Desire

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.

Page 13 of 344 · 20 per page

• From The Decameron (1353)

  By inviting Rustico to play the game too often, continually urging him on in the service of God, the girl took so much stuffing out of him that he eventually began to turn cold where another man would have been bathed in sweat. So he told her that the devil should only be punished and put back in Hell when he reared his head with pride, adding that by the grace of Heaven, they had tamed him so effectively that he was pleading with God to be left in peace. In this way, he managed to keep the girl quiet for a while, but one day, having begun to notice that Rustico was no longer asking for the devil to be put back in Hell, she said: ‘Look here, Rustico. Even though your devil has been punished and pesters you no longer, my Hell simply refuses to leave me alone. Now that I have helped you with my Hell to subdue the pride of your devil, the least you can do is to get your devil to help me tame the fury of my Hell.’ Rustico, who was living on a diet of herb-roots and water, was quite incapable of supplying her requirements, and told her that the taming of her Hell would require an awful lot of devils, but promised to do what he could. Sometimes, therefore, he responded to the call, but this happened so infrequently that it was rather like chucking a bean into the mouth of a lion, with the result that the girl, who felt that she was not serving God as diligently as she would have liked, was found complaining more often than not. But at the height of this dispute between Alibech’s Hell and Rustico’s devil, brought about by a surplus of desire on the one hand and a shortage of power on the other, a fire broke out in Gafsa, and Alibech’s father was burnt to death in his own house along with all his children and every other member of his household, so that Alibech inherited the whole of his property. Because of this a young man called Neerbal who had spent the whole of his substance in sumptuous living, having heard that she was still alive, set out to look for her, and before the authorities were able to appropriate her late father’s fortune on the grounds that there was no heir, he succeeded in tracing her whereabouts. To the great relief of Rustico, but against her own wishes, he took her back to Gafsa and married her, thus inheriting a half-share in her father’s enormous fortune. Before Neerbal had actually slept with her, she was questioned by the women of Gafsa about how she had served God in the desert, and she replied that she had served Him by putting the devil back in Hell, and that Neerbal had committed a terrible sin by stopping her from performing so worthy a service.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Do not be so astonished, my treasure,’ said the Abbot. ‘No loss of saintliness is involved,2 for saintliness resides in the soul, and what I am asking of you is merely a sin of the body. But be that as it may, your beauty is so overpowering that love compels me to speak out. And what I say is this, that when you consider that your beauty is admired by a Saint, you have more reason to be proud of it than other women, because Saints are accustomed to seeing the beauties of Heaven. Furthermore, even though I am an Abbot, I am a man like the others and as you can see I am still quite young. It should not be too difficult for you to comply with my request; on the contrary, you ought to welcome it, because whilst Ferondo is away in Purgatory, I will come and keep you company every night and provide you with all the solace that he should be giving you. Nobody will suspect us, because my reputation stands at least as high with everyone else as it formerly did with you. Do not cast aside this special favour which is sent to you by God, for you can have something that countless women yearn for, and if you are sensible enough to accept my advice, it will be yours. Moreover, I possess some fine, precious jewels, and I intend that you alone should have them. Do not therefore refuse, my dearest, to do me a service that I will do for you with the greatest of pleasure.’ Not knowing how to refuse him, yet feeling it was wrong to grant his request, the lady fixed her gaze upon the ground. The Abbot knew that she had heard him, and when he saw her at a loss for an answer, he felt she was already half-converted. He therefore followed up his previous arguments with a torrent of new ones, and by the time he had finished talking, he had convinced her that it was all for the best. And so in bashful tones she placed herself entirely at his disposal, adding that she could do nothing until Ferondo had gone to Purgatory. ‘In that case,’ said the Abbot, beaming with joy, ‘we shall see that he goes there at once. Send him along to see me tomorrow, or the following day.’ Whereupon he furtively slipped a magnificent ring into her hand, and sent her away. The lady was delight with her present, and looked forward to receiving others. And having rejoined her companions, she regaled them with marvellous accounts of the Abbot’s saintliness as they made their way home together.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bentivegna promised he would see about it, and continued on his way towards Florence, while the priest, having decided that the time had come for him to call upon Belcolore and try his luck, set off at a spanking pace, never slowing up for a moment until he had arrived on her doorstep. As he entered the house, he called out: ‘God bless all here! Is anyone at home?’ Belcolore was upstairs, and on hearing his voice she called down to him: ‘Oh, Father, you are welcome! But why go traipsing round the village in this awful heat?’ ‘By the grace of God,’ replied the priest, ‘I’ve come to keep you company for a while, for I met your husband on his way to town.’ Belcolore came downstairs, took a seat, and began to sift a heap of cabbage seed that her husband had gathered earlier in the day. ‘Come now, Belcolore,’ said the priest, ‘must you always drive me to despair like this?’ Belcolore began to laugh, and said: ‘What have I done to you?’ ‘Nothing,’ replied the priest. ‘But the trouble is that there’s something I’d like to do to you, something ordained by God, and you won’t let me do it.’ ‘Bless my soul!’ said Belcolore. ‘Priests don’t do that sort of thing.’ ‘We certainly do,’ replied the priest. ‘Why on earth shouldn’t we? What’s more, we do a much better job of it than other men, and do you know why? It’s because we do our grinding when the millpond’s full. So if you want to make hay while the sun shines, hold your tongue and let me get on with it.’ ‘What sort of hay do you mean?’ said Belcolore. ‘You priests are all the same, you’re as tight-fisted as the very devil.’ ‘You only have to tell me what you want,’ said the priest, ‘and you shall have it. Would you like a pretty little pair of shoes, or a silk head-scarf, or a fine woollen waistband, or what?’ ‘That’s a splendid choice, I must say!’ exclaimed Belcolore. ‘I already have all those things. But if you’re really so fond of me, why not do me a little favour, and then I would do whatever you want?’ ‘Tell me what the favour is, and I’ll do it gladly,’ said the priest. So Belcolore said: ‘I have to go to Florence on Saturday to deliver some wool that I have spun, and get my spinning wheel mended. And if you’ll lend me five pounds, which a man like you can easily afford, I shall call at the pawnbroker’s and collect my black skirt and the waistband I wear on Sundays. I wore it on my wedding-day, you understand, and ever since I pawned it I haven’t been able to go to church or anywhere else. Do me this one favour, and I’ll be yours for evermore.’

