Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  He, meanwhile, whatever he might feel, acted with all the firmness of a collected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost despatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which she might look for his return. Not a moment was lost in delay of any kind. The horses arrived, even before they were expected, and Colonel Brandon only pressing her hand with a look of solemnity, and a few words spoken too low to reach her ear, hurried into the carriage. It was then about twelve o’clock, and she returned to her sister’s apartment to wait for the arrival of the apothecary, and to watch by her the rest of the night. It was a night of almost equal suffering to both. Hour after hour passed away in sleepless pain and delirium on Marianne’s side, and in the most cruel anxiety on Elinor’s, before Mr. Harris appeared. Her apprehensions once raised, paid by their excess for all her former security; and the servant who sat up with her, for she would not allow Mrs. Jennings to be called, only tortured her more, by hints of what her mistress had always thought. Marianne’s ideas were still, at intervals, fixed incoherently on her mother, and whenever she mentioned her name, it gave a pang to the heart of poor Elinor, who, reproaching herself for having trifled with so many days of illness, and wretched for some immediate relief, fancied that all relief might soon be in vain, that every thing had been delayed too long, and pictured to herself her suffering mother arriving too late to see this darling child, or to see her rational. She was on the point of sending again for Mr. Harris, or if he could not come, for some other advice, when the former—but not till after five o’clock—arrived. His opinion, however, made some little amends for his delay, for though acknowledging a very unexpected and unpleasant alteration in his patient, he would not allow the danger to be material, and talked of the relief which a fresh mode of treatment must procure, with a confidence which, in a lesser degree, was communicated to Elinor. He promised to call again in the course of three or four hours, and left both the patient and her anxious attendant more composed than he had found them.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I was afraid you would think I was taking a great liberty with you,” said she, “in telling you all this. I have not known you long to be sure, personally at least, but I have known you and all your family by description a great while; and as soon as I saw you, I felt almost as if you was an old acquaintance. Besides in the present case, I really thought some explanation was due to you after my making such particular inquiries about Edward’s mother; and I am so unfortunate, that I have not a creature whose advice I can ask. Anne is the only person that knows of it, and she has no judgment at all; indeed, she does me a great deal more harm than good, for I am in constant fear of her betraying me. She does not know how to hold her tongue, as you must perceive, and I am sure I was in the greatest fright in the world t’other day, when Edward’s name was mentioned by Sir John, lest she should out with it all. You can’t think how much I go through in my mind from it altogether. I only wonder that I am alive after what I have suffered for Edward’s sake these last four years. Every thing in such suspense and uncertainty; and seeing him so seldom—we can hardly meet above twice a-year. I am sure I wonder my heart is not quite broke.” Here she took out her handkerchief; but Elinor did not feel very compassionate. “Sometimes.” continued Lucy, after wiping her eyes, “I think whether it would not be better for us both to break off the matter entirely.” As she said this, she looked directly at her companion. “But then at other times I have not resolution enough for it. I cannot bear the thoughts of making him so miserable, as I know the very mention of such a thing would do. And on my own account too—so dear as he is to me—I don’t think I could be equal to it. What would you advise me to do in such a case, Miss Dashwood? What would you do yourself?” “Pardon me,” replied Elinor, startled by the question; “but I can give you no advice under such circumstances. Your own judgment must direct you.” “To be sure,” continued Lucy, after a few minutes silence on both sides, “his mother must provide for him sometime or other; but poor Edward is so cast down by it! Did you not think him dreadful low-spirited when he was at Barton? He was so miserable when he left us at Longstaple, to go to you, that I was afraid you would think him quite ill.” “Did he come from your uncle’s, then, when he visited us?” “Oh, yes; he had been staying a fortnight with us. Did you think he came directly from town?”

