Nancy Friday

Forbidden

MORE WOMEN’S SEXUAL FANTASIES

This book belongs to the

women whose letters fill it. Many

wrote to question their own

sexuality, others to confirm it.

From them all, I have learned

about my own.

– N . F.

“Your book My Secret Garden reduces women

to men’s sexual level.”

– Dr. Theodore I. Rubin, to

Nancy Friday, in NBC

radio interview, 1973

“Aren’t women entitled to a little lust too?”

– Nancy Friday’s reply

TABLE OF CONTENTS

AN INTRODUCTION ...................................................... 1

CHAPTER ONE............................................................ 13

CHILDHOOD......................................................................13

Dorothy, Carla and Tom, Jennie, Sarah, Claudia,

Janice, Denise, Frank, Lana, Robyn, Ivy, Bonnie,

Sophie, Dr. John Harrison, Deedee, Loretta, Sharon,

Brenda, Gena, Joyce

CHAPTER TWO ........................................................... 65

ADOLESCENCE .................................................................65

Sis, Beth Anne, Penelope, Jenny, Veevee, Katherine

Muffie, Carina, June, Tina, Toby, Penny, Cecillia,

Isabel

CHAPTER THREE ....................................................... 94

LOOKING ...........................................................................94

Roxanne, Sharon, Molly, Jackie, Sally, Marylou

CHAPTER FOUR ....................................................... 116

FRUSTRATION ................................................................116

Laura, Biba, Lyle, Dot, Gloria, Callie, Arlene, Bunny,

Sherri, Ginger, Ricky, Stella, Jill

i

CHAPTER FIVE ......................................................... 156

DAYDREAMING ..............................................................156

Lulu, Jackie, Ethel, Samantha, Debbie, Connie,

Elaine, Sophie, Killie, Libby, Phyllis, Marilyn,

Moreen, Janet, Lucia, Lilly, Wilma Joan

CHAPTER SIX ........................................................... 187

MASTURBATION.............................................................187

Emma, Venice, Libby, Dorothy, Liberated Lady,

Noranna, Fanny, Liz, Anonymous, Diane, Cecilia,

Carole, Gabbie, Isolde

CHAPTER SEVEN ..................................................... 226

DURING SEX ....................................................................226

Lynn, Jan, lsabel, Kate, Helen, Riva, Beth,

“Shoulders”, Monica, Delia, Daisy, Vi

CHAPTER EIGHT ...................................................... 255

DREAMS COME TRUE ...................................................255

Carolyn, May, Chessie, Rose Ann, Nessie, Kellie

Lizzy, Joni

AFTERWORD ............................................................ 295

ii

AN INTRODUCTION

Dear Nancy:

I finished your book this morning, and all I can say is Thank

God someone opened my eyes to this aspect of human sexuality

while I am still young enough to be just at the beginning of my

sexual life. Your book has totally changed my way of thinking.

I am seventeen and until a few months ago, had had

intercourse with only one person – my boyfriend for two years.

Perhaps that is why I have fantasized so much during our

sessions. But whatever the reason, it always made me feel

guilty, unfaithful, and perverted – and I suppose this negative

feeling about myself was another factor that kept me from

enjoying sex with him.

Reading My Secret Garden has shown me in the clearest

terms that sex and fantasies are not something to be endured,

but to be enjoyed. Your book has chopped years off the time it

would have taken me to make these discoveries myself. Thank

you for allowing me to be reborn sexually before it was too late

to change my beliefs, and before I got clogged down forever in

sexual guilt.

Sincerely,

Mary

Sexual mores and practices have shown an age-old

resistance to change. Today, there is hardly any part of human

behavior we are more willing to question and alter. The accep-

tance of new ideas of what is sexually okay is now so immedi-

ate you’d think entire generations had been holding their breath

– people being born, living, and dying, yet never daring to ex-

plore their own sexuality, afraid that only she/he ever felt cer-

tain erotic desires, only he/she was aberrant and everyone else

1

was “normal.” Then, suddenly, The Word is out; without

seeming to pause for even a sigh of relief, everybody knows

without further discussion that it is not only okay, but that it

has always been okay.

To suggest you ever questioned it is to show what a hopeless

square you were to begin with. It took years for Kinsey’s find-

ings in the ‘40s to make their full cultural impact, but the revo-

lution Masters and Johnson introduced in the ‘60s was imme-

diately accepted as not revolutionary at all. Right away, their

findings became part of everyone’s workaday bedroom knowl-

edge. “Sure, what else is new?”

Oral sex, for example. In the ‘50s, I almost fainted when a

man suggested it. Yet I almost fainted with pleasure when he

did it. Today, who would dare suggest that oral sex was bad,

dirty, perverted – or even unusual?

During the five years I was compiling material for My Secret

Garden, I could not find a doctor or psychiatrist who would

intelligently discuss women’s sexual fantasies. It was still a

taboo subject. In 1968, before I decided to write the book, I did

some research in the giant New York Public Library and the

even larger British Museum library in London. In the millions

upon millions of cards on file in these two vast repositories of

practically everything ever written in the English language, I

did not find a single book or magazine article that dealt with

the subject, even though, by definition, women’s sexual fanta-

sies were of more than intellectual interest to one-half of the

human race.

I spoke to at least a dozen psychiatrists in both the United

States and Great Britain. The most any of these learned men

would concede was that perhaps some women did have sexual

fantasies when they masturbated; otherwise, they said, the

phenomenon was limited to the sexually frustrated and/or to

the pathological. They took the initial fact that a woman had

sexual fantasies as a sign of sickness. The idea that a happily

married woman, sexually satisfied by a beloved husband,

might still have erotic pictures in mind – perhaps of another

man, perhaps of ten other men – was totally foreign to their

ideas of feminine “mental health.” Too often in these discus-

2

sions, the medical mask would slip, and I would find myself

facing not the calm professional but the outraged man. The

disgusted son, husband, and father would look at me – surely a

hoax cleverly disguised as a “nice woman” – with ill-concealed

anxiety and dislike. “You are entitled to your subjective opin-

ions, Miss Friday. But have you any medical qualifications to

back up your ideas?”

As late as February 1973, the noted “permissive” Dr. Allen

Fromme would take a similar position in daring Cosmopolitan

magazine. “Women do not have sexual fantasies,” Dr. Fromme

wrote, and went on with patronizing kindness: “How do we

know? Ask a woman, and she will usually reply, No. The rea-

son for this is obvious: women haven’t been brought up to en-

joy sex … women are by and large destitute of sexual fantasy.”

Needless to say, this reinforced the need to deny the practice

of sexual fantasy among the millions of Cosmo Girls who read

these words, not only when talking to eminent medicos like Dr.

Fromme but even to themselves. Of course, most women told

Dr. Fromme that they did not have sexual fantasies; no woman

wanted to be thought sexually “weird” when faced with what

seemed to be expert medical opinion, that if she did, she was

totally outside the “normal” experience of her sisters. Dr.

Fromme may have thought he was being merely descriptive. In

fact, he was being normative. A self-fulfilling prophet.

Yet an example of the almost frightening speed with which

the experts can revise their ideas on contemporary sexual dos

and don’ts was recently printed in the same magazine in Febru-

ary 1975. When a practicing New York psychoanalyst and

Cosmo’s own monthly psychiatric-advice columnist could say

this:

“… all women have sexual fantasies, though sometimes

they won’t admit it, even to themselves. Fantasies are make-

believe states used to enhance reality. A woman making love to

one man may imagine that several other men are watching….

Her fantasy provides a safe way to explore the erotic possibili-

ties of a situation that might be very threatening or guilt-

producing if she acted it out.”

3

The psychoanalyst goes on to say: “A fantasy can give a

woman an added sense of life and all its possibilities. It is the

unexamined corners of the mind that breed neurosis and fear –

not the portions of ourselves we know, recognize and accept.”

When My Secret Garden was published, I was happy to

find other doctors coming forward to support my feelings that

sexual fantasies were not necessarily a sign of neurosis, but

were, instead, a sign of a woman’s sexual exuberance and life.

Dr. Leonard Cammer, chairman, Section on Psychiatry, Medi-

cal Society of the State of New York, endorsed my views, as

did the noted founder and executive director of SIECUS, (Sex

Information and Education Council of the U.S.), Dr. Mary Cal-

derone. And yet the anxiety that the subject aroused in many

medical men would not abate: the validity of my statistical

methods was attacked. “But all the women you talked to volun-

teered to do so,” was the way this objection usually ran. “They

are a self-selected sample. How can you extrapolate from what

these exhibitionistic volunteers tell you? How can you say that

their experiences are also shared by their sisters in the silent

majority?”

This same argument was used against Kinsey and Masters

and Johnson when their research was published, but time has

proven that their studies not only voiced the views of the peo-

ple who volunteered but also spoke for the broad spectrum of

Americans in general. In addition, I note no reluctance in the

works of psychoanalysts themselves, beginning with Freud, to

base their theories of human nature on that tiny fraction of the

human race that has laid itself bare on the analytic couch. The

vast majority of the human race has never figured in any psy-

choanalytic survey or clinical documentation of human behav-

ior – and still any psychoanalyst you talk to will unhesitatingly

tell you “all” people pass through certain stages of the Oedipus

complex. It is my feeling that if over two thousand women

from all parts of the country, of all ages, marital status, and

economic classes write that they have these or those sexual

fantasies that make them feel this way or that, their feelings

and experiences are going to be shared by the great majority of

all women. “In my practice,” says Dr. Sonya Friedman, a De-

4

troit clinical psychologist and marriage counselor, “I am con-

tinually struck by how much more we are alike than we are

different.”

In the end, I must leave the validity of what I am saying to

you, the reader, to judge. If this book awakens no resonance in

you, if you feel no recognition or empathy between yourself and

the women who speak in these pages, it is not that you are odd

– it is only that I am wrong about you. But for the rest of my

readers, I offer the message that is contained in almost every

letter I have received. “Thank God you opened the discussion

about women’s sexual fantasies. I thought I was the only one

who had these ideas. I was afraid to tell my husband [priest,

doctor, or whoever], because I was afraid he would think I was

some kind of weird freak. I felt like a pervert, so guilty and

alone….” My message is, Welcome. You are not alone.

I believe it is individual anxiety that makes so many people

unable to accept the idea of sexual fantasy in others. The por-

trait of women it evokes is too new, too frightening – above all,

too much at war with all our past stereotypes of women as

maidens, mothers, “ladies.”

People laugh nervously when the subject of My Secret Gar-

den and sexual fantasies comes up. Some people turn red and

tell me they never read pornography or else they nervously light

a cigarette and dismiss the whole subject as “boring.” When

Garden was published, I became depressed by the anxi-

ety/dismissal/north the book aroused in many women and men,

friends and strangers. My husband helped me. “Freud was

dismissed as a scandal and a dirty old man,” Bill said, “be-

cause he talked about masturbation and the sexuality of chil-

dren. Up till then, people thought children werèpure’ as an-

gels. When Freud talked about sex and incestuous desires, he

was called a pornographer too.” Of course, I am in no way

comparing my work or myself to Freud; but I do think we are

living through a time in sexual history as emotionally loaded as

Freud’s own. By trying to understand the secret thoughts of

women – the emerging sex – we may succeed in unscrambling

the sexual bigotry of the past. Only in this way will we be able

to understand the distorted man-woman relationship that has

5

led to the frightening anger between the sexes today. I hope

this book will help.

Our real world … from the morning paper to the late late

television movie … is saturated with commercial sex, romantic

sex, and, yes, violent sex. These emotions and images stay in

our minds – along with all the other desires and drives we are

born with. What is a woman to do with all these ideas? One

thing she does is shape them closer to her heart’s desire, using

the sexual stimuli she likes, softening or discarding the images

that turned her off, inventing her own sexual fantasies. If these

reveries stimulate her sexually while she goes about her daily

routine, I’m all for it. If a few lustful and erotic reveries make

the housework go by “as if in a dream,” why not?

Probably the most important thing to remember about fanta-

sies is that they are not facts, not deeds; they are not “acting

out.” Summoning up an erotic image in the imagination does

not necessarily mean we want to bring it into reality. In fact,

very often the fantasy itself discharges the forbidden energy

and entirely eschews the need for acting out. In the same way

that dreams at night can be said to be psychotic discharges of

the mind that allow us to be sane during the day, fantasies of

even the most primitive, regressive nature help us to be adult

and responsible in our real behavior.

If anyone, man or woman, lives out Freud’s dictum that a

fulfilled life contains both love and work, I don’t care what

fantasies that person has. If a woman has daydreams of making

it with Napoleon’s horse, but says she is satisfied with her life,

who am I, or who is any doctor, to tell her that she is strange?

Today, for the first, time in history, women are encouraging

each other to be more sexually free and accepting. As we do, is

it surprising that men are now becoming the first line of de-

fense against the breakup of the old morality? It is men who

have become wary and critical of women’s new role as sexual

initiator and free agent. “Love” itself is suddenly raised as the

banner under which many men march. “Don’t you love me

anymore?” suddenly asks the husband who always claimed

that his own casual philanderings “have nothing to do with my

wife,” when he learns that she has been having a little after-

6

noon peccadillo of her own … or, yes, a sexual fantasy starring

his best friend.

I find men’s sexual anxiety today understandable. I am sym-

pathetic to it; women have changed so much in recent years.

And men have not. In fact, if you are a woman who is not

sympathetic to men today, and you call yourself a “liberated”

woman, you should question your insensitivity. Are you hap-

pier in your new freedom because it gives you a chance to “get

back at men” … or because you see it as an opportunity at last

to make things better for both of you? Sex never was the simple

piece of cake Hugh Hefner sells to men; women’s questioning

of a sexual status quo that was questionable to begin with must

be disquieting if not threatening to men. I’m not saying that a

lot of men – the machos, for instance – don’t deserve their dis-

comfort. But a lot don’t. I suppose what it comes down to is

that if you’re a woman who wants men in your life, you’ve got

to take your responsibility along with your liberation.

The as-yet-unplotted possibilities of women’s sexuality,

given almost surrealistically vivid form and image in fantasy,

not only frightens men but women too. Think of all that desire

unleashed, desire he may not be interested in or able to satisfy,

appetites mother would never have approved of, sexual- power

she doesn’t know what to do with. (How many women know

how to make the first move? Should she pick up the telephone,

reach for his hand, his cock? Should she say, “Please, I want

you to go down on me?” And how many men would reject her

if she did? Oral sex may be “intellectually” accepted today, but

as you will see from the women in this book – if you have not

already discovered it for yourself – there are a great number of

men who are unskilled, unpracticed, or unwilling to do what

they say.)

We are not yet ready to accept the simple proposition that

female sexual power added to male sexual power equals better

sex for both. And yet the truth is that the foundation of our

myth of male sexual superiority is riddled with deception and

fakeroo. Worse, it gives the poor man who believes it an awful

superman’s burden to carry. Dominance and superiority are

words you use when you go to war, not to bed.

7

Henry Miller wrote me a letter about My Secret Garden:

“I’ve always suspected that women had richer, wilder, fantasies

than men. From my limited experience with women I must also

add that I have found them more capable of abandoning them-

selves completely in intercourse than men. In a good healthy

sense I would say, to use an old-fashioned word, that they are

morèshameless’ than men … . Men are only beginning to

perceive the true nature of women’s being. They have created a

false image of her. She is neither an angel nor a bitch in heat. If

she is no longer an enigma, she is certainly an everlasting

source of wonder and rich in unexplored possibilities in every

domain of life.”

If I prefer Henry Miller’s approach to women’s fantasies to

that of many psychiatrists, it is because his view of life is large

enough to see fantasy as enriching human experience, and not

the mark of pathology.

Far from being a perversion of our deepest and most inti-

mate moments together, sexual fantasies answer the need for

variety that exists in the best of relationships. To those who

think it is a crime to consciously retreat into the secret garden

of your mind while in the arms of your beloved, let me quote

Dr. Ray Birdwhistle of the University of Pennsylvania. An

overly closed idea of marriage, he says, leads to pathology.

“Privacy is disallowed as being disloyal. But if the couple

wants intimacy, both partners need to refresh themselves with

privacy. That implies also being allowed to withdraw without

guilt. It is only in the private kingdom of the mind that one can

enjoy fantasies. And what held together romantic love in the

first place? A rich, lusty, sweet and sad, vengeful and even

violent fantasy life” [ New York magazine, February 1973].

On the last page of My Secret Garden, I asked readers to

contribute their own sexual fantasies and comments for the

book you now hold. It is from the shape these letters took that I

have devised the form of this book. Part One deals with the

very frequent question of readers, “Where Do Sexual Fantasies

Come From?” Part Two, “The Uses of Sexual Fantasy” con-

cerns the role these imaginary, erotic scenarios play in the lives

of many women.

8

As you will see, I have not so much tried to theorize on my

own; I have tried instead to organize the material my readers

sent in to illustrate the answers to these questions they have

raised in their own lives. I believe we live in a time when it is

of paramount importance that women learn to speak unasham-

edly, so that we may learn from each other. I did not ask my

readers for all the information they sent me, but I am very

grateful that they felt it “right” to try to trace for themselves,

and me, the origin of their fantasies and the context in which

they appear in their lives.

It is, of course, impossible to analyze any particular

woman’s fantasy without knowing her, and understanding the

full meaning of why she has chosen any particular event or

symbol to express her erotic excitement. But that was never my

purpose. I began research for My Secret Garden in 1968 … I

began to work on this book in 1973. I wanted to see if the in-

tervening five years had made any significant difference in the

attitudes of women toward sexual fantasies. I am pleased to

say that while I would characterize the majority of fantasies in

Garden as various strategies women had devised to handle or

disarm sexual guilt, the fantasies I have collected for this book

are much more characterized by pleasure and guiltless exuber-

ance. Poets are often called the conscience of a nation; I believe

our sexual fantasies are mirrors of the women we would like to

become.

I don’t think anyone can read the letters in the pages that fol-

low and not be as touched as I was, not only by the feelings

expressed but by the outpouring of honesty and the unglossy

portrait they give of their lives. What impresses me most is

that, although I guaranteed that all contributions would be

anonymous, over half the women who wrote signed their full

names and gave their addresses – as contrasted to one woman

in ten who signed her real name to the letters I collected for

Garden five years ago.

While I have kept my half of the agreement – all names,

professions, geographical, and other too revealing biographical

data have been changed – I am moved by the courage of my

readers in wanting to speak to me without disguise. As one

9

twenty-five-year-old woman wrote, “I believe that self-

acceptance is the first step toward maturity. So that I can be-

lieve in myself, I want you to believe in me and what I wrote.

And so I am signing my full name.”

10

PART ONE

Where Do

Sexual Fantasies

Come From?

11

12

CHAPTER ONE

CHILDHOOD

It is evident that fantasies have value in and of themselves to the fan-

tasizers … . From the time they were little girls, women have been

told “not to think about such things.” By bringing women’s sexual

thoughts into the open the book gives them permission to fantasize

and, in so doing, increases the possibility that women thereby also

derive permission to experience real life sex more fully, more easily,

more rewardingly.

– Dr. Mary Calderone

Review of My Secret Garden

SIECUS Report, May 1974

In My Secret Garden, there was a chapter called, “Where

Did a Nice Girl Like You Get an Idea Like That?” It put forth

my feeling that many of our fantasies spring from a time long

before the world is ready to acknowledge our sexuality – child-

hood itself. No great pioneering idea on my part, Freud’s work

on infantile sexuality dates from the turn of the century. More

recently, the eminent authority on childhood psychology, Dr.

Arnold Gesell, conducted a study on infant behavior. He placed

a fifty-six-week-old boy in front of a mirror, naked. What the

child saw of his own body excited him so much that Dr. Gesell

was able to photograph him with an erect penis. If a boy barely

one year old can have an erotic experience, is it surprising that

little girls – usually more precocious than boys can also be said

to be sexual beings almost from birth?

And yet the idea is still unacceptable to most people. Child-

hood is pictured as a time of ribbons, fairy tales, and lemonade.

Adults notoriously forget that they were once children too; they

close off their minds to early sexual memories – those embar-

rassing or shameful events connected perhaps with anxieties

about masturbation. I am not suggesting that the sugar and

spice of little girls’ childhoods are only a false facade. That

aspect is real. But so is our sexuality.

So far, I have received over two thousand letters from

women who sent me ‘ their sexual fantasies in response to the

13

invitation on the last page of My Secret Garden. Many were

from highly educated women; an equally great number were

from people who probably never read Freud. It didn’t matter.

The cumulative truth of their personal experience confirmed my

view that sexual fantasies are often born out of remembered

childhood events. These letters cheered me in a very significant

way: I loved the self-acceptance they showed, the refusal to

continue to carry the age-old feminine burden of shame and

guilt. “Let me tell you a bit about myself first,” these open-

hearted letters often begin. The writers want me to see them as

they are; they want some recognition for the courage with

which so many of them lead their lives, even if they ask me not

to print their names. “My first sexual experience was when I

was about four years old. The little boy who lived next door

came over and he … etc.” No apologies are given, no anatomi-

cal details are glossed over or prettified. There is an intuitive

understanding that ladylike language would be counterproduc-

tive to the purpose we are both striving for … that facts are

facts and moral judgments are irrelevant. While names, geo-

graphical locations, and occupations in these letters have been

changed, I have preserved all other biographical details. I feel

only out of the richness and density of facts about someone’s

life can we come to see that she is a woman just like ourselves.

I believe this is important work that women must do to-

gether, and I am glad that there are so many willing to lay their

lives on the line to help tear down the curtain of silence behind

which we have had to hide our erotic selves. It left each woman

feeling isolated, an all-too-easy victim to the assumption that

only men knew “all about” sex and what “a real woman” was.

Behind this barrier, which was marked Innocence, but should

more rightly have been named Ignorance, the sexual exploita-

tion of women went on during practically all of recorded his-

tory – a time that, thanks to women’s new openness and hon-

esty with one another, is coming to an end.

Another significant difference between the letters of 1968

and these new ones is that in Garden the average age of the

women who contributed was about thirty; they were of the gen-

eration born around the time of World War II. The world they

14

grew up in was very different than today’s. In that book, the

greatest number of fantasies I collected centered around themes

of imaginary force and rape, abduction, domination, the

anonymous man whom the woman never sees again – all of

which are psychological strategies for allowing the woman to

have the most thrilling sexual experiences in her fantasies, but

all under the slogan, “It wasn’t my fault; he made me do it.” In

other words, sexual guilt and its avoidance was the great emo-

tion shared by most women who contributed to Garden.

The average age of women who sent in their fantasies for in-

clusion in this book is about twenty-two. They grew up in the

age in which Elvis Presley was bringing a new kind of blatant

sexuality to pop music, they entered their own sexual years to

the songs of the Beatles. I am not saying that the music of their

time directly influenced their approach to life (although often it

did), as much as it reflected a whole new era of freedom of

sexual expression. The fantasies in this book fill me with admi-

ration for these young women. I am struck by their pride in

their sexuality and their pleasure in its exercise – if not in their

lives, at least in their fantasies. They are not at all frightened by

the sexuality of their earliest years. They aren’t into guilt at all.

In memory, there is security. One of the first signs that in-

fants are maturing is the ability to allow mother out of their

sight without tears of fear or rage. The baby has begun to be-

lieve in the reality of memory – to recognize there is a corre-

spondence between her inner world and the reality “out there.”

Remembered figures do not vanish into a void, but come back.

In time, the baby is freed by this inner certainty and reliance

upon memory; she comes to enjoy her periods of solitude. Se-

cure in a base of remembered happiness, the little child can

turn her attention forward to learning new things: how to crawl

around her crib, perform experiments with her toys and/or

body, the pleasures of watching patterns of light cross the ceil-

ing.

So it is in our sexual years. Whenever periods of sexual

boredom, anxiety, or frustration come along, we tend to return

to childhood scenes of remembered erotic happiness. These

15

will be images or events that happen to the baby that are of an

erotic nature. Something is imagined or felt by the little girl,

something comes into view that stimulates her. The child does

not yet know, nor does she need to know, that these are specifi-

cally sexual feelings. She only knows that they make her feel

good … excited, stimulated, flushed with life. Nobody has yet

told her she is not to touch herself “down there” … that she is

not supposed to look at this or think that or do any of the other

999 things that “nice little girls” do not do. She goes over the

stimulating incident again and again in memory, almost as a

form of sympathetic magic to make the experience recur; it is

the same form of primitive logic that made the cavemen draw

pictures of deer when they wanted to meet them on the hunt.

This is truly our Age of Innocence. The knowledge of good

and evil (conventionally viewed) had not yet been forced upon

us. Is it any wonder that we withdraw to these happy memo-

ries, these simple joys, during our grown-up times of stress,

frustration, or boredom? We were safe and felt alive then;

memory allows us again to draw upon these emotions in fan-

tasy.

Unfortunately, it is a period of childhood that does not last

long. Very soon the little girl begins to notice that when she

says this or does that her parents frown or quickly change the

subject. The long series of don’ts are laid on her; the very lack

of explanation behind these illogical commands make them

more frightening and ominous. She becomes aware that vari-

ous aspects of her thought or behavior are not to be mentioned.

She learns concealment and evasion – but in her mind, at least,

she does not stop having these ideas that make her feel good.

They are too exciting to give up. Guilt and silence turn her

memories into fantasies. Again and again, I receive the wild-

est, most ravenously erotic fantasies from women who begin by

writing, “I was very strictly brought up by puritanical parents

… .”

But while guilt is a heavy load to carry, it is not without in-

nate benefits too; it adds a terrific charge of daring and defi-

ance to sex, of forbidden thrills and excitement to heretofore

innocent memories. In the last fantasy that closes this chapter,

16

Joyce writes, “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.” Behind the silence with which she

faces the world, the child begins to play over and over again

with her taboo ideas, elaborating, adding elements that

heighten their erotic charge, changing details with infinite care

to ever – increase the orgasmic effect. In our outlawed memo-

ries, our first fantasies begin.

Like Joyce, Dorothy too begins her letter by discussing her

“strict upbringing.” She can remember lying in bed as a child

and thinking about her fantasies. “I was never able to banish

these deliciously nasty thoughts from my mind,” she writes.

What heightened her pleasure in these erotic scenarios was to

imagine them while she could hear her mother moving around

in another part of the house. Right under her mother’s nose, so

to speak, she could play with these forbidden thoughts. In the

secrecy of her mind, she could be sexually defiant.

Carla’s letter is not so much the work of an imagination like

Dorothy’s as it is a collection of resummoned actualities. This

loving evocation of the past can be defined as sexual fantasy

too: it is the substitution of a remembered scene for present

reality. “I like to go over my memories when I have nothing

else to do,” writes Carla. “It gives me a warm feeling to re-

member all the people in my life, because I liked so many of

them.”

I have found that this kind of fantasy, which sticks very

close to actual events of the past, is almost always the mark of

someone with low levels of sexual anxiety and/or guilt. When

memories carry too heavy a charge of psychic pain, the fanta-

sizer usually drops or disguises them, putting an emotional

distance between herself and the ideas that excite her. She

makes up imaginary events, uses imaginary people to express

her eroticism; she can almost be said to see herself in the third

person in heal fantasy scenes – all this incredible sex is not

happening me it is happening to her.

I hasten to add here that this does not mean that imaginary

fantasies are the work of puritanical or guilt ridden minds. I

would say instead that they are the work of creative minds that

17

need strategies other than memory over a distance of time to

overcome inhibitions. Dorothy’s fantasies may be more the

works of imagination than Carla’s, but nobody reading Doro-

thy’s six scenarios could feel they were invented by an inhibited

woman.

What is most interesting about Carla’s letter to me is that

while her memories of past (and present) sexual experiences

would shock or horrify most, people, Carla herself speaks of

them all very fondly, with total acceptance of every man, every

sexual encounter – with less guilt about breaking even the in-

cest barrier than most women would feel about kissing a

stranger at a party. She speaks of her memories with no bra-

vado, no shouts of defiance that might make us feel she was

protesting too much. “This is how I am,” her letter seems to

say, “this is what I do, neither more nor less.” It is her life of

which she always speaks, and it does not occur to her for one

second that she does not have every right in the world to do

with it what she will.

Dorothy

I have just finished reading your book, My Secret Garden,

and I can truly state that it has changed my life for the better. It

took my husband and I four evenings to read it, and those four

nights produced the most fantastic sex of our entire married

life. I had no idea that knowing about other women’s sexual

fantasies would turn him on so, and now I think I have the

courage to describe some of my own to him, which I’ve never

done before. You see, I had a very strict upbringing. Actually, I

suppose it was no more strict than most women’s, certainly no

worse than that of the other girls I grew up with. But looking

back now, I can see it’s a miracle that I grew up with any feel-

ings of sexuality whatsoever, given the fact that the atmosphere

around our home was that sex just wasn’t nice.

Let me say that I’m twenty-six, have been married for a year

to a wonderful man I lived with for a year before we married,

have no children, and I have a good job as an executive secre-

18

tary. My husband and I are middle class, both with college

educations.

I know now that I have always engaged in sexual fantasy,

but up until this point, I felt very guilty and ashamed of my

fantasies, and even tried very hard to keep from having them. I

can remember how guilty I felt as a little girl when I went to

church with my parents, and knew what a terrible little sinner I

was for having had those wicked thoughts during the week. I

used to pray for salvation (although no one in my family was

terribly religious … it’s just that I was terribly sexual, I sup-

pose). However, I was never able to banish these deliciously

nasty thoughts from my mind; lying in bed as a child and

thinking about them, even as I heard my mother moving about

the house, made them all the more thrilling. Many of my fanta-

sies stem from these early childhood daydreams, and have

never lost their impact. Now, your delightful book has finally

enabled me to relax with a guilt-free conscience and enjoy

them. As I have jotted down the basic themes before starting

this letter, I see that I have at least six basic fantasies – each

one involves a different position, and I adapt the appropriate

fantasy to coincide with the particular position I’m actually in

bed. Below are a couple of my favorites:

1. (I use this one while being manipulated by hand before

intercourse.) It’s in the 1800s, and I am a beautiful, homeless,

penniless young maiden on a voyage by ship to America. The

ship’s captain (handsome, rugged, much older) has agreed to

take me, even though I have no money for my passage. After

we are underway, though, I soon realize that there will be a

payment demanded of me, and I am helpless to resist. (Do I

want to be thrown overboard in the middle of the Atlantic?) I

am the only woman aboard a ship of rugged, lusty, men, and

they all stare at me with desire and longing for my exquisite

body. The captain, however, saves me for himself. Since he

knows I am a virgin and doesn’t want to actually deflower me

(I justify this dubious morality of his by making the setting in a

very non permissive time in history), my requirement is to al-

ways be by his side, where he can lift my long skirt with on

hand and enter me slowly and passionately with his fingers

19

while he is otherwise engaged in commanding his ship. I, of

course, am embarrassed and mortified and I wriggle around as

if to get away from his hand but he only continues with more

force and stronger manipulation of my clitoris, until finally I

am so excited and turned on (against my will) that I scream

out, “Oh fuck me, FUCK ME!” and the whole crew of the ship

gathers around to look and comment in amazement at this de-

mure little maiden panting and screaming, with their captain’s

hand up her dress. At this point, I’ve usually had an excellent

orgasm, and do indeed speak those words, to which my hubby

happily accommodates, as that is what he has been waiting for.

He has no idea what has been going on in my head to bring me

to such a frenzy – he only knows his fingers drive me wild!

2. (This is for the male-superior position.) I am a school-

teacher in a rural school, and several young, lusty farm boys

have cornered me in the one-room schoolhouse after school.

Their purpose is a bet: one of the boys (a huge, fair-haired

brute with an enormous cock) has bet the others that he can

fuck me until I beg for more. They throw me down across my

own desk on my back, pull up my dress, pull off my panties,

and while the other boys are holding my arms and legs, this big

stud goes to work, ramming it in, accompanied by the taunts

and encouragements of his friends. (Such as “Shove it in!”

“Give it to her!” “Make her scream!”) All the time he’s saying,

“Come, baby, come cream on me!” while he massages my

body with his huge hands. The boys holding my legs spread

them wider apart so that he can get deeper into my struggling,

writhing body, and he keeps on thrusting away, all the time

using his filthiest words, imploring me in a strong but gentle

voice to come all over him. I prolong this part as long as it

takes me to reach my climax, and it’s always a blockbuster. In

fact, writing this down seems to bring the whole image flowing

back to mind so strongly, I’m really getting turned on. These

images had never entered my mind before except during sex.

As I said before, I have a different fantasy. for everything in-

cluding cunnilingus and fellatio, but I’m not going to write

them all down or I’d end up writing a book myself. I will say

they include such participants as a horse, a dog, Indians, a

20

doctor, and a headmaster in a girl’s school. I change roles in

each one, and sometimes I’m beautiful and sophisticated, while

in others I am childish or simpleminded. Each one is elaborate;

but so familiar and dear to me that the right one just pops into

my mind without my even consciously willing it. I’ve truly

always thought of these fantasies as my “private little world,”

and I use them also while masturbating. They make sex more

vivid and meaningful for me, and I don’t think I could bear to

be without them.

As I said before, thanks to your wonderful book, I’m no

longer going to try.

I absolutely promise that these fantasies are legitimate, and

I’d be glad to write them all down for you if you should want

me to, so the name and address are legit also. I look eagerly

forward to your next book, and I do hope I may have been of

some small help – you’ve helped me more than I can tell you.

Carla and Tom

Since my brother and I read your book, My Secret Garden,

we have felt great relief to know we were not the only brother

and sister who fuck. May we add our bit to your next book? I

hope it will help others like us. Tom and I don’t consider what

we’re doing “unnatural” at all. Being in bed with him seems

like the most natural thing of all.

I like to go over my memories when I have nothing else to

do. It gives me a warm feeling to remember all the people in

my life, because I liked so many of them. I remember when I

was six that my mother used to scold me when she caught me

playing with my cunt, but I always had the desire to expose

myself to the little boys who came over to play in our yard. I

would take off my panties, and I remember several times the

older boys would take me into a corner and play with my cunt.

Some boys took all their clothes off one day and laid me down

on their shirts and pants and worked their fingers up me. I

liked it, but it made me sore. I didn’t say anything to my

mother, because she would stop the boys from coming over to

play at our house. The first time a bigger boy took me into the

21

back seat of a car in a garage, he removed all my clothes and

spread my legs so far apart I thought he would split me apart.

He kept getting closer and closer, and I thought he was exam-

ining me. I like the idea that he wanted to see my cunt so

closely, but he suddenly proved my reading of what he was up

to wrong: he got his mouth into my cunt and was darting his

tongue in and out like a snake. I loved it so much that when he

wanted to stop I begged him to do it some more. He promised

to come over often and do this to me. We found places like our

attic, garage, or sheds in the woods. I was very sad the day his

family moved to another part of the state, but before he left, he

taught me a nice game. He used a weiner to jack me off with

and then told me to eat the weiner so that nobody would ever

discover I had a weiner in my bedroom. When he moved away,

I used to do this and think of him.

When I was old enough to go to school, the boys soon found

out that they could get to play with my cunt any time at all. My

uncle found the same to be true one summer we spent July and

August on his ranch in New Mexico. I have very happy memo-

ries of the way my uncle loved to play with my cunt and took

me with him when he was making trips around the place. Un-

cle was very kind to me, and when he suckers my cunt, he did

it very gently. I remember one time we were a long way from

home, and he found a spot where it was really quiet. He had

me undress completely, and he spread out a large quilt, laid me

down, and put his tongue in my cunt. At this time, I was nine

years old. We had fun, and then he undressed and showed me

his cock. I had never seen a grown man’s cock before, and I did

not understand how it could be so big. He got on top of me and

told me to be easy in my mind; he was just going to put the

head of his cock up to my cunt. I asked him what would hap-

pen then, and he said that he would just do with his cock the

way he had always done with his finger, so I wasn’t frightened.

Instead, did that ever start my desire to have that cock in my

cunt. He spread my cunt lips open and gently shoved his cock

part way in. His actions just drove me to want that big cock all

the way in, just as I had gotten used to shoving a big, rubber,

imitation weiner all the way in when I wanted to jack off. (The

rubber one was bigger and better than the real ones I had

22

started with.) When my uncle shoved his whole cock in, he

found it was easier to do than he had thought. He asked me if I

had ever fucked before. I told him about the big rubber weiner.

He asked if I had brought it along. I had, and told him how I

used it when I was by myself. That made him so excited that

after our first fuck he spent two more hours just sucking my

cunt. Then he asked me to take his cock in my mouth. I was so

afraid that if I said no he would never fuck me anymore that I

took his cock and sucked him. He kept telling me to suck

harder, and after I had sucked awhile my tongue got sore, so

we stopped. When we returned to the house everyone had gone

to see a movie, so that left us alone. I was so tired that I just

fell asleep. When I woke up, my uncle was sucking my cunt.

The next day my uncle and aunty had to go into town for a

meeting, leaving my brother and I alone. We spent the time

looking around because being on a ranch was so new to us. We

came across two dogs who were trying to fuck. We watched

and it got me so passionate that I stepped backward, up against

the front of my brother’s pants. He was feeling the same way,

because without a word, he put his hands up under my halter,

exposing my little breasts and cupping my tits in his hands.

We soon were kissing, and he had me walk around to the back

of the milk house. When we were there, he pulled my bikinis

off and the halter of my sunsuit. We played a bit there that

way, and then we made a dash for the house – me running

naked all the way – and went to his bedroom. It started that

way, just as easy as that, and from then on we have been fuck-

ing each other all along very happily and that was twelve years

ago. Do you know any other marriages that have continued

happily for twelve years? I don’t. I wish people who read this

letter and feel bad about us would remember that before they

criticize. We now live together, and every one of our friends

think we are husband and wife. He is very considerate. Unlike

most husbands, he shaves every day so that he will not irritate

my skin, etc.

One of the letters in My Secret Garden spoke about dogs.

When Tom and I read this, we decided to see what it was like.

My brother and I started to fuck to get the dog excited. It sure

23

did – he got in between our legs and licked both Tom and me

while we were fucking. What a pleasure! When we finished,

Tom let his cock go off in me. (I’m on the pill) Tanzy licked my

cunt, and Tom just lay back and watched. We let Tanzy lick as

long as he wanted, and then he began to get up on his hind legs

and hug my leg. That told us he wanted to fuck. Tom had me

get up on my knees and he helped Tanzy get his cock in my

cunt. We did not know how much cock a dog has, but I soon

found out. When he got that knob in my cunt, he had over eight

inches of cock shoved, up me. Fuck, you never know what it

can do to a girl until she gets fucked by her dog. That pink

fleshy cock is in my cunt whenever Tanzy has a desire to fuck

me. Tom likes to watch his cock plunge in and out of my cunt.

One day Tom asked me how it made me feel, and when I told

him, we tried to get Tanzy to shove it up Tom’s asshole so he

could feel what I was feeling. But the hole was too small for

Tanzy to get in. Sometimes I get up on top of Tom, and we

both lay that way, both our legs apart, bellies up, and Tom lets

Tanzy fuck me when we are in this position. Tom’s cock rides

in the crack of my ass below, and Tanzy is giving it to me from

straight above. If I am alone and Tanzy wants to fuck, I place

the davenport cushions on the floor and lay on my back. Tanzy

is very smart and knows how to fuck me both from the rear and

front. I love to fuck him from the front, because I can look

down and see his cock entering my cunt, that pink shaft just

going in and out. He always licks my cunt clean after we get

through fucking.

It was Tom’s idea that I write this letter to you, but when I

got started typing, I got so excited that he had to help me finish

it. My last thought is that anything you fuck that makes you

feel good is okay.

Jennie is only seventeen, and her childhood isn’t that dis-

tant. She remembers it very clearly: “Where I was brought up,”

she says, “sex was pretty much taboo.” She is enough a child

of our time to say in one breath, “I always consider myself a

girl of high morals and always thought I would be a virgin

until I was married” … and then she goes on to describe her

24

sexual experiences with her boyfriend, whom she plans to

marry “in three years.”

What I like about Jennie is that she does not feel these con-

tradictions are important enough to comment upon; no apolo-

gies or explanations are felt necessary. She is a girl who ac-

cepts her own sexuality in her own time; she believes more in

her own feelings than the amorphous “rules” in the air. When

she says she has no guilt about her sexuality or her fantasies, I

believe her.

Jennie’s mother clearly grew up in a totally different sexual

atmosphere, and although her daughter was aware of this dif-

ference between’ herself and her mother, even as a child of

nine, she did not blindly accept her mother’s sexual authority:

she felt and believed in her own sexuality even more.

Jennie may not be typical of her generation, but there are

countless young women like her; the very fact that she wrote

me – and with such eagerness – indicated her interest in sex.

What I find more significant is the ease, acceptance, and utter

naturalness with which she treats that interest.

Jennie

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

Throughout the book, I kept thinking what it would be like to

actually write to you. When I saw your address in the back, I

knew I had to write.

First, I’ll give you some background information about my-

self. I am seventeen, and my boyfriend is sixteen. We are both

seniors in high school, and plan to get married in three years. I

always considered myself a girl of high morals and always

thought I would be a virgin until I was married.

Where I was brought up, sex was pretty much taboo. No one

ever spoke about it, so I never knew anything about sex. I

know that when I was about nine years old I used to get sen-

sual feelings, although at the time I didn’t know what they

were. I used to take my clothes off and rub my small breasts

and my cunt against the cold washing machine, and this made

me feel very good. At other times, I would take all my clothes

25

off and run around in the woods across the street. Sometimes

my girl friend would come with me, and we would sit and

masturbate ourselves or each other. Just thinking about doing

these things when I was a kid would get me excited, and the

next thing I knew I was doing them or thinking up something

new that would make me feel good. Given the puritanical

background where I grew up, it’s amazing I didn’t feel really

guilty as a kid, but I didn’t. I just knew it couldn’t be bad if it

felt that good.

Nowadays, I fantasize whenever I have time on my hands …

or my hands on myself. I don’t think I masturbate any more

than the average girl, but I don’t know much about the average

girl. It’s a sexy world, so I have sexy thoughts quite a bit. I

don’t usually fantasize when I have sex with my boyfriend. All

I need to hear is his heavy breathing and I get horny. My boy-

friend loves to experiment with sex. Sometimes we fuck with

him coming in from the back, sometimes sitting up; we even

tried it in the shower once.

He likes it when I use my mouth on him. Often, in public, I

can’t refrain from touching him up. Up until recently, I would

never allow him to perform cunnilingus on me, but now I love

to feel him sucking my clitoris and slipping his tongue in and

out of me.

When I’m by myself masturbating or daydreaming, my fan-

tasies change all the time. My favorite fantasies include being

fucked by a lion, a black man, or a cousin of mine. I’ve always

dreamed about trying incest, but I have no brothers. The closest

I can get is my cousin. He is ten years older than me. Recently,

my grandfather died, and my cousin came up from Georgia for

the funeral. We have always been attracted to one another, and

during the middle of the night, he came down to where I was

sleeping on the sofa. We smoked a jay, and he kissed me. Then

we got into some petting. After a while, I told him to go away.

Since then, how many times I’ve wished I hadn’t! My chance

will come again, but I know I won’t let anything happen, be-

cause I am very faithful to my boyfriend, and I know he would

never have an affair with another girl. But I love to use this

story of what happened that night with my cousin as my fan-

26

tasy; I try all sorts of different endings to it, thinking about all

the things that could have gone on between us.

I have no guilt feelings about fantasizing. I love to hear my

boyfriend tell me he’s going to “fuck me” during intercourse. It

really turns me on. Some of my fantasies I share with him.

There is one we plan to carry out soon. I told him I wanted him

to force himself upon me, to rape me when I said “No” to him.

He wants me to fight him off while he tells me he’s going to

fuck me.

We have not got into “the group thing.” It doesn’t appeal to

either of us. My boyfriend says he doesn’t fantasize. Maybe

someday he will. I have found that when I do fantasize during

sex, it adds to both of our excitement.

Thank you for letting me get this off my chest. I hope it is of

some value to you in your studies. Good luck.

One of the pleasures in reading novels or going to the

movies is the feeling they give us of how other people live.

They seem to enlarge the possibilities of our own lives. Sexual

fantasy, too, will often serve the same function, but instead of

reading about other people, by an act of emotional imagination,

we put ourselves in their shoes and bodies, feel what they feel,

experience their sexual joys as if they were our own. In Sarah’s

fantasies, which follow, I find the one about the male guardian

the most interesting. It is evidently born out of childhood ex-

periences – the emotions seem to be of such an early stage of

development that even the sexual lines are blurred: Sarah tells

us that she plays all roles, both male and female. This is not

uncommon in fantasy. We all wonder how other people are

sexually; in our erotic reveries, we can rehearse their emotions

within ourselves. Another signal, I feel, that this fantasy is an

imaginative recreation of very early scenes is that Sarah does

not really put herself into any of the roles, not even that of “the

girl.” It all speaks of a time when she was so young that she

could not choose to act, but was acted upon. It is not, “I did

this or that …” but “The girl is told to take a bath…” and so

on.

27

Sarah

My fantasies have some points in common with those in

your book, which I loved, and others somewhat different. One

of them is recalling some good times with my ex-husband. He

would get me pretty excited with foreplay, and then he would

put it in, he would make just two or three thrusts, and then he’d

sort of back off with just the tip of it in and tease me – “Do you

want it, baby? Then you’ll have to come and get it! Bring it up

to me, baby, climb my pole!” and I would have to raise my hips

up and down, and sometimes he would move around a little

and pretend he was going to take it out and quit, and I would

twist and. turn and raise and lower my hips frantically to keep

it in and keep the motion going – and of course I’d get hotter

and sweatier – doing all the work. And I had really great or-

gasms that way. I could get on top, but it never worked with

me that way – only when I was underneath, and really working

at it. (I know some men don’t like that at all.)

One other fantasy I have is about a lover I had who used to

have me sit on top of his refrigerator and sort of slide down one

rounded corner of it till his tongue was even with my cunt, and

he’d stand there with his hands sort of cupping my buttocks to

keep me from falling quite helplessly onto the floor, and lap it

up like an ice cream cone. Then he’d have me slide down off

the refrigerator right onto his big cock – nothing I could do

about that either – and waltz me into the bedroom with my toes

just off the floor. Our favorite joke was, “Do you want to come

over and defrost my refrigerator tonight?”

So much for recalling reality – now for fantasies that are just

fantasies. There’s one about the little girl who has a male

guardian – father or uncle, I never really figured it out. One

day, the girl has a little boyfriend come over to play after

school and invites him to stay for dinner, The guardian agrees,

and the boy telephones home for permission, but is told his

parents are going out for dinner, and he has to stay where he is

till nine-thirty, if that’s not too late. (I play all three roles in

this, alternating.) The guardian again says okay. But after din-

ner, he tells the girl she must go and take her bath, which she

28

does, Then he calls to her and says just to come out in her bath-

robe. She does, and then he says to her, “Did you wash your

roses good?” She says she did, and he says, “Come lie down

over here on the sofa, and let’s see if you did.” She says no, she

doesn’t want to show Toby (her little boyfriend) her roses. At

this, the guardian gets angry and takes down a little paddle off

the mantelpiece and says, “So you don’t want to show him your

roses, do you? Well, we’ll just show him your little bare bottom

then,” and he takes her over his knee, pulls up her Bathrobe,

and proceeds to give her a good paddling, turning both of her

cheeks pink. Then he stops and says, “Do you want to show

Toby your roses?” And she says, “Yes, yes, yes!” So he puts

her on the sofa on her back and brings the lamp over, so it can

shine very bright, and pushes up a stool for Toby. “Sit there,”

he commands Toby. Then he opens the girl’s legs and exam-

ines her minutely, opening the labia around the vagina and the

clitoris. Then he scolds the girl, who has stopped crying by

now. “You didn’t wash very good. We’ll have to do better than

that.” He tells Toby to put his finger in her vagina and hold her

open with his other hand while he goes and gets the washrag

from the bathroom. Toby is afraid not to do as he is told and

gets more and more interested in the process and asks the girl

if his finger hurts her, and she says no, it feels good, but will he

move his other hand a little, which he does. The guardian

comes back with a washrag that he has surreptitiously wet with

the raspberry-tasting mouthwash, and telling Toby to keep his

finger where it is, he sponges the clitoris and labia – which

turn pink from the mouthwash color and the heat its slight an-

tiseptic content generate. The girl tries to twist and turn and

says the water’s too hot, “It’s hot, it hurts! Oh, Toby, kiss it and

make it stop hurting.” And Toby bends his head and kisses

her. By now in this fantasy, I would have come about twice.

Sometimes the guardian spanks Toby after this.

By now, I haven’t got enough energy left to tell you many

details about my daughter’s slumber party she had when she

was in junior high. The buzzing would kind of quiet down, and

I’d think finally I could get to sleep. Then I’d hear a “Whap!”

and little moans and giggles. Since then I’ve imagined planting

a tape recorder at one of those parties. Wouldn’t it be fun to

29

hear what games they really play and who gets whapped and

why?

In the letters that follow, very early experiences are

brought to mind. While Claudia is clearly a very healthy and

erotic young woman, I like the way she gives herself permis-

sion not to hurry into sexual experience before she is emotion-

ally ready for it. “I’m only fourteen years old, so I haven’t

screwed yet,” she says, adding, “but I do enjoy some sex with

my boyfriends.” Reading her letter, we get the feeling that

when she is ready for a full sexual experience, she will do it

confidently, easily, and well. She will probably be the one who

decides exactly when, where, and with whom it will take place.

The progress of Claudia’s life toward full womanly eroticism

seems clear; the four next letters help us chart some of the pit-

falls that seem to have lain in the way for other women. The

difficult terrain is very clearly mapped in Janice’s letter. “I

deeply love my husband,” she writes “(we have been married

sixteen years), but I have always been profoundly thrilled by

my fantasies, which go back to an episode in my adolescence

… . To me, now that I dare think about it after reading your

book, it seems only natural that women should be aroused by

incidents involving urination, given the fact that our sexual

parts are so close to our urinary parts.”

While the incident that Janice refers to in her fantasy hap-

pened during her adolescence, her erotic interest in, and confu-

sion of, urinary and sexual processes most likely began far

earlier in her life. By the time “Aunt Bessie” came along,

Janice had long since been unconsciously prepared to find the

older woman’s invitation enough to “drive me out of my mind.”

Denise’s letter, too, reminds us that about the time mother be-

gan our toilet-training, she also began telling us not to play

with ourselves “down there.” It is often a time of tension be-

tween mother and daughter – perhaps the first of their lifelong

battles. All interest is focused on this one part of the body dur-

ing this period, the mysteries of sex and urination become in-

tertwined – because both seem to be forbidden. Eroticism and

30

excretion become emotionally combined – the vagina is experi-

enced as the seat of a double kind of excitement.

The woman Frank writes about is fascinated by anal play –

she calls herself an “anal-erotic.” I include his letter not so

much for what he tells us about himself, but because his lover

is such a clear example of Freud’s dictum that the anal stage of

development precedes the genital. Frank’s lover chooses to live

out with him those fantasies that are the outgrowth and expres-

sion of early toilet-training experiences … as also seems true of

Lana, whose fantasy follows Frank’s letter. Robyn daydreams

happily about the guiltless pleasure of her fiancé giving her an

enema. In these letters, I am struck by the marvels of human

nature, its recuperative power and above all, its overriding

drive for health and self-acceptance. Janice, Denise, Frank’s

lover, Lana, and Robyn have all taken what might seem at first

glance to be behavioral hang-ups, but I have found in them

sources of erotic pleasure instead. I applaud them all.

Claudia

I have just finished reading your book. Thank you, for it

really opened my eyes to the way many women think. Some

parts shocked me, other parts disgusted me, but most of it ex-

cited me. And I truly believe there are women who feel excited

even by the things that turn me off … and that’s okay for them.

I find it exciting that we women are all so different.

I have never been ashamed of my fantasies, but I just didn’t

know that’s what they were. I’m only fourteen years old, so I

haven’t screwed yet, but I do enjoy some sex with my boy-

friends. I have had fantasies ever since I can remember. As a

little kid, I imagined I was a harem girl, or a slave girl on sale

at a public marketplace. I was always well-developed in the

fantasy, although I was actually flat as a board then and didn’t

have a single pubic hair. In my fantasy, men would walk by me

and examine me, but only with their eyes. It wasn’t until. I was

eleven years old that I even began to think and fantasize of

guys putting their fingers up me. When I was ten, I stopped

being the submissive one in my thoughts, and became the se-

31

ducer. At night, I would (and still do) think of a foxy guy I

know or a handsome teacher and imagine me telling him to

suck my tits, while I softly play with his cock.

I “cock watch,” naturally. I can’t help it. To me, it’s just like

guys looking at boobs. I sometimes wear sexy clothes, and it

excites me to know that I have caused a guy to get a boner. I

then imagine what his cock looks like, how large his balls are,

how erect it (the dick) is, if he’s circumcised or not, etc. You

know, all the things girls who like guys enjoy thinking about.

I hope you can use this in your next book. It has excited me

just to write about it, because I have never told anyone about

these things, except when I was a kid. Thank you again for

your book I think I got my first orgasm while reading it and

masturbating myself, but I’m not sure. Thanks anyhow, be-

cause it felt good!

Janice

I am so pleased your book opened up an area of dis-

cussion which so directly affects my sexual life. Until reading

other women’s fantasies of urination – the sexual pleasure de-

rived from such ideas – I had felt myself to be “unusual” or

worse. I deeply love my husband (we have been married six-

teen years), but I have always been profoundly thrilled by my

fantasies, which go back to an episode in my adolescence. I

have thought about this incident so often, and embroidered on

it, that I am no longer quite sure what actually did happen and

just what I have added to increase the pleasure thinking about

it gives me.

To me, now that I dare think about it after reading your

book, it seems only natural that women should be aroused by

incidents involving urination, given the fact that our sexual

parts are so close to our urinary parts. I sometimes think that if

I dared think about many of the things that frighten me, the

fear would be replaced so easily by self-acceptance; all that

keeps me, and others, from thinking of these fearsome things is

the thought that it is sinful to consider them; and yet what can

be sinful in just thinking about something?

32

Here is my fantasy:

I am visiting at the home of an older friend, someone I call

Aunt Bessie, although we are not related. One rainy day, dur-

ing the visit, as luncheon time approaches, Aunt Bessie and I

have two large martinis. Afterward, we sit down at the dining

table to eat. Lunch starts with a delicious thin soup, of which I

have two servings. Soup is followed by cold cuts, accompanied

by steins of cold, foaming beer. For dessert, there are crackers

and cheese, with refills of the steins to wash it down. About

half an hour after lunch, I get up from my chair and start to

leave the room. Aunt Bessie asks where I am going, and I re-

ply: “Sorry, but I have to pee.” To this, Aunt Bessie says,

“Nonsense, you just think you have to go. Come back here and

sit down, and we will split a bottle of champagne.” Although I

have some doubts as to my ability to retain any longer, all the

liquid I have imbibed nevertheless I comply. At this point, I

begin to suspect that Aunt Bessie has something “up her

sleeve,” but just what, I cannot imagine. We sit for a while,

drinking the champagne and smoking two or three cigarettes,

me feeling more and more uncomfortable by the minute. As I

finish the last drop in my glass, I say to Aunt Bessie: “I really

must go now, I can’t hold it any longer.” Aunt Bessie replies:

“Well, if you must, you must, but I hope you don’t mind if I go

with you.” Upon arriving in the bathroom, Aunt Bessie asks

me to remove my dress and panties and then sit on the toilet

seat, but without dropping even a tear for a few moments. Aunt

Bessie then kneels down on a cushion placed conveniently to

one side of the toilet seat, reaches across my nearest thigh, and

proceeds to manipulate my clitoris. As soon as I feel my

friend’s fingers playing with my clitoris, the desire to void my

urine recedes. Aunt Bessie tells me: “Wait until the exact mo-

ment of the climax I am going to bring you to, and then let the

freshet flow. I guarantee you will have the most ecstatic or-

gasm any woman can have in this world – or the next, for that

matter.”

Sure enough, just as Aunt Bessie’s skillful fingers bring me

up to and push me over the edge, I let my piss come in a rush.

It is like coming in two places at once, and the hot piss flowing

33

down my slit and over the pulsating mouth of my vagina nearly

drives me out of my mind.

Denise

Thanks for doing My Secret Garden – one of the fantasies

electrified me, naturally: I saw myself in it. On p. 179, “Faith”

calls herself a “urologenic.” Obviously, there must be a lot of

us if someone put such a fancy label on us! What I want to

know is where I can find out more about us – also, I’d surely

like to trade fantasies with another like-minded gal – if at all

possible, I’d like you to forward my letter to Faith; if you can’t

do that, it’s okay, and I understand. Now maybe you’d like a

fantasy along these lines for your next book. I’m gay, by the by,

and ecstatically happy about it. Before I understood my fasci-

nation with urination, I used to try to turn my fantasies toward

intercourse and ejaculation – I thought I had urination mixed

up with ejaculation, but I realize it’s just not true. It’s the acci-

dents people have, especially men or boys, that fascinate me.

My favorite fantasy takes place in a grammar school class-

room. Billy, a cute fifteen-year-old, raises his hand to be ex-

cused to the bathroom. The teacher carelessly ignores him, then

puts him off with repeated “in-a-minutes.” At this point in the

fantasy, many variations work. A typical version now is that he

feels such pressure that he jams his knees together and scoots

forward at his desk, trying to “hold it.” It doesn’t help, and

with his face burning, he finds it necessary to let go just a little,

every few minutes, to ease the pressure. Soon, the other kids

notice, pointing and whispering at the growing puddle under

his desk. Billy always wears tight Levi’s and has a very cute

behind. Sometimes he is made to stand in the corner at the

front of the room, where he wets himself in front of everybody.

I only wish I had a notion of how to look for information on

this “aberration.” Thanks a lot!

34

Frank

I’m a heterosexual male, and it would seem absurd for me to

comment on the sexual fantasies of women. In fact, I’m not

even interested in them to any extent; a I ran across your My

Secret Garden by accident and only thumbed through it idly.

However, I see you are collecting material, and I have a sort of

case history to give to you for what it’s worth. This is a lived-

out fantasy in which I participated, and frankly, I’m a bit trou-

bled about it in retrospect. It’s rather extreme, or so it seems to

me, and I wonder if I have encouraged the woman in what may

become a harmful sexual aberration.

First, let me set the stage and describe the characters briefly.

I’m a middle-aged business executive and quite an ordinary

fellow, nothing special about me at all. The woman is nearing

forty, a rather intense emotional type but distinctly attractive,

married to a man she likes but who is totally impotent due to

illness. She is torn between resolve to remain at least techni-

cally faithful to her husband and an urgent need for sexual re-

lease. I like her, and am sympathetic to her in her problem. The

two of us compromised in a pretend affair limited to cunnilin-

gus and fellatio.

But this wasn’t wholly satisfactory to either of us. For my

part, I enjoy this with an attractive woman, but mostly as only

a part of loveplay rather than as an end in itself. She felt guilt-

ridden and had difficulty achieving orgasm that way. It just

wasn’t very good. Until we discovered something else, by a

quite accidental move on my part. I was caressing her vulva

with my hand preparatory to cunnilingus, when I inadvertently

let a finger stray into the crevice of her buttocks, and its tip

pressed into her anus. She stiffened and cried out, and almost

instantly went into orgasm.

Here at last we come to the fantasy itself. She was, in fan-

tasy, an anal erotic. Later, she confessed this to me. She

dreamed of having a man thrust his finger through the sphinc-

ter of her anus and on up into her rectum. Going further, she

imagined his mouth on her there. And, in return, of putting her

mouth on him.

35

Later, we actually did this. I was personally a bit doubtful,

to tell the truth. There have been other women in my experi-

ence who liked anal loveplay, and I am not particularly averse

to it. When I’m in the proper mood, an attractive woman’s anus

can be exciting as a part of the whole of her. I like everything

about women, and although I have never done actual anal in-

tercourse, I often do caress a woman there during loveplay or

cunnilingus if she seems to want it. But it turned out that, once

released from inhibition, this woman was really avid about

this. It was not only the best but almost the only way she could

achieve complete orgasm. And for the ultimate experience, she

wanted it to be shared. So it became our regular custom to do it

to one another. Lying head to toe, I would fasten my mouth

over her anus while stroking her vulva and clitoris with the

fingers of a hand. She would tuck my penis down between her

breasts, hold my testicles aside with one hand, and suck with

lips and tongue at my anus.

The actual living out of this fantasy of hers seems to give her

a supreme experience. She goes quite mad in her ecstasy. Her

anus works in and out against my lips, her vulva positively

gushes fluid, she bites and sucks at my anus and crushes my

penis between her breasts, her climax when it comes is violent

and interminable.

All this is most enjoyable for me too, I’ll admit. I’m some-

thing of a voyeur, I like to look at an attractive woman in all

her intimate places, to see her vulva open pink and wet, her

clitoris swell, her little peeplace gape open at the touch of my

tongue, her vagina reveal its inner flesh to me, her anus stretch

and pulsate as I touch her there. I like to feel her, and smell

her, and taste her. And God knows it’s a fantastic titillating

sensation to have a woman’s lips and tongue sucking and prob-

ing at me, to have her breasts caress my penis until it spurts

over them and her belly.

But all this, good though it is, somehow pales in comparison

to the real thing for me. I like giving her pleasure in this way; I

enjoy it myself. But it’s all only play to me; I remain unaffected

in the ultimate sense. But for her, it seems to be rapidly assum-

ing the proportions of an obsession. She doesn’t want it any

other way now. I’m worried – she’s really a very nice person,

36

and I do like her – lest I may be encouraging her in a sexual

aberration that may eventually do her harm.

Oh, well, you’ve listened long enough. I don’t expect you to

reply, and perhaps this report may be of no use to you at all.

