Excitement

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  When my husband talks to me during sex—now that he knows that I have other men, and with his consent—he asks me all sorts of questions about the other cocks I have, and this gets him into such a state because, although he knows very well that he cannot fuck me like they can, he gets pleasure from at least trying. He now even encourages my real exposures to other men; in fact, he loves to shave me. These exposures later add a great deal to our sex as we fantasize together, talking back and forth, what it would be like if I had indeed taken on the man to whom he watched me expose myself—which, of course, is done simply by parting your legs a bit if you’re sitting across the room from a man. Other times, of course, I do indeed take on the other men… and then tell my husband all about it. Now my husband even assures me that having other men regularly—and sharing the experience with him—makes me a better ride and far more relaxed and able to give of my best in bed. [Letter] Adele’s husbandI have read and reread your article, and having eventually decided your research work is a serious one, I have at last decided to write to you. I am a heterosexual male, a widower, in fact, but I think you may find it quite interesting to read of the sexual fantasies of my dear late wife, who sadly died five long years ago. We were married in the latter part of the last war, and when I was demobilized I was twenty-three years old and she was twenty-one. Right from the word go our married life was wonderful, both sexually and in every other way. To come to the matter you’re interested in. We had been to see a film with Alan Ladd in it at her instigation, because she always said how much she liked him. How much, I did not realize. The film had only been on ten minutes before she was kissing me very passionately and, of course, I slipped my hand in her blouse, undid her bra, and found her breasts hard and her nipples really erect. So naturally I went up her skirt with my other hand, having spread my raincoat over both our knees. She was wearing those silk panties without elastic—very handy—so I slipped my hand under and found her absolutely soaking wet. She had already come and as soon as I felt her clitoris, she came again. I finally had two fingers in her and she went wild. I hardly saw the film myself because she got my cock out and slowly tossed me off.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I could hear her creaking about in her bed upstairs, and once she went out to the privy. I thought she might have paused on her way, outside my door, to listen for my snores. I didn’t call out to her. Next morning I was too tired to study her terribly hard; but as I set the pan of bacon on the stove, she came to me. She came very close, and then she said, quite low - perhaps so that her brother, who was in the room across the passageway, might not hear: ‘Nance, will you come out with me tonight?’ ‘Tonight?’ I said, yawning, and frowning at the bacon, which I had put too wet into a too-hot pan, so that it hissed and steamed. ‘Where to? Not collecting subscriptions again, surely?’ ‘Not subscriptions, no. Not work at all, in fact, but — pleasure.’ ‘Pleasure!’ I had never heard her say the word before, and it seemed, all of a sudden, a terribly lewd one. Perhaps she thought the same, for now she blushed a little, and took up a spoon and began to fiddle with it. ‘There’s a public-house near Cable Street,’ she went on, ‘with a ladies’ room in it. The girls call it “The Boy in the Boat ...”’ ‘Oh yes?’ She looked once at me, and then away again. ‘Yes. Annie will be there, she says, with a new friend of hers; and perhaps Ruth and Nora.’ ‘Ruth and Nora too!’ I said lightly: they were the two girl-friends who had turned out sweethearts. ‘Is it to be all toms, then?’ To my surprise she nodded, quite seriously: ‘Yes.’ All toms! The thought sent me into a fever. It was twelve months since I had last passed an evening in a room full of woman-lovers: I was not sure I still possessed the knack. What would I wear? What attitude would I strike? All toms! What would they make of me? And what would they make of Florence? ‘Will you still go,’ I asked, ‘if I don’t?’ ‘I rather thought I might...’ ‘Then I’ll certainly come,’ I said - and had to look quickly to the pan of smoking bacon, and so didn’t see whether she looked pleased, or satisfied, or indifferent. I passed a fretful day, picking through my few dull frocks and skirts in the hope of finding some forgotten tommish gem amongst them.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  SOUNDSThis is as good a place as any to make a parenthetic comment on noise during sex, on what it does for women. I’m not talking about Frank Sinatra in the background; I refer specifically to those words and noises and phrases that come straight from the groin and have to do with fucking. Words and noises that—if you are indeed fucking—are a more natural part of it than a gentlemanly “I love you, Helen,” or no noise at all. Being fucked in silence, with the lights out, inhibits an act that’s supposed to be the most liberating one in our lives. Some women, like June (below), can’t even make it in silence; Nina (also below) says what dozens of other contributors have mentioned in passing… and would have dwelled on longer, I’m sure now, if I’d asked them directly how they felt about it: “Our lovemaking is always heightened by the use of words like ‘fuck,’ ‘cunt,’ etc., which we normally don’t use… only