FOREWORD (49 page)

The evening was over. Our new good friends said good night. We would meet again.

By the time I’d finished my shower and come out of the bathroom, Betty was already in bed.

I lit a cigarette and stretched out beside her. It had been a bitch of a weekend. We’d given the lawn its final mowing, taken the screens out of the storm windows, and replaced them with the glass panels. And she’d been with me every step of the way. Damned few wives work with their husbands the way she does with me.

I patted her lovingly on the behind. She sighed, curled up into a tighter ball, pulled the covers a little higher, and was asleep again. I didn’t have the heart to wake her. My signal had gone unanswered, but I couldn’t blame her.

I was probably too tired myself to be able to fuck, even if she’d wanted to. But Peter wasn’t at all tired, and now he was standing up stiff and demanding.

There was only one way to be sure of a sound night’s sleep. I took him in my hand and began to stroke him gently as my mind slid effortlessly into my favorite fantasy….

ALLEN

I am fifty-five years old, a radical therapist, married seven years in my second marriage (twenty-three in the first), with four children and four stepchildren; my wife is also a radical therapist, and some of our work is collaborative. My wife and I have an open sexual relationship, and I really enjoy having a sexual experience with more than one person simultaneously.

My fantasies are always explicit, in that they always involve people I know and care for, rather than faceless strangers; in fact, the familiarity of the faces, and the changes in the faces as the people undergo increasing levels of sexual ex-Nancy Friday

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citement, seems to be an important dimension of the fantasy.

These are such important fantasies to me that I have even asked some of the people involved if they would be willing to act out my fantasy with me unfortunately, this has never happened. In any case, my fantasy:

Diane and I are with Mark and Jean – we have just played tennis together, then gone skinny-dipping, and all crowded into the Bensons’ big bathtub. Now we are lying on their huge bed, all of us mellow and quiet. The peacefulness of the scene, the joyful experiences we have shared, and the beauty and vulnerability of the naked bodies of my friends around me arouse me. I start to make love to Diane – gently, slowly, I caress her feet, her ankles, and then move my hands up her calves, to her knees. I kiss her toes, very lightly at first, then with more hunger, more passion. All the while my hands, my fingertips, are tracing lightly over her feet and calves. She sighs lightly, and shifts her weight, opening her knees slightly under my caresses – it is all the encouragement I need! My mouth, my hands, my fingertips, my tongue, shower her toes, her feet, her legs and knees with little kisses, caresses, nips, and little licks as well. Her knees open wider to this loving assault, and I kiss her thighs, savoring, with my fingertips and tongue and lips, their smoothness and softness.

Delicately, I kiss her all around her vagina, and then up the twin valleys between her belly and thighs; lightly, I bite through the pussy hair to the sweet mound it shapes.

Finally, after she has been urging me to for some time, by the silent and urgent language of her hands, and her undulat-ing, twisting body, and her less-than-silent moans, and quickened breathing, I very delicately kiss the still-closed lips of her vagina; very slowly, very lightly, I touch her lips with just the tip of my tongue. Moving her body and her two hands, pulling me toward her, she tries to pull my searching tongue into her cunt. Finally, I can no longer stand to see her in the sweet agony I have created; so I plunge my tongue into her cunt. I search out every fold of those sweet lips, exploring with my tongue, planting deep, sucking kisses on the lips of Men In Love

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her pussy, plunging my tongue deep into her vagina one minute, probing all the little precious corners another, sweeping from asshole to clitoris the next, until she is in a frenzy of passion.

By this time, her face and breasts are flushed with sexual excitement, her nipples hard and erect, and tiny beads of sweat have formed on her upper lip; and her noises! A more exotic song of lust and sexual hunger you cannot imagine!

Moved by this emotion, Jean comes close to her, and cradles Diane’s head against her breast, stroking her face and arms gently and lovingly. Diane reaches out her hands, and pulls Jean’s mouth down to hers – at first, Jean is surprised by the passion of Diane’s kisses, but soon she is returning them with equal hunger. Her hands are now strongly massaging Diane’s upper arms; with my tongue still deep in Diane’s cunt, I reach up and gently move Jean’s hands from Diane’s arms to her breasts – later we learned that never before had she touched another woman’s breasts. I was struck at the time by the tenderness and hunger with which she explored the sweet mounds of Diane’s titties.

