Contentment

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 The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  We stayed in the bedroom, only going to the kitchen for liquids and the bathroom for rinses. The bedroom was the world. No dinners, no dates, only phone calls to make an appointment. Because my damaged hip had ended my dance career, the massages were paid for by insurance. Insurance for the resurrection of my deeply injured sexual desire. I was obsessed with my masseur. I tried to fill the time between sessions, wondering, Did I live to see him, or did I see him so I could live? I learned with him that I am most alive, most observant, and most intelligent when sexually engaged. And I experienced for the first time the intense beauty of having a time and place for a lover where sexual pleasure is the mutual purpose, the only conscious intent. After all, you never know where a dinner date is going to end up. So often the conversation runs amok and preempts the possibility of sex afterwards. I like to know when I’m going to have sex—it’s too important to leave to chance. Boundaries around the erotic . . . my theory grew wings. A room, a bed, two bodies, music, no intrusions. This was the life I wanted to explore and did—once a week for over a year. “The frame is a border hermetically sealing-off the object, so that all you are experiencing, all that matters, is within that border,” wrote Joseph Campbell. “It is a sacred field, and you become pure subject for a pure object.” Ugliness, I realized, only enters my love life when real life does. Cars, calls, bills, mortgages, food, family, schedules, money—these are the subjects of controversy and control, and they destroy the erotic bond. Did he love me? Did he fantasize about me? Did he dream of marrying me? Did he wonder if I had other men and hate it? Did I infiltrate all his waking moments? Did he wonder what our kids might look like? If mental obsession is the evidence of love, I don’t think he was in love with me. But he loved me in the time we were together. Did he focus all his attention on me? Was he gentle and nasty and charming and completely devoted to multiplying my pleasures? Oh yes, he loved me all right. And this kind of love became the kind I wanted. I began distrusting mental men, talking men, and love’s verbal declarations. One cannot love by words alone. I had tried that. Giving and receiving words of love, however witty or Shakespearean, is a ruse propounded by poets with inept dicks. One loves by act. Language can clarify and explain and amuse, but it cannot change your being. Experience can. Sure, I was in love with him. Until I wasn’t. I don’t believe love is only real when it endures for many years and is marked by the ring of marriage. My wedding ring had only confined me, robbing me, eventually, of freedom and love alike.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Valentin Tschudi also joined the Reformation, but showed the same moderation to the Catholics as his cousin Egidius showed to the Protestants. After studying several years under Zwingli, he went, in 1516, with his two cousins to the classical school of Glarean at Basel, and followed him to Paris. From that city he wrote a Greek letter to Zwingli, Nov. 15, 1520, which is still extant and shows his progress in learning.187 On Zwingli’s recommendation, he was elected his successor as pastor at Glarus, and was installed by him, Oct. 12, 1522. Zwingli told the congregation that he had formerly taught them many Roman traditions, but begged them now to adhere exclusively to the Word of God. Valentin Tschudi adopted a middle way, and was supported by his deacon, Jacob Heer. He pleased both parties by reading mass early in the morning for the old believers, and afterwards preaching an evangelical sermon for the Protestants. He is the first example of a latitudinarian or comprehensive broad-churchman. In 1530 he married, and ceased to read mass, but continued to preach to both parties, and retained the respect of Catholics by his culture and conciliatory manner till his death, in 1555. He defended his moderation and reserve in a long Latin letter to Zwingli, March 15, 1530.188 He says that the controversy arose from external ceremonies, and did not touch the rock of faith, which Catholics and Protestants professed alike, and that he deemed it his duty to enjoin on his flock the advice of Paul to the Romans 14, to exercise mutual forbearance, since each stands or falls to the same Lord. The unity of the Spirit is the best guide. He feared that by extreme measures, more harm was done than good, and that the liberty gained may degenerate into license, impiety, and contempt of authority. He begs Zwingli to use his influence for the restoration of order and peace, and signs himself, forever yours" (semper futurus tuus). The same spirit of moderation characterizes his Chronicle of the Reformation period, and it is difficult to find out from this colorless and unimportant narrative, to which of the two parties he belonged. It is a remarkable fact that the influence of Tschudi’s example is felt to this day in the peaceful joint occupation of the church at Glarus, where the sacrifice of the mass is offered by a priest at the altar, and a sermon preached from the pulpit by a Reformed pastor in the same morning.189

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Eusebius has preserved his reports on the martyrdom of St. James the Just, Simeon of Jerusalem, Domitian’s inquiry for the descendants of David and the relatives of Jesus, the rise of heresies, the episcopal succession, and the preservation of the orthodox doctrine in Corinth and Rome. These scraps of history command attention for their antiquity; but they must be received with critical caution. They reveal a strongly Jewish type of piety, like that of James, but by no means Judaizing heresy. He was not an Ebionite, nor even a Nazarene, but decidedly catholic. There is no trace of his insisting on circumcision or the observance of the law as necessary to salvation. His use of "the Gospel according to the Hebrews" implies no heretical bias. He derived all the heresies and schisms from Judaism. He laid great stress on the regular apostolic succession of bishops. In ever city he set himself to inquire for two things: purity of doctrine and the unbroken succession of teachers from the times of the apostles. The former depended in his view on the latter. The result of his investigation was satisfactory in both