in bed.” Both these women trace the source of their fantasies back to their childhood, which is where most adults think these “dirty,” “low,” “vulgar” noises should be relegated, instead of including them naturally in the most adult act of all. Who said “ladies” don’t use words like “fuck” and “cunt,” or that one doesn’t use them around “ladies”? Maybe not when you’re having lunch with a lady, but when a lady’s fucking, she’s not having lunch. JuneWhat I can’t stand is quiet sex. It seems unnatural to me for two people to be fucking away and all you can hear, if you’re lucky, is some heavy breathing. Give me a good moaner, a groaner, a real yeller any time. If I’m with a guy and he won’t say anything, just breathes, and I’m too timid to start up all the heavy moaning that really turns me on, I fantasize. I remember the first time I ever heard people fucking, and remembering it, well, it releases me. I was only about eleven when this happened. We were living in San Francisco, in a big apartment house with a center courtyard. All the bedroom windows in the building opened onto this court, and sometimes in the middle of the night in that building it sounded like a mass orgy. I may have been only eleven, but no one had to tell me what all that moaning and yelling was about. I’d lie there mesmerized—that’s when I began masturbating, I think—listening to the first couple. Invariably, they’d wake up other couples, and like some kind of chain reaction within minutes the whole building was fucking. I mean, have you ever heard other people fucking, really enjoying it? It’s a marvelous sound… not like in the movies… but when it’s real. It’s such a happy, exciting sound.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  » We still enjoy making love at unusual times, like when we’re already late for a party, or an impromptu session on the living room rug, the kitchen table, etc.… time we can steal while the kids are away at a Boy Scout meeting or football game. I’d say we have sex most nights of the week, even when Charlie’s so tired he just comes and falls asleep while he’s still on top and inside me. But something different happened the other evening when Charlie got home early and we thought we could steal some time before the kids got back. Suddenly we were interrupted—we were in the living room—by the unexpected arrival of our next-door neighbor. I just had time to pull my skirt down before Charlie let him in. He only stayed five or ten minutes, but all the time he was here, I knew something was up. I couldn’t help noticing the way this guy kept fidgeting… and then I noticed this big bulge in the front of his trousers while he was talking to me. It was only after he’d left that I realized that in my haste I’d forgot to put my tights back on; all during our talk, my short skirt had ridden up, leaving me totally exposed to the man. For a few minutes I was mortified, absolutely embarrassed. Then the shock wore off and I was left with this odd feeling of excitement, which is still with me when I think about it, although I consider our neighbor about as exciting as a graham cracker. I could hardly wait for us to get to bed that night. It was one of the most exciting sessions that I’d ever had. But I couldn’t sleep, I really couldn’t, until I’d told Charlie what had got me so aroused. I expected it would make him angry, just as I thought it would make me angry, too. But the idea that another man had been staring at the quim he had just enjoyed excited Charlie so much, he put out his cigarette and got on top of me again. He didn’t wait the usual time it takes him on those nights we do it more than once. He wasn’t in me more than a few seconds before he came again, almost like an explosion. It’s as though this idea has given our sex lives a whole new dimension. Now when we’re in bed together it’s almost become a necessity for us.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I have seen cows being served by a bull on a farm that belongs to some friends. One particular bull is very broad across the back, like the flat top of a table. My husband and I frequently have sex in the lounge or the kitchen after the children are in bed or away for the weekend. Then I imagine that I am lying on the back of the bull, while the bull is mounting a cow. I experience a distinct feeling of the kitchen table or the lounge settee on which I lie heaving up and down. My hands automatically go down on either side of the table to grasp the legs, to prevent myself from falling off the back of the frantic bull as he works away at the cow. I can feel my body thrusting up and down in time with the thrusts of the bull into the cow. Sometimes my husband has extreme difficulty staying inside me. Invariably I experience a climax before my husband in these situations, and his continuing action to bring off his own climax results in me having a second orgasm, which I imagine in my mind to be the bull flooding the cow with his sperm. On these occasions I imagine my husband’s penis to be even greater in girth than it really is. In fact, I imagine it as thick as the bull. To make this even more realistic, I sometimes insert a finger into my vagina at the moment of his climax to swell his real dimension to what I imagine would represent the bull’s erection. My husband enjoys this routine, feeling that my finger’s there to help stimulate him. However, it is my desire to feel filled by an enormous penis that is really the key to the whole situation. [Letter] HeatherI’m twenty-two and very shy, and group gropes aren’t my scene at all. But my imagination isn’t the least bit shy. When my husband and I are making love, or when I masturbate, I visualize my husband screwing another woman while I am screwing another man. We’re all in the same room, or in two double beds, and I can see what they’re doing in a big mirror. It excites me very much. I can’t remember when this started or what started it, but I very rarely reach orgasm without thinking about it. [Letter] KittySometimes during sex, or just during the day, I think of what it would be like to trade husbands, that is, for me and my husband to have sex with a couple with whom we are good friends… me with the guy and my husband with the other wife. This can be one of several couples that we know, or any new couple we meet and hit it off with.