But if you’re interested in the sexual fantasies of women, here’s

one that came to life. You’re welcome to use all or any part of

this account as you like, no obligation. In any case, good luck

to you in writing more about this interesting subject of women

and their fantasies.

Lana

Congratulations on a sensitive piece which rightfully credits

women with a high degree of creativity.

After reading your book, it sounded like fun to write down a

fantasy I have been having – it seems a little more difficult to

share it. Actually, my fantasy does not materialize during sex,

but rather acts as kind of a “sleeping pill” when I have had a

particularly tiring day at work.

It begins as I am sitting in a waiting room which is painfully

antiseptic and severe. I feel very uncomfortable being there, for

it seems it is somewhat against my will. Other girls are seated

around me also nervously shifting in their chairs.

Finally, my name is called by a woman who resembles an

old grade-school librarian. Very unchic and clinical. She shows

me into a huge office painted white, with a cold metal exami-

nation table in the middle. She asks that I remove my clothes

and carry them to the corner of the room. When I bend down to

put them there, she tells me to stay in that position while she

prepares an injection to tranquilize me. She finally returns and

feels all over me for the correct site – usually on my rear. As

she is giving me the shot, three men enter the room. One is

deadly serious, and the others are his students. They are all

surprised at the position I am in. The teacher appears cross

with the woman for not doing a better job of relaxing me.

I am told to mount the examination table. I do and lie on my

back. But one of the students laughs and asks me to turn over,

saying he needs the relaxed end up. It is at that point, out of the

37

corner of my eye, with my head resting on my hands, that I see

a large machine being wheeled in with a tubular device at-

tached to a long rubber hose. One of the students asks me to

relax and spread my legs as far as they will go, while the other

student, amid sideways winks and donning rubber gloves, lu-

bricates my rectum with his fingers. The teacher then slowly

and with some difficulty (because I keep tightening my mus-

cles) inserts the tube into my rear and announces that this is an

enema designed with both an outflow and inflow suction.

Water swishes, legs are held apart, and I am constantly told

to relax. After a while, it is all over, and the tube is removed.

By then I am usually asleep.

Should I need to fantasize further, I am prepared.

The teacher tells me I am to be the model for a mold or cast-

ing of a dildo to better fit all women. Another injection, and

then I am turned over. My legs are spread on a trapeze affair

suspended from the ceiling. The students busy themselves with

a thorough douching of my vagina, while the teacher feels my

breasts and asks me if it hurts.

Then another machine is wheeled in with a larger tube in-

serted into that clean vagina. The plaster oozes out of the tube

and seems to fill my whole body. It’s warm and keeps expand-

ing. One of the students pushes his hand on my stomach, while

the other closes the slit with his fingers. Meanwhile, the doctor

inserts a lubricated thermometer in my rectum.

Others are called to help remove the casting – usually men

that I have never had affairs with, but have thought about it.

They enter the room slightly surprised to see me, but don rub-

ber gloves and aid in taking out the form.

The final bliss comes when it is tried out on the librarian-

type.

I am amazed that I wrote this, but really did have fun doing

it. It is a genuine fantasy.

Robyn

I just finished reading your book, My Secret Garden, and I

must admit I enjoyed it very much.

38

To give you a bit of my background, I’m female, eighteen,

and am presently engaged to be married in one and a half

years. Please, no comments! I’ve had enough objections from

my parents and relatives already! John and I are very much in

love, although we’ve known each other only eight short

months!

I’ve had sex with two other guys before John, but I never

really enjoyed it. With John, every minute we are making love

is heaven. I am the first girl John has ever fucked, and John is

the only guy who’s made me reach a climax. We fuck about

three or four times a week (I’m on the pill), usually in his car,

occasionally we rent a motel room, although I have to be home

by 1:30 A.M. I guess I should tell you our favorite ways of

fucking before I tell you my fantasies. First of all, we both get

greatest satisfaction with me on top. He can touch my clitoris

when I’m this way, and I can fondle his balls. When in the car,

I kneel over him while he’s sitting, and this way he can use one

finger on my clitoris, and another finger up my anus. I adore

the feeling I get when his finger is in my asshole. I come the

best this way. We use every possible word, while fucking. I

love to hear him say what he’s doing, and really letting the

words flow. However, we never use these words any other

time. I also enjoy a good sound spanking on my bare bottom

before making love. (He can’t stand me spanking him, though.)

It feels great when he puts a lotion on my fiery bottom after-

ward.

We both enjoy the sixty-nine position, with me on top. This

way he can also use his hand. I can’t come when he’s not using

a finger on my clitoris. Often, he’ll go down on me before we

make love; I usually come while he’s doing this.

Now, for fantasies. I guess mine are basic, not too unusual. I

often daydream of having sex with another woman, but I never

think of this while we’re fucking. I’d really like to try it with a

girl, but truthfully, I don’t know anyone I could do it with. By

the way, none of my girl friends, except one, know that John

and I fuck. If the opportunity ever arose, I’d definitely try it.

(And I’d never tell John.)

39

I’d also like to pretend that John was a doctor, and he’d have

to give me an enema. I can see him wearing the kind of white

gauze mask that doctors wear and leaning over me. I am on a

special gynecological table, with my feet in the stirrups, but

because he is going to carefully examine my anus before giving

rime an enema, I am lying facedown, so I am all spread open

for him, my cunt and my anus. First, he pokes his finger in my

asshole and tries to look in. But he can’t see enough. So he

takes out a kind of surgical pliers and warms the cold metal in

a bowl of warm water. Then he inserts the pliers in my anus,

and when they are in good and deep, he slowly opens them so

he can have a good look in. For some reason of anatomy I don’t

understand, he has to put his fingers in my vagina while he is

examining my asshole. Perhaps this helps open it up more.

Then when he has it figured out, he says to me, “Well, I will

have to give you an enema. That will fix you up.” But instead

of having me sit on a toilet, he puts me in a kind of swing, so

that I am supported under the shoulders, and from the knees

down, but my bottom is hanging naked down below. John

brings in an enormous enema bottle and hangs it up high over

my head. “This will really fix you up,” he says, and begins to

insert the rubber pipe into me. He is down below the canvas

swing, so I can’t really see him, but he’s shoving in inches and

feet of rubber piping, really shoving it in. And then as he turns

on the warm water, he leans over to kiss me. As he does so, he

puts his fingers on my clitoris and lovingly plays with it. I can

feel the water gently running up through me; John is holding

my cunt lips tenderly in his hands and telling me I’ll be all

right soon. The feeling is very peaceful, but even as I write this,

I can feel myself almost beginning to come.

That fantasy may seem a bit gross, but I’d really like it to

happen. (Wherever could I get stirrups and the canvas swing

and such?) I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough nerve to ask

John to do this, but maybe if I get drunk enough … I’m sure he

would agree – he never refused to try anything. I’d also like to

shave all my pubic hair off, but he is repulsed by the idea.

We also masturbate together (I seldom do it alone), and

we’ve seen each other pee. It’s most romantic in the dark deep

woods!

40

I hope I’ve helped you in some way. Please hurry and pub-

lish your next book. I can hardly wait to read it.

Maybe, I’ll invite you to our wedding! Remember – SEX IS

BEAUTIFUL!

P.S. He also loves to suck on my large tits. He can’t wait till

I’m pregnant.

P.P.S. I also get turned on by hard porno. (He doesn’t.)

In all the fantasies that follow in this chapter, the writers

themselves describe their fantasies as growing out of childhood

experiences – or else their early beginnings are evident in the

emotions they express. I always feel grateful to women like Ivy

and Sophie who write to confirm the value of sexual fantasies

in their lives; just as their own therapists have told them that

sexual fantasies do not mean they are freaks, so have several

other psychoanalysts written to me of the usefulness to human

health and happiness of sexual fantasy. As part of their thera-

peutic approach, these doctors have begun to encourage their

more inhibited patients to invent their own fantasies, often

beginning by having them read My Secret Garden first.

I especially appreciate the generosity of Dr. Harrison’s letter,

not just toward me but clearly toward all his women patients.

The fact that he would also enclose his own fantasy makes him

even more dimensional to me, not just a doctor but a man too.

We may not all be able to afford, or want, psychotherapy, but

the experiences these women have shared with us – acknowl-

edging how difficult it was for them to accept and enjoy the

guilt-ridden early sexual pleasures of childhood – can help us

all. You were sexual as a child; the thrills and sensations you

felt then are still with you. You may have felt guilty about it

when you were six or ten, but you are grown-up now and can

understand how unnecessary this guilt is. More important, you

can put those early sexual experiences and emotions to work

for you. When we were children, many of us were made to

memorize a passage from the Bible: “When I was a child, I

spake as a child … . When I became a man, I put away child-

ish things.” I submit that this is not entirely correct. We may

41

put away childish words and games, but our earliest sexuality

is the foundation on which our sexual maturity grows. These

women recognize this. Maybe you can learn from them.

Ivy

I’ve just finished reading My Secret Garden. For me, it was

one of many approaches I am currently taking to work through

numerous sexual hang-ups. Mostly it helps by confirming my

therapist’s statements that my fantasies and sexual desires are

normal, shared by many others.

I am thirty-one, married nine years, two children, returned to

graduate school a year ago. Both my husband and I are in ther-

apy; hopefully this counseling, plus attending a clinic for sex-

ual disfunctions will enable us to remain married. But if not, I

think we will both be at the point that we can survive divorce,

and come through the whole experience with some positive

gains.

Fantasy 1: My therapist (who is female) has arranged for

me to be sexually counseled by a male friend, also a therapist. I

meet regularly with him, once a week, in his apartment. He is

very perceptive and sensitive; in the beginning, we only talk.

He is very slow to introduce sexual activities. The second time

I am there, he merely has me lie fully clothed next to him. It’s

as though he always sensed at what point the fears I have re-

garding sex negate the excitement, and always takes me on one

step beyond where I think it’s okay, but one step short of what

would scare me away. This is my sweetest, gentlest fantasy,

and I haven’t yet gotten us to the point of actually making love,

and orgasm (which I am only able to achieve while masturbat-

ing in real life).

Fantasy 2: (This is wild.) The beginning part of this bor-

rows and adapts part of a science-fiction novel I once read.

There is some group of people who have instituted a colony of

“superpeople” … beautiful, strong, intelligent, etc. (Naturally,

they want me. Such egotism.) Anyway, they get their popula-

tion by kidnapping desirable persons.

42

I’m kidnapped, and awaken in a sparsely furnished bed-

room. For the next two weeks, someone comes each day and

takes me for different types of tests – a thorough physical

which I really enjoy, especially the rectal examination for can-

cer (I never had this, but someone once described it to me), I.Q.

tests, physical stamina tests, tests for pain threshold, sexual

desire thresholds (i.e., they studied my physiological responses

to sexual stimulus à la Masters and Johnson). What is turning

me on, aside from the discreet experiences of pain, sexual

stimuli, etc., is the feeling of someone or something knowing

all of me in such intimate detail.

In the meantime, they are also carrying on at this place so-

cial-psychology-type experiments. After a few days of testing, I

return to the room and see drapes parted so that I can see a

man in a similarly furnished adjacent room – apparently he

can’t see me. Later (on a different day), we see one another and

try to talk through the glass; all we are able to communicate is

that neither of us understand where we are or what’s going on.

Finally, usually the day I endure the pain threshold experi-

ments, I return quite shaken to the room, and see that now

there is a doorway in the wall, and I cross over to his room,

where he comforts me and holds me. Sometimes we screw,

sometimes not, but it is always a gentle act.

Sometime later, he returns from a similar experience, and I

comfort him. The sexual turn-on for me lies in the various tests

performed, but this man is still an essential part of the fantasy;

it occurs to me that maybe he is the safe place I can return to

when sexual feelings have become too strong and, therefore,

frightening to me (it is the loss of control I fear).

I have a couple of other remarks:

1: I think for me it’s true that certain fantasies stem from

childhood. I can remember having feelings reading the parts of

Tom Sawyer where the schoolmaster switched children. I was

raised a very strict Catholic and would never allow my “sex-

ual” thoughts in my head. But thoughts of spankings and pain,

which turned me on, didn’t fall into that category, because I

was too young to recognize those pleasurable feelings as sex-

ual, or at least sensual. Likewise, a movie scene in which a

43

group of rough men were ordering a woman in a bar to undress

of they’d kill her male friend (knife at his throat) turned me on

at almost age twelve, and my rape-type fantasies have this

theme. The force is never raw strength, but psychological

domination, threat of what they might do to someone else who

is there (a male friend of mine) if I don’t go along.

2: I would like to believe that the domination desire stems

from the freedom from guilt which that situation provides. I

very much identified with the woman in your book who said

that the domination thing grew as her involvement in women’s

lib grew … the same thing happened to me, and it seemed like

such a contradiction: the more liberated I felt in my day-to-day

life, the more I fell back on and needed my domination fanta-

sies during sex. Perhaps women’s lib helped me to believe in

my right to sexual feelings and experiences, but it’s too difficult

to forget all that guilt at once … so domination lets me have

the pleasure without the guilt.

3: I liked the distinction you suggested between pain for

pain’s sake and pain as an instrument of domination. As you

noted of other people, real pain turns me off; in fact, torture

scenes in movies, etc., have made me upset to the point of nau-

sea. I can’t stand to hear people screaming, etc. But the thought

of my bare ass being spanked as a preliminary to sex really

turns me on, especially as the means by which a male forces

me to suck him (which I have ambivalent feelings about, but

am really turned off at the thought of doing it till he comes …

something I’ve never done).

4: I found that fantasies of faceless people and unknown en-

vironments never made me feel guilty. But thinking of some-

one else I know while screwing with my husband still does,

possibly because our marriage is not all that secure right now.

However, I don’t feel as cheap and shitty as I used to, having

read in your book how many women do think of other men.

Thanks. I don’t have the nerve to sign this with my real

name. If any of the comments are helpful to you, let them be

my way of contributing something in return for what I gained

reading My Secret Garden.

44

Bonnie

Thank you for the first book. I couldn’t believe how turned

on I could get. by reading, and ever since, I use your book to

arouse myself before masturbating. Sure, I’ve got fantasies, lots

of them! I’m twenty-one, lost my virginity at nineteen to some-

one who fell in love with me, have had sex with maybe seven

or eight guys, no serious relationships, and over one hundred

forty “dates” and casual affairs. I discuss sex and fantasies

with my Mom and turned her on to your book (as well as

EVERY woman I know). I love sex, anytime, anywhere, and

am in the beginning of a beautiful relationship with an incredi-

ble guy who is a fabulous lover and who is very open about

everything.

The one fantasy which started when I was about ten, has be-

come a well-developed, detailed, and (excruciatingly) arousing

little plot that I embellish whenever I want to. However, the

theme is always domination, and I always get spanked. One

important detail is that the guy is smoking cigarettes – I guess

this adds to his macho appearance. I only go out with very

sensitive men who are in the creative field, but they’ve all been

fairly dominating (but in a gentle, considerate way). I won’t

take shit from any guy and refuse to be told what to do. How-

ever, enough autobiography, here it is:

I am reading a book in his bed, wearing a fly-front skirt,

button-down shirt, and only underpants. He comes in wearing

jeans, a denim shirt, open very low down, and with a fitted

leather jacket (collar up, of course). He comes over to the bed,

sits down next to me, and tells me to put the book away. I re-

fuse. He puts out his cigarette and takes the book out of my

hand. Everything is done slowly, especially the stamping out of

his many cigarettes, which elongates the fantasy and arouses

me even more. I play innocent and do nothing except yawn or

consistently refuse. He lights up another cigarette and makes a

telephone call to his agent (he’s an illustrator), and while on the

phone unbuttons my shirt and takes it off. He rolls me over on

my stomach and very slowly lifts up my skirt and pulls down

my underpants and leaves me like that while he leaves the

45

room to get a number for his agent. (As he puts the phone

down, he whispers, “If you move, I feel sorry for you, and you

can forget about sitting down for tonight.”) When he comes

back, I have sat up, pulled up my underwear, and pulled down

my skirt. He hangs up and makes me stand in front of him

while he sits at the edge of the bed and takes off my skirt. As I

stand in front of him in just my underpants, he makes another

phone call. While on the phone, he grabs me and puts me over

his knee (by this time I probably have come about twenty

times) and slowly pulls down my underpants. After the call, he

spanks me very hard, but I refuse to cry. Then he fingers me

while he makes another call, which lasts for maybe twenty

minutes. After that one, he spanks me again, always in be-

tween each slap saying what a spoiled brat I am and how I’ve

had this coming to me for a long time He continues until I cry.

Then he tells me to lay down and wait for him. He goes into

the kitchen and comes back with rope and ties me up. He takes

off his leather jacket, and rolls up his sleeves (this turns me on

even more) and teases me for a long time (I love to be teased),

then he unties me, and we make love all night, but he NEVER

apologizes.

My thighs are locked together as I write this, and I’m trying

to figure out how to get my boyfriend to do it He has spanked

me, but not long enough and not slowly; he also said he would

act out my fantasies.

Hope this has helped, although I don’t see how it could, it’s

too typical! Thanks again.

P.S. I’m an art student.

Sophie

Just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed your book,

My Secret Garden. I am twenty-five, single, and have had nu-

merous lovers, all male. I have a master’s degree in French and

am a teacher by profession.

I have been fantasizing sexually since I was about five or

six, when I began to masturbate. I was always ashamed of my

fantasies – they were my private secret – up until about two or

46

three years ago, when I underwent therapy with a psychiatrist.

He practically had to drag these fantasies out of me – I didn’t

feel comfortable enough to tell him about them until I had been

in therapy for close to two years. When I finally did tell him, I

felt great relief that he accepted them and didn’t recoil in horror

and disgust when he heard them. Since that time, I have be-

come much more relaxed about masturbating itself, enjoying it

much more than before (now I can honestly admit that it is

pleasurable), and I now also realize that sexual fantasies aren’t

dirty and disgusting, that indeed practically all women have

them. I still masturbate regularly and enjoy that sort of

“naughty” or even “dirty” feeling that used to repulse me. I

also like to feel naughty and dirty when I’m screwing.

I realize that if I had not undergone therapy, I might never

have discovered how pleasant and natural such fantasies can

be, and that guilt feelings are not a necessary psychological

“payment” for such pleasurable, but forbidden, thoughts. I

hope that by reading your book, other women will draw the

same conclusions about their fantasies, without the aid of a

psychiatrist.

Thank you for your outstanding contribution to the liberation

of the female sexual psyche.

I think I may attach some of my own fantasies to this letter.

You may use them as you wish.

P.S. I read your book while at work (I’m doing temporary

secretarial work during the summer) and beat off three times

yesterday during the day, right at my desk!! Once I almost got

caught, and it was ever so exciting!!

Fantasy 1: This one’s an oldtimer – I used to use it exclu-

sively, but now I usually use variations on the same theme, two

of which also follow.

I am walking in the woods, enjoying the green scenery (I’ll

bet the shrink would say this is like walking through pubic

hair), when all of a sudden I fall through a hole in the ground

into a sort of laboratory. Inside the laboratory are lots of men in

white coats (I guess they’re doctors or something). I am un-

dressed, weighed, and then put on some sort of cart which

47

wheels me around to the various departments in the laboratory.

First, I am examined and proclaimed healthy (internally, that

is), and then the doctors determine that I am orgasmic and

suitable for experimentation. The last stop is a big room with a

kind of observation balcony. There are lots of men up there

watching me, all extremely interested in so lovely a specimen

as myself. The head doctor, or whatever he is, comes on the

loudspeaker and announces that the gentlemen will soon wit-

ness a female orgasm. Then a large man comes in – he’s usu-

ally very strong-looking, and although he’s not physically dirty,

he is perspiring and has a gleam in his eye that tells me he’s

going to do a job on me. This man has been trained by the lab,

so that he knows precisely how to drive a woman into crazed

ecstasy. I am strapped onto a table, my legs wide apart. The

big man approaches me, explores me with his finger, smiles

wickedly, nods in approval to the head doctor and the men

observing the scene, then comes down on me, flicking my clit

with his tongue. The whole time this is going on, the doctor is

giving a blow-by-blow account of how I’m feeling and how

turned on I’m getting over the loudspeaker. He tells the men

that I’m getting very close to coming. Finally, the big man

sucking my cunt can’t stand it anymore himself, and so he

drops his trousers, revealing a large, erect dick, and he fucks

me for all he’s worth, while at the same time flicking my clit

with his finger, until I come, come, come, all over the fucking

table.

Fantasy 2: This one has the same setting (sometimes I skip

the beginning part and just find myself in the large room I de-

scribed above). Now the men who were observing before are

taking turns trying to turn me on, all this happening under the

head doctor’s watchful and approving eye. Each man tries his

own special technique for exciting me, and the all-knowing

doctor can tell who does the best job on me. The men try hard,

because they know what the prize of doing the best job is – me

(who else?). At some point, the doctor tells one of the men he

has won me. This man then wheels the table I’m strapped to

into another room, where he uses his technique to bring me to

explosive orgasm by sucking, feeling, and fucking me.

48

Fantasy 3: Again the same background, except that now I’ve

been at this laboratory for some time and know what to expect.

I have come to enjoy this experimentation so much that, this

time, the doctor announces over the loudspeaker, I have begged

him to let someone work me over again. Same scene, same

ending, except that this time I asked for it.

I just want to add that these are all fantasies that I use while

masturbating. I don’t normally fantasize too much while fuck-

ing, except that if someone’s eating me out, I’ll usually use one

of these old standbys. I love to be fucked from behind while

having my clit manipulated, either by me or my partner, and

lots of times I can’t come unless someone’s playing with my

clit. At any rate, I have my best orgasms when someone’s fuck-

ing me and playing with my clit at the same time.

Dr. John Harrison

As you can see by the letterhead above (which I must ask

you not to reprint, for obvious reasons), I am a psychoanalyst.

This letter is to tell you that your book, My Secret Garden, is

already having highly beneficial spinoffs in my therapeutic

practice. For example, a young mother says, “I can’t reveal my

sexual fantasies to you directly, but if you will look on page xx

in Nancy Friday’s book, you will read one that is something

like mine!” As you might guess, by the conclusion of therapy, I

hope she will be able to talk to me directly about all her sexual

fantasies in complete detail. That would denote self-

acceptance, maturity, responsibility, and a giant step toward a

more fulfilling life.

Your book provides a most welcome generalizing example

that encourages people to come to terms with themselves and

perhaps seek some of the excitement of which they dream. It is

known, for example, that people with true psychosomatic ill-

nesses, such as ulcers, hypertension, etc., are sadly lacking in

the capacity to fantasize. If they can learn to fantasize, their

nervous stress, strain, anxiety, and frustration may be given an

outlet in that manner, and not have to be expressed as destruc-

tive forces within their own poor bodies.

49

One other comment: many neurotics are entirely uncon-

scious of their most important sexual fantasies. Psychoanalysis

helps them make these conscious and acceptable. Most people

are genuinely unaware of what really excites them, but from

your “catalog” (if I may use such a shorthand term), they can

find one very similar to their own previously unrecognized

fantasies. In psychoanalysis, we find again and again that this

basic fantasy had once been known and treasured, but then

repressed out of shame, etc. I would compare your book to a

jukebox with old, forgotten favorite tunes which, when played,

bring back all the feelings of yesteryear.

Please continue with your good work. I know it must be

pleasurable; I hope it is profitable. Now that you know that in

the experience of at least one psychoanalyst, it is therapeutic as

well, you must feel you have found the best of all occupations.

Your photo on the dust jacket does invite me to tell you a

sexual fantasy of my own. You have an intimate, sexual, and

candid look about you. Perhaps your appearance invites people

to be candid with you in return. To tell such a fantasy is a mild

sexual experience in itself – but you asked for it.

It is this: On any given day in my office, when a woman

comes in with a brief miniskirt and no panties, she is rewarded

with a gentle, moist, caressing of her cunt with my tongue. It

would be important for her to sense that this would happen

only if she gave a sign of acquiescence by the way she dressed

and sat.

Freud talked about the sexual fantasies that patients had

about their doctors, and went on to posit and discuss the coun-

ter-transference this developed in their therapists. Which is a

stuffy, polysyllabic word for what amounts to a little cunt-

licking in my case.

I am sure you understand why I request that while you let

the fact that I am a psychoanalyst stand, I ask that you assign

me a fictitious name.

50

Deedee

I’m writing this because I think I may be a lesbian – I’m not

sure. I think it all started when I was six or seven years old. My

playmate and I used to take off all our clothes. Then I would

climb on top of her (I’m very aggressive), open her pussy lips,

and grind the hell out of her. Then I met her older sister, Tish.

One day, Tish was alone in the house, and asked me to come

over. She had on a nightgown, but with nothing underneath.

She raised the gown and told me to rub her pussy. I did it, and

in my fantasies even today, I am often still seven years old. I

like to remember how I opened her lips and tickled her clitoris.

Even as I write this, I can imagine how she looked when she

reached climax. The reason I think I may be a lesbian is that

she didn’t tell me to open her pussy lips and tickle her. I did

this all on my own.

When I became eight years old, I gave up my playmate for a

boyfriend named Teddy. Teddy and I used to go down into the

basement and take off all our clothes and fuck all day. (I know

that isn’t the way it could have been, but that’s how it seems in

my memories.) But he soon told his pals, and they joined us.

One day, seven boys pulled a train on me. I didn’t tell my mom

or dad, because I enjoyed it so much. But I think that incident

is what made me dislike boys and want to go back to women.

When I say “Go back to women,” I mean, thinking about

them, fantasizing about them. I often find myself wanting to

have an affair with a woman rather than a man. As I’ve said

earlier, I am very aggressive. When I go out with a nice man, I

find myself being bossy. I like to make up fantasies about girls

with blonde hair and blue eyes. (I am black.) In my fantasies, I

always see myself going up to them on the street and proposi-

tioning them. But in real life, I never do. I also want to rape my

best friend. I think I’m waiting for the right moment. She does-

n’t know the real me. I’ve never told her how I feel about her,

and the part she plays in my fantasies. Perhaps I will grow out

of this phase. Maybe I don’t know very much about life since

I’m only seventeen, and want to shock my parents. Am I really

mixed up, or is this a super, superfantasy?

51

P.S. To show you what thinking can do, even though I have

not described my fantasies in any complete way, I have been

thinking about them while writing this, and my cunt is drip-

ping wet!

Loretta

The idea of “innocence” being initiated into sexual pleasure

and orgasm is something I love to use in fantasies, my favorite

having to do with a “religious” experience. (Oddly enough, I

had no religious upbringing, and no religious experiences of

any kind.)

In the fantasy, I am a young girl who has been raised with-

out any sexual knowledge. My family are churchgoers; I am

meant to be pure and virginal. When I reach the right age (late

puberty), my parents take me to church for some special reli-

gious instruction from the “priest.” He takes me alone into the

room for initiates. There are candles burning around a cush-

ioned table that is covered with purple velvet. The priest wears

long robes. He is a man in his thirties or forties, with a quality

of masculine virility, despite presumed celibacy. He has a deep

voice. He explains that I am now to undergo a very holy condi-

tion – the supreme ecstasy of God’s greatest power. I will ex-

perience extraordinary sensations, quite beyond anything I’ve

ever known, but I must freely open my will, and my body, to

the Holy Spirit. I must allow myself to react without fear to

whatever frenzied state the Holy Spirit ordains when it takes

possession of me. And I must be in the pure state of complete

nudity. “Don’t be embarrassed now; this is a holy thing that is

about to happen to you….” He helps me remove my clothing

and instructs me to lie down on the cushioned table so that he

may prepare both my soul and body. While I lie naked on the

table, he anoints my breasts, belly, thighs, with perfumed oil,

and intones prayers and chants. “Let this young woman be

filled with the Holy Spirit. Enter her body and soul and encom-

pass her in the greatest ecstasy. Fulfill her in joyous holi-

ness….” His touch is pleasant, strangely provocative, and mys-

terious. His voice is hypnotic. I lie in an entranced stupor. He

52

waves a scepter over me. It is made of gold, with a rounded,

bulblike tip. “Let the holy scepter find the entrance to her soul

through her body…” he murmurs. He lays the round gold top

on my throat, my shoulders…. Every place he touches produces

a magic tingling – probing my breasts, nipples, stroking my

belly. It moves toward my loins. Cool metal stroking between

my labia. The sensation produces a soft moan from me, an

uncontrolled lift of my torso. “Ah,” says the priest. “This must

be where we will find the magic orifice … the pathway of the

Holy Spirit.” He opens my body with the metal scepter. It

slides into me, filling an orifice of my body that I never knew I

had until now…. “Yes, it is here!” he cries. “Do you feel it …

the beginnings of your experience of ecstasy? Is the Holy Spirit

beginning to work in you?”

“Yes … yes. I think so…’

“You must give in to it, my dear. You must give in com-

pletely to whatever feelings the holy spirit creates as it takes

possession of you…. You will give in?”

I nod, and groan. The scepter slides in and out; as it slides

in, it fills me with unexplainable excitement. My body moves

in reaction, out of my control.

“Do you think it is coming? Do you feel the Holy Spirit,

coming to you?”

“Yes … yes!”

“Let it come … however it wishes….”

The priest is doing something unexpected, but I am too

overcome to be concerned at the moment. The table has a drop

leaf at the end, which he lowers so that he can move himself up

closer to me, between my legs. With a quick movement, he

opens the lower front of his robes, and brings out another scep-

ter. As the metal scepter pulls out of me, he pushes the other

one in, leaning over me, his face contorted with ecstasy, too, it

would seem. Perhaps we are both meant to be fulfilled with the

Holy Spirit together. He presses his other magic scepter deep

inside me. It feels smooth and warm, and extraordinarily tanta-

lizing. “Is it coming?” he cries.

“Yes … something is happening to me!”

“Let it come! Do what it wants you to do!”

53

It is making my body writhe and undulate. My orifice swal-

lows and squeezes his scepter with a sensation that is driving

me into a wild, delicious frenzy. Never have I felt anything like

this…. The Holy Spirit is about to overcome me. I can feel it!

He acknowledges my groans and thrashings with, “Yes … yes!

That is it! Here it comes! It is here!”

(Amen and hallelujah! You bet your sweet scepter, your ho-

liness … you have made it come, and it has come to you, too,

you devil you…. )

I return to the priest and the room of initiation time and

time again. I receive more instruction and more experience in

the ways of being entered and fulfilled by the Holy Spirit. I am

a devout young woman…. With the candles burning and the

scepter sliding into me, I experience, time and time again, the

greatest of all religious ecstasies. The priest and my parents

rejoice in my religious gifts. Sometimes the priest shows me

paintings of the saints having religious experiences – naked

bodies in the midst of ecstasy – arched backs, contorted faces. I

may wonder how these physical experiences can actually relate

to the soul. Secretly, I begin to doubt the authenticity of the

priest and the validity of this “church.” I think he is a bit of a

fraud. Even the most innocent have some concept of sexuality.

But I never let on; never mention my suspicions. I am having

far too much fun to give it up; and everyone (except perhaps

the priest himself) believes me a thoroughly pure, devout, in-

nocent, and religious young woman…. We pretend, and fool

each other, and continue to have glorious orgasms on the pur-

ple table.

Sharon

Having read your book, I decided to write to you and tell you

my fantasies.

First, let me tell you a little about myself. I am a thirty-five-

year-old virgin (also Virgo!) and relatively happy under the

circumstances.

My divorced mother and twice-divorced grandmother live

with me – my mother is sixty-four (today!); and my grand-

54

mother, who cannot walk, is eighty-six. Both are in poor

health, and I don’t expect them to live long.

My mother hates sex, and her attitude caused her twenty-

year marriage to come to an end when I was ten years old. I

was “word blind,” but overcame this and finally graduated

from the University of Ohio.

Presently, I work in a library where through reading have

“liberated” my own attitude toward sex. Actually, I realized

how sick my mother’s attitude was long ago.

As a child, I enjoyed sex-play with several boys who lived

close by me, and recovered from my guilt while studying Freud

in high school.

I am a Methodist and a Republican, and I do believe more

and more in the new morality.

I attend church for social reasons, but disregard the Pauline

letters and believe in the occult sciences (I love to cast horo-

scopes!).

Starting with my present fantasies – I found in my student

teaching that I was VERY attracted to young boys. One of

them, a bisexual, used to come to my house (before my grand-

mother’s illness) while my mother worked. We spent the day in

bed “necking.” I gave him photos of nude people from Playboy

on which I glued male sex organs – aimed at the females. I got

these pictures from Sexology magazine.

We would look at the photos – he was seventeen and I was

twenty-eight – and become aroused. We would kiss and

breathe. Then he would masturbate under the covers or go to

the bathroom. Finally, he would leave – go to the bus station

and “make it” with a boy. We played this game day after day.

Our pleasure was to hold out. He wouldn’t even bring a rubber

so I would be afraid to “let him” in case he would get me preg-

nant. He and I both loved to know how much we wanted each

other – but neither would give over to the passion.

Many times when I was breathing hard, he would lie on me

and watch me struggle to not give in. Sometimes, I was on him

watching his face while he tried to get his hands to his penis in

order to jerk off.

55

Finally, we both got tired of our game and just drifted apart

with No hard feelings.

I believe we BOTH enjoyed being wanted by another and

JUST leaving it that way.

My fantasies stem from this experience.

Fantasy 1: We do live together, as my “family” have all

died. He discovers I need more sex, and I want it from boys in

their early teens and inexperienced. He loves money so he

gathers heterosexual boys once a week to come to “our” house

(they pay him).

I am now completely nude with my legs wide and far apart –

there are about six boys partly dressed (pants on) standing

around the bed.

George (my lover and former student) helps a boy about

twelve “mount” me.

I can feel his young penis move into me – then he starts to

move faster and faster. The room is silent.

One at a time, these boys “learn to be men” using my body.

But only until George enters me do I have a climax.

Fantasy 2: A short fantasy – I set up a movie camera, and

we have home movies of ourselves having intercourse.

Fantasy 3: I bathe George in the tub and then rub him down

with powder and oils. We then have intercourse.

Fantasy 4: George has a date with a young girl – she won’t

let him sleep with her – he comes home to my front door – it is

dark and his penis (very large) is out of his pants – we make

love on the sofa in the living room. He never leaves me again.

Fantasy 5: We decide to have a child, so I hire a real good

prostitute to live with us to take care of his sex drive. After he

has had intercourse with her, he comes to bed with me, and I

examine him to see if he is relaxed and soft. Then we go to

sleep.

Fantasy 6: Sometimes he has to have a boy for sexual re-

lease, so I give him money to go to the bus station to get what

he wants.

Fantasy 7: Most of my fantasies are just having relations

with him.

56

Fantasy 8: Sometimes I think it would be fun to go to the

basement of the library and have oral sex with him – while

everyone is having a coffee break in the next room.

Fantasy 9: Sometimes I dream (awake) of having oral sex (I

don’t care for it performed on myself) with him lying on his

back. I watch his face as he feels great pleasure.

Whenever I am interested in someone or date them, I have

fantasies about them – I do NOT masturbate with my fantasies

– (much) maybe twice a year! I always wonder about the size

of a man’s penis – almost EVERY man I meet. Yet I have

NEVER seen a man’s penis except in photos (to me they are

beautiful!).

My fantasies take place normally in the morning!

Sometimes at night (I usually go right to sleep!) and many

times at the library.

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 rela-

tions.

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.

57

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 descrip-

tion 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 insert-

ing 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 bi-

sexual. 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 par-

ticular, 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 fol-

lowing 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 actu-

ally 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 bet-

ter. Then he showed me how to “bring him off.” How delight-

ful that first experience was, and I doubt it will ever be forgot-

ten.

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 fam-

ily, and the children of both families got on well.

60

In fact, they were the favorite playmates of my brother, sis-

ter, 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 encoun-

ters 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 an-

other.

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 sepa-

rated 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 willing-

ness 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 hus-

band 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 mas-

turbating 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 en-

counter, 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 an-

other? 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.

62

Joyce

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

When I saw your address in the back of the book and the re-

quest for comments, I felt compelled to write. I’m now a col-

lege grad, age twenty-two, and was first turned on to the won-

der 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 con-

sidered 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 beau-

tiful 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.

63

So to all of you out there – Get Fucked (and have a Ball do-

ing it!).

P.S. I think that what makes all my sexual activity so enjoy-

able 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 marvel-

ous, instead of being the frightening thing my parents wanted

me to feel.

64

CHAPTER TWO

ADOLESCENCE

With the advent of menstruation, childhood ends, adoles-

cence 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 pres-

sures 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.

It is at this age that we begin to fall in love – over and over

again. While this is obviously an expression of our growing

sexual maturation, it is also an expression of our search for

identity: one of the great wonders of first love is how each new

man seems to help us find a new person within ourselves.

For this reason, I think it is unfortunate that contemporary

mores demand that love be certified by sex. It may not really be

what the young girl wants yet. Sex itself can become one more

force pushing her ahead too far, too fast, in a direction she is

not yet sure she wants to take. “I love you,” she wants to say to

him, but is afraid: it may be the final signal he needs to open

the door to the bedroom. Put up or shut up. She may or may

not want sex right now, but what, she does want, desperately,

is for him to speak. She wants him to say he loves her too so

that she can ask him to describe this woman he loves. Who is

she? What is so wonderful about her? Is she really me? She has

a sense of unreality about herself; she needs to find herself

reflected in someone else’s affectionate eye, shaped and formed

65

there into an image of herself she can see and understand. She

has been looking into mirrors too long. “Tell me the kind of

girls you like,” we ask the young men we know. Tell me how

to be. A little shiver runs through me every time I hear that

request in a young woman’s voice, no matter what the actual

words are. It is the ontological question, a search for a base

upon which to build our being. We look to each other for clues,

but it is a question we all must answer in our own time, in our

own way. What makes “plastic people” not ring true is that

they have not listened within for an answer; they have built

their conforming, counterfeit selves out of the meretricious junk

that society has handed them. Dr. R. D. Laing ( The Divided

Self) finds this question at the very heart of schizophrenia – or

perhaps, the lack of an answer to it. The job of creating our

authentic identity is one of the great tasks of adolescence.

It is why teenagers spend so much of their emotional energy

and time in talk: it is all work toward definition. In their end-

less speculations about eternity, truth, beauty, good, and evil –

just as in their giggly bits of gossip – they are uncovering lay-

ers of personality, assaying for the gold of their true selves.

One of the most hopeful developments of our time, I feel, is

that young women no longer listen only to young men for clues

of who they are. We ask that question today of other women

too, each one of us strengthening every other in our determina-

tion to define our sex for ourselves – and not merely in terms of

what it is supposed men want. The Great Male Buyer’s Market

is over; we will no longer sell ourselves out.

Fantasies that arise out of the crises of adolescence are char-

acterized by trying on different personalities, testing various

likes and dislikes, rehearsing our sexuality for events that are

yet to come. Sis proudly tells us in her letter that she is an A-

student in school. But immediately she feels she must fight the

goody-goody definition this seems to bestow upon her by tell-

ing us she has “a very strong sex drive and wants to make

love.” Does she? Or is this merely one of the okay things girls

of her age feel they must say? (Just as their mothers, a genera-

tion earlier, felt they had to say the opposite.) When the oppor-

tunity for sex is actually presented to Sis by a boy she knows

66

well and who promises to be “very gentle” with her, she liter-

ally jumps up in alarm and cries, “I won’t!”

I am very sympathetic to young women like Sis. Despite all

their brave talk, something deep within them knows they aren’t

ready for sex. Sis doesn’t know why this is true. She is not rein-

forced by her peers – everyone around her seems to take sex for

granted. She is alone with only her feelings to guide her – but

they are enough. She doesn’t have to know why she is not yet

ready for sex; she only has to be in touch with her feelings: her

body informs her mind, and her answer is no. I applaud her for

going along with her gut reaction, particularly so because it is a

self-determined response at odds with what seem to be the

accepted slogans and ideas of her friends. Our lifelong struggle

is to teach our reason and emotions to move in tandem on the

same tides. Just as I believe every woman has the right to say

yes if she feels like it – and is willing to take the responsibility

for her actions – so has she the perfect right to refuse, if the

mysterious ebb and flow of desire is not yet upon her.

In the fantasies that Sis sends us, we see that she is getting

ready for the truly sexual time she knows lies ahead. But that

time is not yet.

For Beth Anne, too, fantasies are exciting strategies for get-

ting used to an idea about which she is still ambivalent. She

tells us she is a virgin, and too shy to buy My Secret Garden at

the bookshop where she works, even though she could get it

there at a discount. In her fantasies, we see her other side: she

is a woman who would like to have sex with “a customer, a

stranger in the street, someone I don’t know too well.” And

then she adds a sentence that reminds us how much she is like

Sis. “Boy,” writes Beth Anne, “when it does happen, I’ll be

really ready after all these rehearsals in my head.”

Penelope’s letter shows us another exploration of sexual

identity through fantasy. The child of intelligent, permissive

parents, she felt free enough with her mother to ask to be

taught how to masturbate, after reading Masters and Johnson

brought the idea to mind. In her letter, we see that she has

grown into the kind of young woman we would expect from

67

such a family: she is sexually knowing, sophisticated, one who

feels free and secure enough to ask men out herself “occasion-

ally,” instead of always waiting passively to be asked. But in

her fantasies, she explores a totally opposite identity, “the

woman I can’t let myself be (dumb, naive, unaware of my

sexuality) … .”

Even if we had parents like Penelope’s, something in us still

wants to establish ourselves as people in our own right by re-

belling against them. But when the parents are decent, reason-

able, and intelligent people, rebellion itself becomes unreason-

able; their very permissiveness is frustrating, giving us no firm

base to push off against. But our negative emotions want to be

expressed anyway. In fantasies like Penelope’s, the problem is

solved. She is the woman she “can’t let myself be.” That is, she

is the dumb broad that her parents’ training has made it impos-

sible for her to be. She has circumvented them in her imagina-

tion: rebellion at last.

Sis

I am young (fifteen) and a virgin. I have met many boys I

like, but have never had sexual relations with any as far as

making out. I think the reason for this is I am very shy, and I

worry that boys are going to tell my friends what we do. I am

an A-student in school and popular, and I don’t want to spoil

that, but I have a very strong drive and want to make love.

The latest turn down I made was while visiting some friends

that live a long distance from my house (we have known them

since they were small). One of their brothers’ friends was my

age and came over to see us. The brother’s friend has a swim-

ming pool, and they go there often. He invited us to go swim-

ming that afternoon. So we did. When we were fixing to leave,

they said they left a towel at the pool and for me to run and get

it. The boy my age was there and no one else, while getting the

towel. He said he liked me and to ask my friends that I was

staying with to let me stay awhile to swim some more. They

said yes. We swam awhile, and then we got out to get some-

68

thing to eat. His mother was on a trip, and he was staying by

himself.

As we walked through the door, he put his arms around me

from behind and began kissing my neck; I turned and kissed

him and we made out on the sofa about fifteen minutes, but he

was not satisfied. He escorted me upstairs to his bedroom and

pulled off his swimming trunks while I was laying on the bed.

I jumped and said, “I won’t,” and he said that he knew how I

felt and would be very gentle with me. He said that all he

wanted to do was show how much he liked me and only

wanted to explore my body with his fingers and mouth and for

me to do the same to him, that he didn’t want to fuck unless I

wanted to. I ran out of the room and called my friends to come

and get me.

I often fantasize what would have happened if I hadn’t run

out. Here is the best one:

After long persuasion, I would not let him touch me. He

says, “What if we go to the pool, get in up to our neck, then

you take off your swimming suit, and I feel you, that way I

won’t be able to see you … .” I say okay.

We get in up to our neck, and he unfastens my top and slips

it off, the same with the bottoms. He kisses me once and then

slips his hand between my legs. He watches the expression on

my face as he does. He clutches one of my breasts. He then

separates the lips of my pussy and rubs his finger back and

forth over my clitoris, stimulating me out of control. Then he

takes his cock and slips it in between the lips rubbing it

quickly as with his finger. I can’t stand it any longer and beg

him to suck me; still in the water, he lifts me up onto a raft

with my legs hanging over in the water and my pussy at the

edge, he sucks me vigorously and then slides his tongue as far

as possible in my vagina. I then change places with him, this

time he is on the raft. I take his cock in my mouth and suck

hard. THE END.

When I was little, my cousin, a male, lived beside me. One

day, he said he would check me himself so I wouldn’t have to

go to the doctor. I agreed because I hated to go to the doctor.

He took off my clothes and did everything possible he could.

He opened the lips of my pussy and felt, sucked, and licked

69

them, then he made me do the same to him. He put an ice cube

between my pussy, which drove me crazy. Then I told him I

had to use the bathroom, so he stood me up, placed his mouth

over my pussy, and I used the bathroom in his mouth. This

delighted me more than ever. We did this many times up until I

was eight. The first time he did it, I was four and he was seven.

Now the way I meet my sexual urges is to vibrate myself. I

lay on the bed, pants off, vibrator between my legs for two to

three minutes, and I stimulate myself to orgasm. It’s a wonder-

ful feeling; I think when I get up the courage to let a man do it,

I will love it.

Beth Anne

Hello. I was already in bed (alone) and almost asleep when I

got this urge to write to you!

I have just finished My Secret Garden, and I would like you

to know that the book was one of the most informative and

interesting ones I’ve ever read, and believe me, I read a lot.

I work in a bookstore here in Philadelphia. Your book ar-

rived last week. Our manager, who was very staunchly and

religiously brought up, was on vacation, so we all took turns

leafing through the book. Our assistant manager (who inciden-

tally is homosexual) told me the book was filthy. I’m seven-

teen; he’s thirty-three. I picked the book up occasionally, half-

way on the sly for a few, days, and then last week, I bought it

from a “rival” store, because I was too embarrassed to ask if it

could be “stripped,” or to write up the sale in the employee

discount tablet.

What follows now is a conversation that took place between

myself and the other salesperson, Tina, who is twenty-three,

married, no kiddies. It took place when we were sort of slow

and didn’t have anything better to do than stand around and

B.S.

Tina: Have we sold any M.S.G. yet?

Me: Yeah, a few, considering we just put them out.

Tina: Hmmm….

70

Me: I bought a copy today downtown, ‘cause I was a little

nervous about buying it here.

Tina: Really? I’d love to read it when you’re through. I said

it was filthy because Jim [Asst. Mgr.] was there; and I figured

he might get upset if I showed an interest…. I was also afraid

Mary [Mgr.] might walk in, and I’d REALLY be embarrassed.

So you see, it’s something that just about every woman is in-

terested in, although it’s probably considered more socially

acceptable not to be.

The sexual fantasies I have now occur usually at night when

it’s quiet, and I have time to elaborate without being inter-

rupted. I’m still a virgin, although I’m not so sure I want to be

one that much longer. Just reading your book and thinking

about the guy I’m in love with have made me think twice about

resisting his advances. He’s twenty-five, and really supernice,

although I’m not sure if he’ll be around much longer, and I’d

kind of like my first sexual encounter to be with someone I

truly love.

The funny thing is, when I’m dating someone I really care

for, I never fantasize about them. It seems rather unfair to fan-

tasize about them when I don’t even know if they could live up

to my fantasies in real life. I think I’d like to be surprised.

Usually, my thoughts center around a man I find fantastic-

ally attractive and very nice, i.e., a customer, a stranger on the

street, someone I don’t know too well. I can imagine him doing

all sorts of things to me, all the things I’ve ever read about.

And I can respond to him wholeheartedly, because there’s no

problem about what will happen afterward (he’ll probably go

away and just leave me totally satisfied). But, of course, what I

really want is that these fantasies happen with a man I love.

Boy, when it does happen, I’ll be really ready after all these

rehearsals in my head! When I meet that man, I can be drunk,

stoned, angry, or happy, and so can he but as long as we love

each other it will be all right. I suppose this is all because I am

a basically insecure person and need to be assured of my attrac-

tiveness frequently.

All luck in your next book. We need it! Take care. Peace.

71

Penelope

At the end of your book, My Secret Garden, you ask for

suggestions, comments, or more fantasies. I’d like to share

some of my garden with you.

My earliest memory is when I was probably ten, or eleven.

A friend and I had somehow discovered that her family’s elec-

tric toothbrush when placed on a certain area, caused mysteri-

ous sensations. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I remem-

ber always taking the device off me when the extreme tense-

ness began. I never continued to what I know now as an or-

gasm.

Aside from the few weeks my friend and I escaped into the

bathroom, I remember nothing sexual until I was fifteen. I was

attempting to read Masters and Johnson’s Human Sexual Re-

sponse and asked my mother how to masturbate. She told me,

and ever since then, I’ve enjoyed myself almost every night.

That was seven years ago.

My early fantasies often started with me dancing around the

bedroom, performing for a hidden audience of aroused men.

Once in a while, a few were allowed to participate, and I’d rub

my breasts against the cold mirror and manipulate my clitoris

and eventually get back to the bed to come and collapse. Some-

times, especially when I first began masturbating, I’d time the

“session” and see how quickly I could come.

Up until just a few months ago, I always stimulated my

clitoris only. I never enjoyed simulating intercourse, because

until recently, I never enjoyed it in reality. Even now my clito-

ris is the focus of my masturbating.

My present fantasies are very varied. ( My Secret Garden

helped me expand my nightly choices!) Sometimes the woman

is aggressive, but mostly she is what I refer to as “the dumb

broad.” She is busty and naive. She wears low-cut tops, but is

unaware of the lustful glances she gets. Usually, she is conned

into drinking more than she should or smoking some powerful

pot. She bends over and more boob comes out or a strap slips

down, and the man continues to move in, slyly. Eventually,

things get too hot for her to want to stop him. I never see my

72

face in these fantasies. I either make up unknown people or use

scenes from movies and the stars from those scenes. When the

fantasy begins, the woman is not thinking SEX. The man is.

And what first begins me getting high, my climb toward or-

gasm, is seeing the woman’s chest; I am the man at this point

in the fantasy. During the man’s approach, I am both feeling

the sensations of the woman’s body and, also getting excited as

the man because of the progress toward and anticipation of

getting this woman. When the actual fucking is about to begin,

I and solely the woman, raising my hips, desperately anxious

for that cock to enter and satisfy me.

You spoke often in your book of how fantasies are often ex-

pressions of what one would like to experience in reality. In

analyzing my fantasies, I found it really interesting that the

woman I can’t let myself be (dumb, naive, unaware of my

sexuality) is exactly the woman who dominates my daydreams.

In reality, I am never passive. I ask men out occasionally. make

love when I want to (if the opportunity is present), and present

myself as a whole person rather than a game-playing female. In

some ways, I hate the fact that I get most excited when fanta-

sizing the “dumb broad” role. I’m hoping someday to be close

enough with a man to feel free and act out some of these fanta-

sies. I’d like to see if they get me more excited, quicker than I

actually get in reality. I’m usually too conscious and aware to

let go and enjoy myself. Actually, in three years of fucking (not

regularly all that time), I have come a few times from oral sex

and once during intercourse, only when my clitoris was stimu-

lated at the same time. I’ve rarely fantasized when with a man.

(I plan to start though.) I always come when I masturbate.

I’d also just like to support your comments regarding the

sharing of fantasies. Because of my family’s openness, I never

felt strange or bad or guilty about my fantasies or masturbat-

ing, But I’ve talked to many friends who had never shared their

experiences of masturbation or fantasies. And what a great

experience to be talking to a friend about fantasies and find

that we use the exact same scene from a book!

I thank you for your first book and hope your next is suc-

cessful. Please feel free to use any of what I’ve written. I’ve

enjoyed sharing it with you, and if there’s anything else I might

73

be able to write about to give you more material, please send

me a note, and I’ll get something to you. I enjoy thinking about

sex and talking about myself.

Good luck.

During the turmoil of our adolescent years, we try to find

our own identity and often over-identify with pop heroes or

movie stars. We become rabid Mick Jagger fans, we collect

photos of David Bowie, we join fan clubs for this or that televi-

sion idol. This is a particularly feminine attempt at the solution

of the problem of identity: young boys do not have our capacity

for loving identification, and so there are no female equivalents

to – let’s say – David Cassidy. This was true of our mothers

too: there never was a female Frank Sinatra. Collecting photo-

graphs, concert programs, and LP records, we lose ourselves in

being in love with someone whom everyone else loves too. For

the moment, we find our identity by losing it; if nobody else

screamed at a Sly concert, we would not scream ourselves. We

do not want to be uniquely in love with him; it is our joy to

submerge ourselves and our flickering sense of identity in that

powerful mass that adores him, but whose sheer numbers give

us power over him: he must please us.

In our fantasies, we go one step farther: the beloved idol,

whose fate and fortune are made of enormous numbers, sees

only one: us. Errol Flynn picks out

Katherine to dance with, among all the other beauties at the

ball. Elvis “picks me out of the whole crowd to come to his

hotel room,” writes eighteen-year-old Jenny (who is a virgin),

“and I end up going off to live with him … .” The star picks us

out to love; he seats us beside him at his table, takes only us to

his bed. Not only must we exist, but we must be beautiful,

exciting, lovable over all other women. In these fantasies, the

star gives us part of his magic and charisma. He shares the

plentitude of love he gets from his fans with us. We grow rich

on other women’s envy; we are excited in ourselves by his

fame. He is the sun, and we are the moon, shining beautifully

in his reflected light.

74

All of which is enough – plenty – when we are in our teens.

When we are women, these fantasies come to an end. We want

to be seen in our own light.

Jenny

I enjoyed your book, My Secret Garden. It’s for, by, and

about the female sex, and we need more books like that. I must

admit that I was shocked at first by some of the fantasies –

mine are never that explicit or far out. But perhaps they will

become more so as I grow older. They’ve given me some great

ideas, and I must admit that the pieces on animals fascinated

me.

I am eighteen years old, and a virgin. Perhaps this is why

my fantasies are so “mild” compared to the ones told in your

first book. I fantasize going to a Hollywood party, and there

meeting someone like Roddy McDowall or Gene Kelly (older

men really turn me on). They immediately fall for me, and end

up marrying me, or living together.

Sometimes I fantasize that I am at an Elvis concert, and he

picks me out of the whole crowd to come up to his hotel room,

and I end up going off to live with him at his home in Grace-

land.

Another fantasy I have concerns Mr. Spock from “Star

Trek.” He is very unemotional and calm, but I could be the one

to arouse him, and we’d end up making love, in a very digni-

fied manner, however.

I also have the “classic” fantasies – being a kidnapped

maiden, tied up in scanty rags, and just as the evil henchmen

are about to attack me, the hero comes and whisks me off, but I

assist him in fighting off the bad guys, with karate, etc …. No

“weak damsel” for me!

I never plan on marrying, that’s not the life for me – I want

to be someone, go places, and see things. But I am also a

Catholic, and that puts pressure on my moral beliefs. I would

like to feel free to go to bed with anyone I like, but my religion

forbids this. I don’t want to be forever damned, but I don’t wish

to become a hermit, either. It’s a bad scene.

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Once again, thank you for the work you are doing. I hope it

serves to show women that they’re not alone in their dreams,

and to encourage them to fantasize more. I truly believe that no

man can ever have as great fantasies as we women have!

Veevee

I have read and reread your book, My Secret Garden, about

a hundred times now, and I would like to make a contribution.

Before I start, I want to tell you, that book is the greatest. What

a relief when I learned that other girls fantasize too.

Now, about me. My name is Veevee. I am eighteen, I want

to be a rock singer-costume designer, and I am very horny. I

lost my virginity only last year to my boyfriend, who I am still

dating. We have sex regularly, every weekend, even during my

period. It’s kind of messy, but he likes it, because he doesn’t

have to use a safe.

The men in my fantasies are neither black nor white, but

Oriental. I find them extremely sexy, and I simply cannot warm

up to any other kind of man (I’m not Oriental, though, myself).

I detest hairy chests and faces … pale hair, eyes, and skin are

too milky to be erotic. I adore slim bodies, smooth golden skin,

and cute asses, and Orientals have it all. Japanese are my fa-

vorites, and my boyfriend is a Japanese. I have also slept with

a delicious Korean boy whom I met in another city recently. I

haven’t had a chance to lay out a Chinese yet, but I’m working

on it.

The star of my fantasies is in fact a star, a Japanese rock

singer superstar. He is incredibly gorgeous, with a mane of

dark hair, great big black eyes, a complexion that a girl would

envy, and a sensuous mouth just right for long deep kisses.

And, wow, what a body! Not skinny at all, but smooth and

well-muscled. I have some pictures of him wearing only shorts

and track shoes, and I don’t know how many times I have mas-

turbated while looking at these photos. Anyway, I can fantasize

him onstage, wearing a white leather outfit, with high boots

and gloves, all studded with rhinestones. The pants and vest

are really tight, and the vest is low cut. He is sleeveless, and

76

his golden skin is gleaming with sweat under the lights. His

hair is wild, and his eyes are flashing as he writhes and gyrates

to the heavy throb of the music. Thousands of girls are scream-

ing around him, but I watch him triumphantly, knowing that I

am the woman who will possess that beautiful body, straining

against the leather. Of all the women in the audience, only I

can close my eyes acid remember the exact shape of his cock –

something no one else in the audience has ever seen, except

tantalizingly when the excitement of his singing makes his

erection show to the audience of screaming women through his

tight trousers. Now he is taking his final bows, and I move off,

out of the crowd, to grab a taxi to his apartment. As I walk

through the crowd, nobody turns to look at me. They are all

straining for a glimpse of him, but I have the secret power of

knowing that if only they knew where I was going, and who I

was soon going to be with, they would be clutching after me

too.

Once in his apartment, I relax on his huge double bed.

It has satin sheets and a canopy with embroidered quilts. I

sip a drink, until I hear the door open. He strides in and regards

me for a moment through narrowed eyes. I can see that all that

heavy music and dancing has had its effect, and I quiver with

anticipation. I can feel the moisture begin between my legs.

Without bothering to take anything off, he seizes me in his

arms and kisses me firmly and urgently, meanwhile stripping

off my clothes. My panties get snagged, and there is a satisfy-

ing sound of tearing, as he rips the cloth off my hips.

Now he removes his gloves and begins to caress my body,

his golden hands moving from my breasts down to my belly, to

my cunt (which I keep clean-shaven). He stands right in front

of me, one arm around my neck, pulling me closer to him, the

other hand down between my legs, his middle finger inside me,

stirring up the juices as his tongue inside my mouth licks mine.

I can hear myself sigh as I take a step with one foot to open my

legs wider for him to put in two fingers.

His kisses become more insistent as they now begin to fall

on my naked flesh lower and lower down, down, down, and his

tongue in my hot cunt is just too much, and I heave and writhe

in the most wonderful climax I have ever had – the cunt juices

77

just flowing out of me and making a river down the crack of

my ass.

This drives him wild, and he leaps on me and drives his

long hard cock in so deep I moan with ecstasy. He is still wear-

ing the leather vest, and I can see him thrusting and my legs

wrapped around his ass in a mirror. He sees that I like looking

at us in the mirror, and with a strong lunge of his cock, while

he is still inside me, he pushes my ass around so that now we

are parallel to the mirror, and I can actually see his long cock

sliding in and out. I put my hand around it, as if to make my

cunt longer and more firmly gripping. It excites him even more

to be held by my hand and my cunt at the same time, and just

as I slip my hand between his legs and shove a finger in his

asshole, he shrieks as if he’s being murdered, and he comes!

He is thoroughly exhausted by now, and I roll him on his

back and gently undress him. I go to the washroom and clean

myself up and fetch a cool towel to wipe him off with. I rub

him with the towel on his back and chest, while he lies there

watching me through half-closed eyes and smiling. Then I

massage his legs and back, and he sighs contentedly. I crawl

back into bed with him, and we snuggle together and go to

sleep in each other’s arms.

This is one fantasy which I hope to make come true, but I

don’t know …. I intend to go to Japan this year. We’ll see then.

I get a real thrill out of pampering a guy and being pampered

by him too. I like to be dominated somewhat. Because I am a

big girl, I do most of the dominating in real life, but I’d like to

take the passive role – in sex, anyway,

It was also great to find out other girls like to look at guys

too. I enjoy supertight hiphugging pants with button flies on a

guy with a pert, round ass and tapered thighs. I also like the

curve between the shoulder and hip to be well-defined, and

shirts to be unbuttoned at the neck. Tight high-waisted pants

are great. I find boots very sexy, while shoes for some reason

really make me cream my jeans. When my boyfriend wears his

white shoes, it takes all my willpower not to take him then and

there. White boots are superdynamite! I met a Chinese singer

in a rock group who wore them, along with a tight jumpsuit

78

unzipped almost to his navel. Zowie! I would have given my

eyeteeth for just one round between the sheets with him.

Well, enough of what makes me horny. I hope you can use

my fantasy. I know it is nothing fantastic, but when I am feel-

ing low or nonsexy, all I have to do is imagine it, and I feel full

of zip again. It is especially good to imagine it on nights when

I am with my real boyfriend – it brings me to orgasm in ten

seconds flat.

Katherine

My fantasies are nearly always about public figures – movie

stars, baseball players, etc. I am twenty-two, pretty, single, in

love twice, both times disasters, now cautious about men.

I have one fantasy wherein I am a fifteen-year-old girl

named Marjorie, and Christopher Lee (the English actor) is my

godfather. He is visiting my parents, and I somehow spirit him

into the wooded area of our estate. I tell him I have a surprise

for him, and he should turn his back to me. Soon I tell him to

turn around, and he sees I am standing nude, smiling mischie-

vously at him. He tries to think of a gentle let-down, but I

throw myself at him, and he takes me there, in the middle of

the woods.

Another fantasy is one where I seduce Basil Rathbone as

Sherlock Holmes at 22B Baker St. In it, I am his twenty-year-

old niece. Dr. Watson (Nigel Bruce) is amazed his aloof pal

Holmes finally fell for someone.

