The following is one of the reponses Nancy Friday received when she set-
out to find women willing to share their sexual fantasies, as part of the
research on a book about what, why, when, and where women fantasize. It is an
excellent book. Not just erotic but informative, both for men and women. The
book was first published in 1973 and its ISBN number is 0-671-82575-5. This entry is from the "The House Of Fantasy" chapter of the book, in the se
ction called "Room Number Eleven: The Zoo".
============================================================================== Jo I often have this fantasy when I'm alone, or with time on my hands, or even
when I'm making love with my husband. I am alone in the house. My husband has left for work. I begin my housework
downstairs, clearing the dishes from the dining room into the kitchen. I take
off my nightgown and housecoat and work in the nude. While I work, the
neighbor's dog follows me. He always comes over to visit. I take no notice of
him, but his wet nose and warm breath move between my legs whenever I pause.
Briefly I will let my legs part, and his tongue will dart out and lick me
while I continye my chores as though he weren't even there. I keep moving
about, not giving him or me too much. Slowly, as if not noticed, I let him
have more: now two licks, increasing to three, four, his nose burrowed into my
privates as I allow him to get at me for longer and longer periods. Suddenly
he tires of the game and stops following, just as I have finished cleaning all
the downstairs rooms. Except for the kitchen. I always save the kitchen for
last. Quickly I call him as I go into the kitchen, and when he's in I close the
door so he can't get out. Now I speed up. I don't want him to lose interest.
I get down a bowl and a box of Betty Crocker chocolate cake, my husband's
favorite. I mix up the batter quickly, and put half the mixture into a cake
tin so we'll have at least a one-layer cake for dessert that night. The other
half I smear across my breasts, and as I bend down to put the cake in the
oven I let the dog lick the batter from my breasts. With my finger I scrape
up batter and keep spreading it on my nipples so that he lingers on them,
lapping at them until they ache, until I ache. Now I go to the refrigerator,
take out the butter for the icing, and from the cupboard I take down the sugar
and a small bottle of Bovril. I sit on the kitchen chair to blend the sugar
and butter, right beside the kitchen table with the bowl in my lap. I smear my
cunt inside and out with the Bovril, and as I stir the suger and butter, the
dog nestles between my legs and licks me. I hug the bowl to me, working on it,
smoother and smoother. I am slumped in the chair now, my legs spread far
apart, the large bowl obscuring the dog. The warm sweet smell of cake baking
fills the kitchen. Inside the oven, through the glass partition in the oven
door, I can see the cake slowly rising. My finger dips again and again into
the Bovril jar, smearing my cunt so that dog licks hard and harder, going from
side to side now, excitedly working around me as he might worry a bone. The
sweet smell of cake fills my head as I imagine the bright red thing of the
dog's slipping in and out of his penis sheath. The cake is getting larger and
larger in the oven, so that it seems about to fill the oven, to push open the
door and explode into the room, engulfing us in its sweet warmth. I pray that
the dog will not stop and that the cake will not explode all over my nice
clean kitchen before my husband gets home, before I am ready, before I have