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I hope all this has helped your work in some way. I know it has helped me to finally get my experience off my chest to someone at last, after all these years. [Letter] DinahHi! I just read about your work and wanted to contribute. I am twenty-two years old, white, Latin, and a university student. And, of course, female. That is, bisexual. Actually. I don’t fit any categories. I have been a lesbian, also. I thought you might want background info. But to get on with the fantasy business. I have a few really interesting ones. I fantasize not only when I masturbate, but also when I am making love. (Then I feel a little guilt, but it’s such fun.) Fantasy 1: I walk into a drugstore in a small Southern town. I am a stranger. I am dressed outlandishly, like a whore. There are several local men in the store and they all look at me with lust in their eyes. I go to the counter and order a tube of contraceptive cream. The druggist gives it to me. I take it and try to leave, but the men close the door and tell me I should “try it out” (the cream). They rape me. They squeeze cream into my vagina and anus. They make me go down on all fours and come in from behind. At one point I have to get on top of a man and come down on his penis while another is coming in through my anus from behind and another is inside my mouth. Fantasy 2: I am speeding on the New Jersey Turnpike. Two policemen stop me. I tell them I will “do anything not to get a ticket.” They make me get in the backseat and spread my legs very wide (one of them is in the front seat, the other in the backseat). While one of them drives, the other one has me. They take turns. And then they meet a friend and he gets in on it too. Fantasy 3: I am in a woman’s prison. I tried to escape or lead a demonstration or something illegal like that. The warden is a big black woman. While two women guards hold me, she pulls up my skirt and pulls down my panties and spanks me with a ruler. Then she takes out a dildo and fucks me with it very roughly. When I get excited, she laughs. Then she tells the guards to hold me down on her desk. She looks over my cunt and says, “Mmm mmm, this is some nice pussy,” and then she licks my cunt and sucks it till I come. Fantasy 4: I am at a convention. I am the only woman there. I have no choice: I bend over a chair and all the men are in line to fuck me. I act very nonchalant. I could go on…. [Letter]

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  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] LydiaI 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 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]

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I always fantasize when I masturbate, which is usually when my husband is at work. I picture a scene at school when I was caned. The cane made me smart so much that I pissed in my knickers, which made me feel sexually excited afterward. In my fantasies I can see the headmistress with her cane, and when I picture how she gave me those smart strokes, I soon reach a climax. I have not discussed my fantasies with my husband, but we both use four-letter words freely during fucking, as we find that the use of such words comes naturally to us and increases our excitement. Please excuse me if my tendency to use such words has caused me to use them too much in writing to you. I think my first sexual fantasy was on seeing a man peeing when I was about eleven years of age. I did not actually see his penis (hence my surprise when I saw one for the first time, as I said), but I could plainly see his stream of urine as he stood to urinate against a tree when I passed close by. Seeing one of the opposite sex standing to urinate instead of squatting like I did made me so excited that I have always remembered it. I take my fantasy further in imagining him deliberately exposing his prick to me and rubbing it to the point of ejaculation. [Letter] MarleneI am twenty-four and have been married five and a half years. I usually fantasize when my husband is making love to me, always have, and I believe he does, too. It has nothing to do with any inadequacies on either of our parts; I have always found him exciting in bed and he can never seem to get enough of me. It’s just that when you’re married, and always with the same man, no matter how great he is in bed, it varies the routine to think of other men. With me it used to be a guy who worked in my office; I was seducing him. Or I’m making it with a handsome black guy on TV, again with me as the seducer. Whoever it is—I’ve even seduced priests in my fantasies—I like to imagine that it is someone who has not had sex for a long time and is therefore ravenous.

