EXCITING REVELATION: “I’D LOVE TO F**K HER!”… At 83, Harrison Ford Names The Seven Actresses He Wanted To Sleep With

 

 

 

At eighty-three, Harrison Ford has nothing left to prove.

He’s lived a thousand lives on screen — the daring archaeologist, the charming smuggler, the grizzled hero — but now, in the twilight of a legendary career, he’s finally decided to speak with the kind of candor only earned by time.

In a recent interview that left the studio buzzing, Ford was asked a question most Hollywood legends would dodge.

After all these years, after working alongside some of the most iconic women in film history, were there any who truly got under his skin?

The ones who made him wonder what might have been if the cameras stopped rolling?

Harrison didn’t flinch.

He leaned forward, eyes sparkling with that familiar roguish gleam, and said, “Seven. There are seven women who could have had me. No questions asked.”

 

 

 

 

 

The room went silent.

And then, with that trademark gravelly laugh, he added, “Don’t look so shocked. You spend fifty years in this business, you’re bound to lose a little sleep over a few what-ifs.”

First on his list was the one the world always suspected — Carrie Fisher.

“The chemistry wasn’t just acting,” Harrison admitted with a wistful grin. “Carrie was brilliant, wickedly funny, sharper than anyone in the room. She’d whisper something outrageous right before a take, and I’d forget every line I had.”

He paused, eyes softening. “She was the kind of woman you never really got over. If she’d ever said the word, I’d have followed her straight into hyperspace.”

Then came Sigourney Weaver — the warrior queen of science fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

“Sigourney had that power,” Ford said. “She’d walk into a room, and suddenly every man wanted to stand up straighter. She didn’t flirt. She didn’t need to. You did the work for her. She made you feel like she could save the world — and maybe you, too.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “If I’d ever been alone with her back in the day, I’m not sure I’d have lasted long pretending to be professional.”

Next was Sophia Loren, the timeless Italian goddess.

“Sophia didn’t need to say a word,” Harrison said, voice low. “She was dialogue. She was fire. You’d see her smile, and you’d forget your name. She didn’t ask for permission — she was permission.”

He laughed softly. “If she’d ever whispered my name, I’d have followed her straight into the fire and thanked her for it.”

Then came Raquel Welch, the bombshell of a generation.

 

 

 

 

“Raquel wasn’t just beautiful,” Ford said. “She was a seismic event. Men didn’t just watch her — they surrendered. I had her poster on my wall like every other guy, but I was already imagining ripping it down if she ever walked through the door.”

He smiled, eyes full of memory. “She was temptation in human form. Some women you admire. Raquel? You survived — if you were lucky.”

The fifth name was one that surprised everyone — Meryl Streep.

“She’s the greatest actress alive,” Ford admitted, “but nobody talks about how magnetic she is. When Meryl looks at you, really looks, you melt. She’s grace, intelligence, danger — all wrapped up in brilliance. And let me tell you, brilliance is one hell of an aphrodisiac.”

He smirked, that mischievous Han Solo grin sneaking back. “I wouldn’t have stood a chance. But I’d have tried anyway.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next came Michelle Pfeiffer, the enchantress.

“Michelle wasn’t just beautiful,” Ford said. “She was dangerous. You’d see her and immediately know — she’s the kind of woman who could ruin you, and you’d thank her for it. She had that edge, that mystery. You never really knew what she was thinking — and that’s what made her impossible to forget.”

He paused, smiling to himself. “If she’d ever crooked a finger at me, Han Solo wouldn’t have made it back to the Falcon.”

And the seventh?

Harrison only grinned.

“I think I’ll keep one secret,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “A man’s entitled to at least one mystery.”

For Ford, these weren’t just crushes or idle fantasies.

 

 

 

 

 

They were moments — sparks that lingered, whispers of what might have been if life weren’t always scripted.

He wasn’t embarrassed by them.

He wore them like old scars, reminders of a life fully lived.

At eighty-three, Harrison Ford doesn’t need to pretend.

He’s played heroes, lovers, legends — but beneath it all, he’s still a man who remembers the women who made his heart skip, even if just for a moment.

 

 

 

 

And as he said it, with that crooked smile and twinkle in his eye, it was clear — the rogue hasn’t gone anywhere.

He’s just finally telling the truth.