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 169 of 344 · 20 per page

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  As I had guessed, her figure was slight and lissom, with narrow hips but she had a great bush of hair on her Mount of Venus and her breasts were not so round and firm as Jessie’s: still she was very pretty and well-formed with the _fines attaches_ (slender wrists and ankles) which the French are so apt to over-estimate. They think that small bones indicate a small sex; but I have found that the exceptions are very numerous, even if there is any such rule. After I had kissed her breasts and navel, and praised her figure, she disappeared in the bathroom but was soon with me again on the sofa which we had left an hour or so before. “Do you know” she began, “my husband assured me that only the strongest young man could go twice with a woman in one day? I believed him; aren’t we women fools? You must have come a dozen times?” “Not half that number”, I replied smiling. “Aren’t you tired?” was her next question, “even I have a little headache” she added: “I never was so wrought up: at the end it was too intense: but you must be tired out.” “No,” I replied, “I feel no fatigue, indeed I feel the better for our joy ride!” “But surely you’re an exception?” she went on; “most men have finished in one short spasm and leave the woman utterly unsatisfied, just excited and no more.” “Youth”, I said, “that, I believe, makes the chief difference.” “Is there any danger of a child?” she went on, “I ought to say ‘hope’,” she added bitterly, “for I’d love to have a child, your child” and she kissed me. “When were you ill last?” I asked. “About a fortnight ago”, she replied, “I often thought that had something to do with it.” “Why?” I asked: “tell truth!” I warned her and she began: “I’ll tell you anything; I thought the time had something to do with it for soon after I am well each month my ‘pussy’ that’s what we call it, often burns and itches intolerably; but after a week or so I’m not bothered any more till next time. Why is that?” she added. “Two things I ought to explain to you” I said, “your seed is brought down into your womb by the menstrual blood: it lives there a week or ten days and then dies and with its death your desires decrease and the chance of impregnation. But near the next monthly period, say within three days, there is a double danger again; for the excitement may bring your seed down before the usual time and in any case, my seed will live in your womb about three days, so if you wish to avoid pregnancy, wait for ten days after your monthly flow is finished and stop say four days before you expect it again, then the danger of getting a child is very slight.”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  She came half scared, half angry, on the defensive, I could see; so I spoke first, smiling: “Oh Rose”, I said, “Professor Smith has been telling me of your trouble: but you ought not to be angry: for you are so pretty that no wonder a man wants to kiss you: you must blame your lovely eyes and mouth”— Rose laughed outright: she had come expecting reproof and found sweet flattery. “There’s only one thing, Rose”, I went on: “the story would hurt Mrs. Kellogg if it got out and she’s not very strong, so you must say nothing about it, for her sake: that’s what Professor Smith wanted to say to you”, I added. “I’m not likely to tell”, cried Rose: “I’ll soon forget all about it: but I guess I’d better get another job: he’s liable to try again though I gave him a good hard slap”, and she laughed merrily. “I’m so glad for Mrs. Kellogg’s sake”, said Smith gravely, “and if I can help you to get another place, please call upon me.” “I guess I’ll have no difficulty”, said Rose flippantly with a shade of dislike of the Professor’s solemnity: “Mrs. Kellogg will give me a good character” and the healthy young minx grinned; “besides I’m not sure but I’ll go stay home a spell: I’m fed up with working and would like a holiday, and mother wants me—” “Where do you live, Rose?” I asked with a keen eye for future opportunities; “On the other side of the river”, she replied, “next door to Elder Conklin’s, where your brother boards—” she added smiling. When Rose went I begged Smith to pack his boxes for I would get him the best room at the Gregorys’ and I assured him it was really large and comfortable and would hold all his books, etc., and off I went to make my promise good. On the way I set myself to think how I could turn the kindness I was doing the Gregorys to the advantage of my love. I decided to make Kate a partner in the good deed, or at least a herald of the good news. So when I got home I rang the bell in my room and as I had hoped, Kate answered it. When I heard her footsteps I was shaking, hot with desire and now I wish to describe a feeling I then first began to notice in myself. I longed to take possession of the girl, so to speak, abruptly, ravish her in fact, or at least thrust both hands up her dress at once and feel her bottom and sex altogether; but already I knew enough to realise certainly that girls prefer gentle and courteous approaches: why? Of the fact I’m sure. So I said, “Come in, Kate!” gravely; “I want to ask you whether the best bedroom is still free and if you’d like Professor Smith to have it, if I could get him to come here?”

