FOREWORD (23 page)

Sally pushes me back and unfastens my pants and pulls them down with my briefs in one sweep. She is on her knees and takes my cock in her hand, holds, caresses it, looks up at me, smiles, and says, “Is this delicious thing for Sally?” God, I’m shaking, but I manage to nod and whisper, “Only for you.” She takes my cock, now throbbing, into her beautiful, moist mouth. I have never been sucked like Sally can suck. I cannot stand it. I pull her up to me and throw my arms around Men In Love

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her tight. Then I pick her up and lay her down on the bed.

She lays there, smiling at me. I look down at her and say,

“You are gorgeous.” She lifts her arms toward me and says,

“Come to me. Come to me now.” I lay down over her, and she gently guides my hungry cock into her wet cunt. We move slowly together, savoring the wonder and the beauty of splendid screwing. Together the tempo of our fucking rises.

Her hands go back down to my ass and grasp it, pulling me into her with deeper intensity. I feel such ecstasy, such joy, as we come together. She holds me, and I hold her. Tenderly we kiss each other.

We help each other dress. We rejoin the party. My wife comes up to us and asks, “Where have you two been?” Sally answers, “Oh, we were just looking at the moon.” When I read Fitzgerald’s
Tender Is the Night
, in my teens, I felt he’d gone too far even for fiction. Who could believe a father would do that to a daughter? Is it surprising that when I read the material in this chapter my reaction was sheer disbelief?

Oh, perhaps I could give some credence to men like Dyson, Bennet, Sailor, and Dan (all above); even people who shudder at the thought of a sexual relationship between a mother and son might be able to believe in slightly less primal forms of incest. One of the aspects of Lord Byron that thrilled fluttering Victorian hearts was suspicion of a love affair with his sister. In fact, brother-sister attraction is one of the sure-fire ingredients in modem gothic novels, books which sell in the millions.

But given my own upbringing, sex between a father and daughter, or a mother and son, was as remote as having three heads. I could believe that men like Tim, with whom this chapter began, had
fantasies
about their mothers; but as for basing these notions on actual events?

Perhaps I was influenced in my disbelief by a well-known story about Freud. Early in his career, he was astonished to Nancy Friday

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hear from a great number of female patients about damaging sexual advances they had received from their fathers. Was Vienna a secretly raging cauldron of incestuous vice? Further investigation convinced him that his patients were mostly telling him fantasies – ideas so dreaded, but also so fervently wished for, that the line between the real and the imaginary had blurred.

As I read and reread the material in this chapter, I could not but think about that. These fantasies are so ambiguous; as each man tells his story, he seems to slip from the present tense to the past, jumps to the future and then back. Bennet just launches into his fantasy/memory with no clue as to whether he wants me to take it as fact or not. Sailor asserts, “I don’t know whether this is a true memory or a fantasy that my head has made up.” In the end, I decided it was all wish-ful thinking; the man was trying to persuade himself it was reality; if he could convince me it had happened, maybe he could believe it himself.

As a check, I showed this chapter to several psychiatrist colleagues. To my surprise, they told me they had no trouble accepting as fact what these men say. Yes, they were fantasies, imaginary reconstructions of past events – but that did not mean the autobiographical material was not true. Most of these men, my consultants believed, had had real incest experiences. These doctors said that they often came across similar situations in their practices.

To my contributors – in this chapter more than in any other – I offer apologies for having doubted your veracity. To readers who are shocked by this material, or would accuse me of encouraging incest, my reply is that to have excluded this theme would have been to condemn those people candid enough to write me about these ideas as being too awful to discuss.

In the last analysis, if I do not want to condemn, neither do I want to condone. The mothers in this chapter who seduced their sons do not seem to me to be rapists. But what about the sons who did not write me? The emotions aroused by these Men In Love

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fantasies are too contradictory for me to easily resolve. If I am naive and bewildered, I can only say I am not alone in my confusion. Most people find it so impossible to contemplate incest that in old-fashioned religious debates, the atheist had one question that notoriously left believers speechless and gasping. “Who,” he would ask, “did the children of Adam and Eve marry?”