respects. He found in every apostolic church the faith maintained. "The church of Corinth," he says, "continued in the true faith, until Primus was bishop there [the predecessor of Dionysius], with whom I had familiar intercourse, as I passed many days at Corinth, when I was about sailing to Rome, during which time we were mutually refreshed in the true doctrine. After coming to Rome, I stayed with Anicetus, whose deacon was Eleutherus. After Anicetus, Soter succeeded, and after him Eleutherus. In every succession, however, and in every city, the doctrine prevails according to what is announced by the law and the prophets and the Lord."1388 He gives an account of the heretical corruption which proceeded from the unbelieving Jews, from Thebuthis and Simon Magus and Cleobius and Dositheus, and other unknown or forgotten names, but "while the sacred choir of the apostles still lived, the church was undefiled and pure, like a virgin, until the age of Trajan, when those impious errors which had so long crept in darkness ventured forth without shame into open daylight."1389 He felt perfectly at home in the Catholic church of his day which had descended from, or rather never yet ascended the lofty mountain-height of apostolic knowledge and freedom. And as Hegesippus was satisfied with the orthodoxy of the Western churches, so Eusebius was satisfied with the orthodoxy of Hegesippus, and nowhere intimates a doubt. § 181. Dionysius of Corinth. Euseb.: H. E. II. 25; III. 4; IV. 21, 23. Hieron.: De Vir. ill. 27. Routh: Rel. S. I. 177–184 (the fragments), and 185–201 (the annotations). Includes Pinytus Cretensis and his Ep. ad Dion. (Eus. IV. 23). Donaldson III. 214–220. Salmon in Smith and Wace II. 848 sq.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I could not bear the thought of it. I had grown used, at last, to sleeping with Kitty at my side. I no longer trembled, or grew stiff and awkward, when she touched me, but had learned to lean into her embraces, to accept her kisses, chastely, nonchalantly - and even, sometimes, to return them. I had grown used to the sight of her slumbering or undressed. I did not hold my breath in wonder when I opened my eyes upon her face, still and shadowed in the thin grey light of dawn. I had seen her strip to wash or to change her gown. I was as familiar with her body, now, as with my own - more so, indeed, because her head, her neck, her wrists, her back, her limbs (which were as smooth and as rounded and as freckled as her cheek), her skin (which she wore with a marvellous, easy grace, as if it were another kind of handsome suit, perfectly tailored and pleasant to wear), were, I thought, so much lovelier and more fascinating than my own. No, I didn’t want a single thing to change - not even when I learned something about Walter that was rather disconcerting. Inevitably, we had spent so many hours with Walter - working upon songs at Mrs Dendy’s piano, or supping with him after shows - that we had begun to look upon him less as Kitty’s agent and more as a friend, to both of us. In time it wasn’t only working-days that we were spending with him, but Sundays, too; eventually, indeed, Sundays with Walter became the rule rather than the exception, and we began to listen out for the rumble of his carriage in Ginevra Road, the pounding of his boots upon our attic stairs, his rap upon our parlour door, his foolish, extravagant greetings. He would bring bits of news and gossip; we would drive into town, or out of it; we would stroll together - Kitty with her hand in the crook of one of his great arms, me with mine in the crook of the other, Walter himself like a blustering uncle, loud and lively and kind. I thought nothing of it, except that it was pleasant, until one morning as I sat eating my breakfast beside Kitty and Sims and Percy and Tootsie.

• From A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (1921)

  13, and note the parallelism of 1 Cor. 1348 with the list here, especially paxpobuuta with raxoobumet (v.4), xonoté- ts with yenotedetat (v.4), mlotts with mhvta mtoteber, mavta éAriCer, mavra drouéver (v.7); moeaitns with ob quctodta, ox doxnwovet (v.5). Of the two terms yze& and sieyyn, the first certainly, and the second probably, refers to experiences enjoyed rather than to transitive atti- tudes towards others; the remaining terms, except the last, have special reference to the relations of those who walk by the Spirit to others, in a measure antithetical to @yOoa . . . Oupol in the list of works of the flesh; éyxe&teta, though belonging also in this list, seems to stand in special antithesis to the last two terms of the preceding list, p40, xOuor. ’Ayd&rn, though in itself capable of denoting the adoration of and devotion to God, is probably to be taken here in accordance with the suggestion of v.“, and Paul’s general usage (2 Thes. 3° is the only clear instance of &y&rn in the Pauline letters used of the love of men towards God), as referring to that love of man for man, which resting upon appreciation of value is chiefly characterised by desire to benefit. See detached note on ’Ayan&éw and ’Ay&xn, p. 519. Xaeé&, in use by classical writers from Homer down, and about fifty times in the Lxx and Apocr., is employed in the Lxx, Apocr. and N. T. rarely of a fierce and cruel joy (3 Mac. 41® 52! 6%4; cf. also Jas. 4°), but most frequently of joy that has a religious basis, grounded in con- scious relationship to God (Ps. 30!! Prov. 296 Sir. 1% Rom. 1417 1538 Phil. 14 %5, etc.). On eloyvn, see detached note, p. 424. Its meaning here is probably the same as in Rom. 5}, “tranquillity of mind” (based on the conscious- ness of right relation to God). For though the idea of harmony with God is possible here, it is an unusual meaning in Paul, and there is nothing specially to suggest it here; the idea of spiritual well-being is not in itself inappropriate, yet it is unlikely that the apostle would V0 (22 315 use the word in so general a sense, standing as it does here between the more specific terms, yee and yaxeobuuta; the meaning, “peace with men,” is appropriate in connection with either yae& (cf. Rom. 141% 1°) or with waxeo8uute, but is open to the objection that, efpqyn in that case expressing a relation to men, as do also &yéry and yuaxoobuute, xae% stands quite alone, the only non-transitive word in the group. On ctenyyn denoting tranquillity of mind, and associated with yao&, cf. Rom. 15%: 6 38 Oed¢ ths EAriBd05 MANOMoa buds nhkons yYuoas xat elohyns éy tp mtotedetv.