• From The City of God

  Chapter 8. --That the Friendship of Good Men Cannot Be Securely Rested In, So Long as the Dangers of This Life Force Us to Be Anxious. In our present wretched condition we frequently mistake a friend for an enemy, and an enemy for a friend. And if we escape this pitiable blindness, is not the unfeigned confidence and mutual love of true and good friends our one solace in human society, filled as it is with misunderstandings and calamities? And yet the more friends we have, and the more widely they are scattered, the more numerous are our fears that some portion of the vast masses of the disasters of life may light upon them. For we are not only anxious lest they suffer from famine, war, disease, captivity, or the inconceivable horrors of slavery, but we are also affected with the much more painful dread that their friendship may be changed into perfidy, malice, and injustice. And when these contingencies actually occur,--as they do the more frequently the more friends we have, and the more widely they are scattered,--and when they come to our knowledge, who but the man who has experienced it can tell with what pangs the heart is torn? We would, in fact, prefer to hear that they were dead, although we could not without anguish hear of even this. For if their life has solaced us with the charms of friendship, can it be that their death should affect us with no sadness? He who will have none of this sadness must, if possible, have no friendly intercourse. Let him interdict or extinguish friendly affection; let him burst with ruthless insensibility the bonds of every human relationship; or let him contrive so to use them that no sweetness shall distil into his spirit. But if this is utterly impossible, how shall we contrive to feel no bitterness in the death of those whose life has been sweet to us? Hence arises that grief which affects the tender heart like a wound or a bruise, and which is healed by the application of kindly consolation. For though the cure is affected all the more easily and rapidly the better condition the soul is in, we must not on this account suppose that there is nothing at all to heal. Although, then, our present life is afflicted, sometimes in a milder, sometimes in a more painful degree, by the death of those very dear to us, and especially of useful public men, yet we would prefer to hear that such men were dead rather than to hear or perceive that they had fallen from the faith, or from virtue,--in other words, that they were spiritually dead. Of this vast material for misery the earth is full, and therefore it is written, "Is not human life upon earth a trial? " [1274]And with the same reference the Lord says, "Woe to the world because of offenses! " [1275] and again, "Because iniquity abounded, the love of many shall wax cold. " [1276]And hence we enjoy some gratification when our good friends die; for though their death leaves us in sorrow, we have the consolatory assurance that they are beyond the ills by which in this life even the best of men are broken down or corrupted, or are in danger of both results.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  He went to the changing room and stuffed his ballsack into the pouch and tied the waistband of the suit. It looked pretty good, but it felt strange—as if his testicles were trying to sing the song about a horse with no name. He pulled his pants on over the suit, leaving the tag flapping visibly. At the register, Trix pointed her scanning gun at his pants, and it made the bleep. “Two hundred and four dollars,” she said. Pendle pulled out his wallet, and he gave Trix some bills. She handed him back his change. He hesitated. He’d come to the test. Here was the moment. There were so many things that he could do wrong. For instance, if he leaned toward her and said, “Trix, I’d so like to munch on that apple ass of yours”—that would not be good. Even at the House of Holes, especially at the House of Holes, crassness didn’t pay. If he said, “I have half a pound of prime Angus cockbrisket ready for you”—that would not be good, either. And then he thought, You know, so what? He said, “There’s something I want to say, but I don’t think I should say it. I mean, it’s not that outrageous, it’s just that it’s not something that you normally say at the checkout counter.” “You’d be surprised at what people say here.” Pendle said, “I was going to say that I wish I was a man who had a store where he made custom sequin pasties for exotic dancers and you were an exotic dancer and came into the store and ordered a set of spiral pasties and so I had to measure your aureoles for fit.” “How would you measure them, with a ruler?” “Probably with my mouth,” said Pendle, “and then I’d measure my mouth with the ruler.” “I see. How does the bathing suit feel?” “Intense. Things are definitely hopping down there. But here’s the thing. When I look at you my fingertips actually go cold on me. Your face is that powerful. Do you want to have a bowl of soup and half a sandwich?” “Sure, I’d like that.” So at nine o’clock, when Trix got off work, she and Pendle went to a restaurant and had smooth soup and talked about working at the House of Holes. Pendle showed her the little purple vial of Bohu’s beardwater. Trix said, “What does it do, make you horny? I don’t need much help with that.” “Me neither, frankly,” said Pendle. “But I think it also makes the sexual experience more intense.” “Well then, I’ll try a drop in my spritzer.”

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  — μέρος. ful, Hom. (only in I.) always in neut. pl., μέρμερα μητίσασθαι to me- ditate mischief, 10. 48; μέρμερα ῥέζειν 11. 502; also, μέρμερα μήσατο ἔργα το. 289, cf. 524; always of warlike deeds (in full, πολέμοιο μ. ἔργα 8. 453); but in Hes. Th. 603, μ. ἔργα γυναικῶν the ills that women work ; so, p. κακόν Eur. Rhes. 509; βλάβη Lyc. l.c.; ἀδρανίη Nic. Th. 248. II. like δύσκολος, of persons, anxious, peevish, morose, Plat. Hipp. Ma. 290 E, cf. Ruhnk. Tim.: baneful, ἥρως Anth. P. 7. 697; ἔθνος Dion. P. 350; μ. χρῆμα crafty creature, of a fox, Plut. 2. 988 A: of a hound, cited from Opp.—Ep. word, used in Eur. and Plat, l.c., and in late Prose. (V. sub μέριμνα; cf. μέρμηρα. μερμηρίζω.) μέρμηρᾶ, 77, poet. form of μέριμνα (not in Hom.), care, trouble, ἄμ- παυμα μερμηράων rest from troubles, Hes. Th. 55, Theogn. 1325; ἔρρετε μέρμηραι θυμαλγέες Epigr. Gr. 551. 11. 2. a morning-nap, Schol. Ar. Vesp. 5, Hesych. μερμηρίζω, fut. ἔξω, Od. τό. 261: Ep. aor. μερμήριξα (v. infr.) ; cf. ἀπομερμηρίζω: (péppepos): I. intr. to be full of cares, to be anxious or thoughtful, to be in doubt, often in Hom., μερμ. φρεσί, κατὰ φρένα, κατὰ θυμόν, κατὰ φρένα καὶ κατὰ θυμόν ; and, where the doubt is to be strongly expressed, δίχα or διάνδιχα μερμηρίζειν to halt between two opinions, be in anxious doubt, Od. 16. 73, Il. 1. 180, al.—Construct. : foll. by ὡς .., μερμήριζε κατὰ φρένα. ws ᾿Αχιλῆα τιμήσῃ was debating how he should.., Il. 2. 3; μερμήριξεν .., ὅππως ἀπάφοιτο Διὸς νόον 14.1593 μερμήριζεν, ὅπως ἀπολοίατο πᾶσαι νῆες Od. 9.554; but most eae Bay aEXG μερμήριξεν ἢ... ἠὲ... debated anxiously whether .. , 1] τὶ wo cf. δ᾽ 671, Od. 22. 333; also, διχὰ θυμὸς ἐνὶ φρένι ἜΤ -, ἢ... 16. 73; also with inf. aor., didviiya p., ἵππους τε ae καὶ ΓΤ μαχέσασθαι debated anxiously with himself,—to turn back and fight, (or not ..), Il. 8. 167, cf. Od. το. 438; ; also with inf. in first clause and 7 in second, μερμήριξε .. κύσσαι καὶ περιφῦναι..., ἢ πρῶτ᾽ ἐξερέοιτο 24. 235 sq.; also c. acc. rei, ἢ τι περὶ Τρώων .. μερμηρίζεις ; Il. 20. 17. TI. trans. to devise, contrive, πολλὰ φρεσὶ μερμηρίζων Od, 1. 427: ἀεικέα μερμ. 4. 533. etc.; δόλον -- ἐνὶ φρεσὶ μερμ. 2. 933 φόνον ἡμῖν μερμηρίζει 2. 325; εἰ δύνασαί τιν᾽ ἀμύντορα μερμηρίξαι τό. 256.—Ep. Verb, as is noticed by Luc. Hist. Conscr. 22, Bis Acc. 2. μερμηρικοί, of, -- πειρᾶται, Hesych. μερμίλλων, ὠνος, 6, the Lat. mirmillo, C. 1. 3392; 2104, chs 2889. μέρμῖς, ios, 7, a cord, string, rope, Od. το. 23:—a dat. μερμίθαις from μέρμιθα, Agatharch. in Phot. Bibl. 451. 36; μέρμιθος, 6, Hesych., Zonar. 1345. (Connected with μήρινθος ; the Root is dub., Curt. Gr. Et. Ρ.543.) μερμνός, 6, a sort of hawk, Ael. N. A. 12. 4. μεροπεύς, ews, Ion. fos, ὃ, -- μέροψ. Eudoc.

