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The Sex Blog Of Record
Monday, November 6th, 2017 -- by Bacchus
I am not a regular reader of the semi-paywalled New York Times, where I seem to have perpetually exhausted my ten “free” articles with blind links from Twitter that I never knew were going to land there; so it took a nudge from my friend Dr. Faustus to clue me in to the news (which no one else seems to have reported in any detail) that Nancy Friday passed away yesterday.
Nancy Friday, the author whose books about gender politics helped redefine American women’s sexuality and social identity in the late 20th century, died on Sunday at her home in Manhattan. She was 84.
The cause was complications of Alzheimer’s disease, her friend Eric Krebs said.
In 1973, when the author Caroline Seebohm reviewed Ms. Friday’s first book, “My Secret Garden: Women’s Sexual Fantasies,” for The New York Times, she joked about just what kind of “dirty book” it was and playfully reassured readers that despite the author’s findings, “men are still indispensable.”
The book’s shocking premise was that women had erotic thoughts. Ms. Friday, however, who based the book on hundreds of interviews, said those thoughts were accompanied by considerable guilt and secrecy.
The book was an immediate best seller.
By the time I reached adolescence, Nancy Friday had published a whole string of pop-sexuality best-sellers to the same formula as My Secret Garden; they each consisted of some high-minded essaying, the premise of which would be supported in detail by a lengthy compendium of what purported to be sexual fantasies collected by interviews or letters. These readily could, and did, serve as masturbatory literature in much the same way as the Penthouse Forum and many similar “letters” magazines of the time, but were written or edited to a much higher standard and unique in their focus (except in one of Friday’s later books that shifted to men) on the fantasies of women. I wondered (then and now) about the extent to which the fantasies were “collected” as Friday claimed, given the clear analogies to the parallel and purely fictional porn genre that then existed. But whether she was committing acts of sociology or literature, they were revolutionary either way; there weren’t any other voices focusing so directly on the pleasure of women at that time. Not, at least, that you could find on the paperback book rack in front of the B. Dalton’s at any mall in America!
All this, of course, is but a narrow slice of an interesting literary life; the tiny piece that impinged on a callow young man (not her target audience!) in a small town a very long time ago. The New York Times obituary does a much better job of capturing the whole, or at least that polite snapshot that we accept (in lieu of impossibility) whenever a person dies and a good writer is asked to sum up a life in a few thousand words.
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Sunday, May 11th, 2014 -- by Bacchus
In Nancy Friday’s multiple compendia of female sexual fantasies, she had a lot of fun finding (or saying she had found) women with controversial fantasies. In her 1991 book Women On Top, these tended to include expressions of female power. Here’s Mandy, talking about what she enjoys imagining doing to her favorite singer and songwriter:
My favorite fantasy is about a singer-songwriter named Peter. I have been a fan of Peter’s for
about eight years, and I’ve been jerking off to fantasies of him for that long.
Anyway, here’s my fantasy: Peter and I are friends, and when in town, he drops by for dinner and small talk. Peter does not write about typical things like love ballads, but rather things he feels strongly about. Talk turns to an article in the paper about rape. He tells me that it disturbs him greatly, but he couldn’t write about it because he has never been, and being a man could never be, raped. Conversation moves on, and when it gets late he bids me goodnight and leaves. All this time I have been forming a plan.
The next night when I’m sure he’s not home, I slip into his hotel room and hide in the closet. When he arrives, I wait until he is in the bathroom and then I creep out of the closet and wait for him to come out of the can. I sneak up behind him and hold a knife to his throat telling him if he does what I say, no one will get hurt. I have him lie down on the bed and I tie his arms and legs to the bedposts. Because I am dressed in black, and have on a ski mask, he doesn’t know who I am. At first he thinks I am joking, but he soon realizes my intentions are not at all honorable. He starts squirming and yelling, telling me that I won’t be able to do anything because he won’t get hard. I slowly undress him, nibbling at each new exposure of flesh. I lick him from head to toe, pausing once in a while at something delicious, carefully avoiding his prick. I get a towel from the can and blindfold him with it so I can remove my mask, the better to eat him.
Then I get a pillow and place it lovingly under his buns. I reverse my course, licking him from toe to head and I nibble at his nipples, neck, earlobes and lips. I begin to whisper obscenities in his ear, telling him what I am going to do to him. I climb up and sit astride his face, and I tell him to eat me. He sticks his warm tongue deep inside my cunt and twirls it round and round. He’s a great eater! After I’ve come a few times, I get off and I start kissing him and licking my juices off his face, something that amazes him. I lick my way downward again and I begin to nibble on his buns. I love his buns! I take one ball into my mouth and twirl my tongue all around it before gently releasing it and moving on to the other one. Then I start sucking up the side of his half-hard shaft, all the while playing with my dripping cunt. He is still trying not to get hard, but I will take care of that. I tell him to suck on my finger, telling him the wetter the better, as I am going to stick it up his ass. He gets it very wet.
I gently insert it up his asshole and when I touch his gland he becomes instantly rock-hard. I have never seen such a magnificent column of flesh! I quickly tie a thin strip of leather around the base of his prick so I can keep him hard for as long as I want. I suck his balls and buns some more, and out of the corner of my eye I can see a drop of his nectar at the tip of his penis. I lick it off, and keep on licking. When I can’t stand it anymore, I climb on top of him and slowly impale myself on his glistening rod. I begin to rock slowly back and forth pulling him deeper and deeper inside me. I suddenly realize that he is helping me a bit and softly moaning. The moaning gives me a rush, as I love his throaty voice. I have, and who doesn’t in their fantasies, an earth shattering climax. After a few minutes I climb down and stand on the floor beside him, looking at his beautiful, sweaty body. He tells me how cruel I am because I won’t let him come too, and that his balls are beginning to hurt. I untie his prick and give him a deep blow job, drinking in all his juice as we come together. I’ve wondered for so long what he tastes like, and believe me, it was worth the wait! Then when I’m sure he’s asleep, I carefully release him, and leave.
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