• From A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (1921)

  That the apostle has the law chiefly in mind as an element of the present evil age from which the Christ by his death is to deliver men (see Bous. ad loc.) is improbable, not indeed because the thought itself is un-Pauline (see Rom. 104), but because the phrase “present evil age” is too general and inclusive to suggest a single element of that age so little characteristic of it as a whole as was the law. Kata To OéXnpa Tod Oeod Kal TraTpos 7 UOr, “according to the will of our God and Father.”” Whether these words are to be taken as limiting (a) dévtos or (b) é&€AnrTat, or (c), the whole complex idea expressed by Tov ddvtos .. . Tovnpovd (Tovnpod alone is manifestly out of the question), can not be decisively determined. Most probably, however, the third construction is the true one. Twice before in this paragraph the apostle has closely associated together Jesus Christ and God the Father, first as the source of his own apostleship (v.1) and then as the source of grace and peace to those to whom he is writing. The present phrase emphasises once more essentially the same * The idea of removal from the present life by death or translation is itself naturally sug- gested by the words éx 7. ai. 7. éveor. mov., but is rendered improbable by the usage of the word é£éAyrau (see above) and decisively excluded by the wholly un-Pauline character of the thought that the salvation through Christ shortens the earthly life of the saved. 16 GALATIANS thought, affirming that in the salvation provided for us (the pronouns 7“6v and 74s in v.‘ include both the apostle and his readers) through Christ’s gift of himself for us, God our Father also participates, the gift and its purpose being accord- ing to his will. Concerning the construction of 7“@v and the translation of Tod Oeod Kal matpos 7uev, see detached note on IlatHp as applied to God, pp. 388 f. 5. ©) dd€a els Tovs aidvas TOY aiwvor: aunv. “to whom be the glory for ever andever. Amen.” An ascription of praise to God for the gift of Christ and the deliverance accomplished through it. Od&a (here only in Gal.) is frequent in Paul, with considerable variation of meaning. See Th. s.v. and Kennedy, St. Paul’s Conception of the Last Things, pp. 229 ff. Its sense here, “praise,” comes down from the classic times, and is fre- quent in N. T. The article, when occurring, seems almost invariably to convey a reference to something which has just been mentioned; in this case, no doubt, the redeeming work of Chnst, Cf Rom 11% 16-7 Eph) 3 bil 4202) Pin eb s t Pet. 4%. Contrast Lk. 2% (where, however, the poetic form may rather be the cause of the omission of the article); Rom. 15’ Phil. 2%. The generic (or intensive) force of the article, such as apparently occurs in Rev. 7! and perhaps in 2 Pet.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I was used to servicing gents in Soho at a pound a suck; obedience - to such a lady, and in such a setting - seemed at that moment a very trifling labour. Chapter 12 F or all the strangeness of those first few days and nights at Felicity Place, it did not take me long to settle into my role there and find myself a new routine. This was quite as indolent as the one I had enjoyed at Mrs Milne’s; the difference, of course, was that here my indolence had a patron, a lady who paid to keep me well-fed, well-dressed and rested, and demanded only that my vanity should have herself, in return, as its larger target. At Green Street I was used to waking rather early. Often Grace would bring me tea at half-past seven or so - often, indeed, she would clamber into the warm bed beside me, and we would lie and talk till Mrs Milne called us to breakfast; later I would wash, at the great sink in the downstairs kitchen, and Grace would sometimes come and comb my hair. At Felicity Place, I had nothing to rise for. Breakfast was brought to me, and I received it at Diana’s side - or in my own bed, if she had sent me from her the night before. While she was dressed I would drink my coffee and smoke a cigarette, and yawn and rub my eyes; frequently I would fall into a thin kind of slumber, and only wake again when she returned, in a coat and a hat, to slip a gloved hand beneath the counterpane and rouse me with a pinch, or a lewd caress. ‘Wake up, and kiss your mistress good-bye,’ she’d say. ‘I shan’t be home till supper-time. You must amuse yourself until I return.’ Then I would frown, and grumble. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘On a visit, to a friend.’ ‘Take me with you!’ ‘Not today.’ ‘I might sit in the brougham while you make your call ...’ ‘I would rather you were here, for me to return to.’ ‘You are cruel!’ She would smile, then kiss me. And then she would go; and I would only sink, again, into stupidity.

• From Love 2.0: Finding Happiness and Health in Moments of Connection (2013)

  As someone who lives alone, Donna’s new goal was challenging to pull off. But the initial payoff was high enough to keep her engaged. While she’d never kept up with the “three good things” exercise commonly used in positive psychology, in which you write down at the end of each day three things that went well that day and consider why each happened, she did stick with her own “three loving connections” exercise. Several weeks later she wrote me a note to say that she found it made a “huge difference” in her life. She also found that love breeds confidence and strength. The more loving interactions she had, the better prepared she was to face her difficult days at work. Donna observed that her self-styled “three loving connections” activity did two things for her. First, it made her look for people she enjoys being with and inspired her to enhance those relationships. She shared with me, for instance, that after a particularly stressful day, she now would often call her twentysomething niece, just to see what she’s been up to lately and share some giggles. As her phone calls to her niece became more frequent, their relationship grew deeper and stronger. Other family and friends became closer and her relationships with them became more healthy and helpful. The other effect of her “three loving connections” activity was that she now found herself looking for ways to make the difficult relationships in her life better. Her positive and powerful relationships with family and friends had become the new normal in her life, and she strove to make even the difficult relationships in her life better. She had a strong foundation of loving relationships to support her in this endeavor. I had the chance to have lunch with Donna nearly a year later. I asked how she was doing, and she said she was doing great. Her demeanor concurred. She seemed far more relaxed and cheerful than she had during that breakfast at which I first shared with her my lab’s serendipitous discovery. Later, I learned that setbacks and disappointments were still streaming into her life. As I listened to her recount them, I thought they might even be worse. The difference, she said, was that now she was able to let these recurrent sources of negativity simply roll by. They didn’t get under her skin. With her decisive focus on cultivating three loving connections each day, she’d created more spaciousness in her mind and generosity in her heart for facing these ongoing difficulties. Although still single, she discovered that love comes in many different forms.