Curious, and emboldened by the encouragement she was receiving from Diane’s hand and body language, Jean began exploring Diane’s belly, moving from titties to navel, and then down to that furry pussy hair I had not too long ago been playfully tormenting. For a moment, I left my sweet chore at Diane’s cunt, and moved to kiss Jean full on the lips. Our eyes locked, and we both felt a closeness, a tenderness we had never experienced before. Eagerly she licked the pussy juice off of my lips, and sucked it from my beard; inspired, I dove down to Diane’s cunt, and sucked up a mouthful of those sweet juices, to trickle it into Jean’s mouth like a mother bird feeding her young.

Meanwhile, Mark has not been idle; he has watched all of the play and passion with a great deal of interest, but he can no longer remain a spectator. Taking his by now huge, red, and very hard cock in his hand, he drives it into Jean’s wet and ready cunt. As she moved down Diane’s belly with her Nancy Friday

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trail of kisses, her sweet exposed bottom was too delightful for Mark to ignore, so the thrusts of his demanding cock, pushing deep into the wet hotness of her pussy, was driving her closer to Diane’s cunt in total harmony with the pull of her own hunger and curiosity. As Jean was exploring Diane’s body with her mouth and tongue, Diane’s own mouth had not been idle; indeed, she had been savoring Jean’s sweet flesh with as much hunger and delight as Jean expended on hers.

Artfully she placed her mouth close to Jean’s pussy, and without words, indicated to Mark that she wanted to take his cock into her mouth on alternate strokes; he was quick to comply with her hunger and pleasure. First he drove his cock, and a big cock it was, deep into, Jean’s ready cunt. Then, equally slowly, he withdrew it, and drove it` just as deep into Diane’s ready and identically hungry mouth, side by side with Jean’s pussy. Slowly she sucked the Jean-juice off of Mark’s prick, to his great pleasure, and then sent him willingly back for that sweet savory Diane found so delightful.

Jean, her body driven by Mark’s thrusting until her mouth was close to Diane’s cunt, soon saw the waste of using my mouth as the middleman, so to speak, so she pushed me aside, seeing no need to wait for the slow transfer to those cunt juices via my mouth.

Diane, sensing the change, responded quickly with a similar idea for herself; pushing Mark’s cock out of the way, she pushed her face, her nose, her tongue, even her teeth into Jean’s cunt, licking, kissing, poking, biting with a great deal of curious energy. She rubbed her eyebrows, all parts of her face, into Jean’s wet cunt, so hungry was her curiosity, so passionate was her release. After a few moments of this kind of passion, both women, with an almost painful slow tenderness, as if they had never experienced such exquisite agony, licked and probed and nibbled, while Mark and I, with some reverence, and a great deal of excitement, masturbated madly, until all four of us, with screams and groans, exploded in a paroxysm of four, soaring orgasms.

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It is a cliché that a woman cannot have sex with a man without falling in love. Very broadly put, women want a continuing involvement with the men they go to bed with; men rarely see sex as a basis for marriage. I find it interesting how men like Justin and Lars (both above), who have fantasies about group sex, insist repeatedly how much they love their wives. To the feminine mind, this seems contradictory. If his wife is so great and he feels so strongly about her, why go looking for someone new?

Men are not raised on safety first. They are praised for being adventurous, experimental, for wanting ever to climb the next mountain. “If this woman of mine is so great,” a man might think, “wouldn’t it be even better if I had two like her, if I could see her even more excited in the arms of another woman, or even another man?”

Marital fidelity is a positive, but so is sexual variety. It is a difficult equation, which everyone must balance for himself/herself: The more you have of one, the less of the other.

In some future, more egalitarian time, wives may feel as free as men to suggest swinging their marriages. That time is not yet.