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I’m just starting to figure it out on the most infinitesimal level, so be kind!” But honestly, do I really care? I want to be desired and I’m about to have sex with another man. I pull out, spin around in a quick U-turn and Johnny and I are on our way to his house. Ten minutes on dark rural roads, and then ten more minutes on the Interstate. A few miles off the highway, we pull into a suburban enclave, ranch houses with long driveways and mailboxes in front. I’m surprised by the mundanity. I had imagined him and his big dog out in a starry field somewhere, in a cabin he’d built himself over time. I laugh at my romanticism as Johnny pulls into a driveway next to a split-level and points me off to the side. He drives his pickup into the detached garage and then minutes tick by as he moves other cars around, pulling his work van out of the garage and then a second work van back into the garage. I can’t help but feel this is a delay tactic and he regrets having invited me here. After an uncomfortably long wait in which I try to lean sultrily against my car but finally give up and do a crossword puzzle on my phone instead, he’s ready to go inside. As we enter, I see a set of weights to one side and a washer/dryer with dirty laundry piled on top on the other side. I’m suddenly aware that going to an anonymous hotel room with a man in which the most personal item on display was a motorcycle helmet is very different from being inside a man’s home and seeing how he lives, what he lifts and what his laundry habits are. And now here comes Floyd, his 80-pound German Shepherd, running in absolute ecstasy – the one I recall running for sticks in my backyard years ago. He jumps on me, panting and drooling, and I know this dog is the love of Johnny’s life, but to put it mildly and regretfully, I’m not a dog person.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  THIRD STORY Friar Rinaldo goes to bed with his godchild’s mother; her husband finds them together in the bedroom, and they give him to understand that the Friar was charming away the child’s worms. Filostrato’s reference to the Parthian mare was not so abstruse as to prevent the alert young ladies from grasping its meaning and having a good laugh, albeit they pretended to be laughing for another reason. But when the king saw that the story was finished, he called upon Elissa to speak, and she promptly obeyed, beginning as follows: Winsome ladies, Emilia’s exorcizing of the werewolf has reminded me of a story about another incantation, and although it is not so fine a tale as hers, it is the only one I can think of for the moment that is relevant to our theme, and I shall therefore relate it to you. You are to know that there once lived in Siena a dashing young man of respectable parentage, Rinaldo by name, who had fallen desperately in love with the very beautiful wife of a wealthy neighbour of his. Having convinced himself that if only he could find a way of conversing with her in private he would obtain all he wanted from her, he resolved, since the woman was pregnant and he could think of no other pretext, to offer himself as the child’s godfather; 1 so having made friends with the woman’s husband, he put this proposition to him in as tactful a way as he could manage, and it was all agreed. Having thus strengthened his hand by becoming the godfather to Madonna Agnesa’s child, which gave him a slightly more plausible excuse for conversing with her, he conveyed to her in so many words what had long been apparent to her from the gleam in his eyes. But his words made little impression on the lady, though she was not displeased to have heard them. Not long afterwards, for reasons best known to himself, Rinaldo decided to become a friar, and there were clearly some good pickings to be had, for he persevered in that profession. Although at first he put aside his love for his neighbour’s wife and gave up one or two of his other vices, nevertheless in the course of time, without abandoning the habit of his Order, he reverted to his former ways; and he began to take a pride in his appearance, wear expensively tailored cassocks, affect an air of sprightliness and elegance in all his doings, compose canzonets and sonnets and ballades, sing various songs, and engage in countless other activities of a similar nature. But why do I ramble on about this Friar Rinaldo of ours? Is there a single one of these friars who behaves any differently? Ah, scandal of this corrupt and wicked world!