JAKE

I am sixteen and my mom is forty-eight.

It all started one night when I came home from a date. I went right upstairs to bed, and I was laying there jacking off, about ready to come, and my mom walked in and turned the light on. We just both stood still for a while. She said she had come up to put my sheet on my bed. She sat on the bed and I got up and put my underwear on, and sat next to her. She asked me if I jacked off very often, and I told her about twice a week. I noticed that she started staring at my dick, and I could see under her nightgown that her tits were erect. Then she asked me if I wanted to make love. The next thing I knew, we were sitting there frenching with her tongue deep inside my mouth. We must have frenched for ten minutes.

Then I started kneading her tits, and we started rolling around in bed, still frenching deeply with our tongues, and then she started whispering in my ear, “Fuck me, fuck me. I gotta have that dick.” So I took off my underwear and was ready to fuck and she had her nightgown off, and I was on top of her fucking away. I came three times that night and she must have come a dozen times.

My father does a lot of traveling, and is gone sometimes for three or four days. My fantasy now is that I will sleep in my mom’s bedroom. When I get up in the morning and take a shower, she will get in the shower with me and give me the best blow job I’ve ever had. I’ll shoot half a gallon of cum in her mouth, and she will swallow it all. After that, we will Nancy Friday

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fuck standing up. Later that day, when I come home from school, we will fuck in the kitchen. Whenever my father is home, we will go for walks in the woods and make love or go to a drive-in and get in the back seat of the car and fuck.

BUTCH

My sex life began at an average age with my cousin, who was a year younger than I. My father left Mother when I was a young child, so I did not have any idea as to the feelings of having a father around. Mother has worked since she was deserted, having been hired by her former boss because she was very well educated in his particular field, patent attorney.

During that time, after school, I would stop off at my aunt’s home until Mother finished work. My cousin was very talented with a baton and did fancy dancing while she was performing. She would always ask me to be with her when she was practicing in the yard or the large room in the lower level of the house. While she was doing head turns, cartwheels, head standing, etc., she wore a very skimpy outfit. The pants were loose and it was while she was doing cartwheels that her little cunt was exposed to my view. It excited me to be able to see her cunt so plainly. During the warm weather, she would wear an even skimpier outfit; and the shoulder straps always dropped down, which would get her irritated. Her breasts were not yet showing, but just the sight of her nipples gave me a thrill. As often as her straps dropped, I would kiss her nipples and she wanted me to do that often. She asked if I would suck them like a baby, and I did. Well, soon I was exploring her bottom; and she never made an effort to stop me. It soon was a regular event with us, each time leading to more and more types of sex fun.

At night when I was in bed, I dreamed about what I would do. Jacking off became a regular event.

Whenever my cousin and I could get in a hidden place, we would take our clothes off and play with each other. While I Men In Love

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was up, close to her cunt, my cousin asked me to kiss her cunt. That did it. Soon I was sucking her cunt, and she returned the pleasure by sucking my cock. Well, as time went on, my fantasies became a lot more elaborate, dreaming about girls who I saw at the pool, on the street, or met at a show.

One time when I was about twelve years old, I was in my room and really beating my meat. I had a mirror between my legs and was watching the hand jacking off my cock. The event happened I was so afraid of: My mother came into my room to wake me up for school and found me beating my meat. All she said was to get dressed when I was finished.

Well, a guy hates to face his mother after he gets caught red-handed, so I did not leave my room to come down for breakfast. Soon Mother was back in my room and wanted to know what the matter was that I had not come to the breakfast table. She hugged me, kissed me, and told me to hurry as though she never saw what I had been doing. After we ate, she stood up, came over to where I was, took my arm, and had me stand up. She gave me a kiss like I had never had from her and whispered to me that she loved me very much and to have a good day.

That evening after we had finished the dishes, Mom spent a bit of time helping me with my lessons. She kept kissing me more than she ever had before. When it came bedtime, she told me to be sure to give her a kiss before I went to bed.