• From My People (2022)

  Through the rest of the night, I had tossed and turned, restless with excitement over the manifesto, and when my grandmother came in I was still caught up in the vigorous spirit of such sentences as “Today’s youth will not sit by submissively while being denied all of the rights, privileges, and joys of life.” So it was not hard for me to snap awake when she entered. Sitting beside me on the bed, she said, “I know it’s Saturday, but I thought maybe, while it’s still early, you’d get up and drive me home. We could be back here before any of your friends are up.” By “home,” she meant a place I shall call Leverton—the small Georgia city where she had met and married my grandfather and had reared their children. When he died, many years before I was born, he was buried there. Many of their old friends still lived in Leverton—widows and widowers for the most part. My own family had moved from Leverton ten years before, and my grandmother, who had always lived with us, halfheartedly came, too. But for years she found many reasons, many memories, to take her back to Leverton almost every weekend. When we first moved away, she traveled the thirty-six miles by bus. She was independent and healthy, and preferred going alone so that she could have the time all to herself. In her younger days, she was tall and stout, with steel-gray eyes and long, thin hair that reached below her waist. Most of the time, she wore it in two braids wrapped around the back of her head in a bun. She was self-consciously a Negro, although anyone who didn’t know her would have thought from her fair appearance that she was white. She traveled quite a bit, and during her days of fierce loyalty to the Brooklyn Dodgers she and I would sometimes come to New York in the summer to see them play at Ebbets Field. She never allowed herself to be bored. When she went to Leverton, her day followed a pretty standard pattern. First, she usually went to visit an invalid friend, whose favorite fruit was kumquats, and because they were difficult to get in Leverton my grandmother would take her a pound or two. Later, my grandmother would walk halfway across the town to see Mr. William Long (Will to his friends), to whom she took the week’s newspapers, which were in short supply in Leverton, and the Negro magazines, such as Crisis and Ebony , in equally short supply. Black and smooth as an onyx, and always clad in Liberty Bell overalls, Mr. Will was soft-spoken and a man of very few words. But he was good-natured and generous, and a little more talkative than usual during my grandmother’s brief visits. From his house, she would gradually make her way to her church, about six blocks away.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I actually bought a long, low stool, such as I imagined lying on in my dreams, and in the days when I was alone would strip naked and lie on this with a dog whip by me, legs wide apart, dreaming my fantasy as often as I wanted. I was able to place the stool in such a position that the man in the house opposite would—and often did—watch me from his bedroom window while I would watch him in a carefully placed mirror. One day Mary came in and caught me and made me confess everything, and later on helped me make my fantasy a fact. We had several times watched dogs and found it very exciting when they couldn’t pull out of the bitch for a few minutes afterward. A new neighbor moved in and his wife had a lovely Alsatian dog, and one day when I was with Mary he came into our garden. Mary called him in and right away he put his nose to my cunt. She made me fondle him and get his prick out, and I was quite surprised how big and hard it was. She made me wash it and then lie down and actually suck it, giving me a flick with the whip to help. Finally, she made me lie on the stool with my legs open, and rubbed my now very wet cunt with her fingers and rubbed her hand over my nipples. She coaxed the dog astride me and got him to lick my nipples and she rubbed his cock and got it into my cunt. He knew what was required and obviously was experienced. It went right up me and he thrust hard and fast until I felt my cunt go wet as he squirted inside me. This was the culmination of my fantasy, though I still dream it very often. It’s lovely to be able to tell you—with Mary’s consent, as you can see. I confirm this. (Signed) Mary. [Letter] *** While it may be true, as I wrote twenty-five years ago, that some lesbians imagine themselves as “both their sex and another,” we now know that many lesbians do not necessarily grapple with gender identity. Recognizing this major change in the understanding of women’s sexuality, I have included in this chapter several contemporary fantasies from self-declared lesbians who aren’t in the least bit defensive about their sexuality. These more modern lesbian fantasies seem to have a softer edge to them. Intimate emotional connections are stressed, as are recollections of romantic times together. Their comfort with themselves reflects our culture’s greater acceptance of lesbians and lesbianism.