• From Less (2017)

  The other finalists do not arrive until late the following day, so Less has almost twenty-four hours in the golf resort by himself. Like a curious child, he tries the pool, then the sauna, the cold plunge, the steam room, the cold plunge again, until he is as scarlet as a fever victim. Unable to decipher the menu at the restaurant (where he dines alone in a shimmering greenhouse), for three meals he orders something he recalls from a novel: steak tartare of the local Fassona. For three meals he orders the same Nebbiolo. He sits in the glass sunlit room like the last human on earth, with a wine cellar to last him a lifetime. There is an amphora of petunia-like flowers on his private deck, worried day and night by little bees. On closer inspection, Less sees that instead of stingers, they have long noses to probe the purple flowers with. Not bees: pygmy hummingbird moths. The discovery delights him to his core. Less’s pleasures are tinted only slightly the following afternoon, when a mixed group of teenagers appears at the edge of the pool and stares as he does his laps. He returns to his room, all Swedish whitened wood, with a steel fireplace hanging on the wall. “There is wood in the room,” the sea horse lady said. “You know how to light a fire, yes?” Less nods; he used to go camping with his father. He stacks the wood in a little Cub Scout tepee, and stuffs the underspace with Corriere della Sera, and lights the thing. Time for his rubber bands. Less has, for years, traveled with a set of rubber bands that he thinks of as his portable gym. The set is multicolored, with interchangeable handles, and he always imagines, when he coils them into his luggage, how toned and fit he will be when he returns. The ambitious routine begins in earnest the first night, with dozens of special techniques recommended in the manual (lost long ago in Los Angeles but remembered in parts), Less wrapping the bands around the legs of beds, columns, rafters, and performing what the manual called “lumberjacks,” “trophies,” and “action heroes.” He ends his workout lacquered in sweat, feeling he has beat back another day from time’s assault. Fifty is further than ever. The second night, he advises himself to let his muscles repair. The third, he remembers the set and begins the routine with half a heart; the thin walls of the room might tremble with a neighbor’s television, or the dead bathroom light might depress him, or the thought of an unfinished article. Less promises himself a better workout in two days. In return for this promise: a dollhouse whiskey from the room’s dollhouse bar. And then the set is forgotten, abandoned on the hotel’s side table: a slain dragon.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  In worship lies freedom. The freedom of withholding nothing, which propels one into the elliptical realm of love. ANAL ORGASM As I learned how to stay in the bliss, I found something else. I have become pure vehicle for his cock, no resistance. I can relinquish all power. I feel such a gravitational pull to this man, who can, and will, disempower me, so willing to give everything away, to bestow it upon him. I never knew how much power I had until I gave it all to him through my ass. My ass is a pipeline for power. I am, I have come to realize, his runway, his launchpad. And after numerous runs to the edge of inevitability, the final one begins. I can tell it’s the one because it coincides, always, with my ability to commit to complete submission, to remain completely open without reserve, without limit. Once he feels this, he aims for the gold. If I show any sign on my face, or inside my ass, of reneging on my submission, he slows down and works me until my ass believes that there is only one choice, only one way. No choice but surrender is surrender. I am his entirely, body, soul, and asshole. I relish my freedom. Molded onto his cock, I feel its urgency. The road to orgasm is a straight line into my ass, into the center of my being, into the center of the world. I don’t know who starts the coming. I do, however, know that he is the only man whose orgasm interests me more than my own—no small feat. On one level, I feel like his cock sets off my contractions and my contractions then set off his . . . but then his set off mine . . . Contractions in my ass, involuntary contractions: anal orgasm. I ride his orgasm like a jockey on a wild stallion, never losing contact but never in control. He explodes. My ass has sucked us together into an airless vacuum and we are one thing. Fused in a timeless space, I experience my destiny directly as being that moment and no other. We are very happy after. We usually don’t speak, just eyes in eyes. I used to like discussing the event once I regained my voice. What is it? What is it really about? Why does it happen? What, in fact, is happening? On and on. We don’t discuss it now, because I know I shall never really understand. Now I am just grateful. Now I just want a three-hour ass-fuck where I give him all my power, he takes it, and takes me to visit God. That’s all I need. Over and over and over. I want to die with him in my ass. #246 Last night I am home from a three-week trip.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I was not quite so gay, however, as I had been six hours before. Like the darkening day beyond the parlour window, there was a gloomy knowledge pressing at the edges of my own pleasure-the knowledge that I must go, and find some shelter of my own. I picked up the list that Florence had made for me. Her handwriting was very neat but the ink had stained her fingers, and there was a smudge where she had lain her tired hand upon the sheet. I could not bear the idea of going just yet - of working my way through the list of hostels, of being shown to a bed in another chamber like the one I had slept in with Zena. I would go in an hour; for now, I thought again, determinedly, of how enchanted Ralph and Florence would be, to come home to a tidy house - and then, with more enthusiasm, I thought: And how much more pleased would they be, to come home to their tidy house, and find their supper bubbling on the stove! There was not much food in the cupboards, so far as I could see; but there was, of course, the half-crown that they had left for me ... I didn’t stop to think that I should keep it for my own needs. I picked the coin up - it was just where Florence had