• From The Decameron (1353)

  What’s the good of worrying about the loss of a horse and a few clothes? Do relax and cheer up. I want you to feel completely at home here. In fact, I will go so far as to say that seeing you in those clothes, I keep thinking you are my late husband, and I’ve been wanting to take you in my arms and kiss you the whole evening. I would certainly have done so, but I was afraid you might take it amiss.’ On hearing these words and perceiving the gleam in the lady’s eyes, Rinaldo, who was no fool, advanced towards her with open arms, saying: ‘My lady, I shall always have you to thank for the fact that I am alive, and when I consider the fate from which you delivered me, it would be highly discourteous of me if I did not attempt to further your inclinations to the best of my ability. Kiss and embrace me, therefore, to your heart’s content, and I shall be more than happy to return the compliment.’ There was no need for any further preliminaries. The lady, who was all aflame with amorous desire, promptly rushed into his arms. Clasping him to her bosom, she smothered him with a thousand eager kisses and received as many in return, then they both retired into her bedroom, where they lost no time in getting into bed, and before the night was over they satisfied their longings repeatedly and in full measure. They arose as soon as dawn began to break, for the lady was anxious not to give cause for scandal. Having provided him with some very old clothes and filled his purse with money, she then explained which road he must take on entering the fortress in order to find his servant, and finally she let him out by the postern through which he had entered, imploring him to keep their encounter a secret. As soon as it was broad day and the gates were opened, he entered the castle, giving the impression he was arriving from a distance, and rooted out his servant. Having changed into the clothes that were in his portmanteau, he was about to mount his servant’s horse, when as if by some divine miracle the three brigands were brought into the castle, after being arrested for another crime they had committed shortly after robbing him on the previous evening. They had made a voluntary confession, and consequently Rinaldo’s horse, clothing and money were restored to him, and all he lost was a pair of garters, which the robbers were unable to account for. Thus it was that Rinaldo, giving thanks to God and Saint Julian, mounted his horse and returned home safe and sound, whilst the three robbers went next day to dangle their heels in the north wind.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Once his father had answered one of his questions, his curiosity was satisfied and he went on to ask about something else. And so they went along, with the son asking questions and the father replying, until they chanced upon a party of elegantly dressed and beautiful young ladies, who were coming away from a wedding; and no sooner did the young man see them, than he asked his father what they were. ‘My son,’ replied his father, ‘keep your eyes fixed on the ground and don’t look at them, for they are evil.’ ‘But what are they called, father?’ inquired his son. Not wishing to arouse any idle longings in the young man’s breast, his father avoided calling them by their real name, and instead of telling him that they were women, he said: ‘They are called goslings.’8 Now, the extraordinary thing about it was that the young man, who had never set eyes on one of these objects before, took no further interest in the palaces, the oxen, the horses, the asses, the money, or any of the other things he had encountered, and promptly replied: ‘Oh, father, do please get me one of those goslings.’ ‘Alas, my son, hold your tongue,’ said his father. ‘I tell you they are evil.’ ‘Do you mean to say evil looks like this?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You can say what you like, father, but I don’t see anything evil about them. As far as I am concerned, I don’t think I have ever in my whole life seen anything so pretty or attractive. They are more beautiful than the painted angels that you have taken me to see so often. O alas! if you have any concern for my welfare, do make it possible for us to take one of these goslings back with us, and I will pop things into its bill.’ ‘Certainly not,’ said his father. ‘Their bills are not where you think, and require a special sort of diet.’ But no sooner had he spoken than he realized that his wits were no match for Nature, and regretted having brought the boy to Florence in the first place. But I have no desire to carry this tale any further, and I shall now direct my attention to the people for whose ears it was intended.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  of his, and saw that he was given a room in the most comfortable part of the house. By this time, Alessandro, being a very experienced traveller, had become a sort of major-domo to the Abbot, and he searched high and low to find accommodation in the town for the whole of the Abbot’s retinue, lodging some in one place, some in another. By the time he returned to the inn, the Abbot had supped, the hour was very late, and everyone had gone off to bed. He asked the landlord where he could sleep, and the landlord replied: ‘I really don’t know. As you can see, the place is completely full, and my family and I are having to sleep on benches. But in the Abbot’s room there are some cupboards for storing grain. If you like, I’ll show you where they are and fix you up some sort of bed in there to sleep the night on as best you can.’ ‘How am I to squeeze into the Abbot’s room?’ said Alessandro. ‘You know how tiny it is. There wasn’t even any space in there for a single one of his monks to lie on the floor. If only I had noticed those cupboards when the Abbot’s bed-curtains were drawn! His monks could have slept in those, and I could have lodged where the monks are staying.’ ‘Well, that’s how matters stand,’ said the landlord. ‘Once you resign yourself to it, you’ll sleep like a top in there. The Abbot is asleep, and the curtains are drawn in front of his bed. I’ll slip in quietly, and put down a nice mattress for you to sleep on.’ When he saw that it could all be arranged without disturbing the Abbot, Alessandro fell in with the scheme, and, making as little noise as possible, he bedded down where the landlord had suggested. The Abbot, far from being asleep, was locked in meditation on the subject of certain newly aroused longings of his. He had overheard the conversation between Alessandro and the landlord, and was listening, too, when Alessandro turned in for the night. ‘God has answered my prayers,’ said the Abbot delightedly to himself. ‘If I do not seize this opportunity, it may be a long time before another comes my way.’ Having firmly made up his mind, he waited for complete silence to descend on the inn, then he called out to Alessandro in a low voice, and, firmly brushing aside the latter’s numerous excuses, persuaded him to undress and he down at his side. The Abbot placed one of his hands on Alessandro’s chest, and then, to Alessandro’s great astonishment, began to caress him in the manner of a young girl fondling her lover, causing Alessandro to suspect, since there seemed to be no other explanation for his extraordinary behaviour, that the youth was possibly in the grip of some impure passion.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But as he was unable to conceive how they could possibly lead such merry lives without visible means of support, he came to the conclusion, having heard that they were very clever, that they must be drawing huge profits from a source that other people had no knowledge of. He therefore became eager to make friends with one of them at least, if not with both, and eventually succeeded in striking up an acquaintance with Bruno, who, realizing from the first that this physician was a blockhead, began to take a huge delight in the man’s extraordinary simplicity, whilst the physician for his part found Bruno wondrously entertaining. Having invited Bruno to breakfast with him a few times, thereby assuming that he could treat him as a familiar, he told him how amazed he was that he and Buffalmacco, considering they were so poor, could lead such merry lives; and he pleaded with Bruno to explain to him how they did it. Taking the physician’s words as yet another proof of his crass stupidity, Bruno burst out laughing, and on the principle that a silly question deserves a silly answer, he replied as follows: ‘Master Simone, there are few people to whom I would reveal this secret of ours, but since you are a friend and I know you won’t let it go any further, I shan’t keep it all to myself. It’s perfectly true that my comrade and I lead as full and contented a life as you suppose, and even more so. Yet if we had to rely on our painting, or on the income from our capital, we shouldn’t have enough to pay the water-rates. Not that I want you to think that we live by stealing: no, we simply go the course, as the saying is, by which means we obtain all the pleasures and necessities of life without doing harm to anyone; and that is how, as you’ve noticed, we always manage to be so cheerful.’ The physician, hanging on his every word without knowing what he was talking about, was filled with amazement by all this, and promptly conceived a burning desire to discover what was meant by ‘going the course’. So he begged and pleaded with him to explain it, declaring most emphatically that he would never tell another living soul. ‘Good heavens, Master!’ exclaimed Bruno. ‘Do you realize what you are asking me to do? The secret you want me to reveal is so tremendous that if anyone were to find out I had told you, I could be ruined and driven from the face of the earth; I could even finish up in the jaws of the Lucifer at San Gallo.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  A noise at the door startles us and we pull away from each other. A moment later, his daughter is tiptoeing through the room apologetically, saying she forgot something, and then she is back out the door again and he returns to his spot next to me. I pull back, expressing concern that she will come in again, so he takes me to his bedroom and closes the door behind us. His bed is king-size on a large mahogany frame, covered in a worn patchwork quilt. Framed photos of his kids line the dresser, along with a few candles that he lights, saying, “This is the best thing about living right next to a Dollar Store, they have absolutely everything.” I think longingly of #6 with his fastidiously chosen bedding and expensive, delicately scented candles culled from artisanal markets. We undress, facing each other, and he lays me back against the bed and asks if I am OK with his going down on me. I nod my assent and after a few minutes he grabs a condom from his nightstand and we both quickly come. When we are still and lying next to each other, I say, “I want to ask you a question, something I’ve been pondering lately.” “Sure,” he says, “go ahead.” “Why do men love oral sex so much? I don’t mean receiving it, I mean giving it. Every man I’ve been with finds it a huge turn-on, and many love it or seem to need it more than intercourse. Why is that? What is it about it that you find so alluring?” I ask. “Isn’t it obvious?” he says. “No. Don’t get me wrong, I really love having sex. I like being the recipient of oral sex and like giving it, but it’s not the main attraction for me. I always wonder why men love to be that up close and personal with a woman’s pussy,” I say. “Well, first of all, it’s not every pussy. They’re not all the same. Some aren’t appealing at all. You just happen to have a really nice one,” he says and a short, loud laugh escapes my lips. “Why? What about it?” I ask. “The way it smells. The smell is very important. The way it feels. Yours is wet and soft and inviting. The way it tastes, like nothing else in the world,” he tells me. “Fascinating,” I say. I am amazed. I could not say these things back to him if he asked me what I find enticing about giving blow jobs.