That was a complete surprise to me. I did go to her room. She was in bed. She opened the bed sheets and told me to lay down by her as she wanted to have a talk with me. I knew then what she had on her mind. She started off by saying,

“What you were doing this morning is a natural thing for all boys to do, so do not think you are alone.” She told me that girls and boys all over the world are doing the same thing.

She made me feel so relieved about playing with my cock.

The next night when she called me to bed with her, I was surprised to find her without a bit of clothing on. She told me to remove my p.j.’ s. She liked to have me lay up against her body with my back to her, and she reached down and held Nancy Friday

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my cock while we were talking. That soon led her to jacking my cock, and she asked if I enjoyed what she was doing. Sure I did. Then she asked if I would suck her nipples, and she placed herself in a position so I was underneath her breasts. I was sucking her tits like a baby would. That led to other sex acts. She asked if I would be willing to suck her cunt, if she showed me how.

That was nothing new for me. All during the time I was having sex with Mother, I often imagined that it was Donna (my cousin) I was sucking or fucking.

Today I am very happily married. Can you be surprised to hear that it is my beautiful mother I often think about, dream about, while masturbating? Who could ever forget such a mother?

PHIL

I am an out-of-state pharmacy student, attending the school here in Oklahoma. I enjoy dating many women, so I don’t really have any sexual hang-ups, just fantasies.

I imagine myself back in the Victorian period. I am at a private dining club, with fine hanging chandeliers and silver and crystal on the tables. The only other people at the club are sitting across from me: my mother, sister and an acquaintance of my mother.

I gaze at their voluptuous breasts, which have very suggestive cleavage, and which are semi-covered by fine glistening silk.

Then there is soft music in the background, so I ask my mother to dance. While dancing, I move my chest slightly, but subtly against her breasts. I then dance her through a door to a room which is quietly lit and secure. I unzip the back of her dress and begin placing kisses from the top of her smooth-skinned back, moving across and down. I then come to her hips. With her back still facing me, I move my head up Men In Love

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from her hips and around past her arm and tilt my head to kiss the side of her tit

At this point, I feel she’s agreeable to my overtures, so I turn her around facing me, and with my hands on her shoulders, I look into her eyes and kiss her on the lips. She then takes my tongue into her mouth and begins sucking on it Like a lion who bites his prey on the neck, I put my lips on her neck, just below her ear, and gently bite into her skin. I have just made a fresh kill.

I then put her down gently on a low-lying padded table and completely undress her. I place a wet kiss in the soft area between her tits. The palms of my hands are soft, and slightly sweaty, when I feel her buttocks. I then go down towards her legs. I part my lips, and suck in the skin of her thighs, while feeling it with my tongue. I lick her soft skin on her inner thighs, and smell it with my nose. Again, I part my lips sucking her skin in while feeling it with my tongue and wetting it.

I next go to her vagina and kiss it as I would kiss her lips. I push my nose into the skin of her thighs and finally my nose moves into her cunt and I inhale lightly. I move up to her ear and whisper, “I like the musk smell of your cunt “ Her feet are slender, skin smooth, with high arches. My hands clasp her ankles, as in bondage, and while raising them, I kiss the arches of her feet

I then move up to her face, give a slight kiss to her lips, and tell her that her cunt imparted a musk odor to her tight-fitting panties, and that I want them so I could commemorate this occasion.

I then seduce my sister and my mother’s acquaintance and likewise collect their panties. Later, in my own privacy, I sniff each of the panties and find that each one has its very own, distinct and delightful shade of musk. However, the loveliest is my mother’s.

Nancy Friday

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CHET

I’m thirty years old, was widowed a few years ago, and I am a rock star. I’m good-looking, I guess, since I’m supposed to be somewhat of a sex symbol; but I don’t think I am all that attractive to women. My wife died seven years ago, and I haven’t remarried; don’t know if I will, because I think she was the one true love of my life.