placed it, for I had lifted it only to wipe beneath it with a cloth, then put it back again - and hobbled off down Quilter Street, towards the stalls and barrows of the Hackney Road. A half-hour later I was back. I had bought bread, meat and vegetables and - purely on the grounds that it had looked so handsome on the fruit-man’s barrow - a pineapple. For a year and a half I had eaten nothing but cutlets and salmis, pates and crystallised fruits; but there was a dish that Mrs Milne had used to make, consisting of mashed potato, mashed cabbage, corned beef and onions - Gracie and I had used to smack our lips at the sight of it placed before us on the table. I thought it couldn’t be very hard to make; and I set about cooking it now, for Ralph and Florence. I had set the potatoes and the cabbage on to boil, and got as far as browning the onions, when I heard a knock at the door. This made me jump, then grow a little flustered. I had made myself so comfortable that I felt, instinctively, that I should answer it; but should I, really? Was there not a point at which helpfulness, if persevered with, became impertinence? I looked down at the pan of onions, my rolled-up sleeves. Had I perhaps crossed over that point, already?’ While I wondered, the knock came again; and this time I didn’t hesitate, but went straight to the door and opened it.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  There were three bedrooms, and one of them was mine - which meant only, of course, that I kept my dresses in its closet, my brushes and combs upon its wash-hand stand, and my nightgown beneath the pillow of its bed: this was for the sake of the girl who came to clean for us, three days a week. My nights were really spent in Kitty’s chamber, the great front bedroom with its great high bed that the house-builders had meant for a husband and wife. It made me smile to lie in it. ‘We are married,’ I would say to Kitty. ‘Why, we don’t have to lie here at all, if we don’t wish to! I could carry you down to the parlour carpet, and kiss you there!’ But I never did. For though we were at liberty at last to be as saucy and as clamorous as we chose, we found we couldn’t break ourselves of our old habits: we still whispered our love, and kissed beneath the counterpane, noiselessly, like mice. That, of course, was when we had time for kisses. We were working six nights a week now, and there was no Sims and Percy and Tootsie to keep us lively after shows; often we would arrive back at Stamford Hill so weary we would simply fall into the bed and snore. By November we were both so tired Walter said we must take a holiday. There was talk of a trip to the Continent - even, to America, where there were also halls at which we might build up a quiet reputation, and where Walter had friends who would lodge us. But then, before the trip could be fixed, there came an invitation to play in pantomime, at the Britannia Theatre, Hoxton. The pantomime was Cinderella, and Kitty and I were wanted for the First and Second Boy roles; and the offer was too flattering to resist. My music-hall career, though brief enough, had been a happy one; but I do not think that I was ever so content as I was that winter, playing Dandini to Kitty’s Prince, at the Britannia. Any artiste will tell you that it is their ambition to work in pantomime; it is not until you play in one yourself, however, at a theatre as grand and as famous as the Brit, that you understand why. For the three coldest months of the year you are settled. There is no dashing about from hall to hall, no worrying about contracts.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  The introduction of the Psalter in the vernacular was a most important feature, and the beginning of a long and heroic chapter in the history of worship and Christian life. The Psalter occupies the same important place in the Reformed Church as the hymnal in the Lutheran. It was the source of comfort and strength to the Huguenot Church of the Desert, and to the Presbyterian Covenanters of Scotland, in the days of bitter trial and persecution. Calvin, himself prepared metrical versions of Psalms 25, 36, 43, 46,520 91, 113, 120, 138, 142, together with a metrical version of the Song of Simeon and the Ten Commandments.521 He afterwards used the superior version of Clément Marot, the greatest French poet of that age, who was the poet of the court, and the psalmist of the Church (1497–1544). Calvin met him first at the court of the Duchess of Ferrara (1536), whither he had fled, and afterwards at Geneva (1542), where he encouraged him to continue his metrical translation of the Psalms. Marot’s Psalter first appeared at Paris, 1541, and contained thirty Psalms, together with metrical versions of the Lord’s Prayer, the Angelic Salutation, the Creed, and the Decalogue. Several editions, with fifty Psalms, were printed at Geneva in 1543, one at Strassburg in 1545. Later editions were enlarged with the translations of Beza. The popularity and usefulness of his and Beza’s Psalter were greatly enhanced by the rich melodies of Claude Goudimel (1510–1572), who joined the Reformed Church in 1562, and died a martyr at Lyons in the night of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. He devoted his musical genius to the Reformation. His tunes are based in part on popular songs, and breathe the simple and earnest spirit of the Reformed cultus. Some of them have found a place among the chorals of the Lutheran Church. § 88. Calvin as Theological Teacher and Author. The Reformers of Strassburg, aided by leading laymen, as Jacob Sturm and John Sturm, provided for better elementary and higher education, and founded schools which attracted pupils from France as early as 1525. Gérard Roussel, one of the earliest of the refugees, speaks very highly of them in a letter to the bishop of Meaux.522 A Protestant college (gymnasium), with a theological department, was established March 22, 1538, and placed under the direction of John Sturm, one of the ablest pedagogues of his times. It was the nucleus of a university which continued German down to the French Revolution, was then half Frenchified, and is now again German in language and methods of teaching. The first teachers in that college were Bucer for the New Testament, Capito for the Old, Hedio for history and theology, Herlin for mathematics, and Jacob Bedrot or Pedrotus for Greek.523 A converted Jew taught Hebrew.