• From The City of God

  Chapter 23. --Of the Miseries of This Life Which Attach Peculiarly to the Toil of Good Men, Irrespective of Those Which are Common to the Good and Bad. But, irrespective of the miseries which in this life are common to the good and bad, the righteous undergo labors peculiar to themselves, in so far as they make war upon their vices, and are involved in the temptations and perils of such a contest. For though sometimes more violent and at other times slacker, yet without intermission does the flesh lust against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh, so that we cannot do the things we would, [1654] and extirpate all lust, but can only refuse consent to it, as God gives us ability, and so keep it under, vigilantly keeping watch lest a semblance of truth deceive us, lest a subtle discourse blind us, lest error involve us in darkness, lest we should take good for evil or evil for good, lest fear should hinder us from doing what we ought, or desire precipitate us into doing what we ought not, lest the sun go down upon our wrath, lest hatred provoke us to render evil for evil, lest unseemly or immoderate grief consume us, lest an ungrateful disposition make us slow to recognize benefits received, lest calumnies fret our conscience, lest rash suspicion on our part deceive us regarding a friend, or false suspicion of us on the part of others give us too much uneasiness, lest sin reign in our mortal body to obey its desires, lest our members be used as the instruments of unrighteousness, lest the eye follow lust, lest thirst for revenge carry us away, lest sight or thought dwell too long on some evil thing which gives us pleasure, lest wicked or indecent language be willingly listened to, lest we do what is pleasant but unlawful, and lest in this warfare, filled so abundantly with toil and peril, we either hope to secure victory by our own strength, or attribute it when secured to our own strength, and not to His grace of whom the apostle says, "Thanks be unto God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ;" [1655] and in another place he says, "In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. " [1656] But yet we are to know this, that however valorously we resist our vices, and however successful we are in overcoming them, yet as long as we are in this body we have always reason to say to God, Forgive us our debts. " [1657]But in that kingdom where we shall dwell for ever, clothed in immortal bodies, we shall no longer have either conflicts or debts,--as indeed we should not have had at any time or in any condition, had our nature continued upright as it was created. Consequently even this our conflict, in which we are exposed to peril, and from which we hope to be delivered by a final victory, belongs to the ills of this life, which is proved by the witness of so many grave evils to be a life under condemnation.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  In a morning’s excursion to Exeter, they had met with two young ladies, whom Mrs. Jennings had the satisfaction of discovering to be her relations, and this was enough for Sir John to invite them directly to the park, as soon as their present engagements at Exeter were over. Their engagements at Exeter instantly gave way before such an invitation, and Lady Middleton was thrown into no little alarm on the return of Sir John, by hearing that she was very soon to receive a visit from two girls whom she had never seen in her life, and of whose elegance,—whose tolerable gentility even, she could have no proof; for the assurances of her husband and mother on that subject went for nothing at all. Their being her relations too made it so much the worse; and Mrs. Jennings’s attempts at consolation were therefore unfortunately founded, when she advised her daughter not to care about their being so fashionable; because they were all cousins and must put up with one another. As it was impossible, however, now to prevent their coming, Lady Middleton resigned herself to the idea of it, with all the philosophy of a well-bred woman, contenting herself with merely giving her husband a gentle reprimand on the subject five or six times every day. The young ladies arrived: their appearance was by no means ungenteel or unfashionable. Their dress was very smart, their manners very civil, they were delighted with the house, and in raptures with the furniture, and they happened to be so doatingly fond of children that Lady Middleton’s good opinion was engaged in their favour before they had been an hour at the Park. She declared them to be very agreeable girls indeed, which for her ladyship was enthusiastic admiration. Sir John’s confidence in his own judgment rose with this animated praise, and he set off directly for the cottage to tell the Miss Dashwoods of the Miss Steeles’ arrival, and to assure them of their being the sweetest girls in the world. From such commendation as this, however, there was not much to be learned; Elinor well knew that the sweetest girls in the world were to be met with in every part of England, under every possible variation of form, face, temper and understanding. Sir John wanted the whole family to walk to the Park directly and look at his guests. Benevolent, philanthropic man! It was painful to him even to keep a third cousin to himself.