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But whilst he was struggling with his passion, the time arrived for marching against the Prince, who by now had almost reached the Duke’s territories. Accordingly, at a given signal, the Duke set out from Athens with Constant and all the others, and they took up combat positions along certain stretches of the frontier so as to halt the Prince’s advance. Constant’s thoughts and sentiments continued to focus on the woman, and now that the Duke was no longer near her, he fancied that he had an excellent opportunity for obtaining what he wanted. And so a few days after their arrival at the frontier, he pretended to be seriously ill so that he would have a pretext for returning to Athens. He then handed over all his powers to Manuel, and with the Duke’s permission he returned to Athens to stay with his sister. A few days later, having steered the conversation round to the sense of injury under which she was labouring on account of the Duke’s mistress, he told her that if she so desired he could be of considerable assistance to her in this affair, in that he could have the woman removed from where she was staying and taken elsewhere. Thinking that Constant was motivated by brotherly love and not by his love for the woman, the Duchess said that she would be only too pleased, provided it could be carried out in such a way that the Duke never discovered that she had given her consent to the scheme. Constant reassured her completely on this point, and accordingly the Duchess gave him permission to proceed in whatever way he considered best. The first thing he did was to fit out a fast boat in secret, which one evening, having informed his men on board what they were to do, he sent to a spot near the garden of the place where the lady was living. Then he went there with another group of his men, to be amicably received by her retainers as well as by the lady herself, who, at her visitor’s suggestion, accompanied Constant and his companions into the garden, whilst her servants trailed along behind. As though he wished to impart some message from the Duke, he then led her off alone in the direction of a gate, overlooking the sea, which had already been unlocked by one of his accomplices. At a given signal, the boat nosed her way inshore, and having had the lady seized and bundled quickly aboard, he turned to her servants, saying: ‘Unless you want to be killed, don’t move or make any sound. It is not my intention to steal the Duke’s mistress, but to remove the injury he does to my sister.’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘If you are as gallant as I conceive you to be, I doubt whether there is a single one of you who has never been in love. It is my conviction that no mortal being who is without experience of love can ever lay claim to true excellence. And if you are in love, or have ever been in love, it will not be difficult for you to understand what it is that I desire. For I am in love, gentlemen, and it was love that impelled me to engage you for the task that lies before us. The object of my love dwells out there upon that ship, which not only holds that which I desire above all else, but is crammed to the gunwales with treasure. If you are brave, and fight manfully, it will not be too difficult for us to take possession of these riches. My only claim upon the spoils of our victory is the lady for whose love I have taken up arms. Everything else I freely concede to you here and now. Let us set forth, then, and assail the ship whilst Fortune smiles upon us. God favours our enterprise, for He has stilled all breezes, and the ship is lying out there at our mercy.’ The dashing youth need not have wasted so many words, for the Messinese who were with him, being avid for plunder, already had visions of themselves performing the deed to which Gerbino was inciting them with his oratory. So that when he reached the end of his speech, they filled the air with a thunderous roar of approval, trumpets were sounded, and they all took up their weapons. Then they steered for the ship, plying their oars with gusto. The ship was totally becalmed, and when the people aboard her saw the galleys approaching in the distance, they prepared to repel all boarders. On reaching the ship, Gerbino called upon her officers to come aboard the galleys, unless they wanted a battle on their hands.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  me, entering by way of the garden-gate and taking good care not to let anyone see you. There you will find me waiting for you, and we shall spend the whole night having all the joy and pleasure of one another that we desire.’ Having impersonated the lady whilst he said all this, Zima now began to speak on his own behalf. ‘My dearest,’ he answered, ‘your kind reply has filled all of my faculties with such a surfeit of happiness that I am scarcely able to express my gratitude. But even if I could go on talking for as long as I wished, it would still be impossible for me to thank you as fully as my feelings dictate and your kindness deserves. I will therefore leave it to your own excellent judgement to imagine what I vainly long to put into words, merely pausing to assure you that I will carry out your instructions to the letter. I will then perhaps be better placed to appreciate the full extent of your generosity towards me, and I will spare no effort to show you all the gratitude of which I am capable. For the present, then, there is nothing further that remains to be said; and hence I will bid you farewell, my dearest, and may God grant you all those joys and blessings that you most eagerly desire.’ The lady never uttered a single word from beginning to end of this interview, and when it was over, Zima got up and began to return in the direction of the nobleman, who, seeing Zima on his feet, walked towards him laughing. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Don’t you agree that I kept my promise?’ ‘I do not, sir,’ Zima replied, ‘for you promised that you would allow me to talk to your good lady and you have had me talking to a marble statue.’ This reply greatly pleased the nobleman, who, whilst he had always had a high opinion of the lady, now thought even better of her. ‘From now on,’ he said, ‘that palfrey you owned belongs to me.’ ‘Quite so,’ Zima replied. ‘And for all the good it did me to insist on this favour of yours, I might as well have presented it. to you without conditions in the first place. Indeed, I wish to God I had, because now you have bought the palfrey and I have got nothing to show for it.’ The nobleman was highly amused by all this, and now that he was supplied with a palfrey, he set out a few days later on the road to Milan and his governorship. Left at home to her own devices, the lady recalled Zima’s words, reflecting how deeply he loved her and how, for her sake, he had given away his palfrey; and on observing him from the house as he passed regularly up and down, she said to herself: ‘What am I doing? Why am I throwing away my youth? This husband of mine has gone off to Milan and won’t be returning for six whole months. When is he ever going to make up for lost time? When I’m an old woman? Besides, when will I ever find such a lover as Zima? I’m all by myself, and there’s nobody to be afraid of. I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy myself whilst I have the chance. I won’t always have such a good opportunity as I have at present. Nobody will ever know about it, and even if he were to find out, it’s better to do a thing and repent of it than do nothing and regret it.’ The outcome of all this soul-searching was that one day she hung two towels in the window overlooking the garden, in the way Zima had indicated. Zima was overjoyed to see them, and after nightfall he cautiously made his way, unaccompanied, to the lady’s garden-gate, which he found unlocked. Thence he proceeded to a second door, leading into the house itself, where he found the gentlewoman waiting for him. When she saw him coming, she rose to meet him, and welcomed him with open arms. Embracing her and kissing her a hundred thousand times, he followed her up the stairs and they went directly to bed, where they tasted love’s ultimate joys. And although this was the first time, it was by no means the last, for not only during the nobleman’s absence in Milan but also after his return Zima visited the house again on numerous other occasions, to the exquisite pleasure of both parties.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bernabò declared himself to be quite satisfied with these terms, and however much the other merchants present, knowing that the affair could have serious repercussions, tried to prevent it from going any further, the passions of the two men were so strongly aroused that, contrary to the wishes of the others, they drew up a form of contract1 with their own hands which was binding on both parties. When the bond was sealed, Bernabò remained in Paris whilst Ambrogiuolo came by the quickest possible route to Genoa. Having discovered where the lady lived, he spent the first few days after his arrival in making discreet inquiries about her way of life, and since the information he gathered more than confirmed the description he had been given by Bernabò, he began to feel he was on a fool’s errand. However, he became friendly with a poor woman, who regularly visited the house and enjoyed the lady’s deep affection. Being unable to persuade her to assist him in any other way, he bribed her to have him taken into the house inside a chest, made according to his own specifications, which found its way not only into the house but into the lady’s very bedroom. Following Ambrogiuolo’s instructions, the good woman pretended that it was on its way to some other place, and obtained the lady’s permission to leave it for a day or two in her room for safe keeping. When night had descended, and Ambrogiuolo was satisfied that the lady was asleep, he prised the chest open with certain tools of his and stepped silently forth into the room, where a single lamp was burning. He then began, by the light of the lamp, to inspect the arrangement of the furniture, the paintings, and everything else of note that the room contained, and committed it all to memory.

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  When Johnny emerges, I ask him if he wants to walk me to my car even though it’s right across the street. I am ambivalent about how to say goodbye. Does he want nothing more than to send me on my way, or is he attracted to me but keeping his distance because he knows my husband, or is he trying to follow my lead, which is unfollowable since I don’t know where I’m going? I open my car door and am once again standing in the street. “OK, well then,” I say slowly as I gaze intently at him with my eyebrows raised, daring him to make a move or lose his chance. We regard each other without speaking. Finally, he takes my not-so-subtle hint, leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. The coarse hairs of his goatee rub against my face; I’ve never kissed a man with a beard except for the short period when Michael experimented with growing one before I made him shave it off. Johnny’s beard is scratchy but not unpleasant. He pulls away and we look at each other again, and then when he leans back in, I put my hand behind his neck and pull him toward me. This time when he pulls away, I say “So would you like to go back to my house or to your house or ...?” That’s about as cliché a line as I have ever uttered and I wince as the words tumble out, but I understand innately there’s momentum needed to move from a kiss goodnight to having sex, and tonight a mere kiss is not going to do the trick for me. There are a million things I need right now – numbing, fun, validation, physical attention, distraction, proof that paramour #1 is not really #1-and-done, and I will clumsily barrel ahead to close a deal. Johnny lets out a quick breath of air, a cross between a sigh and a chuckle. He’s thinking about it. I bite my lip and wait for a response. I know I’m probably bright red so I’m thankful we are standing in the dark. Is a kiss sometimes just a kiss? Am I scandalizing him with my forwardness? “OK, let’s go back to my house. I can’t leave the dog alone much longer. Do you want to follow me?” he asks. Much as what I really want is a ride in that shiny red pickup with its fresh upholstery, I agree to follow him. His house is at least twenty minutes north of here and I don’t want to do a walk of shame back to my car later with the busybody on the balcony watching. I’m already judging myself more harshly than she possibly can and when Johnny gets into his car, I’m tempted to yell up to her, “Don’t judge me! My husband of 27 years shattered my heart and I’m trying to put it back together!

