Slideshow: 18 Secrets Guys Wish You Knew

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Does make a lot of sense to me. Hence the divorces after guys lose their jobs.

Slideshow: 18 Secrets Guys Wish You Knew

An extraordinary, explicitly masculine journey, Men In Love develops a startlingly honest portrayal of what it means to be a man in contemporary America. Here are the unexpurgated dreams, fantasies and fetishes that excite and obsess men today. In creating this historic study, Nancy Friday listened--without disapproval, apology or censorship--to the candid responses of thousands of men aged fourteen through sixty. Much more than a litany of erotica, this unique volume doesn't tell us how men should love. It tells us how men do love--a stunning insight into the desires that dwell within men's psyches... An extraordinary, explicitly masculine journey, Men In Love develops a startlingly honest portrayal of what it means to be a man in contemporary America. Here are the unexpurgated dreams, fantasies and fetishes that excite and obsess men today. In creating this historic study, Nancy Friday listened--without disapproval, apology or censorship--to the candid responses of thousands of men aged fourteen through sixty. Much more than a litany of erotica, this unique volume doesn't tell us how men should love. It tells us how men do love--a stunning insight into the desires that dwell within men's psyches... Nancy Friday established herself as a magazine journalist in New York, England, Italy, and France before turning to writing full time and publishing her first book, My Secret Garden, in 1973, which became a bestseller. Friday has regularly returned to the interview format in her subsequent books on themes ranging from mothers and daughters to sexual fantasies, relationships, jealousy, envy, feminism, and beauty. Chapter 1 THE MASCULINE CONFLICT This is a book about men who love women. Women may not easily recognize that emotion in these pages. These are not conventional valentines. His secret garden is not like mine. We may seek the same goal in fantasy—sexual excitement—but men and women get there by different paths. A fantasy is a map of desire, mastery, escape, and obscuration; the navigational path we invent to steer ourselves between the reefs and shoals of anxiety, guilt, and inhibition. It is a work of consciousness, but in reaction to unconscious pressures. What is fascinating is not only how bizarre fantasies are, but how comprehensible; each one gives us a coherent and consistent picture of the personality—the unconscious—of the person who invented it, even though he may think it the random whim of the moment. A man has a reverie of meeting a blond woman in a purple nightgown. The man only knows the blonder, the purple-ier, the more heated he grows. Soon he is inventing scenarios of bare-breasted models hired to test new peroxide hair bleaches, supplied by a company that arbitrarily orders all contestants to wear purple underwear. If the plot seems silly, what does it matter? Like an Einsteinian equation whose logic would take hours to unravel, a fantasy appears in the mind with the speed of light, connecting hitherto seemingly unrelated and mysterious forces in the internal erotic universe, resolving inconsistencies and contradictions that seemed insuperable before. Nothing is included by accident. In real life, ambivalence abounds. Women want men, men want women; our dreams of one another, fantasies, not only express our most direct desires but also portray the obstacles that must be symbolically overcome to win sexual pleasure. Fantasy is as close as we will ever come again to the omnipotent joys we once knew as infants. But how likely are we to pull a gun and do it? It is important to recognize that not all fantasies are frustrated wishes. This is one of the most common misconceptions about fantasy. The very courage of fantasies in facing up to, and giving relief to, unconscious horrors, can sometimes make them hard to take. I made them speak into an automatic answering machine, and then had the stuff typed up. Beneath their locker room camaraderie and famous mutual support systems, it appeared, men were as sexually restrictive and normative with one another as women have traditionally been with their sisters. I found I had awarded myself the palm too easily. While the sexual fantasies of many men were a pleasure and easily available to my emotions right from the start, others disgusted or frightened me. Many seemed outpourings from macho braggarts out to shock or trap me in filth. I was like the Victorian husband who encourages his wife to tell all. When she does, he leaves her. But when men used words like cunt lapping or pussy, they aroused early, primitive fears. Louder than the unabashed sensual love the words were meant to express, I heard the harshness and disdain of the street slang. Long before sex and men had entered my life, a woman had taught me to be a lady. At first I would smile at these apologies. I have come to see that my