• From The City of God

  392 Books That Matter: The City of God enemy, he says, nor who will turn out to be our true friend. The city of God, when it is on pilgrimage, should deal with the wicked who exist within its community, and outside its walls, by using the suffering that they cause to exercise itself in patience, and charity, and forgiveness. Secondly, we should be humbly uncertain about when we are—what time it is in relation to the last days. Hence, against those devotees of apocalyptic eschatology who were very common in Augustine’s world, he insists that we must not attempt to anticipate the Last Judgment. Against those who see a fixed time frame for the church’s persecutions, he insists that there are no limits we could imagine to the times that the church will be persecuted, or even troubled. We shouldn’t believe the view apparently popular in Augustine’s age that there would be 10 persecutions until the Antichrist returns. Nor, he says, is Christianity restricted to a 365-year lifespan, as apparently many in his day believed. He views such expectations as deeply presumptuous, trying to seize the inscrutable providence of God and control it for ourselves. He says, “No limit can be set to the number of persecutions which the church must endure for her training”—for her, in Latin, exerceri, which is exercise. In fact, the timeline of the final persecution is known to none on earth. So he tells his readers, relax your fingers from counting; give them a rest. All the ingenious accounts of how the apocalypse can be predicted from within history are examples of people misusing their intelligence while forgetting the main thing. I love this line of Augustine; it’s one of my favorite ones—he says, “It takes a truly educated mind to believe such things about Christ, while refusing to believe in Christ.” We’ve all known people like that, right? Maybe we’ve been people like that. The upshot of all this is that we live not just in a situation where two communities—the city of God and the earthly city—are intermixed. We also live in a situation where two times are intermixed. Living in this condition demands that we patiently and humbly accept a certain 393 degree of ambiguity and ambivalence as intrinsic to our journey in this time, and know that the time is not for you to know; and in dealing with enemies, you may be entertaining angels unawares; and the greatest danger is always the one that is closest to your breast. And now that we’ve seen how to deal with plurality and ambiguity in the church, we can turn to Book 19, to the other stage, the arena of those affairs that we call worldly. How should we enact such an ambiguous account in our care for this fallen world? That is the question Book 19 sets out to answer, and which we will ask next time. Lecture 18 Transcript—Translating the Imperium (Book 18)

• From The City of God

  386 Books That Matter: The City of God Furthermore, there are deep questions for members of the churches here about whether this leaves the city of God too fugitive in history— that is to say, is Augustine’s description of Christ’s presence in history and effect on it, is it too thin? Does our historical existence have the same full quality before and after the life of Jesus? Or after Christ, do we just walk simply more deeply into a fog? Is history just a shadow- play now? Doesn’t the church’s inauguration of the new age amount to something like a real change for its inhabitants? Aren’t they all, after all, the new Creations that Paul said they would be? You can imagine believers—not just unbelievers asking about history, but believers asking Augustine about the church. If we are done with the then, then what does the now that we have entered into amount to? Augustine’s basic answer to the question of the meaning of history is simple. Israelite prophets and the pagan sages—both the Jewish and the classical Greco-Roman streams—both of them anticipate and prefigure, he says, the Christian Gospel. They do so by offering hints of and clues to its coming—some of them knowing something of what they are saying, some of them thoroughly clueless about it; but all of them meaning something with their lips and in their lives, through their acts, that signify something far beyond their literal significances. So we live in the now of the church by understanding that the then of the past, he says, was always leading to this church—in some way intending it; prefiguring it in partial ways. But what does this prefiguration mean? Most basically, it means that we must learn to see all human actions, including our own, as having their full and complete determination; not in a present now, but at some point in an indefinite future, so that all our actions now must be undertaken with fear and trembling in the knowledge that they will receive their full and final meaning at a time, and in a place, that we cannot control. Consider, as an example of how Augustine reads these moments of history, the story of Jonah, the whale, and Nineveh. This is a story with at least three distinct layers of meaning for Augustine. First, the sheer

• From The City of God

  390 Books That Matter: The City of God Judaism’s continued communal existence serves, then, Augustine thinks, as a powerful witness to the antiquity of God’s promises, and also to the power of God’s word to keep a community bound together. Though they may now only have a shadow of the faithful energy they once possessed, Augustine thought, they still bear the marks of God’s care for them. And one day, he says, in a reading of Paul—he explicitly ties this to his reading of Paul—they will be converted, yet again, back to fidelity to the Christian conception of God. And so, because of that, they should not be attacked or abused, nor should their faith as a whole be attacked—though efforts at conversion on an individual basis were certainly acceptable for Augustine. So, these two forms of prefiguration—Ancient Greece and Rome; Ancient Israel—do more than simply authorize Christianity’s antiquity and undertake to fight with Judaism over who gets to inherit the promises that God made to Abraham. They also, for Augustine, offer a strategy for ensuring that the Christian readings of history, and of the present, do not settle into a self-satisfied literalism. These typological readings destabilize simple presumption for Augustine and thus inject ambiguity into the community’s sense of itself. And Augustine was worried about ensuring a certain level of ambiguity among Christians; about their comprehension of God’s purposes in the here and now, and going forward. Recall, he’s anxious to avoid giving any space in his theology to anything that smacks of a Donatist presumption about the community as purely or truly Christian, or any warrant for an exclusion of others as finally and ultimately non-Christian. He lives in a world of dualists—of people who want to draw bright lines between the light and the dark, the holy and the wicked, the damned and the saved—and he doesn’t want that. He wants a vision of the world that is simultaneously confident about the promises of God in Christ and also uncertain about how those promises will be fulfilled, and are being fulfilled, in believers’ lives and the lives of others.