• From A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (1921)

  use the word in so general a sense, standing as it does here between the more specific terms, #*£** and tAax.po6upt.fo; the meaning, "peace with men," is appropriate in connection with either %apd (cf. Rom. I4IT> lf) or with yiaxpQ6u&Ju'a, but is open to the objection that, e^viQ in that case expressing a relation to men, as do also &*f&Trt} and twotpo6uji.(ce, Xapcfc stands quite alone, the only non-transitive word in the group. On elcrfjvij denoting tranquillity of mind, and associated with %ap<*, cf. Rom. IS13: & Se 6eb<; TYK tXicfco*; «rcXTjp&ao« fcjJiaq TC&C^ %apac; xa* etp^viqt; ev T$ xtaireOeiv. On peace as produced by the Spirit, cf. Rom. i8, ^ Y&p <pp6vrpa TOO xve6pia'uo<; ^ xal ete^viq, though eZp-rjviQ perhaps has here the more general sense of "spiritual well-being"; and Rom. s1*5, where hope of the glory of God, the sequel and accompaniment of peace in the sense of tranquil assurance, is the result of the love of God shed abroad in the heart by the Spirit of God. Maxpo6ofi.{a, found first in Menander, fourth century B. a, occurs rarely in non-biblical writers, and but five times in the Lxx and Apocr. It has always the same general meaning, that which its etymology sug- gests, viz., "steadfastness of soul under provocation to change," the specific meaning differing according as that which is endured is thought of impersonally, and the word signifies simply "endurance," "stead- fastness," or personally, so that ixaxpoBu^fa includes forbearance, en- durance of wrong or exasperating conduct without anger or taking vengeance. Hence (a) "patience," "persistence," "steadfastness." So in Plut. iMcull 32* 331; Isa. 57^ i Mac. 8< Col. i» 2 Tim. 3" Heb. 6« Jas. s10; (b) "forbearance," endurance of wrong without anger or avenging one's self, "long-suffering" (i) of God and of Christ towards men: Rom. 2* 9" i Tim. il« i Pet. 3" 2 Pet. 3"; (ii) of men towards one another: Prov. 25" Sir. 5" 2 Cor. 6« Eph. 4* Col. 3" 2 Tim. 3" 4a- In the present passage the word is probably, in accordance with Paul's usual usage and the context, to be taken in the last-named sense, viz., forbearance towards men whose conduct is calculated to provoke to anger.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Arqueo mi cuello, mirando por la ventana y lo veo a él y un par de sus amigos rodear el viejo VW de mi abuela, por el que pagó el papá de Cole para que lo trajeran aquí, ya que ahora no funciona. No podía dejarlo en el departamento, y parece que Cole finalmente va a cumplir su promesa de arreglarlo, para que pueda tener un auto. El chisporroteo de la carne friéndose en la sartén golpea mis oídos, y me giro, volteando las hamburguesas. Una mancha de grasa golpea mi antebrazo, y hago una mueca por el dolor. Sé que Cam está aquí para ver cómo estoy. Viejos hábitos y eso. Mi hermana solo es cuatro años mayor, pero fue la madre que nuestra madre no quería ser. Me quedé en el parque de casas rodantes hasta que me gradué de la escuela secundaria, pero Cam se fue cuando tenía dieciséis años y ha estado sola desde entonces. Solo ella y su hijo. Echo un vistazo al reloj, viendo que son poco más de las cinco. Mi sobrino ya debe estar con la niñera, y ella debe estar en camino al trabajo. —Entonces, ¿dónde está el padre? —me pregunta. —Todavía en el trabajo, supongo. Sin embargo, pronto estará en casa. Paso las hamburguesas de la sartén al plato y saco los panecillos, abriendo el paquete. —¿Es amable? —pregunta finalmente, sonando vacilante. Estoy de espaldas a ella, por lo que no puede ver mi molestia. Mi hermana es una mujer que no tiene pelos en la lengua. El hecho que esté cuidando su tono dice que probablemente tenga pensamientos que no quiero escuchar. Como por ejemplo: ¿Por qué diablos no solo acepto el trabajo mejor pagado, que su jefe me ofreció el otoño pasado, para poder quedarme en mi apartamento? —Parece agradable. —Asiento, lanzándole una mirada—. Un poco callado, creo. —Tú eres callada. Le lanzo una sonrisa, corrigiéndola. —Hablo en serio. Hay una diferencia. Se ríe y se sienta derecha, tirando del dobladillo de su top blanco sin mangas, el sujetador de encaje rojo debajo muy visible. —Alguien tenía que ser serio en nuestra casa, supongo. “En nuestra casa” al crecer, quiere decir. Pone su cabello castaño detrás de su hombro, y veo los largos pendientes de plata que usa y que combinan con su maquillaje brillante, sus ojos ahumados y sus labios brillantes. —¿Cómo está Killian? —pregunto, recordando a mi sobrino. —Un mocoso, como de costumbre —responde. Pero luego se detiene como si recordara algo—. No, espera. Hoy me dijo que les dice a sus amigos que soy su hermana mayor cuando voy a buscarlo a la guardería —se burla—. La pequeña mierda está avergonzada de mí. Pero, aun así, estaba como “Vaya, ¿la gente realmente cree eso?”. —Y luego sacude su cabello otra vez, montando un espectáculo—. Quiero decir, todavía me veo bien, ¿no? —Solo tienes veintitrés años. —Termino la hamburguesa con mozzarella rallada, agrego otra hamburguesa, y también le pongo queso—. Por supuesto que sí.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El aire es agradable y espeso, mi piel se siente húmeda aun cuando la lluvia no me está golpeando bajo la marquesina. Mi camiseta se pega un poco a mi estómago y pongo mi cabello detrás de mi oreja porque me está haciendo cosquillas en los brazos. Levantando la mirada, veo a Kyle Cramer estacionando su BMW en su entrada, cubriéndose la cabeza con su maletín mientras corre hacia su porche delantero. Me nota y muestra una sonrisa. Lo saludo con la mano. Me pregunto por qué él y Pike no se llevan bien. Desaparece en el interior de su casa y termino de limpiar la pequeña cantidad de tierra y maleza sobre el porche antes de dejar el tapete de bienvenida de regreso en su lugar. Adicional a las facturas del gas y de los víveres, he tomado la responsabilidad de la planta baja de la casa: Limpiar el polvo, pasar la aspiradora, barrer, trapear, mantener la cocina ordenada, aunque él tiene que encargarse de los platos cuando cocino, y yo solo tengo que