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  What should I do with it?” “Let me see what’s underneath it,” I say, my fingers already undoing the top button. When I finish with the bottom button, I let my hand linger on his stomach. His ab muscles are rock-hard, his six-pack defined and angular. He stands still, watching me eye him, not making a move closer to me but not moving away either. “I think we should have sex before we leave,” I state matter-of-factly. “Oh really?” he says, laughing. “You can’t wait, huh?” “Of course I can wait,” I say. “I just don’t want to.” I put my hands on his shoulders so that I can push the shirt down his arms and off. He has the firefighter body of my dreams, each muscle distinct and firm without being excessively bulky. I unsnap the narrow belt cinching my dress in and then pull down the flimsy straps so that I can shimmy out of it. I have at long last replaced my unwieldy strapless bra with a black lace bandeau, which has laughable support but is way sexier and I don’t have to hide it away before it’s seen. He seems hesitant, so I stand motionless in my bra and black lace thong, daring him to turn away. He doesn’t. Sex with him is quick and physical, like a sprint that leaves you breathless and not totally sure what just happened but nonetheless glad you ran. We have barely caught our breath when he pats my thigh and says we should go out before it gets too late. Within minutes, we are dressed again and he hands me a baseball hat to contain my hair while we drive in his sporty little convertible. I decline it and instead take my cotton scarf and wrap it around my head, attempting a chic Audrey Hepburn look, but I guess ending up more like a Russian grandma with a babushka because he frowns, shakes his head and offers me the hat a second time. The bar he takes me to is packed, clearly the town’s hotspot. We find an open barstool on the deck overlooking the water. Scott gets me a Margarita and stands next to me, moving around as he speaks. He is a man who does not like to sit still and it’s easy to picture the athletic, energetic teenage boy he must have been. He is easy to talk to – though we have very little in common, he is curious to know what makes me tick and what my post-marriage life has been like. As we talk, his hand rests on my thigh along the hem of my dress and then his fingers slip under the hem and inch their way up further toward my inner thigh.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  She had no conception of the kind of horn that men do their butting with, and when she felt what was happening, it was almost as though she regretted having turned a deaf ear to Pericone’s flattery, and could not see why she had waited for an invitation before spending her nights so agreeably. For it was she herself who was now issuing the invitation, and she did so several times over, not in so many words, since she was unable to make herself understood, but by way of her gestures. Great indeed was their mutual delight. But Fortune, not content with converting her from a king’s bride into a baron’s mistress, thrust a more terrible friendship upon her. Pericone had a twenty-five-year-old brother, fair and fresh as a garden rose, whose name was Marato. He had already seen the lady and taken an enormous liking to her, and as far as he could judge from her reactions, she seemed to be very fond of him also. Thus the only thing that appeared to be standing between him and the conquest he desired to make of her was the strict watch maintained by Pericone. He therefore devised a nefarious scheme which he lost no time in pursuing to its dreadful conclusion. In the port of the town, there happened at that time to be a ship commanded by two young Genoese, with a full cargo for Corinth in the Peloponnese. 6 She was already under canvas, ready to put to sea with the first favourable wind, and Marato made an arrangement with her masters for himself and the lady to be taken aboard the following night. This done, he decided how he would have to proceed, and when it was dark he wandered unobtrusively into his brother’s house, to which he had open access, and concealed himself inside. He had meanwhile enlisted the aid of some trusted companions for his enterprise, and in the dead of night, having let them into the house, he led them to the place where Pericone and the woman were sleeping. Entering the room, they killed Pericone in his sleep and seized the lady, who woke up and started to cry, threatening her with death if she made any noise. Then, taking with them a considerable quantity of Pericone’s most precious possessions, they departed without being heard and made their way to the quayside, where Marato boarded the ship with the lady, leaving his companions to go their separate ways. The ship’s crew, taking advantage of a strong and favourable wind, cast off and sailed swiftly away. The lady was sorely distressed by this second catastrophe, coming as it did so soon after the first. But Marato, with the Heaven-sent assistance of Saint Stiffen-in-the-Hand, 7 began consoling her to such good effect that she soon returned his affection and forgot all about Pericone. She had hardly begun to feel settled, however, before Fortune, not content, it seemed, with her previous handiwork, engineered yet another calamity.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  A few days later, having completed all his business in Rhodes and being desirous of taking ship on a Catalan carrack that was about to sail for Cyprus, the Cypriot merchant inquired of the fair lady what she was proposing to do, telling her that for his part, he was compelled to return to Cyprus. The lady said that if he had no objection, she would gladly accompany him, because she had hoped that out of his affection for Antioco, he would treat and regard her as a sister. The merchant assured her of his willingness to do whatever she asked, and with the object of protecting her from any harm that might befall her before they reached Cyprus, he passed her off as his wife. Having embarked on the ship, therefore, they were assigned to a small cabin on the poop-deck, and in order to maintain appearances, he bedded down with her in the same narrow little bunk. What happened next was something that neither of them had bargained for when leaving Rhodes, because what with the darkness, the enforced idleness, and the warmth of the bed, all of which are powerful stimulants, they were each consumed with an almost equally intense longing, and without sparing a thought for the love and friendship they owed to the dead Antioco, they began to excite each other, with the result that by the time they reached the Cypriot’s home-port of Paphos, they had become husband and wife in good earnest. And for some time after their arrival in Paphos, they lived together in the merchant’s house. Now it so happened that there came to Paphos, on some business or other, a gentleman called Antigono, who was old in years and even older in wisdom. He was not a very rich man, because although he had undertaken numerous commissions in the service of the King of Cyprus, Fortune had never been particularly kind to him. One day, as he was walking past the house where the fair lady was living, at a time when the Cypriot merchant was away on a trading mission in Armenia, this Antigono happened to catch sight of the lady at one of the windows. Since she was very beautiful, he began to stare at her, and it occurred to him that he had seen her on some previous occasion, but try as he would he could not remember where.