• From The City of God

  188 Books That Matter: The City of God general mode of this form of inquiry for the philosophers proceeds as follows. We live in a culture swarming with myths, stories meant to orient and motivate us towards appropriate moral and spiritual ends, and yet of diverse and not infrequently dubious moral and spiritual value. The wise philosopher comes to see that these myths are in some ways psychologically and culturally inescapable. They’ve already formed our minds by the time we come to critical self-awareness of them, therefore they must be analyzed for their value and interpreted in such a way as to make them most beneficial. And in this way, the myths must be reincorporated into a larger and more healthy—and more sane—picture of the culture’s values. From Plato’s Republic through Aristotle’s Poetics through the Alexandrian grammarians to the rhetors of Augustine’s time, this overall practice was the primary intellectual action on received culture by the philosophers and other intellectuals. Few critics of culture fundamentally reject their cultural inheritance—by and large, they mostly reinterpret it. These inquiries menaced the rather unquestioning piety of their non- intellectual, non-philosophical compatriots, and the menace was felt by those non-intellectuals, and from time to time it provoked a backlash against philosophy. All the philosophers remembered what Athens did to Socrates, where he was executed for impiety. And just as an aside here, there is an interesting fact that, in Western civilization as a whole, there are two characters for whom every word we have of theirs is written down in light of their ultimate destiny of being killed by the state, and those two characters are Socrates and Jesus. That’s just an interesting aside. But back to the philosophers and the critique of myth, the popular suspicion of them. The philosophers knew about the suspicions, and they were wary of sharing their thoughts with the mass of people, with the common folk. They generally kept to themselves; they generally