contributors knew me better than I did. To put the four words together is to show how little they seem to have to do with each other. How could I respect a man who wanted to be pissed or shit on? While I felt it was life-enhancing for a woman to dream of sex with two men, I felt compassion for the unfortunate woman married to a man so low he ejaculated to fantasies of showing off her cunt to a stranger. Something in me could not accept men unless they conformed to dreams of my own. I do not necessarily expect sex to be pretty; that is to demean it, attenuate its primitive force. But many of these fantasies were more than I wanted to hear. Why, they were filth! Letter after letter left me with a feeling that I wanted to wash my hands. Even as I reached for the soap, I had to laugh at myself. Where was my vaunted objectivity? I watched my disgust with fascination. And yet, demanding this freedom for myself, cheering it enthusiastically when it was exercised by women, here I was, objecting to it in men. Today, while I still find some of this material difficult, I no longer see it as a personal affront. It might be said that familiarity freed me; the third time around, the shock is abated. But that is too simple. It would be more accurate to say I could not come to terms with this book until I had won free of the narcissistic desire to see men in a way that enlarged my own view of myself. Men could always go off to Singapore or drink alone in bars, but women ceased to exist in their own eyes when men were gone. I watch the ease with which some women today decide to build a life without men who never lived up to their expectations anyway in favor of pursuing newly won autonomy. I can understand the sense of freedom born of ridding oneself of the childish—and ultimately false—security that comes from binding oneself to a man; but I do not believe men could ever abandon women so swiftly. In fact, this book has persuaded me that men want women more than the other way around. Toward satisfying their love, need, desire, lust, men will give up more than women will. Women call themselves the loving sex; we are always waiting for men, always dreaming of them. We need them to put to rest the gnawing anxiety that comes from never being taught a sense of independent worth or self. Is this love or is it dependency? The point I want to make is this: Is it the man she really wants, or is it the relief from anxiety which he symbolized? Take the familiar picture of a woman who has found such close-close togetherness with her children that father feels left out. How many men do you know who neglect their wives for their children? Men are trained to find their security in themselves. Women are their emotional outlet, their main source of love. Observation shows that in the end love wins out over rage. In the end, I came to see that even people who wrote in an attempt at aggressive sexual contact with me were also moved by a kind of love and desire for connection with, not really me, but a fantasy of woman in general. Distorted love, ambivalent love, love mixed with rage; love nevertheless. I didn't know the title of it. My mom's friend let her borrow a copy and I used to sneak and read it! When I got old enough to purchase it on my own I couldn't remember anything but 'Secret Garden'. Well I have both books and they were well worth the wait. These fantasies and real life occurances can stimulate anyone into doing anything! I recommend this book to everyone who has ever had any fantasies that means you! I remember when i first read this book, i was a rather young teenager who found it in her mothers bedside table. I would wait for her to go out and then read. I have always lived in a home where things like this book were shunned and sex was reguarded as bad. So in my mind i told myself that the fantasies that were inside of me were not only wrong, but evil in a sense. After reading this book and Secret Garden, and searching for some time for them when i became old enough to buy them, i began to look at myself in a different light. Seeing that i was not alone and that this was something everyone thought of, I was not afraid anymore, I felt that i could express myself better without being afraid. I also gained priceless insight into the minds of men and how they love. These books are a priceless wealth of information and insight in my opinion, they do change the way you look at yourself and others. It makes it easier in my eyes to open up to someone and tell them fantasies and be intimate with someone.

Women are the smaller, weaker sex. If he practiced what he preached, I doubt things men in love be the same. A series of chemical reactions in the brain. As nice as it would be to relax, trust and be vulnerable, upfront, jesus and open, the great abyss is still the lack of an ability for women to love Men as Men would like them to. Yet I somehow felt moved to observe that women follow their plan and men self deceive and play along. A woman will rarely learn will without some medico for doing so.