I have another fantasy in which I am dancing at a ball; all

the women are in flowing gowns and everyone is waltzing. My

gown is so low-cut that my partner can look down and see my

rosy nipples. Since it is Victorian times, I am a real virginal

prude. My partner (let’s call him Errol Flynn) takes me to a

dark stairway outside the ballroom and pulls the top of my

dress down. I object feebly as he massages my breasts. I get so

aroused I can’t fight it, and he lifts my long dress up and puts

his fingers into me. The fear of being seen by the other guests

adds to the excitement.

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I have fantasies wherein a man fingers me under the table-

cloth in a crowded restaurant.

Another one is that I am really drunk, too drunk to know

what’s going on, and I’m parked in a car with, oh, let’s say

Robert Taylor. He lays me across the front seat, lifts my dress,

and pulls my panties down. Then he puts an empty wine bottle,

thin neck first, of course, into me and moves it in and out really

fast. I writhe in drunken ecstasy!

Well, those are a few of my most popular ones. I just LOVE

those public figures! I often wonder how I’d react if I ever met

one in the flesh; oh, I know some are already dead, but Chris-

topher Lee, David Carradine (“Kung Fu”), Leonard Nimoy and

William Shatner (“Star Trek”), and many of the N.Y. Mets,

Nets, Jets, and Sets are still around. Sigh! I wonder what their

wives fantasize about – or if they have to fantasize at all!

Muffie

I know the will sound stupid, ‘cause I’m not a silly teenage

groupie, but rock singer Cat Stevens turns me on something

fierce. I once stayed up until 3 A.M. watching a concert of his

on television and masturbating myself senseless.

I fantasize that he and I are on a deserted beach laughing

and running, naked. I trip and fall, and he rushes over to see if

I’m all right. His hand on my naked back makes me burn, and

with a moan, I roll over and pull him onto me, holding him

gently, kissing his face and his eyes, his lips, and then burying

my head in the soft hollow of his shoulder.

His caresses are gentle, like a thought, and his eyes are lov-

ing. Then without speaking, my legs open, and he enters me,

pushing his cock against me easily, as if asking permission.

Then we are fucking, and it seems like we are one with the

sand, the sea, and the moon. When we finally come, it’s grace-

ful, unhurried. We fall asleep still entwined; when I awaken at

dawn, he’s gone, and I find a beautiful seashell in my hand,

and it seems to be smiling at me.

I have really enjoyed being able to put the private me into

words, so thank you. I am trying to get my friends to write you,

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but most are wrapped up in their garden clubs and dinners.

Telling a fantasy to me and writing to you are worlds apart.

Maybe one day they can be really free.

God bless you, Nancy. I’m glad someone cares enough to

undertake understanding the whole woman.

Carina

I read your book and enjoyed it very much. Thank you for

bringing out into the open that women think about sex more

than some people realize. Here is a fantasy of mine for your

new book.

First off, my name is Carina. I’m eighteen and live with my

mother and two young brothers. My fantasy always takes place

in the shower when I stand in a certain was so that the water

hits me in the right spot of desire. In the fantasy, I’m washing

in the shower and don’t hear the doorbell ring. James Caan, the

movie star, is at the door, and he walks right in (because he

finds the door is accidentally unlocked). He’s there because he’s

met a friend of mine who told him all about me. Well, he

comes (I mean he pokes his head through the shower curtain)

right into the shower, shedding his clothes and says: “Your

friend was right. You are as marvelous as she said you were!”

We make love while the water trickles over, around, and under

our bodies. By this time, I have an orgasm and the fantasy

ends.

I hope it is one that you can use.

Though June is nineteen and married, she fantasizes

about a girl friend she has known since she was thirteen. “In

real life, as far as we got was to hold and kiss each other,” she

writes in lament about the children’s sexual games they used to

play in early adolescence. It seemed so easy then, so comfort-

ing to our loneliness, to see our friends as our other selves. We

clung to each other for reassurance in young fear and bewil-

derment of our burgeoning sexuality. In exploring our friend’s

body, we explored our own.

81

This element of narcissistic identification seems clear in

June’s fantasy: she does not see her friend as a rival in the tri-

angle she wants to set up with her own husband; she is not

“the other woman” – she is an accomplice. Her fantasy re-

minds us of those days when doing anything was much more

fun when we shared it with a girl friend … those early days

when the true excitement of a date was not so much when we

were with him but when we could describe it afterward to our

friends.

One important point remains to be made about fantasies like

June’s: it is as common for women to have sexual fantasies

about other women as it is rare for men to have fantasies about

other men. The bugaboo of homosexual fear does not haunt our

sex the way it does the other, but this does not mean that every

woman who has a sexual fantasy about another woman is a

lesbian. (The phrase “latent lesbian” has no meaning. We are

all “latent” – it is imaginable for any human being to do some-

thing sexual with any other human being in the right time and

circumstances.)

Some women who have fantasies about other women de-

scribe themselves as lesbians. Many women who have similar

fantasies do not. You know yourself better than I do. Having a

fantasy in your mind is a very far cry from meaning you have

done something in actuality … or that you “really” want to do

it. June has sexual fantasies about other women, but does not

for one moment mention the idea that she might be a homosex-

ual. Tina writes about her attraction to Barbara in terms that

may well mean that in time she will enter a homosexual rela-

tionship. Scattered throughout this book are fantasies by other

women who have erotic reveries about sex with other females

… some letters are from women who have put this idea into

practice. None of these sexual paths is better than any other,

none is right or wrong. All that matters is how your sex life

makes you feel. If you feel whole and happy, released and vital,

it is nobody’s business how you reach that goal. Some of the

women concerned call themselves lesbians, others do not.

What you call yourself is your business too.

82

In general, it can be said that sexual fantasies of other

women can usually be traced back to feelings and emotions of

babyhood, when our mother was our first love object. In time,

as we grew up, we made the crossover to men – starting with

father, who we took to be our first model for all men. But some

leftover emotion about mother, some unconscious image of

how she smelled, touched us, and gave us our first idea of love,

is often still buried somewhere within us, just as there is a little

bit of the child left over in every adult.

June

I have just finished reading your book. I have really enjoyed

it, and am glad someone has finally written about women’s

fantasies.

I have a few, but this is my favorite. This fantasy is always

about a girl friend I’ve known since I was thirteen years old.

I’ve always wanted to make it with her. In real life, as far as

we got was to hold and kiss each other. I have had women

make love to me, but it’s always turned me off. I know that (I’ll

call her Sue) Sue would be the only one that could turn me on.

I am nineteen years old and am married. I have told my hus-

band before about my fantasy, but after I read your book, I got

really excited and decided to really describe to him my fantasy

and how I’d like him to be making it with the both of us. It

really turned him on. We had the best time in bed than we’ve

had in a long time.

We both hope someday our fantasy will come true. I think

then I would be the happiest. We live far from her now, but

plan on moving back soon.

Well, thank you for the book you’ve written. I’m looking for-

ward to your next book. I hope this can help you in some way.

83

Tina

I am thirty-seven years old and have been with my husband

for fifteen years, the last ten of which I have known Barbara.

My husband is sexually okay, but not passionate – his value as

a husband is based on other qualities. My strongest emotional

need has been to be able to be open, to share all my thoughts

and feelings (including sexual fantasies). I have done this not

with my husband but with Barbara. She has also shared more

deeply with me than with anyone else until recently, when

someone new entered her life.

I have had sexual fantasies about her and other women for

as long as I can remember having sexual feelings at all. The

reason I am writing to you now is because of “the change” in

me – none of the fantasies in your book seem to cover that part

of me.

As time has gone by, the outward sexuality between Barb

and me has grown from no touching at all to spontaneous

kisses and embraces and back rubs that take me close to or-

gasm. (I think the next time I will ask if she minds for me to

masturbate in her presence. I will have to think about this for a

while since we live in separate cities, and our direct contact is

only once or twice a year.)

Until last year, Barbara said that she wasn’t sexually at-

tracted to women. Now she is living in a lesbian relationship.

You can imagine the mixture of joy for her and pain I felt for

myself when that happened. Until the beginning of that rela-

tionship, my fantasies about women had always been about

Barbara. I would imagine her saying “Yes, I do have sexual

feelings for you,” and going down on me, hugging, kissing,

etc. Once I imagined Barb walking in while I was masturbat-

ing and sitting down beside me and holding my left hand. Last

winter, I visited with her and her lover and had the deepest

back rub yet. The whole time she was much more open and

affectionate than ever before, but still clear that I wasn’t to be

her bedmate. The next night, we three women did pot together

(my first time). Eventually, they went to the bedroom, and I lay

down on the couch. I felt like I was with them, part of their sex.

84

And then suddenly switching from explicit masturbatory im-

ages, I was talking to Barb, sharing with her words of love and

deep feelings, some of it even admissions of jealousy. But even

though what I was telling her was not all positive feelings, I

could sense Barb’s understanding and love. Her nonsexual but

deep love for me wanting me to feel good and enhancing my

sexual intensity. Since then I have often incorporated this sense

of feeling close with a woman, feeling her love with my mas-

turbation. I told Barbara the next day, and she felt it was a

beautiful thing. I shared all the feelings too that I had verbal-

ized in the fantasy when I had imagined the two of them mak-

ing love in the other room, and she understood all of that too. I

suppose you might not call this a sexual fantasy, but it turns

me on deepest of all when I masturbate to imagine how deeply

a woman (Barb) understands me, accepts and loves me. Some-

times I try to incorporate this feeling into my time with my

husband (but I do feel guilty thinking of someone else when I

am with him). I have since last winter slept with three women.

One of them touched my deepest feelings along with my body.

I fantasize about her both ways at once – the feelings that we

share, plus the memories of our sex. Love and sex together can

be a very powerful stimulant.

I see myself as bisexual, by the way, and have been working

within my religious denomination to spread understanding of

homosexuality and bisexuality. I initiated a consideration of

these issues in Barb’s state last summer, before it was an active

concern to her. This summer, she stood where I had stood with

the others and carried it through, while I stayed in my own

territory. I am more than pleased by the feelings of togetherness

and sisterhood I get from these activities.

I told one of my lovers about this kind of fantasy, and she

tried it and really liked it. I hope I have explained it well

enough so that you understand. It’s the strength of emotional

intensity and general closeness that heightens sexual feelings.

Also, one of my explicit fantasies wasn’t mentioned until now.

I’ll say it quickly before I lose my nerve. I am drinking breast

milk and eventually floating in it, and as I approach climax, I

feel myself drowning.

85

Toby’s first fantasy, like most in this chapter, stems from

a time in her life when she was not yet ready for sex. She was

fifteen, she writes, when she began to fantasize about the man

who lived next door. He was “about forty-five, with sexy gray

hair (sophisticated-looking).”

Ah, these sophisticated-looking, gray-haired older devils!

How often they populate the erotic reveries of women young

enough to be their daughters. The ambiguous mystery they

bring with them, of having slept in many beds, surrounds them

with an almost mystic, golden haze of romance. Sexual but

fatherly at the same time, the older man promises to guide us

safely into our sexual life, initiating us with his great skill,

forgiving us in his wisdom by joining us in the forbidden act.

Toby

I’m eighteen, white, single, and reasonably sexually liber-

ated, surrounded by people who frown upon sex. Right now,

I’m having an affair with a guy called Lou, who is twenty-six.

His divorce comes through in about one month. He’s really

fantastic!

My first fantasy was of a man who lived next door to us. At

our summer cottage. I was fifteen at the time. He’s about forty-

five, with sexy gray hair (sophisticated-looking).

My parents have one cottage while I have my own.

At about one in the morning, a knock would come at the

door and V., the man next door, who had kids older than I,

would come in and immediately we’d be locked in a mad em-

brace. He was the best married man around.

Whispering gentle words, we’d fall on the bed and make

love. He’s gentle and I get horny thinking about him. We’ll

screw and talk until five A.M., when he returns home and

leaves me with memories.

Another fantasy I have is having a huge dog (German shep-

herd) make love to me (doggie-style, of course). I would be

held down, and the dog would be forced to sniff between my

86

legs and lick me out. Then he’d put his hard, moist penis inside

me, and we’d rock on to heaven.

Just the thought of his big nose probing between my legs

excites me.

Nothing really excites me as the thought of making love to

two men. Both of whom are familiar to me.

One to perform cunnilingus on me while the other (after the

first) can screw me.

While on a train, Lou and I made love on the seats of our

car. It was dark, at night, so no one really saw us (I hope). The

seats across from me were vacant, but there were people ahead

and behind me. We played with each other until that crucial

moment came. He pulled down his pants and put a blanket

over him. I had on a dress with no pants, so I just hopped on

his knee, and when he put his huge prick inside me, along with

the movement of the train, it was heaven. It was good! I experi-

enced my first real orgasm with him.

We fucked for about two hours, all the way to Boston, where

we had an engagement to play the next day.

I’ll often fantasize that again he’s home, and I can screw

him again and again and again.

Everytime I see a guy in tight pants … look out! I could just

grab him and wow!!

You seem like a fantastic lady, and I hope we could meet

sometime.

Penny

When I first became aware of my sexual fantasies, I was in

my early teens. They used to threaten me sometimes, particu-

larly the ones involving other women. I have not gotten to the

point even today where I can, or want to discuss them with my

husband, even though my best friend and I swap fantasies. Our

latest mutual fantasy is telling our men that we’re going to

Memphis for a weekend shopping spree, but actually going

there to get fucked. As you can see, I have come a long way

with my fantasies, and can now enjoy them. In fact, I don’t like

to read My Secret Garden while I’m at work, because it gets

87

me too turned on, and that’s not a state I want to be in at the

office.

One of my favorite fantasies when I was a kid was walking

along the superhighway near the school I went to. The people

weren’t in cars – I would imagine them moving together in

small clumps or groups, but walking. As I moved into the left

lane to pass a slow-moving family, I had to turn sideways. I

passed close by a man with a hard-on. I smiled and said mm-

mm-mm … as in mm-mm-good. He took my arm and tried to

get me to go with him. I smiled sheepishly and answered that I

really couldn’t, because I was too young and inexperienced. He

tried to convince me again, and I said, why not. We got out at

the next exit. I had no pants on. We were sitting near the

school. Someone (I think the hard-on man) was twiddling my

clit. It felt good. Then I was in a room. I decided I had to get

out. So I sheepishly asked him if I could please have my pants

back. He gave them to me, and I hurriedly left the room. There

was snow on the ground; then the man was after me. All of a

sudden, I saw a train arriving. I yelled out, “Thank God for the

Southern Pacific!”

That was the end of that particular one. One of the first fan-

tasies I can remember in my whole life was a man lying down.

I opened his zipper – I thrust my hand inside his pants, but into

pitch blackness. At that time, I had never seen a cock.

A couple of years ago, when I went through the phase I de-

scribed of having fantasies about’ other women, my sexual

images were very exotic. I would imagine myself grabbing

Miss America’s tit, watching a pregnant lady undress. Many

times, I have had dreams about being bare-chested in public, in

which I usually tried to cover myself. Recently, I had celebrity

week. One night, I was part of the M.A.S.H. unit, and Alan

Alda was after me. The next night, Frank Langella ( Diary of a

Mad Housewife, Twelve Chairs) was fucking me and said,

“The only problem is that I have a small dick. So you will have

to flex your muscle.” I remember in my dream feeling my va-

gina tighten and loosen, tighten and loosen.

If you like, I can ask the friend I swap fantasies with to send

you hers. I hope I have been of some help.

88

Cecillia

I love you, I love you, I love you!!!!

Your book was sensational and quite a turn on at times – a

turn off at others, but always devilishly good fun. I’d love very

much to submit a fantasy or two of my own. I’m seventeen, and

have fantasized (in one form or another) as long as I can re-

member.

My favorite (current favorite, that is) concerns this boy I

went out with several times (but unfortunately never slept

with). This was while I was still a virgin – but should I run

into him again, am sure I could get things to happen!! The fan-

tasy starts that we’re in his bedroom, alone together, and I walk

over to him and just start to kiss him quite passionately while I

unzip his fly. I take his huge throbbing cock into my hands and

start caressing, fondling it, etc. He slips his trembling hands up

my sweater and starts to massage my breasts. He has to unzip

my fly and slips his hand right on my dripping pussy and sticks

a few fingers up my cunt.

We both undress each other (I stop while pulling off his

pants to fellate him). He lays me on his bed, props my legs up

and open, and his full red lips unite with my red cunt and

Zowie! I pull his head into me, and that tongue of his licks the

hell out of me. We have intercourse and both end up quite sat-

isfied.

My next one concerns a girl friend of mine. I decide to sleep

over her house, so we smoke some grass and are feeling rather

free with one another. We decide to take a shower together,

and that’s when the fun begins. We offer to wash one another’s

backs and naturally that’s not all we wash of one another. We

get into her bedroom and first I towel her off, then she does me;

she has me sit on the edge of her bed so that she can dry my

feet and legs. She starts feeling my thighs and starts to kiss and

lick them. She opens my legs wide and starts to lick, suck, and

kiss my cunt. She works her way all over me, and we end up

69ing it all night.

I’ve told my lover these, and he enjoys them also.

89

I too am an avid crotch- and fanny-watcher. I always enjoy

visually undressing men and imagining screwing with them.

Can’t wait for your next book. Much love to you.

Isabel

I just finished reading your book called My Secret Garden,

and I liked it very much. I especially liked it because it made

me feel better about myself. I think about sex a lot, and I fanta-

size about sex so much that I was beginning to think that I was

perverted. It makes me feel better to know that other women

fantasize about sex just as I do. I am going to be a sophomore

in college this next school year, but I am home for the summer

right now. I want to tell you about my fantasies, but I must

keep this letter anonymous, because I live in a very small town,

and I do not want anyone here to find out about me. As I said, I

have a lot of sexual fantasies, and I would like to tell you about

some of them. Although I have sexual fantasies almost any-

time, I have my most developed sexual fantasies when I mas-

turbate. I think I masturbate more than most girls. Almost

every night before I go to sleep, I masturbate, and I often mas-

turbate at other times during the day when I am aroused and

can be alone for a while. Masturbation is the only kind of sex-

ual activity I have ever had. Although people say I have a

pretty face, I am overweight. Being overweight makes it diffi-

cult for me to get dates with boys, so I have had only a few

dates with boys in my whole life. To be honest, I am a little

afraid of boys. I am afraid I might be frigid if I ever did have

sex with a boy. That’s enough about me though. I had better

tell you about my fantasies.

I think I am the female equivalent of a “peeping Tom.” In

my sexual fantasies, I almost always imagine myself secretly

watching other persons engaged in sexual activities. One of my

favorites is to imagine an attractive boy undressing while I am

secretly watching him. I have never seen a boy undressed, so I

am not sure if what I imagine is completely accurate. I am

aroused by the thought of seeing a boy’s sexual organs, but the

thought of actually touching them kind of scares me. They kind

90

of attract and repulse me at the same time. When I have this

fantasy, I also like to imagine this boy masturbating himself

after he undresses. I am not sure how boys really do masturbate

themselves, but in my fantasies they do it several ways. My

favorite right now is to imagine a boy lying facedown on ,his

bed and moving his hips up and down so that his penis rubs

against the sheets. I like to imagine that when he ejaculates he

calls out my name as though he has been fantasizing about me.

Another of my fantasies is to imagine a couple having sex

while I secretly watch. The couples are usually persons I know

personally; when one of my girl friends gets married, I like to

lie in my bed on her wedding night and try to imagine what she

and her new husband may be doing. I imagine that I am there

secretly watching when she sees her husband undress for the

first time and when she undresses while her husband watches.

The thought of undressing in front of a boy scares me, but it

arouses me too. After fantasizing about one of my girl friends

and her new husband undressing, I imagine that I am secretly

watching them when they have sex for the first time. Unless I

know otherwise for sure, I imagine that she is a virgin. Her

husband’s penis is very large, and she cries out with pain when

he pushes it into her for the first time. It hurts so much that she

starts crying, but in a few minutes, it starts to feel good to her.

This, too, is a part of sex that scares me, but also arouses me.

Besides newlyweds, I fantasize about other couples I know

too, both married and unmarried. I think about what they

probably do when they have sex. I like to try and imagine all

the things they might do when they are having sex together. In

my mind, I try to picture them having sex. One of my favorite

things is to imagine them having oral sex. Mostly, I try to pic-

ture whatever girl I am fantasizing about sucking on her part-

ner’s penis. The idea of doing that to a boy repulses me, and yet

it fascinates me too. I sometimes imagine that he ejaculates in

her mouth and that she swallows it. Thinking about that

arouses me very much, but I do not think that I would ever

really do that myself. I also like to picture in my mind couples

masturbating each other, and I get very aroused when I try to

picture the boy sucking on the girl’s nipples.

91

Most of my sexual fantasies are of the types I have already

described, but I do have a few other kinds of sexual fantasies

sometimes. Almost everytime I see a good-looking boy, I try to

imagine what he looks like with his clothes off. When I do this,

I kind of play a game.

I try to guess the size and shape of his sexual organs, al-

though having never seen a boy with his clothes off, I am not

too sure what his sexual organs ought to look like. Once I saw

a boy whose pants were bulging as though his penis were

erect, and it arouses me when I think about how he looked. I

really wish that there were a magazine for women that showed

photographs of good-looking men with all their clothes off.

Another fantasy that I have had a few times concerns two girls

I know at college. They have an apartment together, and I

found out from some of my friends that they are lesbians.

Sometimes when I masturbate, I try to imagine that I am se-

cretly watching when these two girls are having sex together. It

worries me, but I do get very aroused when I think about them

having sex. Sometimes I get, aroused thinking about some very

feminine and slim girl with all her clothes off, and occasionally

I fantasize about secretly watching a girl like that undress and

then masturbate. Sometimes I think that I would be less afraid

of having sex with another girl than I would of having sex with

a boy.

In almost all my sexual fantasies, I am just a secret’ observer

of other persons’ sexual activities, but in a very’ small number

of fantasies, I do play other parts. Most of these fantasies have

a similar format. I imagine that I am trapped and am forced to

have sex with a good-looking boy. I will give you an example

of one of these fantasies. I imagine that I and a good-looking

boy, who otherwise would pay no attention to me, are snow-

bound alone together in a mountain cabin together or some

other place like that. We have food and logs for the fire in the

fireplace, so we are comfortable. When night comes, we pre-

pare to sleep in separate rooms, but when I begin’ undressing,

he bursts into my room. He already has all his clothes off, and

he forcibly removes the rest of my clothing. When he sees me

with my clothes off, he gets even more excited, and his penis

becomes erect. It is very firm and very large, and I am scared

92

by the sight of it. He forces me down on my back on the bed

and gets on top of me. Right away he starts trying to push his

penis into me. It hurts so much that I start crying, but he just

keeps pushing his penis into me. After several minutes of that,

it begins to feel good. He keeps moving his penis in and out of

me for about ten or fifteen minutes, and then he ejaculates.

While he is ejaculating, he tells me how good it feels to have

sex with me. Afterward, we lie in bed together, and he is very

affectionate to me. In fantasies like this one, I imagine that

having sex feels very good, but I do not have an orgasm in

them. I do not have this kind of fantasy very often though. I

probably only have it about once or twice a month. I have to be

in just the right mood for this kind or else they make me feel

bad instead of good.

The first specifically sexual fantasy that I ever had occurred

when I was thirteen, and my oldest sister got married (I only

have sisters and no brothers). At that time, I asked my mother

about marriage and having babies, and she told me about sex.

Soon after that, I began to masturbate, and when I did, I would

fantasize about being able to secretly watch while my sister

and her new husband were having sex together. Maybe be-

cause it was the first kind of sexual fantasy I had, this kind of

fantasy is just about my favorite of all. I get extremely aroused

when I try to picture what a newly married couple I know are

doing on their wedding night or on their honeymoon. Second to

this kind of fantasy are those in which I imagine that I am se-

cretly watching while a good-looking boy takes off all his

clothes and then masturbates. I would MUCH RATHER imag-

ine watching this than to actually have sex with a boy.

I hope that what I have told you about my sexual fantasies

will help your continuing research. I can hardly wait to read the

results of this additional research. I lent my copy of your book

to a friend of mine, and she, too, likes it very much. Maybe she

will write to you too. I might even write to you again if I think

of more to tell you about.

93

CHAPTER THREE

LOOKING

Until very recently, it was a cliché even in the medical

profession that women were not turned on by reading pornog-

raphy. When I began researching My Secret Garden, one doc-

tor after another told me that women are unable to become

aroused through the same kind of visual stimuli that moved

men. “A woman does not look at sex as a kind of simple,

physical proposition the way men can,” went the usual expla-

nation. “Pornographic books or photos leave all emotion out of

sex, but unless a woman can see sex in an emotional context,

she just isn’t interested.”

This may have sounded reasonable enough; on the whole, it

is fairly true of the way women lead their lives. The only prob-

lem with the explanation is that it does not account for, or even

acknowledge, female lust.

It did not help explain to me why I would always find my

eyes riveted to attention when I passed a man on the street who

had a noticeable bulge in his trousers … why, when I went to

see The Changing Room, a play in which at least a dozen na-

ked men come on stage at one time, it was all I could do to

keep my head from swiveling from side to side. I had never

seen so many naked cocks presented for my inspection at one

time, and although I felt no emotion for any of the actors in-

volved, it was one of the most exciting evenings I had ever

spent in a theater.

Was I some kind of freak? I wondered. I had nothing to

compare myself to, no role-models whose footsteps I could

safely walk in. I had no cultural okay to give sanction to my

prurient interest, the way men have for theirs. If a man likes to

go to burlesque shows and pins photos of naked women on his

wall, it shows he is one hell of a lusty guy. There is even a

society based in San Diego – made up of young studs who

proudly label themselves “International Girl Watchers.” But

we are only supposed to collect photos of couples walking

94

hand in hand in the moonlight. The whole business seemed

unfair to me – worse, it offended my sense of logic and symme-

try. There must be a reverse to the coin, even if I had never

heard it discussed, even if no doctor would agree with me. I

remember talking to a friend’s young daughter not too long ago

about her experiences at the beach. “Men have these funny

bulges in the front of their bathing suits,” the girl said, “but

you’re not supposed to notice them. How do you do that?”

How indeed? I get furious when I hear men and women

alike say that the naked male isn’t as interesting or beautiful as

the naked female. Why? Why should tits be any more beautiful

than a man’s buttocks or cock? I believe it is men themselves

who’ve set up the idea that their naked bodies are ugly – or at

least, too trivial or unimportant to look at, unless they have an

erection! If I am right, then it is also men themselves who will

have to help both sexes get over this absurd prejudice. Men are

going to have to accept their own naked bodies as aesthetically

satisfying, and not merely sexually useful; they will have to

learn to lie back and enjoy allowing a woman to look at them.

Once men can get away from the idea that they are not worth

looking at if they don’t have a giant, erect cock, they will be

liberated from an enormous amount of their castration anxie-

ties. They will be freed from the notion that they are either a

giant penis or they are “nothing.” They can be men, instead of

perpetual fucking machines.

To see a naked man from the rear is a sight that takes my

breath away the awesome shape of power as the shoulders drop

away into narrow hips, the hard, muscle-bunched look of an

athlete’s ass…. There are lines in the male body that have never

been mentioned, aesthetics of masculine anatomy women will

soon be writing poetry about … if we can give ourselves per-

mission to look.

Unlike men, women have been trained from birth to be ex-

hibitionists. Fashion is busily revealing one aspect of our anat-

omy this year, hiding it the next. Who more than a woman

feels more deeply in her bones the erotic power of what the eye

can see? It is obvious to me that both sexes must be equally

stimulated by reading and seeing sexual sights, but that women

95

– “ladies” – have been culturally conditioned to deny it, even to

themselves. Both sexes respond to natural things like sunshine,

furry animals, the feeling of speed, the sound of music – why

should there be this great divide in what turns on the individual

sexes? If both women and men like sex, both must like it in all

its manifestations, even the most fleeting. After I had written in

My Secret Garden that I was “an inveterate crotch-watcher,”

woman after woman has taken me aside to tell me, with a re-

lieved laugh, that she was too. (You will also find mention of

the pleasures of fantasizing what goes on under a man’s tight-

fitting pants in many of the letters in this book.)

Roxanne too sends evidence that I’m not alone in getting an

erotic charge out of things I see. Her letter contains eleven dif-

ferent fantasies, all of which involve looking and being looked

at.

But her letter ends on a sad note, I feel – one that does much

to explain why women are so afraid to confess their excitement

at seeing something sexual. “… I must stop now,” Roxanne

concludes, “as my husband is coming home. He’s great but

rather traditional, so I don’t want him to see all this.” Instead of

seeing women’s sexual response to things they see or read as

one more erotic avenue to explore together, too many men see

it as a threat, a sign of raging sexuality that they are afraid they

may not be able to satisfy. “My ex-husband would rather think

of me as frigid,” a friend recently said to me, “than think

maybe I wasn’t getting enough.”

Roxanne

I have a number of favorite fantasies – I say favorite because

if I described all of my fantasies I’d be able to write a book

myself. So anyway, as my vaginal juices start proliferating,

here goes:

Fantasy 1: There is a pornographic book and magazine store

fairly near where I live. The magazines are especially great,

with all types of pictures and advice, including how guys can

best fuck guys, and so forth. Anyway, I see myself going in

there with some type of revealing clothing on and definitely No

96

underwear of any kind. Whatever the top material is, my nip-

ples will be clearly visible, and the bottom part will be some

sort of skirt-dress. I go in and start paging through some maga-

zines when I accidentally on purpose drop one. I bend over to

pick it up, thus revealing my ass and cunt in all their glory. The

young male proprietor naturally is watching me all along, and

he has all he can do to contain himself. Sometimes he’ll rush

over and before I even get a chance to get up, he sticks his

enormous prick in me – in my asshole, in my cunt – no matter

– and pumps to our hearts’ delight.

Sometimes he won’t approach me, so I’ll take a few maga-

zines to him to purchase and say, “Boy, I’ll bet you get horny

working in a place like this,” or “You should have a back room

where horny females like me can get some fucking when they

need it – like right now.” He looks at me with lust and tells me

they do have such a room! He directs me and in I go with my

throbbing body. What should be in there but three gorgeous

guys, and I direct the show. Wow – have you ever had all three

holes fucked simultaneously?

Another great feeling is to be held by two guys and raised

up and down on a third guy’s prick – first slowly and then with

progressive speed.

After all this, I still want more variety. I take one guy into

the adjoining shower with me and ask him to pee on me – yes

– pee on my boobs and tummy and cunt. That’s exciting! After

that, I bend over on all fours and tell him to “stick it up my

ass,” which he obligingly does.

This particular fantasy usually ends about here. This very

morning, I went to the bookstore to act this out (at least in the

initial stages) only to find out they had gone out of business.

Would you believe that? And I was ready! All I had on was a

white peasant blouse off-the-shoulders and a short peasant type

skirt – no undies! If I had bent over or if a good wind had come

along, I either would’ve been arrested or raped – maybe both. I

sure was disappointed and frustrated! I went home and mas-

turbated with an artificial banana, which, believe me, was no

substitute for a cock (or cocks).

97

Fantasy 2: I have tremendous exhibitionist urges – like the

bending over previously described. I get a lot of these ideas

from looking at magazine photos. I’d LOVE to perform a strip

act which culminated in fucking the whole damn male audi-

ence. I’d like to masturbate manually or with cucumbers or

whatever on stage and drive men to distraction.

Fantasy 3: I’d like to be casually dressed in some public

place as a department store with my button-down-the-front

blouse open just far enough to let a boob show from the side

for the benefit of male passersby. Occasionally, someone grabs

it and starts tearing my clothes off from lust.

Fantasy 4: Here’s something I actually did a few weeks ago.

I again had on no underwear, and I parked my car in a parking

lot next to a tall building where construction was being carried

out. There were workmen a few floors above me, so I decided

to give them a treat…. I pulled my skirt up (in the car) and

began to masturbate with my finger. After a few minutes, I had

quite an appreciative audience. I would’ve liked screwing one

or more of them, but time pressures didn’t allow. Alas!

Fantasy 5: I’d love to be seeing a porno film in a theater – I

can feel and see myself getting hot and wet because the film is

really turning me on. All of a sudden, I feel a strange hand on

my thigh slowly heading for my black tiny bikini panties. The

hand reaches its mark and finds me wet and ready. To avoid

creating too much of a disturbance, I remove the panties, and

he opens his fly. I move over and sit on his lap thereby causing

his twelve-inch-long sex tool to go easily and smoothly into my

burning sex hole-up and down I go till we exhaust ourselves in

climax. Then we part and he moves to a different location in

the darkened theater. I’ve never seen his face – it wasn’t neces-

sary.

I just now stuck my finger up my twat as I’m writing this –

my god – I don’t even feel human – just one whole sex ma-

chine.

Fantasy 6: At other times, I see myself as a teacher of mid-

dle-to-late teen years boys. They don’t especially turn me on,

but I’d like to sit on the desk with my legs apart and turn

THEM on by letting them see my sex organs “accidentally.”

98

Sometimes, a cooperative fellow teacher (male) comes into the

room, and we demonstrate to them “proper” oral lovemaking.

He undresses me slowly and completely, and I again sit on the

desk – now completely naked. He asks me to sit with my legs

apart so the whole class can see my cunt and asshole. He

spreads my labia part and describes my female anatomy to the

class. While he’s touching and describing, I’m going crazy and

am moving my body about in wild abandon. The boys at their

desks are one-by-one opening their flies to let their cocks es-

cape. Here and there, I see a fountain of semen exploding. My

fellow teacher now goes down on me by titillating my clitoris

with his tongue. He goes down slowly until his tongue slips

into my vagina, and his finger is up my ass. I’m still on the

desk. By now, boys are fucking boys and several are clawing at

me – sucking my nipples and trying to move the teacher out of

the way so they can get at me. This goes on and on….

Fantasy 7: I really get turned on by looking at naked men in

Playgirl. While looking, I sometimes imagine myself at home

with minimal revealing clothing on – maybe a see-through

shortie nightgown. I’ve been looking at myself in the full-

length mirror in the bedroom and admiring my body. In front of

the mirror, I’ve been executing some bumps and grinds in vari-

ous stages of partial disrobing. I’ve also been watching myself

masturbate, but this never really satisfies me, so I’m in one hell

of a bad way when there’s a knock on the front door. I go to the

living room, peek through the blinds, and see a deliveryman

with a package for me. By this time, he’s really banging on the

door, so I figure, “Oh, shit, if he’s in such a hurry, I’ll just open

up.” And open up I do – both the door and myself. When I

open the door, he asks me to sign for the package; as I am

signing, he is looking. When I finish signing, it is my turn to

look at his crotch. Needless to say, it is really bulging! He is

standing slightly inside the door, so as I reach to close it be-

hind him, my nipples brush his bare arm. That’s all he needs.

He grabs me, lifts me up, and carries me over to a living room

chair, where he places me on the chair with one of my legs over

each arm of the chair, thus leaving me slightly suspended and

with my genitals completely exposed. He pulls up my night-

99

gown over my head and leaves me with nothing on. I am so

excited I can feel the juices coming out of me. He whips out of

his pocket an artificial cock and sticks it in me – up and down

it goes till I come and come and come. Then he picks me up

and puts me on the floor and fucks me till I’m delirious. While

this is going on, my dog enters the living room and starts sniff-

ing and whining, and his prick starts popping out. He doesn’t

have a chance, though, because my deliveryman is delivering

too good for me to pay any attention to my dog … maybe some

other time.

Fantasy 8: I’d also like to find a guy who would like to lie

down in the bathtub with me straddling him and let me pee all

over him.

Fantasy 9: I occasionally visualize myself walking into a

college fraternity and announcing my availability for ANY-

ONE who’s there and ready.

Fantasy 10: I’m a patron in a strip-bar. The girl on stage is

doing her thing and has nothing on but a G-string. I’m there

alone, and the room is filled with men who are all excited from

watching the stripper. Strippers excite me too – but I want a

MAN to satisfy me. One approaches me, sits next to me, and

puts his hand under my skirt. In a very short time, he’s got four

fingers in my hole, and I don’t give a damn who’s watching.

Pretty soon, all eyes are on us. I’m laid out in the booth, and

he’s undressing. He gets on top of me, and then me on him;

when I’m on top of him, my boobs are bouncing like crazy, and

pretty soon I feel another prick going up my ass. We’re all

keeping time to the music. The stripper is still dancing, and she

takes her G-string off and starts masturbating herself with a

candle from one of the tables. People are applauding, yelling,

and cussing, and the music gets louder and louder. It feels so

good – it just never ends.

Fantasy 11: I love to pose for porno pictures in real life …

not professionally – just for my lovers. God, that’s exciting. I’ll

pose in ANY way regardless. You name it – I’ll do it. I love to

later look at the pictures and get excited all over again. Once, a

guy and myself took a picture in a mirror of me sucking his

100

cock – to look at that later was absolutely fascinating and

thrilling.

I walk around most of the time in a horny condition. Some-

times I can’t even concentrate, and that’s bad because I’m a

college-educated professional person…. I won’t say what pro-

fession, because I can’t risk identification in any way.

Well, there are more, but I must stop now as my husband is

coming home. He’s great but rather traditional, so I don’t want

him to see all this.

I’m anxious to read your second book – hope you can use

some of this in it.

A few years ago, I used to write frequently for Cosmo-

politan magazine. I remember talking one day to Helen Gurley

Brown. She was thinking of doing something very daring: she

wanted to run a nude male centerfold. She wanted my help in

finding the right man. I happily fell to thinking of who this Mr.

Right could be, summoning up at least a dozen from my own

fantasies. Helen was very anxious about the project: she was

worried that it might turn off many women unless it was done

in good taste. She had cause for her concern: it had never been

done before in any woman’s magazine published in America.

What Helen didn’t realize was that the women in her audience

were more than ready for her experiment.

I had earlier discovered in my own research for My Secret

Garden that the best way to relax women’s anxiety about talk-

ing honestly about their erotic ideas was to tell them about my

own behavior first. This gave them a role-model, someone they

could identify with, and the feeling they were not alone in dis-

cussing any sexual area. Therefore, in the hundreds of ques-

tionnaires I circulated for Garden, I described myself as an

“avid crotch-watcher,” and asked if the reader was one too.

That question never failed to get a response. Most women

wrote that they were crotch-watchers too, others said they loved

seeing “men’s bottoms,” “examining their pants to see which

leg it hung down in,” or just plain “looking.” Sharon says, “I

find myself many times looking at the crotches of men’s pants,

101

just as I sometimes find men gazing at my breasts!” “I’ve al-

ways been an inveterate crotch-watcher,” Molly writes. “I love

it when I see some guy with a partial erection. I am delighted

to find I’m not alone.”

The response I was getting (in a small way) to my question-

naire was multiplied a thousand times by the reaction to that

first photo of the naked Burt Reynolds in Cosmo. If, for her

own reasons, Helen Brown decided not to continue nude male

photos as a regular feature, she nevertheless did found an entire

industry. There are now several women’s magazines that fea-

ture pages of naked men with ever-increasing variety and size

of genitalia for the leisurely inspection of the women of Amer-

ica – many of whom had never before seen these mysterious

parts of male anatomy up close and in living color.

If much of this photographic effort is still in bad taste – or

more to the point, not to your taste – here are several reasons to

explain it. One is that I don’t think that these new magazines

have figured out how to photograph the naked male in the way

women would like to see a man. Perhaps the big clue to this is

that the magazines in question are owned and published by

men, or have male art directors. Therefore, the naked men are

depicted in the way these men feel women would respond: the

naked football player, hairy actor, or model is shown in all his

muscular beauty alongside a stallion with flaring nostrils and a

sexual organ rivaled only by the size of the model’s … or else

there is the inevitable Maserati or Ferrari vroom-vrooming

alongside. The art director could not believe those poor women

out there would “get it” unless the photo were power-packed

with male phallic symbols. The man alone wasn’t enough …

these other men thought.

These new magazines have been grinding out male pinups

now for a couple of years. Because I am all in favor of it, and

only regret that they don’t do it better, I am pleased to see that

they are learning to drop the horses, cars, and other barbed-

wire masculinity props. They must have begun to listen to the

women “out there” instead of to the anxious noises in their

own heads: a woman does not need any symbols to help her

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recognize that the naked penis she is looking at belongs to a

man.

Another and still on-going misconception about what

women enjoy in looking at naked men is the belief that if the

penis isn’t a foot long, no woman could be bothered. Once

again, the question must be asked: Are the men who hold these

fixed ideas getting them from their audience, or is it a response

to their own, inner anxiety?

The idea that size is everything is the very turning point in

the new Mel Brooks film, The Young Frankenstein. In this

movie, the frigid, manipulative young woman has no qualms

about brushing off her curly-haired lover, but is brought to

orgasm and “womanhood” by the immensity of the monster’s

monstrous cock. At the point in the film where her eyes rivet

on the gigantic tool approaching her maidenhead, her face reg-

isters fear and horror, but in the ensuing moment of penetration

her voice reaches a relieved, resounding high C of song and

exuberance. The audience breaks up with laughter; everybody

gets the joke. But it’s no joke in real life.

One of men’s greatest sexual hang-ups concerns the size of

their cock. They really believe that size is everything; psychia-

trists do a lot of business treating patients with terrible com-

plexes about the sexual inadequacy of their penis size. (“It’s

only seven inches, Doctor.”) What hasn’t come across to the

people who create these films and centerfolds is that while

women in this book, or in jokes among themselves, may go on

about this or that “huge,” “gigantic,” or “monster” cock, the

entire idea must be taken as a metaphor for the pleasure they

desire … size is the purely symbolic measure of their exuberant

approach to the joys of sex. What woman wants to be ripped

open in real life by an enormous penis, jammed and made sore

by some tremendous cock?

Women’s insistence on size in their conversation or fantasies

is merely the “handle” on which to hang their dreams. It is

their cry for more sexual pleasure, for a larger, more intense

experience not a larger tool. I have heard very few women de-

plore the small size of their lover. As any doctor or experienced

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woman can tell you, it’s not the quantity but the quality of the

cock, the expertise of the lover.

This male preoccupation with, and fear about, his own in-

adequacy has so far bred (for me) a disappointing overindul-

gence in centerfold photos of men with penises so big and

swollen there is no room for imagination. While Jackie writes

that she is turned on by the intensely masochistic, but very

well-written novel, The Story of O, and by other things she

reads and sees, she finds no stimulation in “dirty movies,”

because they are “unimaginative and tasteless.” To any man

who says, “But what woman wants to see a limp cock?” I can

only answer – “Who better than a woman knows what can be

made of a limp cock?”

Give us something real to work with. I am all for photos of

naked men being made available to us in women’s magazines.

I wish I’d had them when I was growing up. Why should men’s

genitalia be a mystery? But these magazines’ success in the

long run, is going to depend upon the development of an audi-

ence of women who have learned how to respond to the sight

of naked men in films, photos, and all media. When women

relax enough, and allow their own genuine emotions and reac-

tions to enter their consciousness … when they feel free

enough to play with the emotions aroused within themselves at

the sight of these beautiful naked men … when they have

learned “to look” and be honestly receptive … the message

will get back to the industry, and the industry will learn so-

phistication from its audience: women enjoying looking; this

is what they like to look at.

Any new industry takes time for supply and demand to get

together, especially in an area so sensitive and taboo as women

unashamedly looking and enjoying the sight of naked men. I

hope we get enough time, that the art of photographing male

nudes progresses so that it can command a genuine mass audi-

ence, month after month, year after year. I hope the opportunity

for women to see and enjoy the male nude is not just a passing

fad. It answers a very real sexual need among women … and

anything that does can only reflect beneficially on men.

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I believe it will happen. If nothing else, we are a tyrannically

commercial country. Industry has long known it could use

feminine sex appeal to sell men anything from convertibles to

mutual funds. Once it becomes clear that male sex appeal can

work the same salesmanship wonders with women, the state of

the art will move ahead with the speed of a cash register ring-

ing up a dollar sign. I am not applauding mindless material-

ism. I am merely saying that one of the serendipitous by-

products of the inevitable growth in the use of male sex appeal

by the advertising industry is that it will at last give women

social sanction to enjoy being the looker – at last – and not

always and only the looked-at.

Sharon

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

would like to say thanks for writing such a book. I felt I should

write and tell you my fantasies (sexual). But first, I think it is

necessary for you to know a little about me. I am a single, nine-

teen-year-old sophomore in college. I attend a small junior

college here in my hometown. Because the town is so small,

everybody, especially the young people, know practically eve-

ryone else. My parents are pretty uptight about sex. My mother

only told me the basics about menstruation and all that, which

I already knew when she finally told me. My father never told

me anything! I have two brothers whom I have helped bathe,

and I used to baby-sit for four boys a lot, so I’ve known for a

long time what a penis looked like. The penis has always in-

trigued me, so when I became able to read such advanced ma-

terial, I did just that. Reading books and magazines is the way

I’ve learned about sex and the male and female bodies. I mas-

turbate occasionally, when I have the privacy, but I’ve never

been able to have an orgasm. I have had intercourse with only

two guys. One is my brother who is seventeen years old. The

other is a friend of my brother’s who is eighteen years old. But

I’ve never been able to have an orgasm with either of them.

There is a guy that I date sometimes whom I feel I could have

an orgasm with if I could get him to go all the way with me! I

105

come very close to having an orgasm when I fantasize about

him. I’ll call him D. In my fantasies, D. and I start out doing

stuff like eating at a nice restaurant or something. Then we go

to one of our houses and start drinking. We usually drink rum

and coke. After about the third drink, D. starts kissing me and

playing with my breasts and stuff like that. This is where the

fantasy begins, because in reality, that’s where we leave off.

We’re lying on the sofa, and I become very horny and so does

he. We undress and go into a bedroom where we make love,

usually with at least the bedside lamp on. I dream that I have at

least three orgasms and that we make love again the next

morning.

Then I have a fantasy in which a total stranger comes to my

door and I seduce him. Although I have adequate breasts

(36C), in my fantasies I usually have very large, round breasts.

My hair is usually very long and has lots of body.

I have one fantasy in which I am a stripteaser in a burlesque

show. In my fantasy, I come out on the stage in a long red low-

cut dress with a slit up the side to the base of my hip. My hair

is jet black and nearly to my hips. I start doing a very seductive

dance, all the men begin to whistle and applaud, and there are

a few in the front row that have erections! I begin by taking off

my long red gloves, next I take off my large loop earrings.

Then I take off my shoes. I then open the slit to reveal the end

of a garter and the top of my hose. (The garter belt is red also.)

I open the slit just wide enough for the men to see that I have

on NO panties. Then I close the slit, do a few more seductive

moves; then I undo one strap, which really gets the men going.

I undo the other strap, and then I begin to unzip the dress (it

zips on the side of the slit). I very slowly unzip it. But even

then I’m not nude. I have on the garter, stockings, and red stra-

pless bra! I slowly continue to undress, teasing the men a lot!

Finally, when I am nude, a man from the audience (front row)

can no longer control himself. He runs up and throws me down

on the stage and begins fucking me! All the other men in the

audience masturbate themselves or each other. There are varia-

tions to this and all my other fantasies.

Another one that I have is one in which I’m raped! I’ve never

fantasized about strangers or dogs though. Most of the time,

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the men in my fantasies are men I happen to be attracted to at

that time! I find myself many times looking at the crotches of

men’s pants, just as I find men gazing at my breasts!

I feel that I have certain lesbian tendencies, because my first

fantasies were of other girls, and sometimes I’ll still have a

fantasy of a girl or woman. I also find that I get excited when I

see pictures of nude women! If I ever had the opportunity for a

lesbian experience, I doubt that I would pass it up. But I could

never be totally lesbian.

Right now, I’m looking for a nice, somewhat older man who

will teach me all I need to know about sex, for I am very inex-

perienced and dumb. If you know anyone like this, send him

my way!

I’ve always had sexual fantasies, and for a long time, I

thought they were abnormal and weird, and I tried to suppress

them. But I don’t anymore.

I hope I have helped your research just a little bit. I am look-

ing forward to your next book. Thanks again for My Secret

Garden.

Molly

I love you! Having just read My Secret Garden, I feel com-

pelled to write to you.

I just this moment finished the book, and I have so many

jumbled thoughts that I’ll try to relate my feelings to you in

some orderly fashion.

First, I’m still turned on. Your book had an enormous erotic

effect on me. Need I say that I had to stop numerous times to

masturbate? But, oddly enough, my OWN erotic fantasies are

still much more exciting to me than simply reading others.

I have never felt guilty about fantasizing during masturba-

tion – I always considered that quite natural and have been

doing so ever since I started masturbating regularly at age five.

But I got the greatest relief in reading that other women regu-

larly fantasize while fucking. I always felt terribly guilty about

fucking one man and thinking about another. Now I realize it’s

not abnormal or unfair or a put-down of the guy I’m with – it

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just makes everything more enjoyable. What a great discovery

and a great release. Thank you!

The other delightful result is that I feel closer to other

women. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all discuss these

things with each other, rather than reading it in a book? Maybe

now I will. It really allows me to feel more open to other

women.

Two other minor points. I’ve always been an inveterate

crotch-watcher, and I love it when I see some guy with a par-

tial erection. I am delighted to find that I’m not alone. Also,

sometimes I fantasize fondling and sucking another woman’s

breasts, and I always look at breasts. I’m glad this is also

common, as I always feared I was harboring some deeply hid-

den lesbian tendencies. Now I know this isn’t so and that my

fantasy is quite common and natural.

I have only one objection. On the back of the paperback edi-

tion there is a quote from Dr. Leonard Cammer saying that

fantasy “allows a needed escape from unfulfilled reality.” Bull-

shit! He completely missed the whole point of your book – it

ENHANCES reality and is NOT an escape. Typical sexist

comment from a male who really does not understand women.

Thank you, Nancy, for allowing me to feel better about my-

self. Everyone should read your book.

P.S. I am college-educated, thirty, single.

Jackie

I’ve just finished My Secret Garden. Thank you very much

for collecting these fantasies. Reading the book has made me

feel much more at ease about the normalcy of my own fanta-

sies.

(Incidentally, I am twenty-six years old, white, middle-class

background, with three and a half years of college, and in train-

ing as a medical assistant at the moment.)

Although I am an imaginative person, I often take my fanta-

sies whole from other sources, such as movies (not dirty mov-

ies, curiously enough, because I find them unimaginative and

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tasteless), novels (The Story of O, etc.), and other popular me-

dia.

But much more commonly, I make them up from experi-

ences that I have had, embellished and elaborated to fantasy

proportions. One of my favorites, incidentally, is about prosti-

tution, an empty room in My Secret Garden.

Some years ago, I met a man who, I discovered shortly, was

a bounding cad, but he was so egotistical, with very little rea-

son for being so, incidentally, that I was fascinated by his con-

ceit and was intimate with him for some months before my

fascination turned to boredom at his boorish predictability, and

I subsequently dropped him.

My prostitution fantasy about this man, whom I’ll call

Roger, goes more or less like this: I’m in the city on some im-

portant errand when I see Roger and, worse, he sees me. From

his smile as he approaches, I know he means no good. Rather

then create a scene, I allow him to take me into a sleazy-

looking cafe. There he tells me he has discovered some awful

thing about me, something that could ruin my personal and

professional life, as well as those of my family. I think, in my

fantasy, that he wants to blackmail me for money, but discover

instead he intends to prostitute me for his own profit. I am

helpless and must obey.

He has apparently had all this planned out, because when I

follow him to his apartment, he gives me a see-through blouse,

micro-miniskirt, black net stockings, and a black garter belt to

exchange for my street clothes. But before I do this, he makes

me shave my entire body, including pubic hair.

When I’m ready and dressed, we walk through downtown

on our way to a party, where he has sold my services. We stop

before a store with a facade that reads Novelties, but I can see

by the equipment in the window that it’s really a sex shop, one

that sells pornographic books, and has the trappings of fetish-

oriented sex. We go inside. Behind the counter is a handsome

young Oriental (in real life several of my lovers have been Ori-

entals, and I admit a preference for them over Caucasian men).

He smiles at us and can tell at once by my costume and

makeup what I am.

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Roger ignores me and begins talking to the storekeeper

about various of his goods, while I wander about and look at

all the stuff hanging on the walls, such as leather harnesses,

dildos, chains, whips, vibrators, etc., which makes me very hot

and excited, as well as a big selection of dirty books. (This

excitement, incidentally, is very odd, because I’ve tried some of

the equipment mentioned above and was totally turned off by

it, but in my fantasy, I’m so excited I bite my lips to keep from

caressing myself while both men watch me.) Roger sees this

and calls me over. There’s a bunch of equipment on the counter

that Roger wants to buy, but he doesn’t have enough money.

He suggests to the storekeeper that he can use me as he likes in

exchange for the equipment. The storekeeper smiles again and

pulls the shades to the store windows.

Roger lifts my skirt and opens my blouse, playing with me

and showing me off to the storekeeper, who suggests we go

upstairs. In a room upstairs, we find an enormous Newfound-

land dog, and both men lay me back on the table and let the

dog lick my naked mound, burrowing his big nose in as deep

as he can. While the dog is doing this, Roger begins to dildo

me anally. The mixture of pleasure and pain is so great I cry

out noisily, which excites Roger even more and makes him go

at it even more fiercely.

Quite suddenly, the Oriental pushes both the dog and Roger

away from me and, taking his clothes off quickly, begins to

make love to me. Roger becomes very angry and would inter-

fere, but the storekeeper speaks in Chinese to the dog, who

turns to Roger and keeps him at bay. Roger becomes furious as

he helplessly watches me responding to the shopkeeper with

my whole being, and not grudgingly as I did to him. I take

great joy in fellating this gentle man and let him have anal

intercourse, which in this case doesn’t hurt as it usually does. I

am aching with desire by the time he switches to plain, straight

intercourse. During all this, my lover turns to Roger and says

that if he (Roger) bothers or threatens me anymore, he’ll suffer

for it. Roger, coward that he is, believes it and slinks from the

room with the growling dog at his heels. And it is this man’s

lovemaking and not Roger’s cold-hearted fucking that swiftly

110

brings me to one intolerably delicious orgasm on the heels of

another.

And there’s the basic form of one of my favorite fantasies,

with true lust triumphant and the villain foiled again.

Again, with gratitude and wishes of success.

I believe sex is all pervasive in the human mind and body.

While we are buying groceries, we notice how handsome the

clerk in the supermarket may be; women write to me of sexual

fantasies they have had about their dentist while he was drill-

ing their teeth. But we need a focus, a concrete symbol, picture,

or book to make us aware and comfortable about our free-

flowing sexuality. “Since I read your book, and also while

reading it,” writes Sally, “I began to think about my own fanta-

sies. I always had these thoughts, since I was around twelve,

but never told anyone…. “

Marylou tells us that she herself denied ever having sexual

fantasies until she read Garden. “No,” she told her friends

when the subject came up; she never had fantasies. “I just

think about my lover.” But little flashbacks were registering in

her head, she says, even while she denied that erotic images

danced in her imagination. “When I read [ My Secret Garden],

it dawned on me just like it did on Paula in the book – oh, à

fantasy is something that makes you feel good.’ In fact, most

every scene in the book has run through my fantasies but with

a different script.”

Marylou is an illustration of the fact that we all know more

than we consciously want to know. A great deal of sexual im-

agery, daydreaming, reveries, and fantasy are suspended

somewhere in the back of our mind. It is all like some data

bank, where specific bits of information can be quickly brought

forward into consciousness when the right lever is pushed, and

then so quickly wheeled back after use that it is difficult to

remember the thought was ever there to begin with. In this

way, we live with our mental fires banked, our sexuality turned

down low. Perhaps this is necessary to get through the ordinary

business of the ordinary day, a necessary sacrifice of our erotic

111

selves on the altar of an industrial society. Still – aren’t these

days half-unlived? I believe any stimulation is a positive good;

anything that makes us feel more alive is an absolute benefit. If

an occasional glance at a photo in a magazine, an image on the

television screen or a page in a book makes us feel more in-

tensely, isn’t that life itself?

Sally

At a suggestion from my sister, I have just finished reading

your book. I truly thought it was fantastic. I just couldn’t put it

down.

First, let me tell you about myself. I am nineteen, just mar-

ried last December, and I love sex. My husband is twenty-four

and very healthy.

Since I read your book, and also while I was reading it, I

began to think about my own fantasies. I always had these

thoughts, since I was around twelve, but never told anyone or

acted them out. I guess I never really thought about them until

I read that other women had the same sort of thoughts.

My husband says the kind of sex we have now is fine for

him, and he won’t discuss his fantasies. I would like to discuss

mine and several of the others I read about in your book – just

talk about them, that’s all – but he doesn’t seem to get into it.

I don’t masturbate, but often think about it. Perhaps if I read

a really good book on masturbation, or someone discussed it

openly with me, I would try it. When I think of another woman

fingering me and eating me, it excites me intensely. It has

never happened, but it sure sounds good. I also think about big

masculine men, like the kind you see in Playgirl and Viva; I

like to think of them stepping right out of the pages, forcefully

tearing my clothes off and tying me, spread-eagle, arms apart,

to the bedposts. As I look at those photos, I imagine him teas-

ing me, fingering me to get me going, and then teasing me

with just the head of his cock. I don’t know where I get these

ideas, as these are not things my husband does to me – I mean,

teasing me with his cock. I am sure I have read about it some-

where. In my fantasy, this man from the pages of Playgirl then

112

licks my tits and belly button until I plead with him to fuck me,

and at last he does. I don’t think of these things when my hus-

band and I are making love, or doing sixty-nine, but when I am

alone reading porno books. Then it really turns me on. I can

really throw myself into the pages of a good book. It sets my

imagination going and allows me to imagine myself involved

in a sexual world I am sure I will never know. All the men and

women in my fantasies are faceless. They are always strangers.

And even I am not recognizable; the things I allow myself to

do are so unlike me. But how I would love to enjoy the thrills

of the things I have read and seen on the printed page!

It’s great to read how other women think, and it’s stupid of

me to think we aren’t entitled to all the sexual excitement we

can feel in our imaginations.’ The men that think we aren’t ca-

pable of this kind of excitement must know some pretty dumb

chicks.

Thanks so much.

Marylou

I just finished your book, and I wanted to tell you that I en-

joyed it, and it helped me out.

My girl friend brought the book to me at a picnic. The

women who were there – average mid-twenties, early thirties,

public schoolteachers like myself – denied having fantasies. I

denied it too – “No, I just think about my lover – I’ve never had

fantasies,” but little flashbacks were registering in my head

that I just couldn’t put my finger on. When I read My Secret

Garden, it dawned on me just like it did on Paula in the book –

oh, “a fantasy is something that makes you feel good.” In fact,

most every scene in the book has run through my fantasies but

with a different script. It amused me to even read in the

Quickie section that two different women get their kicks from

Tarzan. He was my earliest fantasy man. Every time I read

Tarzan comics, I’d get a tingle; then I’d make up my own sto-

ries before I fell asleep at night. I guess I was about twelve. I

later changed to some fantasy boys – Spin and Marty. I sup-

pose because I could then be included in the story. I day-

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dreamed a lot at school too, but I can’t remember if they were

sexual types of things. I would imagine, because this pattern

continued – nighttime stories and daydreaming – until I got

married. I remember riding the bus to work, in my early twen-

ties, fantasizing. My scripts were not very spicy, I don’t believe.

They were repressed, and I was sexually frustrated. I had en-

gaged in every form of foreplay with boyfriends since I was

fifteen, but didn’t actually have intercourse till I was twenty-

three. It all made me feel guilty, but the fantasies didn’t.

I thought my fantasies stopped when I got married seven

years ago, until I read your book. But I have them more than

ever. For almost three years, I’ve had a real lover, and he is my

fantasy husband. When I go to parties at his house, I always

feel and act as the hostess. And when I go home with my real

husband, I go to bed with my fantasy husband. When he

dances with his wife at these parties, we look at each other in

the mirror over the bar, and we are really in each other’s arms.

He is a great fantasizer himself. On our once-a-week sessions

in bed together, my lover and I sometimes fantasize together.

Sometimes our motel room has two double beds in it, and we

talk about the other couple making love in the other bed. Some-

times we pretend we’re making a porno film. I really don’t

know why I said I don’t have sexual fantasies.

When I masturbate, I sometimes dress in sexy clothes and

watch myself in the mirror. Sometimes I use different garden

vegetables. I go outside and pick a nicely proportioned zuc-

chini squash.

I’m going to make more use of my fantasies now, instead of

repressing them. It seems to me that without fantasies sex is

mechanical and less fun. My husband and I rarely make love

since I’ve started my affair. I don’t want to leave him. We have

a lot in common, but we can’t talk like my lover and I do. I

think it’s unrealistic to expect one man to be Mr. Right. It takes

many people to fulfill one person’s needs. That sounds so ex-

ploitive. I like to think of myself as fulfilling my own needs,

but I need love, someone to understand, and I need money so I

can have my beautiful house in the country and my stable of

horses. I’d have to live in an apartment on my teaching salary.

114

Best wishes on writing your new book. I’m sorry I couldn’t

write specific details of fantasies. They are too repressed at this

point, and besides I am an artist. Words have never been my

thing.

My lover should be calling soon. We have a great adventure

ahead with my new viewpoint on fantasies.

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CHAPTER FOUR

FRUSTRATION

When I began writing My Secret Garden, I said, “Let’s

get frustration out of the way first.” It is one of the great mis-

conceptions many people have that sexual fantasies are the

lonely dreamings of withered-prune old maids. This is just not

true.

While the women in this section are here because in one

form or another they all feel frustration in their lives, only

Laura can be called a virgin – but from her description of her

activities, it is clear that she remains one only technically, only

by centimeters. Biba too comes close to the conventional idea

of frustration. She is very close to term in her third pregnancy

and writes that when fucking becomes uncomfortable, she uses

masturbation and fantasy to take its place.

More often, however, it is my feeling that it is not so much

the lack of sex that leads to the frustration of the women who

write me as it is that the quality of their sexual experience is

not all it might be. Until recently, this unhappiness was unspo-

ken. In our culture, it was silently agreed that any woman

lucky enough to have a man had no right to complain.

Contrary to popular belief, I think that as women gain more

sexual freedom, we will find greater sexual frustration. Until

recently, young women were so preoccupied with hanging onto

their virginity that their consequent frustration was practically

a badge of virtue. If you turned and tossed in your little single

bed at night, at least you had the dream of keeping that sym-

bolic rosebud that mother assured you would make you all the

more cherished “when the right man comes along.”

Frustration was something a “good girl” suffered silently

with a Doris Day smile. Nice women just didn’t talk about or,

until recently, didn’t even admit to themselves the genuine

emotional loneliness and physical pain that can be felt by a

woman who is ready and eager for sex, but is deprived of it.

116

(Even before she has had it, she already knows she misses it.

Her fantasies have told her so.)

The pill hasn’t changed “everything.” Throughout this book,

you will find letters from women in their twenties who tell me

they are still virgins. So were their mothers. But what is differ-

ent today is that an enormous amount of information on the

pleasures of sex is not only available to women but is practi-

cally inescapable: films and television do not let us forget that

others are in sexual ecstasy.

Another little-discussed aspect of liberation that leads to the

sexual frustration of many young women is, ironically enough,

our greater freedom of selection. The most enterprising of the

new generation of women no longer feel pushed or rushed into

marriage. Perhaps they want a career; perhaps they simply

don’t want to settle for the first man who comes along. Women

value themselves more, and as we do so, we are becoming

more selective about men. A job you like, work you find satis-

fying – something to do that you feel is important – is, I be-

lieve, essential to a good life. Not only is it fulfilling in its own

right but it also helps you resist the demands of our culture to

marry just because you’re approaching twenty-five or thirty.

But becoming your own woman, becoming highly educated

and choosy in your sexual tastes, leaves you vulnerable to lone-

liness. You can be a virgin and be sexually frustrated. But

every experienced woman knows that to have had sex, good

sex, and then to have to do without it, leaves even more room

for real pain.

In our culture, the pain a woman suffers from sexual depri-

vation isn’t considered seriously. Not so with men.

The myth says, “Men are different.” Men must have sex. His

wife is frigid, or away in the country – almost any excuse suf-

fices to “drive” a man to this or that sexual peccadillo. Society

condones a frustrated man getting sex any way he can. Prosti-

tution was created for him.

But a woman? The idea of a woman being driven to adul-

tery, homosexuality, male prostitution (if she can find it) –

these notions make us shudder. It is thought demeaning of a

woman to express such strong sexual desires. “She needs it

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bad” is not a sexual compliment; it is a put-down. And yet why

should it be thought that women suffer any less than men from

going without sex? We may not wake up in the morning with

an erection or out of a wet dream, but we dream, and we fanta-

size out of lack of sex. We suffer as much from it as any man.

As for married women and sexual frustration, I think we are

just beginning to comprehend the toll that sexless, or sexually

unimaginative, marriages have taken on women. Women like

Lyle are just beginning to cry out against the unfairness or sex-

ual immaturity of a husband who prefers masturbation to her.

She is contemporary enough to say she doesn’t have anything

against him jerking off, except in the way that it cheats her. But

her acceptance of her husband’s habits does her no good. She is

left with very imaginative, but lonely, fantasies.

Laura

First I ought to explain that I’m a seventeen-year-old virgin.

I masturbate almost every day, frequently go out petting with

guys, and love to suck guys off.

Some of my sexual fantasies are of specific things that lave

happened. I lay there and try to recreate in my imagination

some of the sensations I have felt. I love to think of slipping my

hand down a guy’s unzipped pants and feeling his hair, reach-

ing the obstacle of the top of his cock, and feeling his cock

grow. I remember the feeling of his skin sliding as I move my

hand up and down. I like the familiar feeling of a guy rolling

over on top of me (both of us nude), his erect cock pressed

against my stomach – it’s probably the temptation (so near, yet

so far) that makes it so exciting. I remember individual ges-

tures, bedroom jokes, and the smells I enjoyed – wine or pot on

his breath, slight sweatiness, and aftershaves. Each of these

thoughts is a small glimpse rather than a total experience.

My masturbatory fantasies are pieced together out of these

thoughts, and assigned to some particular person. One of my

fantasies is of sucking off Bjorn Borg, the Swedish tennis

player. I think of the slippery rubberiness of his cock, the soft

wetness of the tip, the feel of the pulsations at the base of his

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cock as he comes, and the taste of semen. After I developed

this fantasy, I read in Playgirl that most Scandinavians are

uncircumcised. That made the fantasy even more exciting.

It excites me to see a guy get a hard-on in public. I start fan-

tasizing about sex with him, even if I would never previously

have considered it.

Two guys once wanted to have sex with me. I turned them

down, and took them one at a time. Now I think about group

sex, but I wouldn’t consider it if another girl was there.

I have a fetish about guys who have weird hair. Kinky,

wavy, or curly hair is a big turn-on.

I also fantasize about screwing, with details being guessed –

I just assume that most of the feelings are nearly identical to

those of being petted, except the penis is larger and harder to

control (putting pressure in certain areas, the degree of pres-

sure, speed, etc.).

I keep fantasizing, but since most of my sex is with guys

that I don’t know well (I like them, but I don’t want their kids

or their v.d.), I’m not ready yet to take responsibility for screw-

ing.

I’m looking for a guy who enjoys pleasing me as much as I

enjoy pleasing him (and if Bjorn wants my address…).

Thanks for letting me express myself. I didn’t think I was

abnormal for having fantasies, only that I was abnormal for

admitting it.

P.S. If there’s nothing far out about my fantasies, maybe I

represent the young and inexperienced

Biba

You have no mention of pregnant women in your book of

fantasies.

My third baby is due in two weeks. I am masturbating and

fantasizing a lot. It started in the fourth month. I think it is

because actual fucking is uncomfortable about then and be-

came more so as I progressed.

During my first and second pregnancy my masturbating and

fantasizing increased too. I was married to someone else then.

119

He was big and hurt me. I gave up normal sex willingly in the

last six weeks. I would jerk him off though. I liked his bigness

when I wasn’t pregnant. He couldn’t satisfy me emotionally

though.

My husband now I love dearly. He is not so big and more

flexible, so I am still willing to have sex, even now. He holds

off as long as he can, because the baby does react violently.

Also, because of the positions we have to take. He enters from

behind, or I will throw one leg over his hips while he is on his

side; I on my back. This does not allow much penetration, so

he has to be really horny to climax. I can’t climax no matter

how horny he makes me feel or how much I wish I could. So I

will tell how I get relieved. I am always alone and my children

asleep.

I start out playing with my nipples, in front of the mirror.

My hands become some girl’s hand, pinching, tweaking,

kneading, cupping. Soon it is two girls, one for each breast. My

breasts are really big now, so I can actually get a nipple in my

mouth and suck, imagining the girls are the ones sucking me.

A third girl comes in from behind, she grabs my ass, massag-

ing around and around. She kisses my butt and puts her tongue

to my anus, slurping. A fourth girl kneels down in front of me

and starts kissing the inside of my legs, up, up, coming ever

closer to my vagina. I spread my legs even further apart for her.

She slowly sucks my cunt, moving just right on my lips, my

clitoris. A fifth girl appears sitting on the vanity. Her legs

spread apart. I move to suck her tits. The girl between my legs

is sucking oh so good. I go down on the girl sitting in front of

me, sucking her cunt. The girls sucking my tits reach their

hands to caress the tits of the girl I’m sucking, also to the tits of

the girl at my ass. I reach out my arms and finger their pussies.

The girl between my legs is about to make me climax. I then

move to the bed, put a pillow between my legs, and masturbate

to a climax within seconds, still imagining I have a girl be-

tween my legs, at my ass, sucking my tits, around my fingers,

and in my mouth.

Sometimes I look at pictures of nude girls to start this fan-

tasy, and look at her when I get to masturbating.

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I have never had a girl eat me out nor have I eaten someone.

This type of fantasy entered my mind during my first preg-

nancy.

Men have eaten me out; some were really good.

I would like to be able to have normal sex real bad. I can

hardly wait until the time I can climax right along with my

husband.

Lyle

Nancy Friday, you are some kind of genius! Thank you for

putting together such an inspirational, interesting book.

I am twenty-five, of Scandinavian and American-Indian

stock, and have a large frame but not fat. I was married three

years ago, and am considering not staying married to him for a

number of reasons, the LEAST of which is this – he is a lousy

lay. He is thirty-two.

On the surface, I think he is a nice man, but to live with him

is very frustrating and seems an eighty-twenty balance instead

of fifty-fifty – or at least a bearable sixty-forty. What I mean is

I do too much of the giving, and no matter how I try to get him

to “give” in this relationship, he just won’t put up with the re-

alities of loving, sharing, talking, making plans, and all the

other things two married people are SUPPOSED to share as a

couple.

My man was introduced to sex in a whorehouse in Nevada,

and from now until then, he has had quite a few women and

hasn’t learned a darned thing. Before we were married, he used

to tell me how horny he was. What a laugh. He might feel

horny, but he’s horny for his own hand. I guess no woman’s

pussy has ever been able to take the place of his own tech-

nique.

The first time I discovered he was masturbating on a more

or less regular basis was the first year we were married. His

aroused moments waned, and I just chalked it up to studying

too hard … it never entered (and still doesn’t) my mind that

there was anything wrong with me. I keep myself clean and

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fresh, attractive in a wholesome way, and have never turned

him away when he wanted me. Anyway, I was sorting laundry

and noticed some funny-looking hankies of his. The ironed

creases were still in them, but they were stuck together in the

middle. He had come into them. I was so shocked and hurt; it

was like a slap in the face, like saying I wasn’t good enough to

make love to, but I was sure good enough to clean up after

him! Had he been in our place when I found those, I would

have crammed them (still makes me mad) down his throat. In

further inspection of the laundry, I found two undershirts and

some more hankies which pretty well explained his lack of

desire for me – the fool had worn himself out. I could have

thrown up. He was a student at this time. I work, he worked

part-time.

I confronted him with this little passion of his and told him

how hurt I was. He said he wouldn’t do it anymore, but that

was a lie – evidence to the contrary shows he is still a careless

man only in love with his hand.

His lovemaking with me is stilted, inhibited, and very bor-

ing. He never wants to try a different position, and I practically

have to beg him to let me go down on him. I have never forced

him to do anything, but have made some suggestions, all of

them met with no enthusiasm whatsoever. He has never

touched my vagina more than two minutes and doesn’t bother

to search and caress my clitoris. By the way, when he does let

me fellate him, he won’t come until he pushes me away, throws

me down, and then gets on top of me. Jesus, I’m dying for

some variation!

I have tried to deal with this patiently, never begged him to

do kinky things, and never forced myself on him. He is really

repulsed by women’s advances. Older women who are making

tries at flirting with younger men really turn him off. Instead of

taking it as a compliment and giving the ladies a wink (that’s

all I’d ever approve of!) he just gets hostile.

With this short summary of how I feel about him, I think

you will see that I have reasons a-plenty for my fantasies.

After reading your first book about these fantasies, I

searched my mind for when I first awakened to that wondrous

warm feeling in my pelvis, and I think it happened when I was

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playing doctor and nurse with my brother and one of his

friends. I was totally fascinated with the wrinkled scrotum that

held their testicles. I still love to gently caress that precious

place with my tongue.

A few of my girlhood friends and I just loved to tell each

other what excited us and sometimes touch each other “where

it felt good.” We could really think up some whoppers of fanta-

sies, but we had never seen ANYTHING in our fantasies such

as the large penises which so frequently dominated the stories.

We passed right on into dating without any qualms about our

little experiences. I guess we just figured it was “practice” for

the real thing. I never even thought about it in a lesbian conno-

tation after I found out what lesbians were.

Since I still find my husband’s careless “reminders” that

Portnoy, masturbator champion of the world, lives here, I have

really let the fantasies help me out when he does (rare occa-

sions) want me.

A few years ago (before marriage), I had an affair with a

man who worked in my building. He was fantastic in bed. I

just wished we had been able to let ourselves get into a better

relationship, such as married! Anyway, this dark-haired man

would excite me into dynamite climaxes. I didn’t know the

human body could stand such pleasure. I swear, the first time

he ate me I thought I had died and gone to heaven! I long for

someone to do it again, so I imagine when my husband is puff-

ing away that actually I am not suffocating under his lunging;

instead, a large-framed man with full lips and big black eyes

like my former lover is caressing my thighs and telling me how

much he loves my pale, creamy skin (which I work hard at in

reality to keep that way). He caresses closer to my pussy, gives

me a loving, tender, but devilish gaze, and with a rich mellow

laugh of glee proceeds tenderly to bring me to the heavenly

feeling of pure climax. I just love putting this down on paper.

As he goes on, I have a couple of wonderful orgasms; he

turns me around and straddles my face, so we can be sixty-nine

together, and I can bring him joy also. That fantasy is about the

greatest one for me, but sometimes I vary and use these.

I am caressing myself alone one evening as the sun sets. A

girl friend of mine is due, and when she arrives, I let her in,

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and she sees I am naked. Immediately, she knows what I want,

and she says she wants me too, so we proceed to my large (fan-

tasy) canopy bed and slip: between silk sheets edged with

yards and yards of ruffles. We cover every inch of each other’s

bodies with kisses and do cunnilingus on each other, arriving

at marvelous orgasms together.

I imagine I am alone in the high mountain cottage of the

Alps, or someplace where the air is perfectly pure, standing on

my balcony in a dress of white. My breasts are exposed, and

the crisp air makes my nipples stand out hard and makes me

feel alive to breathe it in so deeply.

A very handsome, healthy man walks by and sees me on my

balcony. He says he is overwhelmed by the look of me, and

asks without embarrassment if he may come up to my room

and admire me closer. I gaze down on him, see the bulge grow-

ing in his pants, and with a toss of my thick head of hair say,

“Of course, I’ll make us some tea,” and give him the warmest

smile I can manage. He enters my room, which is mirrored on

one wall and papered in purple and blue Jacobean floral design

on the others. Many pillows are used in the room, and purple,

blue, pink, and red are the dominant colors. He opens my white

dress to my navel and admires my lovely skin and healthy

body. Then he can stand it no longer, so he picks me up and

carries me to the bed, and we make love in many different posi-

tions, all possible because he has a beautiful long penis that is

surrounded by a mass of black hair, and that penis just won’t

give up until we are both laughing and practically hysterical

with happiness and climaxes.

I don’t want you to think I have anything against masturba-

tion, like I said about my husband earlier. I think it is great, but

not when it deprives someone else (like your mate) of the pas-

sion and lovemaking they need.

Thanks for letting me write this down. Hope it helps some in

your next edition.

P.S. Sorry for all the typos, but I’m a writer, and I knew I

would redo too much to keep the freshness of my thoughts. So

here it is … in the rough.

124

If you think the kind of marital despair that Lyle suffers is

rare, speak to any experienced marriage counselor. In our cul-

ture, a woman is supposed to be complete when she has a hus-

band, a nice house, kids, station wagon, and so forth. How dare

she cry for more? If her husband is working himself to death

(his own, but also the death of sex between them) – it only

shows what a good husband and father he is. The fact that she

may have unappeased sexual desires of her own – and her a

mother! – is unacceptable.

“A lot of men are coming in completely bewildered by all

the new demands being made on them,” says Dr. Salvatore

Ambrosino, director of the Family Service Association serving

Nassau County, a plush suburb outside New York City.

“Women are getting a whole new picture of themselves,” he

said. “Through feminism and maybe even consciousness-

raising sessions, they are getting the idea that they are allowing

themselves to be willing victims, and they are protesting.”

Dr. Ambrosino continues: “Women used to put up with a lot

as long as the man was a good provider, but no more. This

applies even to working-class women. We rarely used to hear

complaints about women not being sexually satisfied … now

we do.” (New York Times, October 16, 1974.)

The final, tough fact we must face is that even with the sexi-

est lover or husband in the world, a woman may still find her-

self frustrated. Dot tells us that she has had a very active and

satisfying sex life for ten years with a wide variety of lovers,

but her fantasies are all about sex with another woman. To

some degree, most of us, women and men, suffer some sense of

frustration. Buried deep, or not-so-deep, within us all, there are

tastes, desires, strange longings, and erotic images left over

from the polymorphous perverse period of infancy and child-

hood; these constantly seek and find expression in various

kinds of rich and varied foreplay, or in fantasies like Dot’s.

In our adult years, frustration comes in many forms. We

may choose to let certain sexual opportunities pass, because we

essentially believe in monogamy … because the proposition

was made in an unappealing manner or in terms we found

emotionally sterile … maybe simply because we did not have

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the time. But each opportunity is registered in your brain and

unconscious somewhere. Very often, we find fantasies are born

out of the very experiences we found the most degrading or

repellent in our everyday lives.

Even if you quit your job, obtained a divorce, had a million

dollars in the bank, and devoted the rest of your life to erotic

pursuits (a common fantasy), it would still be impossible for

anyone to handle all the sexual stimuli that surround us every

day. Who could make love to every attractive man she meets?

When you choose one, you are letting all the rest go by. Even if

you tried, there is still the persistent knowledge that while you

may be systematically trying out the best lovers for fifty miles

around, there are still handsome, beautiful men walking the

streets of London, Paris, Rome – marvelous men, astonishing

lovers who you will never meet, never know. Desire is long;

life is short. We live with a residue of unspent desire – “some-

thing gone, something missed, a door closed forever.”

It is not the mere quantity of sex that can still the ache in our

heart. We long for a quality of sex we have never known, will

never know in this life. In a world that has lost religion, or-

gasm is perhaps the last mystic experience we can believe in.

We look to it for a kind of transcendence we no longer can find

in church on Sunday. It is too heavy a load of expectation for

even sex to bear.

Frustration is the result. Many of our fantasies are the result

of using our imagination to make up for experiences we may

never have. Rather than saying that these fantasies grow out of

sexual impoverishment, I would say they express a desire for

greater sexual richness, and are themselves a form of erotic

munificence. They do not express the lack of sex, but are sex in

themselves.

Gloria writes that “my new lover is my sexual ideal, shows

me positions I’ve never heard of. Nor is he inhibited about talk-

ing during or after sex, and asks me about what turns me on, or

how something feels.” He is so secure in his masculinity, she

says, that “Maybe one day I’ll tell him about my fantasies….

He feels no need to prove anything to anyone, which is one of

the reasons I love him more than anyone.”

126

I submit the proposition that Gloria is far from a conven-

tionally frustrated woman; but even in the midst of this sexual

paradise in which she lives, she still wants something more.

Although she is in love with this “ideal” man, she can imagine

somebody else: a younger man. What I find particularly inter-

esting in Gloria’s letter is that it shows she would also enjoy a

switch in roles. Her sexually knowing lover is always teaching

her new positions and ideas – which she loves; with her seven-

teen-year-old virgin fantasy lover, she is the one who is the

initiator, the skilled, expert partner who introduces the boy into

pleasures he never had before.

Dot

I just finished reading My Secret Garden. I think it is one of

the best books on this topic. It is written very plain and simple,

without a lot of confusion.

I fantasize twenty-four hours a day (awake and sleeping),

and have since I was twelve years old (I am now twenty-eight).

I was starting to think I was abnormal until I read your book. I

am single and have had a very active sex life for about the last

ten years with various lovers, all married. The only thing I

think about when I am making love is how wonderful it feels;

there is nothing that can compare to it. I do masturbate almost

every day, sometimes a couple of times a day. I love to do this

when reading a sexy book or looking at pictures of naked,

women. So I guess most of my fantasies are lesbian, although I

have never had an affair with another woman. I like to lay in

bed at night and think what it would be like to have a woman

make love to me. I love to feel my nipples get hard and think

about how it would feel to have a woman suck on them. I play

with myself until I reach a orgasm, and at the same time imag-

ine someone is eating me. I also like to think about doing the

same things to someone else. As much as I love doing this and

thinking about it and maybe someday having an affair with a

woman, I never would want to replace a man. That is the best

fucking there is. I also think about what it would be like to

have both a man and a woman making love to me at the same

127

time. I have never told anyone about my fantasies before, and I

feel relieved that I can write it to someone (also very horny

right now).

Thank you again for a great book.

Gloria

I feel as if I can address you by your first name, since you

shared with me and your other readers such an intimate part of

yourself. Right now I am lying on a bed, with your book in

front of me. For some reason, none of my fantasies, except for

one shortly alluded to, is in your book.

I am one of those people who do not fantasize while making

love; I more or less lose consciousness instead, being aware

only of physical sensations. I do fantasize when I am bored, or

horny and alone. Although I consider myself very sophisticated

sexually (nothing ever surprised me), I’m just finding out some

new things now. My new lover is my sexual ideal, shows me

positions I’ve never heard of. Nor is he inhibited about talking

during or after sex, and asks me about what turns me on, or

how something feels. Maybe one day I’ll tell him about my

fantasies, since he’s one of the few men who are really secure

about their masculinity. He feels no need to prove anything to

anyone, which is one of the reasons I love him more than any-

one.

But about my fantasies themselves. My favorite one is also

the longest and most detailed.

I imagine myself driving a convertible sports car. (Speed is a

sexual turn-on, something racing drivers don’t admit to as a

reason for liking fast driving.) Anyway, I am going about

ninety miles an hour down a freeway, and I pull up beside an-

other sports car with its top down, as mine is. Driving the car

is an attractive boy of about seventeen. He looks over at me,

grins, and speeds up his car, so that he is going as fast as I am.

This willingness to play along with me and his appearance turn

me on. (It only takes five minutes to arouse me to orgasm.) He

turns off the same exit I do, so I begin to follow him. He is very

aware of me and drives to a secluded area and pulls over to the

128

side of the road. I pull up behind him and get out of the car

immediately. I am wearing hot pants and a halter top (great

legs and shoulders). I decide to handle the situation as directly

as possible. When I reach his car window, I bend down close

to him and say, “Driving like that is really a turn-on.” He

smiles at me rather shyly and agrees. Before long, we are dis-

cussing cars enthusiastically, and one topic leads to another.

Soon I am sitting in his car with him, and we move closer and

closer together, until we are embracing and kissing instead of

talking. We become aroused quickly, and he tells me, reluc-

tantly, that he is a virgin. I tell him that we all have to start

somewhere, then invite him to come home with me; he agrees

eagerly.

The next two hours are so unique to me, for I have never

made love to a virgin before. I enjoy the look on his face as he

enters me for the first time, and thrill to the sound of his moan

and gasp when he comes. Altogether, we make love three

times, and I come at least eight times. Finally, he says he must

go home. He writes down my phone number before he leaves,

and I know I will hear from him again.

I once came close to acting out this fantasy. I met the man

the way I met the boy in my fantasy, but he was by no means a

virgin, but a rather lazy, selfish lover.

I have another fantasy involving a pool under a gentle water-

fall, and one in which I make love with another woman. It

would not be traumatic for me to enact my fantasies in real life,

as I do not fantasize about rape or sadism or anything that I

wouldn’t like to try sometime. I guess I don’t feel even subcon-

sciously guilty or hostile, at least not where my sexuality is

concerned. I do sometimes fantasize clobbering somebody over

the head with a baseball bat, but only when I’m mad at them.

I am going to read your book again, and I am looking for-

ward to reading your second one. It would be interesting to see

my fantasy printed in a book like yours, as I encourage people

to become more open about this aspect of their sexuality. Per-

haps, when, or if, men are able to accept this aspect of women,

we will be able to better understand each other on all levels.

I was impressed by your openness and philosophy of liking

yourself. I believe self-acceptance is one of the true keys to

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happiness with one’s life, which is why I am not ashamed to

give my real name. Thanks and best wishes for success with

your next book.

Please excuse the odd handwriting, but I am stoned, which

allowed me to be honest.

One of the great needs that sexual fantasy fulfills for a

woman is that of foreplay. Fantasy helps us reach that level of

arousal he is at already … or he wouldn’t have invited us into

the bedroom to begin with. In a more egalitarian society, it will

not matter if the man or the woman is the sexual initiator; if

one is in the mood and the other is not, there will be no great

feeling of rejection, because the roles can as easily be switched

next time.

Right now, however, given the male-oriented rules under

which we live, it is usually the man who gets the action going

when he’s ready. Almost conspiratorially, women go along

with this idea, perpetuating the myth of man as the lusty beast

who must half-coax, half-wrestle his powerless, shy maiden

into bed. In her heart, every woman knows how incomplete

this picture is.

It doesn’t take into account the times when she’s lusty as

hell, and he’s a hundred miles away, or times when he’s pant-

ing like a bull, and she has a roast in the oven, the children to

pick up in an hour, or simply her mind on other things. But the

cold hand that grips the heart of America when we see a wife

in some television drama unwittingly reject a sexually aroused

husband grips our own hearts when our husband/lover reaches

for us and we start to push him away. “You just don’t do that to

a man!” is the sampler mother silently stitched in our brains.

The “correct” thing is to let the roast burn, your own work go

undone, and, yes, fake pleasure and orgasm if you don’t feel

like it. Satisfy his lust if you love him, because there is some-

thing mysteriously unexplained about what will happen to the

male ego if he is sexually rejected. It’s not just that he’ll get

warts on his scrotum, turn to some other (probably socially

diseased) woman for an outlet; what is equally awful is that we

130

ourselves will feel less of a woman for having rejected him.

Our womanliness rests on his desiring us. Our “selfishness”

(as we have been trained to call it) may risk our entire future

sexual happiness together. He may not try the next time; he

may lose interest; something terrible and bad may happen not

just to his cock as well as temporarily to his male ego but per-

haps permanently to our shaky status as “real women”

To be fair, it is a lovely feeling to be surprised in the middle

of a household chore, or while at the typewriter, to find that

your lover has this giant erection and is dying for you. He’s

frantically working that damn jammed zipper, leading you

toward the bedroom while covering you with kisses and fon-

dling your breasts … you are pleased, laughing with pleasure

and amusement and need no great urging at all. You’re both

enjoying his spontaneous moment together, but you are run-

ning on different timetables. Specifically, he’s already had (or

is having) his fantasy of fucking you, and is fully aroused. You

are miles behind, because somewhere at the back of your mind,

you’re still in the middle of that complicated recipe you were

following in the kitchen or unraveling that snarled paragraph in

the typewriter.

The problem is further complicated by the medically docu-

mented fact that physiologically men usually reach climax

sooner than women. So not only is he mentally ready for sex

long before he’s made you aware of his intentions but his

glands and nerve endings are physically geared to race ahead

of yours too. The result is that many of the most loving women

often finish their sexual experiences feeling a little rushed, un-

satisfied, even left out. Callie is lucky enough to have a hus-

band who is aware of these problems. He uses sexual fantasies

as a form of foreplay to ensure that his wife always reaches

orgasm. In fact, he is the one who tells them to her. “The only

problem,” she writes about his practice of using sexual fanta-

sies as a form of foreplay, “is that usually your mind is racing

ahead of the logical progression of the story … many times, my

husband or I are unable to reach thègood part’ … because the

anticipation of what’s to come is all that is required” … to

reach orgasm:

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Unfortunately, not many women have husbands who are

prepared to go to these lengths to stimulate their wives before

penetration. Arlene writes unhappily that her husband “doesn’t

believe in any type of foreplay at all… Sex lasts a total of three

minutes if we are lucky.”

The thing to remember is that you have a form of foreplay

available to you at a moment’s notice. You carry it in your

mind. Try to remember one of your favorite sexual fantasies –

one that you may have read in this book, or a new one you may

have invented yourself. It is a marvelous way to quickly rev

yourself up to his level of excitement … to join or even beat

him in the headlong rush to climax.

One of the ironies of fantasy is that the hero of our erotic

reveries is rarely the man we love. Perhaps it is the very ful-

fillment and satisfaction we get from him that leaves nothing to

the imagination, and so we need these strangers in the night to

people our imaginary sexual worlds. They bring us the excite-

ment of the unknown.

Arlene is one of the rare exceptions to the rule. Perhaps it is

because her husband does leave her so unsatisfied that she says

it is he who is making love to her when she masturbates. “I

imagine us both climaxing together, and I almost go out of my

mind with pleasure.”

Her fantasies show us that Arlene is hardly a sexually insa-

tiable or strange woman. All she is asking for is something any

woman is entitled to; in one of the fantasies she has sent in,

perhaps she herself has found a way to get what she wants in

reality. When she masturbates, Arlene writes that she uses her

hairbrush, sausages, a cucumber … “I think I would die if he

caught me, but I sometimes imagine him walking in, and it

excites me even more.”

Perhaps she might be very happily surprised if she let him

do just that?

Callie

Thank you so much for My Secret Garden. I haven’t thought

that I was weird, but I have wondered if other women fantasize

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as much as I do. I am just forty years old and have been mar-

ried for twenty-two years. Since I didn’t have any relations

prior to marriage and haven’t had any with anyone except my

husband, I have fantasized as to what it would be like.

During foreplay, my husband always masturbates me to a

climax. I usually climax very easily, but at times need mental

help – that’s where the fantasies come in. My husband and I

share them – in fact, he usually relates them to me. We have

two favorites that we use at this time in our foreplay.

Fantasy 1: The brush salesman arrives. He has so many

items to show, I tell him to spread them on the floor in front of

the couch. I excuse myself for a moment, go to the bedroom,

and remove my panties. I am wearing a miniskirt, so as I sit on

the edge of the couch to better see his display, I am quite ex-

posed. He is kneeling on the floor. As he shows me his items, I

show him mine. Whenever I reach down to pick up a brush, I

carelessly open my thighs. I watch his eyes out of the corner of

mine, and he is practically staring at my exposed cunt. I in-

crease the exposure. He finally takes a chance and mentions

something appropriate. I act semi-shocked. He says he will be

gentle and logically adds that I must want him to otherwise I

would have been more careful. I weaken and finally give in,

but I tell him that he cannot fuck me – only my husband can do

that. The best I can offer is to let him play with my cunt and

suck it. He eagerly accepts. I lay back, pull my skirt all the way

up, spread my legs, and he starts to move toward me. I reach

down and open the lips and I usually come now, if not before.

Fantasy 2: A variation of the first. I promise a sales ap-

pointment to a salesperson at one of those lingerie parties, in

return for a hostess gift for my friend. The salesperson arrives

at my house, and he is a very good-looking man. I act flustered,

and he assures me that he helps women try on bras and under-

garments all of the time and thinks nothing of it. I go in the

bedroom and put on my robe over panties and bra. He gives me

a bra to try on. I slip my robe to my waist, turn my back, and

try to change bras. My robe is too hard to try to hold, and with

his reassurances, I figure what the heck and let it drop. I com-

plain of the fit – rubs and pulls in the front. He says that I

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probably did not lay my breasts in the cups properly. He has

me lean over after he has undone the bra. He reaches under and

cups my breasts while explaining how it should go and feel.

While cupping my tits, he has very gently rubbed the nipples,

and they are erecting. The bra fits, and I decide to take it, but

after removing the demonstrator, I don’t put my other one back

on. I am thrilled to stand there with my lovely tits completely

bare, the nipples now erected like pencil erasers, and see him

looking at them. He gets out the panty hose, and I try on a pair.

I again complain of the fit. He says my panties are wrinkling

up under the panty hose and suggests that, for the purpose of

fitting them, I should remove my panties. By now I quickly

agree. After putting the panty hose back on, I look in the full-

length mirror. The hose is so sheer that nothing is left to the

imagination. My cunt is really quite hairy and extends up to-

ward my belly quite a ways. I see him looking at it in the mir-

ror over my shoulder. By now, both in and out of the fantasy, I

am very hot. I tell him that it is pulling in the crotch – knowing

full well what he will do. He slips his hand down the front,

over my bush, and places his fingers on the lips. He moves

them about and asks if that feels better. I say somewhat, but it

still isn’t right. He sits in a chair nearby and asks me to come

over, so he can see what the problem is. As I stand inches from

him, he rolls the panty hose down over my hips and on down

off of one leg. He asks me to put one foot on the arm of his

chair, and he will see what was bothering me. As I do this, he

leans forward into my spread legs, using his fingers to open the

lips, and very gently lays his tongue between them – and I

come, both in the fantasy and for real.

The only problem with these fantasies is that usually your

mind is racing ahead of the logical progression of the story. In

that event, many times, my husband or I are unable to reach the

“good part” of the story, because the anticipation of what’s to

come is all that is required to accomplish the purpose.

One more favorite that I usually use when I masturbate. My

husband is a pilot. Of course, many layovers occur with vari-

ous stewardesses. Contrary to public opinion, there doesn’t

seem to be much hanky-panky on these layovers. We have a

good sex life, so I am sure he is not fooling around with these

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girls; however, I do fantasize about it while masturbating. It is

very sexy to imagine him doing this. (I don’t tell him this, of

course.)

Fantasy 3: I get on a plane and follow him to his layover

point. He has been in the hotel for a couple of hours. I get a key

from the room clerk and go upstairs. I know what I will find. I

open the door. He is naked and sitting in a chair, with an enor-

mous hard-on. In front of him, standing with her hips thrust

forward and one foot on the arm of the chair, is a gorgeous

stewardess whom I know. She is nude. She is a big girl – but

not fat. She has a beautiful body. Lovely, huge, but well-

formed, tits. She is very blonde except for her cunt, which is

very bushy with black hair. My husband is licking her cunt as

she looks at me and smiles and invites me in. On the bed is an

equally stunning brunette, also nude. She invites me to remove

my clothes and tells me that, “He will be ready in a few min-

utes.” I sit in a chair. By now, they have moved to the bed. The

blonde is sucking my husband’s cock. She is being sucked by

the brunette, and, of course, my husband is eating the bru-

nette’s cunt. I am so hot watching them that I am now playing

with my cunt and rubbing my nipples until I climax. The girls

also climax, but my husband does not. The blonde finally turns

to me and says, “He’s ready now.” I go over to the bed and

slowly let myself down on that wonderful prick. The girls are

beside us, going down on each other. As I watch them and ride

that cock I climax.

I have rambled on far too much I fear, but as some, of your

other contributors have said, it’s good to be able to tell some-

one. Detailed fantasies are still somewhat out of place at the

coffee klatch.

I believe in your sincerity, but feel more comfortable signing

only my first name.

Arlene

My Secret Garden was a great book. I bought it by accident,

and it turned out to be the best accident I ever had.

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I am married one and a half years, and I am happy now that

I read My Secret Garden. See, my husband has an unusual

problem that’s driving me insane. He doesn’t believe in any

type of foreplay at all, except for himself. I have to do every-

thing to him, but he won’t excite me in any way. He just

mounts me and slides in and out maybe four times, and he

pulls out and comes. Sex lasts a total of three minutes if we are

lucky. I asked numbers of times why he won’t come inside of

me, but never get any answer. I am told to lay still on the bed,

and when I try to move along with him, he seems to have the

idea only men are supposed to enjoy sex. I put up with this

every day. When he goes to work I am so overjoyed. I found

myself one day lying on the bathroom floor with my hairbrush,

just thinking how it would be making love to my husband. It is

so beautiful I have to do it almost every day now. I imagine us

both climaxing together, and I almost go out of my mind with

pleasure. Then I go to the store and look for other goodies to

replace my hairbrush. So far I’ve had a hot dog, knockwurst,

sausage, cucumber. I think I would die if he caught me, but I

sometimes imagine him walking in, and it excites me even

more.

Bunny writes that her lovemaking with her husband is

“always exciting and complete….” Although he is crippled and

unable to walk, they have a son, and, “baby,” she proudly de-

clares of her husband, “he has more energy than a young man

when it comes down to fucking. We have a lot of fire and be-

lieve me, we burn it all up. The days of Zip Zam Thank You

Ma’am are all over with.” Bunny’s husband is as avid and ex-

perimental about sex as is Bunny herself, and yet in the very

heart of Bunny’s full erotic life, she names a frustration: she

has always had a fantasy of making love to a woman. This is

an important theme that runs through letter after letter in this

book, from women in every sexual walk of life.

“Who knows better than a woman how to satisfy another

woman?” I think that sentence haunts the bedroom of every

woman who knows the fireworks oral sex can hold for her, but

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whose lover is inexperienced, unskilled, or just downright re-

luctant about it. Even Bunny, who never implies any lack of

ardor or skill to her husband in any sexual area, found it a

thrilling experience. Describing what happened when, with her

husband’s willing consent and participation, she put her fan-

tasy into practice, Bunny describes the feeling of having an-

other woman go down on her: “She had a tongue that knew

every spot there is to know on a woman.”

Because Bunny does not call herself a lesbian, I do not con-

sider her one. (The fact that she is married is not, of course,

evidence either way.) Some lesbians are proud of the name.

Other women describe homosexual fantasies to me, but add the

proviso that while they enjoy thinking about it, they neverthe-

less consider themselves heterosexuals. Bunny herself, in her

enthusiasm and gusto for sex in all its forms, never seems to

give the matter any thought at all – and I think she is probably

the wisest of all.

Bunny

I have had fantasies for years, but never gave them a second

thought until my husband and I began sharing them. Now fan-

tasies are a part of our everyday life. It all began when my hus-

band, I, and my son took a trip to Houston, Texas, in 1972,

with two other couples. When we woke up the next morning,

the women decided to go shopping. We walked for about six

blocks, when a peep-show store caught my eyes. I always

wanted to go into one of those shops, and being away from

home, I felt more at ease walking into the place. So I asked the

women would they go with me? One said okay, but the other

one grabbed my little boy, who was two years old, and said no,

I’m not going into that place (the poor woman should have

gone; she might have learned something). I was really amazed

at the books, dildos of all sizes, vibrators, and French ticklers

that they had on display. I went around the store trying to pick

out the best books, but naturally I only could look at the cover

and use my own judgment, for the books were covered in

transparent wrapping. So I picked out three books that I

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thought would be enjoyable. I could not wait to get back to the

room to open them. When I did, I could not believe my eyes.

Honey, those books had Me and my husband wondering what

in the world had we been missing. My husband and I would

look at them every chance we had. I really enjoyed the lesbian

shows. When we make love, I tell my husband my fantasy

about making love to a woman. Our lovemaking was always

exciting and complete, and the thought of me eating a woman

really aroused us more. So we made plans to get someone, to

see how enjoyable it would really be. One night, a friend of

ours came down. She is always talking about sex. I asked her if

she ever had a woman eat her; she said no, but was indeed very

curious about it. I told her about the plans me and my husband

had made, and to my surprise, she was very willing. She un-

dressed faster than we did. I had been curious for months about

eating a woman, so here we were, all three of us lying there

naked, and I wondering would I do a good job on her. I always

knew I did a hell of a blow job on my husband, but, damn,

eating a woman, shit what a difference, so I got to it. First I

fondled with her breast, then slowly worked my way down

with my tongue to her cunt. I opened it with a gentle touch, the

way my husband opens me, ease in my hot tongue, and

watched her face expression change to: Goddamn it’s about

time you got there! I ate her till my husband could take no

more, and he began eating me. After we brought herd home,

we got back in bed and started where we left off. Here I had

eaten this chick and I enjoyed it, but there was a problem: I

wanted a woman to eat me. We have this other friend who is

just eighteen, but knows a lot about sex. She came down one

night. My husband had company, so she came to the bedroom.

I was lying there with just my robe on watching the “Untouch-

ables” when I felt her hand going under my robe. She is the

type of person who says if you want something go after it, so I

gathered she wanted my pussy, and baby she was welcome to

it. She had experience. I could tell by the way her hands moved

to my cunt, and she parted my lips so gently. She came closer

to reach my neck and kiss it softly; then she slowly lowered her

head to my pearl. Goddamn that bitch knew just what she was

doing. And I enjoyed every minute or it. Then my husband

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joined us. It was another threesome, but this time, the woman

was eating me. She had a tongue that knew every spot there is

to know on a woman.

I never believed that a woman could make me feel the ex-

citement that I felt that very minute. My husband made love to

me while she blew him. Then I made love to her, while my

husband fucked me from behind; then he made love to her

while I blew him; then we both made love to him, she blew

him while I sucked his chest. Then he fucked both of us.

Now this fantasy that I love having is about my husband’s

old girl friend. From the minute I met her, I always liked her.

After three years of knowing her, I just found out from my hus-

band that they were lovers before he met me. It has been a year

since we saw her. She is in Europe now with her husband.

Ever since I had my husband tell me how he used to make love

to her, I fantasize that she comes over, and we are drinking

Vodka like we used to do. I ask her if she would like my hus-

band to eat her, and how willing she is, so we all undress. My

husband is always teasing people, so he begins making love to

me first, knowing how excited she would get, blowing in my

ears, biting my neck, licking all over my body, then slowly

parting my lips and licking my cunt, then going to my pearl.

But never entering into my cunt. But then I feel a tongue enter-

ing inside of me, a long hot tongue licking every corner, catch-

ing every drop of juice that’s dripping down. That chick really

has her shit together, a tongue still on my pearl and a hot

tongue slowly taking its time going around and around into my

cunt. She and my husband give me a hell of a working over

until I can’t take anymore, now I need a fucking, so my hus-

band gives her the dildo to put on. She is now working with it

just at the tip of my cunt, every now and then she stabs me

with it. My husband is sucking my breast and playing with my

pearl. Now we begin to get more excited. She begins penetrat-

ing inside of me with the dildo. I begin shouting I’m coming

bitch, just keep on working inside of me. Then my husband

starts making love to her. She begins kissing me and I her.

While my husband is eating her, she gets between my legs and

slowly starts eating my cunt, and I start sucking my husband’s

prick, and we all come to climax together.

139

Sometime me and my husband fantasize about four men

holding us up and taking us into a shed, where they fuck me

while my husband is tied up and can do nothing but watch.

One guy is eating me while the other one shoves his big black

prick into my mouth. The other two lick all over my body. Af-

ter they all eat me and I suck their pricks, a woman is brought

in, and she begins to eat me, then I eat her. She is then brought

over to my husband. He is untied and he begins to eat her. Now

a German shepherd is brought in and he begins to lick my cunt

and asshole. When his red penis begins to show, they insert it

into me, and we begin fucking. Now my husband and that

woman are doing sixty-nine. We all have reached our climax

now, and everyone is beat as hell.

My husband and I have been married for three years.

I am twenty-five, and he is forty-eight. He is in a wheelchair,

has been in one since 1949, and baby he has more energy than

a young man when it comes down to fucking. We have a lot of

fire, and believe me, we burn it all up. The days of Zip Zam

Thank You Ma’am are all over with.

I really enjoyed your book.

One of Sherri’s great frustrations is that she cannot share

her fantasies with her husband: “… even after ten years of mar-

riage, he still does not fully love me or trust me.” So she is

silent about the waking dreams that might fill their bedroom

hours with life.

Sherri’s letter strikes a sympathetic chord in me; she makes

me sigh at the barriers within us all. They cause so much

wasted happiness, so much time lost. I do not see her husband

as a cold-hearted villain as much as just one more person who

feels he cannot trust what he does not know. The irony is that

Sherri is ready – eager – to let him know her deepest thoughts;

she wishes to display herself to him in all her nakedness. It is

heartbreaking to realize that his distrust will make it highly

unlikely for him ever to find out what her sexual fantasies are,

and to enjoy them with her.

Ginger sounds more fortunate. She reports that she is learn-

ing to use her sexual fantasies to excite her husband. She se-

140

lected two of the fantasies from My Secret Garden and read

them to him, “casually.” The result delighted her – “he got a

hard-on.” Perhaps encouraged by this, Ginger’s husband him-

self has begun making up fantasies. “Once,” she says happily,

“my husband made-up a good airport fantasy.” Her underlined

words are all the evidence we need to tell us the great pleasure

she felt in sharing one of his inventions.

Ricky married the only man she had ever had intercourse

with, but while her husband brought home quite “a few tricks”

from his time with the Navy in the South Pacific and the Ori-

ent, she finds “After a while, even the most bizarre positions

become boring.” Having known only one man in her life, she

says she finds that “his feel, his mannerisms, are too famil-

iar…. I am terribly curious if there is a noticeable difference

between men…. I want to know so very much and plan to

know no matter if I am married or not.” Apparently, she has

not yet found out; in the meantime, she satisfies her desire for

variety in fantasies instead.

Early marriages are often disastrous; the truth is not that

many people cannot lead rich lives having known only one

other person sexually. The truth is that too many people do not

know themselves before they marry. A woman who marries the

first man she ever goes to bed with is often plagued by lifelong

curiosities like Ricky’s. Her letter ends on a wistful note: “I

guess some people would say I was a sexually frustrated per-

son. I love sex and touching. I feel I need sex and affection to

remain emotionally and mentally healthy….”

Like the remaining women in this chapter, Ricky tells us the

fantasies she uses to explore as yet untasted sexual pleasures at

the feast of life.

Sherri

Thank you for My Secret Garden. I only wish I could speak

my mind, and I wish I could share my fantasies with my hus-

band – but even after ten years of marriage, he still does not

fully love me or trust me. I enclose three of my favorite fanta-

sies for your new book. I hope it will help other women to bet-

141

ter understand themselves as My Secret Garden has helped

me. My very best wishes for you and your future books.

My fantasies right now deal mainly with a couple with

whom my husband and I spend a great deal of time. We are all

in our early thirties, white, middle class, college educated.

My girl friend’s husband is always kidding me about run-

ning off somewhere with him, or telling my husband that I’m

the “prettiest girl in town” and that any man around would

want to lay me if they had the chance. My husband thinks this

is all a big joke, and though I’ve never encouraged this fellow

in any way, I’m sure he’d screw me at the first opportunity if I

gave him the okay. He’s usually running his wife down in front

of other people anyway, so she thinks that his comments to me

are just another way of giving her a hard time.

On to the fantasy part:

Fantasy 1: When I masturbate (daily at least!), I sometimes

imagine that my girl friend is away on business, and I’ve

agreed to take care of her kids for her. While the kids are at

school, her husband comes home. We go through the usual

jokes and propositions, but this time, I know he’s going to go

through with it if I want him to. He pulls me close to him and

starts kissing my face and throat; then as I can feel his cock

come erect against my belly, he forces his tongue into my

mouth. We go into the bedroom, and he takes my clothes off

very slowly. He lays me over the side of the bed with my knees

over the edge and starts to lick and kiss my cunt. In between

licks, he’s telling me how beautiful I am, that my breasts are so

much larger than his wife’s and that my figure is so much

softer and more curved than hers. After he’s licked and sucked

me to the point where I’m almost exhausted, he slides me up

farther on the bed and slowly puts his cock in my cunt. I imag-

ine it to be very long and hot. He keeps sliding it in and out

without putting any weight on my body, so all I feel is this long

hot cock slipping up and down in my cunt. Because I’ve gotten

so wet with my own juice, it takes little effort for his cock to

slide easily around in me. Finally, he jams it in so hard that I

think I’m being ripped apart, and BAMMM!!! we both finish at

the same time!

142

Fantasy 2: I imagine that my girl friend and I are alone in

either her house or mine, and we know that no one will be

coming home for a long time. She asks me to help her shave

the sides of her pussy so that the hair won’t show outside of her

bathing suit. I agree to help her, so we go into the bedroom,

and while she lays on the bed with her legs apart, I start to

shave her. By the time I’ve finished, we’re both very excited

over me touching her crotch. We both realize that we want to

make love to one another. Then we take our clothes off and

begin to kiss one another while lying very close together, face

to face. I move down and start kissing and sucking on her

breasts, then move lower and get between her legs. Her cunt is

already starting to get wet when I push my tongue up in her.

For a long time, I lick her from her anus up to her clit, then

run my tongue around her clit and kiss it or suck on it very

softly. Then I start pressing harder with my tongue on her clit

and stick my tongue up her cunt as far as I can. I keep this up

until she comes. Then I let her rest just a moment before I lick

her clit and vulva clean of her juice. After a short rest, then she

goes down on me. First, she plays with my breasts, but what

she really wants to do (what I want her to do!!!) is to get to my

crotch. She does the same things to me that I’ve done to her,

but she has a longer tongue than I have, so she can reach far-

ther up into me than I did with her. She finally finishes me off

by putting her top lip over my clit and her tongue up my cunt. I

can feel the softness of the inside of her lip and the hardness of

her teeth against my clit. After I come, she licks all my juice off

of me.

Fantasy 3: (This fantasy has nothing to do with this couple.)

I’ve traveled back in time to Imperial Japan (about An 1500),

and I’m being given to the emperor as a gift. (I don’t know

who’s giving me away or why.) I know that the emperor has

never had a white woman before, and he, is very excited about

me. I’m bathed, perfumed, and dressed in a beautiful kimono.

Even though the kimono is heavy and completely concealing,

I’m very aware that I have nothing on underneath it. When I’m

brought before the emperor, everyone in the court stops talking

and turns toward me. He has me stand next to him and opens

143

my kimono so that everyone can see how beautiful my body is.

He touches my hair (on my head) and then touches and strokes

my pussy, because he’s so taken by the sight and feel of soft

blonde hair. He has attendants take me to his bedroom to await

him. They remove my kimono and lay me on the bed (on the

floor – Japanese style). When the emperor comes in, he sits in

a low chair by my side and motions a huge, handsome guard to

get me ready for him. The guard kneels between my legs and

starts to lick my vulva and clit. He keeps on licking in long hot

strokes and running his tongue (a very long one) up my cunt

faster and faster. Now the emperor has opened his kimono, and

I see that he has a huge cock that is hard and stiff as a piece of

wood, and it has this beautiful soft, brown tip. Even though the

guard is driving me wild with his tongue up my cunt, I move

over to the emperor and start to suck his cock. He doesn’t try to

shove it deeper into my throat, he just leans back in his chair

and enjoys what I’m doing to him while he runs his hands

through my long blonde hair. By now the guard is under me

with his tongue up my cunt as far as he can. Just as the em-

peror comes and his juice shoots into my mouth, I climax from

what the guard is doing to me, and push as hard as I can

against his face with my crotch.

Ginger

I love your book. What a TURN-ON! I wish I could have

contributed to it, but I want to tell you about myself. I married

a man fifteen years my senior. For the most part, he’s a codger

and leaves me unsatisfied. I don’t know How to have an or-

gasm. We only have sex once a week or less. He’s thirty-eight;

I’m twenty-three. We’ve been married four years. I’ve yearned

to have affairs, but I’m not beautiful and never have found any-

one who would lay me. I never asked men to, but hinted

around and tried to lead them on. (It never worked.) I used to

fantasize about famous men: Dick Martin, Tom Snyder. The

past week, I’ve fantasized about the clerk in the bookstore

where I bought your book. I had two encounters with him, but I

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don’t remember him, although he said we went to the same

high school. He’s engaged and I want to lay him before he gets

married. I feel very bad about “Nobody wants me sexually.”

It’s such a downer with my husband’s apparent lack of desire. I

feel suicidal about it sometimes. Nancy, I’d screw ANY-

BODY!!! (or anything!)

Jim, the man I loved deeply, never asked me out when I was

single (I don’t like to remember that I asked him out, and he

flat-out, rather tactlessly refused to go out with me). Jim is

married now, and I don’t think he knows how much I still love

him. I’ve had a lot of fantasies about trying to trap Jim into

fucking … or even just touching me. I fantasize that the next

time he comes over alone I fake that I’ve just been assaulted in

my apartment when he finds me. I’d lay there “pretending” to

be “out.” I’d be wearing torn-off clothing, with my legs wide

open and my bare pussy peeking out. I’d be positioned with my

head against something hard, with some blood on my scalp.

He’d have to pick me up off the floor and carry me to the couch

or my bed. He’d pay attention to me. Who knows, he might

even fuck me! I’d “come to” after a reasonable length of time.

I’d make him promise not to call the police. I’d tell him it was

incest … like my husband’s brother was the one who’d raped

me. The major difference between this fantasy and the ones in

your book is that I don’t feel guilty about it. I’m manipulating

him to the point where he can take advantage of me or not. His

choice. At any rate, he’d have to touch me. That would be

enough. But I’m not tied up or being forced into it. I’d do it,

willingly, gladly, and guiltlessly – damn it, if anyone would

only do it with me!

The other women fantasies and the dog fantasies turn me on.

Once my husband made up a good airport fantasy: we’re total

strangers in the airport terminal. I’m walking along, and he’s

walking in back of me. I’ve no panties on and a short skirt, and

I’m struggling with several pieces of luggage, my handbag, and

sunglasses. I drop my sunglasses. He is unzipped, with his

throbbing cock sticking out of his pants. I bend over from the

waist to pick up what I’ve dropped, and he “bumps” into me.

We both struggle with our luggage and fall facedown on the

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floor. We both screw slowly and gradually other people casu-

ally come along and join in. We rearrange ourselves face up,

and we all roll around and suck and fuck each other.

In reality, I want my husband to suck and kiss and lick my

cunt. He won’t, willingly, only when I really pressure and nag

him to do it to me. Last night, I got a hunch and acted on it. I

carefully selected two of the fantasies from your book and read

them to him, casually. They were “Jo” and “Wanda” (The

Zoo). He got a hard-on. I want a big dog. I’ve fucked with a

dog when I was a teenager and liked it. I think my husband

would be quite stimulated ,to see the dog fucking me, and he’d

probably mount the dog all at the same time. We live in an

apartment where dogs aren’t permitted, so it will be at least two

years before I can get one, unless I can “borrow” one some-

where. I much thank you for caring enough to ask us for our

fantasies.

How in the world are you going to top Secret Garden? I’ve

been in a constant state of “moistness” since yesterday morn-

ing, when I started reading it!

Ricky

I want to write you because I enjoyed My Secret Garden so

very much. I found it informative, interesting, entertaining,

funny, shocking, and even a bit stimulating (sexually).

I fantasize. I’ve tried to imagine my husband as another

man, but have failed. He is the only man I have ever had inter-

course with, and after three years of simply one man, I have

found that his feel, his mannerisms, are too familiar to get into

my head that he is another man.

I do daydream about sex. I am terribly curious if there is a

noticeable difference between men. Can you tell the difference

in their size just from the feel of their organ deep (or not so

deep) inside that warm, soft spot? Are their “styles” noticeably

different? I want to know so very much and plan to know no

matter if I am married or not.

My husband was in the Navy when we met and started to

sleep together. (There was no “sleeping” until we were married

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though.) He brought home from the South Pacific and the Ori-

ent a few tricks. He showed me so many positions that I can’t

number them nor do I care to. After a while, even the most

bizarre positions become boring. The day we were married, he

lost a great deal of interest in sex. He says that there was a

great deal of “challenge” before we were married. Now it is

here anytime he wants it. He turns to me when he feels the

urge, not the deep beauty of it, but the natural call of his sexual

drive. About eight to fourteen days apart and never more than

once a night. He is always ready for me to give him head

though. Not to have sex or eat me when I feel like it.

My daydreams are of men I have met. I imagine we’re

alone, and he tenderly, slowly makes love to me. No, I make

love to him right back. He shows that he really enjoys what I

do to and with him. He moves about, he makes low, sexy

noises, he holds me tighter. (My husband is a quiet man, never

makes a sound. He claims to have only one “hot spot” – his

dick.) We give and take from each other in the most beautiful

act in creation. So far I have not been able to set an end to this

fantasy. I sometimes have a climax during it, but that isn’t all

too important to me. (I always enjoy foreplay the most.)

Sometimes the man is famous. My idol is Joe Namath.

Sometimes he is a man I have met casually; sometimes he is a

friend of my husband’s. My husband knows that I have a sex-

ual attraction to this one friend of his. It came out in a “What

if” conversation. He knows and I believe myself when I say I

doubt if I could carry through with an affair. It would take an

advance from the man. A subtle one, a tender one.

I feel I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you that I do have

this “daydream” about my half-brother. We have the same

father. Both our mothers were divorced from our father, and we

seldom saw each other in sixteen years. He finally became

closer and closer to our father. (I always was, though not sexu-

ally attracted to our father.) We began seeing each other and

writing. Since we did not have a chance to develop a brother-

sister relationship, I do not feel that way toward him. I feel at

times that he does not regard me as a “sister.” He is a tender

person, and I sometimes feel he would like to ball me as I

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would him. The fact that we have the same father seems to stop

us both. I know if he would let me know or make a move, I

would jump. I am not afraid to be the instigator in sex. I just

need to know the man I’m interested in is interested in me. He

comes on (my brother) as a very sensual person. He belongs to

a nudist camp in the hills. He is also a very sensual photogra-

pher. Soft, moody, beautiful works. (Our father is a photogra-

pher; he is a part-time pro.)

I guess some people would say I was a sexually frustrated

person. I have been told I am asexual person. I love sex and

touching. I feel I need sex and affection to remain emotionally

and mentally healthy. I hope you can use this. Please let me

know what you think.

Stella

I just finished reading your book and found it very exciting,

to say the least. I told a couple of my friends about it, and am

sorry to say that they aren’t open-minded enough to read it too.

My sex life started at the age of twenty-one at my own re-

quest. I used to very often sleep with this one guy with the

usual foreplay, but when it got to “the limit,” nothing more.

Being a romantic-type person, I asked him one night to make

love to me. The conclusion, unfortunately, was the question to

myself: Is that all there is?

Since then, there have been a few more men, but all I seem

to be doing is running into the same kind of people. They sat-

isfy themselves and leave me very frustrated and still waiting

for something to happen.

I love sex, to say the least, and never have regretted having

given up my womanly treasure, so to speak. I am now twenty-

five and have lived with a guy three years. Our sex life is very

dull, maybe because I just don’t try. But he just doesn’t do any-

thing for me sexually.

Why I stay is another story in itself. I have had other flings

since this guy I live with, but never seem to find satisfaction.

I’m trying to find out what a climax is all about!

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Thinking back over your book, I found myself in there a

number of times. If I were to tell you my fantasies, they would

be much like many other women’s. What I find sex is all about

is people together, sharing, feeling, caring. I often wonder what

a certain person would be like. I see a man at the office or at a

party, and I try to imagine what it would be like to make love

to him. But I’m always afraid my dreams will end up like my

reality – better in the imagination than in the performance. So

many men think that just because they’ve reached a climax, the

woman must have been satisfied too. I suppose I will keep

looking for a man who does not believe this, who understands

women better. But in the meantime, I suppose I must just stick

to my dreams.

Jill

A friend of mine recently recommended your book to me, so

I bought a copy. I have just finished reading it. I saw on a back

page a request for suggestions, comments, and further fanta-

sies, and that is why I am writing to you. I think your book is

great. Until now, I have always thought that my fantasies were

something bad that I should keep hidden. I was afraid that

there was something wrong with me, because I often had these

“bad” sexual fantasies, and because I enjoyed them. It relieves

some of my fears to know that other women have sexual fanta-

sies just as I do.

I would like to share some of my fantasies with you, and

maybe they will help you in preparing your second book. Let

me tell you something about myself first. I used to work as a

secretary, but now I am just a housewife. I spend most of my

time at home and since I have no children, I get very bored and

lonely. My husband has the kind of job in which he has no set

work hours. He often comes home very late, and then he brings

work home with him. He often has to work on weekends too. I

really think that we were together more before we were mar-

ried. Even when I go to bed at night, he is usually still up do-

ing some work he brought home. He never seems to have time

for me anymore. He seldom has time for sex either. Even when

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I come right out and ask him to make love to me, he usually

says that he is too busy or that he does not have any time to

waste. When he does make love to me, he acts like it is some

kind of routine thing, like brushing his teeth or shaving. He

acts like he is in a hurry to get it done. Lately, he has been tell-

ing me that he does not have time to make love to me, but that

he will masturbate me for a little while if I want him to. He

often tells me that I should learn to control my sexual feelings

and that there are more important things in life than sex. Be-

cause my real sexual life is not what I want it to be, I have had

to fantasize a good sexual life for myself. I spend much of the

time that I am home alone fantasizing and masturbating. I have

developed a whole collection of fantasies, and I would like to

share some of them with you.

In my favorite fantasy, I see myself as a Near Eastern ruler

like those long ago. I live in a “pleasure palace” with a whole

“harem” of men. They are always available to satisfy whatever

sexual desires I have. In my mind, I have them categorized in a

kind of filing system. Each man is categorized according to his

age, his looks and physical build, his sexual skills (that is, the

sexual skills I imagine he has), and his general personality.

Most of the men in my harem are men I know or have known,

but some are imaginary men, or men I know about but do not

really know personally. In the sexual skills category, I classify

each man according to his general skill at lovemaking, his

powers of endurance during lovemaking, his skill at oral love-

making, and any other sexual skills he has. I also rate each

man in my harem according to the size of his penis, his ability

to use it, and whether or not it is circumcised. I like variety, so

these men are all different from each other. I can select one

according to what I am looking for at the time.

In a typical fantasy of this kind, I am in a large, opulent bed-

room in my “pleasure palace.” I am usually dressed in a sen-

sual, silky nightgown. In the bedroom, there is a huge canopy

bed upon which I am lying. As I try to decide which man (or

men) I want, I lie there masturbating, both in my fantasy and in

reality. When I select the man I want, he is brought to my bed-

room. As I watch, he is taken to an adjoining bathroom where

my servants (all female) undress him and bathe him. When

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they have dried him and put cologne on him, my servants bring

him to my bed, and then they leave the room. The man I have

selected wants very much to make love to me, but I make him

stand at the side of my bed and wait until I am ready. Often at

this point, I get out of bed and undress while he watches. He

must stand at attention and not move while I entice him. When

I am nude, I come over to him and caress him and rub my body

against him, but he must remain at attention. When I have

teased him enough, I lie down on the bed and allow him to lie

down with me and make love to me. If I desire oral lovemak-

ing, I lie with my legs over the side of the bed, and he kneels

beside the bed and makes love to me orally. Other times, I sit

on the edge of the bed or kneel and make him stand right in

front of me. Then I make love to him orally. In fantasies in

which I make love to him orally, I usually imagine that his

penis is still soft and that it swells and becomes erect in my

mouth. As I said, the men are different, so the kind of lovemak-

ing that I have with each one is different. All of them are very

passionate though. Usually, I make love for a long time with

the man I select. He is able to delay his orgasm until the end,

or he is able to have more than one orgasm. All of the men in

my fantasies are able to do one of these two things. That may

be because my husband can do neither one of them, and I wish

he could. In my fantasies, the men I choose and I make love in

many different positions. That, too, is different from making

love with my husband, because he always insists on using the

same position, the standard one with him on top.

This kind of fantasy lets me imagine an unlimited number of

variations of it. One of my favorite variations of it is one in

which my husband is humiliated and made to suffer. In this

fantasy, my husband is the man who is brought to my bed-

room. When my servants undress him and bathe him, they

make fun of him and laugh at him. Most of all, they tease him

about the small size of his penis. They tell him his penis looks

like a little boy’s. In reality, it does look more like a boy’s than

a man’s. He is very self-conscious about the small size of his

penis, and he often asks me if it bothers me that his penis is so

small. I always tell him that it does not bother me, but some-

times I would like to tell him what I really think. In this fan-

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tasy, my servants tease him by telling him some of the things

about his small penis that I would often like to tell him. When

my servants bring him to my bed, they stay and watch instead

of leaving. He pleads for me to undress and make love with

him, but I refuse. Still dressed in my gown, I stand close to him

and whisper in his ear about all the pleasures he would feel if

he made love with me. He gets very excited and gets an erec-

tion, and he cannot wait any longer. He takes hold of his penis

to masturbate himself, but the moment touches it, he ejacu-

lates. My servants, who are watching, laugh at him and tease

him. They call him “the fastest gun of all.” He is very ashamed

and embarrassed, and he pleads with me to give him another

chance. I refuse, and I tell him that he will see how a real man

makes love with a woman. Then I order my servants to tie him

to a pillar so that he is facing my bed.

With my husband there watching, I have one of my write

men brought to my bedroom. He is always someone whom my

husband knows. Often he is a former boyfriend of mine with

whom I had intercourse for the A time in my life. My husband

is facing so that he can see my servants undress and bathe this

man, and my husband sees that the man I have selected has a

much larger penis than he does. This man’s penis is as much

larger than normal as my husband’s is smaller than normal,

and this was true about my former boyfriend whom I have just

mentioned. While my husband watches, the man is brought

over to my bed. I undress quickly, and kneel beside the bed so

that he is right in front of me. Then I bend forward and kiss the

tip of his penis. It is still soft, and I take a hold of it with my

fingertips. It feels heavy. I pull back the foreskin of his penis

and lick its soft, pink glans. Out of the corner of my eye, I can

see my husband watching me. This man’s penis is so large that

I cannot get very much of it into my mouth, but I take as much

of it into my mouth as I can. During the time that I have been

sucking on it and licking it, it has become erect. After a few

minutes of this, I stop and get back on the bed, and I invite this

man to lie down with me. We slowly begin to make love. He is

a very skilled lover, and he does everything that pleases me.

Although he is passionate and very excited, he is not in a hurry.

When I am ready, I have him lie on his back, and I get on top

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of him. I guide his penis into me, and it fills me completely.

We go slowly at first, and we move in a way that causes his

penis to make long, slow strokes in and out of me. I have sev-

eral orgasms, and he is able to delay his orgasm as long as I

want him to. Finally, I am ready to finish, and we go wild.

Together we reach r a tremendous orgasm. We lie together

quietly for a few minutes, and then we are ready to start again.

He still has an erection. This time, I get on my hands and

knees, and he kneels in back of me and enters me from behind.

Again we start slowly, and he reaches around me and caresses

me with his fingers. In a while, we lose control of ourselves,

and he is moving like a wild stallion. Together we reach an-

other tremendous orgasm. Sometimes we go on and make love

some more in other positions, but often it stops here. My lover

and I bathe together while my husband watches. Then he

dresses and returns to the harem, and my husband is left tied to

the pillar. I go back to bed and lie down, and my servants tease

my husband about what a poor lover he is compared to the man

he has just seen. Then my husband is returned to the harem,

where the other men tease him too.

I have another version of this fantasy in which a young boy

is brought to my bedroom after my husband’s failure. The boy

has never made love to a woman before, and I teach him the

right way to make love. What makes it better is that this young

boy has a penis that is larger, than my husband’s. That really

humiliates my husband. This boy learns quickly and becomes a

much better lover than my husband.

I have other fantasies too. I love to fantasize about couples I

know. I enjoy trying to imagine them making love. Now that

several magazines for women are publishing photographs of

nude men, I have found that I can become very aroused by

looking at such photographs. I often look at these photographs

while I am masturbating, and I fantasize about the men in

them. I imagine them making love with me. I do not have fan-

tasies in which I take part in lesbian lovemaking, but I do have

fantasies in which I secretly see two other women making love.

I especially enjoy fantasies in which I secretly see other people

making love with each other.

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I definitely do enjoy my fantasy sexual life more than my

real sexual life. I think that that is the main reason why I have

felt that my sexual fantasies are bad. I also have felt bad about

the amount of time that I have spent fantasizing. I often spend

hours at a time fantasizing and masturbating. It is the way in

which I fill much of the time in which I have little else to do.

Most of my fantasies are those based upon the format of my

having a harem of men. I can have any man I want, and I can

do whatever I want with them. I have not made any of my fan-

tasies a reality, but, as time goes by, I feel more and more like

doing so. One of these days, if the right situation arises, I may

not resist the temptation to really live one of my fantasies. With

the way that my husband has treated me and is treating me in

regard to sex, I almost feel that I have the right to obtain sexual

satisfaction where I can. I find myself looking for the right

situation in which I can safely have an affair with another man.

It may not be long before I find the situation that I am looking

for, and then I may make some of my fantasies realities. I

sometimes wonder if my husband would even care if I was

having an affair with another man as long as it did not cause

him any trouble. He might even like it if I would stop bothering

him about sex. After all of this, though, I have to say that most

of all I would prefer that my husband become a better and more

satisfying lover so that all of these other things would be un-

necessary. I guess that that is my biggest fantasy.

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PART TWO

THE USES

OF

SEXUAL FANTASY

155

CHAPTER FIVE

DAYDREAMING

Life can be seen as an effort toward equilibrium. If we are

hungry, we eat. Tired? We rest. If we’ve been using our minds

too strenuously, we long for physical exercise or a walk in the

woods. This is also true of our inner selves … although many

of our mental efforts at maintaining equilibrium hover on the

border of unconsciousness. Daydreaming while going about

the ordinary chores of the day is one of these activities.

Usually, our daydreams pass out of our mind without leav-

ing a trace behind. A chance question from a neighbor, the

ringing of a telephone – and suddenly we are focused on the

here and now, the large part of our idle reveries forgotten.

Unlike unconscious fantasies, however, it is usually not too

difficult to re-summon and examine our daydreams. If we do,

they can tell us a lot about who we are and what is missing

from our lives. This is most obviously truce in the Walter Mitty

kind of daydream indulged in by the average-man-lost-in-the-

crowd. In his reveries, the most overblown ambitions come

true. The unusual thing about sexual daydreaming is that the

daydreams do not often come to women who have no sex at all.

When repression is that total, sexual daydreaming is pushed

underground too. Much more often, I find that women’s erotic

daydreams are not so much about sex itself but are about a

kind of sex they have not had, or will not allow themselves. It

is the effort of their imagination to supply something that is

missing from their real lives.

I bridle when people try to dismiss daydreams as unimpor-

tant because they are “unreal.” They are just as real as the ex-

perience of reading a novel, listening to music, or looking at

paintings. They are all efforts of the mind to present us with a

more satisfying order of reality, a beauty we might otherwise

never have known. Jane Eyre never existed in the real world,

but I am the richer for Charlotte Brontë’s story about her. (After

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all, couldn’t a novel itself be described as a disciplined day-

dream?)

Ordinarily, our daydreams of happiness are abruptly fol-

lowed by feelings of disappointment and/or guilt. The pendu-

lum is swinging back toward equilibrium, but goes right

through the median point of stasis. We overreact; it is as if we

cannot find a balance again until we have paid with mental rue

and regret for the fantasized pleasures we have just pictured for

ourselves. Talking about the anxieties aroused in us by our

imagined actions or delights, Dr. Erik Erikson (Childhood and

Society) says, “… our irrational worry … our fear of having

aroused actually quite disinterested, and antagonized quite

well-meaning people, our fantasized atonements and childish

repetitions, may well surprise us.”

The barriers to our happiness, the limits we allow ourselves,

are more often within ourselves than outside. For fear that the

man we love may think badly of us, we hesitate to ask him for

simple sexual pleasures we have every right to. In our own

minds, we change him from a lover to a critic … even worse,

we make him a critic so harsh that we know in advance he will

disapprove. Therefore, we avoid the test of reality and never

ask him, never give him a chance to show us how much he

himself might welcome our requests for as yet untasted pleas-

ures. It is our own unnecessarily strict, even sadistic, con-

sciences that keep us from sexual pleasure we have every right

to enjoy.

In her very romantic letter, Lulu describes an event that she

could not allow herself to have, even though the time, the

place, and even the man were “right.” She entitles her fantasy,

“An Ideal Sexual Encounter.” But at the peak of the event in

real life, “my automatic `No, thank you’ intruded …. Were I to

have enough courage, I would have whispered a simplèYes, I

want to.’ “

Lulu’s letter then goes on to describe a simple daydream of

happiness. While she may regret that she denied herself the

fulfillment of this experience for the rest of her life, in her day-

dream it is hers after all. An effort of the imagination has re-

paired the torn fabric of the past.

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Lulu

I enjoyed your book and found the honest exposure of sexual

impulse very freeing and enlightening myself.

As you can see, I was quite reserved and conflicted prior to

becoming married, but the impulse and fantasies were very

much alive.

P.S. I am thirty-two, married for the second time, and very

happy. I have a master’s degree and am employed full time in

my profession. No children are planned in our future.

An Ideal Sexual Encounter

In truth, my ideal encounter is the cherished memory of my

second date with my husband. We met at church, purely by

accident, and I was immediately repelled by his frankly sexual

look at me – in church, no less. Our first date was a disaster.

He invited me to go sailing. I refused unless other persons were

to be present for fear of being “trapped’.” alone with this hairy-

chested male. My preoccupation was clear. A slight innuendo

at sexual encounter casually made, and again I was thoroughly

upset… I realize now I was reacting too intensely for it to be

genuine protest.

My fascination with him grew,’ as I saw him now and, then

around church and again at a party at which he was thoroughly

charming, funny, and very interesting. His casual arm around

my waist and a whispered, “Stay here with me,” sent me scur-

rying into a kitchen full of gossiping women.

After agonizing months of watching him at church, I forced

myself to speak to him first (a brave step forward for me), and

he asked if I’d like to go for a hike to a wooded area soon to be

destroyed by installation of a highway. Terrified, and delighted,

I agreed. We had a pleasant walk through the woods to a wa-

terfall, he handling my anxiety by easily chatting about his

many varied and amusing experiences on his world travels. I

was uneasy about even holding his hand over rough terrain.

158

Needless to say, I was struggling with my own sexual attrac-

tion to him which I couldn’t control.

Bravely, I ventured forth that I’d like to see his pictures

sometime, to which he suggested that same evening would be

fine. We arrived at his neat, comfortable, masculine duplex in a

quiet, wooded area overlooking the lake. I was immediately

impressed with his tasteful accommodations, but also with the

fascinating portrait of a beautiful woman on the living-room

wall – her hair loose, eyes shut, and head thrown back in an

ecstasy of pleasure – clearly at the peak of orgasm. I felt help-

less – caught alone with this male in a web I had woven for

myself. I wanted to go home. The other side of me decided

within minutes after arrival that I wanted to live here forever

with this man whom I really didn’t even know.

Tony flicked on the radio to a quiet station and in the dark-

ening evening built an intimate fire for two. The enormous

sofa, spread with a soft alpaca coverlet (picked up on a recent

trip to Peru), was pushed close to the raised hearth on which he

spread cheeses, crackers, marinated mushrooms, and two

glasses of scotch. The wooden bases were intricately carved

mahogany which he had created himself. Then he returned to a

bright kitchen to prepare dinner. I stared into the fire trying to

recover my composure. The portrait of the woman seemed to be

mocking me … .

Shortly thereafter, Tony settled on the sofa, cheerfully an-

nouncing dinner would be ready in about two hours. His spe-

cial spaghetti sauce requires that long to sunnier. Inwardly

gasping at such a long period of unstructured time, I asked if

he were going to show me his pictures.

He did. The pictures were vivid and intriguing scenes of the

ancient Incan ruins of Machu Picchu, Peru. In contrast to this

presentation, he showed fantastic pictures of Antarctica: ice-

bergs, roaring seas, glorious sunsets, and his work and col-

leagues’ on board ship. I was enchanted with this all-male do-

main in an environment I saw was as rugged and as naturally

beautiful as the men themselves.

Dinner was served at the hearth: spaghetti, salad, red wine,

and I was getting tipsy. Afterward, he snuggled close, and we

kissed. I loved it. Tony is a superb kisser, passionate and yet

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tender. Rubbing over my body with his hands, he talked of

how much he enjoyed sex, enjoyed active women, and liked to

kiss their genitals. He mentioned his previous wife did not like

her clitoris touched. I clinically offered she had childhood pro-

hibitions against masturbation. He visibly brightened and hap-

pily remarked he was so glad that I “did it.” I vanished behind

my professional mask and told hum I was discussing her, not

me! Tony looked puzzled and said he was discussing me.

We kissed often and longer that evening, me getting ex-

tremely slippery and hotter and hotter. Tony’s erect thrusting

penis felt so good against my pubic area – it had been so long

since I’d been with a man!! I was as famished for sex as for the

meal he served.

Tony’s body was becoming hot also, and he began to sweat

and took off his shirt. I lightly caressed and rubbed his back

and, out of irresistible curiosity, softly reached around to touch

the mass of delicious hair on his chest, exploring until I acci-

dentally (?) touched his erect nipple. He whispered, “You can

stay here all night if you want to.”

[My encounter is true to this point. My automatic “No,

thank you” intruded here, even though he later showed me his

bedroom, complete with huge waterbed, fluffy down-filled

comforter (from long unheated winter nights in Europe), heat

lamps over the bed for comfort, and another “delight” I later

learned to enjoy was a vibrator. I did want to stay!]

Were I to have enough courage, I would have whispered à

simple “Yes, I want to.” I would have undressed him, pulling

off his belt, spanking his buttocks playfully and briefly with it,

untying his shoes, slipping off his socks, very slowly unzipper-

ing and dropping his trousers, letting them tickle his inner

thighs as they went down. Then I would remove my top, shoes,

and slacks to black lace bra and black lace bikini panties. In

the firelight, with him standing, I would slowly pull off his

underwear, letting the elastic tickle his stomach; and when his

enormous, engorged, erect penis burst forth, I would kiss it

gently and tenderly up and down the shaft, cradling his balls,

gently pulling on both occasionally. Then I would lick the tick-

lish spot underneath, around the tip, caressing the “eye” with

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my tongue. He begins pushing toward me, and I allow it in my

mouth, sucking and swallowing as much as possible. Tony

moves to and fro in spasms of pleasure ….

Tony lets down my long hair and buries his face in it, kiss-

ing my neck. He quickly pulls off my panties, undoes my bra,

admiring my figure in the firelight, running his hands lightly

across breasts, stopping to pull and knead them, then quickly

on to belly and teasingly up the vaginal crack, allowing his

finger to slightly touch and tease the vagina and deliciously

tickling my clitoris in passing. An intimate tongue in the va-

gina and more delicious tickling the clitoris with his tongue,

and he picks me up, carrying me to his bed, which is already

warm from the heat lamps.

Intercourse begins. I am frantic for the weight of him,

for the determined shove of his member into my, warm wait-

ing body, pouring forth water as the falls we had seen that af-

ternoon. With groans of pleasure, he begins thrusting deep,

pressing the cervix, each of us releasing pent-up emotion that

only the single (or I) can accumulate. I, sweating and crying,

respond to his passion with clutching hands, heaving hips,

back arched in anticipation, and burning pleasure in my cunt.

My mind runs over and over the thought, “Fuck me, Tony, fuck

me.” And then it goes blank ….

I am torn between the fear of the animal passions released

and desperate desire for the raging fire spreading over me. I

have no choice now. Tony’s urgent thrusts are my own, and

together we are both driven madly toward the final shattering

moments when we surrender to our lust. Gasping, arching, I

am consumed in Tony’s manliness and exist alone no more. I

have no words to express my feelings at our union, only cries

from my shattered soul.

Sobbing into Tony’s neck and shoulder, I regain conscious-

ness. He holds me tenderly, kissing my neck, rocking me

slightly. I feel tremendous relief and gratitude toward him. I

am floating with joy. He is mine, and I am his. A tiny fire

burns within me still which he caresses with his fingers to full

flame. I have a series of minor orgasms, only reflections of our

first passion. Grateful and exhausted, I fall asleep in his encir-

cling arms…

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We are all used to seeing magazine advertisements or

television commercials of a woman daydreaming at the win-

dow or while looking into a fireplace. If a man lost in an idle

reverie of pipe smoke were asked what dreams he sees sus-

pended before his eyes, he might well laugh and say, “Sophia

Loren, who wants to seduce me.” But a woman is taught, by

these exercises of salesmanship, that her correct answer is that

she is dreaming of a whiter laundry than her neighbors, or find-

ing a baby food that will make her child grow six feet tall. We

are not allowed the uses of erotic reverie that reinforce us in our

own minds as sexual beings. No wonder so many women who

can think of themselves only in the role of Mrs. Supercon-

sumer, resist seeing themselves in any image that smacks of

eroticism.

Fernando Sanchez is the designer of some of the most femi-

nine, beautiful lingerie in America today. They are truly the

stuff of which a woman’s most sensuous dreams can be made

… lovingly cut peignoirs with panels of lace … negligees that

entrance the beholder with the grace and erotic promise of the

female body. And yet Mr. Sanchez recently told me, “Our big

problem is to educate women to seeing themselves in seductive

clothes like these. They may stop and admire a tempting night-

gown on a model in a store, or in a fashion magazine, but even

in these liberated times, the woman will usually just sigh and

say, `That’s not me,’ and head for the drip dry counter.” But if

she’s not an erotic woman, who is she?

One letter from a woman named Cheryl is an example of

how women are conditioned to fight their own sexuality. She

was so inhibited in her own mind that she never once climaxed

during the three years she lived on and off with a man to whom

she was engaged. “Before him,” she says, “I was a virgin and

tried masturbation.” But even that did not work for her. De-

feated, she writes forlornly, “I gave up trying.”

It was only recently, at the age of twenty-four, that she met a

new young man and “could finally relax completely, enjoying

my new freedom, and Ìcame’ for the first time ever.” As if to

further underline the distance she had been taught to keep be-

162

tween herself and her own sexuality, she says she wasn’t even

certain she had experienced orgasm with this new man – or at

least, didn’t “realize it fully until a short time ago.”

One of the healthiest aspects of human nature is that it does

fight for equilibrium; once repression has been lifted, it can

work with the speed of a coiled spring to right the balance.

Now that Cheryl accepts her sexual self, her old bugaboos

seem to be vanishing. I find her closing very moving: her new

sexual self-confidence, she says, has made her “very proud of

myself … .” She feels she is a woman at last.

In her letter, Jackie also writes that facing her own sexuality

frankly has been an important step forward in life. She writes

that she and her older brother used to play sexual games as

children. This is hardly unusual for young siblings; neverthe-

less, she found these activities so disturbing that “I used to

hide my head under the pillow to make the reality of the re-

sponsibility go away.”

If Jackie disavowed her sexual experience by hiding her

head under the pillow, another form of denial is to have sexual

events take place as if you yourself were just a spectator. It’s

not happening to you, but to somebody else. In Samantha’s

poetic fantasy, which she calls “The Blue Star,” this is exactly

what happens. The entire fantasy is told third person, as if it

had no relation to Samantha at all.

It is easy to see that this method of sexual fantasy is a strat-

egy for avoiding guilt; it is a daydream about having the most

marvelous sexual experience – but experiencing, the whole

thing vicariously in the third person.

In Connie’s fantasy too, the same emotions seem to be the

basis for the sexual scenario she invents. “Faceless, hooded,

sexless people are tightening straps to my wrists and ankles,”

she writes, describing the circumstances of her favorite fantasy,

in which she enjoys sex without responsibility, without choice.

These sexual fantasies, which seek to combine the maxi-

mum of erotic arousal and satisfaction with the minimum of

guilt, reach their logical conclusion in fantasies in which the

woman is given absolutely no choice in the matter at all …

fantasies of force or rape. “The doorbell rings,” Elaine writes of

one such fantasy. “A good-looking young man pushes his way

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in, grabs me … .” The sexual act takes place, but it is not the

woman’s fault: She “did not ask for it.”

What we must remember is that for most women, who have

never experienced rape, the word just represents an abstract

idea; combining rape with sex in their fantasies is just using

rape, almost as a theatrical convention – it is a means toward

an end. When understood this way, rape becomes code lan-

guage for, “It wasn’t my fault,” or just as simply, “He wanted

me so much, he overpowered me. You can’t blame me if I am

such an overwhelmingly sexually attractive creature that I

drove him mad with lust despite all I could do to fight him

off!”

If the women who fantasize about rape were really turned on

by the ugliness and brutality of it, in their imagined scenarios

they would describe the feelings of disgust, shame, and degra-

dation ensuing from this physiological and psychological as-

sault. But on the contrary! When you read these rape fantasies,

which, after all, have been entirely created by the women con-

cerned for their own pleasure, the elements of force and brutal-

ity are seen to be not important at all. What happens instead is

that the force and ardor of their rapist-lover allows them to

release all their own pent-up sexual force, power. Every thrust

of his powerful hand, forcing them down, is returned by a

thrust of their own – which can be read as protest, but which is

clearly a sexual release on the woman’s part, as guiltless as it is

powerful. The man’s demands on her body are the demands of

a lust she has always been too inhibited to respond to with all

the sexual force and vibrancy of her own body; fantasy allows

her to respond at last like some kind of sexual animal to his

animal treatment – a most unladylike way to behave, even un-

womanly, unless you can mask your “aggressive” actions as

protest.

If the women in these rape fantasies were concerned with

the pain of rape, if they even elaborated on the pain involved,

the fantasies could be called masochistic. But these aren’t fan-

tasies about the pleasure of pain. They are imaginary scenarios

speaking of a romantic desire for unromantic sex: these women

don’t want love (at least this one time) in a bower of flowers in

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a tender lover’s arms. They want sweat, roll-around, knock-

about thrust-and-counterthrust, with no holds barred. They

want sex that transcends any limits they have ever known with

a man who won’t take less than a woman is capable of giving.

And most women are capable of giving a hell of a lot more

sexual thrust and emotion than they think most men want, or

that they themselves are capable of (being “nice” women). The

fantasy of rape solves all these problems, provides all this

pleasure. Rape? These women don’t want rape. They want re-

lease.

But before we leave this subject, let me add one very strong

proviso: we must be clear that enjoying an emotion in fantasy

does not necessarily mean you want to live it out in reality. If

you become angry, for instance, you might say to someone, “If

you do that again, I’ll kill you!” The words may even be ac-

companied by a very satisfying quick image of the offender

lying dead at your feet. But no one – least of all you – really

believes that these fantasies of violence are ideas that you have

any intention of carrying out. You just wanted the momentary

release of expressing strong emotion, but only in words, merely

as an idea. Fantasies from women like Jackie, Samantha, Con-

nie, Elaine … fantasies of being sexually forced or raped … are

in the same category: they may be satisfying to think about,

they give the woman license; at least in her imagination, to

enjoy herself sexually, and they remove her from any feeling of

guilt, because she never had any choice in the matter – but

there isn’t a woman I know who wouldn’t ran a mile if she

thought there was the slightest chance it would happen in real

life.

There is a safety in fantasy. In our minds, we can test certain

situations to see how they might feel; we always know that no

matter how sordid the emotions we are dealing with, no matter

how angry, gigantic, or demanding the characters, they are all

puppets of our own invention. If any of these ideas ever be-

come too frightening, we can turn them off like turning the

pages of a book. This, I believe, is the final ingredient in the

glamour that rape holds in some fantasies. In the safe play-

ground of our minds, we can toy with the male’s most danger-

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ous, most aroused emotions – and use them for just the whim

and fancy of our idle moment. He may be raging, threatening,

or even hurting us in the fantasy, but in reality we control him!

Jackie

Throughout the reading of your Secret Garden, I was wa-

vering between hope and fear that at the end you would (not)

request more fantasies. Reading of other women, I found my-

self wishing you had a group going where I could tell everyone

mine.

I am twenty-nine, never married, highly intelligent (150 IQ)

well educated, and overwhelmingly fat and frustrated. I did not

discover myself, as some of your contributors state, but at the

age of five my brother discovered me. We were hiding in a

clothes closet, and he pulled down my panties and explored me

with a flashlight – giggling excitedly and urging me to be

quiet. I was afraid of my brother even then, and was – although

I did not understand it – horribly humiliated. After that, I be-

came curious about myself and would masturbate. My mother

effectively made me feel guilty about this: each morning, she

would smell my hands and say, “Your hands smell like they’ve

been in the wrong place.” She couldn’t, however, stop me – or

my brother.

One of my earliest fantasies occurred when I was four years

old and would sleep on my parents’ bed until their bedtime. I

would dream that a doctor came in to give me an injection. I

remember screaming in my fantasy for my mother, but she

would not save me. It was a terribly exciting idea, this fear-

some happening. Perhaps this sexual preoccupation stems from

my brother or from the fact that I slept in my parents’ bedroom

until I was five.

My brother and I played many sexual games – doctor and

actress, doctor and patient, husband and wife, and we had am-

ple opportunity, since both my parents worked. When they

were around, we would fight and hate each other. One disturb-

ing aspect (to me it still is) is that we never kissed or spoke to

166

each other. I used to hide my head under the pillow to make the

reality of the responsibility “go away.” My brother is four years

older than I and was always stronger. When we fought, he hurt

me (am I rationalizing?). I mentally refused to accept any re-

sponsibility for our acts. We continued until I was eighteen,

and he got married. I was very upset and depressed about his

marriage – but couldn’t fathom why. In fact, I never understood

this whole thing until I went into analysis.

Since he married, I had other men, but never have an or-

gasm (we never had one when we were kids either). Each case

is similar: I always feel horribly humiliated and hate myself

afterward. I have never really been in love. I can’t achieve or-

gasm even when I masturbate.

My fantasies as a child were usually about doctors telling

me what a brave little girl I am while they “examined” me

sexually. Usually in groups of three or four I have once or twice

“caught” myself having a lesbian, fantasy, but stopped because

I was afraid it would make me a lesbian. I say “was” because

since I’ve read your book, I can see that it is not freakish, and I

feel more free. I can’t thank you enough for publishing your

book.

As I grew older, my fantasies about doctors ceased, and I

remember really getting turned on at college lectures by just

imagining myself screwing with the professor. Later, I had

fantasies about my analyst, though not really sexual. Mostly, I

wanted to be a little bird that could nest in the hair in his arm-

pits. I used to despise women, but that is changing now. I find

I have more respect for other women … but only if they are

intelligent. I’m still seeking a meaningful relationship with a

man, and I’m not afraid anymore. In truth, I think I was afraid

that both men and women only wanted to use me, hurt me, and

degrade me. Knowing my sexual fantasies has helped me to

reach my new self-acceptance. Your book has made me feel so

much better about myself. Thank you.

167

Ethel

I too thought I was crazy, because I had these fantasies, but

now I know it is normal, because I read your book. I am no

lesbian, but I have thought a number of times about this par-

ticular fantasy. I would daydream that a man with a knife

would knock on my door, and when I opened it, push me in

and then tell his two women to come in. He would tie me up,

and then the two women would undress me. One is black, and

one is white. The black woman has a whip and is naked with

only black boots on. She would tie me to the bed, and then the

white one would spread my legs, and the black one would get

on me and start eating me out. When finished, the black one

would get off and sit on my face so I could eat her, while the

white one inserted a vibrator into my cunt. After a while, she

takes it out and tongue fucks me and after a while would place

her finger in my juicy wet cunt up and down till I had an or-

gasm. The man would be masturbating while watching. After

this, they would all tie my legs up strongly, and the white girl

would open my mouth while the man let me blow him and the

black chick is fingering me. Wow, I’m horny now. I have more

to tell, but it would take a book. Thanks for letting me talk.

P.S. Believe me this is no joke. I am only eighteen with one

boy aged two, and a husband aged thirty-two.

Samantha

The Blue Star

The room was guarded by statues of marble, shadowy fig-

ures in the outer halls. The silence was penetrated slightly by

eerie music, unearthly in form.

Inside the huge doors, carved by a sculptor’s patient hand

seemingly, lay a magnificent room. It had a cathedral quality –

high vaulted ceiling, ornate gilded walls, immaculate stone

floor. And at the very peak of the room the ceiling’s center,

there was a glorious, thick, glass Star of David. The sapphire

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blue was almost smoky, but light, played through in drifting

waves.

The girl lay underneath on a long, ceremonial table, tied

hand, foot to the four corners of the rather wide rectangle. She

was naked save for a wooden crucifix around her neck. She lay

meditatively intent upon the pulsating star in the center of her

vision. At times, she almost luxuriously strained her limbs

against the coils of rope on her wrists and ankles. But her gaze

never changed. Nor her expression. She lay hypnotized by the

glazed star; it burned her eyes and heart.

Silently, four rows of men took their places around the table.

She felt their presence intimately like a stabbing wound. They

were dressed in simple garb, a long robe of sackcloth knotted

with a length of rope. They began a chant, low and soft and

pure, that made her feel strong, almost pure, highly exalted.

The light was dimmer now. She flicked her tongue over her

lips, feeling warm moisture fill the cleft between her legs. Her

nipples began to harden, and as though this were a new experi-

ence, she began to softly groan, her eyes still fixed on the blue

star above her head. The chant grew louder.

One of the monks took his place at the table’s end. He

touched the soft white feet delicately, then climbed on her full

length. He kissed the small red mouth and lay still. The harsh

sackcloth rubbed against her, stinging the fair skin, but as his

erection grew, she lost herself to the feel of his hard manhood

against her stomach. He rolled aside suddenly and removed the

garment. She tamed her head slowly and saw him, a tall and

strong David, white and ruddy. He had dark, curly hair that

curled around his erect penis as well. He looked at her kindly

as he sensed her amazement at its size. She began to feel long-

denied urges penetrate her to the core, strange and drifting

blue.

The man climbed on her again, kissing her from her feet to

her willing hungry mouth. The men began their low chant

again. As they did, he inserted his penis into her. It reminded

her vaguely of a knife being put into its sheath.

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.

169

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 teach-

ers. My freshman year, I began screwing around. It was ex-

tremely painful the first couple of times, and I never was satis-

fied, 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 mountain-

ous 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 bond-

age-rape type thing. This always starts as my Husband manu-

ally 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 every-

thing 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 examin-

ing 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 be-

yond what the senses can bear. I love it! This is truly my favor-

ite. I know I’d like to be fucked or eaten while tied down, al-

though 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.

172

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 over-

powering 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 go-

ing 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!!!”

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It’s at this time that I have a beautiful and truly explosive or-

gasm 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 sepa-

rates 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 with-

out 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 mo-

ment as to make the time more beautiful by daydreaming of “a

kaleidoscope of colors” or floating in a still stream. Killie day-

dreams 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 some-

thing 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 inter-

course, 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 de-

sire.

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 re-

pressive environment, my fantasy life flourished. The first fan-

tasy 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 al-

ways 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

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enveloped (unlike my own real lover, who’s about my own

size). We make love in meadows of flowers and thick, lush

pine woods on a forest floor of ferns I can almost smell the

damp greenness and feel the velvet moss and crunchy leaves

beneath us. Sometimes I imagine we are fucking in the rain. I

really like that. (Since my three psychedelic experiences-two

LSD, one mescaline-these types of details have been very im-

portant in my sensual life.) My “Earth Man” lover is not dirt-

dirty, but he is unwashed. The smell of unwashed armpits and

especially unwashed balls and ass turns me on very much. I am

not a distinct personality in these fantasies – not any sort of

“Earth Mother” – but just myself. He has a full, sensuous

mouth, and kissing him slowly is delicious. His hands are

strong, but shapely, and I can see them caressing me. (I do like

to see myself as Renoiresque, although that’s not too popular

these days.) We fuck with him on top, or side by side, but a

great deal of the fantasy is devoted to caressing and cuddling.

Your chapter about acting out one’s fantasies was interest-

ing, as about a year ago I met my perfect “Earth Man.” I

walked into a college class on the first day, and there he was. I

already had a vague idea of my fantasy man, but after seeing

Stan, the fantasy really took hold. I was only in the class a bit

over two months, but it was agony. To “act out” or not to “act

out”?! I made several small gestures of interest, and thought I

saw some positive response in him, but I hadn’t the nerve to do

anything really bold, and the class was over, and I moved away

all too soon. Alas – but maybe it’s better this way. I still have

my dreams, which are probably better than the real person,

especially when it would mean going out behind my current

boyfriend’s back. Still, I get a thrill when I see a guy who looks

like my “Earth Man.” Until reading your book, I thought this

was somehow immature or faithless to my boyfriend, but I feel

much better about it now.

I have a second type of fantasy, which has come into the

limelight quite recently, and which I rarely use for masturba-

tion: usually only daydreams. This is my seduction of a young

boy. (That I was an only child – no brothers – may mean some-

thing here.) The boy is between fourteen and sixteen, and he is

soft and lithe, yet not puny, with long flowing, wavy blond

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hair. He has very little body hair, and only the faint beginnings

of a moustache. He is a virgin, and I have to teach him every-

thing, even how to kiss. His lack of experience makes him shy

but he is almost mad with horniness, and I bring him off with

my hand first, after much foreplay. He can’t get enough, and

neither can I. I teach him different positions – a good one to

start with is him on a chair, and me sitting astride him. I am in

complete control and show him all the ways of pleasure I

know; his erection keeps coming back again and again. Fi-

nally, after a wild night of insatiability, we fall asleep – he

looks like a young angel, lying exhausted and sweating beside

me, with his mane of fair hair in tangles and his young cock

wet and limp. I feel rather old and wise (and very satisfied!).

I found myself beginning to act this one out too, when I re-

cently was working with sixth-grade children. That’s a bit

young for my taste, but a few of the boys were mature enough

to show a little bulge in their pants. One in particular struck

my fancy, and I began to ask him to come to the classroom

alone during free periods to help me with art projects. He was-

n’t much like my favorite fantasy-boy, but he was tempting just

the same, and I really had to restrain myself. I guess women

over eighteen could get sued for that kind of thing. Maybe in a

more humanistic environment than the public schools, I’ll get

to try this one out someday. I see it somehow as an act of be-

nevolence to give a boy a good, healthy, and loving introduc-

tion to sex. First fucks are usually pretty shitty. Besides, it

turns me on.

I was surprised at your comment that few women have fan-

tasies of seducing young boys. I thought it was rather more

common. I guess one likes to think of herself as being in the

mainstream.

I hope I haven’t ruined these fantasies for myself by reveal-

ing them to you. I guess it’s too late to worry about that now; if

I have, I’m sure I’ll come up with new ones.

Unless I’m really repressing them, I haven’t had masochistic,

lesbian, or zoophilia fantasies. There have been a couple of

women I loved to look at, because they were soft and round

(again, my “Renoir-obsession”) and just comfortable (like

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smelling cinnamon rolls baking). But I have no desire for any

genital sex with a woman. My lover, however, is bisexual.

Again, my thanks for your book, your continuing research,

and the opportunity to “sound-off”!!

Libby

I’m writing after reading your book, My Secret Garden. I’m

twenty years old, white, middle class, and semi-crazy, in a

good way, I think. Anyway, I am living with a man I’ve known

almost a year now. He’s a good lover, the best I’ve ever had,

and I’m satisfied and contented in his arms. I don’t fantasize

when I masturbate or when I fuck. I fantasize when my man is

around the house but we’re still apart.

I can get all my work and “creative outlets” out of the way

during the day, so I’m ready for talk, love, etc. My loved one

works hard at a white-collar job all day, and when he comes

home, he’s ready to read the text for the class he’s taking,

and/or working in the shop downstairs. He never excludes me

from his activities; in fact, he encourages my interest, but some

days, I just really feel like making love. Sometimes we’ll play

seduction games, but usually I just read and fantasize that he

rips the book from my hand and carries my body to the bed-

room, that he takes off my clothes and fucks me on the kitchen

floor, or that he unplugs the sewing machine and attacks my

little body. What makes this one fantasy so nice is that it may

happen, more than one would expect. I’ve been made love to in

almost every room in the house (I recommend the bathroom),

and when it happened, I was hoping it would. I think this is the

most basic and common fantasy – the old white-knight-take-

me-away-from-all-this syndrome but I thought I’d write it

down and send it along. Good luck.

Phyllis

Dearest Jennie: Even after more than a day, I’m still so

thrilled by our shared experience that I just have to tell you so.

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Even though we were two women, still it was a sweet and

wonderful love we had for that brief hour.

You are absolutely delicious, my darling, with that satin-soft

glowing. skin and marvelous figure. I loved smelling and tast-

ing you all over your body, and my delight in this became al-

most frantic as we grew more intimate. How your tight throb-

bing nipples swelled as I kissed them! Never shall I forget their

slightly rough texture as I nibbled at them in turn. And then

when you murmured for me to slide my fingers down the cleft

of your bottom. Sweet, your little hole there is so soft yet tight,

so moist and musky. And it really excited you, didn’t it, when I

worked my fingertip up inside it? My finger felt good too, be-

ing in you there.

But of course it was your hot sweet cunt itself that drove me

wild. You don’t mind my calling it your cunt, do you? Al-

though I guess some women feel that’s a vulgar word, I don’t

think anything about you could be vulgar, and I like to think of

your big hole as your cunt. And, oh, honey, how its inner flesh

opened out as my fingers traced your slit. It quivered and grew

very wet and hot. You did love having me caress you like that,

didn’t you? Of course you did, I knew by the way you wriggled

and gasped.

And then when my mouth went right down on you. All that

hair and soft flesh. The glorious smell of you, and the exciting

taste of the moisture that seeped into any mouth. And – I sup-

pose this is awful of me, but I couldn’t help it – I loved having

my nose crushed against your little bathroom place in your

bottom and smelling the rich flavor of it. I wanted to just eat

you up all over, gulp down all the liquid and substance of your

body. I love all of you!

It’s perfectly all right, dear, that you didn’t do as much for

me in return. I realized that you were too excited, and that it

was all happening too quickly. Just your hands on me were

enough, the touch of your fingers so soft and warm and loving.

And you did go in my hole a little, and tickle the very top of my

cunt where it feels so good. I had a wonderful come, when you

did. As I felt you straining and heard your choked moans,

when you hunched and ground your cunt and ass on my mouth,

I knew you were climaxing hard, and my own cunt just flamed

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into ecstasy. Oh, sweetheart, it was all absolutely wonderful,

and I’ll never, never forget it.

Oh, Jennie, let me suck your cute little cunt again, and soon.

Will you, dear? Please?

The writer of the above letter finishes with a P.S. ad-

dressed to me:

“Dear Nancy Friday,” she writes, “I never sent the enclosed

letter, because the events it describes never happened, and

Jennie would be horrified to learn my feelings about her. It’s a

fantasy letter about a fantasy experience. But I found that writ-

ing it this way made it all seen more real to me.”

Marilyn

I’m just about finished reading your book, My Secret Gar-

den, which I find very good and honest. I’m eighteen and have

an average sex life, but I can do without it for some while.

I picked up your book at an airport recently, after a visit to

my sister (she’s thirty-three), during which she told me that she

had become a hooker. I was shocked, because I have always

loved her and looked up to her. Due to the difference in our

ages, she has always been practically a second mother to me.

My boyfriend, Howie, recently discovered I was reading

your book, and after skimming through it, asked to borrow it.

A few nights later when he came to my house, he had a friend

with him who was named Dave. A girl friend of mine was

there too. Howie asked Dave to read some fantasies out loud. I

was awfully embarrassed, but that went away after a while.

Maybe that gave me the courage to send you this fantasy,

which I would like you to publish in your next book.

I have a one-and-a-half-year-old niece who I love very

dearly. I sometimes sit with her when her mother is busy. I

love her so much that I often think I would love to perform

cunnilingus on her. She just lies there, gurgling and chuckling

very happily. She loves me to touch her and play with her.

What I like to imagine is the little smile of happiness she

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would show if I just put my face between her little legs and

licked her. She is too young to think it would be anything dif-

ferent than just playing with her fingers and toes, and I would

love to feel I was making her happy this way.

My favorite other fantasy is about a former fiancé. We

balled several times, and that was the best time I ever enjoyed.

Maybe it was because I felt safe. We knew each other a long

time, and we were in love. Anyway, after we broke up (I still

love him), I had sex with other guys, but I always imagine that

the guy I’m in bed with is my ex-fiancé. Even if I’m not really

in the mood for sex to begin with, just by bringing the face of

my ex-fiancé to mind, imagining that he is the one who is kiss-

ing me, brings me to orgasm. Keep up the good work.

Moreen

First, may I say that your book, My Secret Garden, was

great reading; it’s about time someone published women’s sex-

ual fantasies.

My own particular fantasy started several years ago while I

was hospitalized in the hospital in which I worked as a regis-

tered nurse. There were two doctors who came by on a daily

basis to examine me. They were both quite arrogant and domi-

neering in their mannerisms. As they examined me, they would

have me remove my gown and have a great time poking about

the most intimate parts of my body.

After they left the room, I fantasized that they were the pa-

tients, and I was the nurse in charge of them. My first order

was to have them remove their clothing and put on one of those

backless hospital gowns while I watched their every move.

Next, I positioned them on an examination table and strapped

their feet into the table’s metal stirrups. In this position, I have

a perfect view of their rears and penises. Since I’m wearing a

short skirt with no underwear, I constantly bend over in order

to expose myself to them, causing huge erections. After insert-

ing a well-lubricated gloved index finger in their rears, I mas-

turbate each of them until they ejaculate. By this time, they are

begging me to continue; since my prime objective is to embar-

182

rass them, I decide to give each of them a good soap suds en-

ema at the same time. After locating the longest, largest rectal

tubes I could find, I slowly insert it until they again obtain an

erection. As the warm soapy water is filling their rears, I mas-

turbate each of them to the point of ejaculation. Just before they

come, I quickly remove the rectal tube and release them to ex-

pel the enema. I laugh as both of them run to the bathroom,

spurting semen as they go.

I should mention that part of my fantasy came true recently

when I had to give our house doctor several cleansing enemas.

He was the domineering type who had little or no respect for

nurses. Believe me, he got the enema of his life; it’s known to

nurses as the HHH enema – high, hot, and a hell of a lot.

Wishing you the best of luck in your new book.

Janet

Your Secret Garden book is just great. My husband is a li-

brarian and brought it home for me to read. I could hardly put

it down once I started reading.

I fantasize constantly to various degrees. Every time I see a

picture of Terry Thomas, or any man with a gap between his

front teeth, I wonder what it would feel like to have, my nipple

stuck between those front teeth in loveplay.

Other than that one particular fantasy, you covered my sex-

ual daydreams pretty well in your Garden book. I have never

talked about my fantasies with other women, but I always just

assumed that “everyone did it.”

I am thirty, work as a secretary, and live separate from my

husband, who is raising our two-year-old son. We have sexual

relations with other people, but I have never enjoyed anyone

other than my husband. However, in my fantasies, I am either

watching two strangers making love, or my husband making

love to some other woman.

183

Lucia

I read your first book and thought it was excellent. It said

that you were preparing another book, so I decided to write

about my fantasy.

I have fantasies about men and women, but mostly about

women. I don’t know why, but for some reason, the thought of

being with another women turns me on. I am not a lesbian, as

a matter of fact, I’ve been going with someone whom I love for

a number of years. I’ve never told anyone about these fantasies.

You are the first person.

My favorite one is about an Avon lady. I live in an apart-

ment, and one day an Avon lady comes to the door. She has

very big tits, with a slim body. We sit down and talk for a

while about cosmetics. Then she starts to rub body lotions on

my leg. Her hand moves up slowly until she reaches my cunt. I

get her message and start to play with her tits. We take each

other’s clothes off, and she starts to eat me out. This part ex-

cites me the most, and the rest of my fantasy just consists of

her eating me out until I have an orgasm.

I know I would never really do this, but if that’s what turns

me on, why not think about it? Your first book made me realize

there was nothing to be ashamed of, and now I don’t feel guilt

afterward.

Thank you for listening and for understanding. I hope you

can use this in your second book. I am looking forward to read-

ing it.

Lilly

My daydreams are always the same, but each time the sex-

ual parts get wilder. I dream I am always making it with my

boyfriend’s best friend. Whenever I see him, ripe dreams are

really good, but when alone, they still satisfy me.

I dream that whenever the three of us go out anywhere, that I

sit next to him. I fondle him whenever my boyfriend’s not look-

ing. Slowly I undress this guy in my mind and stare at his

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balls. After a while, the guy realizes that I am staring at him,

and he knows what I want. Somehow we manage to get away

from my boyfriend, and no matter where we are, me and this

guy find a little attic. We do all kinds of neat things to each

other, but there is absolutely no conversation at all, just acid

music playing slowly. Once we start to really get going, I never

see his face again, just big shoulders and cute belly. We satisfy

each other like no other lover has ever done before, and when

it’s over, we get dressed, turn the music up, s and just talk, like

we are mere friends (even though we’re not).

(End of dream.)

I dream this all the time, about the same guy, but I don’t ever

get upset about not being able to have him. in real life. I am

afraid that he won’t satisfy me that much, and then my dream

would be wrecked. Although sometimes I do crave his body,

and I get upset.

Wilma Joan

Thank you for a terrific book. I just finished reading My Se-

cret Garden. It turned me on, but I also laughed and cried. So

sad that so many of us feel compelled to hide or apologize for

our thoughts and sexuality.

I’m twenty-five and a mother of two. I fit into quite a few of

your categories of various kinds of fantasy. I fantasize almost

constantly, I’ve masturbated since I was twelve and really be-

came interested in sex from about age nine. My parents never

told me anything about sex and were very cool to each other.

That added to my curiosity.

My husband and I really dig oral sex. I’m so surprised that

many chicks I know don’t like it. I daydream about performing

cunnilingus on girls. The opportunity has never arisen, but I

think I could dig it.

I would definitely love to make it with other guys. So many

guys I see turn me on. I think about sex a lot in the daytime.

Actually, I love all the aspects of sex that are pleasurable. I’ll

never know why people must judge each other. If they’re not

hurting me, I say – let them enjoy themselves!

185

I’m looking forward to your next book. Good luck. Thank

you again.

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CHAPTER SIX

MASTURBATION

One of the delights in working on this book is to find evi-

dence of the great change that has come over women in the few

years since I completed research for My Secret Garden. Most

letters I get nowadays show an absence of guilt, a sheer exu-

berance in sex as one of the joys of life to which every woman

is entitled. It has been suggested to me that the big difference

between the women in this book and the ones in My Secret

Garden is that my most recent correspondents all read the first

book. “When they saw that sexual fantasies were not just some

freak idea of their own,” a psychiatrist friend said to me re-

cently, “but were in fact very widespread, and of sufficient

importance to merit publication in a hardcover book – that

gave women the big okay to send you their wildest ones.”

I think this may be partially true, but I think the women’s

movement is a much more important factor in introducing a

new feeling of freedom into our lives. Many women have writ-

ten me that they began sharing their fantasies with their hus-

bands long before they read Garden. Almost invariably, they

add that they cannot see why men are put off by my work, be-

cause their husbands have always found their fantasies the

hottest turn-on. If so many women and men were into sexual

fantasies before Garden was published, it is not mere modesty

that makes me disclaim the credit my psychiatrist friend

wanted to give me. We are living in a new age.

It is no accident that one of the saddest letters I received is

from a woman of another, older, generation than the majority

of my contributors. Emma is forty-five and her letter reminds

us that women have only recently begun to emerge from the

centuries-old load of guilt and repression that society has laid

on evil Eve and her descendants. For some women, liberation

comes too late.

Emma’s letter shows a combination of hope and defeat that

touches my heart. It speaks of frustration and despair, of a life

187

largely wasted for no reason except that Emma herself feels

religion and society will it so. “Please do not identify where I

am from,” she begins her letter, fear and anxiety coming for-

ward with her very first words. “My psychiatrist recommended

your book, My Secret Garden, for me to read. I read it slowly

to learn from it. I wish I were like the women you wrote about.

I wish for better sex. I try. I am frigid, I guess … .”

Later in her letter, Emma goes on to give us a clue as to who

might be the really frigid one in her family: “My husband and

I,” she writes, “have no communication. He is the boss, and to

him, women are dumb and inferior to men.”

I have received many letters from women telling me that,

like Emma, Garden was recommended to them by their psy-

chiatrists with the hope’ that reading it might encourage mas-

turbation. This was suggested not only for the excitement and

release of masturbation (which, along with most psychiatrists,

I believe is an absolute sexual value and experience in itself)

but also as a first step toward, and rehearsal for, orgasm.

While Emma may feel thwarted in her sex life because so

little sexual stimulation is offered her, it is ironically true that

many women today are becoming equally frustrated, because,

while sex seems to be all around them, it is not the kind they

will accept. Now that we are getting the idea that we women

exist and can exercise judgment for ourselves, we are becom-

ing more choosy about whom we go to bed with. The days of

feeling that we have to give ourselves to anyone who asks are

over. Being special, however, has its price. Special women

want special men. There aren’t many of them. Frustration is the

result, and masturbation is most often the answer. Spending

the evening at home and masturbating if the desire strikes may

be a lonely form of sex, but it beats going out with any old man

just because he’s a man. And it certainly beats fucking him just

because he’s bought you dinner.

Many women have written that when they have grown bored

or tired of their own sexual fantasies, they open Garden to find

stimulation in the erotic reveries of other women. Some say

that Garden is “nothing but a jerk-off book.” I do not find this

description offensive. While I hope the book is more valuable

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than this put-down phrase tries to make it, I am, on the other

hand, pleased that it can provide such a human and necessary

service. Even though Venice tells us that she was “liberally”

brought up in sexual matters, she did not feel free enough to

masturbate manually, even when the mood was upon her. She

says it was “ a mechanical thing” for her, merely letting the

bathtub tap water stream onto her clitoris “sufficiently long

(one-half to one hour) for release … .” It was only when she

read My Secret Garden that she realized that what had been

missing all along to make masturbation come alive for her “is

fantasy! … Nothing beats imagination,” her letter says. “… I

have at last recognized the tip of the iceberg of my own fanta-

sies.”

What better way to learn about our own sexual responses

than by experimenting with our desires and wishes when alone

with our bodies? Many women have written me that they are

unable to fantasize; it is my belief that these are exactly the

people who need the most help in learning to masturbate suc-

cessfully. Masturbation without fantasy is too lonely.

Little wonder so many women found Garden helpful. Out of

our private encounters with ourselves, we learn the self-

confidence necessary for the best kind of sex with someone

else. “Masturbating is good fox you,” writes Dorothy with

more native sophistication than her language shows, “… be-

cause if a person can make herself or himself feel that way,

think how much better it will feel when another person is doing

it to you.”

Liberated Lady writes that she had a child and had been

married for over two years, but never had a climax. While she

had always enjoyed sex, she says, it was only when she de-

cided that “it was high time I educated myself as far as what

[orgasmic] response really is” that she began to understand

herself sexually.

If the study of human history is all too often a record of

crimes, folly, and disaster, the near universal prejudice against

masturbation stands out as perhaps the one greatest producer of

unnecessary suffering, anguish, and guilt. It has been proven

again and again both medically and scientifically that mastur-

189

bation has absolutely no harmful effects on the mind or body –

unless you call feeling alive and stimulated “harmful.” On the

other hand, Kinsey found in his monumental researches that

people who began to masturbate at an earlier age than others

led more vigorous sex lives thereafter and continued their sex-

ual activities long past the time when the average person had

long since stopped having any sex at all. The evidence is clear:

far from being harmful, there is a positive correlation between

masturbation and sexual vitality.

One might think that given the great Female Imperative that

we must remain virgin until we marry, society might have al-

lowed women masturbation as a form of private, harmless re-

lease with absolutely no risk of unwanted pregnancy at all.

Needless to say, just the opposite is true. Young girls are con-

tinually given lectures against premarital sex, but masturbation

isn’t even mentioned – it is a subject that is so taboo for women

that mother can’t even voice her prohibition.

I regret to say that we women don’t help each other about

this even when we are grown. I have had women friends will-

ingly confess to me the most extraordinary sexual peccadilloes

– affairs and escapades that would have landed them in the

newspapers, if not the morgue, if they were discovered. They

have told me these stories with a quiet smile of pride, with an

air of confidence that expected admiration. But only the most

sexually outspoken of all my women friends have ever men-

tioned masturbation, and that was when I brought up the sub-

ject myself. It still remains the greatest taboo of all.

Because sexual fantasies derive much of their hidden sweet-

ness from breaking taboos, I am not surprised by Noranna’s

letter about the pleasures of masturbating with a friend watch-

ing – I am more surprised that I did not receive more fantasies

like hers. While she conceived of the idea and brought it to life

in reality, she likes to remember it in fantasy.

Emma

Please do not identify where I am from. My psychiatrist rec-

ommended your book, My Secret Garden, for me to read. I

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read it slowly to learn from it. I wish I were like the women

you wrote about. I wish for better sex. I try. I am frigid, I guess,

but desire good sex. I would welcome any of the fantasies I

read about to come true in my real life (except for the whips

and painful ones).

My following facts are true. I am forty-five years old (hus-

band is too), and we have been married twenty-eight years.

(Married too young because I was pregnant with his baby.)

Since then we have both finished college (him years ahead of

me) and have two children who have finished college and are

away from home, with one still here. The only thing my hus-

band and I have accomplished together is these three fine chil-

dren. My dad is living, and I do not hate him. If something was

in my childhood to make me frigid, I do not remember it. I

have never reached an orgasm with a man, or by masturbat-

ing. I have considered the Masters-Johnson Clinic in St. Louis.

My husband and I have no communication. He is the boss,

and to him, women are dumb and inferior to men.

I have considered divorce, but our religion does not ap-

prove…

I have read The Happy Hooker, The Story of O, etc. They

are very interesting, but I do not get excited enough to reach

orgasm. My husband has about given up that I ever will and is

very passive (probably feels rejected, t as I do, too). There is a

French saying you have probably heard that goes, “There is no

frigid women, only poor lovers.” I would like a lover, a dog, or

another woman, but where does a woman who never goes

anywhere but to church, PTA, and the grocery store, etc., find

this? I know of no houses with male prostitutes, and my hus-

band would actually kill a man (and probably me) if he would

learn I had been with one. So the only way would be for the

man to not know my name. (We are actually prominent, suc-

cessful people in this seventy thousand population town. If we

moved around and didn’t have such roots, I might have an op-

portunity.)

Both my husband and I are the same size and weight as

when we married, and I feel we look a few years younger than

we are. I am on birth control pills, so have no fear of an un-

191

wanted pregnancy. (But if I did have one sexual activity with a

man outside of marriage, it would be sure with my luck, I

would get v.d.) I am sad my sex life is not better.

As you can see, I have not excluded the idea of sex from my

life even if my life is barren of sexual pleasure… I tell myself I

am incapable of sexual fantasy, but even the fact that I have

outlined above to you various ideas of sex with other people …

I suppose this does mean I too have my fantasies. They are

simply to feel that exquisite pleasure that must be orgasm, to

feel aroused by someone or something … a pleasure that must

be everyone’s due. At this point, I would indeed gladly pay for

a man’s pleasure, and only wish there was such tithing as male

prostitution in our culture. I am sure that once in the hands of

an experienced lover I could feel: all the things I have dreamed

of one day knowing.

Venice

Thank you, thank you for writing My Secret Garden. l saw

you on a television show, but when I went to buy your book, I

couldn’t afford the hardback price. What a mistake! Anyway,

yesterday I saw it in paperback and started reading it this

morning. Now it’s three in the afternoon, and I had to stop

reading. So far I have masturbated manually for the first time

using just my finger (being twenty-two and brought-up liber-

ally, I thought something was wrong because I couldn’t),

called My husband home for lunch for a fine “regular” orgasm,

masturbated manually in the tub, and finished with two more

orgasms in my usual stream-of-water way. I had been using

this for years, but it was a mechanical thing – waiting suffi-

ciently long (one-half to one hour) for release, and what I have

been missing is fantasy! I have been turned on by porn and

smokers my husband brought home for us, but nothing beats

imagination. I admit today I “helped” by reading your book,

but/ I have at last recognized the tip of the iceberg of my own

fantasies. Just for the record, I get off on animals and big black

:hen (I’m white and once had a black lover). Who knows, I

may find more tomorrow when I read the second half! Dr. van

192

den Haag says on the cover that your book is of “considerable

scientific interest.” BULLSHIT! Science be damned! I’m inter-

ested in sex! If my cunt wasn’t sore, I’d still be at it. Instead,

I’m going to call my girl friend and make sure she buys a copy

today, at any price. If praise is the word for effort, please ac-

cept mine, and yes, my love.

P.S. If this disorganized letter seems a little shaky, it’s be-

cause I still am.

Libby

Today I bought a copy of My Secret Garden, and I’ve read

about half of the book. I think it is fantastic – a book every

woman should read!

I see myself in parts, particularly the running faucet in the

tub! That is how I masturbate too, and while reading the book I

became so aroused that I just stopped and went into the tub for

some sexual release! My fantasy was that my half-brother had

just come into the bathroom while I was in the tub. He was

talking over his shoulder to his wife as he came in so he did

not see me in there. He has already unzippered his fly and has

his penis out, ready to pee. He closes the door behind him and

turns around to do his business. Instead, he sees me, naked in

the bathtub! I am holding my fingers to my lips, to shush him,

and he quickly gets the idea. I swivel around in the tub, so that

my legs are open, not to the water flowing out of the faucet, but

to the stream of pee that arcs out of his cock and hits me right

in the clit. (Incidentally, I have been to bed with him several

times, and he’s definitely good! )

This may not be much of a fantasy, but since no one was

around, and I wanted to be balled, it really got the job done!

Thank you for making it possible to write this.

Dorothy

Hi. I’m eighteen years old and really oversexed, but it’s a lot

of fun. I don’t remember hardly any times I’ve fantasized while

193

I was fucking, but I do when I masturbate. When fucking, I

just get into the guy and how it feels and the sounds; it’s really

nice.

I think I was three or four when I started masturbating

(maybe younger), but the first time I really got off was the day

I’d been to the doctor and saw a baby getting a shot, and I went

home and masturbated and thought of what his little butt

looked like.

Masturbating is good for you really (although some people

don’t agree), because if a person can make herself or himself

feel that way, think how much better it will feel when another

person is doing it to you.

When I masturbate, my fantasies are being fucked by (the

father of my baby) this guy I really love, or this guy I went out

with a couple of years ago who was really good-looking and 6′

4”, and in the fantasy, he has a really gigantic prick, the big-

gest I’ve had. (I wish I’d had a chance to really find out.) .

And sometimes I fantasize that I’m a virgin (I don’t think I

ever was), and some guy with a really big cock deflowers me,

and it hurts like hell, but I love it. The scene takes place very

often in some uncomfortable place that’s very small … like

those old movies you see on television, where the bride and

groom get on a train to go on their honeymoon. I imagine I just

married this guy with an enormous cock, and we’re in a tiny

little lower berth on our wedding night. I can see that enor-

mous powerful bulge in his pants as I begin to get undressed in

there, and it frightens me. But the space is so small, how can I

get away from him? By the time I’m undressed, he’s taken off

his pants too. I think to myself that at least I’ll have a little

more time, he still has his shirt on. But suddenly his cock gets

even bigger, it pokes out from beneath his shirt, like a tent-

pole. He won’t wait, and I push myself back into a corner to get

away from it. But the corner just props me up all the better for

him. I’m sort of sitting there, my shoulders up against the wall,

my legs spread wide open in the tiny bed, and he throws him-

self on me. I scream as he comes at me – it’s grown so big now

that it looks purple and angry. In my mind, I like to make him

come a little even before he’s in me … I can “see” the little

194

white beads of “come” spurting out, as if his cock is frothing at

the mouth to get into me.

It hurts like hell. I scream, but not too loud. I don’t want the

conductor to hear us. He’s got one hand on my mouth now so

that I won’t scream anymore, and the other hand is guiding this

enormous piece of meat into me. He’s pushing and pushing. I

am afraid that my skin will tear … not only my “maidenhead”

(in this fantasy I still have it), but even the outer skin that holds

the lips together. “No, no, no,” I’m half-sobbing, but nothing

stops him. He’s just smiling down into my face,; and then with

a terrific grunt, he shoves it all in, and I almost scream with the

pain. It’s at this point in my, fantasies that I very often scream

too in real life, because I’ve come to an orgasm.

I have this thing about big cocks. Just the way they feel be-

ing stuffed into my cunt, it really turns me on. I guess if I could

have a really gigantic one, it would’’, stop those fantasies (but I

hope not).

When I was small, I masturbated with my fingers, thumb, or

just rubbed my hand down there. Now I use fingers, bottle, or

vibrator.

Thanks for letting me write you.

Liberated Lady

First, my background: Brought up by upper-middle-class

folks … never participated in “sinful” activities for fear of go-

ing to hell (what a joke!). While in nursing school, I met a ter-

rific guy from lower-middle class with no hang-up as far as

participation in sex went and who had many chicks of all ages

and status. Went out exclusively together for a year and a half

without having intercourse (he only had two chicks in that

time). My first experience with intercourse was the beginning

of a new and enjoyable chapter in my life. From then on, we

screwed as often as time and circumstance would permit, on

the average of two times daily. Five months later, I became

pregnant and after an unsuccessful attempt to abort (under

doctor’s care) we eloped. That was almost nine years ago. My

present age is twenty-eight and my old man is thirty-one. Let’s

195

call him Z. I can truly say that I’m sexually where I’d like to be,

and can attribute most of it, if not all, to Z. No one else would

have put up with me for so long until I came around. I never

talked about what was on my mind concerning sex or my fan-

tasies until a year ago. Although I enjoyed sex in my own head

at the time, I never had a climax until two and a half years into

the marriage. What a drag as I look back to it now. It happened

almost by accident. After thoroughly reading Of Human Sexual

Response by Masters and Johnson, I realized it was high time I

educated myself, as far as what response really is. I followed

diagrams of the vaginal area in detail and compared them with

myself. While taking a bath one day, I let a stream of water

glide over my clitoris. It felt terrific, I couldn’t understand why.

I stayed with it for a few moments, and bingo I finally under-

stood the damn book about climax. Shit, it blew my mind! I

guess I really came to realize what frigidity was about too. For

many reasons, not understandable to me, I remained cold with

Z as far as my climaxing went – but completely let loose in the

tub daily (and still do a lot). It only took a matter of minutes

(sometimes seconds) to get off. I still have lots of hang-ups, I

guess, and the faster I climax with fantasies, the better. I en-

joyed watching my pelvis move almost involuntarily and my

breasts and nipples get taut and pointing. I usually thought

what a gas it would be for Z to be there. He’d flip. (And did

when some years later he was present.) Also would imagine

that the water was actually Z’s tongue or a friend’s hands.

Then we moved to our present home, where I got to know

myself. I had everything I had once thought of as “everything”

– material stuff (out-of-sight home, driver’s license, and own

car, pool, furniture, gardening equipment, clothes) as well as

two great healthy sons and one hell of a dynamite husband. But

then liberation days came around, and I too wondered what

was important and why and where I was going. We got into

smoking grass, and it helped me relax to a great degree. I’m a

very hyperactive person. I decided to get into my head, and did

with feelings and stimuli simultaneously rather than purely

response. Z has always enjoyed talking about sexually stimu-

196

lating things, and once I made my mind up to go with him, I

found it surprisingly easy and enjoyable.

Which brings me more or less to the present. We’ve taken a

few trips in the privacy of our home, which have also helped

me to understand and accept what goes on in my head.

What did I fantasize about this morning as I was entering

the climax stage? While sitting on the front porch, I had my

bathrobe fully opened with the sun beaming down on my body.

My hands felt cooling to my hot breasts, and as I touched my

quickly responding nipples, I could feel my whole body tingle.

I opened my legs wide and let the hot sun find it’s way to my

cunt (about the same time my fingers did). I gently and slowly

transferred some vaginal juices over the clitoris, which was

already fattening from sheer pleasure. I sat back a bit and just

watched the show. I thought of the time one of Z’s friends and I

were in bed together. (Just for the record, Z knew we were

going to make it and encouraged it. Since then, we’ve had

threesomes.) He had fabulous fingers and made me flip with

pleasure. I continued as he did and ended up getting myself off

in record time. (From start to finish: four minutes.)

An hour later, after a swim in the nude, I laid in a reclining

beach chair for a smoke. The sun was still hot, and it felt great

on my cooled skin. I flashed on the night before, when Z really

got into eating pussy. His tongue encircled my clitoris heavenly

to a climax. By this time, my fingers were taking the same path

– and ended with similar results.

Then there was the time when Z and I split up for a few

days, and out of the blue, the very first night alone a friend (X)

came by and asked if I wanted to ball. I was taken aback, and

flattered silly. It did wonders to bring my ego up to par – then

some. He was eight years younger than I, and talking revealed

he only made it with one other chick (his wife, who was then

pregnant, X wasn’t sure if it was his doings). He came on

strong, embracing and soul-kissing me. His hands were all

over me so quickly I couldn’t keep track. It really turned me on.

I had only screwed two others, but this third. mate was differ-

ent and very stimulating. I had thought of making it with him

on a few occasions before, on a fantasy level. Because of his

age, I thought it would be me who would be the aggressor, like

197

in The Graduate scene. As it turned out, it was quite the oppo-

site, and it did good things to my head, not to mention other

parts of the anatomy. Every inch of me cried out for more-and

more he gave. Before long we undressed, and he kissed his

way from mouth to cunt in an unforgettable manner. Once he

reached my clitoris, I couldn’t say exactly what I thought for

some time; my pelvis didn’t want to stop grinding away until I

was having endless climaxes. Both of us were flipping out on

the experience (I didn’t think I could be so relaxed and nothing

but sex ran through my head for a few hours). We moved our

position and proceeded to ball, which was out of sight. After a

cigarette, I went down on him. It was a novelty for him that he

readily got into. I found myself digging, tickling, and titillating

his sensitive cock. He completely freaked over it, and wanted

to stay all night. Unfortunately, we’ll never make it again

‘cause of circumstances as they are, but it was definitely a plus

to the way I feel about sex these days.

What are my sexual fantasies? Hard to say, since most of

them become reality. I dig making it with different guys, that’s

for sure. It opens your head up, and I can enjoy myself fuller

with Z, which is where it’s really at. I hold our relationship

high, and all I do more or less is to strengthen and keep that

relationship open and honest. We tell each other everything we

do and think and fantasize.

After fantasizing about this for a while it came to a reality –

I spread jelly all over my breasts and clit and let the dog lick it

off: It was different to say the least.

At times, I consider myself on the frigid side, and that burns

me up. Sometimes I just can’t get it on, and after twenty min-

utes of having my cunt rubbed, sucked, and tongued, I’m on

such “pins and needles” I quit the scene and go to something

else. Those times are fewer now. I can remember a few times Z

fell asleep after he made his deposit, and while I was lying

there, his come was dribbling out of me, and it turned me on. I

took my fingers and spread it all around my “pins and needles”

clitoris. I thought how Z would love to see me playing like

that, especially when I climaxed. Still a little bashful about that

though.

198

Then there was the time last summer we got into vibrators. I

was pushing the power mower around, cutting the grass, and

thought the vibrating of the motor on the handles was perfect

for clit stimulating. It was! My slacks: absorbed just enough

vibrations, and I climaxed.

I do think of other guys I’d like to turn on, and both Z and I

have imagined ourselves with others while we are making it

together. It’s fun to imagine how it would really be (with

friends, relatives, milkmen, etc.). They always seem to be peo-

ple we know, personally, rather than movie stars or such.

Maybe ‘cause someday it could happen – or so I keep telling

myself – who knows!

I’ll go along with the findings that the most common female

fantasy is submission and rape. Probably ‘causes it’s the only

way many females will experience anyone beside their “mate.”

Hell, I think everyone thinks about someone different at some

times. I think another reason may be just ‘cause it’s a onetime

deal. It seems that this society looks down on screwing for the

sake of screwing – and maybe they have something in that

belief. Once you make it with another, the situation can get

involved with their hang-ups that one just doesn’t need or want.

Say you ball the guy next door a few times, and that’s not

enough for him (or her). They make a pain in the ass of them-

selves – looking for more openings. Then you get to wonder

about how his present mate will take it or if they can handle it.

Or even if he’ll tell anyone else. Hell, you don’t want anyone to

have any troubled thoughts over something that simply hap-

pened out of pleasure or curiosity. Swapping could be a gas,

but then too you can get involved with the typical every Satur-

day night thing, which is a drag. Of course, this is very subjec-

tive, but that’s how I feel.

I get into sex experiences of others through reading, talking,

stag films, etc. I’ve come to realize that my feelings and fanta-

sies are not as rare as I thought them to be at one time. It’s

comforting to know that more and more people aren’t suppress-

ing what they actually are feeling and thinking. I think it’s

much healthier that way. I remember four years ago, when I

saw my first stag film. I was shocked! And very embarrassed,

at myself mostly. When I saw that here are females, like my-

199

self, who not only are freer but don’t mind making movies of it,

I’ve felt that I’d love to be that open, but couldn’t get my

thoughts into action. I don’t think everyone should act in a one,

two, three manner of the “way to do things.” But, shit, that

could never happen (unless they’re acting). Only if everyone

accepts the way they themselves feel are they going to make

anything out of it. Too many of us try to be someone else, and

completely lose track of where and who they really are inside.

Sure fantasies will always be there … thank goodness. As to

why they’re there, and what to do with them, is individually

dealt with. Ask the psychologist how he reaches a conclusion –

it’s usually through hearing the fantasies of others.

I love the idea of putting myself in another’s place (maybe a

hang-up again). I keep in shape and am pleased to see myself

in a mirror, tanned skin, white breasts and bottom, and would

like others to dig me too. Sure I’d like to be in a centerfold –

but that’s chauvinistically looking at it from a feminist point of

view. I would like bigger breasts, but realize that’s an old mid-

dle-class value hang-up too. It shouldn’t matter.

Hey, listen, I’m probably not making the right point – I just

can’t work anymore on this. My family needs me.

Good luck on the book – hope this gets to you before finish-

ing it up. I’ll look for it.

Noranna

I’m twenty-seven. I’m a writer, and I’m doing this for two

reasons. (1) My hubby is asleep, and I want to get horny

enough to masturbate before I join him. (2) I’m egotistical

enough to think my fantasies are going to be adopted by others.

Before I get into fantasies, a little background. I have mas-

turbated since I was sixteen, and I’ve been with a dozen or so

men. David (husband) is the best, but he’s a bit of an MCP

sometimes, so being really frank proceeded slowly. Your book

took us a step farther, by the way. Several years ago, a friend

(female) and I admitted to each other that we indulged in mas-

turbation, and soon we began doing it in the same room. We

sort of fed on each other’s sounds, which we controlled some-

200

what, but nonetheless could not suppress. Also, we dug on the

idea that we were masturbating, but weren’t alone. We always

kept it darkened, but there was always enough light to allow us

to see, at least in shadows, the other one with her legs spread

wide open and a hand moving, caressing, rubbing a wet cunt.

We especially liked the sound of the “wetness” – that squishy

sound. I think women should get into this – approach the sub-

ject kiddingly if you have to, and if lesbianism hangs you up (it

does me, a little), just keep in mind that you’re not making love

with another woman. It’s just a bit of voyeurism!

Last year, I did something I slightly regret. I asked a girl I

know to go to bed with me just because I wanted someone to

suck on my nipples while I masturbated. I didn’t do anything

for her. I’m no lesbian, and she’s quite unattractive, so I could-

n’t bring myself to a reciprocate. I just HAD to have someone

suck my tits hard and watch me lay there spread open so wide,

rubbing my clitoris and stretching and impaling myself so deli-

ciously on a long thick candle! She was great!

As to fantasies, I imagine that five lesbians come over and

work on me. I’ve got one sucking and licking each tit. Two

hold my legs as wide apart as they can get while the fifth eats

me. This one produces a VERY large dildo. I protest that I

can’t take one that big, then the two holding my legs open as-

sure me that I’ll open up for it and love it that big and to relax.

Number five keeps sucking my clit and just pushes it in a little.

Soon I’m begging her to go all the way. Put it in me! Deep. I

want it deep inside me! It’s great.

I also imagine I’m at the Masters and Johnson clinic with

their “fucking machine.”

Sometimes my husband and I are in a film showing de-

prived women what they’re missing, so they can get their lovers

on the ball!

Sometimes I just remember my friend staring at me while I

masturbated in broad daylight. It was wonderful to lay there –

cunt wide open, masturbating deliciously, nipples tight and

pointy while another woman watched sighing, “Wow, you

don’t need any help. Look at those tits! That dildo is so big. I’ll

bet it feels great.”

Good luck on your books.

201

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and not

really “seen” what you look like? You’ve grown so used to your

features that your eyes just glide over your face without really

taking note – until another person comes along and looks at

you in the mirror too. Suddenly, it is as if you can see yourself

with the other person’s eyes. You become someone new to

yourself; you examine your eyes, nose, mouth, as if seeing

them for the first time. It is a strangely stimulating experience.

Some of that feeling is the emotion behind Noranna’s fan-

tasy, which is the last letter printed above. Having a friend

watch her while she masturbated heightened the erotic thrill of

the experience … made the event more real to her. Liz’s and

Fanny’s masturbatory fantasies, which follow here, also in-

volved observers who enhance the eroticism of what is going

on. Most “… all of my fantasies make me an exhibitionist,”

Fanny writes. “When I was younger, I used to stand in front of

my window naked and play with myself, fantasizing that there

was a man watching me move my body around.”

Many a woman’s masturbatory fantasies involve a spectator,

often entire audiences of people not only watching but ap-

plauding as she slowly and adeptly brings her to full arousal.

In our usual, obvious exhibitionism – vying for attention with a

new dress, a lower neckline, or higher hemline – the applause

women get is for something that is not us: dresses or hemlines

are contrived, bought, outside ourselves. Yes, the compliments

we get for how we look are lovely, but how much more satisfy-

ing it would be to be complimented on our naked selves, our

real selves, the erotic selves we allow ourselves to be in our

masturbatory fantasies? Is it surprising that the erotic images

that accompany many a woman’s slow, knowing manipulation

of her own body toward orgasm are those of other people view-

ing her at last as admirable, not because she hides her sexuality

behind a pretty dress but because of her candor in revealing it

to them? To be seen while masturbating can be an ultimate

moment for a woman who may never have felt complete sexual

pleasure, or who feels even in the throes of orgasm that her

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pleasure would be heightened, realer to herself, if it had not

gone unseen. (Thus, the popularity of mirrors on the ceiling in

bordellos.)

Even guilt, the great deterrent in reality, becomes a woman’s

sexual partner in a variation of these masturbatory fantasies:

while bringing herself toward orgasm, she fantasizes approach-

ing footsteps, the impending arrival of someone who will find

her, catch her, “see” her. The closer she comes to being discov-

ered, the greater the thrill of getting away with the forbidden

act. The crash of orgasm, in these fantasies, comes at the very

last second before the closed door is opened, the curtain pulled

away, the light flicked on … .

A woman who signs her letter “Anonymous” gives us an

unusual variation of the masturbating-while-someone-watches

fantasy … watching her lover masturbate. This is another idea

that our culture finds difficult to accept: men themselves don’t

think the sight of their sexuality in all its forms is exciting for

women to look at.

I believe just the opposite is true. Women not only love to

look at men, but they also enjoy watching them masturbate. To

carry this idea to its ultimate, I also believe there are women

who would enjoy watching their lovers make love to another

man (as several letters in this book testify). I have found this

idea difficult to discuss even with therapists and psychiatrists,

but it stays in my mind with a certain symmetrical logic: men

have always enjoyed watching women naked, women playing

with themselves; above all, the sight of two women making

love to each other is notoriously the ultimate turn-on for most

men. Why then is it so difficult to reverse the roles and recog-

nize that women would find just as much arousal in seeing two

men in a circus?

Fanny

I’m not even through reading your book on woman’s sexual

fantasies, but I just had to write to you and tell you that it is

absolutely fantastic!

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I never knew that there were so many woman who had sex-

ual fantasies. I’ve always had them as far back as I can remem-

ber. I always felt that I was weird or oversexed.

I’m sort of caught between two generations. I’m twenty-three

years old, this is my second marriage; the first time, I was six-

teen and pregnant. The second time, I was nineteen and preg-

nant (the second time, I didn’t know I was pregnant). As you

can see, even though I was brought up that sex was a no-no,

and you wait until you were married, I didn’t. When I was four-

teen years old, I was raped. Not violently. I knew both of the

guys, and one of them I had gone out with for a month or so. I

had never let him fuck me, but he had eaten me, and I had

eaten him. (He was eighteen, by the way.) One night, I was at a

barn dance in Vermont. I guess he was really mad at me, be-

cause he thought I had done it with someone else. So he and

his friend got me when I went outside to go to the bathroom. I

was scared at first, but he kept on saying, “wow, feel this cunt,

isn’t this the best cunt you’ve ever felt?” This was before they

were inside of me, he was using his fingers and hand. That is

where I started getting turned on. Then when he started fucking

me, I was lost in sexual pleasure. He kept on talking all the

time, saying “wow, you have a really beautiful cunt; I want to

take my prick out of you and suck it, but I can’t, it’s too good.”

By this time, I was starting to scream with pleasure, and he

told his friend to keep his hands over my mouth as there were

other people all around us. When he was done, it was his

friend’s turn, and believe me, he was just as good. All the time,

they were fucking me, they were talking about my tits and

cunt, which made me unafraid and enjoy it. Every day I thank

him for making my first time so wonderful. I guess that could-

n’t be called a fantasy, as it actually happened, but I often think

about it, and then I masturbate. I also think that that is why

most all of my fantasies make me an exhibitionist. When I was

younger, I used to stand in front of my window naked and play

with myself, fantasizing that there was a man watching me

move my body around, play with my nipples, stick my fingers

in and out of my cunt, and whack myself off right there before

him, and after I finished, he would come into the house and

fuck me. That was when I climaxed.

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One of my fantasies now is that I’m on stage in front of a

room filled with men and only about a dozen women. I come

out and strip to the music; then I walk back ‘n’ forth playing

with my tits (I usually do this in front of my mirrors to get the

effect), bending over, spreading my ass apart so that they can

see my two holes. By now, the men are screaming, “Come on,

baby,” and the women are in shock. Then I bend over back-

ward and do the same thing, so they can get a good look at my

cunt this time. Then my hands start going all over my body as

my body moves to the music. Now I notice that some of the

men have their pricks out and taking the situation in hand and

screaming, “Come on, baby, let me see that big cunt of yours

again.” Now I lie down on two stools and start whacking my

cunt off, making sure my legs are spread wide, so they can see

my cunt jiggle, and now some of the men have dragged the

women up on stage and are fucking them while they are watch-

ing me and seeing my cunt move, which makes them fuck the

cunt they have all the harder, until finally everyone has made it.

Another fantasy while I’m masturbating is simply that while

I’m doing it to myself my girl friend has walked in on me and

joins me; then we make love to one another. This fantasy gets

me very excited, but it will soon no longer be a fantasy, be-

cause I really want this girl friend. She has big beautiful tits

that I would love to suck and the same with her cunt and ass.

Anyway, I’d love to have this girl, and I know that she’s start-

ing to want me. We almost did it yesterday, but we didn’t, be-

cause we’re both on the rag. I’ve had sexual relations with five

other women. One of them was a prostitute.

One thing I want to say before I close. My husband knows

of my fantasies and approves and gets very excited over them.

Sometimes we lay in bed, and while I play with myself and he

plays with himself, we tell each other some fantasy and come

together. He also approves of me going to bed with a broad and

sometimes watches us, and I watch him play with his big

prick, then afterward we fuck; if the girl has her boyfriend

there, they fuck too; if not, we wait till she leaves or we leave,

depending on the circumstances.

I hope that I have been helpful toward your second book.

Thank you for letting me contribute.

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Liz

For years, I was resentful that man thought he could write

about women’s sex life as if what he wrote was fact. You’re

right up top … for the first time, an honest woman putting the

real facts on paper. When I read your book, I said, “Now that’s

the truth.” Only a woman knows the sexual fantasies of other

women.

Here’s my favorite. My lovers in this fantasy are faceless,

and I have dreams where I am sitting with black mesh hose on,

the kind that have black heels. I’m on a tall chair, no bra, and I

caress my round firm breasts and pull and pinch my erect nip-

ples. I feel extreme pleasure in my womb to do this, and then I

spread my legs, and the slit in my stockings shows love juices

oozing out of my pussy’s lips. They are large and hanging

down like a pink tongue panting to be fucked. A naked man is

there watching me play with myself, but I do not see him; he is

silently watching me until I am dying to be screwed. He gets a

fantastic erection watching me. I just want to be yanked off my

perch and screwed so hard on the floor that I’m dying with pain

and pleasure. I can feel it so clearly, his beautiful hairy mound

bumping against my love venus. He is moaning and blowing

his hot breath in my ears, and the heat is so intense when he

comes, and I feel the hot juice shoot up around my cervix. It

leaps with joy, and I come, and my womb pulls and sucks his

juices up in me like a thirsty throat on fire. I feel my cunt, and

it’s running down my legs – I rub it and it’s tender. I’m always

hot and masturbate often with this fantasy, even though my

husband is fantastic, with a beautiful peter.

He drew me out of my shell and nurtured my sexual freedom

– I can say I’ve had other men in real life, but my husband ex-

cites me by far the most. I love him and he loves me. The fact

that he has other women runs my cunt pressure to the boiling

point, and I desire his hot big beautiful peter even more, as I

fantasize he is screwing her, and when he says, “Fuck me,

baby,” or “Suck that hard hot cock, baby,” I know he’s talking

to her. But I know I’m better in bed than she is, and my ex-

citement transmits to him, so it’s an electric charge shooting

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back and forth. It’s a current that I drink – my life’s blood. I

love all of him.

I discovered my sex drive while very young, because I lived

on a farm and watched the animals mate. I never desired any of

these myself, and yet the reptile played a most delightful

wicked part of my fantasies. This one takes place when I was

twelve or fourteen years old. I’m lying in bed on fire with an

itch that drives me crazy. In my fantasy, I think, What can I

fuck and my parents not know, even though it is right under

their nose (my mother was a very light sleeper)? I have it – a

snake.

It slithers quietly and surely on its way. I’m lying on the bed,

naked, hot and wet, all swollen with yearning. It slides under

the door, long, big, and hard and wicked – (the devil!) – creeps

on the bed without effort and drives its ugly head right into my

throbbing hot pussy. The thrill knows no end as I masturbate

faster to keep in time with the shivering snake.

I had this fantasy for years till I got married. Then it

switched to men and real penis dreams.

P.S. These are only a few. I could go on. As some of the

other women in your book said it gives me great pleasure to

read and write some of my most secret thoughts. Your title is

most appropriate, as I used to fantasize I was floating through

a lovely flower garden while my husband screwed away. Such

a lovely flower garden.

P.P.S. As for facts, I married at seventeen. I was a virgin,

have two sons now, and am thirty-eight years old. If I had to

have a removal of my female parts, it would surely make me

die. I believe the womb plays the most important part in having

a climax. As the Greeks said, when you translate “womb,” it

means a living thing-thirst.

Anonymous

Just finished your book and couldn’t resist sending you my

favorite fantasy. Although it’s based on fact, I conjure it up

when I’m alone and getting it on by myself or with my friendly

little vibrator. I’m married but have had a lover for a very long

207

time. I love my husband but I have this leftover sexual desire

that he – and maybe no one man – could ever satisfy. I don’t

dig cheating on him, but it’s better than frustration. My lover

and his wife, my husband and I, and several other people we

know all form a kind of close-knit group, and so we very often

do lots of things together. Many of us like to ski, and last year,

one of the couples in our group invited my husband and I, and

my lover and his wife, to come north for a weekend of skiing

with them.

They have a small weekend house, with a combination liv-

ing room and kitchen, one large bedroom with two double beds

side by side and two single beds. At first, I thought, Shit –

there is nowhere in this little house where my lover and I could

hope to get anything on.

We skied all day and were totally exhausted but feeling sex-

ier than ever. We had tried to get off on the slopes alone, but

someone was always tagging along with us. It was a great

night. A big fire in the fireplace, drinks, soft music, and me –

ready to screw anything that moved. I had almost resigned

myself to making it with my husband, which wouldn’t have

done me too much good, but I was desperate. We all went to

bed. My husband took some sleeping pills (he has insomnia).

So there I lay in one double bed and my lover fifteen inches

away in the other double bed. I was going crazy.

Could I kneel on the floor and go down on him without any-

body hearing or seeing us? No, that’s out. Just then, he must

have been reading my mind. He pulled back the covers and

turned on his side, and there was the most beautiful hard-on in

the world. I was going to get down on the floor and the hell

with anyone else. He motioned for me to stay where I was and

then started to jack himself off. Right then and there I knew

what he had in mind. I turned over on my side as close to the

edge of the bed as I could. My heart and everything else was

beating like a trip hammer. I was so wet and my clit was so

hard, I thought it would burst. Then he started to come and

cupped his both hands to catch it all. He then brought his

hands up to my mouth, and I proceeded to lick them bone dry,

not wasting a single drop of that lovely stuff. Between pictur-

ing in my mind him jacking off and that warm, slightly salty

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semen in my mouth, and of course the danger in what we were

doing, I got off twice. I drifted off to sleep with his finger in my

mouth.

Now when I masturbate, I think of that scene and it’s almost

like having him there. Given a good husband, a good lover,

and my fantasies, I’m never frustrated. I hope you can use this.

It would be an even bigger turn-on reading about it. Plus

knowing all my friends were reading it and not even knowing

it is about us. Thanks for bringing fantasy out of the closet, and

crotch-watching too.

Have you ever listened to an older person talk about “the

good old days”? To hear them, the men were all tall, kind, and

rich, the women beautiful and generous as queens, the rain

never fell on weekends, and every night was New Year’s Eve.

To say that they are telling us lies would be incorrect and nar-

row-minded. What they are trying to do is recapture a feeling

they had when they were young, and which they have no more.

They are not deliberately misleading us as much as they have

embellished their own memories of a world that should lave

been. They themselves can’t be sure if a certain happy event,

which they describe in such glowing detail, really happened or

not.

The next two fantasies may be based on just such memories

To be honest, it is not clear to me if Diane’s or Cecelia’s fanta-

sies are about events that really took place, or if both women

have not taken some specifics of real events and, because they

ignited such truly erotic fires in their imagination, embroidered

them into two of the most vivid masturbatory fantasies I have

ever read.

For our purposes, it does not matter, because whether or not

the events took place, both fantasies are true to :heir own inner

logic. Diane does not even present her story as if it we re a

fantasy. It is all memory, and whether it is about masturbation,

dogs, her grandfather, another woman, a casual newsboy, or a

salesman, the details all pour out, one after another, with no

hesitation, second thoughts, or guilt getting between herself

and her mounting excitement. The very act of writing the letter

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becomes part of her total masturbatory fantasy: “Our dog gets

his share, and he can lick my cunt as he is doing right now,

while I am writing.”

Cecelia’s story seems to me to be a bit more complicated. I

have shown it to two psychoanalysts, both of whom share my

feelings that it is difficult to know just by reading her letter

where reality ends and fantasy begins. If the events actually

happened, it can be said that she was legally and technically

“raped,” but I believe it would be a total misunderstanding to

believe Cecelia is the exception to my statement that I never

met a woman who wanted to be raped in reality. In her letter,

she tells us where her true excitement lies: it was “the en-

slavement, the subjugation [which] I found so thrilling.” When

she wants to experience these emotions again, she does not go

out alone for a walk on a dark street – she turns to “the under-

standing and indulgence of my wonderful husband” to turn her

fantasy into “a way of life,” in the safety of her own home.

What is particularly striking to me about Cecelia’s letter is

that it gives us such a clear example of the healing powers of

sexual fantasy. By going over and over again “eleven hours” of

“terrifying brutality,” Cecelia gets a feeling of mastery over the

events. She can resummon those hours in her imagination now

for her own pleasure. Her erotic imagination has taken the hor-

ror out of her experience, and transmuted it into pure sexual

gold. She says the entire experience now “thrills me to think

of.” In the safety of her fantasies, the man who abducted her

can no longer frighten her; they have been turned instead into

her erotic servants, Cecelia’s source of “extremely satisfying

pleasures.”

Diane

Your book, Secret Garden, is very well fitted for its pur-

pose. My gramps and I have read and reread many parts and

many of the fantasies fit my life. Am twenty three, single, and

have had a varied sex life. My remembrance of sex-play must

be when I was about six years old. Every chance I had when

alone was to strip all my clothes off, sit with my legs up to my

210

chin, and just finger play. At the time, the words cunt, fuck,

cock, etc., were not my language, but now I know and shall use

the proper word in my letter. The sex-play I enjoyed was to use

my finger, and then I tried many items, rubber items for pets,

such as is given to dogs to chew on. Well do I remember find-

ing a big rubber cock in a box in the storage room. I kept it

well hid and played with it after I had gone to bed. The size

was large, but in a short period of time I had mastered getting

it way up in my cunt. The time I had it up my cunt when our

dog came into my room, jumped up on the bed, and – as your

book described – a fast lick with a doggie’s tongue, and your

new experience is in for a thrill. Well, after that, whenever I

could be alone, I would let Skip lick my cunt. Could be in our

garage, basement, or in the woods, as we lived in the sticks. He

was always ready to lick my cunt. From that, I soon learned he

loved to hug my leg and work his ass. Well, I had him on his

back one day and played with his cock. No one home, so I

stripped and sat on his stomach and slid my cunt up to his cock

and let it go in. It was real warm. I worked my cunt on his

cock, and he laid still. His head was behind me, so I could hold

him and force his cock in. While I was only eight then, I had

seen dogs fucking, so I was anxious to see if he could fuck me.

We went for a walk back into the woods and found a spot

where we would be not so apt to be found. Now I never wore

panties, and all I had on was a dress. I took off my dress and

spread my legs apart while standing, and let Skip lick my cunt.

When he got to working his ass, I got down on my knees to get

him to fuck me. He knew what I was doing and mounted me. I

got my hand on his cock and spread my cunt open and led his

tip of his cock into my cunt. What a thrust he gave, and my

cunt was full of his cock. Every stroke he gave, his cock got

longer, and then I felt a bulge go in my cunt, and we were in

action. Sure glad no one was around to hear me talk like I did.

When he got going, I kept telling him to fuck faster, faster,

faster, and it seemed so much pleasure. Finally, he came, and

when I started to pull away, he cried; I could feel the hardness

just inside my cunt. When he pulled his cock out of me, my

cunt was on fire, and was his cock slender, but long. The huge

knot at the back end of his cock was bright red. I laid on my

211

back and just let my cunt cool, as it was really hurting. He

licked my cunt, and when he found my clit, he just kept lick-

ing. Guess my juice was coming, and he was licking it as it

came out. Well, we have had many a good fuck since, and I

found another dog to replace Skip. Well, when I was about

eleven years old, our newsboy came to our house to collect, and

everyone was gone to Seattle. He and I talked for a while – he

was sixteen then – and while he was talking, he gave me a hug

and kiss, and left. Shortly after, he returned and explained he

had to finish his collections. We were in my room playing re-

cords, etc., and he started to fool around, and that was all I

needed to get my cunt hot. In our playing on the bed, he got his

hand on my cunt, and that was where I lost all respect. I

stripped and let him do what he wanted. My tits were small,

but he found a way to suck both. Then he had me lay cross-

ways on my bed, put two pillows under my ass, and had my

cunt up high. I could see my cunt lips open up when he spread

my legs. When he put his mouth to my cunt and started to suck

my clit, I grabbed his head and pulled his head up to my cunt,

and as he. sucked, I kept telling him, “Suck, suck harder.”

Finally, he came up on top of me and told me he was going to

fuck me, and he got his cock up in my cunt, and when he

started to fuck, my legs were over his shoulders, and did we

fuck. This was our start to fucking. Did he get a look of sur-

prise when Skip came up and licked his cock and nuts while he

and I were fucking later on. Skip, Ted, and I are now a three-

some for a long time after. When Ted was eighteen, he joined

the service and is now making a career of the Air Force.

Well, by then, I was thirteen years old and as hot a bitch as

could be found. Ted told me to be careful who I fucked, as I

could get a disease. When Ted left for training, I was without a

fucking partner. One day, I had fantasies about my grandpa

and that he fucked me. He lives about ten miles from our

house, but visits us often, so I decided to ask Gramps about

coming to his house for a day. That worked out, same day I left

my panties off after I got to his house (he lives alone), and he

soon found out, because I made it a point to let him get a look

at my cunt. That afternoon, he told me he was going to give me

a bath, as I was needing one. He did, and our sex life began.

212

He sure enjoyed my body, and my tits were becoming big.

Well, now it has been ten years, and Gramps and I still have

our sex. He taught me cleanliness, hygiene, and care of my

period, keeps my cunt shaved, and loves to fuck. He and I go

down on each other; he taught me to suck cock. And when he

gets a notion he gets a new sex toy, dildo, vibrators, double-

end cocks, so my girl friend and I can stick it into our cunts

and play around. Gramps found her when he was at dinner,

and she loves to stay as a lesbian. When Gramps comes to our

house (Sue and I live together), we sure give him pleasure. He

fucks one of us and sucks the other cunt. He has always given

both of us the best in fucking, sucking, finger-fucking, vibrator,

or, may we say, just a lot of sex fun.

Forgot to mention I am a dress designer and do a great deal

in designing exotic gowns. Some I design are about as bold as

can be to expose titties, ass, and some are designed to expose

the cunt. When I do fitting, I have the lady stripped, so I can

hold the breasts for measurements or to fit around cunt. Several

times I have excited them to a point where they want me to

play with the tits and cunt. A few have asked me to strip, and

they have gone down on my cunt. Guess my shaved cunt must

excite them. Yes, I have sucked a few cunts and tits. Gramps

and I are enjoying our sex life. He did not have to ask me to

suck his cock, while showering together, I just could not resist

taking his cock and sucking it. He invited both of us to go to

see Deep Throat, and after we got home, we bet Gramps one of

us would be able to take every inch of his huge cock and swal-

low the head. Well, we surprised him by being able to do just

that. Fantasy has never entered my mind. I suppose you could

say I live my fantasies as they come into my head.

Gramps has fucked us both in the asshole. My roommate

had a cousin visit us from San Diego, and what a wild fifteen-

year-old she was. She had a cunt on her one-hundred-eight-

pound body that we shaved and gave her a suck off, and she

responded by doing our cunts the same. So, Nancy, guess in

my sixteen years, I have had as much of a variety of sex, never

wear panties, and love to spread my legs so the guys can get

the bulge of a hard cock and then leave.

213

Now use my letter or throw it out, but I know now that

women are not only willing to tell their story about the sex they

enjoy, but love to read of other cunt action.

When Gramps and both of us are in bed we never feel a bit

bashful to suck a cunt while being watched.

Our dog gets his share and he can lick my cunt as he is do-

ing right now while I am writing. After I get fucked, I love to

spread my legs in the shower. I piss a stream anywhere it goes.

Gramps sits down in front of me when I piss standing and I

piss all over him, and he sucks me dry.

Enough said.

Cecilia

I can’t tell you just how comforting and reassuring it was for

me to read your book. I had for the past three years harbored a

secret guilt, because I found so much pleasure in reliving in my

fantasies the extremely satisfying pleasure I experienced when

I was abducted in a shopping center parking lot by three men,

taken to an extremely secluded house in the suburbs, and

raped. It was more than just rape, really. It was sexual en-

slavement for about eleven hours, and it is that – the enslave-

ment, the subjugation – I found so thrilling then and which I

not only fantasize now but, thanks to the understanding and

indulgence of my wonderful husband, have turned into a way

of life. Perhaps you can understand the sense of guilt I have

been suppressing – until I read My Secret Garden – because I

enjoy his domination over me and my regard for him as “my

lord and master.” (My girl friends, most of them more into

women’s liberation than I ever could be, laugh when I use that

phrase and feel I’m making a little joke when I use it, but I’m

much more sincere about it than they could ever realize.)

First of all, let me say that I had been rather inhibited in my

sex life prior to that night I was abducted, but I wasn’t a virgin.

My fantasies, even then, centered around the slave-girl theme. I

have always read novels and seen movies in which the beauti-

ful heroine is bought at a slave auction by the handsome Ro-

man commander or the ancient Egyptian prince or something

214

like that, but always kept them more or less in check when I

fantasized myself in the situation (although I did use them

when I masturbated). But that night opened a whole new world

for me sexually, and eliminated virtually every inhibition you

can dream of.

Parts of that night still remain a blur to me. I was so fright-

ened for a large part of it, especially the early part when I didn’t

know exactly what was happening and was beaten – though

not too hard – until I agreed to submit and be obedient – and

toward the end, when I wasn’t certain that they would ever let

me go. But in between, I slipped into my fantasy and actually

became that slave girl I had fantasized about. I lived the role. It

was as though I had been transported back across the ages to

ancient Rome or from reality into a novel or movie.

It is this that I recall vividly now in incredible detail, four or

five of the things that happened to me especially which thrill

me just to think of them now and which I fantasize about con-

stantly and which my husband duplicates as well as possible,

but without the terrifying brutality of that night.

I was twenty-three and single. I had my own apartment and

was working as a receptionist in a law office and was doing

some fashion modeling part time in the evenings when I could.

They took me as I was getting back into my car after buying

groceries at a supermarket. They just shoved me into my ,car

onto the floor in the rear and drove off with me. There were

three of them. One was about twenty-five or twenty-six, and

was the leader or, at least, the one who told the other two what

to do and who gave most of the orders to me. He was very soft-

spoken and suave, but extremely firm and commanding. The

other two were still in their teens, I suppose. One was a huge

guy, dark and hairy and very strong. The other was very good-

looking, blond, and had very smooth skin.

They drove into a garage and pulled me from the car into the

house. I don’t remember too much of what happened – I was

just so terrified, but they stopped hitting me, and I agreed to do

whatever they wanted and had slipped into my slave-girl fan-

tasy role, these are things I remember with incredible detail

and which I fantasize about still.

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1: I was still fully clothed, and I was made to stand in front

of the two younger ones as the older one walked about me,

touching my hair lightly, my face, my breasts, my throat. He

kept talking, telling me how pretty I was and how much he

was going to enjoy fucking me. He began unbuttoning my

blouse and finally slipped it over my shoulders, commenting on

how beautiful my skin was and how nice my tits were. He ran

his finger lightly over my shoulders and circled my breasts and

finally touched the tip of my nipples. He brushed them with the

knuckles of his hand and took them between his finger and

thumb and rolled them very gently, embarrassing me by telling

the other two that my nipples were becoming erect. It was such

a pleasant sensation I couldn’t avoid squirming, and he com-

manded me to be still. I began crying quietly. I remember dis-

tinctly when he put his hand under my skirt and began stroking

the insides of my thighs. His voice sounded so dirty when he

told the other two that I was “creaming through my panties.”

But, oddly, I loved the sense of humiliation. He finally made

me take off my skirt and my panties “very slowly, so we can

watch your tits as you bend over.” Then I had to stand naked in

front of them and turn slowly, so they could look at me. And I

knew exactly how that heroine slave girl in my fantasies felt as

she was being auctioned.

2: I was lying on the floor and the big one was lying across

me, perpendicular to my body. He was toying with one nipple

with his hand and licking the other. The older one told the

young blond one to lick my cunt. The older one lay down next

to me and began kissing my face and stroking my hair. All the

sensations were driving me out of my mind. I have never be-

fore – or since – had so many fantastic things happening to my

body at one time. I couldn’t concentrate on one. I tried to ignore

them, but I couldn’t. I’d try to think of something else – how

much I hated these men – but then the blond one would suck

on my clit and flick it with the tip of his tongue, and I would

just feel him and what he was doing, and then the big one

would circle my nipple with his tongue, and then the blond one

would move his tongue very rapidly back and forth across my

clit. They kept saying things like, “You like to have your clit

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sucked, don’t you?” and “You like having your tits and your

cunt licked at the same time, don’t you?” I’d try to ignore them,

but there was no way in the world you can ignore the moist

warmth of a soft mouth gently, persistently exciting your clito-

ris. I tried desperately to suppress having an orgasm, but the

older one kept encouraging me. “Go ahead, baby, come, baby,

come. You love it.” And I came. It was so deep and intense. ; It

was fantastic. (I get hot just thinking about it and writing this

letter. I’m wearing ben-wa balls – those gold little Japanese

balls you put inside your cunt and which vibrate when they

click together and I’ve been unable to keep my hips still while

I’m typing this and have had an orgasm while I’m typing. It’s

great.)

3: They took turns fucking me after that. I was still ex-

hausted from being licked into having an orgasm and was in

almost a dream, but I remember so many of the sensations.

Each one of them was different and felt differently inside of me

and on top of me and fucked differently. I know I came again

several times. I can’t remember how many times each of them

fucked me or with which ones I had orgasms. The older one

fucked me first, I remember. He put his prick deep into my

cunt so that he was pressing very hard against my clit. He

barely moved. I remember pressing my cheek against his

shoulder and feeling the hardness of his prick inside me, filling

me. When I moved my hips, he commanded, me to “just lie

still. Just lie there and feel my prick in your cunt. Just lie there

and get fucked.” I remember feeling an orgasm welling up

inside me in spite of everything I did. I actually wound up ask-

ing him to please, please, fuck me, please let me come. I know

that eventually I was thrusting as hard against him, trying to

fuck him, as he was me. I actually was fucking the man who

was raping me and enjoying it tremendously. The young one

fucked me very rapidly, I remember, and I remember putting

my legs around him, he was so slender. The big one fucked me

more than once, I know: I just remember staring into his chest.

It was a curiosity to me, then, just how differently each one felt

and how, each moved. That, in itself, I find exciting. (I had

slept with only two other men before that. I was a virgin until

217

my junior year in college, when I was twenty. I didn’t like or

dislike that experience. I was too curious then, I suppose. I

slept with one other man three times after that. I had hoped that

we would be married, but we broke up. I had dated the man I

later married twice before being abducted, but we had never

gone to bed together.)

4: We all rested for a while, and then the older one said he

wanted to watch me sucking the blond one’s prick. I had never

sucked off a man before and was frightened. He threatened to

cut off my tits and flashed a knife, and I finally agreed. But the

blond boy either was reluctant or was pretending to be. The

older one put the tip of the knife at my throat and said he

would give me fifteen minutes “to have that kid come in my

mouth.” The boy was sitting on a sofa, and I went to him thor-

oughly terrified. I got on my knees, but he pushed me away.

The older one said, “Coax him. Make him want it.” And I

found myself sitting next to him, playing with his cock, and

kissing him, trying to brush my nipples against his lips to

make him hot and whispering into his ear and begging him to

let me please suck his prick. I was encouraging him to put his

hand between my legs and was spreading my legs to make it

convenient for him and telling him how wonderful I would

make it feel if he would let me suck his prick. In the back-

ground, the older one kept saying, “Ten minutes left…” Fi-

nally, the boy consented, and I got on my knees between his

legs. I remember how hard and firm his prick was and how the

smooth skin seemed to slide over the hardness of his shaft.

When the older one said, “Five minutes, baby,” I was sucking

and licking desperately, frantically. One of them – I don’t know

which one – pulled my hair away from my face so that the

older one could watch “his prick going in and out of my mouth

better.” I had never – sucked a man before, but the thing I re-

member most about my feelings at that particular moment was

that I couldn’t remember ever feeling as female as then. I was

thoroughly aware of the ultimate symbol of masculinity directly

in front of my face, in my mouth. I was aware of the power and

strength of these men over me. It wasn’t just my femininity I

was aware of, it was my femaleness – if that can be clear. I

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enjoyed sucking his prick immensely, and I enjoy being made

to suck my husband’s. When the boy came, I felt a sense of

mastery in being a woman. I felt complete. I enjoyed it so

much.

They kept me for several hours after all this. I had to wait on

them, serving them pizza – they actually sent out for one, and

one of them held me in a basement family room when the de-

livery boy arrived, with a knife at my throat (they suggested

giving me to the delivery boy as a tip) – and I had to kneel after

serving them wine while one of them poured wine into my

mouth. I was ordered to fuck them as they lay on their backs. I

don’t think I came again, I was exhausted, I guess. And I be-

came frightened as time passed, and there was no move to let

me go. Finally, they allowed me to dress, and they drove me to

about a block from my apartment and let me out. They parked

my car back in the supermarket parking lot, and I got it the

next day. I went home and bathed and slept straight through for

eighteen hours after I got home. I never called the police about

it.

I stayed home for three days after that and masturbated

when I recalled my favorite parts of the incident, reliving them.

I had a date with Larry the Saturday night after that. We were

supposed to go to dinner and to the theater, but when he ar-

rived, I told him that I wanted to stay there, and I wanted him

to make me fuck him. I told him the whole story of the abduc-

tion, about how I enjoyed it. He sat in a chair and told me to

stand in front of him. Then he told me to take my dress off.

And that began our relationship, really. We were married a

year later. When we are alone, we still play out the master-

slave relationship. He’ll call me from the office before he comes

home and order me to undress and wait to be fucked. It is ex-

tremely pleasurable to greet my husband at the door when I’m

either naked or wearing a sheer chiton and wait upon him and

do loving things to him. And for him. He has a friend who

stays with us over weekends several times a year while in town

on business trips, and Larry always has me wear a rather se-

ductive, low-cut cocktail dress when Frank visits. He has me

light Frank’s cigarettes, and I enjoy watching Frank’s face as he

looks down the front of my dress (Larry has forbidden me to

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wear bras). It turns me on also when Larry tells Frank how

great I am in bed or how well I suck his prick. It embarrasses

me, but it is fun. Larry also has threatened to order me to sleep

with Frank during one of his visits, but so far, he has not. I will

if he tells me to.

I know this may sound as though I’m pretty kinky. But for

the first time in my life, I’m feeling free sexually and thor-

oughly satisfied. I don’t have many of the hang-ups my girl

friends seem to have. I’m involved in the Junior Women’s Club

and work as a volunteer once a week at the children’s ward of

the local hospital. I do all the things my girl friends do. So, can

it be all so bad to find so much pleasure sexually in the way

that my husband and I find satisfying? Certainly, your book

would indicate that other women would love to live out their

fantasies the way I do mine. They should. It feels so good. Can

it honestly be so wrong? I don’t think so.

Love and sincere thanks again.

Carole

I’ve just finished reading My Secret Garden and was thor-

oughly fascinated. I consider it the best turn-on of my vast col-

lection of literature.

Just to acquaint you with myself, I am a single, twenty-

three-year-old stewardess. And layovers are a great time for

masturbating and fantasizing or fucking if you’re lucky enough

to know a man in that town.

I consider myself completely uninhibited and like my men

that way. I sew, crochet, cook, write poetry, and read a lot. Of

course, all this is between flying and fucking. One of my favor-

ite things to do is to get a group of people talking about sex –

you find out so much about them, without their knowing it.

There were a lot of women in your first book who had some

of my qualities in sex (crotch-watching, good music, voyeur-

ism, male nudes, etc.), but I didn’t really find any fantasies like

mine.

I don’t know if it’s unique or not, but all my fantasies are

done in twelves. They are never involved with faceless lovers;

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instead, they are always past or present lovers. The twelves are

sometimes mirrors in a fun house, scenes in other countries, or

twelve positions. One time, it was my four best lovers in my

favorite of their positions as stick people, cartoon characters,

and then real-life figures (three times four is twelve).

My favorite fantasy of all has to do with the twelve signs of

the zodiac. I usually have this fantasy after I’ve been smoking

grass and during oral, manual, or vibrator sex. I always like to

hear Barry White’s albums in the background – I can have an

orgasm just from his voice, without ever being touched.

Anyway, the fantasy starts out in Aquarius. My cunt is on

fire, and the water-bearer puts it out by sticking his hose into

me. As Pisces, I’m the Star-Kist tuna mermaid, and my lover is

a scuba diver. Being that a mermaid has no pussy, I eagerly go

down on him. As Aries, my man is a Los Angeles Ram, and

I’m the head cheerleader (as what Dr. Chartham calls a practi-

tioner of erelalia [noisy lovemaking] the part fits me). And we

never fail to score a touchdown. Taurus brings us to Spain,

where the toreador kills the bull and fucks me with its horn. In

Gemini (my sign), I am being fucked by one twin while I de-

vour the other twin with my mouth. Cancer takes us to the cir-

cus freak show, where my lover has six arms and thirty fingers.

He literally pinches me to an outstanding climax. Leo, the lion,

sits on his throne, and, lifting all my petticoats, I sit down on

his prick. As I laugh at the jester, my vagina laughs too, and

the king gets a royal orgasm. Virgo’s scene is in Egypt, where I

am the virgin bride in the sultan’s harem. I belly dance for him,

feed him grapes, fan him, and then he gently deflowers me.

Libra is the scales, and two people fucking on one are never

going to get the correct weight. Scorpio can be very sadistic.

So, here my lover ties me to the bed, whips me, and has me

gang-banged by his motorcycle club. Sagittarius, the archer, is

an Indian chief who fucks me with his arrow as we ride double

on his palamino. Capricorn is a shepherd in his pasture, and I

become the black sheep he fucks anally.

That seems like it’s long, but it takes longer to read than to

think.

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Well, off to Detroit and my super Gemini lover. Mmmmm…

. Love and piece.

Gabbie

I just finished your book, My Secret Garden. Really fantas-

tic. I thought it might be exciting to put my fantasy down on

paper. Maybe you won’t use it, but I’ll do it anyway. By the

way, I have had only one lover and have been going with him

for four years. I am eighteen years old.

Well, I wake up in this large rather dimly lit room, and there

is incense burning somewhere off. I’m sitting on some sort of

apparatus attached to the walls, with my arms and legs sus-

pended. I’m wearing a kind of harem outfit, except the bra is

nothing but thin chains holding up my breasts (36C). The

pants are very thin filmy material (see-through), but my bush is

covered by thick bands of lace that go around the crotch.

A door opens, and this very handsome dark-haired boy

comes into the room, wearing only some sort of decorative gold

shield over his genitals suspended by gold chains. I ask him

what I’m doing here, and he replies that his father kidnapped

me so that his only son could have an American wife and child.

I was married to him earlier while hypnotized, he tells me,

and had been given a drug that would make me conceive the

first time the marriage was consummated. He also told me that

I couldn’t resist, because the incense had an aphrodisiac drug

in it.

He comes toward me, and I find that I can’t resist this sexily

bodied man of about twenty. He kisses me on the neck and

moves his hands down my body so softly. He kisses me down

to my breasts and parts the chains to get at my nipples.

Sometimes I come at this point while masturbating, but if

not, I continue on this line.

I am getting wet, and he pulls away from me and pushes a

button on a hand unit, and my legs systematically part. He

moves back to me and unhooks the shield on his sexual organ.

It is beautiful and not too large. He starts to enter me without

removing my pants; then I realize they are crotchless.

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I always come by then.

THE MAN is always fantastically built and hung like my

lover, who is about seven and a half inches when hard.

Thank you so much, Nancy, for what you are bringing out

about our gentler sex. I always thought there was something

wrong with me for having these thoughts and masturbating.

Love ya and keep up the good work.

Isolde

First off, let me say I have read My Secret Garden, and I

found it extremely stimulating and full of what the world needs

more of – letting men know that we women are really very

erotic critters. I’ve known since I was ten when my fantasy life

began – wake up, world!

Before I get into my fantasy life, let me outline my personal

reality. I’m twenty-one years old, married, pregnant, a high

school graduate, middle class, and, if it’s important, white. My

husband is twenty-five, one year of college, white, and sexy as

hell.

I have been a topless dancer since I was seventeen, and I

can’t remember a time when I wasn’t bisexual curiously

enough, only in reality, never in fantasy. Only sometimes I’ll

see a sexy girl in Penthouse or Playboy, and wonder what

she’d be like in bed.

I engaged in sexual intercourse for the first time at thirteen,

and have always “played” with myself. I first remember getting

caught at five, being told, “Tch, tch, nasty!” I first achieved

orgasm at ten. I never came with intercourse until I was fifteen,

when a twenty-one-year-old lover taught me the “joy” (God

bless him) of oral foreplay.

I have fucked, one way or another, over a hundred men and

about thirty women, the first being my cousin, when we were

eleven. I guess since I thoroughly enjoy being a topless dancer,

you could call me an exhibitionist. And my husband loves to

watch me dance. I met him when I was eighteen, and there has

never been any hassle about my dancing. He realizes I’m very

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professional about it, and your typical barroom Joe doesn’t turn

me on. (We have only been married for eight months.)

My husband has been to bed with over two hundred women,

and only one man, a gay mutual friend. Even then, it was at my

insistence. Our sexuality, and belief that marriage and personal

freedom go hand-in-hand have made us perfect for each other.

When we have intercourse, I always come. If I can’t make it

during intercourse, which I do ninety percent of the time, we

masturbate me after. Sometimes I fuck him in a way he comes

quickly, when I know he’s horny, and then lay back and enjoy,

enjoy!!

Since he’s hung pretty heavy, almost nine inches when erect,

painful intercourse has always been a problem, and now it’s

terrible. Being pregnant has made my poor vagina shorter, so

careful is the key word. And it’s turned me off somewhat.

I have tried to suck him off to make up for my lack of inter-

est. I only succeed in making myself sick. I can’t understand it,

either, ‘cause I love doing it.

There have only been two bad experiences in my sexual life.

One was being raped at knife point by a black guy, and being

raped anally by a fiancé. I took both in stride, and said fuck it!

It doesn’t bother me now, except when my husband wants to

try anal intercourse. The remembered pain makes me tighten

up, and it’s impossible.

Our marriage is very open. I have had sexual intercourse, an

affair, with one man since becoming pregnant. I guess I was

trying to show myself I was still desirable.

We had two threesomes, one where I got all the attention

from hubby and hetero friend. In the other, he got the attention

from me and a gay friend. I loved it!

I have an active fantasy life. I used to fantasize about raping

a guy, sadistically. When we were reading My Secret Garden,

I asked him about his fantasies. Well, it seems he dug black

garter belts and stockings. And being dominated. We went out

and bought the necessary articles, and then I dominate him to

our hearts’ content. I even made him put on the black panties I

had on, and then I teased him. I got rough, and made him beg.

We loved it! Then I made him eat me, all the time being physi-

224

cally and verbally abusive. The orgasm, when we finally got

around to intercourse, was superb.

One of my favorite fantasies is my husband sucking cock.

He looked really far out when he had one in his mouth. Some-

times. when I masturbate, I picture him making it with a guy,

and I come in no time flat!

I also fantasize about being tied spread-eagle on the bed,

and my husband playing the domination role to the hilt. I pic-

ture him with a huge hard-on, fucking me, and then forcing me

to lick him clean of my juices. Then he takes his cock in his

hand and slowly starts jacking off, inches from my eyes, telling

me what a cunt I am. I try to shut my eyes, but he slaps me and

pulls my hair forcing my head back and my mouth open. Sud-

denly, he stops and tells me he’s going to fuck my tits. He

pushes my tits together, sucking and biting them. His cock is

huge now, and he pushes it up and down, hitting my neck with

its head at every thrust. Suddenly, he’s sitting with his ass on

my tits, and he’s jerking his come all over my face, in my eyes,

ears, everywhere. I strain to get his cock in my mouth, but he

just laughs, keeping it slightly out of reach. (Wow, you don’t

know what it’s doing to me to write this down!)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

DURING SEX

Perhaps one sentence I hear more than any other when I

am introduced as the author of the book on women’s sexual

fantasies is, “Oh, I never need fantasies during sex with my

husband [lover]. He’s all I need. I just think about him, how he

feels, etc., etc.” I get this response even from women who have

read My Secret Garden and who must, therefore, know that for

every single fantasy sent in by a woman who says she fanta-

sizes during sex, at least two or three were published from

women who imagined erotic scenes while walking down the

street, masturbating, watching television, and so forth. If I am

bored with the stereotyped response that can only see a fantasy

taking place during sex, I am nevertheless curious as to why so

many women choose to sidestep the question of sexual fanta-

sies by saying their sex is so great they don’t “need” them. (Let

me hasten to add here that this determination to limit all fan-

tasy as occurring only during sex is very frequent among men

too.)

The explanation, I believe, is that none of us want to appear

lacking or inadequate in the one area where none of us has

absolute, rocklike confidence: our sexuality. We know so little

about ourselves that we rush to the defense before anyone has

raised a questioning brow. We protest too much; we are afraid

to admit we do not have fantasies, because that bight be admit-

ting being left out of something. We boast instead that our sex

is “great” without it. The entire matter of sexual fantasy is

dismissed as being too trivial to discuss. This almost compul-

sive denial that they “need” fantasy during sex serves two pro-

tective functions. First, it denies that you are not woman

enough “to do it naturally” (whatever that is). Second, it is a

defense against any possible implication that your

lover/husband is not enough man.

Most women can only admit to sexual fantasy if it is placed

in a lighthearted, non-threatening context. Show someone an

advertisement for a movie with Paul Newman in bed with

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Ann-Margret. Then suggest to her that a fantasy is merely a

little balloon over her head, a little picture of herself taking

Ann-Margret’s place, if only for an instant. Ah, yes – she will

smile – we all get these funny ideas occasionally, don’t we?

But ask if she might entertain a fantasy of being in bed with

her husband’s best friend while he, her husband, is actually

fucking her – and all the defenses of heaven and hell break

loose. I am impugning both her and her husband’s sexuality!

The thought is so frightening, the consequent angry defense is

so overwhelming that how can she admit she has sexual fanta-

sies to me – much less to herself? “When I’m with my hus-

band, we turn each other .on so much we don’t need sexual

fantasies, thank you!”

The whole effort is very understandable, and all too human.

In the end, I believe the entire confusion grows out of misun-

derstanding one word: need.

What is all this talk of “needing” a fantasy? Do you “need”

a martini in those romantic prefucking hours … do you “need”

that terrific background music … do you merely “need” him to

put it in and pump away? In all these matters, it’s not a ques-

tion of needing. We try to make an art of lovemaking; a drink,

a bit of music are ingredients of the art – and for many people,

so is a sexual fantasy!

If a sexual fantasy helps turn us on to a higher erotic pitch

than we ordinarily reach, it does not mean we are deficient

lovers. What it means is that you can’t bring up a young

woman to say no, no, for the first twenty years of her life and

then expect her to be able to loosen the grip of habit and re-

pression overnight just because a marriage ceremony has been

performed; the sexual brakes are built too deeply into our very

nerves, muscles, and blood cells.

In his recent study, The Female Orgasm, Dr. Seymour

Fisher pinpoints the single greatest reason why so many

women are unable to reach orgasm: they are unable “to let go.”

We have been trained to distrust sexual excitement when we

feel it beginning to build up within ourselves; there have been

too many warnings about “going too far,” and “letting things

get out. of hand.” If something happens, it is the woman’s fault

227

– that’s the accepted folk wisdom our mothers tried to install in

us. We are thus given the responsibility for putting the damp-

ers not only on our own sexuality, but on the man’s as well. Is

it any surprise that many a woman remains overcontrolled in

bed, even when she is there by her own choice, with a man she

loves?

Women without number must have discovered on their own,

as I – did, that sexual fantasies are an almost never fail method

of releasing yourself from a puritanic bondage. You may have

intellectually discarded the old sexual rules and inhibitions

long ago, but they still grip you emotionally, crippling your

sexual response. This may be true no matter how ardent or

skilled your lover may be! “I have a variety of fantasies which

dance through my head on those’ occasions when I can’t seem

to get into the sexual act with my lover,” writes Lynn. “It has

nothing to do with what a great fuck he is, because he is that:

fantastic! But sometimes my head just won’t turn off everything

that’s been going on all day. I can’t relax, and so I just switch

on one of [my fantasies].”

Until the publication of My Secret Garden, there had never

been any public acknowledgment of the undoubted fact that

sexual fantasy was a great ,aid to female eroticism. It is as if

society did not want to grant women so much sexual power, so

much erotic self-stimulation. Like so many billions of docile

radio or television sets, we were supposed to wait until we had

been “turned on” by men.

Unfortunately, women themselves did not help each other

break out of this conspiracy of silence; it left us passive victims

of the male mystique of what sex was. We did not feel free

enough to discuss our sexual fantasies and ideas even with our

best friends (until only the most recent years).

Thus, each woman was left feeling isolated, guilty, and

alone with her sexual fantasies … convinced she was some

kind of freak or pervert if she entertained or enjoyed these

ideas. Her husband or lover had never mentioned having any

sexual fantasies himself; nor in his idle talk about the women

he knew before her (to which she listened more carefully than

he knew) did she ever pick up the slightest clue that other

228

women had sexual fantasies like hers. “… I am writing this

almost stealthily,” says Jan, after an unflinching catalog of

some of the most erotic fantasies in this book, “as I would be

embarrassed at being discovered …. I was never able to be

very open about sex, because my husband … is the romantic

sort, and believes very much in the sanctity of marriage.”

While she feels stimulated by X-rated films, she can’t go to

them, because her husband doesn’t approve. “Some of my fan-

tasies are very similar to those of the other women that you

published,” she finishes her letter. “I guess we are not alone no

matter how bizarre we think our own are.”

“Your book was excellent,” writes Kate. “I thought my fan-

tasies were abnormal, and I felt very guilty about them. Now I

realize almost everyone has them.”

It is time for this kind of unnecessary guilt to stop, for

women to realize that no matter how extraordinary the sexual

events they like to imagine that increase their passion while in

bed with their lovers, they are not alone.

Lynn

I have a variety of fantasies which dance through my head

on those occasions when I can’t seem to get into the sexual act

with my lover. It has nothing to do with what a great fuck he

is, because he is that: fantastic! But sometimes my head just

won’t turn off everything that’s been going on all day, I can’t

relax, and so I just switch on one of the following:

Fantasy 1: I am having sex with two guys, neither of whom

is my lover. They are both going down on me simultaneously.

This may sound impossible, but the one kind of acts like relief

man for the other, so that the rhythm never stops, and they are

both insatiable. I should add that I take a long time to come, so

having two men relieves me of worrying about one of them

getting tired.

Fantasy 2: Sometimes when my lover is in the mood and

I’m kind of distracted, we leave the television on with the

sound turned off. I make sure there’s a channel turned on with

at least one terrific-looking man, and then while we’re making

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love, I like to think that he and everyone else on the show are

watching our act and loving it.

Fantasy 3: I will close my eyes and imagine a crowd, maybe

on the street, in a store, even a crowd at a party. The whole

group is fascinated watching me masturbate, watching the

beautiful expressions on my face. Eventually, they all begin to

masturbate too.

Fantasy 4: I often fantasize this on my way to work as well

as during sex: that I am on a crowded bus, and, without anyone

minding or exclaiming, I just reach down inside this good-

looking guy’s trousers and masturbate him. All the while, he’s

standing there, holding on to the strap and going weak in the

knees as I bring him closer and closer to climax. He never

looks at me, but I know he is just praying I won’t stop. If I am

sitting in front of him in my fantasy, I will often lean forward

and put his prick in my mouth just before he comes.

Fantasy 5: Very often the men in my fantasies are strangers.

More often than not. I find it terribly exciting if, while they are

fucking me, they also use the most profane language imagin-

able. I don’t really like men to whisper words in my ear while

we’re really fucking; somehow it seems so fake. But the strang-

ers in my fantasies know just how to use these words, and not

only is there no embarrassment, but it is madly exciting. For

instance, they say things like. “My cock is in your cunt, and it’s

on fire … .” “I want to come all over you, in your ears, in your

ass, etc.”

I don’t always use these fantasies, but they sure help me for-

get about the problems of the day when I want to pay all my

attention to sex and just relax and get into it.

Good luck and please understand that I really do love my

man …. It’s just that the fantasies help me love him more.

Jan

Happily married for many years to a lusty man, and having

borne several children, nevertheless, I had not experimented

with any kinky sex, mainly because of my husband’s innocence

of such things. An early fantasy I would employ during sex to

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further stimulate myself would be that I was an innocent young

girl propositioned by a sensuous older man. I would be kept by

him in great luxury (this was during a time in real life when we

were quite desperately poor) in return for a surrender of my

virginity and the willingness to submit to his every whim. I

agree, and he deflowers me on an obstetrical table, with my

feet in stirrups.

After the initial loss of my cherry, he proceeds to teach me

exactly what to do, and arouses me with aphrodisiacs, so that I

am dripping and begging for him to fuck me. He has me walk

on all fours and beg like a dog for it. He sadistically makes me

wait and suffer mightily until he satisfies my lust.

After several months, he is satisfied that I am properly

trained, and he take me to a secret place – a huge manor house

somewhere (afterward, when I read the Story of O … it

sounded so similar) when I am told that I will be on exhibition

for members of his club, a club devoted to eroticism and sen-

suality.

Other girls and I are kept naked and chained in cages part of

the day, while the club members examine us like animals in a

zoo. At mealtime, we are the waitresses, and submit to being

fondled and roughly inspected internally as well as externally.

We are told to bend over to pick up a purposely dropped spoon,

and fingers are then inserted into our cunts.

Breasts are weighed and measured, rulers inserted into

cunts, and sizes recorded. We find out why that evening.

There is a special show, an exhibition of the specialties of

the various girls and their “benefactors.” The men sit in a circle

around a stage, and the show begins. A tiny girl no bigger than

a child is led in, followed by a huge black man. His penis is

enormous. It turns out that she has systematically been en-

larged by the insertion of bigger and bigger dildos, and now

they are putting her to the test. But no, it is still too big, and

she writhes in pain. Finally, he succeeds, and with her legs

around his waist, he manipulates her against him.

The next act is a huge cow of a woman, with udder-like

breasts and a huge bouncy ass. She does a dance for her audi-

ence, and everything shakes like jelly. Her cunt is enormous,

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and, therefore, two little men, dwarfs almost, come in and both

penetrate her at the same time. Every expression on her face is

mirrored in the eyes of the watching men. When she comes,

she bellows like a cow.

By this time, having fantasized all this, I am usually really

aroused, and often didn’t finish the fantasy. I never get the

chance to perform with my specialty.

Now, years later, having started to educate myself with the

Sensuous Woman, followed by some of the more readily avail-

able erotic classics, my fantasies have changed somewhat.

Now I employ group scenes, myself and another woman, and

other kinky combinations. Recently, we (my husband and I)

went to see the Devil and Miss Jones, and I was partially re-

pelled by seeing everything I’d read about in privacy in giant

living color, but at the same time, I was fascinated, and the

impressions’ stayed with me for weeks afterward.

Actually, I am writing this almost stealthily, as I would be

embarrassed at being discovered, therefore, all the typing er-

rors.

I was never able to be very open about sex, because: my

husband, although having a large carnal appetite, is the roman-

tic sort and believes very much in the sanctity of marriage, and

doesn’t care for the X-rated films. He says he won’t go again. It

did stimulate me very much, and I would love to go again,

provided it was a well-made film.

One of my present fantasies is ticked off when I see a local

girl at the supermarket. She isn’t beautiful, but somehow I am

aroused by her. I imagine her naked, and I am caressing her. (I

do this while caressing myself.) She never wears a bra, and I

always notice dark nipples. under her clothing. This titillates

me. Her breasts are large, and I love to play with them in my

fantasy. I don’ts like to go down on her, but I do finger her cunt

and fuck her with a large dildo. I sometimes drive her wild

with a vibrator. I get a double dildo and slide it into both open-

ings. She moans with delight and throws her body.; around and

trembles uncontrollably. At this point in my, imaginings, I

come.

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A fantasy I employ when my husband and I are making it is

that we are the center of attention at a large orgy in a sultan’s

opulent palace. The sultan is watching to make sure that his

women are working properly. I must lift my ass high off the

bed, or I will be punished. The punishment is being fucked in

the ass by a large dog. At this point, I usually come.

Some of my fantasies are very similar to those of the other

women that you published. I guess we are not alone no matter

how bizarre we think our own are. Thank you for a needed

research. I hope that I may have been of some help.

lsabel

I purchased My Secret Garden yesterday, and have com-

pleted reading it already. Needless to say, I found it fascinating

and very enlightening.

I’m a twenty-four-year-old married woman. My husband is

also twenty-four, and we have no children. We have a fairly

good sex life. (We have been married three years.) I’m not what

you’d call pretty. I’m average-looking and slightly overweight

(fifteen pounds). My husband is fairly good-looking and about

ten pounds overweight.

Last year, during our lovemaking, I just stopped reaching

climax, although I’d had no trouble before then. My doctor can

find no physical reason for this. Now, the only way I can

achieve orgasm is to fantasize during our lovemaking.

I know my husband sometimes fantasizes about other

women, because he’s told me he has. Part of the problem may

be because he is fairly quiet during lovemaking, while I’m

pretty noisy – moans, etc. I perform fellatio on him, and some-

times he performs oral sex on me, but not as often or as long as

I’d like him to. I’ve told him this, but he ignores it. I really en-

joy doing oral sex on him.

Well, this fantasy I have is about ice hockey players. We

live in a city with a professional team, and I’ve always liked the

sport since I was a teenager. My husband doesn’t care for any

other sport except hockey. I’ve talked to some of the players.

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What I fantasize about during our lovemaking is about these

players, and the uglier-looking they are, the better I like them.

My fantasy begins with me in the locker room. Of course,

I’m all dressed up in an attractive pant-suit, makeup, and my

hair has just been done. There’s a table there, sort of like the

kind doctors use to examine people. Maybe it’s the one players

use when they get a rubdown. The players come in and ask me

what I’m doing there. I make up a story, saying I’m writing a

story on them for the newspaper.

They start taking off their equipment and skates, acting like

I’m just another one of the guys. Then my very favorite player,

still in his uniform, comes over to me and gives me the “once

over” look. He asks me to go out with him after his shower and

change. I confess to him that I’ve always wanted to have sex

with him. He seems pleased, since he’s a single, swinging-type.

He walks me over to the table and says, “How about now?” I

protest because there are the other players around. In fact, they

are watching and listening while pretending not to, and now

my favorite player tells them what I just said. They laugh and

make comments, but really, I know they envy him.

As long as I’ve gone this far, I go ahead and tell them that

some of them are men I would like to have sex with too. Not

all of them, but only certain ones and in a certain order. My

favorite is the biggest man on the team, very masculine and

ugly, with hockey scars on his cheek. I place the others in a

descending order of size and this certain kind of mean look.

Some of the players on my list are married, but they are very

hot for me and never dream of saying no to being on my list.

(Naturally, in a fantasy, no one can refuse me.)

The rest of the players go ahead with whatever they were do-

ing. The ones I chose stand by the table, waiting their turn, and

telling each other how lucky they are to have sex with a beauti-

ful woman like me. Sometimes they say that my few extra

pounds are exactly what they like, that it makes me more of a

woman. Other times, I imagine myself to be more slender than

I really am, with a body that drives these men wild.

My favorite, first choice then approaches me, and slowly

strips me under the overhead light that hangs over the rubbing-

down table. He’s kissing me all over and telling me how much

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he likes my large breasts. (My husband is a breast freak – the

larger the better.) By this time, I’m feeling all those hungry

eyes that I did not choose watching me enviously from the

darkness as they slowly go on changing their clothes, but I’m

also getting turned on by the feel of my favorite, who has been

slowly taking off his uniform all the while. He is on top of me,

caressing and kissing me all over, especially my breasts –

which turns me on in reality just as it does in fantasy. Then,

while the waiting players are all watching, and I can see them

growing erect themselves as they wait their turn, my favorite

slowly goes down on me, eating me until I’m writhing with

pleasure. The next man in line can’t wait, and while the first

player has his face buried between my legs, the second man is

licking my nipples. The two feelings at once, a tongue between

my legs and another licking and sucking my nipples has me in

such a frenzy that I come – without knowing which man has

made it happen. But I can’t even think about that because al-

most with a shock of happy surprise, before I am even out of

orgasm, I realize that the first man has moved his body up

higher, and he is fucking me. I feel his hard-on pumping up

inside me like some kind of great, powerful machine, his balls

banging up against the backs of my thighs and asshole as he

lunges deeper and deeper into me. I tell him how big he is and

how good all that bigness feels inside me and for him not to

stop. I like the way he laughs a little right here in my fantasy

and says for me not to worry, he won’t stop until he’s done –

which takes a long time.

(My husband doesn’t take a very long time to reach orgasm,

which often leaves me feeling unsatisfied.)

The player then tells me how much he enjoyed eating me

and how much it turned him on. Now it is the turn of the other

players, starting with the man who was licking my nipples. He

has an erection that is so big and painful, he has to hold it in

his hands; rubbing it to soothe the ache. When I open my legs

for him, he rams it in so fast and hard he almost pushes me off

the table. Starting with him, each man doesn’t take very long to

come. They are barely inside me when with a wriggle of my

hips, and a squeeze of my inside muscles, I milk them, and

they come in a big explosion. I don’t care because I want them

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to come quickly, I want to feel how fast I can make a man

come and besides, as soon as one man is finished, there is an-

other one on line to step forward and begin to fuck me as if the

last man had not yet stopped.

I tell them all how good each one is, and they tell me how

good I am. Also, while they fuck me, they’re noisy about it. I

love to hear their groans, shouts of impatience, and, above all,

their obscenities like, “I’m gonna fuck the hell out of you,” etc.

Of course, I have to really imagine each one nude and what

they’d look like, but I have practice in this, because I like to

imagine them naked while they are skating and playing their

hockey game, so by the time they enter into this fantasy, I have

already thought up how they look, and I am almost “at home”

with their nakedness.

After they have all had a turn – they have only fucked me,

only the first player, my favorite, went down on me – I turn

back to him, my first choice. I tell him he’s so good that I am

dying for another fuck. He’s very pleased because he’s so good

at it. He moves me forward to the edge of the table, so that my

hips are almost off the edge. In this way, he can fuck me stand-

ing up. I wrap my legs around his hips to hold him close to me,

and he slowly puts his arms up over his head, like a prize-

fighter who has just won the fight all the while continuing to

pump away inside me. “Go to it!” “That’s it – fuck her good!”

all the other players are cheering him on, but he and I know

without saying it that he wouldn’t be this good – certainly not

this second time in such a short space of time – with any other

woman but me. This time, he comes while I watch him. He just

groans as if his last breath is escaping him, and he slumps

down and falls across my stomach. He’s out, and all the players

are crowding around me, kissing me, telling me how great I

am, what a woman I am, etc.

I also use this fantasy when I masturbate, since I can change

the players and make them do anything to me I want. (Except I

don’t fantasize anal penetration, because I don’t think I’d care

for it.) I really get turned on thinking about having sex with

these guys who are so big. The only time I masturbate is after

I’m left frustrated when my husband doesn’t give me an or-

gasm. I’ve got pictures of some of the players, including my

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favorite, and I look at them and close my eyes while I mastur-

bate with the smooth, rounded handle of a hairbrush. I can

always give myself an orgasm.

My husband doesn’t know I masturbate, but I think maybe

he might get turned on if he ever did watch me. Once, he made

me rub my own breasts while he watched and got turned on.

He was fingering me at the time. I didn’t like doing it myself.

I’d rather have him rub me.

That’s my fantasy. I can’t help but have it flash through my

mind at least briefly whenever we go to a hockey game. My

husband knows I like some of the players, and he sort of goes

along with it sometimes. Like a couple of times, when we were

making love, he’d say, “I’m(player’s name), and I want to fuck

you, baby.” He does this because part of him knows this turns

me an, and he enjoys my excitement, but part of him doesn’t

really like it, that it is the idea of the other man that is getting

me so excited – even though my husband himself is the one

who brings the other man to my mind.

Thank you for reading this letter. I hope it didn’t sound too

weird! It’s similar to some of the ones I read in your book, ex-

cept my fantasy isn’t a gang-rape fantasy. It’s one guy at a time,

and they aren’t forcing me to do anything. In fact, I have chosen

them and make each one wait his turn till I’m ready for him.

Maybe if you write another book, you could use this fantasy.

I’d be thrilled to see it in print, being read by millions (maybe)

of people, who wouldn’t know it was me. (Please don’t use my

real name.)

P.S. If my fantasy ever does happen in reality, It’d be inter-

esting to see a player going down on me since all my favorite

players have rather large noses.

Kate

Your book was excellent. I thought my fantasies were ab-

normal, and I felt very guilty about them. Now I realize almost

everyone has them.

I am twenty, well educated, and well traveled. I have been

married less than two months. My husband and I both used to

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use drugs heavily, but now we only smoke pot once in a while.

I tell you this because I think that drugs and smoking help a

great deal to heighten awareness of your fantasies.

One night recently, I seemed to be taking too long to come,

so I started fantasizing. (This is the first time I remember doing

it during sex.) It had a remarkable effect on arousing me. I

fantasized that I was a prostitute – well, not exactly a prosti-

tute, but a woman with nothing to lose by fucking every man

she wanted – and I was out to fuck every man in town. As I

fantasized, my whole body began to feel like it was being

fucked by every man imaginable; there wasn’t a shred of me

that wasn’t being aroused by some man. I got off better than I

ever had before with my husband or the five other lovers I have

had.

Another fantasy I have is that my ex-lovers are all doing me

at once, each doing the thing he did best. However, my favorite

fantasy, the one I use mostly now (and find the most erotic), is

that I am tied up, and a gang of rapists are making me fuck a

dog. They are all watching me and all getting hard-ons and

waiting to fuck me themselves once I come with the dog. The

dog is licking my clitoris, and I am made to perform fellatio on

the dog. Soon the dog and I are both getting out of control as

we both want more and more. We both come at the same time.

Then the dog fucks me. All of my moaning has made the men

even more aroused. Then they each take turns, doing what the

dog did. Each one is hornier than the next, and each one is a

better fuck. I come with all of them. I think that seeing me fuck

that dog aroused those men more than any sight imaginable.

I should mention that I was once raped. So that the idea of

this last fantasy really happening disgusts me. Actually, after I

was raped, I was violently ill; it happened in an alley, and I

remember vomiting after they left me. I never hitchhike any-

more or even walk at night without my husband, unless it’s

down a well-lit street. My favorite pastimes used to be walking

in the country, the mountains, or the woods, just getting off by

myself, but now I wouldn’t dare. If I must walk alone, I carry

something that could be used as a weapon. I always thought I’d

never be able to kill a person, but if an attacker should ever

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approach me again, I wouldn’t hesitate to maim or kill him.

When you are 4′ 11” and 86 pounds you need protection.

I suppose you wonder how I could be so aroused by this last

fantasy, given what has happened to me. It makes me wonder

too. The best idea I can come up with is that the dog is the best

fucker in the group … no man can top him. I’m not really an-

gry at men, certainly not my husband, but I guess there’s some

anger left over somewhere. Anyway, the fantasy does the trick

for me, and that’s all that matters.

In Kate’s fantasy, which appears immediately Move, I am

very impressed by the self-analysis that she gives us at the end

of her note. As we have seen in many other women’s letters, the

seeds of the fantasy that she seems to tell with the most relish

and erotic excitement were sown in an actual, horrible event.

She was raped. “I always thought I’d never be able to kill a

person,” she writes, “but if an attacker should ever approach

me again, I wouldn’t hesitate to maim or kill him.” Her mur-

derous feelings are still unappeased in real life, but by an

imaginative use of fantasy, she has found some place to put

this anger so that it does not come between her and her hus-

band. Her fantasy turns the tables on the men who raped and

humiliated her, and expresses a kind of exquisite sexual re-

venge: she would rather fuck a dog than any of them. “I’m not

really angry at men,” she writes, “certainly not my husband,

but I guess [the rape left] some anger left over somewhere.”

This anger is expressed and used up in fantasy, even while

having sex with her husband. Whether he knows or not, he is

as much the gainer as she is. “The fantasy does the trick for

me,” she happily concludes, “and that’s all that matters.”

Neither Helen nor Riva have to keep their sexual fantasies

hidden from their husbands. Helen’s fantasy, in fact, was origi-

nally invented by her husband for the two of them to share.

While it is all about him assisting while she is fucked by an-

other man, Helen credits the excitement this idea brings to their

bedroom as one of the prime ingredients of a “wonderfully

happy and successful marriage” of many years. Her husband,

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Helen says, “is the most wonderful, kind, thoughtful, consider-

ate and lusty man any woman could ever hope to have for her

own.”

Riva also finds that talking about her fantasies during sex

adds to the spice and erotic satisfactions of her eight-year-old

marriage. But while Helen and her husband say they would

now like to find a man to act out their fantasy with them, Riva

has no such idea. “I have never done any of these things,” she

writes, “and have really no desire to even see them happen in

real life … too scared, I guess … but they make great conver-

sation in bed and make me wild with my husband, usually

bringing him to come at the climax of the fantasy.”

How wise both husbands sound to me. They do not see the

imaginary lovers who heat their wives’ sexual imagination as

impossible rivals, but as sexual assistants instead, who help

each man bring his wife to the kind of excitement that makes

marriage alive and tingling.

While Beth too shares her fantasies aloud with her husband,

there is a variation. The fantasy he likes to hear most is about

his wife making love to another woman. “Paul likes me to talk

about this during sex,” Beth writes, “but not any other time.”

But since Beth writes that she is the mother of two children,

“married and very happy and contented,” isn’t that their busi-

ness? Fantasies work for some people in one way; they work

for others in a different one. If yours works for you, isn’t that all

that really matters?

Helen

My husband and I have just finished reading My Secret

Garden, and we both enjoyed it so much that I feel it is only

fair that I write to tell you about our favorite fantasy.

I say “our” because this was originally my husband’s fan-

tasy. But he has told it to me so many times, and he is so ex-

cited by the idea (and has made me so excited by it), that it has

become my favorite fantasy as well.

If you are interested in background; my husband is a virile,

horny fifty-six years of age. He is a college graduate with a

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post-graduate degree in business administration. I am an eager

and receptive forty-eight, and a graduate of commercial col-

lege. We have had a wonderfully happy and successful mar-

riage for twenty-five years. We have two fine sons, one of

whom is in his first year of post-graduate work, and the other

in his third year of undergraduate study. My husband has said

many times that I am as close as God ever came to making a

perfect woman, and as gorgeous a piece of ass as he’s ever

seen. And I think he is the most wonderful, kind, thoughtful,

considerate, and lusty man any woman could ever hope to have

for her own. We both agree that our delightfully happy sex life

is a grime ingredient of our wonderfully successful marriage.

My husband’s (and mine) most exciting fantasy is to have

another man join us in our sexual recreation. Every time we see

an attractive, virile-looking man, we speculate as to whether he

might be the one we are searching for.

In our fantasy, my imaginary lover lies on his back (we are

all three naked, of course) while I kneel astride his head so he

can eat my pussy to get it ready for his cock. Meanwhile, my

husband lies between my lover’s legs and sucks his cock to get

it ready for my pussy.

When I am warm and wet and my lover is hot and hard, I

move down and kneel astride his hips. With one hand, my hus-

band opens my pussy lips and with the other, he guides my

lover’s cock into me. Then he lays between my lover’s legs and

watches as I slide my streaming pussy up and down the full

length of that hard throbbing shaft.

Slowly and teasingly, I raise up until my husband can see

my lover’s strained, purplish cockhead nestled between the

soft, wet lips of my pussy. Then I slowly sink down and take

the full length of that hard, hot shaft into me right up to the

balls.

After every ten or twelve strokes, I lift completely off my

lover’s prick so my husband can take it in his mouth. He says

the idea of tasting my pussy juice on another man’s cock just

drives him wild.

We keep up this slow, teasing stroking of his straining shaft

by my pussy, alternating with sucking by my husband, until

my poor imaginary lover can stand it no longer. Lying between

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his legs, my husband holds my lover’s balls while he explodes

and his bursting cock squirts a torrent of thick, rich, hot cream

into the depths of my hungry cunt. I continue to stroke his cock

with my pussy until I have sucked him dry of the last drops of

his cream, and his cock shrivels and drops out of me. Immedi-

ately, I roll over on my back beside him and spread my legs

wide to receive my ravenous husband. In one bound, he is be-

tween my eager thighs, and one thrust buries his lovely, hard

cock in me right up to the balls.

He is excited beyond description to feel how slick and slip-

pery I am from the tremendous load of sperm that another

man’s cock has just pumped into my cunt. He says nothing is

as exciting as to be able to feel another man’s cream in my cunt

while he fucks me.

He is too excited to last very long while we act out this fan-

tasy, and it is never more than a minute or two before I feel his

beloved cock jumping and jerking in my cunt as his hot sperm

gushes into my belly in a flood of molten fire. In my own fan-

tasy, I feel my husband’s sperm mixing inside me with my

lover’s sperm until my cunt overflows, and I feel their mingled

cream running down the crack of my ass to puddle warmly and

soothingly beneath me. At that point, I join my husband in a

gut-twisting orgasm that leaves us both too exhausted to move.

Until ten or fifteen minutes, that is. Then we’re ready for No. 2.

Someday we hope to find a real life lover who will be inter-

ested in joining us, so that we can act out in actuality our favor-

ite fantasy of having another man put his cock in me and cream

my cunt before my husband fucks me.

P.S. I knew my husband would enjoy reading this (I had

told him I intended to write you), so after I had finished typing

it, I went up to the bedroom, took off my bra and panties, and

came down to the living room dressed in just a skirt and

blouse.

As he read, I saw that delightful bulge beginning to rise in

his pants. I hurried to kneel between his legs, pulled down his

zipper, took out his beautiful cock, and lovingly sucked it up to

its full, seven-and-one-half-inch towering height of stiff male

meat. I was careful not to bring him off in my mouth, because I

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wanted to share with him the delight of once again acting out

our favorite fantasy.

When he had finished reading my letter, I looked up at him

and asked in my most pleading, little-girl voice, “Can we pre-

tend my fantasy lover has just skewered me on his prick and

emptied his balls into my belly, and my cunt is dripping wet

with his hot, slippery sperm? I want to get fucked.”

And I did, most satisfactorily. With his hands trembling in

his excitement and eagerness, my husband stripped off my

blouse and skirt, laid me down on the floor, dropped his pants,

and fell to his knees between my wide spread thighs. I took his

magnificent stiff, throbbing cock in my hand, guided it lovingly

into my ravenous cunt, and moaned in ecstasy as he buried it in

me up to the balls, and frantically fucked me into a glorious

orgasm. Right in the middle of the living-room floor.

If every married couple found in their sexual relations the

joy and delight that my husband and I have shared for twenty-

five years, divorce would be as dead as the dinosaurs. In open-

ing the door to a frank discussion of the subject of sexual fan-

tasies, which add so much spice to the sexual-act itself, you

have contributed immeasurably toward that end, and we think

you have richly earned the appreciation and congratulations of

everybody who has the intelligence to read your book and the

courage to act out and enjoy her own fantasies.

Riva

Just finished reading My Secret Garden … fascinating! Of

course, when I saw your address, I just couldn’t resist writing. I

am twenty-six and have been married for eight years. My hus-

band is from India. I first started fantasizing at his request,

after we were married about five years. It really livened things

up. He enjoys it a great deal when I swear during the sex act –

I don’t normally at other times. Using very filthy language, I

describe various situations he would probably enjoy seeing me

in.

One is that I am a prostitute, and I am working for him. He

is able to see all my actions from behind a two-way mirror. I

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proceed to suck a customer and kiss his balls, and it all really

drives him crazy. Then he fucks me, or if I am sucking him, he

squirts his semen all over my face.

Another is that I am being fucked by two guys while my

husband is watching. One is shoving his cock down my throat,

and the other is sucking my cunt. My breasts are also being

massaged. I can’t move because of the size of the cock going

down my throat. The two guys agree to come at the same time,

so simultaneously, one goes off in my cunt, and the other in my

mouth, which I proceed to suck and swallow in great gulps.

Another fantasy is that of being gang raped by a motorcycle

gang or of being initiated into the gang. When I am initiated,

one guy must screw me, and I must go down on each one of

them. Also the girls must go down on me until I come with

each one. In the rape scene, I am tied down to the bed and can-

not move. One guy forces his cock in my mouth, another one

performs cunnilingus on me, and he sucks my tits. At the same

time, another bastard sticks a dildo or vibrator up my asshole.

Again I cannot scream or fight. Gradually, I become ecstatic,

and the guy doing the lick job puts his cock in me and blows

off. This is repeated with members of the gang, and of course, I

am so hot I am going crazy.

Another fantasy is one of fucking with a friend or a guy at

work. My husband wants to hear all the details of every situa-

tion. Another is one of me and another girl pleasing my hus-

band, and also him pleasing me. I think of him licking me out

while he fucks her and vice versa.

I could go on and on, as I am always making up new and

varied situations (especially after getting new ideas from your

book). I have never done any of these things and have really no

desire to even see them happen in real life … too scared, I

guess … but they make great conversation in bed and make me

wild with my husband, usually bringing him to come at the

climax of the fantasy.

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Beth

I have just this minute finished reading My Secret Garden,

and am I glad I read it! Now I know that I’m not the only one

who makes up stories. I’m writing this to tell you some of my

own fantasies.

I’m nineteen, with two children, married, and very happy

and contented. My husband is twenty-four, and we are middle-

to upper-middle-class whites. My oldest child is a boy, the

other a girl.

One fantasy I’ve just recently realized is about my husband’s

car. I knew there had to be a reason why liked to drive it so

much. It’s a ‘67 Camaro, very fast and sexy. It’s a manual

transmission, which is the object of my fantasy. The gearshift

is between the bucket seats on the console and has a big

smooth knob which I love to caress as I’m driving. The motions

necessary to shift gears plus the speed is fantastic. I’m ready for

sex in no time.

Another one is from an actual incident. My husband took

me to a party at a friend’s mobile home. This was a year before

we married and a month after we met. Besides him, I only

knew Dave, his best friend, and Celeste, his sister. Dave and

Celeste have slept together on occasion. My husband got in-

volved in a game of Euchre and the three of us were left to talk.

I drank quite a bit of beer, and after a while, Dave took us in

the bedroom, where the coats were, to show us a chain he had

made from beer pop-top rings. I noticed some paperbacks

(pornography) on the dresser and opened one at random and

began to read aloud. We sat on the bed, and when I came to a

part that said, “and she kissed his ear following with her

tongue and warm, moist breath,” I leaned over to Dave and did

what I just read. So did Celeste on his other ear. He alternated

kissing us both, and that is where it ended, as we were inter-

rupted with some fat jerk yelling, “Hey, they’re having an orgy

in here!” I like to fantasize what might have happened if we

hadn’t been interrupted … Dave making slow, exciting love to

both of us. Me and Celeste getting it on. We both are large

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busted and have long dark hair and wear glasses with similar

shaped frames. Practically twins …

One fantasy I have quite often is about myself, my husband,

and another girl. He would bring her home one night, and I’d

be there in a flowing gown. I’d kiss and embrace them both,

and we’d head right for the bedroom. After much kissing, ex-

ploring, and foreplay, Paul would make love to her, after which

I’d go down on her to lick up both of their juices and make her

come a second time. Paul would be kissing and fondling both

of our breasts. Then he would make love to me, after which

she’d go down on me, and we would just make love until

dawn, take a shower together and sleep all day exhausted. I

usually come during the part where I go down on her.

I feel I should tell you that my only experiences have been

with men. I never thought of another girl until my husband

brought it up during sex one time after we were married. Now I

realize that girls do turn me on, and I’d like to be able to have

the last fantasy acted out. I guess I’m what they call a bisexual.

Paul likes me to talk about this during sex, but not any other

time. I also love to have these fantasies during sex. However,

he gives me strange looks when I comment on a girl’s body and

then start giving out horny signals when we’re out somewhere.

Oh, well, he’ll get used to it. Girl’s bodies turn him on, too.

Well, thanks so much for doing this. I can’t tell anyone else,

not even Paul, except the last one. But only during sex.

“Shoulders”

I guess when you say “anonymity guaranteed,” you antici-

pate your letters will come with names on them, but I honestly

would not be able to write you if I had to sign this. I hope that

doesn’t make my “material” less useful.

I have had other, rather mundane fantasies, but through the

years (I am twenty-three), they have fallen by the wayside be-

cause of the dominance of the one I will describe in this letter.

One of the odd things (or is it?) about my fantasy is that it is

interchangeable among males, that is the identity of the par-

ticular man who plays the leading role in it at any given time is

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not important. (I am sure you know what “important” means in

a fantasy!) Of course, I vary the men to avoid monotony.

The key to the beginning of the fantasy is when the man (or

boy!) put his hands on my shoulders. There is usually a build-

up to this situation of varying length, but the point when the

fantasy takes on seductive and exciting overtones is when I feel

his hands on my shoulders. All that really happens is that he

forces me to kneel by putting pressure on my shoulders, and

then I kiss and suck him down there. He doesn’t have to tell me

what to do, or even push my head; all communication of what

he wants is through that pressure on my shoulders. At the mo-

ment of climax for me, the pressure becomes very intense and

objectively painful, although not discomforting. I guess since I

control my fantasy, I increase the pressure, keeping it in syn-

chronization with my body’s excitement. In reality, I have even

taken to sort of hunching my shoulders at climax. Luckily, this

doesn’t seem to bother my partner during intercourse.

I don’t know what you can make of this, but I do hope it is

useful to you.

Many of the women in this book have talked about fan-

tasy during oral sex. Monica writes that she and her fiancé

have sex “quite often seven or eight times a night.” But while

she describes him as sexually large and powerful, the way he

“always brings me to a glorious climax,” she writes, is “usu-

ally through cunnilingus.”

I think this is one of the more obvious times for fantasy to

fill the minds of women like Monica, because in a sense you

are passive, the recipient, being done to. Your body is not be-

ing covered by and entwined with another body … your eyes

are not looking into a beloved face but into space. For many

women, fantasy fills in what might otherwise be a kind of lone-

liness during oral sex.

This kind of lovemaking often comes as a later, liberated

step for many women. They have resisted oral sex earlier in

their sexual lives, before they grew confident enough to become

experimental. Perhaps they felt that it was “wrong,” or that

there is something malodorous or unattractive about them-

247

selves “down there.” What a sexual fantasy can do for women

with these negative ideas is drive them out, replacing them

with erotic emotions that enable women to enjoy themselves to

the full.

Other women have come to oral sex from the opposite ex-

treme – they enjoy it so much that they never want it to end,

and through certain sexual fantasies, they have found they can

prolong their period of foreplay excitement before reaching

climax. This enhancement role of fantasy, either during oral

sex or intercourse itself, is a valuable idea for those women

who experience no trouble in reaching or enjoying their or-

gasm; knowing they will arrive in due time, they like to imag-

ine a mental scenario that helps them enjoy the trip even more.

They pace their excitement in their minds, letting their motor

slowly build up speed until it gloriously runs away with them

toward an ever more heightened orgasm. Needless to say, these

are the women who have long got past the idea that thinking of

a man different from the one in their arms smacks of mental

adultery or betrayal; they have recognized that their own ex-

citement, no matter how it is achieved, is one of the greatest

sexual gifts they can bring a man.

I have always maintained that women are experts at fantasy.

It is a natural gift that most of us have denied ourselves simply

because, in a man’s world, it was “known” that men … and

therefore everybody … did not fantasize during sex. Today, we

hear more and more reports of the growing rate of impotency

among men. If women can in time learn to accept their gift for

fantasy, can we not also teach this form of erotic excitement to

our men – probably now at the very time when they need it

most? If it works for us, why shouldn’t it work for them?

Sexual fantasy during sex is not merely a matter of need. It

is a matter of more complete sex. Would you consider a part of

your body untouchable during sex? Why then rule out your

mind – which is what got you into bed with that specific other

person in the first place? A man will not propose sex to a

woman unless he is already aroused; it is his fantasy of being

in bed with her that has brought him to the point of beginning

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the seduction. Having been brought to sex by his fantasy, why

leave out your own?

Monica

I’ve just finished My Secret Garden, and all I can say is

“what a trip.” I just couldn’t put it down; it had me creaming

from cover to cover.

I don’t think I ever realized just how big a part of my sex life

fantasy actually was. I have had a fairly active sex life since the

time I was sixteen. I am twenty now and about to be married.

My first sexual experience was with my future husband in the

back seat of a ‘62 Chevy. Needless to say, it wasn’t the fire-

works I expected. But it has been getting better all the time.

My fiancé is hung quite well, as his full erection measures a

good – and I mean good – eight inches. We have sex quite

often when we are together very often seven or eight times a

night. His imagination is limitless, and he always brings me to

a glorious climax, usually through cunnilingus. Although I

have been dating him for five years, my sex life has been punc-

tuated with a few, very interesting affairs. It is these affairs that

I find myself fantasizing about most – and always during inter-

course with my fiancé.

The most remarkable lover in my life came along when I

was seventeen years old. He was a phys. ed. teacher, and we

worked together during the summer. I just came every time I

thought of his godlike black body. Just looking at him made

me wet and achy for his cock. I had never experienced such a

feeling before, and I was completely overwhelmed. When the

occasion finally came when we could be alone, I was so shaky

my knees gave out. He was so gentle and satisfying with his

foreplay, I reached several climaxes while he manipulated my

clitoris. And when he entered me from the rear – I just saw

stars. He filled me up so much I thought I would burst from

sheer ecstasy. As we weren’t using any birth-control, he with-

drew, and I sucked him off. When we reached our final climax,

he came with such a groan, heightened my pleasure im-

mensely. I got such a mouthful of his wonderful come that I

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felt it was Christmas. This was the only time we ever fucked,

and I feel it’s better that way.

I think of this glorious black man often when I am going

down on my fiancé’s beautiful rod, as it heightens the pleasure

I am able to give him. I merely think of that black cock filling

my mouth, and we come off in great fervor.

Please excuse the sloppiness of this letter, as I am mastur-

bating and cannot take the time to recopy it as I fear exposure.

Thanks for the wonderful book.

Delia

I would like to compliment you on your book entitled My

Secret Garden. It is about time that men are no longer pro-

tected! Women think about sex also!

I was pleased to realize that women had fantasies such as

mine. I never thought myself to be strange, but I wondered

what other women thought about. I found it very interesting

and sometimes exciting. I have two fantasies that I would like

to share with you. I hope that after reading them you will enjoy

them as much as I do.

I imagine that I am in jail, and I am put in a cell of lesbians.

The “queen” lesbian decides I need training in female love, so

she takes me on as her private student. This all takes place in

her cell, with the other women watching. She tells me to un-

dress, and she admires my body. She tells me how beautiful it

is, and what she is going to do to me. She then undresses her-

self and tells me to suck her tits. I am apprehensive at first, but

I catch on quickly. After I suck her tits, I work my way down

to her cunt. The fantasy is so strong, that I can even smell her

odor. I suck her clit and finger her ass, and she explodes in my

mouth. Then it is my turn. She works on my clit, and as I am

about to come, I beg to get fucked. At the right moment, she

shoves this dildo in my cunt, at which point I actually do come.

I change the fantasy around, but this is the basic plot.

I have had quite a few lovers in my life, but two stand out.

Robert and Henry. They were built like brick shit houses, and

they play a large part in my fantasies. My current lover is a

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novice, so he has a long way to come. (No pun intended.) I

can’t wait for the day when I tell him about my fantasies. I’m

dying to tell him now, but he couldn’t accept it. While I am

making love to him, if I am on top, I have the following fan-

tasy.

I imagine that I am impaled on Henry’s cock, and Robert is

easing his cock in my asshole. When I am completely filled in

and starting to move, a faceless woman walks in. She fondles

my tits and rubs my clitty. At this point, I am jumping around,

almost going out of my head. I just concentrate on what they

are doing to me, and I have one of my strongest orgasms. Then,

of course, I come back into reality, and it’s funny. My real lover

thinks that he sent me into outer space, while I know for fact, it

was my imaginary three. Oh, well.

Thank you for letting me express myself.

Daisy

I’m sending you two of my many sexual fantasies. I am

twenty-one and am black. I went to various religious schools

and am a college graduate. I moved to California in 1972, and

now live there with my fiancé, a gorgeous blond with green

eyes and a fantastic body. I was prompted to send you my fan-

tasies after reading your book. Here goes.

Fantasy 1: I fantasize that this really great-looking guy (he’s

white) kidnaps two high school girls. One is black, and one is

white. The black girl is very pretty. She has small breasts and a

neat slim figure. She’s rather innocent and a virgin. The white

girl is a pretty blonde with big breasts and an overall voluptu-

ous figure. The man tells them that he wants to make love to

the pretty black girl and that if she doesn’t consent he’ll have

her friend subjected to a very brutal sexual routine. The girl

refuses. He calls in five men and have them strip the white girl.

He turns to the black girl and tells her that he’s going to let the

men have her to do with as they please if she doesn’t consent.

The white girl tells her friend never to consent. The man nods

his head and the men begin. They put her on the floor and

spread her legs wide, and a man holds each leg apart. Her

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hands are tied to posts in the floor. A man touches her cunt and

starts to play with it. Another sucks her nipples. They start to

finger her then one after the other, they fuck her. After the last

one gets off her, the man who had kidnapped her snaps his

fingers and in comes a huge black man. He comes to her and

puts a pillow under her ass and looks at her, laughing. His

cock is huge – at least nine inches, and he tells her he’s going

to fuck her until she sees stars. She starts to breathe heavy, and

he kisses her mouth and then her breasts. He sucks her nipples

and rubs them with his fingers. He pinches them until she

starts to moan. He puts two fingers in her cunt, and the girl

starts trying to fuck his fingers. He puts his mouth to her open

pussy lips and kisses the lips. He sucks them and her clit. Then

he thrusts his tongue in her wet pussy. She’s wild with passion.

Then he moves between her legs and guides his erect and

throbbing cock into her hot and wet cunt. She’s so wet, he al-

most slips out. He thrusts a couple of times, and she comes

one, two, three times. He hasn’t come, but he takes his wet

penis out of her hungry pussy, and she starts crying for him to

fuck her more. He laughs, and the men move to her and wash

her out and give her a douche. The black man tells them to

untie her. They comply, and she rises to embrace him, but the

men put her on her stomach and spread her legs wide apart.

The black man starts to finger her pussy, and she starts moan-

ing and getting wet. The black man fucks her pussy, and she

cries out. He spanks her ass and spreads her ass and starts fin-

gering her asshole. She begs him to fuck her in the ass, and he

laughs. He moves down and starts licking and sucking her wet

snatch. She has another big orgasm. The man who kidnapped

the two girls now tells the blonde she belongs to the black

man. She kisses his feet in gratitude. The kidnapper now looks

at the pretty black girl and asks her if she will forgive him, that

he loves her and would be forever grateful if she would stay

with him. She agrees. The End.

The next fantasy I was too embarrassed to tell my fiancé. He

knows I like gay guys, but he doesn’t know that they are to me

the focal point of the majority of my sexual fantasies. Some-

times when we’re making love, I think it would be great if he

252

would have a scene with another great-looking guy, and I

could watch and touch them.

Fantasy 2: This fantastic-looking kid, about seventeen, is

walking on the beach looking for a spot to sunbathe in the

nude. He’s wearing a short kimono and comes to a stretch of

beach where he spreads his towel down and removes his ki-

mono and, lying down, falls off in a light sleep. Two guys are

coming down the beach and spot him. The kid doesn’t hear

them coming, but feeling their presence, he opens his eyes, and

they’re standing over him running their eyes up and down his

body. He’s quite embarrassed, but the guys put him at ease and

introduce themselves. They ask him if he’d like them to put

suntan oil on his body. He says okay. They take some oil and,

rubbing it into their hands, tell him he’s got a great body. They

start, slowly and sensually, and when they reach his stomach,

he becomes erect. They very gently move him on his side. One

of the guys moves to his erect cock and takes it in his mouth.

The other first puts his finger in his ass, and the boy starts to

writhe. He puts oil on his cock and enters him. The boy starts

to protest that he’s hurting him, but the man enters him slowly

and starts to fuck him, pumping hard and fast. The boy meets

his thrusts and comes in the other guy’s mouth as the guy in

back shoots his hot juice in his tight asshole.

Vi

My most delicious fantasy is centered around a motorcycle

ride. I have come to an old boyfriend’s house for a rare long

weekend together – since we now live so far apart. Although

he doesn’t own his own motorcycle, he has borrowed one from

a friend for us to take on a romantic cheese-and-wine picnic.

We rise early Sunday morning to avoid any traffic, and the fall

air is crisp and clear as we roar away, the wind blowing my

hair onto my neck. I have driven the bike briefly the day before,

and when we reach the lush countryside, I yell over the roar

that I want to take the controls. Because the cycle is not his and

is such a powerful machine, I really have to coax him (as only I

know how!) until he finally relents.

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When we switch positions, we both decide to remove our

denim jackets. I feel the smooth rush of power available to me

whenever I ask for it, and as we reach the crest of a short hill, I

accelerate just enough to raise both of us slightly from the seat.

As my tight pants stretch across my crotch, I become aware of

the engine’s throbbing heat against it, as if I were riding a huge

flying cock.

Quickly, my neck flushes, and I realize how my nipples are

erect and aching. The pulsating warmth has crept over me until

it is released in a sweltering burst.

Slowing slightly, I deftly reach back my hand and guide his

to cup my breast. Quickly, his free hand undoes my bra, and

his warm palms caress me. As I bend back to hear what he

says, he tongues my ear so that I swerve the bike slightly. Then

he takes the controls and drives the machine through a small

culvert and into a secluded pine forest where the sun. sifts

through the swaying branches.

Before he can get to me, I undo his pants and kiss his fero-

cious cock on all sides, on top, before sucking it into my

mouth. He falls back onto the pine needles with a groan as I

slip his warm meat into my mouth and then completely encir-

cle it with my tongue, which I love to do. We undress one an-

other completely as my mouth continues to play with his dick.

Tenderly, he pushes me onto my back as he goes down on

my cunt hairs, already wet. I stare up passion drunk at the tree-

topped sky until our frenzy forces me to shut my eyes. He

tongue-teases me all over my body until our mouths meet, and

then slowly, ever so slowly, he puts his fire up my cunt. It

seems to continue going in forever deeper, deeper. I move side

to side as he thrusts away, matching his rhythm. Suddenly, his

juices go straight in me, just as I am washed away in my ocean

of orgasm. At this point, my real orgasm with my real lover

coincides with my fantasy orgasm!

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CHAPTER EIGHT

DREAMS COME TRUE

One of the great misconceptions about sexual fantasy is

that they are suppressed wishes. The first shock is to accept the

fact that not only do women have feelings of lust, too, but that

they like to use their imagination to heighten these erotic de-

sires. But once past the notion that all women are “ladies” –

meaning sexless – there is a great, fuzzy-minded leap forward:

if women enjoy thinking about these bizarre sexual events, it

must mean that they really want to do them!

The notion that a woman may be thinking these highly

charged thoughts puts many a man off. Anxious ideas of com-

petition are aroused; how can he match the prodigious feats of

the athletic Adonis in her mind? It is much easier for him to

feel she doesn’t merely get a kick out of thinking about these

things. He decides she really wants to do them, probably has

done them in the past with other men. In this way, she has

been safely put into the category of “freaky,” “strange,” and

“different.” There’s nothing wrong with his sexuality; she’s the

crazy one.

“What does your husband think about your wanting to be

fucked by two strange guys at a football game?” men leer at

me, having read the opening pages of My Secret Garden, in

which I talk about one of my former favorite fantasies – which

took place in a football stadium. Another guy nudges me:

“Hey, I have two tickets for the Baltimore Colts’ game. How

about it?”

When you put your name to a book of sexual fantasies, you

automatically come to be thought of as a woman who wants to

act them all out. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I have

no more real desire to be fucked at a Baltimore Colt-Minnesota

Viking football game by two unknown men, than I do to be

fucked by anyone, anywhere, than in the usual place(s) my

husband and I do it. If my fantasies sound outrageous to many

people, it is probably because of the conventional manner in

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which I was brought up. Had I been raised in a whorehouse,

perhaps the images that would arouse me to tremendous pas-

sion would be scenes of a handsome knight in white armor –

looking a bit like Robert Redford – who would make love to

me in a house designed by Bride magazine, while an organ

played “Oh, Promise Me.”

My childhood and adolescence were studded thick and fast

with sexual rules very much like yours. It left me with an

imagination that gets off on the wildest, most forbidden sexual

imagery – all of which has little to do with how I live in the

real world. I relish the totally unacceptable in my fantasies. I

love my life the way it is. If I try to understand without judging

the extraordinary diversity of sexual experience available to us,

it does not necessarily mean I contain within myself all the

points of view put forward by the several hundred women

whose fantasies I published. And yet I have appeared on vari-

ous radio and television talk shows where the hosts and other

guests have actually become angry when I wouldn’t bend the

entire meaning of my understanding of sexual fantasy to con-

form with their ideas: namely, that sexual freedom, greater

sexual pleasure, must mean having all our sexual dreams come

true. “What, you only think these ideas and don’t act them out?

Isn’t that hypocritical, copping out?”

My answer is, No. As you will see from this chapter, there

are many people who have found sheer bliss in joining with

their partners in acting out their sexual fantasies as if they were

dramatic scripts for two (or more) players. That’s terrific, for

them. But most of the women who have written me are far

from wanting to put their fantasies into fact. They go out of

their way to say it to me in so many words: “I love to imagine

these things but I have no desire to really do them.” If that is

where they draw the line, they have every right to. They are no

less “daring” or adventurous than the people who act out their

fantasies. Just different.

Probably the greatest sexual and social gain we could reach

will be when we become liberated enough to allow each one

his or her own sexual inclination. We are still so insecure in

our own sexual tastes and identities that people with other

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ideas make us anxious. We hold to whatever norm has been

okayed in the latest book and is most widely held to be right by

our neighbors. Anyone who dares to operate an inch outside of

this accepted area is ostracized as odd, perverted.

The people in this chapter fall outside neat categories. Not

only do they have sexual desires that other people never talk

about, but they have mentioned them to their lovers and/or

husbands. They’ve even gone wilder than that: they’ve pro-

ceeded to act out what was on their minds. Whether or not they

found pleasure in following their erotic scenarios is their busi-

ness; what is more important to our discussion is understand-

ing that they felt free enough, accepting enough with each

other, to acknowledge that’s where their desires lay, and to act

upon them.

I think that for every person who has written to me about the

joys of performing their sexual dreams in reality, there have

been three or four who knew in advance that it wouldn’t work,

or who tried it and were disappointed. Whether or not you de-

cide to try yours out in reality is up to you, but I would argue to

the death with anyone who says that unless you do you are only

going halfway. What turns them on is their business; what

turns you on is yours. The U.S. Commission’s Report on Ob-

scenity and Pornography showed that both men and women

responded with far more excitement when they were asked to

imagine something erotic than when they actually saw it.

But if the majority of people I have heard from say it is more

exciting (or less threatening) to keep their sexual fantasies only

in the mind, it is still not the whole sexual truth: to be honest

about sex, you can’t merely count heads and pronounce judg-

ment democratically. Individual differences must be considered

and accepted to be as valid as the tastes of the majority. The

people who have put their erotic fantasies into practice are nei-

ther braver than you or I nor more or less daring or self-

destructive. They have simply found that a whole new dimen-

sion is added to their lives when they act out their fantasies.

They have found their own path to a more vivid life. Who’s

against that?

If you are truly liberated, you must be able to accept that

someone who does or thinks something abhorrent to you is not

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a sexual threat. You have to get over thinking that just because

someone else does something that you must do it too (this un-

conscious feeling that someone else’s action is a dare to us to

do it, drives us to put up a wall of dislike and disgust between

them and us). Next, accept the reality that there are sexual

events going on, fantasies being acted out, that you would

never imagine. Some of the nicest people you know may be

doing the most extraordinary things behind their closed doors.

“It may be just because two people get off on the most outra-

geous, antisocial conduct when they are alone together in their

bedroom,” a psychiatrist friend said to me recently, “that they

very often can be the nicest, easiest, and most socially delight-

ful people to be around at other times. They have expressed all

their negative drives with each other, and so are ready to turn

their nicest face forward when they meet you.” This is no more

dishonest than to say you’re not hungry after you’ve eaten.

In psychoanalytic parlance, there is a technical phrase

called, “acting out,” and while I have used this phrase myself

often enough in this chapter, I wish to be clear that I am using

it in the common, everyday sense, and not technically, as the

doctors do. To them, acting out means that a person performs

certain actions, usually self-destructive or self-defeating, for

reasons she does not understand. Because the basic motivation

is repressed to a level below consciousness, the actress is not

aware that her behavior is an expression of an unconscious

fantasy, nor does she have a significant area of choice in the

matter: her neurosis compels her through a hidden logic of its

own, to find only married, unavailable men attractive, or to

behave in such a manner that she is always the victim, getting

fired, being taken advantage of, etc., etc.

The women in this chapter, on the contrary, are very much

aware of their fantasies: the choice of bringing them into reality

or not is entirely their own. Therefore, even though we may call

these actions acting out, it should be remembered that the way

I intend to use the phrase entails very conscious decision.

Above all, while the fantasies they decide to live out may at

times entail a degree of psychic or physical pain, that is not

what they are all about. These women are not about self-defeat

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and martyrdom – their true goal in acting out their fantasies is

the greatest possible pleasure. Carolyn writes that acting out

her fantasies brought her so much fulfillment, she has intro-

duced them to her new lover. “He loves it!” she writes ecstati-

cally. “It’s a totally new space for him to be in … . I don’t think

I’ve been in a constant state of turn-on like this, ever. Can’t

wait until he gets back to act out some more of this lovely state

of being.”

“… this lovely state of being.” I like Carolyn’s phrase.

Finding our way to it is the essence of life, but there are no

guaranteed roadmaps. It is a place of the spirit, of course, but

lovers have always known that it can be reached by physical,

sexual means. “The road of excess leads to the palace of wis-

dom,” said William Blake.

Carolyn has found her way; other women in this section

have found theirs.

Carolyn

Okay. Just finished your book and wished with all my being

that I didn’t have to wait two weeks to share the incredible

turn-on I feel from reading it. Masturbation at this level is a

“reliever” of sorts, but just doesn’t work totally.

Seems to me that what prevents most people from copping

to their fantasies to the other person is your basic all-American

fear of taking a risk. We’re all scared of being thought of as

crazies, perverts, or whatever.

I remember the first man who tuned into my fantasies before

I even knew I had them. We were both extremely stoned and

making foreplay. Suddenly, he stopped doing what he was

doing and took a little velvet rope out of his pocket. Without a

word, he began to tie my wrists to the bedposts. I could feel

that within the little red velvet rope there was a thin, steel

chain, so that while the red velvet protected my skin, inside the

velvet rope there was this hard, cruel chain that I could never

break. I have never been so turned on so fast in all my life. At

first, I was afraid that he wasn’t going to do what I thought

(wanted) he was going to do. Then I was afraid he wouldn’t

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complete the whole act to my satisfaction. But he did – taking

more velvet chains from a hard-leather executive-type briefcase

that he always carried with him, but I had never seen him open

before. He slowly tied me in a spread-eagle fashion to the four

bedposts, with my arms pulled up and back of my head, my

legs spread wide apart and held that way by the chains. He

never spoke to me while he did this. He moved like someone in

one of my dreams, knowing instinctively what I seemed to

want, but never asking me if he was right or wrong about how

much I wanted it. He knew, and just proceeded with it, croon-

ing to himself all the while, never saying a word, just this in-

tent, bemused, almost gurgling kind of half-humming, half-

chuckling. At the end, I could not move a muscle. I was totally

in his hands, totally open to whatever he wanted to do to me. I

can never remember feeling so incredibly tingly in my whole

life. He didn’t even have to come near me to get me aroused.

All the while I was lying there, I could see that he was looking

at me. Really looking. He kept putting his head between my

legs, examining the lips of my cunt, taking the flesh delicately

in his fingers to hold them open so that he could look in more

deeply. But he never went further. As a matter of fact, just

leaving me tied up there and leaving the room as if nothing

unusual was happening at all was an even greater turn-on. The

one feeling I can recall at that moment was one of enormous

relief. All these fantasies I could never cop to having were ac-

tually being realized by me, and by someone who had the in-

credible sensitivity to know what I wanted. In this case, he was

the one who had taken the risk, and for that, I’ll forever love

him, even though the affair is gone.

My fantasies range along the general line of tie-me-down-

spreadeagled-and-do-what-you-or-your-friends-will-with-me

(as long as it doesn’t hurt). I adore being victimized in a non-

threatening way. Even though, so much of this kind of fantasy

does depend on trust of the other person. Trust that he won’t

slit you from your guggle to your zatch while you’re lying there

stark naked on the bed, unable to move. The possibility of this

happening (remote, one hopes) makes it even more exciting

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I am currently dating a man, much older than I, who’s a su-

per-lover. But “straight.” So, for the first time in my life, I took

the risk and turned him on to what turned me on. He loves it!

It’s a totally new space for him to be in, and it’s kid-in-the-

candy-store time for him (and God knows, for me). I get long

letters from him communicating how excited he is with his

new state of being. Hear, hear!

Thank you a lot. I don’t think I’ve been in a constant state of

turn-on like this ever. Can’t wait until he gets back to act out

some more of this lovely state of being. If you ever write Vol-

ume II, I probably won’t be able to get off my bed for the next

year!

P.S. I am single and twenty-eight years old.

May

I read your book, and just couldn’t resist a chance to tell

someone. I’m seventeen, and eight months pregnant and single.

I am a very liberated person, sexually and likewise. Sometimes

I wonder if I’m perverted or not; I guess I just love sex and

always have. I’ve been having sex (intercourse) for two years

now, and have really been the route. I mean I truly feel quite

experienced for my age. My first time in bed was with a forty-

two-year-old man, or should I say, my girl friend’s father.

Maybe it sounds pretty lewd, but to this day just the excitement

of thinking about anyone finding out about us has an unbeliev-

able effect. We had intercourse several times. One exceptional

time was when I stayed at their house for a small slumber

party, and when he thought everyone was asleep, he came and

got me, and we fucked away in a reclining chair in the living

room; well, to add to this, his daughter walked through, but to

this day I still wonder how much she really saw. Isn’t that a

thrill?

I also have this fantasy about large penises. I’ve always en-

joyed very large, filling penises; they seem to excite me the

most. I’ve had the fantasy about being laid by a horse many

times, since they are so large, but I don’t think it would be pos-

261

sible to live out, but if I had a chance, believe me, I’d jump for

it. The most filling fuck ever.

When I was younger, it was my dog that excited me. This

was when I was a virgin. I have fucked my dog (German shep-

herd) many times though. I always wanted a man’s penis but

was chicken, so I laid the dog. I would lay him on his back on

the floor and push the sheath of his penis all the way down, so

his penis was just loose, and he would suddenly become so

hard and growing, that the skin couldn’t move back up. He

would even start into motion before I was on him. I would

squat over him holding that delicious penis straight up, and

then I’d come down on him, and, man, that dog could go like

hell, sometimes as long as a half an hour, which is long for a

dog. He could come and come … so would I, ummmm…. This

I haven’t done since I’ve had intercourse with men, but just

thinking about it now makes me wish the dog was around, but

someone stole him. I even thought of giving him fellatio, but

couldn’t.

I have a friend who I am spiritually very close to. I had had

fantasies of making deep love to her. One night, she wanted me

to meet her lover. She also told me how large he was, which

just heightened my curiosity, but I had no intentions of going to

bed with him, for I would have felt too guilty. We arrived at his

apartment, where there were a few people already there. It was

just a social thing at first, sitting around talking and getting

high. Well, the conversation somehow came to massages, and I

mentioned that I was good at back massages and joint-

cracking. This guy said he was too and offered to give me a

back massage. I said sure, ‘cause I love them. This went on for

a while, with me lying facedown on the floor with him sitting

on my rear. Next thing I knew, everyone else was too, but they

were all in their underwear; then my clothes were being re-

moved, and I just let it happen. By this time, I was getting ex-

cited almost to the point of climax, for this guy was sitting on

me in his underwear, and I could feel that bulge growing larger

and ever warmer and harder. He then tells me to turn over, and

he’d give me a front massage, and I thought okay, buddy, I’ll

play your game and beat you at it too. As my clothes had been

removed, I was lying breasts up, looking him right in the face

262

while he sat on my pubic area. He’s massaging my stomach

and breasts and sending tingles all through my body as I can

now see the enormous bulge in his shorts. I am then led into

the bedroom and gently laid on the bed while he goes down

between my thighs headfirst to further stimulate me with that

probing tongue going ever deeper. (My girl friend is sitting

beside the bed with that Mother Earth smile, telling me she

was just sharing with me what she had found so fulfilling). I

was on fire wanting him to enter me, but he teased, further

drinking me till I thought I was dry. When he did enter me, I

was so alive and eager just begging for more that I came time

and time again, while he remarked how good I was in bed, and

then it was all over, and we left. This was the most exciting

time I ever had, not just because he was so big and good, but

the thought of this girl actually sharing this with me. I fanta-

size about it often now. I loved it. Well, that’s enough, my

hand’s tired, and this is getting a bit long.

Chessie

My fiancé and I both read My Secret Garden. We. enjoyed

it immensely. I’d like to give you some background before I tell

my fantasies. I’m nineteen and engaged to be married later this

month. I lost my virginity, at fourteen, but never masturbated

or had many fantasies until I met Lewis. He and I share our

fantasies, and there are several that we have acted out or want

to act out.

My most frequent (and Lewis’ favorite) is that I am at our

new home, and a girl that I work with comes over. She is very

thin but nicely proportioned. We talk and eventually the con-

versation comes to sex (which she and I often talk about in

reality). We end up sitting there masturbating, which leads into

touching each other. We go to the bedroom and touch and kiss.

I imagine that she licks and nibbles my breasts (which are

large) and eats me. Then I eat her and lick her everywhere.

While we are still engrossed, with my mouth against her cunt,

Lewis walks in, sheds his clothing, and joins us until we are all

exhausted.

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There are some variations: other girls that we know; same

girl, but her husband walks in too, and there is a quartet, etc.

Lewis and I would really above all like to get into a threesome.

Another fantasy goes something like this: I am at a party

with Lewis. As we are sitting there, I tell him that I forgot to

put on my panties. I am wearing a short dress, but it is not

quite short enough to allow him to see anything. All through

the party, he is going mad by knowing how I look under that

dress. When we get home, I sit down and begin masturbating

in front of him. I lift my skirt periodically so that he can see me

fondling my cunt and flicking my clit. But when he wants to

touch me, I refuse. I do a striptease, again without letting him

touch me. Finally, he becomes so hard and so turned on that he

tears off my clothes and tries to grab me by the cunt. But I

dodge him and make him watch me. I let him lick my fingers;

they are running with my juices, but he is not allowed to touch

me. He goes mad and tells me that if I don’t let him touch me I

will be put over his knee. But I still don’t give in. He finally

catches me and spanks me. Then he bites my breasts (lightly –

I’m not hard-core S&M), and puts his cock against my lips. For

a moment, I struggle (playfully), and then take his Gorgeous

cock into my mouth as though it would save my life. Then he

goes down on me and eats me until am in sheer ecstasy. Then

he makes me beg for his cock. He teases and tempts me – turn-

ing the tables on me – until I am almost crying for him. Then

he puts his cock against my cunt and ever so slowly goes

deeper. Then he pulls almost all the way out, but just when I

think he’s going away entirely, he suddenly thrusts deep into

me, and we fuck and fuck and fuck, and it is glorious!!!!

We often (in reality) bond one another. The free one teases

the bonded one, then touches and kisses and caresses till we

are both frantic with longing. Then the free one unties the other

and we fuck away. My favorite thing to do when Lewis is tied

is to squat above his mouth, then raise again, just before he has

time to lick me. Then, after I masturbate a little, very close to

his face, I come down on his mouth. We are very, very happy

in our sexual life, and we very much enjoy our fantasies.

Thank you for listening.