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I’ve agreed to help a bachelor friend paint his new apartment, and since it’s a hot day we’ve both shed our clothes to do the job. He’s up on a high ladder slapping paint on the ceiling with a broad brush, while I’m standing below painting the walls with a roller. It’s a water paint, pale grey; and at one point as we are laughing at some joke—we’ve been smoking a joint, and the record player is on loud—I glance up at him as he grins down at me, and from below his balls look so funny (and nice) even though he and I have never been to bed together and I don’t really know him well enough to know how he’ll take it—even so I reach up with my roller dripping grey paint and slather his bouncing balls, and on up to his collarbone. He lets out a yell, and risking his life he’s down the ladder like a flash and lets go—slap! slap!—with his brush, on my tits, left then right, and I go spinning around and he whops me on the can, left then right, with his big, fat brush. So I run my roller up one of his sides from the ankle to the armpit, so he dabs me in the navel, and I double over laughing and he’s on top of me, and we go down in a puddle of grey paint, writhing and wrestling and struggling and both of us suddenly aroused, hot as hell and panting and I’m saying “Put it in” and he’s trying to get me in position so he can, and I get my legs up around his neck in a frenzy so he can find my cunt and it’s all impossible with all the goddam paint, and suddenly I see his eyes widen with panic and I feel it the same second: the paint is burning us up, but it’s only the first second we mind it, then it becomes the greatest sensation in the world and we both start sliding together and the slimy stuff on all our surfaces glues us together and we get it in, and we slide around fucking and fucking and FUCKING and FFFUUUCCCKKKIIINNNGGG… [aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh] [Taped interview] MollyMolly specified that this fantasy is not something she thinks about during sex, but that it’s more of a daydream, a little episode she likes to think about while driving to pick up the kids, or while she’s doing housework. As Molly puts it, “It keeps my sexual machinery charged.” She has never been a teacher, nor does she want to be, but she does admit to finding the young men her kids bring home attractive. She was married at eighteen. “Maybe,” she admits, “a little too early for an imaginative girl. Sometimes I think there is so much I’ve missed.”

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  What must be clear, however, to anyone who’s read this book is how many of the fantasies in it should be part of a woman’s real life. How many fantasies are sexual desires for things any woman has a natural right to. And this right may go beyond the satisfactions ordinarily understood by saying a woman is married, or has a lover, or even that she is sexually satisfied. Because, after all, what they want is so simple that it is a mystery to me why a woman is afraid to ask. What it means, I suppose, is that women just don’t talk, not even to their lovers, don’t express their desires, whether through shyness or fear. This fantasy is typical, except that its surprise ending makes it even more poignant. MarthaI am a married woman of thirty-four. I would like to tell you about my sexual fantasy. My own fantasy has a true base on which I build. About eleven years ago, before I was married, but was engaged, I went out a number of times with a married man with whom I worked. This was no “love” affair. It was purely sexual. Although I made it regularly with my boyfriend, this man really excited me. We were lucky that we had a room to go to and didn’t have to make it in the back of a car. First we would undress completely. He would always have the most incredible erection. He would fondle, kiss, and suck my breasts. He would caress my bottom and smack it. He would play with my clitoris and insert his fingers up me. Then he would suck my clitoris and insert his tongue in me. During all this I never used to touch his penis. He would concentrate wholly on me, making me cry with excitement, and he would talk to me, the language of lust: “Oh, you beauty, you lovely little cunt, those lovely soft hairs I’m going to bury my cock against them, right up your cunt. I’m going to fuck you, fuck, fuck, fuck you, and I’m going to wet all those hairs with my come, and after that you are going to suck it for me, all of it.”

