Beyond My Control: Forbidden Fantasies in an Uncensored Age Read Free Page A

curiosity to the waterfront. We were on the southern coast, and
    freighters came and sailed away daily, just a block from our house. I’ve always seen it as a place lost in time.
    My absent father had an influence over me unlike that of any- one else. My pleasure of writing about men, women, sex, forbid- den topics, came from him, from my search and eventual need to find in other men what I knew he would have given me. My erotic fantasies of men, my interest in sex as far back as I can remember, all this was heightened by my father, the mystery.
    Because the cocktail hour was a staple of life, come six o’clock, our house was a merry place. I would crawl into the lap of a naval officer, inhale the scent of him, light his cigarette, charm him with my song, do a little dance, and pay no attention to my mother’s repeated “Leave the gentleman alone, dear.” But the gentleman never seemed to mind. How utterly fascinating men were! So relaxed, so easy in their skin. What was their secret, these people in trousers, around whom my mother and all the other women acted differently, all the while pretending they weren’t. Something was in the air when men were around, and both men and women looked at one another as though they had a secret. And who bet- ter to pick up on this unnamed dance between the grown-ups at the cocktail hour than an overly curious, precocious child?
    For me to admit that it made a difference, not having a daddy, that I was sad or that I ever wondered about him was unthink- able. Though no one ever said the word, I knew my role was to protect my mother and not ask. Where did I put my dreams of him when I was little, this constant protector, strong, hand- some, kind-hearted with a permanent shoulder for me to rest my head on? The fantasy of being chased by him as he became the “hungry monster” to my gleeful screams of terror, catching me, tickling me, throwing me in the air? When I grew older and
    a boy held me in his arms, the missing man in my life clicked in. How I loved being held by a boy, his scent, his wanting me, the whole dream state of what I called “love,” though it was surely in great part eros.
    There are more of us today, fatherless children growing up without a male presence, an atmosphere where we might take in the exciting difference between the sexes. Today, births to un- married women constitute 36%, reaching a record high, not to mention the near 50% of marriages that end in divorce. Children are sponges, growing, changing, absorbing everything, so much more than adults want to realize. My search for this mysterious man led a search for myself. Had he been present, I undoubt- edly would have settled down, married, raised a family, with no consideration to writing about sex.
    In the ’60s and ’70s, the publishing world had thrown open its door to women and was signing us up like recruits. Editors were eager for books on women’s lives, interior and exterior. We were like an undiscovered continent. The world finally wanted to know: “What do women want sexually? How does eros feel to a woman inside and out?”
    To this day, I am thrilled to have been a part of those hal- cyon years when we women came out, came alive, discovered the clitoris and our sexual fantasies—to own them. Our sexual independence—knowing that we control and are responsible for our sexual destiny—feeds into all other freedoms.
    Knowing that we no longer had to wait for a man to tele- phone—for him to give us an orgasm—that we could do this for ourselves, and bring him to orgasm, too, was a source of energy to be used in every endeavor of our lives. Owning my sexuality has changed how I walk, talk, and certainly how I write.
    The fact remains that in real life and in fantasy, domination remains one of the few forbidden acts that still sexually excites. It is not pain that is wanted—that is reserved for the chapter on S&M—but a powerlessness, a chance to relieve ourselves of all responsibility