• From Vox (1992)

  140 his shorts and poured about a tablespoonful of oil in there." "No kidding!" "Yes, well, he looked at me with shock. And I know I wouldn't have been able to do it if they hadn't really been my own shorts that I'd lent him. I said, 'I'm awfully sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. Take those off and I'll see if I have another pair. ' So he marched that peculiar march that men do as they are taking off their pants. He was not erect by any means, but he wasn't dormant either. I said, 'Did the olive oil feel warm?' And he said, 'Yes.' So I said, 'Would you like some more?' and he said, 'Maybe.' So I held the mouth of the bottle right where his pubic hair bushed out, high on his cock, I mean near the base, not near the tip, because he was still drooping down, and I tipped it as if to pour it over him, but I didn't actually let any come out. I just held it there. And the expectation of the warmth of the oil made his cock rise a little. I tipped the bottle even more, so that the olive oil was right in the neck, ready to pour out, but still I didn't actually pour it. And his erection rose a little more, wanting the oil. It was like some kind of stage lévitation. His hands were in little boyish fists at his sides. When he was almost horizontal, but still angling slightly downward, suddenly I poured the entire rest of the bottle over him, just glug glug glug glug glug, so that it flowed down its full cock length and fell with a buzzing sound onto the bathtub. And this was not a trivial amount of

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  Solomon was no doubt familiar with this practice as his own father engaged in it with his contemporaries. Cf 2 Sam 3:31 . Ecclesiastes 4 a 4:10 Lit they fall . b 4:13 God’s word calls on us to make our senior years a time of spiritual maturity and intellectual growth. A time to convert a lifetime of courageous morality, personal integrity, and character-building into a legacy that encourages and inspires the next generation. Ecclesiastes 6 a 6:12 The narrator is trying to prove that life is not worth living, but the Holy Spirit is using him to show that these conclusions are the tragic effect of living “under the sun”—ignoring the Lord, living apart from God the Father, oblivious to the Holy Spirit—and yet face to face with the mysteries of life and nature. Ecclesiastes 7 a 7:15 Lit prolongs . b 7:28 Or person . Ecclesiastes 8 a 8:5 Lit time and judgment . b 8:6 Lit time and judgment . Ecclesiastes 10 a 10:13 Lit the words of his mouth . Ecclesiastes 11 a 11:1 I.e. be richly rewarded. Ecclesiastes 12 a 12:5 This is an actual bush that grows in the region of the Mediterranean Sea. It is used in various condiments. In this verse some think it refers to loss of taste in old age, others to sexual desire (taking the fruit as an aphrodisiac), but which is not clear. b 12:11 This verse establishes the divine inspiration of Ecclesiastes. The Song of Solomon Song of Solomon 1 The Young Shulammite Bride and Jerusalem’s Daughters 1 T he a Song of Songs [the best of songs], which is Solomon’s. [1 Kin 4:32 ] b (The Shulammite Bride) 2 “May he kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!” [Solomon arrives, she turns to him, saying,] “For your love is better than wine. 3 “The aroma of your oils is fragrant and pleasing; Your name is perfume poured out; Therefore the maidens love you. 4 “Draw me away with you and let us run together! Let the king bring me into his chambers.” c (The Chorus) “W e will rejoice and be glad in you; We will remember and extol your love more [sweet and fragrant] than wine. Rightly do they love you.” (The Shulammite Bride) 5 “I am deeply tanned but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, [I am dark] like the tents of [the Bedouins of] Kedar, Like the [beautiful] curtains of Solomon. 6 “Do not gaze at me because I am deeply tanned, [I have worked in] the sun; it has left its mark on me. My mother’s sons were angry with me; They made me keeper of the vineyards, But my own vineyard (my complexion) I have not kept.” 7 “Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, Where do you pasture your flock, Where do you make it lie down at noon?

• From Vox (1992)

  141 oil, this was about maybe a third of the bottle. The waste was itself exciting. It was like covering him in some am ber glaze. He hurriedly moved his legs farther apart so he wouldn't get oil spatter on his feet. By the time there were only a few last drips falling from the bottle, he was totally, I mean totally, hard. And of course with this success I had second thoughts. I almost wanted him to leave right then so that I could come in the shower by myself. I stepped out of the tub and I said, 'Sorry, I got carried away. And the problem is, I have this darn yeast situation, so I can't really do anything with that magnif icent thing, much as I'd like to.' He said, 'Ah, that's all right, I'll just go home and take care of that myself, that's no problem,' he said, 'but your tub, on the other hand, is a mess. Ask me to clean it and I will.' I said, 'Oh don't worry about that, it's just oil, it's nothing.' But he was on his own private trajectory, and he said, 'That's right, it's oil, plus I have to say the tub is not terribly clean to begin with.' I said, 'No no no, don't even think of it, really.' He picked up an old dry Rescue pad that was in a corner and he held it up and he said, 'Look, tell me to clean your tub.' He's standing there, a pantless patent lawyer, semi- erect, wearing my Danger Mouse T-shirt, holding the tiny curled-up green Rescue pad with a fierce expression. He wanted to clean my tub. I said, 'Well, great. Please do. Sure.' He asked for some Ajax, so I brought some from the kitchen, along with a folding chair so I could sit and watch. Well, this Lawrence turned out to be some

• From The Selected Works of Audre Lorde