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  He comes straight to the room, quietly and quickly so the others won’t hear him, and slides under the bed beside me in the darkness. We lie together, hardly breathing, our hands beginning to move over one another. Hands that have never before touched me move all over me. Hands I put a face to in my mind, that face I’ve always found exciting but that was never mine to kiss. I hardly dare breathe as I listen for the others’ voices, moving in and then away as they explore room after distant room. We both move slowly. My skin is alive, the excitement running all through me as my own hands help him to ease up my sweater, direct his mouth to my breast. I help him work the zip on the back of my pants, and then with the most incredible daring I push my buttocks up and his head down. His mouth caresses me all over. My hands, braver and braver in the dark, move over him, find his erection like a rock, and all the while we seem to move in slow motion on this bare floor, scarcely breathing, our bodies moving against the background noise of the voices on the floor below. They are calling to one another, “Have you found them?” Then calling my name, “Emma! Where are you, Emma?” With every step they move closer. The louder their approaching voices get, the more urgent our bodies grow. They laugh and call to one another, suggesting places I may have hidden; they are aware now that we are the only two missing. Then their voices fade and I pray, dear God, don’t let them find us yet! Then I hear my boyfriend Larry’s voice, and though there is not a note of suspicion in it, the fear and anxiety I feel make me hotter, make me do the most incredible things with this man whom I hardly know. Now there is nothing I wouldn’t let him do to me, even pain, even words in my ear that no man has ever said. “More.” My own whisper is in my ear. “More!” I demand of him and I am wet through before he is quite in me. We are like two conspirators in the dark, breathing so hard it seems incredible they can’t hear us.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Conversely, as straightforward with me as women have been in discussing their sexual thoughts of other women, and as accepting of themselves for having them, their men have been just the opposite in regard to their own homosexual thoughts. Women say that their descriptions of their own erotic fantasies of other women may even bring a fond smile to their lover’s lips; homoeroticism between women seems to be acceptable to men, and indeed is often a sexual turn-on. But any suggestion that the man might have these same feelings about other men is treated as an insult or a threat. It’s one thing for women to have this kind of thoughts, but quite another (ugly, dirty) for a man. ChristineI’ve had this fantasy many times, as often when I’m with a man as when I’m alone, masturbating. I think the first time I had it I really was in a steam bath; afterward, I couldn’t wait to get home to Ted, I was that heated up and ravenous for him. I’ve never told him about it. Not because I’m ashamed of it or anything; I have no real desire for another woman, would probably jump a mile if one approached me “that way.” No, I simply don’t tell him about it because thinking it gives me such immense pleasure when we’re screwing… and I’d hate to take the chance of losing that by breaking the secrecy. This is it:

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Then I met a man who seemed exciting. I have met three of his male friends, and I might add that we are broad-minded and at times have a small sex party at which we are all nude. Here again I have fantasies. I am not in love with any of them, but enjoy being fucked by them while the others watch. While I am actually being penetrated, I think of one of the other men present. One is dark-skinned, as he is Italian, and has a large penis. When another man is inside me I pretend it is the Italian. I seldom come when I am fucked. I come when I play with myself or use a vibrator alone in my apartment. Yet I simulate a climax just to make the man feel happy and often use obscene language. I buy many sex books, and I even have an album of girlie pictures. When I want to feel naughty I place this on a bedside table and with my vibrator and tape recorder I actually speak out loud and think of some man or maybe some girl whose body I long to play with. I am not crackers. I am very normal but sex interests me enormously. I will never marry. I would be faithless, I know. I like my own body far too much and like other people playing with it! [Letter] AlexandraI am seventeen and have had one intimate affair with a man. Once, when we were making love in the car, we had stopped in front of the public school that I attended as a child. I remember now that I secretly laughed at the thought of how ironic it was. I tried to imagine myself as a child looking upon this situation. Perhaps because I was now doing something forbidden as a child, it excited me. My first masturbating experience was after I had read Candy. I still remember because I pretended that I was the girl in that book and for the first time I had an orgasm. I didn’t know what it was then, but I soon found out. For a while there I was reaching an orgasm at least once a day. I would read a “dirty” book and then reread the lines in my head as I masturbated. After reading an uncounted number of books, I began putting together my own stories, or fantasies.