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She held the purse out to him and Dennis gingerly reached in. He felt around for a moment, found her keys, and then under it came across the tiny book. “Ooh, I’m squeezing it,” he said. “I wish my name were in here.” “It can be,” she said. “How?” he asked. “Become an investor in my film.” “I’ll think seriously about that.” Mindy held open her purse wider. “Come inside where it’s dark and warm,” she said. He bent and gazed deep and then, shrinking, he fell forward and was enveloped in purseness. “Come with me, Mindy,” he called as he shrank. He smelled the fumes of leather and bottles of nail polish, and he saw Mindy’s driver’s license picture staring at him behind plastic. Her eyes were generous and pretty. He lay for a minute in the jumble of her things, and then it occurred to him that if he didn’t climb out, he would probably suffocate. He grabbed the edge of the purse and hauled himself out onto the floor of a fancy hotel room. He sat, collecting his wits, until he had grown back to his normal size. The purse was on the floor next to him. “Mindy, are you in there?” he called. She wasn’t. He felt an odd tickling or burning sensation in the tip of his penis, and he heard a tiny voice shouting something muffled. He got up and took off his chinos and peered into his striped boxer shorts. Something was definitely going on inside his penis. He stripped off his boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting his penis so that he could get a better look. Mindy’s head was protruding from its tip. Just her head and neck were visible. “Good lord, are you all right?” he said. “I think so!” Mindy shouted in her tiny voice. “Welcome to the House of Holes. I’m here stuck in your penis for some reason.” “Can you get out? You’re so teeny-tiny!” Mindy said something. “What did you say?” said Dennis. “You have to really shout, I’m afraid.” “I said that I feel like a kidney stone!” “Oh. We really need to get you safely out of there.” Dennis thought for a moment. “I don’t think I should try to pull on your head.” “No, you might injure me.” Mindy struggled, trying without success to free her arms, which were pinned next to her body. “I just need a good push. Do you think you could try urinating? That would work, I think. I’ll hold my breath.” “Well, I could try, but I’m warning you I’ve got a shy bladder.” Dennis went into the bathroom and got a glass and held it under his penis and pushed.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She looked up. “No, I did not ‘crap.’ That is incorrect. You will see. This is one of my sculptures. It is made of asswood.” She washed it off and dried it with a towel and handed it to him. The sculpture was indeed in the shape of a woman, with a wide face, made of dark polished wood. “It’s beautiful, I stand corrected,” said Wade. “I will give it to you. I have others for sale in the HOHMA gift shop. Now I will go. I enjoyed our dream. Good-bye.” She nodded to him. “Good-bye,” said Wade. “Thank you very much for the sculpture.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Henriette Surfs the Lake [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Henriette was sitting in Lila’s office. The book of men’s faces lay open and unregarded on the glass table next to her chair. Poplars were waving their little leaf shadows on the floor. “I imagine a sensual man,” Henriette said, “strong-jawed, financially secure, who understands my needs and is not threatened by them.” Lila snorted in disgust and flung a paper clip into a little dish. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, honey,” she said. “Can you please cut the boilerplate?” Henriette, slightly shocked, thought for a moment. “I guess the truth is I’m sort of bored and scared. I don’t want to go through life alone, obviously. I want a loving partner. I want a little more out of sex. I’ve made some bad choices. When I was with my ex I almost never came, because I can’t come without my vibrator and the sound of it embarrassed me. I always felt I was doing the wrong thing around him.” “That’s fixable,” said Lila. “That’s not the real problem. I can find a new guy.” “Of course you can.” “The real problem is I’ve used the darn vibrator so much lately that it’s made me numb! Not just numb, but I sometimes get really sharp tingling pains—not good tingles. Angry hurting tingles.” Lila picked up the phone. “Krock, could you ask Zilka to bring in the Cable of Induhash? The big spool of it, mm-hm.” She smiled at Henriette. “Go on.” “So, yeah, I think I’ve damaged the nerves. It’s just so hard to reach that delicious point now. I press and press, it’s like my clit is not getting good reception anymore. And honestly, is it worth the effort? And if it isn’t worth it, what is? Making a really nice soufflé, that’s satisfying. Volunteering at the park cleanup, that’s satisfying. But then there is the middle of the night, and my clitoris is just sitting there like a little numb pebble, and I’m full of filthy ideas, and I think, grrrrr!” Lila stood and paced. She stared out at the horizon, pon-dering. “Now Henriette,” she said finally, “you’re an attractive young woman, with lovely smooth skin, wearing a lovely short skirt.” “Thank you,” said Henriette, pleased. “It seems that you have given yourself a tiny case of sleepy clit or even—clitordynia.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Some men’s come—young men’s come—can develop special healing powers,” Lila answered. “Did you masturbate yet today?” “I haven’t,” said Wade. “I was too busy thinking about calling you up.” “Good,” said Lila. She opened a wooden box on her desk and lifted out the top part, which held old coins and stamps. Underneath was a folded green cloth with ancient symbols on it. “This is the sacred healing cloth of Ka-Chiang,” Lila said. “I’m going to tie it loosely around your balls. If you wear it for twenty-four hours you’ll develop a crop of new sperm—very, very special sperm.” “Special how?” asked Wade. “If the cloth works as it should,” said Lila, “your new sperm will have the power to reattach human limbs or heads.” “That’s interesting,” said Wade. Gently, with her head held slightly to the side, Lila tied the green cloth around Wade’s balls. As she worked its corners into a small knot, the tugging made him smile slightly. His penis grew under the roughness of the burlap and pointed off to the side. “How does the Ka-Chiang cloth feel to you?” Lila asked. “Not bad,” he said. “Not too tight?” she said. He said no, just right. “Burlap tickles, though.” “Now,” she said, “you’re almost ready to go, but first you must, absolutely must, empty out the crop of mature sperm in your system, so that you will have a fresh, new generation formed under the powerful influence of Ka-Chiang. Crackers, could you please do a sexy lap dance to help Wade while he gives himself pleasure?” Wade made a noise. “You mean I’m supposed to wank while Crackers does a lap dance?” “If you’d like to give yourself pleasure privately in a different room you can do that instead.” “No, it’s not that. It’s just that you tied this handkerchief on my balls and now this. It’s happening rather fast is all I’m saying.” “It must happen fast,” said Lila, gesticulating. “We must clear out the old regime. The old tired ways of sperm must go. The young ones need their room to flourish.” She handed Wade a small jade cup. “Ejaculate your sweet salty hotness in that, if you like. Or in my hand. I’d love to hold your seed.” She held out her hand. Wade put the jade cup down. “Maybe I’m too shy to have you watch me,” he said. “Maybe I should go back home.” “Crackers, flash Wade your marvelous smile,” said Lila. Crackers smiled a marvelous smile. “See, you’re a prisoner now. You can’t escape. You’re going to have to come in this jade cup.” Lila’s hands went down to Wade’s knees, and then she slowly brought them up, touching only the hair on his thighs. Meanwhile, Crackers hooked her thumb under his cock and began moving it around. “Tell me about a girl you think about at night,” Lila coaxed.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She looked up. “No, I did not ‘crap.’ That is incorrect. You will see. This is one of my sculptures. It is made of asswood.” She washed it off and dried it with a towel and handed it to him. The sculpture was indeed in the shape of a woman, with a wide face, made of dark polished wood. “It’s beautiful, I stand corrected,” said Wade. “I will give it to you. I have others for sale in the HOHMA gift shop. Now I will go. I enjoyed our dream. Good-bye.” She nodded to him. “Good-bye,” said Wade. “Thank you very much for the sculpture.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Henriette Surfs the Lake [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Henriette was sitting in Lila’s office. The book of men’s faces lay open and unregarded on the glass table next to her chair. Poplars were waving their little leaf shadows on the floor. “I imagine a sensual man,” Henriette said, “strong-jawed, financially secure, who understands my needs and is not threatened by them.” Lila snorted in disgust and flung a paper clip into a little dish. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, honey,” she said. “Can you please cut the boilerplate?” Henriette, slightly shocked, thought for a moment. “I guess the truth is I’m sort of bored and scared. I don’t want to go through life alone, obviously. I want a loving partner. I want a little more out of sex. I’ve made some bad choices. When I was with my ex I almost never came, because I can’t come without my vibrator and the sound of it embarrassed me. I always felt I was doing the wrong thing around him.” “That’s fixable,” said Lila. “That’s not the real problem. I can find a new guy.” “Of course you can.” “The real problem is I’ve used the darn vibrator so much lately that it’s made me numb! Not just numb, but I sometimes get really sharp tingling pains—not good tingles. Angry hurting tingles.” Lila picked up the phone. “Krock, could you ask Zilka to bring in the Cable of Induhash? The big spool of it, mm-hm.” She smiled at Henriette. “Go on.” “So, yeah, I think I’ve damaged the nerves. It’s just so hard to reach that delicious point now. I press and press, it’s like my clit is not getting good reception anymore. And honestly, is it worth the effort? And if it isn’t worth it, what is? Making a really nice soufflé, that’s satisfying. Volunteering at the park cleanup, that’s satisfying. But then there is the middle of the night, and my clitoris is just sitting there like a little numb pebble, and I’m full of filthy ideas, and I think, grrrrr!” Lila stood and paced. She stared out at the horizon, pon-dering. “Now Henriette,” she said finally, “you’re an attractive young woman, with lovely smooth skin, wearing a lovely short skirt.” “Thank you,” said Henriette, pleased. “It seems that you have given yourself a tiny case of sleepy clit or even—clitordynia.”