  It is a short step from there to the false belief that only by the suppression of the erotic within our lives and consciousness can women be truly strong. But that strength is illusory, for it is fashioned within the context of male models of power. As women, we have come to distrust that power which rises from our deepest and nonrational knowledge. We have been warned against it all our lives by the male world, which values this depth of feeling enough to keep women around in order to exercise it in the service of men, but which fears this same depth too much to examine the possibilities of it within themselves. So women are maintained at a distant/inferior position to be psychically milked, much the same way ants maintain colonies of aphids to provide a lifegiving substance for their masters. But the erotic offers a well of replenishing and provocative force to the woman who does not fear its revelation, nor succumb to the belief that sensation is enough. The erotic has often been misnamed by men and used against women. It has been made into the confused, the trivial, the psychotic, the plasticized sensation. For this reason, we have often turned away from the exploration and consideration of the erotic as a source of power and information, confusing it with its opposite, the pornographic. But pornography is a direct denial of the power of the erotic, for it represents the suppression of true feeling. Pornography emphasizes sensation without feeling. The erotic is a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings. It is an internal sense of satisfaction to which, once we have experienced it, we know we can aspire. For having experienced the fullness of this depth of feeling and recognizing its power, in honor and self-respect we can require no less of ourselves. It is never easy to demand the most from ourselves, from our lives, from our work. To encourage excellence is to go beyond the encouraged mediocrity of our society is to encourage excellence. But giving in to the fear of feeling and working to capacity is a luxury only the unintentional can afford, and the unintentional are those who do not wish to guide their own destinies. This internal requirement toward excellence which we learn from the erotic must not be misconstrued as demanding the impossible from ourselves nor from others. Such a demand incapacitates everyone in the process. For the erotic is not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing. Once we know the extent to which we are capable of feeling that sense of satisfaction and completion, we can then observe which of our various life endeavors bring us closest to that fullness.

• From Henry and June (1986)

  Now we are heavily silent, and I feel bowed down. Henry returns and asks Fred to leave us. He has scarcely pulled the door after him when Henry and I are tasting each other’s flesh. We fall together into our savage world. He bites me. He makes my bones crack. He makes me lie with legs wide open and digs into me. Our cravings grow wild. Our bodies are convulsed. “Oh, Anaïs,” he says, “I don’t know how you learned it, but you can fuck, you can fuck. I’ve never said it before, as strongly, but listen now, I love you madly. You’ve got me, you’ve got me. I’m crazy about you.” And then something I say arouses a sudden doubt in him. “It isn’t only the fucking, is it? You do love me?” The first lie. Mouths touching, breaths mingling; I, with his wet, hot penis in me, say I love him. But as I say it I know it is not true. His body has a way of arousing mine, of answering mine. When I think of him I want to open my legs. Now he is asleep in my arms, heavily asleep. I hear an accordion. It is Sunday night, in Clichy. I think of Bubu de Montparnasse , of hotel rooms, of the way Henry pushes up my leg, of his loving my buttocks. I am not myself at this moment, the vagabond. The accordion swells my heart, the white blood of Henry has filled me. He lies asleep in my arms and I do not love him. I think I told Fred I didn’t love Henry when we sat there silently. I told him I loved his own visionariness, his hallucinations. Henry carries the power to fuck, to flow, to curse, to enlarge and vitalize, to destroy and create suffering. It is the demon in him I admire, the indestructible idealist, the masochist who has found a way of inflicting pain on himself, because he suffers from his treacheries, his crudenesses. It touches me when he is humble before something like my house. “I know I am a boor and that I do not know how to behave in such a house, and so I pretend to despise it, but I love it. I love the beauty and fineness of it. It is so warm that when I come into it I feel taken up in the arms of a Ceres, I’m ensorcelled.” And then Hugo drives me home in the car, and he says, “Last night I was awake, and I thought of how there is a love which is bigger and more wonderful than fucking.” Because he had been ill for a few days and we had not made love, but slept in each other’s arms. I felt as if I would burst from my fragile shell.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “Won’t you love me, dear? I want you so: I’m burning and itching with desire (I knew she was!) Please, I won’t hurt you and I’ll take care; please, love, no one will know”, and the end of it was that right there on the porch I drew her to me and put my sex against hers and began the rubbing of her tickler and front part of her sex that I knew would excite her. In a moment she came and her love-dew wet my sex and excited me terribly; but I kept on frigging her with my manroot while restraining myself from coming by thinking of other things, till she kissed me of her own accord and suddenly moving forward pushed my prick right into her pussy. To my astonishment, there was no obstacle, no maidenhead to break through, though her sex itself was astonishingly small and tight. I didn’t scruple then to let my seed come, only withdrawing to the lips and rubbing her clitoris the while, and as soon as my spirting ceased, my root glided again into her and continued the slow in-and-out movement till she panted with her head on my shoulder and asked me to stop. I did as she wished, for I knew I had won another wonderful mistress. We went into the house again for she insisted I should meet her father and mother, and while we were waiting she showed me her lovely tiny breasts, scarcely larger than small apples, and I became aware of