry Belafonte type, is standing over me, peeing on me, directing it right on that little spot. His jet is as warm and powerful as the real jet of water, and he teases me with it, moving it around and around, up and down, just as I tease myself with the bathtub jet of water. I lie there, becoming more and more excited, and praying that he won’t stop, that he won’t run out of water, which I suppose is why I’ve made him black, because they’re so big, or supposed to be, and I need a kind of black Gulliver to quench my fires. Finally, I’m begging him not to stop, which he loves, and just as I climax, somehow his jet turns to warm semen as he comes too, right on me.

183

Before I was married I went out with a real crazy guy, not black, but very far out. I remember once lying on the beach, there was no one else around, and I was lying on my stomach. He stood up, and the first thing I knew he was peeing on my bare back. I screamed and jumped up, but I was laughing – I was mad about him – and our tussle on the beach ended up with him inside me, needless to say. I have never wanted to be peed on in reality, before or since, but this idea of the very well-endowed black man peeing for ages onto my clitoris…wow, it’s a winner every time. [Conversation]

Raquel

I masturbate a great deal when my husband is at sea and this is the scene I think of most:

I picture myself making love to a beautiful, large-breasted Negress. I strip her and plant kisses all over her beautiful body, bringing her to a climax by kissing her vagina. She then proceeds to make love to me. Then when we are both relaxing, she asks me if I have ever had sex with a dog. When I say no, she calls over her large dog and opens her legs and lets the dog lick her vagina.

She lies back and soon has another climax. She then puts the dog between my legs, and as I am getting close to a climax with the licking, she puts her hand between the dog’s legs and gives him an erection. She eases my hips over the edge of the bed and helps the dog to mount me, bringing me to another climax. At this point I usually reach a real climax. [Letter]

Lydia

I have always found sleeping with Negro men very satisfactory (even when it isn’t satisfactory) because they are so sexy by virtue of their forbiddenness…I mean…wow, if your mother found out…so the whole Negro number is a nice fantasy when I 184

haven’t got one to sink my teeth into. I am really good at accents (this is really going to sound freaky, but I .am trying to be honest), so sometimes while I am whiling away an afternoon jerking off, I think about some really fantastic black guy I know (maybe it’s Melvin van Peebles or somebody like that), you know, bright and sexy and a little scary, and I talk to myself in spade talk. Doesn’t that really sound stupid? I don’t care…you’re my friend, and if you must know, you must know that’s all there is to it.

Let me see again…I really get too hopped up and confused and can’t think when I try to about these things.: I shall make myself a cup of Sanka and think about it …

I think. Just cleaned the house…the vacuum cleaner always gives me the fantasies.

I was talking about Negroes. There’s a whole number one can do on one’s self about them (they are never really so good at it in person as they are in my head), which is part of our gross national guilt about black/white relations: I kind of like it when I imagine some heavenly looking black guy telling me I’m nothing but a white bitch. I feel like a perfect idiot saying that, but it’s true that it’s very exciting to me, probably since the black-white love affair thing is always more exciting because of the taboos connected with it. Dialogue is important anyway in lovemaking, and black guys can usually come up with some very exciting talk.

[Letter]

ROOM NUMBER THIRTEEN: