Crystal, age 40
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Four-year college degree
Writer
New York, USA
I'm turned on by intelligent alpha males. The best sex I ever had was masturbating on the phone while my online pen pal did the same on the other end, and hearing him come at the same time I did as he said my name. My favourite fantasy is having sex for the first time with him – the man I write to daily online but have never met. My sex life would improve if I could finally fulfil my fantasies in real life with this man.
Rowan, age 40
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
College
Writer
New England, USA
I feel so much more comfortable with and proud of my sexuality. It's not only part of who I am, but part of my power as a woman. I believe that women who ignore their sexuality are not as powerful as they can be and have cut themselves off from a very important part of who they are. My sexuality is part of who I am, and my imagination only gets better with age and confidence.
Some of the best sex I ever had was when I met a lover at a hotel. He was dressed in a tux. The role-play was that he was the groom-to-be and I was a bridesmaid with the hots for him and wanted just one time with him before he married my friend. We fucked for well over an hour on that fantasy, pleasing each other orally, vaginally and anally. It was wonderful.
I like to fantasise about being a courtesan and pleasing men of my choice; being a goddess, worshipped and adored; and, surprise – seducing the package delivery boy! For some reason I find myself frequently feeling frisky in the early afternoons. My kids are in school, I'm home alone and my mind . . . wanders. Before I know it, I'm up in my bedroom masturbating. One of my favourite fantasies is that, before I get upstairs, the doorbell rings. When I answer it, I find a good-looking delivery man there with a large heavy package. He asks me to sign for it, and I ask if he wouldn't mind bringing it in for me, since it's so big. He says yes, and I ask him if he would bring it up to my bedroom. I get a suspicious look, but he agrees.
I follow him upstairs and tell him the truth. What's in the box has nothing to do with the bedroom, but I'm totally horny and I would love him to fuck me. I kiss him deeply and his response is all the answer I need. We strip quickly and get into bed. As he's kissing and touching and fingering me, he asks me if he can go down on me. His girlfriend doesn't let him and he loves doing it (hey . . . it's my fantasy!). I tell him I love that and he's welcome to, and I spread my legs for him.
Usually I come thinking about this stranger licking me to orgasm. Other times it's when he's deep inside me that I come. And some days I put my husband returning home early into the fantasy – and being touched and taken by both men gives me an explosive climax.
Name withheld, age 45
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
Some college
Writer
California, USA
I know what I really want now, before I just daydreamed. I want a tall man, with a thick cock, a great sense of humour, and the power to make things happen in his life. Before I wasn't sure what I wanted. My imaginary lover was just a dark figure with no real details. Now I fantasise about a famous man who finds my ass irritable as well as irresistible. We lock eyes in a crowded room and fireworks go off. He is over 6'4" and has blue eyes; he pushes my sexual safe buttons. We have a past life connection and we hump like rabbits. Sounds funny, but true.
Michelle, age 32
Heterosexual
Celibate
GCSE
Nanny
Location withheld, UK
I'm turned on by men with a nice smile or an accent. A gorgeous bottom always helps! I fantasise about some guy I fancy turning up on my doorstep and, before any words are spoken, he kisses me, rips off my clothes, and makes love to me right there in the hall, then the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, and finally the bedroom.
Natalie, age 40
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
Children
Post-graduate coursework
Self-employed retail business/Property management
Arizona, USA
I fantasise about Tim McGraw (the country and western singer), having sex in public, sex with strangers, and sex with a younger man in his prime (since I'm in my prime right now). While I think about Tim McGraw often (and can direct my dreams in that way by listening to him before I go to sleep), lately I've been fantasising about my husband and trying new things with him. While we have amazing sex when we do, the frequency has lessened. He'd never had oral sex performed on him or anal sex until we got together. I try to think of new ways to please him in our real life, but my imagination and fantasies are a bit beyond him. I do enjoy minor bondage play, and he does get into that well. I feel that I'm a control freak in real life, and to be dominated is very exciting to me.
Here is my fantasy. I love Tim McGraw. He's such a sexy man with that black cowboy hat, perfectly coi-ed facial hair, sultry come-and-get-me eyes and painted-on jeans. And, like a fine wine, he simply gets better with age – both physically and musically.
I listen to my Tim CDs all the time. 'Back When', while driving – his smooth voice calming potential road rage. 'Do You Want Fries With That', driving through McDonald's, absurdly praying he'll be the cashier. 'She's My Kind Of Rain', while masturbating in the bathtub – his manly, throaty purring mingling with vanilla bubbles, creating an irresistible sensory-stimulation spa.
I could listen to him all the time. 'Honey, could ya wash my shorts?' in that Louisiana-cum-Nashville accent. 'Sugar, we're out of toilet paper.' Glorious goose bumps.
Time for bed, radio on. Hubby is working late tonight. My CDs are parked in the car and I'm too lazy at the moment to get them. Ooooh! He's on the radio. I crawl beneath the sheets in my Tim nightshirt and lay my head upon my 250 threadcount Tim pillowcase, both recently acquired on eBay. The steady, repetitive chorus of 'Ticking Away' lulls me, comforts me and soothes me. I smell rain mingled with the night air while the mini-blinds bang against the window sill, keeping time with Tim's soulful crooning.
My fingertips feel my hardened nipples through Tim's glorious ironed-on portrait. A percussion of hair brushing the pillowcase's crinkly decal contributes lamely to the languor of the song. I feel for Tim, sitting in that bar, waiting for someone to enter and alleviate his loneliness. My eyelids are heavy. My pulse beats a rhythmic adagio as I drift off, my hand between my bare thighs.
A tickle upon my left shoulder stirs me. Did the dogs get in the house? I turn my head slowly, sighing. Tim's rigid image is slick beneath my sleep-sweaty hair. I hope I don't wrinkle him. I contemplate turning the pillowcase over. But then he'd su-ocate. Another sigh. A noisy yawn. I blink my eyes. I blink them again. A black cowboy hat materialises on the pillow next to me, attached to Tim's head.
I lift the covers, praying for a body. There it is. Wow. Naked too. Hairy chest and all.
'How's it goin'?' That accent. I'm gonna have a coronary.
'Um, what are you doing here?' A falsetto voice, not mine.
'I got tired of sitting in the bar alone, so I grabbed a six-pack. It's in your fridge. Want one?' What? I'm having a multi-sensory delusion.
'No thanks. About the beer, I mean.'
'I'm gonna go snag me one then,' he drawls, rising from my bed. Hmmm. I guess his jeans aren't permanently attached. I wonder if baby oil would allow my 30-something-year-old ass to slide into my 20-something-year-old jeans.
'OK. Hurry back.' How lame. Tell him you're gonna miss him too.
With the full force of a hurricane I realise I am wearing his sexy persona on my boobs and crinkling his handsome face beneath my messy hair. I kiss the pillowcase and turn it over, hoping he can hold his breath a long time. I remove my shirt, folding it carefull
y and placing it gingerly on the floor. If my ultimate celebrity fantasy hallucination is naked, I should be too.
He slowly saunters back, taking a prolonged swig from the longneck bottle, his manhood swinging in the breeze, hat still on. Maybe it's sewn on. I should check. The hat, I mean. He climbs back into bed with me, placing the beer on the bedside table. I'm not going to worry about a coaster right now.
'So, what do you wanna do?' he asks, grinning behind a flirtatious wink of his magnificent eye. Sounds like a Cyclops. No, he has two eyes. Now that might be an interesting future fantasy: if Tim were missing one eye he might have an extra . . . My mind floods with a multitude of X-rated images, contortions, locations, props, extras. No, not extras. Well, maybe Chris Cagle. I'll put his CDs next to Tim's in my case for easy access.
My conscience hits me like a bolt of lightning from the tempest outside. I channel Benjamin Franklin. I lean over the foot of my bed, reaching for the dresser. Digging in a drawer I produce a pair of my husband's boxer-briefs, waving them above my head, surrendering, scruples still intact.
'I'd feel better. They are clean.' He slips them on. Not as sexy as his jeans, but they'll do. Abruptly realising my own nakedness, I casually retrieve my nightshirt from the floor and yank it over my head.
'Nice shirt,' he observes. I smile, turning eleven shades of fuchsia. 'Want me to sign it for you?'
'Let me get a pen.' I leap out of bed, like a pad-less cat on a hot tin roof, and sprint down the hall in twelve seconds flat, unearth the Sharpie from the top of the refrigerator and race back. 'Here you go,' I pant, handing him the pen, cap removed for his convenience.
'Whoa. Slow down there.'
I lie on my back as he signs my boobs, his other hand on my belly holding his face still. I can't move until the ink dries. 'Thanks a lot,' I gush.
'Anytime.' Yeah, anytime I hallucinate you into my bed.
'Do you ever take your hat off?' I am nosy.
'Only in the shower.' Only? I am intrigued. I ask why. 'It's "The Cowboy in Me".' I should have known.
'You know I'm your number one fan.'
'Uh, please don't say that. It scares me in a Stephen King Misery sort of way.'
I giggle. 'Sorry, Mr McGraw.'
'Call me Tim.'
'Call me anytime. Oh, and "Please Remember Me".'
He chuckles. 'You're a funny one. Mind if I keep these?' He points at his luscious ass.
'Unless you want to moon the neighbours. I don't think my husband will miss them.'
He kisses me on the cheek, the tickle of his goatee titillating my every nerve. I'm never washing my face again. Then he left. Just left. Vanished. Disappeared. Adios. Hasta la vista, baby.
'I like it, I love it . . .' I had forgotten about the radio. Oh yeah, I'd love some more of him. I close my eyes, remembering the look in his eyes, the softness of his moustache on my skin, his fluid signature decorating my chest like icing on a cake. I check the ink. My nipples are so hard, I am afraid they'll poke his eyes out. I stroke my thigh, recalling his smell: a macho mixture of beer, testosterone and denim. Denim? I am soaked. My fingers slide across my clit. Randy Travis is on the radio now. I feel guilty masturbating to him. I sigh insu-erably and crawl out of bed, adjusting the tuner on the radio. Tim, Tim, where are you? I need you.
Four stations later, the sweet strains of 'Let's Make Love' fly out of my radio and into my soul. Tim and Faith. Faith and Tim. The way it should be. All is right with the world now. I dance back into bed and close my eyes. My hand continues my extracurricular activities. I am happy. I am tired. I come. I sleep.
My husband climbing into bed at dawn awakens me. 'Did that come signed?'
3
Sex on the Edge
'Come to the edge, he said. They said, we are afraid. Come to the edge, he said. They came, he pushed them and they flew.'
– Guillaume Apollinaire
'Everything is sweetened by risk.'
– Alexander Smith
There's no doubt about it, women have become much more open-minded about their sexual interests and sexuality, even if they choose not to act upon it. There's now a lot more willingness to be experimental in the bedroom, and this naturally translates into the realm of sexual fantasy. As human beings, we love to explore, to imagine what can be found over the next horizon, what treasures can be uncovered, new sensations felt. We search for the same thrill we felt in that first tentative kiss with our lover, the thrill when we initially began to discover each other. We store these things in our memories and keep them close. But sometimes we dare to want more. Soon we find ourselves being drawn away from safe ground, moving further and further outwards until we finally come to the edge. Do we jump, or do we play at the brink?
This section is for those who have chosen to play at the brink – not quite taking that giant leap into empty space and possibly oblivion, but still defying the odds that the earth won't crumble beneath us and send us careening over the edge. We will explore fantasies that take a more daring turn away from the 'vanilla', that move into the shadows, although not into complete darkness. For some there is perhaps a fine line between what's considered 'on the edge' or in the 'danger zone' and, indeed, it's a highly subjective line, but for our purposes we'll reserve this section for those with a more adventurous streak. Here we have forbidden encounters, sex-toy play, outdoor sex and exhibitionism, threesomes, light bondage and S&M scenarios. We even take a dip into the realm of the fantastical, featuring encounters with the paranormal. It's all about adventure, a taste of the unknown . . . It's all about playing on the edge.
Forbidden Fruit
Carolyn, age 44
Heterosexual
Live-in relationship/marriage
High School diploma
Writer
South Australia
I get turned on by men in uniform or in positions of power: politicians, police officers, soldiers, etc. As a result, I usually fantasise about a man in a position of power asking me to 'help' him in a sexual way. In my fantasy I'm at work in the tiny office I share with Mr X. We're talking about non-work things when he indicates that he wants me to come closer to where he's seated, next to his desk. I comply, and soon enough I'm sitting astride him. Somehow the door is locked and I can feel his appreciation of my actions tapping on my bum cheek. I reach down and release his penis, which is the most impressive one I've seen in terms of length and width. I shiver at the thought of having this organ invading my private territory – a shiver slightly of fear, but mostly of anticipation. I'm hardly a blushing virgin, I've been around, but this man, and his friend, are possibly more than I'd bargained on. Was there a promotion in his pants?
At that moment work was far from my thoughts. I climbed off Mr X's lap and knelt in front of the two of them, him and his dick, licking all the way. He held his hand out to me and made me stand, rubbing my clitoris with his hard penis the whole time. I couldn't control myself as I came, trying heedlessly to muffle my cries against his chest as I came, and came, and came. Mr X came with me, and, when the pleasure coursing through me slowed down and his mighty member spewed its last, I glanced at the carpet. Mrs Klemp was going to have a job of cleaning tonight, I said to myself, not caring at all. Mr X had his pleasure in hand and was rising to have another go, but this time we weren't going to go alone. I pushed him back to his executive chair and climbed onto his penis, riding him all the way to another bout of executive release as he sucked my nipples and I held onto his hard shoulders.
The New Black Lace Book of Women's Sexual Fantasies Page 7