something childish in her mind which matched the childish outlines of her lovely, half-formed hips and pussy. “I thought that you were in love with Mrs. Mayhew,” she confessed, “and I couldn’t make out why she made such funny noises; but now I know”, she added, “you naughty dear; for I felt my heart fluttering just now and I was nearly choking—” I don’t know why; but that ravishing of Lily made her dear to me: I resolved to see her naked and to make her thrill to ecstasy as soon as possible, and then and there we made a meeting-place on the far side of the church, whence I knew I could bring her to my room at the Gregory’s in a minute, and then I went home, for it was late and I didn’t particularly want to meet her folks. The next night I met Lily by the church and took her to my room: she laughed aloud with delight as we entered; for indeed she was almost like a boy of bold, adventurous spirit. She confessed to me that my challenge of her pluck had pleased her intimately: “I never took a ‘dare’!” she cried in her American slang, tossing her head.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  I went down to Dr. Keogh’s cabin, once more joyful and grateful as I had been with E… My fingers were like eyes gratifying my curiosity, and the curiosity was insatiable. Jessie’s thighs were smooth and firm and round: I took delight in recalling the touch of them, and her bottom was firm like warm marble. I wanted to see her naked and study her beauties one after the other. Her sex too was wonderful, fuller even than Lucille’s and her eyes were finer. Oh, Life was a thousand times better than school. I thrilled with joy and passionate wild hopes—perhaps Jessie would let me, perhaps—I was breathless. Our walk on deck that evening was not so satisfactory: the wind had gone down and there were many other couples and the men all seemed to know Jessie, and it was Miss Kerr here, and Miss Kerr there, till I was cross and disappointed; I couldn’t get her to myself, save at moments, but then I had to admit she was as sweet as ever and her Aberdeen accent even was quaint and charming to me. I got some long kisses at odd moments and just before we went down I drew her behind a boat in the davits and was able to caress her little breasts and when she turned her back to me to go, I threw my arms round her hips and drew them against me and felt her sex and she leant her head back over her shoulder and gave me her mouth with dying eyes. The darling! Jessie was apt at all Love’s lessons. The next day was cloudy and rain threatened, but we were safely ensconced in the boat by two o’clock, as soon as lunch was over, and we hoped no one had seen us. An hour passed in caressings and fondlings, in love’s words and love’s promises: I had won Jessie to touch my sex and her eyes seemed to deepen as she caressed it. “I love you, Jessie, won’t you let it touch yours?” She shook her head. “Not here, not in the open”, she whispered and then, “wait a little till we get to New York, dear”, and our mouths sealed the compact. Then I asked her about New York and her sister’s house, and we were discussing where we should meet, when a big head and beard showed above the gunwale of the boat and a deep Scotch voice said: “I want ye, Jessie, I’ve been luiking everywhere for ye.” “Awright, father”, she said, “I’ll be down in a minute.” “Come quick”, said the voice as the head disappeared.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “Oh” she cried, “as you draw out, my heart follows your sex in fear of losing it and as you push in again, it opens wide in ecstasy and wants you all, all—” and she kissed me with hot lips. “Here is something new,” she exclaimed, “food for your vanity from my love! Mad as you make me with your love-thrusts, for at one moment I am hot and dry with desire, the next wet with passion, bathed in love, I could live with you all my life without having you, if you wished it, or if it would do you good. Do you believe me?” “Yes,” I replied, continuing the love-game; but occasionally withdrawing to rub her clitoris with my sex and then slowly burying him in her cunt again to the hilt. “We women have no souls but love,” she said faintly, her eyes dying as she spoke: “I torture myself to think of some new pleasure for you, and yet you’ll leave me, I feel you will, for some silly girl who can’t feel a tithe of what I feel or give you what I give—.” She began here to breathe quickly: “I’ve been thinking how to give you more pleasure; let me try. Your seed, darling, is dear to me: I don’t want it in my sex; I want to feel you thrill and so I want your sex in my mouth, I want to drink your essence and I will—” and suiting the action to the word she slipped down in the bed and took my sex in her mouth and began rubbing it up and down till my seed spirted in long jets, filling her mouth while she swallowed it greedily. “Now do I love you, Sir!” she exclaimed, drawing herself up on me again and nestling against me: “wait till some girl does that to you and you’ll know she loves you to distraction or better still to self-destruction.” “Why do you talk of any other girl!” I chided her, “I don’t imagine you going with any other man, why should you torment yourself just as causelessly?”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  My wild excitement made me shiver; I could have struck her for drawing away; but soon I noticed that she let my sex touch her clitoris with pleasure and I began to use my cock as a finger, caressing her with it. In a moment or two I began to move it more quickly and as my excitement grew to the height, I again tried to slip it into her pussy, and now as her love-dew came, I got my sex in a little way which gave me inexpressible pleasure; but when I pushed to go further, she drew away again with a sharp cry of pain. At the same moment my orgasm came on for the first time and seed like milk spurted from my sex. The pleasure thrill was almost unbearably keen: I could have screamed with the pang of it; but Jessie cried out, “Oh, you’re wetting me” and drew away with a frightened “Look, look!” And there, sure enough, on her round white thighs were patches of crimson blood. “Oh! I’m bleeding”, she cried, “what have you done?” “Nothing”, I answered, a little sulky, I’m afraid, at having my indescribable pleasure cut short, “nothing” and in a moment I had got out of bed, and taking my handkerchief soon wiped away the telltale traces. But when I wanted to begin again, Jessie wouldn’t hear of it at first: “No, no”, she said. “You’ve hurt me really, Jim, (my Christian name, I had told her, was James) and I’m scared, please be good.” I could only do her will, till a new thought struck me. At any rate I could see her now and study her beauties one by one, and so still lying by her I began kissing her left breast and soon the nipple grew a little stiff in my mouth. Why, I didn’t know and Jessie said she didn’t, but she liked it when I said her breasts were lovely and indeed they were, small and firm while the nipples pointed straight out. Suddenly the thought came, surprising me: it would have been much prettier if the circle surrounding the nipples had been rose-red instead of merely umber brown. I was thrilled by the bare idea. But her flanks and belly were lovely; the navel like a curled sea-shell, I thought, and the triangle of silky brown hairs on the Mount of Venus seemed to me enchanting, but Jessie kept covering her beauty-place. “It’s ugly”, she said, “please, boy”, but I went on caressing it and soon I was trying to slip my sex in again; though Jessie’s “O’s” of pain began at once and she begged me to stop.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “It’ll hurt you at first, Sophy, I’m afraid”; but she stilled all scruples with “Shucks, I don’t care: if I gives you pleasure, I’se satisfied” and she opened her legs, stretching herself as I got on her. The next moment my sex was caressing her clitoris and of herself she drew up her knees and suddenly with one movement brought my sex into hers and against the maiden barrier. Sophy had no hesitation: she moved her body lithely against me and the next moment I had forced the passage and was in her. I waited a little while and then began the love-game. At once Sophy followed my movements, lifting her sex up to me as I pushed in and depressing it to hold me as I withdrew. Even when I quickened, she kept time and so gave me the most intense pleasure, thrill on thrill, and as I came and my seed spirted into her, the muscle inside her vagina gripped my sex, heightening the sensation to an acute pang; she even kissed me more passionately than any other girl, licking the inside of my lips with her hot tongue. When I went on again with the slow in-and-out movements, she followed in perfect time and her trick of bending her sex down on mine as I withdrew and gripping it at the same time excited me madly: soon, of her own accord, she quickened while gripping and thrilling me till again we both spent together in an ecstasy. “You’re a perfect wonder!” I cried to her then, panting in my turn, “but how did you learn so quickly?” “I loves you”, she said, “so I do whatever I think you’d like and then I likes that too, see?” And her lovely face glowed against mine. I got up to show her the use of the syringe and found we were in a bath of blood. In a moment she had stripped the sheet off: “I’ll wash that in the morning” she said laughing while doubling it into a ball and throwing it in the corner. I turned the gas on full: never was there a more seductive figure. Her skin was darkish, it is true; but not darker than that of an ordinary Italian or Spanish girl, and her form had a curious attraction for me: her breasts, small and firm as elastic, stood out provocatively; her hips, however, were narrower than even Lily’s though the cheeks of her bottom were full; her legs too were well-rounded, not a trace of the sticks of the negro; her feet even were slender and high-arched. “You are the loveliest girl I’ve ever seen!” I cried as I helped to put in the syringe and wash her sex. “You’re mah man!” she said proudly, “an’ I want to show you that I can love better than any white trash; they only gives themselves airs!”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “Never eloquent,” he replied deprecatingly, “but sometimes very earnest perhaps, especially when some event of the day comes to point the Gospel story—” he talked like a man of fair education and I could see he was pleased at being drawn to the front. Then Kate brought me fresh coffee and Mrs. Gregory came in and continued her meal and the talk became interesting, thanks to Mr. Gregory who couldn’t help saying how the fire in Chicago had stimulated Christianity in his hearers and given him a great text. I mentioned casually that I had been in the fire and told of Randolph Street Bridge and the hanging and what else I saw there and on the lakefront that unforgettable Monday morning. At first Kate went in and out of the room removing dishes as if she were not concerned in the story, but when I told of the women and girls half-naked at the lakeside while the flames behind us reached the zenith in a red sheet that kept throwing flame-arrows ahead and started the ships burning on the water in front of us, she too stopped to listen. At once I caught my cue, to be liked and admired by all the rest; but indifferent, cold to her. So I rose as if her standing enthralled had interrupted me and said: “I’m sorry to keep you: I’ve talked too much, forgive me!” and betook myself to my room in spite of the protests and prayers to continue of all the rest. Kate just flushed; but said nothing. She attracted me greatly: she was infinitely desirable, very good-looking and very young (only sixteen, her mother said later) and her great hazel eyes were almost as exciting as her pretty mouth or large hips and good height. She pleased me intimately but I resolved to win her altogether and felt I had begun well: at any rate she would think about me and my coldness. I spent the evening in putting out my half dozen books, not forgetting my medical treatises, and then slept, the deep sleep of sex recuperation. The next morning I called on Smith again where he lived with the Reverend Mr. Kellogg, who was the Professor of English History in the University, Smith said. Kellogg was a man of about forty, stout and well-kept, with a faded wife of about the same age. Rose, the pretty servant, let me in: I had a smile and warm word of thanks for her: she was astonishingly pretty, the prettiest girl I had seen in Lawrence: medium height and figure with quite lovely face and an exquisite rose-leaf skin! She smiled at me; evidently my admiration pleased her.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  At this moment the model emerged with a sheet about her and probably because of my praise Alexander introduced me to Mlle. Jeanne and said I was a distinguished American writer. She nodded to me saucily, flashing white teeth at me, mounted the estrade, threw off the sheet and took up her pose—all in a moment. I was carried off my feet; the more I looked, the more perfections I discovered. For the first time I saw a figure that I could find no fault with. Needless to say I told her so in my best French with a hundred similes. Alexander also I conciliated by begging him to do no more to the sketch but sell it to me and do another. Finally he took four hundred and fifty francs for it and in an hour had made another sketch. My purchase had convinced Mlle. Jeanne that I was a young millionaire and when I asked her if I might accompany her to her home, she consented more than readily. As a matter of fact, I took her for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne and from there to dinner in a private room at the Café Anglais. During the meal I had got to like her: she lived with her mother, Alexander had told me; though by no means prudish, still less virginal, she was not a _coureuse_. I thought I might risk connection; but when I got her to take off her clothes and began to caress her sex, she drew away and said quite as a matter of course: “Why not _faire minette_?” When I asked her what she meant, she told me frankly: “We women do not get excited in a moment as you men do; why not kiss and tongue me there for a few minutes, then I shall have enjoyed myself and shall be ready....” I’m afraid I made rather a face for she remarked coolly: “Just as you like, you know. I prefer in a meal the _hors d’oeuvres_ to the _pièce de résistance_ like a good many other women: indeed I often content myself with the _hors d’oeuvres_ and don’t take any more. Surely you understand that a woman goes on getting more and more excited for an hour or two and no man is capable of bringing her to the highest pitch of enjoyment while pleasing himself.” “I’m able”, I said stubbornly, “I can go on all night if you please me, so we should skip appetizers.” “No, no!” she replied, laughing, “let us have a banquet then, but begin with lips and tongue!” The delay, the bandying to and fro of argument and above all, the idea of kissing and tonguing her sex, had brought me to coolness and reason. Was I not just as foolish as Bancroft if I yielded to the—an unknown girl.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  At this moment the model emerged with a sheet about her and probably because of my praise Alexander introduced me to Mlle. Jeanne and said I was a distinguished American writer. She nodded to me saucily, flashing white teeth at me, mounted the estrade, threw off the sheet and took up her pose—all in a moment. I was carried off my feet; the more I looked, the more perfections I discovered. For the first time I saw a figure that I could find no fault with. Needless to say I told her so in my best French with a hundred similes. Alexander also I conciliated by begging him to do no more to the sketch but sell it to me and do another. Finally he took four hundred and fifty francs for it and in an hour had made another sketch. My purchase had convinced Mlle. Jeanne that I was a young millionaire and when I asked her if I might accompany her to her home, she consented more than readily. As a matter of fact, I took her for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne and from there to dinner in a private room at the Café Anglais. During the meal I had got to like her: she lived with her mother, Alexander had told me; though by no means prudish, still less virginal, she was not a coureuse. I thought I might risk connection; but when I got her to take off her clothes and began to caress her sex, she drew away and said quite as a matter of course: “Why not faire minette?” When I asked her what she meant, she told me frankly: “We women do not get excited in a moment as you men do; why not kiss and tongue me there for a few minutes, then I shall have enjoyed myself and shall be ready....” I’m afraid I made rather a face for she remarked coolly: “Just as you like, you know. I prefer in a meal the hors d’oeuvres to the pièce de résistance like a good many other women: indeed I often content myself with the hors d’oeuvres and don’t take any more. Surely you understand that a woman goes on getting more and more excited for an hour or two and no man is capable of bringing her to the highest pitch of enjoyment while pleasing himself.” “I’m able”, I said stubbornly, “I can go on all night if you please me, so we should skip appetizers.” “No, no!” she replied, laughing, “let us have a banquet then, but begin with lips and tongue!” The delay, the bandying to and fro of argument and above all, the idea of kissing and tonguing her sex, had brought me to coolness and reason. Was I not just as foolish as Bancroft if I yielded to the—an unknown girl.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  I had had the best part of her wisdom, so I stripped off a five dollar bill and gave it to her. “Thanks,” she said, “you’re a dear and if you want to come an’ see me any time, just come an’ I’ll try to give you a good time.”—Away I went. I had had my first talk with a prostitute and in her room! The idea that a girl could want a baby was altogether new to me: her temptations very different from a boy’s, very! For the greater part of my first year in Chicago I had no taste of love: I was often tempted by this chambermaid or that; but I knew I should lose prestige if I yielded and I simply put it all out of my head resolvedly as I had abjured drink. But towards the beginning of the summer temptation came to me in a new guise. A Spanish family, named Vidal, stopped at the Fremont House. Señor Vidal was like a French officer, middle height, trim figure, very dark with grey moustache waving up at the ends. His wife, motherly but stout, with large dark eyes and small features; a cousin, a man of about thirty, rather tall with a small black moustache, like a tooth brush, I thought, and sharp imperious ways. At first I did not notice the girl who was talking to her Indian maid. I understood at once that the Vidals were rich and gave them the best rooms: “all communicating—except yours,” I added, turning to the young man: “it is on the other side of the corridor, but large and quiet.” A shrug and contemptuous nod was all I got for my pains from Señor Arriga. As I handed the keys to the bellboy, the girl threw back her black mantilla. “Any letters for us?” she asked quietly. For a minute I stood dumbfounded, enthralled, then “I’ll see,” I muttered and went to the rack, but only to give myself a countenance—I knew there were none. “None, I’m sorry to say,” I smiled watching the girl as she moved away. “What’s the matter with me?” I said to myself angrily. “She’s nothing wonderful, this Miss Vidal; pretty, yes, and dark with fine dark eyes, but nothing extraordinary.” But it would not do; I was shaken in a new way and would not admit it even to myself. In fact the shock was so great that my head took sides against heart and temperament at once as if alarmed. “All Spaniards are dank,” I said to myself, trying to depreciate the girl and so regain self-control; “besides her nose is beaked a little.” But there was no conviction in my criticism. As soon as I recalled the proud grace of carriage and the magic of her glance, the fever-fit shook me again: for the first time my heart had been touched.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  He was always writing to me to come to visit him and on my return from Philadelphia, in 1875 I think, I stopped at Columbus and spent a couple of days with him. As soon as he heard that I had gone to Europe and had reached Paris, he wrote to me that he wished I had asked him to come with me and so I wrote setting forth my purpose and at once he threw up his good prospects of riches and honor and came to me in Paris. We lived together for some six months: he was a tall, strong fellow, with pale face and gray eyes; a good student, an honorable, kindly, very intelligent man; but we envisaged life from totally different sides and the longer we were together, the less we understood each other. In everything we were antipodes; he should have been an Englishman for he was a born aristocrat with imperious, expensive tastes, while I had really become a Western American, careless of dress or food or position, intent only on acquiring knowledge and, if possible, wisdom in order to reach greatness. The first evening we dined at Marguerite’s and spent the night talking and swapping news. The very next afternoon Ned would go into Paris and we dined in a swell restaurant on the Grand Boulevard. A few tables away a tall, splendid-looking brunette of perhaps thirty was dining with two men: I soon saw that Ned and she were exchanging looks and making signs. He told me he intended to go home with her: I remonstrated but he was as obstinate as Charlie, and when I told him of the risks he said he’d never do it again; but this time he couldn’t get out of it. “I’ll pay the bill at once”, I said, “and let’s go!” but he would not, desire was alight in him and a feeling of false shame hindered him from taking my advice. Half an hour later the lady made a sign and he went out with the party and when she entered her Victoria, he got in with her; the pair on the sidewalk, he said, bursting into laughter as he and the woman drove away together. Next morning he was back with me early, only saying that he had enjoyed himself hugely and was not even afraid. Her rooms were lovely, he declared; he had to give her a hundred francs: the bath and toilette arrangements were those of a queen: there was no danger. And he treated me to as wild a theory as Charlie had cherished: told me that the great cocottes who make heaps of money took as much care of themselves as gentlemen. “Go with a common prostitute and you’ll catch something; go with a real topnotcher and she’s sure to be all right!” And perfectly at ease he went to work with a will.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  Next day I found out that the Vidals had come from Spain and were on their way to their hacienda near Chihuahua in Northern Mexico. They meant to rest in Chicago for three or four days because Señora Vidal had heart trouble and couldn’t stand much fatigue. I discovered besides that Señor Arriga was either courting his cousin or betrothed to her and at once I sought to make myself agreeable to the man. Señor Arriga was a fine billiard player and I took the nearest way to his heart by reserving for him the best table, getting him a fair opponent and complimenting him upon his skill. The next day Arriga opened his heart to me: “What is there to do in this dull hole? Did I know of any amusement? Any pretty women?” I could do nothing but pretend to sympathize and draw him out and this I easily accomplished, for Señor Arriga loved to boast of his name and position in Mexico and his conquests. “Ah, you should have seen her as I led her in the baile (dance)—an angel!” and he kissed his fingers gallantly. “As pretty as your cousin?” I ventured. Señor Arriga flashed a sharp suspicious glance at me, but apparently reassured by my frankness, went on: “In Mexico we never talk of members of our family,” he warned: “The Senorita is pretty, of course, but very young; she has not the charm of experience, the caress of—I know so little American, I find it difficult to explain.” But I was satisfied. “He doesn’t love her”, I said to myself; “loves no one except himself.” In a thousand little ways I took occasion to commend myself to the Vidals. Every afternoon they drove out and I took care they should have the best buggy and the best driver and was at pains to find out