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  JessieMy husband and I do talk during sex, especially when he is feeling me. But the best sessions we have are when we both imagine that we are giving an exhibition on anything to do with sex. I usually strip while my husband lies on the bed describing every detail of me. I stand in front of our large mirror and have to do what he says. The language we use on these occasions really excites me. I end up caressing my titties and masturbating. When he strips, I part his legs and take the penis in my mouth. We have a session of oral sex, then we rub oil over each of us and go through a pattern of different positions. Rear entry in front of the mirror is best. Then we can see how we look to our imaginary audience and I can see it in me and also play with my clitoris, which by this time is really on end. [Letter] EstherI am fifty years old, and my husband is fifty-four. We have two children, both married. We are both college graduates, and my husband has an above-average income, which permits us to travel quite extensively. Since I was about twenty-eight, we have enjoyed a very active and varied sex life. My husband (I will use the name Bill) approves of all my sex activities, whether participating, assisting, or merely looking on. He would never be jealous or angry at anything I might tell him, if it enhanced my sex feeling. He insists that I mention the fact that my body is firm and trim, with about the same weight and measurements I had at thirty. We both believe that lots of sex is the best figure control a woman can practice. I do not often fantasize during coitus with Bill, but it does happen on occasion. We vocalize a lot, giving directions, telling each other how it feels, etc. I fantasize continuously while I masturbate. I conjure up many images at different times, depending how I am doing it. My most frequent image is of my boxer screwing me (this actually happens about every other day). Sometimes I fantasize sex with two men. I do it by alternating dildos between my vagina and my mouth, pretending that I am being screwed by one and Frenching the other. At times I have carried this further to include three men, by inserting a small dildo in my anus. Less elaborate fantasies have included my brother, my sister’s husband, an uncle, and numerous attractive men we know.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  So the son and I begin, the father sitting there watching as I undress the boy, caress him, totally initiate him. But it’s not the boy that excites me in this fantasy, it isn’t the idea of having a young boy, it’s the idea of being watched by the father. I don’t know if it’s voyeurism, or if having the father there, having him bring his son to me, is some kind of sexual approval. Or if it’s having him watch the son, watch me with the son. Part of the excitement is that he’s brought the son to me. That of all the women in the world, he has picked me to initiate the boy. Or maybe the real turn-on is incest. Because I also like to fantasize family orgies. Not my family, but whole families, mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons, all come to this flat of mine. Yes, my husband is here, too, but a faceless husband. Everybody performs on everybody: The mothers show me what they’ve been doing to their daughters, and to their sons; and the fathers to the daughters… everybody! And it’s a very happy scene, very happy, very sensual. The family that fucks together stays together… I guess that’s the message. [Taped interview] LolaI was pregnant when I got married at seventeen. But as I’d begun fucking when I was fourteen, I’d had a good three years of fun playing around on my own… all of which I owe to my two brothers. One was a year older than me and the other a year younger. What happened was one day they found me messing about—quite innocently—with some boys at school. They blackmailed me, threatening all sorts of things; they said that if I didn’t go all the way with those boys—and let them watch—they’d tell our parents what I’d been up to. Since what I’d been up to was far more innocent than what they wanted me to do, I don’t know why I gave in to their threats. I suppose because I quite simply wanted to be fucked. I remember my brothers standing on the sidelines, instructing the other boys how to “do” me (we were all virgins at that point), and I remember to this day the combination of fear and excitement that their presence added to what was happening. Although neither of my brothers ever entered me themselves, they do in my fantasies, they always have.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  I imagined that I was asleep on the couch at their place, when I was awakened from my sleep by someone’s hands on the insides of my thighs. I did not look at who it was. I didn’t want to know, yet I didn’t want to stop whoever it was. The hands worked their way up until they spread my legs apart. Before I knew it I could feel the warmth of a tongue sliding across my clitoris, then, just as quickly, that tongue was deep inside me, along with a few fingers. I was pulsating from the pleasure. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I was imagining that it was my friend’s girlfriend, that’s who I wanted it to be anyway. I felt as if I was suffocating from the pleasure and the scent of my own juices. I wanted her to kiss me so that I could taste myself. Suddenly the hands were unbuttoning my top and fondling my swollen breasts. It was at this point that I opened my eyes and saw that it was her! She said to me, knowing that I had never done anything like this before, “Do you want to try it on me?” I almost begged her to let me. I was exhilarated at the thought of touching another woman’s breasts and tasting the sweet juices of a woman. She spread my legs apart and sat between them with her back to me. She took my hands and placed them on her wonderfully large breasts. Oh, they felt perfect in the cups of my hands. I never wanted to let go! Then she turned and crossed her legs over mine so that we were facing each other, both fully naked. Our pussies were so close I could almost feel the heat from between her legs on mine. She looked at me and said, “It’s okay, you can touch it” and nodded to her vagina. I hesitated but slowly began to caress her center. It became very wet and I could see the look in her eyes. She had just come from the simple touch of my fingers. That was enough to make me come twice. She kissed me, smiled, said thank you and left as swiftly as she had come. I laid back in total peace and fell fast asleep dreaming all night of my encounter. I know these fantasies are both long, but when I have them they are in such detail! Before reading your work, I would feel dirty about my fantasies. Now I know that they are perfectly normal. I actually am able to enjoy my fantasies now and not hate myself for having them. My fiancé loves my newfound freedom too, because he benefits directly from it!