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  How is the inner template of the child of divorce different from that of the young adult in the intact family—especially if the child of divorce, in accord with the current advice of mediators and court personnel, has access to both parents and the parents refrain from fighting during the postdivorce years? As every child of divorce told me, no matter how often they see their parents, the image of them together as a loving couple is forever lost. A father in one home and a mother in another home does not represent a marriage, however well they communicate. Separate may be equal but it is not together. As children grow up and choose partners of their own, they lack this central image of the intact marriage. In its place they confront a void that threatens to swallow them whole. Unlike children from intact families, children of divorce in our study spoke very little about their parents’ interaction. They hardly ever referred to their parents’ behavior at the breakup. By and large their central complaint is that no one had explained the divorce to them and that the reasons were shrouded in mystery. When reasons were offered, they sounded to them like platitudes designed to avoid telling what really happened. Their parents said, we were different people, we had nothing in common. Children of divorce hardly mentioned their parents together except to express their disdain when the parents continued to fight or behave badly with each other at the birthdays of grandchildren and the like. Indeed, the parents’ interaction was a black hole—as if the couple had vanished from memory and the children’s conscious inner life. This need for a good internal image of the parents as a couple is important to the child’s development throughout her growing up years, but at adolescence, the significance of this internal template of man—woman relationships rises. Memories and images from past and present come together and crescendo in a mighty chorus of voices at entry into young adulthood when the young person confronts for real the issues of choice in love and commitment. In the old Yiddish folk song, the marriage broker asks the maiden, “Whom will you marry?” and her first words echo the contemporary theme of Karen and her millions of sisters and brothers. She replies, “Who will be true to me? Will he take care of me? Will he leave at the crack of dawn when we have our first fight? Will he love me?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  There was a burbling and a different feeling in the air. Rhumpa sensed that the pornmonster had slid into the ancillary tank. She waited. “If you’re here,” she called, nervously, “let me see your biggest hand.” There was a powerful odor of sexual fluids, and a huge mottled hand appeared. Rhumpa was shocked by how large it was, how freshly formed and strong. It reached and found the bars that separated her from the pornslurry. “If you understand my cuntlips talking to you, and if you understand how I like to frig myself silly every morning before I go to work, please hold up your middle finger.” The pornmonster flung up his middle finger, and a splash of iridescence surged over Rhumpa in a wave. She called on the walkie-talkie back to Harry at the control console. “Harry, unlock the electric gate. I need to go mano a mano.” “Can’t do it, for insurance reasons.” “Pish-posh,” said Rhumpa. “He needs a friend. He’s been in these tanks too long.” Harry made a doubtful sound. “Okay,” he said. The gate clicked open, and Rhumpa stepped out, unprotected—a set of jiggy curves in a wetsuit. She knelt and put her rubber-gloved hand in the liquid. She could feel the energy of warm spiffle juice going up her arm. Under the liquid she flipped out her middle finger. “I’m here to talk about hot, hard holefucking,” she said. “Come on over, you big sexy vulgarian, climb out where I can see you naked.” Almost before she’d finished there was a sudden volcanic swirling of the waters. An amalgamation of body parts heaved itself up on the widest part of the ledge and stood dripping. There must have been a hundred penises—some pale pink, some coffee colored—along with breasts and eyes and clits and an enormous mouth at the center. It stood on a mass of arms and legs. “There you are,” Rhumpa said, more appalled than she let on. “Take a moment to relax. May I touch you?” Seventeen penises nodded yes. “Where’s your head?” she asked. The hands and feet shook: none. “No head? Why not?” Then ten hands grabbed ten semi-erect cocks and began stroking them. Another ten hands circled tiny clitlike buttons of flesh in folds of skin. “Must you do that right now in front of me?” Rhumpa asked. Suddenly a very large hand came thrusting out of the central fleshball and scooped her up. “I’m lurid and loveless and lost,” the monster seemed to say. “I need a real person. I’m growing out of control. I’m propagating without guidance.” “You need a head,” she said. “If I dance for you, will you develop a head?” All the legs and hands said no. No way. No head today. And the big hand gave her a squeeze to say, “Never mind my head, dance for me anyway.” “Let go of me, and I’ll dance,” Rhumpa said.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “You know he’s going to say no.” “It’s worth a try.” She blipped out the phone number again. “Hello, hon, I’m still here with this boy. I know, but he’s a good listener. I know. You’re right, but—I was just telling him about how I read one of my dark urban fantasy books and I play with the screwdriver handle. And he said he wanted me to show him. Yes. In my ass. Yes. It’s Cardell.” She handed him the phone. “Cardell, I thought I told you to leave my condo,” said the husband in an even voice. “I will,” said Cardell, “but you should know that your wife was telling me all about how you take her like a madman at least once a week, if not oftener, and leave her fully satisfied.” “That’s private information!” “True, but she says you’re quite the cocksman. She says you slap your dick on her ass to make her feel its meat. She says she knows just how to come with you inside because your knob is special and fits her perfectly. She seems quite content with you as a husband and a lover.” He sounded relieved. “That’s welcome news, at least.” “But look, man, she’s clearly a highly sexed woman, and she wants to show me how she takes care of important business when you’re out on