Many a woman has read a book or a magazine article and decided she is thus liberated. She wakes up in bed with one (or two) strangers the next morning and realizes that her earliest training in guilt and fear of uncontrolled sex is not shed so easily. Most women instinctively know this; it is usually the husband’s adventurousness that brings the couple into experimental sex. The old solution was the double standard; the restless husband would have an affair on the side and tell his wife that he had to go out of town on business.

Current values say that honesty is all, even more important than fidelity. “Our love for each other will grow stronger because we haven’t kept each other in prison. In our honesty is union and strength. We’ll always come back to each other.” Justin assures his wife that sex is merely sex; and that Nancy Friday

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even if he could have a thousand other women, he would never leave her. It is an argument that women increasingly find impossible to resist – especially since a bit of unspoken blackmail hangs in the air: If I can’t have an extramarital affair with your love and permission, I’ll have it anyway, but secretly, and maybe leave you after all.

Men who believe in the double standard compartmentalize their lives. What has that little run-in with the summer stock actress in Canada got to do with his wife? Lars is a different kind of man. He speaks of his great love for his wife, and of their mutual happiness. His wife even encourages him to send in his fantasies. Is it a surprise that she is in both of them?

Lars reminds us that while men are raised less symbioti-cally than women, this is only a comparative statement. The little boy wants to feel free to roam the world, but also wants the feeling that mother is at home, waiting for him when he comes back. The most notorious philanderers are shocked and hurt when they come home one morning and find their wives have left. What men like Lars desire is to add sexual spice and variety to their lives,
but to maintain the love bond
with the wife at the same time.
They are often so symbioti-cally meshed that even if an episode of infidelity is never confessed, it nags at the back of their minds. His wife has come to live in his conscience. She is so much a part of him, he feels she must somehow know what he is thinking, what he has experienced. The result is gnawing fear that somehow the wife will “know” there was a little episode with the secretary last Thursday night, and will leave.

If sex with someone else thus threatens the love tie, why not turn it around and make infidelity not a force of disruption but a shared, even more binding experience? Consciously or not, this is usually the reasoning behind swapping. Lars wants sex with a stranger, yes, but if his wife is having sex with a stranger, too, how can she get mad at him?

What a relief to find that temporarily separating yourself from your wife – long enough to have sex with someone else, at any rate – does not bring retribution, loss, and hate! While Men In Love

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swinging very often ends by causing trouble between partners, in all fairness it must be said that it need not. It can bring people psychic satisfaction – a sense of increased space in which to live (although I’ve heard from few such people).

When Harvey’s wife joins in his fantasy infidelity, his relief at not being punished takes the form of gratitude and excitement. “I’m never as proud of my wife as when I see how much pleasure she can give a man when she takes his cock in her warm, wet pussy.” Whenever he himself is with another woman, says Harvey, “I love to watch Betty getting fucked” at the same time. Even in fantasy, they fuck other people together, in the same room. By thus giving the man permission for his own sexual experiments, the woman becomes more united to him than ever. Symbiosis once again.

Harvey’s highly dramatized fantasy reads like a
True Confessions
romance, complete with Hollywood effects and music sound track. But am I alone in feeling that behind all that liberated sucking and fucking, a lot of old-fashioned moraliz-ing is going on? Everything is so strenuously beautiful and lofty that only a prig would feel it has anything to do with

“dirty” sex.

In fact, isn’t Harvey’s flowery language being used to cover up attitudes he might not like if they were to become conscious? The description of his new friend at the end of the evening sounds more like that of a defeated opponent than that of a partner in pleasure. Dick’s cock is a “withered and shriveled noodle, lifeless in the wake of total defeat,” but Harvey himself is left “reveling” in feelings of enhanced sexual desire, ready to have still one more go with his wife. All throughout the evening, no matter how heated he was by Diane, his eye rarely seems to have strayed from Dick.

“That’s when I enjoy fucking her [his own wife] the most,” he tells us. “When I can slip my cock into her and feel how slick and slippery she is from the cream another man’s prick just poured into her.”

Harvey paces himself against the other man: “As he came up, I went down.” The contest is to see who can last the Nancy Friday