hacerlo cuando cocina. Lo cual, en realidad, no ha hecho para nada durante los últimos tres días desde que regresé aquí. En algún punto de las pocas últimas semanas, me di cuenta que realmente solo prepara cenas de la sección de comida congelada del supermercado o sopas y guisos de lata, así que me he encargado completamente de las comidas y él de los platos y estoy muy bien con eso. También arreglo el jardín, mientras él se encarga del césped, la piscina y los rociadores. Nuestras habitaciones son nuestra responsabilidad, pero limpio mi baño y él mantiene el sótano en orden. Establecer las tareas individuales de la casa fue casi demasiado bueno para ser verdad. Di por hecho que él fallaría y yo terminaría limpiando las porquerías que dejara en las áreas que yo tenía asignadas a mantener ordenadas. Pero no ha sucedido. Lanza sus botas en el closet después del trabajo, recoge las camisetas que descarta si tiene mucho calor y nunca tengo que molestarlo para que saque su ropa de la secadora. Reconozco que nunca he vivido con un hombre que haya vivido solo antes de mí. Hasta ahora, eso es todo. Pike está acostumbrado a cuidar de sí mismo y de sus cosas, porque no hay nadie más que lo haga por él. Es todo un mundo nuevo. Caminando de regreso al interior de la casa, meto la escoba en el armario y me dirijo arriba para ordenar mi ropa sucia. La antigua habitación de Cole, nuestra antigua habitación, sigue vacía, dado que no ha regresado desde que se fue. No estoy segura de lo que ha estado vistiendo en los últimos días y no sé si ha hablado con su papá, pero estoy segura de algo, con el tiempo, volverá.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Me río, mis párpados se vuelven pesados y somnolientos mientras me olvido de Jay y Cole, de lo incómoda que es esta mesa de billar o lo exhausta que probablemente estaré mañana. Pike recorre mi mente y todo lo que dijo, lo profunda que era su voz cuando me dijo “buenas noches, Jordan”, y cómo se me puso la piel de gallina en los brazos. Y que esta es la tercera noche, de esta semana, en que él ha sido la última persona con quien hablo antes de dormirme por la noche. A la mañana siguiente, me sorprende ver que soy el primero en levantarse. Jordan normalmente está moviéndose de un lado a otro, bañándose o trabajando en su computadora antes de bajar, pero la casa parece estar vacía. Abro la puerta principal y veo que el auto de Cole tampoco está en el camino de entrada. Es domingo por la mañana. No estaría despierto todavía. ¿No volvieron a casa entonces? Me ocupo de ms asuntos, siguiendo con mi mañana, pero cuando son las diez quiero continuar con el baño principal, arrancar la vieja bañera y levantar las baldosas del piso, pero haré mucho ruido. Toco la puerta de Jordan y Cole para asegurarme que no estén allí. Nadie responde, y abro la puerta para ver la cama aún hecha y el dormitorio vacío. Supongo que anoche debieron haberse quedado en casa de un amigo. Cierro de nuevo y me pongo a trabajar. —Hola —dice Cole mientras entra en la cocina una hora después. Cierro el refrigerador, agarrando un refresco, y me vuelvo hacia él mientras arroja sus llaves sobre el mostrador. Se ve demacrado, con el cabello enmarañado y los ojos enrojecidos. —Hola. —Hago un gesto hacia el gabinete a la izquierda—. La aspirina está ahí. Busca un poco de agua y dúchate. Puedes ayudarme con el baño. Asiente, pero parece que está a dos segundos de vomitar. Su piel es de un color verde, y realmente siento pena por él. No extraño ese sentimiento. —Estás bebiendo mucho —le digo. Me ignora, arrastrando los pies hasta el armario y toma una aspirina. Lo presiono. —Estás bebiendo demasiado. Todavía no dice nada, pero su mandíbula se tensa, indicando que me escuchó. Desearía que me hablara. Incluso que peleara conmigo, porque es mejor que nada. Quiero escuchar sobre su trabajo y su vida. Sobre el amigo que perdió. No debería haber aprendido algo así por Jordan. Debí haber insistido más cuando comenzó a dejarme fuera. Mucho más. Pero sé a quién debo culpar realmente por la brecha que hay entre nosotros. —Fui bueno con tu madre —le digo. Resopla, tomando otro gran sorbo de agua y todavía sin mirarme. Él le creerá. Aún no está listo para escucharme. Pero igualmente lo voy a decir. —Trabajé duro, los apoyé a ambos y fui fiel. —Me levanto del asiento y lo miro—. Puedes hacerme preguntas. No voy a mentir. Pero solo sacude la cabeza, termina el vaso y lo baja.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  I gravitate to New Age spiritual and chanting monks—to which he comments with a grin, “Oh, we’re having a holy fuck today?”— or Leonard Cohen or Tom Waits groaning as only they can: with inimitable angst. But Ella singing Gershwin is best. Ella is sexy but not slight, happy but not saccharine, serious yet funny—and completely subversive. Ella lilts, she taught me how. She is all about floozies, trollops, Delilah, and “boy-and-girl enjoyment.” But in the end it’s the rhythms. They are blow-job rhythms. Ella inspired me to suck cock like she sings—smooth, easy, deep, surprising, naughty, indulgent, clear. Then the final cue. The phone rings and he whispers into my ear, “It’s Time.” This gives me ten minutes for the final ritual. Pussy shaving. I do this last, out of habit. In the beginning I was so distrustful that he would really show up, so unwilling to believe that I could have this pleasure yet again, that until I got that final call I was too fearful to shave. I wouldn’t want to coif my mound for nothing. A freshly prepped pussy without a party to attend is a sad site indeed. It would be more disappointment than I could bare. So I shave last. I am naked now, but in high heels. Can’t shave my pussy without the heels on, never have, ever. They elongate my legs, turning my body into an easel displaying the canvas, my crotch, for the upcoming design. It makes me think of Jackson Pollock for some reason—though I am more precise than he in my execution. Taking two new pink Daisy razors out of the drawer, I remove the plastic protective tip from the first one. I line up the tools: mirror, baby powder, aloe gel. At