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  The windows are open and it sounds like pouring rain outside, but he says it is the river rushing by, one on his property that I could not see in the dark. It’s hard for me to imagine a more romantic spot than the one I am standing in. I have a flash of the hugely bestselling book The Bridges of Madison County: at the time I read it I thought it was absurd, the idea of a lonely housewife on a farm having a brief affair with a stranger she stays in love with forever and never sees again, but now it comes back to me and makes sense. I don’t expect this night to be my great reprisal and for #3 to become the keeper of my soul, but I can see how these just-right conditions could create a backdrop for an affair that encapsulates the essence of a love that was meant to be. Slipping off the thin straps of my dress, I let it fall down into a dark heap, step out of it onto the creaky wooden floorboards and stand in my strapless bra (yes, that one) and thong. I see the dog standing politely in the hallway as if waiting for an invitation and think oh boy, here we go again, but #3 gently kicks the door closed and tells me to ignore the dog when she starts whining. Progress, I think. We lie naked on his bed and I take note of his body. This is the third man I’ve been with in the past few weeks and, naïve as it may sound, it genuinely surprises me to find each one so different from the one before, and so different from the one I knew as my own for the past few decades. I haven’t thought about men’s bodies for so many years, as if the mere notion of what lay under their clothes had been completely erased from my brain with marriage. This man is tall, sturdy and fit, with hair on his chest and a well-endowed penis embedded in a mess of hair. The men I’ve been with so far have manscaped and I’ve liked it – how it makes them clean and smooth. It strikes me as ironic that women’s pubic hair is slangily called a bush as if offensively uncultivated and in need of landscaping, while men seem to have avoided any kind of moniker associated with nature and flora even though theirs are probably more like overgrown hedges unwinding over a larger region. He reaches over me for a condom in the night table drawer, but once he has it opened, he hesitates. “I’m sorry, I’m nervous,” he says. “It’s really strange to be here with you. I thought my girlfriend and I were going to get married and our breakup has been rough. I haven’t even thought about being with someone else for the past few months.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  He holds the door open and I follow him up two long flights of stairs to a narrow landing covered with sneakers and boots. Stepping out of my heeled clog boots and lowering myself by about two inches, I leave my shoes in the pile in the hallway and enter his railroad apartment. It is small and dark, with windows placed at either end, one of which is his bedroom and the other his kitchen and his daughter’s bedroom, so the narrow living space between is windowless and dim. It’s comfortably furnished and carpeted but feels like a starter apartment, striking me as odd for a successful lawyer at this stage in his life. This makes me feel like an unbearable snob, but it’s less about my thinking it’s not good enough for me than about wondering why it’s good enough for him. He ushers me into the kitchen, where he starts slicing a baguette and laying chorizo and wedges of cheese on a platter. Again, I brace myself against my inner snob, watching in dismay as he unwraps plastic wrap from hunks of cheese on which I can see price tags from the supermarket. Lately, my brother has been teasing me about how bougie I’ve become, as I appear to be simple but with a country house and an SUV and an apartment on lower Fifth Avenue. I am frugal about certain things – happy to buy clothes and dishes at thrift shops, throwing cheap bottles of conditioner in my grocery cart and upgrading only when Tina insists I try one of her rarefied Parisian products – but when it comes to certain categories like food, reading material and hotels, I am highbrow: sheepish about it, but highbrow nonetheless. When he’s assembled the platter to his satisfaction, he asks me to grab the wine and follow him to the living room. We sit on the loveseat and as we talk, he scooches closer to me and sets down his wine glass. “You really are so beautiful,” he says. “I’m so happy Jill gave me your number. She said you were dying to meet me, but I feel now like it should’ve been the reverse.” I can’t help but laugh to myself, remembering how Dr. B had been so persistent, telling me he was so excited to meet me and could I please allow the precious passing along of my phone number? She diligently worked both ends to make this set-up happen. Within minutes, the platter still largely untouched, he leans toward me and kisses me, continuing to murmur about how beautiful I am and how happy he is to be with me.