the road selling the cheese, or whatever.” “I draw the line there.” “You shouldn’t draw that line, sir. I’m looking at her, and I can tell you she is nasty for the handle. This is a big, big urge she’s got. I think if you don’t say yes she may get frustrated and take me as a lover.” “No!” There was real anguish in his voice. Cardell let the reality sink in for a moment. “How about if she just tells me, briefly, and doesn’t show me. Would that work?” The husband made an explosive sigh. “Did she just go for a walk on that beach?” “Yes.” “I know she’s a beautiful woman and a highly sexed woman. She gets superhorny after she’s gone for a beach walk and found a couple of pieces of nice beach glass. Put her back on.” Cardell handed the phone back to Betsy. “I’ll just tell him about it, hon,” said Betsy, “I won’t show him. Yes, I promise. Okay. Love you, honey. Bye!” She hung up. “I’ll pop into the shower, Cardell. Meanwhile, we keep the screwdrivers in a tool belt hanging in the foyer. I like the one with the kelly green handle. Not the huge one with the blue handle—I tried that one once. Troppo big. Feel free to read a magazine. As you can see, my husband’s into mountain hiking.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Your body is adorable,” she said. “My face is not so good, though,” he said. “Is that what you mean?” “It’s a perfectly nice face. You mean well, you’re a nice man, but you don’t have that smoldering puffy-lipped look that a lot of women like.” “I know. So what on earth do I do?” “I would say that for you, with that body, the fastest way for you to pay off your debts is with the voluntary head detachment.” “What’s that? I’d like to try it.” “Think about it carefully. Your head will be removed and put on a wheeled pedestal. Kathy will roll you around and change your plasma bags and be sure that your electricals are all shipshape.” “And my body?” “Your body will go into one of the six headless rooms.” “Okay, and what happens in there?” “Your body and a woman will get to know each other.” “How? My body won’t have a head.” “No, it won’t. These are women who don’t want you to have a head.” “Oh, I see, okay.” “And your body will have a simple form of consciousness.” “How?” “We put a cap at the top of your spinal cord, and we redirect your nervous system. Your body will be able to think, in a very limited way, with your spine, penis, and balls. Your ass will serve as a neuronal proxy as well.” “I see. Makes sense. Well, let’s do it.” Ned took a pill and was able to remain conscious through the detachment procedure. He felt a faint tugging once or twice and then a powerful wave of vertigo. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was detached and positioned on the wheeled pedestal, his head strapped in a comfortable head-rig. His body sat about ten feet away from him, in a chair. Where his head had been there was a low dome covered in artificial skin. Kathy, his pedestal pusher, was dressing his body, helping it to learn how to move with its limited neural resources. She rubbed the body’s arms, and it stood. She patted them. “Good bodyboy,” she said. She tied a conservative tie around his body’s neck and then planted his body’s hands on her shoulders. She touched his leg, pulling, indicating that he should raise his leg, which he did. She held some khaki pants out for him, and the leg slid them on. Ned noticed that his body’s penis was unusually tumescent. This seemed not to trouble Kathy. She grasped his zipper, stuffed his equipment into place, and zipped him neatly up. Then she slipped a tweed jacket on him. “There we go,” she said. She turned to Ned’s head. “What do you think of your body?” she said. “Cleans up pretty nice, eh?” “Kind of strange,” he said. “But I guess you get used to it.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Hm, is that so?” He tapped his finger on the page. “I’m just going by what it says.” “Well—I do like the idea of men being out of control at the sight of me.” “Ah.” “But I don’t want anybody to watch me making the video.” “Of course. You can do it in your hotel room. I’ll take you there now.” They rose, and Daggett led her to an elevator and down several hallways and then they came to a catwalk. “Don’t be worried,” Daggett said. “We’re going through a visual privation area. You’ll probably hear some shouting. The men are Deprivos. They haven’t been able to see nude breasts in any form for three full weeks. This is the last day of their treatment, and they’re in pretty sorry shape.” Below was a crowd of men looking up at her. “Take off the top, baby!” they called. “Show us the titties! Flash them, honey, just for a second! Shake them, jiggle them, squeeze them together!” Finally, Daggett exploded. “For gosh sakes, men, Rhumpa’s not going to show off her titties right here! They’re way too hot for that. Have some sense. If you want to see her nude you’ll have to go to one of the booths in the boothbay after you get out of Deprivo. Check channel six, where, if we’re lucky, she’ll be doing the homemade amateur nasty for us and showing us her hot fat warblers. Right, Rhumpa?” Rhumpa shrugged, a little nervous. “Maybe.” “And congratulations, men, on making it through the program.” That quieted them down, and Rhumpa and Daggett passed on without incident. They turned down a hall and reached Rhumpa’s room, number 715. Daggett opened the door for her and ushered her in. He set the bag down on the bed, massaging his stiff fingers. “What’s in your bag?” Rhumpa asked. “This is the bag of bras. Aside from intake, my job is to carry this bag on my back and help women choose a new bra for their time in the House of Holes.” “That must be fun for you,” Rhumpa said. He nodded. “Yes and no. The bag is a burden to me at times, because of the conditions of my assignment.” “You must like breasts.” He nodded. “Of course. All sizes. And I do believe I have a bra for everyone.” He began grabbing handfuls of them from the bag and made a huge mound of every color and style. “If you’re going to make a solo amateur sex video, which bra you wear is important. It may be the most important choice you ever make.” “And you’d like to help me choose?” “Very much. But the unbreakable rule is that I can’t ever look at your breasts.” “What—you’re a Deprivo, too?” Daggett hung his head. “Unfortunately, I am, yes.” “You mean that if you see my breasts you’ll be turned to stone?” “No, of course not.” “Then what?”