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P.S. Although I am not interested in making it with an ani-

mal I thought you might be interested in knowing that reading

your chapter called “The Zoo” did turn me on!

While the women whose fantasies appeared immediately

above found that acting out their sexual fantasies were unal-

loyed bliss, this is not always the case. In translating images

from our mind into actual practice, a kind of one-way street

opens before us. If something we imagine turns out to distress

us, we can always shrug it off. “Oh, well – it was only a pass-

ing thought.” But once you have put something into action, you

can no longer dismiss the reality of it, nor forget the memory if

the experience turned out to be unpleasant after all.

The first rule I would suggest if you want to act out one of

your fantasies is to be sure you know your lover well and that

there is a strong bond of affection between you. Above all, it is

important that you have some intuitive feeling that he is doing

it just for the kick of it – as you are – and not to express some

deeper layer of sexual distortion or rage within himself. If there

is a kind of disgust or anger mingled with his excitement – or

if he can only go through with the idea of acting out a fantasy

when high or drunk – look out. There may well be a post-coital

period on his part, not only of sadness, desperation, and regret

but also of real fury. His motives for acting out were ambiva-

lent, and not totally about fun. He will try to displace some of

his self-contempt upon you.

Rose Ann tells us that she once fell in love “with a rather

sadistic woman-hater.” While he was excited by acting out

spanking fantasies with her, “the more we got into this, the

more I loved him … and the more he lost respect for me.” For-

tunately, as we see in her letter, this did not end in crippling

her self-esteem. Her basic health and self-acceptance seem to

have won out in the end.

What I find interesting about Nessie’s approach to acting out

her fantasies of “deference and obedience,” is that while it

turned out that both she and her husband had secretly harbored

these desires, they had never mentioned them to each other –

265

each partner in the marriage thought only she/he liked these

things. Another example of the deadly silence that rules most

bedrooms, killing our desires by suffocating our favorite

dreams.

It was only after she had read My Secret Garden and had

encouraged her husband to read it, that Nessie decided that

since other women liked these pleasures, too, she must not be

unique. She found “the nerve to tell him [her husband] about

my special fantasy and asked him to act it out.”

He agreed, and they began by taking one tentative step. He

slapped her. Then they had another talk, in which each one told

the other how they felt about , it. They both liked it, and Nessie

suggested going the next step.

I heartily endorse this experimental, step-by-step approach,

especially the effort to try to talk it all through in advance, so

that neither one develops new or frightening ideas that the

other is not ready for. Once you’re into these scenes, the emo-

tions aroused can go right to the head more fiercely than a rush

of amyl nitrate – limits must be set up front, especially if you’re

flirting with the emotions entailed in S&M scenes. What must

be agreed in advance is that either partner has the right to say

stop at any point, and no reason has to be given except that the

pain of the experience has begun to outweigh the pleasure. If

this is understood in advance, the other partner is not so likely

to get her/his feelings hurt, or feel rejected.

“At first,” Nessie writes, after they had agreed to go to the

next step, “I was nervous that the whole thing was going to be

a disappointment, but after he hit me just once, I knew there

was no danger of that. It was fantastic.”

One woman’s pain is another woman’s heaven.

Lizzy’s letter may not strike you at first as a fantasy at all –

until you remember that the entire idea that Lizzy engage in

“lesbian sex” with Ethel was the erotic fancy of Lizzy’s hus-

band. Before her first date with Ethel, he eagerly entered into a

little foreplay with his wife “until I began to lubricate. Then he

said, `Now you’re Ethel’s,’ kissed me and left.” In the end,

Bill’s fantasy has been much more completely acted out than

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perhaps even he dreamed; it has become what sounds like an

extraordinarily open and joyous way of life for all three people.

An interesting, if minor, note to Lizzy’s letter is that while

she tells us how ecstatically happy she is when in bed with

either one of her two beloved partners (and I for one find her

very convincing), she nevertheless remains true to the basic

theme of fantasy: when she is in the arms of one lover, she

closes her eyes and fantasizes that she is with the other.

Rose Ann

Thank you for your book. How needed it was. I’m glad to

have the opportunity to give you some of my experiences. I

hope they’re interesting.

I’m twenty-three, single, college grad, working as a secre-

tary, gong to grad school for psych in the fall. I’ve had at least

twenty-five sexual relationships with men, half that number

with women. I really like both, although it is easier to be pas-

sive with men, and as you will see from my fantasies, this is

pretty much where it’s at for me.

At age four, my six-year-old girl friend and I would play

“Witchdoctor.” This consisted, from what I recall, of her bend-

ing me over a box in my mother’s closet, pulling down my

pants, and inserting her finger into my ass. I really used to get

off on this (age four?), and the Witchdoctor theme has per-

sisted until now (with hundreds of variations, of course), until

now it is almost impossible for me to climax without a form of

this fantasy. Since reading your book, I have discovered that it

works to think of the simple act of fucking, or of a woman (in

whom I may be interested at the moment) eating me. I never

thought these kinds of simple thoughts could turn me on

enough (too normal) to help me come. But thanks to you, my

“fantasy bank” has suddenly doubled in value.

About me: I masturbate all the time. Most every day

(whether I’m having a relationship or not). Lot of times, if I

stay home from work one day or on a Saturday when I don’t

feel like going out, I can lie in bed all day and come again and

again and feel like I haven’t wasted my day at all. Last night, I

267

came nine times before going to sleep. Anyway … let’s get into

my fantasy.

The main elements are my passivity at the hands of this doc-

tor or whoever (it’s never a rapist). (Once after going through

customs on the way back from Mexico, and being told by the

customs guy that “We can strip you, you know, if we think

you’ve got dope on you,” I did a whole new fantasy on being

examined and searched by these sex-hungry customs men and

women. They’re never rough, always very calm and methodi-

cal, even when they’re making me suck them off.)

In the main fantasy that I’ve had since childhood, a mad

doctor has somehow abducted me. I am in his laboratory (he is

in a white lab coat – faceless, of course). He has me strapped

down to an unusual examining table. Sometimes the table

branches out into a “v” at the bottom, so my legs can be se-

curely strapped wide open to each arm of the “v,” and the doc-

tor has easy access to my genitals. There are little metal caps

which are placed over my nipples. Wide metal circular bands

which fit around my breasts, which hold them up straight into

the air. Sometimes hot needles are inserted into my nipples (I

have done this myself sometimes and have been very stimu-

lated if I don’t hurt myself too much). I am usually blindfolded

and gagged, or my mouth is propped open. The main apparatus

has, as its base, a huge black ceiling-height metal thing (like

the X-ray business in a dentist’s office) …. From this, on the

end of a spring kind of thing, comes the actual device that will

penetrate my genital/anal areas. This latter, when inside me,

will buzz, vibrate, be electrically shocking in some way. The

device for my lower regions is three-pronged. From the center

of it protrudes a phallic thing, shiny metal, smooth, and huge.

This is inserted into my vagina. (By the way, the “doctor” al-

ways uses words that are very clinical: “vagina,” “anus,” etc.,

never “cunt” or “ass.” Sometimes there is an assistant there

whom the doctor, orders about, “Insert the anal device,” “Hold

her down,” “Strap her arms securely,” “Spread her wider,” etc.

Hearing these words is very important. I say nothing, except an

occasional, “Oh, no, please don’t.” But the doctor is constantly

talking, if not to his assistant, then to me: “Just relax,” “Hold

still,” “That’s good,” “Don’t move,” “Just lie still,” etc. He is

268

always extremely calm and self-possessed, never becoming

excited or anything.) The second “arm” of the device is a

smaller version of the vaginal device, it is for my anus. The

third section looks like a miniature floor waxer. It is a little

round rubber thing (something like a washer for a faucet)

which is on the end of a short metal rod. This is positioned on

my clitoris. It will, when activated, spin ‘round and ‘round like

a floor waxer, “waxing” my clit to climax.

Although certain things vary, this is basically the one fan-

tasy to which I’ve climaxed for like eight years. I also get off on

thinking of being gently, but forcibly bent over a table or some-

thing and being penetrated by a finger or a cock or a vibrator in

my ass. Actually, having hemorrhoids, I can’t do anything like

this, unfortunately.

I have had the good fortune to have almost acted out my

doctor fantasy. This doctor is not your typical professional, as

you will see. Coming back from Florida one summer with a

bad case of scabies, I went to this guy on the recommendation

of a friend. Going late in the afternoon (after work), his office

was empty except for me and his nurse, and she was off some-

place far from the examining room. Instead of giving me a

gown or something or calling in the nurse (as I believe doctors

are required to do by law), he just told me to “take down my

pants and bend over the table” (the scabies were on my ass).

Needless to say, I immediately became so aroused I thought I

was going to faint. But all he did was poke around at the sca-

bies and give me a prescription and a date for a second exam.

Well, by the time the day for the second exam came around, I

was determined (encouraged by his unorthodox methods) to

have something happen. Just what that would be, I wasn’t sure,

but I was determined. So, after a repeat of the first perform-

ance, I began my spiel. “Dr. So-and-so, I don’t really know

who else to tell this to, or where to turn for help. I’m twenty-

two years old and have never had an orgasm. I don’t even know

what it feels like. What should I do?” I went on and on and on

with this oh-so-sincere look and tone of voice. He began his

answer by telling me what to tell my boyfriend to do. I coun-

tered by saying that I had told my boyfriend things, and that

nothing worked. I wouldn’t even know what an orgasm was if I

269

fell over one, etc. etc. That’s when he told his nurse to go home

(it was about 6 P.M.), and I knew I had it in the bag. His next

line almost made me laugh out loud with elation. He said,

“Have I given you a pelvic? Maybe there is something wrong

with you physically. Take off your clothes, and get up on the

table.” No gown, nothing. Just me COMPLETELY NUDE

climbing up on the table. I was so excited I didn’t know if I

could keep from passing out. Well, the good doctor, surgical

glove well lubricated with surgical goo, went straight, and I

mean straight, for my clit. His “How does that feel? Tell me.

Tell me” bullshit was ruining it, though, and I had to tell him

to shut up. Anyway, I came, but was surprised to find that I

still had to fantasize that I was bound and tied up before I

could make it. Afterward, he wanted to fuck me, but he was

actually an ugly little man, and I very hastily thanked him and

split. Frankly, it was pretty dreamlike. I couldn’t believe I had

had the nerve to do it, or that this fantasy had actually come

true. But, also frankly, the fantasy is much more satisfying and

exciting than that experience was.

Another “fantasy-come-true” happened with a rather sadis-

tic woman-hater that I was falling madly in love with. He got

off first on spanking me. Gradually, we progressed to his tying

me down to the bed and whipping the shit out of me with his

belt till my breasts, thighs, and ass were bruised for days. I

didn’t get off on the pain per se, but on the psych of the thing,

especially when he would kiss and caress and pity the wounds

he had just inflicted. The whippings themselves didn’t make

me come. I would usually have to masturbate while he was

whipping and fucking me (from behind), but if I did concen-

trate on what was actually going on, it helped to get me off.

The mercy trip was the crucial thing here, I think. His loving

those parts of my body that he’d just finished wounding. ( Story

of O? ) Anyway, the more we got into this, the more I loved

him and felt possessed and owned by him, and the more he lost

respect for me, and there went that relationship. He wound up

calling me a sicky, and telling me how bad I was for him and

all. For a while, this made me feel really sick and perverted,

but I now realize, at least, that it takes two to make a sick rela-

270

tionship, and besides, what the fuck? How can you say some-

thing that is “you” is sick or normal? If it makes up what is in

totality “you,” it is as unique and unlabelable as is each person

walking around this earth. So, that guy’s hang-ups, as far as

I’m concerned, are his own.

When the .movie The Devils came out, a whole new fantasy

world opened to me. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it. The

“nun-possessed-by-sexual-demons-that-must-be-exorcised-

through-sexual-means” type of thing. Vanessa Redgrave, the

nun in question, had to go through the most delicious forced

tortures (having her breasts bound with barbed wire, etc.) It

turned me on so I had to leave in the middle to go home and

masturbate. The rape scene from Rosemary’s Baby did the

same. At age seven or eight I saw a television flick about these

Martians that landed and were taking over earth by nabbing

the town’s most prominent folks and drilling these little com-

puterized control devices in to the backs of their necks. Watch-

ing that movie, I can remember feeling my cunt throbbing like

the dickens for the first time. Watching this beautiful, utterly

passive woman, her neck bent forward, and this drill beginning

to enter her neck … wow. I remember my mother came in and

wanted to tell me something just as this was happening, and I

threw something at her. I was so wrapped up and throbbing

and angry that she’d disturbed me. Of course, she thought I

was just into the flick. She didn’t know why, I’m sure, but she

didn’t talk to me for days ‘cause of my throwing something at

her.

I usually don’t fantasize about women while I’m masturbat-

ing or fucking, except rarely, when I’ve met a woman I’d really

like to sleep with and don’t know if she’s up for it or not. Since

reading your book, however, I’ve found that I can fantasize

about a (prospective) female lover eating my cunt deliciously.

I’ll wind up calling her name and coming like a bitch.

Anyway, best of luck. What you’re doing is really dynamite.

271

Nessie

I have just finished reading My Secret Garden, and I

thought I would write this as a kind of “thank you.”

I bought your book for myself, and that’s why I was quite

surprised when my husband – who never reads anything –

seemed interested in it. It was that that finally gave me the

nerve to tell him about my special fantasy and ask him to act it

out.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have been turned on by the

idea of getting spanked. My parents never did so I don’t know

how it happened to appeal to me – but it did. As I got older and

knew more about sex, my horizons broadened a bit, and I en-

joyed the thought of being beaten with a belt.

My whole personality is geared toward male domination – I

hate guys who let women walk all over them. Taking this into

consideration, my husband is the perfect partner for me, the

kind who treats a girl fantastic in return for a little deference

and obedience:

But to get back to the subject, sometimes when we were

fucking, I’d ask him to slap me, and he always would, although

he seemed a little resistant.

The night after we had been reading your book, I got him

started slapping me while he fucked me, and after it was over, I

thought “what the hell,” he knows that other women like weird

things, so I’ll ask him. I said, “Do you like hitting me?” and he

said, “Yes.” I asked him if he’d ever thought of trying it with

something else. “Like what?” he asked me, and I said, “Like a

belt.”

He seemed to like the idea, but we were both a little unsure

how to get started. I suggested we start with a spanking to sort

of warm up. He took me across his knee and slapped my but-

tocks about ten times; then we got into a foreplay thing, with

him kissing me very deeply and fingering my cunt.

I had smoked a joint before all this and that, plus the antici-

pation of what was going to happen, had me more turned on

than I can ever remember being. He asked me if I was ready,

272

and when I said I was (was I ever!) he undressed me and told

me to turn over on my stomach.

At first I was nervous that the whole thing would be a dis-

appointment, but after he hit me just once, I knew there was no

danger of that. It was fantastic! It hurt (although not terribly),

but I wanted it to go on forever: I can’t really describe the feel-

ing, except that I loved feeling helpless, and that he was so

much stronger, more dominant than I was.

We talked about it afterward, and it turned out that he’d al-

ways dug that type of thing too, but was afraid to broach the

subject to me. Thank goodness your book gave me the nerve to

bring it up, or I might never have known.

So I guess that while some fantasies aren’t ideal when

turned into reality, this one sure was. And it’s all because of

you, really, so thanks a lot.

Kellie

I have just finished reading My Secret Garden, and found it

to be one of the most interesting books I’ve read in ages. I

thought I might enjoy sharing my thoughts with you.

I am twenty-three years old, and my husband is twenty-six.

We have been married for six years and have two children.

I was surprised that most of the men you talked with were

so closed-minded about the existence of women’s sexual fanta-

sies. My husband not only admits that they exist but gets very

turned on when I share my fantasies with him. Our sexual rela-

tionship has always been good, but it gets more exciting all the

time, due to our fantasy-sharing.

I suppose my fantasies are typical. My favorite being that I

am seduced by an attractive man; sometimes he is someone we

know; more often, he is a stranger. I later tell my husband all

the details, relating it exactly, word for word, action by action.

Telling my husband what has happened to me is probably the

most exciting part of the fantasy. My husband insists that he

actually wants me to act out this fantasy. He wants to perform

cunnilingus on me (which has always been included in our

lovemaking) while I tell him what went on with this fantasy

273

man. He wants to hear everything the man does to me, just as I

tell him about it in my fantasy. He says just thinking about it

makes him climax. I admit that I am seriously considering

doing it, but I’m afraid of jeopardizing our relationship. My

husband and I are very close to each other, and this is impor-

tant to me. The interesting thing is that my husband is very

jealous and possessive of me, and I’m afraid that if I really did

act out this fantasy, that it might not have the desired effect.

However, he insists that it would not hurt our relationship, but

would add to it, as long as I am completely honest with him.

Another fantasy of ours is making it with a black man.

Yes, my husband would actually like to “go down” on a

black cock with me watching all the action. Even though most

men would not admit to being turned on by another man’s

cock, my husband does and is. He actually had an experience

with a black man when he was in the service, and had been

drinking quite a bit. He told me everything that happened, and

it did not repulse me in any way. In fact, it had quite the oppo-

site effect. It does not make him less of a man in my eyes I

know he is not a true homosexual, as he has proven that

through our relationship. But the thought that he enjoys sex so

much, that he thinks of pleasing men too, makes his sexuality

all the stronger to me. Know what I mean? I really dig his hon-

esty.

Well, I guess I’ve gone on long enough. I hope that I’ve been

able to add something useful to your studies.

P.S. My husband has read this letter and has approved my

sending it to you.

Lizzy

I’ve just finished a wonderful experience – reading Secret

Garden – and am taking advantage of your request to send on

further experiences.

It was great to know that I’m not alone in fantasizing, or in

actually using four-letter words, which I now love. In your

sequel, I hope you will pay more sympathetic attention to les-

bian relationships, which changed my own life.

274

For background – I am thirty-eight years of age, married fif-

teen years to a wonderful man whom I love dearly, and we

have three lovely children. My dear husband paid every possi-

ble attention to me during our marriage, and made every effort

to give me sexual satisfaction. Over the years, he fucked me

constantly, entered me from the rear, went down on me, gave

me hours of foreplay, all to no avail. No matter what he did, I

simply couldn’t come. Incidentally, I was a virgin when we

married. He tried being gentle, rough, raped me in the middle

of the night, and nothing helped. I enjoyed being close to him,

and during any sex, I’d start to lubricate, get soaked, and then

I’d dry up. By the time he’d come in my cunt, I was just waiting

for him to finish.

My husband was frantic to make me come, the darling, but

of course he was enjoying me less and less, as he felt very self-

ish coming when I didn’t. Then he brought some magazine

featuring male nudes in an effort to arouse me, but they did

nothing for me. When those failed, he brought home some

girlie magazines, the porno types, featuring lesbian sex acts. I

found those exciting, and told him so, so he had me read them,

and then he’d go down on me, or fuck me, and while it was

more exciting, I still couldn’t come.

After some weeks of this, my husband told me that his opin-

ion was that our problem was that what I subconsciously

wanted was sex with a woman, and, as he put it, this might

open the dam. When I objected, he reminded me that our own

sex acts were getting more and more infrequent, and he admit-

ted to me this was because he preferred to masturbate rather

than subject me to the torture of being aroused and then frus-

trated. So I asked where one would find a woman, and he

laughed and said that if I opened my eyes a bit, I’d see that a

certain very dear friend of mine was more than casually inter-

ested in me.

Well, for several weeks after that, I watched her very care-

fully each time we had coffee together, or went shopping, etc.,

and little by little, I became convinced that my husband might

just be right. My girl friend, who was also married and several

years younger than I was, certainly displayed more interest

than I had noticed. I noticed, for one thing, that each time we

275

met, her eyes went over my figure from top to bottom, with

special emphasis in the area of my tits, which are a firm 37.

Now that I’d been alerted, I noticed also that as we’d have cof-

fee or lunch, her eyes were much more on my chest than on my

face, and I concluded that my husband had read the signs cor-

rectly. Also, I began to look her over, and found her very sexy-

looking. I began to fantasize what it would be like to really

make love to her. I practiced, in my mind, and really enjoyed it.

Then, little by little, she introduced the subject of sex, and after

a while lesbian sex, which she said she practiced and loved.

When I asked if this didn’t lessen her pleasure with her hus-

band, she said that, quite to the contrary, it added to her marital

relations. She (let me call her Ethel) told me her husband knew

and fully approved, and had in fact joined her and her girl

friend at times, and that these experiences stimulated both of

them to better and wilder sex. At one point, she told me out-

right she was propositioning me, that I was the sexiest-looking

female she’d ever seen, and had always wanted to go to bed

with me. Incidentally, she was a believer in earthy language,

and what she actually said was that she wanted to suck my tits,

go down on me. My husband had never used such language

with me, but I found myself quite excited when she talked

about “fucking, sucking,” etc., and I also enjoyed her refer-

ences to tits, cunts, cocks, pricks, asses, etc.

Briefly, my husband continued to encourage me to try sex

with Ethel, with whom I finally made a date to, visit at her

home one morning when her husband would be at work. My

husband, whom I’ll call Bill, was delighted for me. In fact,

before he left for work that morning, he subjected me to some

foreplay, ended by going down on me only until I began to

lubricate. Then he said, “Now you’re Ethel’s,” kissed me and

left.

I showered, dressed, and drove to Ethel’s. When I arrived,

she was wearing just a sheer negligee, through which I could

quite plainly see her tits, and the vague outline of her cunt.

When she saw my reaction, she smiled, kissed me on the lips,

her tongue parted my lips and entered my mouth, and she had

my juices flowing again. From here on begins the fantasy

which I indulge in now whenever my husband goes down on

276

me, fucks me, front or rear, and we have a sixty-nine. When I

am particularly desirous of a long fantasy, Bill will go down on

me for an hour or more so that I can relive my experiences with

Ethel. All these experiences, in the rest of this letter, when we

lived together in fantasy, have really made my real sex life

beautiful.

After a bit, she led me to the bedroom, where she first re-

moved her negligee. Her naked body did excite me – her tits

were smaller than mine, but beautifully shaped, with sexy nip-

ples which were erect. Her body was lovely, and what stimu-

lated me greatly was that her cunt was clean shaven. She was a

beautiful sight, and looking at her, realized how right my hus-

band had been – I found her extremely desirable.

She came to me, kissed me again, placed my hand can her

tit, which I must admit felt terrific. I never expected a woman

could feel so exciting, which I suppose sounds very naive.

Then she began to undress me, while I continued to fondle her

tits, to my own surprise. When nay bra came off, she exclaimed

over my beautiful tits, caressed them, rubbed the nipples, and

sucked them till they came erect. Last off were my panties,

whereupon she knelt and kissed my cunt. Then she told me

how beautiful I was, that I had the most desirable body in the

world, that she wanted me desperately, etc. Between her talk-

ing and playing with me, she had me going very nicely, you

can be sure. It also served to make me forget that she was fe-

male, and she became just someone else who desired me pas-

sionately.

She then laid me down on the bed, laid down beside me,

and subjected me to a very long period of foreplay. She kissed

me from head to toe, turned me over, and did the same to my

backside, turned me back, kissed me with her tongue in my

mouth for a long period, sucked my nipples, lingered at my

thighs, kept telling me how much she wanted me for what

seemed like hours, with me getting more and more aroused by

the second.

Finally, when I felt that any more would be unbearable, I

begged her to get on with whatever she had in mind. With that,

she smiled, turned me to lie across their large bed, my hips at

the edge. Then she placed two pillows under my head, explain-

277

ing that half the thrill of getting sucked off was to be able to

watch it as well. She then knelt before me, spread my legs,

lifted them until my knees were at my chest, and began the

most incredible experience of my life. Her tongue ranged my

thighs, came up to my cunt, roamed the outer lips, came down

and through my inner cunt, circled the clitoris, came down

again and circled the inner lips, the inner wall, repeated this

innumerable times, came slowly up after I don’t know how

long, circled the clitoris, flicked across it, sideways, then up

and down, then sucked it in between her lips, licked it rapidly

now, circled it more rapidly, began to lick me faster and more

demandingly, brought me up several times more, till I thought

I’d go mad. Finally, she decided to make me come, and now

she concentrated on my clitoris, licking it up and down faster

and faster. And then it happened! I had expected that I’d soon

begin to dry up as usual, but seeing Ethel’s loving head be-

tween my legs, feeling her magnificent tongue in me, I found

my juices flowing more and more; then suddenly, I felt my

stomach muscles begin to contract violently. Every feeling was

centered in my cunt, my legs went down and closed around

Ethel’s head, and as she continued to lick me, I felt as if I were

exploding, and I began to come. My body convulsed, my hips

came up off the bed, and Ethel had all she could do to stay with

me. With my first orgasm, my darling Ethel just sucked in on

my clitoris; in between, she licked it rapidly, and with each

succeeding orgasm she sucked me in, then licked me again,

etc. You must understand that each orgasm was a real convul-

sion, each one forced a shriek from me, as this was the culmi-

nation of so many years of frustrated sex. According to Ethel, I

had somewhere around twenty orgasms that first time, and I for

one can believe it. After my last orgasm, Ethel kept her tongue

in my cunt, no movement, just holding it comfortingly against

the upper wall and clitoris, ready if any further orgasms oc-

curred. After some five minutes or so, I did have one of those

delayed spasms, so she merely licked the clitoris very gently till

it was over.

Nancy, she was real good, but so is Bill, and the difference

was in having a woman go down on you, seeing a female head

between your legs. How right Bill and Ethel both were! As

278

long as I live I will never forget that first climax, and will al-

ways be grateful to Ethel.

After I had rested awhile, lying in Ethel’s arms, full of grati-

tude, I put my hand to her tit, which again felt wonderful,

kissed her, feeling that I owed her quite a bit, then ran my hand

down to her clean cunt, which fascinated me. I had never even

thought about going down on a woman, had often thought that

the odor or taste must be unpleasant, but with Ethel, it was

different, as I didn’t give these things a thought. I was so grate-

ful I’d have done anything for her. As I proceeded with fore-

play, Ethel said it wasn’t necessary for me to reciprocate, that it

would be enough for her to masturbate, and her husband would

give her anything she required. I’m glad to say I was woman

enough to insist, and I followed the type of foreplay she had

used on me, although not so long. When I put a finger in her

cunt, I found her very wet, which excited me to think I could do

this to her. When I got around to using my tongue on her body,

I loved sucking her nipples, her thighs, and, rather to my sur-

prise, I found that her cunt not only smelled great but tasted

wonderful. It was at that moment that I understood why Bill so

enjoyed going down on me.

As an aside, if my typing is a bit erratic, Nancy, I’ve been

masturbating through much of it, because the memory is so

intensely exciting that my juices flow like mad when I think

about it, let alone write about it. I’ve come twice so far, once

with a finger and once with a dildo, so I can now continue.

Well, I ended that first time by sucking her off in her favor-

ite position – I lay flat on my back, she straddled my head,

lowered herself till I could reach her cunt and clitoris easily,

and she kept her upper lips spread to give me full access. Also,

in this position, she had me feel her tits throughout, rubbing

her nipples, fondling her, etc., and right before she was ready

to come, she had me put one arm around her, and insert a fin-

ger in her ass. She explained that the combination of my finger

with the strain of straddling me, made for a more intense cli-

max, and judging from the results, she was right. I just loved

sucking her off, and licking her stiff clitoris was out of sight.

When I came before, I was somewhat embarrassed that I had

shrieked with each spasm, and when Ethel came very violently,

279

I was delighted that she also tended to scream while coming.

When I was through with her, I felt like a million, because my

first time out, I had enjoyed the greatest of all thrills – making

somebody come intensely, most especially a woman, as mak-

ing a man come is automatic.

Before we finished that first day, Ethel introduced me to a

female sixty-nine, which I also loved, and we fucked each

other, at the same time; as strange as that may sound. Ethel

had what she called a double dildo, eighteen inches long, with

an imitation head and balls on each end. Before our first sixty-

nine, she and I had mutual foreplay for some time. Then when

we were both flowing greatly, she opened a drawer and took

out this giant dildo and explained its use to me, asking if I felt

like trying it. By then I was ready for anything, so I said fine.

So she lay me on my back, inserted about five or six inches in

my cunt, had me turn on my side with one leg raised. Then she

lay opposite me, put her legs between mine and slowly worked

her way into her end of the dildo. With that, she began to

pump, told me to do likewise, and we developed a nice rhythm

as I do when fucking Bill. It was marvelous! The rubber dildo

felt like a man’s cock, you could control how much you

wanted, and I could watch Ethel fucking away just as I was. I’d

never thought such a thing possible, but you live and learn.

Anyhow, we spent six or seven hours together that day, and

Ethel made me come I don’t know how many times. Before I

left her that day, she’d made a woman out of me, that’s for sure.

When I got home that day, I was all female. I should men-

tion that, before I left Ethel that day, she was very concerned

about my relations with Bill. After she and I had had a great

deal of sex, about an hour before we were due to part, she said

I must be prepared for Bill. So she gave me about an hour of

preliminaries, got me lubricating thoroughly, and then sent me

home!

Well, I told Bill all about it that evening, of course, and ex-

cited him no end. He was delirious at the thought that I had

actually come, and couldn’t wait to get to me. While we were at

dinner, he kissed me, felt my tits, put his hand under my dress,

tongued me, and in spite of all the times I had come with Ethel,

he had me flowing again. When I felt his cock, it was hard as

280

could be, and when he fucked me well before dinner was done,

for the first time in our married life, I came! Then he went

down on me, and I came again. Finally I went down on him,

and believe it or not, while I was sucking his cock, I myself

came once more! All this I owed to Ethel!

Bill insisted that I continue to see Ethel, which I, of course,

was most happy to do, and I’ve continued to have sex with her

since. I keep Bill fully advised of what goes on between Ethel

and me, which stimulates him no end. When I came home after

my first experience with Ethel, Bill and I had a whole night of

sex – he fucked me, went down on me, we had a sixty-nine. I

must admit that, after Ethel, Bill looked better to me than ever

before, and more important, the first time Bill sucked my cunt,

I came beautifully, and even more significant, when he fucked

.me, I came for him, and this was the greatest gift he could

have received!

Since then, Bill has expanded his thinking on sex. With his

urging, I still see Ethel several times a week, and I religiously

tell Bill everything that goes on between Ethel and me. After

each time I have sex with Ethel, sex with Bill is much more

exciting and satisfying.

Additionally, Bill has now brought me some new appli-

ances, as I’ve also learned to masturbate satisfactorily. He

brought me, for instance, a very sophisticated dildo with a rub-

ber bulb, which one fills with warm soapy liquid. When I jerk

off with it, which is frequent because Bill travels quite a lot, I

use it to fuck myself (it’s nine inches long, like Bill), but when

I’m ready to come, I just squeeze the bulb, and the warm soapy

liquid just like Bill’s semen squirts into my cunt, so it’s pretty

much like having Bill there. More often, though, Ethel is with

me and fucks me with the dildo, or sometimes Bill himself

does it for me. The point is, Nancy, that either Ethel or Bill can

make me come today easily. Bill travels quite a bit, and when

Ethel is not available, he telephones me at night and directs me

in the use of this great dildo.

Ethel made it possible for Bill to make me come almost at

will. Today, he can fuck me and make me come, go down on

me, screw me in the ass, and, very strangely, even when I go

281

down on him, I can also come. All of this because I’m thinking

of Ethel at all times.,

I must mention that Ethel also introduced me to another

marvelous act. At one point, she inserts a dildo deep in me, had

me across the bed; then she sits beside me, spreads my cunt’s

lips, and licks my clitoris while she fucks me with the dildo.

Bill does this also, now – very effective!

While I was with Ethel, she suggested to me that my cunt

would be much more attractive if I would shave it clean. She

said she’d be glad to do the job for me, or Bill could. When I

suggested this to Bill, he was thrilled, and that very same

night, he stripped me, undressed himself, first used a scissors,

then a woman’s electric razor, and shaved me clean. When he

saw my naked cunt, he went down on me at once, and my cunt

had the same effect on Ethel. Both said it was the most beauti-

ful cunt ever, and since then, Bill and Ethel have taken turns

shaving me. After each time, I get sucked off, which is great.

Now, Nancy, I come regularly, with almost anything that’s

done to me. Bill fucks me, and I come; he goes down on me,

and I come; he fucks me in the ass, and I come; he puts a dildo

in my cunt and sucks my clitoris, and I come; Ethel goes down

on me, and I come; she fucks me with a dildo, and I come;

with her or Bill I have a sixty-nine and I come; when I mastur-

bate with a finger or a dildo, I come. (Time out right now for

coming with a dildo in my cunt.)

Whether you use any part of this letter or not, Nancy, it’s

been a great pleasure to write it. More than anything, it’s great

to be able to use basic language, as men do. Since my experi-

ence, with Ethel, my husband uses appropriate four-letter

words, which thrill me. Where before he used to say, “let’s

have intercourse,” he now says, and I answer in kind, “Let’s

fuck, dear, or I want to suck your cunt or fuck you with a

dildo.” In reply I tell him, “Fuck me, Bill, screw me in the ass,

suck my cunt, or I want to suck your cock.” Ethel uses the

same type of language, as I do with her, and she’ll phone me,

for instance, and say, “ Lizzy, darling, let’s get together today

so I can suck you off, fuck you with a dildo, or let’s have a fuck

with a double dildo.”

282

Also since Ethel, I’ve masturbated almost daily, as I find I’m

much more sexual than I had thought. When I’m in real need,

I’ll phone Bill at his office, and he’ll instruct me how to mas-

turbate over the phone. If he’s alone, he’ll also jerk off while

we’re talking. He’ll tell me to arouse myself by feeling my tits

and nipples, jerk myself off with a finger, then just how to in-

sert the dildo, fucking me by phone and always making me

come.

This is the point of it all, Nancy, which is that for some

women such as me what it takes is another woman. For this

reason, I urge that, if you are publishing a sequel, a bit more

attention be paid to lesbian sex, which has saved me from a life

of frustration, and also figures to do the same for many other

women. After every session I have with Ethel, Bill is sexier

than ever. After a day spent with her, Bill spends most of the

night fucking me, going down on me, having sixty-nines, etc.

All through sex with him and Ethel, I just keep coming like

crazy, and if you ask me who’s more effective, I couldn’t really

say. Now that my curt is clean-shaven, Bill fucks me and goes

down on me more than ever, and he insists that I have sex with

Ethel at least a few times a week. As Bill predicted, the dam is

broken, and I come almost at will. Also, I don’t have to tell you

that to be aroused, I don’t need the actual experience, just the

fantasy of it will do the trick.

So, Nancy, if you do publish a sequel, please stress lesbian

sex much more, as there must be thousands of women who are

in the position I was. Bill and I were never happier, never had

more sex, and I enjoy both of them completely. Bill fucks and

sucks me off on the average of ten or twelve times per week,

plus at least two days with Ethel. In addition, I masturbate four

or five times per week when Bill is home, twice that when he’s

away.

As a postscript, Ethel is now after me to join her and her

husband in a threesome, but I’ve suggested that she join Bill

and me instead. In a foursome, I suppose it would be expected

that the two men have sex as well, and this is not for Bill, al-

though Ethel has hinted that her husband might not be averse.

We shall see! I’ll keep you advised.

283

Again, Nancy, it’s been a great pleasure to be able to write

frankly. Sex with women and men is wonderful, and I would

like to think that I have helped many other women .make up

their minds.

P.S. I’ve masturbated three times during this letter, so

whether you use it or not, I’ve benefited by three great cli-

maxes. Like I said, just thinking or writing about my past ex-

periences, my fantasies, turns me on.

I have chosen the letter that follows to be the last in this

book, because it sums up for me all that is best about women’s

sexuality. Joni acts out her own fantasies, and those of her

lover too; she even made a living “for three months” out of one

of them. Her fantasies are as varied and unexpected as some of

the best kinds of sex itself – cheerful, self-accepting, and even

humorous, but filled with women’s unending desire to see sex

as a vehicle for a more abundant life. Joni is serious in her

writing, but never heavy, imaginative to the point of approach-

ing science fiction, but so filled with the erotic juices of life

that her futuristic machines are never more important than her

lusty women and men.

Joni tells me that her letter contains her “own very genuine

fantasy.” The fact that she has put it into skillful story form

does not mean that the emotions are not as real as those in any

other woman’s fantasy. All fantasies are “made up.” Joni’s are

made up by a writer. That’s all.

Joni

Since childhood, I’ve wanted to be a dancer – with a streak

of exhibitionistic sexuality involved. There is something sexu-

ally seductive about performing dances. In earliest puberty (or

before – I can’t remember exactly) I daydreamed such old-

fashioned things as being a maiden captured and forced to

dance naked for the enjoyment of a sultan or Arabian prince

(who no doubt fell in love with me and married me to make the

fantasy proper and respectable). In adolescence, I admitted to a

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secret desire to be a stripper. But to my inhibited and puritani-

cally raised mind, such an ambition could never be realized,

and so I used to dream of being a movie star who played the

role of a stripper in a film. Talk about inhibitions! This desire

of mine was certainly never mentioned, let alone fulfilled, after

I married a very puritanical husband (he was a lousy lover, and

we were never good friends, either), but, luckily, I met a man

who uninhibited me (we’ve been living together for almost

seven years now). His own fantasies centered around the ele-

ment of the brazen femme fatale – strippers, women who pose

in provocative stages of dress and undress in men’s magazines

– so in his presence, hurray! I can live my fantasies and please

both of us! When I told him of my secret desire to be an hon-

est-to-God stripper he encouraged me.

I put together an “act.” And I performed it to an audience in

a topless bar for over three months. The audiences were im-

pressed – they grew larger every week. I was as sexy and se-

ductive as I could possibly be – putting on an act, that is.

Something about patterning it, performing over and over,

makes it grow stale – a job to be done. It was really marvelous

fun, at first, but to keep on creating new acts and dances and

props was distracting to my number one Art, that of writing.

And the old got boring, and not particularly sexy after a while.

I was an actress, performer, creative artist, more than a woman

involved in sexual pleasures. I gave it up, but not before I’d

enjoyed the sensation of inspiring desire in many men, and

pretty well fulfilling – as best as reality can – my secret ambi-

tion. I still love to dance seductively. And I’ve added a dimen-

sion to sexual fantasies (my own) I never had before.

In my fantasies now, it is the future, and I have transcended

time. Sexual mores have changed. I am a professional exhibi-

tionist-seductress-prostitute. Every night, I do my job, perform

my art, and fulfill my sexual needs – all at the same time. In an

amphitheater, a large Sex Machine (miracle of science) has

been installed. An audience of more than a hundred men pay a

big admission price to participate. I am the star. I wear gor-

geous clothes – the slinkiest dresses, furs, gloves … the most

delicate, sexiest underwear. I wear something different every

night. I enter the center stage – a sort of glass domed affair

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with soft spotlights. The men can watch me from little cubicles

– one for each man, so he can’t be distracted by the others.

Electronic waves produce sensations and effects for each man

inside his individual room. The glass wall between us is sup-

posed to be one-way, so that they can see me but I don’t see

them (some are still shy, self-conscious despite the new moral-

ity), but actually, I wear contact lenses that enable me to see

them all very clearly.

Inside the stage, I begin to seduce them. I slink and recline;

dance a little, slowly remove my garments, one by one. I wear

a see-through bra and panties, sit on a low couch, one leg

drawn up. I roll over, move about. I take off the panties and

bra. I dance and move as if I were making love. All the while, I

can see each man in his condition of stimulation. A whole sea

of erected penises (aroused by my actions) encircle me. I can

watch while some of them go into the spasms of orgasm,

ejaculating fountains of semen, while they enjoy the exact sen-

sations of having entered my body as I move, as I do … and

look so desirable. Of course, the Sex Machine works for me,

too. Unknown to the men, I can choose any one of them I want,

and recreate his exact actions and form in my own body; or I

can push any number of buttons (they are hidden under the

cushion of the couch) and, in effect, be copulating with ten of

them at a time. The sight of me in the midst of orgasm and

multi-orgasm makes all those who haven’t yet climaxed, come,

and those who already did, do it again. It’s a gigantic orgiastic

vision all around me, while I copulate with over a hundred

men.

The future holds a promise of much sexual fun for me. Per-

haps I am one of the few science-fiction-sexual-fantasists

around. Perhaps it’s a good way to escape the mundane and the

residue of Puritanism. The future … or life on another planet.

What if there were a planet where sexuality had NEVER had

an element of forbidden evil? What would it be like? I like to

imagine … . On this planet (Earth), all pleasures but one are

enjoyed without secrecy. We like to eat, and we go to dinner

parties and gourmet restaurants. We dance and sing at social

functions. We perform and watch the arts. Some of us become

gourmets and connoisseurs of various pleasures and arts. What

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if we could treat sexual pleasure the same way? No, neither

brothels nor modern swinger’s clubs work the way I have in

mind. They lack something – erotic finesse, style… Maybe

what I’m thinking of is impossible, because the best sexual

designs work between two people who are in tune to each

other. It’s pretty hard to share and incorporate such personal

intimate needs with those very different from yourself. Or is

that a false concept created out of my time and place? So far it

has been true, but for me in fantasy, one can be a time and

space traveler as well as a designer of everything to suit one-

self.

I travel, to a very far distant time. Life-styles have changed

enormously. Sexual needs can be fulfilled in different ways.

One can stay home with a lover … or go out to charming

places. Pleasure Places. A little like a combination of a fine

hotel, nightclub. Lovers can go together, for that matter, to

enjoy the entertainment and stimulants. Or, lacking a lover,

one goes alone. There are many choices – things to suit differ-

ent tastes. The decor is always charming, and conducive to

pleasure. There are foyers and hallways that are museums of

beautiful erotic art. Statues, paintings, I have my favorites –

Hercules pleasuring Aphrodite, done in enormous white mar-

ble, every detail marvelously executed and visible. I like the

warm-water, perfumed baths with their fountains and water-

falls and underwater lights. Of course, whenever there are

dancing girls, I’m one of them (often the star). I can do every-

thing from a Moulin Rouge can-can to a harem girl’s gyrating

belly dance, not to mention a tableau of naked statues come to

life – Venus and Apollo; a nymph and a faun, consummating

their desires in a ballroom that recreates a misty green forest.

Couples can dance, in many ways … costumed; naked; in dim

light making love as they move to waltzes, tangos. There are

rooms where a handsome, naked masseur pleasures me with

massage … his skill matched by his enjoyment of his job.

There is a large room where men and women walk about, ex-

posing their bodies while they sip champagne. They fondle and

examine each other in the manner of enjoying tasty canapés

before a banquet. This is entertaining to me, because most of

the men have erections – a room filled with erected penises is a

287

dream room come to life. What fun to see so many shapes and

sizes – to give one a little tweak, another a nice rub … . A cer-

tain type pleases me most. We all have our preferences. Occa-

sionally, a man will slip one to me … right inside. Then I can

tweak or rub him with other than my hand. We are a parade of

beautiful bodies, engaged in little dancing and fondling move-

ments. No ugliness here. No pot bellies, pendulous breasts, no

wrinkled skin (cosmetic surgery corrects all those things by

now; I think it was Marlene Dietrich who said, nudity is easy

for the beautiful; difficult for the ugly). If one wants to grab a

quick orgasm, one can, but there’s more to come. Sometimes

you just can’t help getting carried away. Fulfillment is a delight

at any given moment, titillating those who are not directly in-

volved. I couldn’t help myself for a moment there; he just

popped it in while we were dancing, and we spilled cham-

pagne over my breasts (we got rather active and excited), so I

think I’ll go bathing … . The pool is languidly warm; I swim

like a fish after playing in the cooling fountain. Beautiful men

swim by me with erections like fish nosing into the crevices of

my body. One pokes gently at my backside while another

teases my pubes. The silhouettes of our bodies look graceful

with the underwater lights shining. The lights turn rose, then

blue, then green, then gold … then rose again. I spread my legs

for the pleasant sensation of catching fish … my breasts are

being stroked by wet slippery hands. Erections swim at me

from every direction … I think I’ve caught a good one. He is

strong enough to hold me above water while I squeeze his pe-

nis up inside me. The water froths and bubbles. The water has

a delicious Jacuzzi movement – waves pulsing and lapping,

inside and out. I’m a bit of a glutton, but this is one gluttony

that never makes you fat … Again … just hold it there another

moment. I can hear applause. They applaud me, and I applaud

myself. It’s clever to be such a glutton … I could do it again

and again … but then I’m not trying out for the Olympics or

anything. Big deal. I’m just here to enjoy myself.

The invitation comes from a most interesting man – the im-

presario of my favorite Pleasure Place. He has a lot of style and

is rather jaded. They say he has a special, room where the most

extraordinary things take place. Rumors are that he’s so used to

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all this, it takes something quite beyond the ordinary to please

him. He’s a bit of a voyeur of course (but that’s fun and allowed

…)

Looks a little bit like Humphrey Bogart … George Raft …

Rudolph Valentino … and maybe Alonzo Cludish (he was

twenty-first century, so anyone reading this, twentieth century,

wouldn’t know whom I was talking about), Marcello Mas-

troianni – of course, Marcello in 8½ would do quite well … .

The impresario this particular fellow … all jaded and Don

Juanish, it is said, has a room where women come, and go out

of their minds with desire. He has a machine, they say, where

twenty-four-hour-orgasms are produced and used to write the

most crashing symphonic music (his son, a composer-

conductor of great genius takes credit)… That is, you see, if he

can drive a woman crazy enough in this room of his, the elec-

tronic impulses of her agony-ecstasy are reproduced in musical

form. It’s just a rumor, what he can do … but of course it’s

scientifically possible.

His invitation has nothing to do with music. It seems, on the

surface, to be purely part of his own lucrative business. (He is

the businessman, his son the genius. Sort of a Godfather thing

… .) What he wants, he says, is that I become a giantess for a

week or two. He can extend the cellular structure of my being

(sexual and otherwise) to as great a degree as he wishes by the

use of a new machine he has purchased. I can be enormous;

mountains for breasts … a vagina like Carlsbad Caverns … .

I don’t get it …. What’s the point?

Men have never fulfilled their real sexual desires, he ex-

plains. They dream of crawling about like hungry worm-babies

in mountainous, squishy breasts … and then they would like to

go further … be sucked into the soft, deep caverns of the

womb. God knows, it was the best heaven they ever knew … .

We’ve never been able to give anyone this opportunity before.

The machine I bought for you cost me a billion.

Why me?

I’ve been watching you … when you come here to enjoy

yourself.

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He watches me with admiring, appreciative eyes. There is

something fascinating about the dark wisdom of jaded, know-

ing eyes. I like them better than questioning, worried ones.

Watching me? (Little old me … .)

Yes, and I’m sure you’d really enjoy this, and I would enjoy

your enjoying, and so could hundreds of others. Picture your-

self … an enormous giantess. Your body a universe. Each man

a phallic symbol. You are the sea, and they can swim in you.

You are the moon rising above them. Your tremendous or-

gasms shake the earth. People would like to see that … feel the

tremors. Can you imagine?

Something is missing, I say. Who could satisfy me now? A

penis the size of the tip of a used toothpick? And can you pic-

ture how ugly my skin would be? Pores that would look gutted

by the acne of meteorites. You ever see pores under a magnify-

ing glass? I don’t want to be a monster.

That would be a simple thing to correct with the machine.

We can program it to make your skin as smooth as you wish.

You will be entered by a team of scuba divers. Their equipment

is not the clumsy old-fashioned kind that would be irritating

and in the way. Think of it … penis-sized men struggling up

into your depths – as many as would please you. You would be

the first woman in history to experience orgasms by the entry of

the entire body, and being, of a man into your tunnel of love.

You can return to normal size anytime you wish.

Listen, I say, the contractions inside my vagina during or-

gasm might squeeze a poor little man to death….

No, that’s not possible. They would enjoy the sensation of

your orgasm over their entire bodies – it would be a sexual

rebirth.

First of all, on this night when I’m to become a giantess –

the greatest sex goddess of all time – I get to pick the vaginal-

astronauts of my choice. All fine specimens, muscular, strong-

looking, possessing my favorite type of cocks. I choose more

than I figure I’ll need, just for the fun of choosing. Then, be-

cause there is no inside building large enough to contain a gi-

antess, we go outside into a very lovely, starlit, moonlit night.

We won’t need any spotlights, I say. The moonlight is just per-

fect (I’m still a little worried about how my skin will look). I

290

step inside the designated few acres of space and walk to the

center. I’m wearing a lacy, push-up bra and little panties. Be-

cause on my body they are as much a part of my cellular struc-

ture as are my fingernails and hair, they will enlarge with me.

The machine is beamed on me; its rays feel rather like a warm

breeze. I can smell the faint odor of ozone produced by the

tremendous rush of energy. I begin to grow, quite painlessly –

a pulsing sensation. I am rising up toward the starry sky. It

seems. as close as a ceiling. The moon is a glowing light bulb.

I can see for miles, lights and buildings, roads and mountains,

rivers and seas. Down below me, hundreds of miniature people

stare upward in wonder and awe. A big safety net is being

quickly constructed on my acre of space (which seems only a

few feet to me now). My squadron of deep-sea divers stand

ready and waiting at its edge. They are naked except for suita-

bly shaped helmets on their heads (like the reddish tips of pe-

nises – outsized to them, but now quite suitable to me – a six-

or seven-foot man, the equivalent of a six- or seven-inch cock

…). Dance music has been turned on over loudspeakers, but it

is faint and far away to me. “Turn up the music, please,” I say,

and my voice, louder than any loudspeaker, reverberates over

the landscape. The Lilliputians below clasp their hands over

their ears. The music is turned up, and I can hear the drumbeat.

I sway to the rhythm. I am a beautiful giantess-sex-goddess.

No one has ever seen anything like me before. I pull down one

side of my bra, exposing a soft white mountain of a breast. I

draw down the other side, and two heavy, mountain-breasts

swing over the crowd, joggling as I dance. Some of the little

men (overcome with the sight, it would seem) faint or collapse.

I feel very heavy, but it is a pleasant, slow heaviness like slow-

motion films. I have a beautiful, monstrous, symmetrical body.

I put my fingers on the top of my panties and begin to push

them down. I push them down to my thighs, exposing a naked,

slowly gyrating pelvis of unbelievable size. Little heads crane

upward. I can see their wide open eyes and mouths. I have to

be careful when I draw up one leg (I’d hate to lose my balance

and step on anybody). I pull my panties off, one leg and then

the other, stand with my legs spread apart. “So, Little People

… “ I whisper very softly, although my voice still echoes from

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mountaintop to shining sea. “You’ve never seen anything like

this before?” I rock my pelvis and spread my legs wider apart

as I bend my knees. For a moment, my bed-sized clitoris is

exposed above them. They jump up and down with excitement.

“Let’s see it again . . again . “ I can hear them crying in little

voices like mewing kittens. “Please, Great Sex Goddess …

show us again!” I fingertip my labia apart for a few seconds,

smiling down on them. The moisture of my excitement creates

drops of falling rain. Giant Goddesses do everything on a grand

scale.

“Well, my cocky astronauts …” I whisper to my crew. “Are

you ready for your journey?”

This starts a flurry among them. They scurry about under the

safety net, carrying metal parts. In a minute, they’ve fashioned

a towering (to them – only loin-high to me) erector-set steplad-

der between my legs; I watch them clamber up. The first and

fastest cock-man reaches the top, and I pick him up and press

his naked little body against one of my great breasts. He

squirms and rubs himself into the flesh appreciatively. When I

take him away from my breast, I see that his adorable tooth-

pick-tip-sized prick is sticking straight up. “You darling little

things you … “ I whisper (loud as a foghorn) and ever so gen-

tly, hold him up to my mouth, licking him all over. His legs

spread and kick delightedly in the air while my big wet tongue

licks his loins and bottom. I fit his tiny cock like a pencil tip

between my lips. He hangs on to my loose-hanging, twenty-

foot-long hair, and I can hear little groans and moans coming

from under his helmet while I suck as if his cock were a small

straw, wriggling my tongue against it. In a few seconds, he

collapses limply in my hand, and I can taste a few miniature

drops of semen on my tongue. My other cock-men have

reached the top of the ladder by now and are probing and ex-

amining my giant clitoris. It tickles quite pleasantly. I spread

my legs to make the most of it. “Ummm …” I murmur echo-

ingly. They certainly know their business. Some of them may

have been special masseurs before this adventure. “Well … “ I

whisper to the limp one in my hand. “Do you want to go on

with the others, or do you need a breather?” There are noises

292

from under his helmet I can’t quite hear. I put the phallic tip

into my ear. “What did you say?”

“I said I want to go on. rd like to be the first one in if I may.

A big step for mankind, and myself as well!”

I repeat these brave words in a whisper for the crowd’s bene-

fit. They applaud – an oddly squeaky little sound. I put the

cock-man back on the ladder top with the others. “He’s first,

remember. After all he got to the top of the ladder first.”

His phallic-tip helmet enters my cavern smoothly. Then he

seems to get a bit stuck, pushing hard with his feet against the

ladder. He is a bit broad in the shoulders for a cock. I have to

help a little – turning him this way and that until his shoulders

work through. I can feel the pressure inside me of his squirm-

ing and pushing upward.

It is quite an extraordinary sensation. “Wow … “ I say, for-

getting the Lilliputians’ delicate eardrums, but most of them are

too wonderstruck and excited to bother covering their ears.

They’ve all undressed by now and are empathetically imitating

myself and the cock-men. The women with wide-spread legs

and rocking hips; the men shuddering and wriggling as if try-

ing to squirm into my body. My number one cock-man has

disappeared, but I can feel him working inside me like crazy.

By God, I can tell you, a broad-shouldered cock with arms and

legs is something else!

The next one needs some assistance, too. I’m getting so

steamy and ready, I shove him rather violently into me when he

gets stuck. The two of them fill me up. If they keep wriggling

like that, I’m going to come any minute. My torso is shaking all

over the place. I jerk my hips, and my feet jump a little, shak-

ing the ground. But now the second one has disappeared after a

moment of legs sticking out and kicking. I do like to have

something stretching apart the opening, rubbing my clitoris. I

assist a third, as far as he’ll go, which is just about right. Penis-

head inside and broad shoulders where I need him outside.

With the three of them overflowing my insides and moving like

snakes or fish, I’m almost out of my mind …. It’s going to be

an orgasm to shake the earth; I hope I don’t hurt anything … or

anyone… . But I’ve gone this far, and it’s going to have to come

… . “Look out!” I say, like a crash of thunder. I dance wildly,

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and the world shudders and shakes. The moon-bulb in the sky

jiggles, and the stars whirl around. It’s coming, and it’s going

to be big; oh, so sweet and big!

The first orgasm expels a cock-man like a ping-pong ball

into the net. I don’t stop, but just keep working at it, and the

second jolt sends the second man whirling out like a trapeze

artist. I’ve got one good one left … I can feel him moving from

the depths of my insides like a hearty eel. I can’t help scream-

ing with the pleasure of this last one – shudders in my whole

body that make trees sway and rocks come rolling down moun-

tains. As I complete my giant orgasm, number one cock-man

shoots forth from my inside Pleasure Place; his darling little

prick is ejaculating a tiny fountain of semen into the air.

I sit down in my small space, a little out of breath, being

careful not to disturb anything or squash anyone. The earth is

still shaking. I see that my Lilliputians are having the orgy of

their lives, and a few thousand orgasms – even in miniature –

can create quite an earthquake.

The next night, I request that I be given a longer, larger area,

because I think it would be great fun to have more cock-men,

some of them rolling about and squirming and climbing over

the soft flesh of my gigantic breasts, belly … while others take

turns climbing up my great loin-crevice to dip themselves in

and out of my soft red bathtub clitoris. This would have to be

done while I’m lying down, stretched out to my full seventy-

five or eighty feet. Then I can just lie there and feel them push-

ing themselves up into my cavern until the sensation drives me

out of my mind ….

During the week that I was a Giant Sex Goddess, the impre-

sario’s son wrote some of the greatest symphonies of his ca-

reer. As late as the twenty-third century, people were still going

into orgasmic spasms just listening to them …. Then every-

body got too jaded for that. Some rather extraordinary genital

evolutionary changes had occurred … but then, that’s another

fantasy.

294

AFTERWORD

I have been able to print only a fraction of the letters I

have received since publication of My Secret Garden. As I

stated in the opening chapter, the overwhelming note of self-

acceptance in these letters, the low level of guilt about sex,

places this collection of material a generation ahead of those

women who contributed to Garden.

In a sense, it took more courage for the women who ap-

peared in my first book to talk about their fantasies. That was

still a time when it was widely thought, even by therapists, that

only “troubled” women had fantasies. The subject had not yet

been given mass media okay, it had not been widely discussed

on television, in newspapers and magazines.

The women who appear in these pages, above all, had the

comfort of having read My Secret Garden before they wrote

me. It helped them to look at themselves and their sexuality in

a new light; it gave them information on the most intimate

ideas and experiences of other women with which to compare

themselves: As you have noticed, almost every letter contains

the phrase, “Thank God, I’m not the only one.”

But women’s sexuality is only half the picture. If we believe

in liberation, we must accept the logic that women cannot be

free if our men are still chained to old, outworn, macho no-

tions. If women are experts at sexual fantasy (as I believe we

are), perhaps our outspokenness about it, our honesty about

what we really think and feel will encourage men to reassess

their sexual lives too.

Half the mail I have received since Garden has been from

men. Most of them have been fascinated to find there was an

aspect of female sexuality that up to now had been hidden or

closed to them. I originally wanted to include these letters from

men at the back of this volume. I thought it would be informa-

tive and exciting for women, but I thought men too would re-

ceive reinforcement, finding broader dimensions to their own

295

sexuality. It was this latter idea – plus lack of space – that

made me change my mind and go along with the suggestion so

many men made in their letters: why not give male sexuality

the space it deserved, and do a totally separate book on men’s

sexual fantasies?

If Garden had freed women to roam in wider sexual lati-

tudes than they had believed possible or were capable of, it had

also suggested to men that they too might be erotically more

imaginative than their own literature and culture had so far

depicted them. Any person reading Garden, or this book, can

feel how liberating it is for a woman to know that even her

most bizarre tastes and ideas are shared by other women. It is

the compelling emotion of both books: “Thank God, I am not

alone.” I used to think men shared some mystic mass camara-

derie, that simply being a man meant you belonged to “The

Club.” I have come to believe that many men, in their sexuality

at least, are as hidden and lonely as we women have been.

The fact is, I don’t know anything about men’s sexual fanta-

sies … except for the glimpse I’ve been given in the mail to

date. The main thing it has taught me is that I have been wrong

to assume that male eroticism was the simple stuff on which

we were all raised: the films, magazines, advertisements, and

so on, that depict men in our culture as compulsive consumers

of the Penthouse Bunny, the man who can’t get enough tits and

ass, who dreams of devouring women like peanuts, and who

doesn’t feel sexual unless he’s aggressive.

At the close of this book, there is an address where men can

write me. I hope they will be as frank as the women whose

letters we have just read, and will send in their fantasies – dur-

ing sex, masturbation, and those that pop into the mind at all

other times, too – for a forthcoming book. Please use the lan-

guage which is natural to you, and include as much autobio-

graphical detail as possible. What makes a fantasy most inter-

esting and valuable to a researcher is an understanding of the

life out of which it grows.

I expect to be surprised by what I receive. It is time that men

too were released from the normative bludgeoning of the media

that equates cowboys in cigarette ads with masculinity, and a

296

cold heart with virility. If we have been surprised by the variety

and extent of women’s sexual imagination as seen through their

fantasies, why should we not expect to find a new dimension in

men’s sexuality as well?

And if we do, won’t both sexes be all the better for it.

A LAST-MINUTE WORD FROM

NANCY FRIDAY

In my continuing work on women’s sexuality, I would be

grateful for readers’ help. I would like to hear your sexual

fantasy. Please be as detailed as possible about what hap-

pens in the fantasy; include as much of your own autobio-

graphical history as you can: age, sex, marital status, fam-

ily upbringing, sexual preference. As always, I guarantee

your anonymity. Please write to me: c/o P.O. Box 634,

Key West, FL 33040

NANCY FRIDAY

July, 1982

297

Document Outline

TITLE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

AN INTRODUCTION

Part One – Where Do Sexual Fantasies Come From

Chapter 1 – Childhood

Dorothy

Carla and Tom

Jennie

Sarah

Claudia

Janice

Denise

Frank

Lana

Robyn

Ivy

Bonnie

Sophie

Dr. John Harrison

Deedee

Loretta

Sharon

Brenda

Gena

Joyce

Chapter 2 – Adolescence

Sis

Beth Anne

Penelope

Jenny

Veevee

Katherine

Muffie

Carina

June

Tina

Toby

Penny

Cecillia

Isabel

Chapter 3 – Looking

Roxanne

Sharon

Molly

Jackie

Sally

Marylou

Chapter 4 – Frustration

Laura

Biba

Lyle

Dot

Gloria

Callie

Arlene

Bunny

Sherri

Ginger

Ricky

Stella

Jill

Part 2 – The Uses Of Sexual Fantasy

Chapter 5 – Daydreaming

Lulu

Jackie

Ethel

Samantha

Debbie

Connie

Elaine

Sophie

Killie

Libby

Phyllis

Marilyn

Moreen

Janet

Lucia

Lilly

Wilma Joan

Chapter 6 – Masturbation

Emma

Venice

Libby

Dorothy

Liberated Lady

Noranna

Fanny

Liz

Anonymous

Diane

Cecilia

Carole

Gabbie

Isolde

Chapter 7 – During Sex

Lynn

Jan

lsabel

Kate

Helen

Riva

Beth

�Shoulders�

Monica

Delia

Daisy

Vi

Chapter 8 – Dreams Come True

Carolyn

May

Chessie

Rose Ann

Nessie

Kellie

Lizzy

Joni

AFTERWORD