this defining moment, ready to commit, but before the first cut, I always read the William Blake poem I keep on the bathroom windowsill in a tiny green-and-gold frame. It is called “Eternity.” He who binds to himself a joy Does the wingèd life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sun rise. This four-line poem is the reason I have had the courage day after day, month after month, to lay aside my fear of loss and proceed with A-Man in the present, the only place we exist together. In these lines I find the courage to shave my pussy, risking my dignity with every passage of the razor. Each swipe of the blades reveals my vulnerability far more than my sex. I bet Bill Blake never thought his profound little ditty would find such practical use for so profane an act on such sacred ground. Never mind, he is my seer. Now, pussy trimming is an interesting subject. I am a complete believer. Trim down that wild bush, girls, let him get a view, let him get access. Waxing doesn’t really work.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  Finally, she nods and says, “Love’s a hard game to play, my darlings. Play it well.” “Stevie Nicks,” Vix says. “Who?” the Countess asks. “It’s the title of a song I used to like.” “Stevie knew what he was talking about.” Vix doesn’t tell the Countess Stevie is a she . She kisses the Countess on her cheek. The skin feels paper-thin against her lips. They’ve decided to marry in September, the best month on the Vineyard. It will be a small wedding at Abby’s and Lamb’s, just family—her father and Frankie, Gus’s parents, his brother and sister-in-law, his sister and her boyfriend—and a few close friends. Maia and Paisley joke that maybe one or the other will fall for Daniel. Vix tells them not to count on it. They’ll be married in the garden by a judge from Boston, the same one who married Abby and Lamb fifteen years ago. A week after Maizie’s first birthday, about the same time Vix and Gus are returning from Key West, Caitlin takes the ferry to Woods Hole, drives to Cambridge with Maizie, and asks Abby and Lamb to watch her for the day while she does some shopping. She calls at six to ask if they can keep Maizie overnight. She’s run into an old friend and they’d like to have dinner together. She doesn’t add that dinner will be on a plane en route to Paris. But when she next calls that’s where she is. She promises to return in a week, two at the most. Two weeks turns into two months, two months into two years. BruHE SHOULD HAVE seen it coming. Maybe he just didn’t want to. Maybe that was it. That would be like him. Ignore all the signs. But something was wrong from the start. As soon as the wedding was over she changed. He figured it was the pregnancy. Too soon, maybe. And sick every day. But he knew she’d love being a mother. Babies . That’s what they all wanted. His cousins complained that once there was a baby around forget it … no more sex. Problem was, she was never like other women. Didn’t take to motherhood. Something unnatural about that. And the sex thing … she still wanted it. Even more than before. Every day, sometimes twice a day. But taking care of a baby at night wiped him out. Not that she noticed. Honey, fuck me … fuck me, hard. Hurt me, honey … What did that mean? It wasn’t right. They were married. She was a mother. He didn’t like it when she talked that way. Especially the hurt me part. He’d never wanted to hurt her. Never wanted to hurt any woman. What do you want? he’d asked her. It’s not what I want, it’s what I need . What … what do you need? A lot of loving . I don’t give you a lot of loving? She smiled at him, a come-on.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  Dancing is about being in service to the choreographer, to the steps, to the music. Allowing this man into my ass reproduces this dynamic of service, of yielding to something greater than myself. Learning to go past—way past—one’s physical comfort level, and to love that moment of going past, is intrinsic to a dancer’s training. It is only in passing this place that one finds that Edge where Risk is real and Rapture resides. If you have a ballerina’s tight ass like mine, the pain and pleasure of the internal pressure of sodomy are inseparable. Ballet school perfects the desire to be perfect, and you can end up a delightful and disciplined little slave. I understand that receiving a cock in your ass goes right in tandem with the psychology of perfectionism that afflicts high achievers like myself. To begin with, we need it: being perfect results in a very tight ass. Secondly, the challenge to remain perfect while being anally penetrated is one of the greatest challenges one could entertain. To succeed surely proves one’s inner and outer perfection of being, shape, health, and resilient attitude. Recipient sodomy is a perfectionist’s dream, a masochist’s nirvana. But—as with most things anal—the opposite is also true. Getting ass-fucked while wearing one’s metaphorical tutu is perhaps the ballerina’s most propitious—and scandalous—debut. But it is also her crucifixion, her ultimate sacrifice to transcend the human to find the divine. Never on the stage, however, did I feel as safe as I do when I obey A-Man completely and he covers my face with his big, strong hand and rocks my ass onto his cock. An incredible sense of relief—I have completely let go not only of all control but all responsibility and have given it to him. The sense of safety is so high with him because any time spent with him is the only waking time when my anxiety is gone, when I am not afraid. #175 Well, I did just give him a truly insane blow job—cock, balls, asshole—the full run over and over, ending every now and then with full cock-throat immersion. Every blow job for me is an act of insanity because I feel every one could be the last, and so every one contains all I have. Fuck on the edge. Suck on the edge. All ways. OLD ORGASMS Is anal sex sex? I keep on wondering about this. My connection to him is primarily penetrative and, specifically, anal. Is this sex? Or merely an act of spiritual submission, divine submission?