new and pretty drives, though goodness knows the choice was limited. The beauty of the girl grew on me in an extraordinary way: yet it was the pride and reserve in her face that fascinated me more even than her great dark eyes or fine features or splendid coloring. Her figure and walk were wonderful; I thought: I never dared to seek epithets for her eyes, or mouth or neck. Her first appearance in evening dress was a revelation to me: she was my idol, enskied and sacred. It is to be presumed that the girl saw how it was with me and was gratified. She made no sign, betrayed herself in no way, but her mother noticed that she was always eager to go downstairs to the lounge and missed no opportunity of making some inquiry at the desk. “I want to practice my English,” the girl said once and the mother smiled: “Los ojos, you mean your eyes, my dear,” and added to herself: “But why not? Youth—” and sighed for her own youth now foregone, and the petals already fallen.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  I answer that, Some say that whenever pleasure is the chief motive for the marriage act it is a mortal sin; that when it is an indirect motive it is a venial sin; and that when it spurns the pleasure altogether and is displeasing, it is wholly void of venial sin; so that it would be a mortal sin to seek pleasure in this act, a venial sin to take the pleasure when offered, but that perfection requires one to detest it. But this is impossible, since according to the Philosopher (Ethic. x, 3,4) the same judgment applies to pleasure as to action, because pleasure in a good action is good, and in an evil action, evil; wherefore, as the marriage act is not evil in itself, neither will it be always a mortal sin to seek pleasure therein. Consequently the right answer to this question is that if pleasure be sought in such a way as to exclude the honesty of marriage, so that, to wit, it is not as a wife but as a woman that a man treats his wife, and that he is ready to use her in the same way if she were not his wife, it is a mortal sin; wherefore such a man is said to be too ardent a lover of his wife, because his ardor carries him away from the goods of marriage. If, however, he seek pleasure within the bounds of marriage, so that it would not be sought in another than his wife, it is a venial sin. Reply to Objection 1: A man seeks wanton pleasure in his wife when he sees no more in her that he would in a wanton. Reply to Objection 2: Consent to the pleasure of the intercourse that is a mortal sin is itself a mortal sin; but such is not the consent to the marriage act. Reply to Objection 3: Although he does not actually refer the pleasure to God, he does not place his will’s last end therein; otherwise he would seek it anywhere indifferently. Hence it does not follow that he enjoys a creature; but he uses a creature actually for his own sake, and himself habitually, though not actually, for God’s sake. Reply to Objection 4: The reason for this statement is not that man deserves to be excommunicated for this sin, but because he renders himself unfit for spiritual things, since in that act, he becomes flesh and nothing more. OF THE IMPEDIMENTS OF MARRIAGE, IN GENERAL (ONE ARTICLE)In the next place we must consider the impediments of marriage: (1) In general; (2) In particular. Whether it is fitting that impediments should be assigned to marriage?Objection 1: It would seem unfitting for impediments to be assigned to marriage. For marriage is a sacrament condivided with the others. But no impediments are assigned to the others. Neither therefore should they be assigned to marriage.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  Soon she grew warm and I pulled off my nightshirt and my middle finger was caressing her sex that opened quickly: “E—E!” she said drawing in her breath quickly: “it still hurts.” I put my sex gently against hers, moving it up and down slowly till she drew up her knees to let me in; but as soon as the head entered, her face puckered a little with pain and as I had had a long afternoon, I was the more inclined to forbear and accordingly I drew away and took place beside her: “I cannot bear to hurt you,” I said, “love’s pleasure must be mutual.” “You’re sweet!” she whispered, “I’m glad you stopped; for it shows you really care for me and not just for the pleasure!” and she kissed me lovingly. “Kate, reward me,” I said, “by telling me just what you felt when I first had you” and I put her hand on my hot stiff sex to encourage her. “It’s impossible,” she said, flushing a little, “there was such a throng of new feelings; why, this evening waiting in bed for the time to pass and thinking of you, I felt a strange prickling sensation in the inside of my thighs that I never felt before and now”—and she hid her glowing face against my neck, “I feel it again!” “Love is funny, isn’t it?” she whispered the next moment: “now the pricking sensation is gone and the front part of my sex burns and itches, Oh! I must touch it!” “Let me,” I cried, and in a moment I was on her, working my organ up and down on her clitoris, the porch, so to speak, of Love’s temple. A little later she herself sucked the head into her hot, dry pussy and then closed her legs as if in pain to stop me going further; but I began to rub my sex up and down on her tickler, letting it slide right in, every now and then, till she panted and her love-juice came and my weapon sheathed itself in her naturally. I soon began the very slow and gentle in-and-out movements which increased her excitement steadily while giving her more and more pleasure, till I came and immediately she lifted my chest up from her breasts with both hands and showed me her glowing face. “Stop, boy,” she gasped, “please: my heart’s fluttering so! I came too, you know, just with you” and indeed I felt her trembling all over convulsively. I drew out and for safety’s sake got her to use the syringe, having already explained its efficacy to her; she was adorably awkward and when she had finished I took her to bed again and held her to me, kissing her. “So you really love me, Kate!” “Really,” she said, “you don’t know how much!”