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  Most of the guys that I have had sex with wouldn’t get uptight about knowing that I was thinking about someone else when I was having sex with them. I’m sure that sexy girls who turn them on come into their thoughts, too. Besides, a guy has no right to get angry about what I’m thinking about as long as I’m giving him what he wants. I masturbate almost every day, and I almost always fantasize when I do. One of my favorites is to think about having a boy who turns me on tied up. He is helpless, and I take down his pants and play with his penis. When he is almost ready to come I stop and just watch him suffer. Then I make him do what I guess is called cunnilingus to me before I finally play with his penis until he comes. When I pet with boys I like to have them do cunnilingus (I usually just call it eating my pie) to me, and when I masturbate I like to think about guys doing that to me. Sometimes when I masturbate I play with my nipples and then I like to imagine that a boy is sucking on them. Lots of the time, I just imagine that a guy is fucking me and that my finger is his penis going in and out of me. I keep doing it until I’m worn out from coming. One of my weirdest fantasies is about being spanked. I imagine that some guy who really turns me on grabs me, lifts my skirt, takes down my panties, and spanks my bottom until it really hurts. Then when I cry he kisses my bottom all over and does cunnilingus to me. I have sucked some guys’ penises when I’ve petted with them, and every once in a while I’ll think about that when I masturbate. I sometimes suck on my thumb when I try to imagine that. I guess that the most common thing in all of my fantasies is to think about having the boy under my control and being able to make him do whatever I want him to do to please me. I think about myself sitting on a big chair like a throne with my skirt pulled up and my panties off and the boy is kneeling between my legs doing cunnilingus to me. Sometimes if I really feel devilish I imagine that I pee in his mouth and he has to swallow it. In the fantasies like this the boy’s hands are tied so that he cannot touch me except with his mouth. Usually he is naked and sometimes I imagine that I am whipping him when he is kneeling in front of me like that. I usually add to these fantasies in whatever way I feel like at the time. I have other fantasies, but these are my favorites right now.

• From My Secret Garden (1973)

  MaraI have actually acted out one of my fantasies, that of having sex with a colored man. When I describe this to my husband it really gets him going. If I add on top of this image the idea of being on exhibition, it gets me so keyed up I can even see the expressions on the faces of the people watching. When my husband and I talk about these things it is easier to explain what we really think and feel, but of course most people, especially women, don’t want to talk about taboo subjects. If you brought up the subject they would think you were sex-mad, when really it’s the most interesting thing there is, and you are able by talking, and only by talking, to find out what makes people different. [Letter] JoanI think my fantasies began when I was quite young, but I have always remembered the first thing that really started me off. I still find it exciting to think about. I was about twelve and knew as much about sex as the next girl, I suppose. One day, two other girls and myself were in the park with several boys fifteen or sixteen years old. They bullied a younger boy to expose himself to us. This obviously fascinated all three of us girls, and as you might have guessed, the next thing that happened was an intensive petting session between us and the older boys. It may sound strange, but I can’t really remember if one of those boys really got all the way inside me or not. But throughout it all, and still to this day, I can remember seeing that small red knob coming out through the foreskin, and I remember wondering whatever that little red thing was that was coming out toward me.