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 185 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex gave her a look. “I know you have to be brave for the both of us,” she said humbly. “I tell you I can take anything before it actually happens. I’m afraid of pain, so I struggle and call you bad names, and I lie. But I gave tonight everything I had, and I really do want to be your best girl. You’re always asking me to trust you, Alex. When I wear your rings, will you finally trust me?” Alex caressed her head, and took her gently by the hair. “You’re wonderful. And it’s been beautiful to watch you. I thought my heart would be ripped in two when I heard you scream, and knew it was somebody else who was making you suffer. But I’ve watched these women discover abilities that I didn’t know you had.” Roxanne shivered. “I wonder if I could really love any woman who held my leash and threatened to whip me.” “Well, at least we know you honestly do love to be abused,” Alex said. “You’re lucky you have somebody who will dish it out with a careful hand. Why do you think I want you pierced? I can’t run the risk of you forgetting me or trying to replace me. I want you wearing something that will prevent that. I meant it when I said I’m never going to let you go, Roxanne. But ownership enforced with a collar and a crop can be broken or mislaid. Even the marks you have now will heal and disappear. But these piercings are permanent.” “Oh … ” It was a whimper of sexual excitement. Roxanne’s hand strayed between her legs, and Alex laughed at her. She began to move spasmodically, crying again, begging subvocally for help and reassurance. “Rings,” Alex teased. “I am going to put my rings in your flesh. To see every time you dress and undress, to feel every time I put my hand on you. My rings.” Roxanne shuddered as if in the throes of orgasm, then ceased caressing herself. Alex held up a long, thick needle. “The points I’ll actually use are in the sterilizer,” she said. “But this is what they look like.” She gave it to her to play with. Roxanne examined it carefully, trying to find some acceptance or desire for it in her heart. She wanted the rings, lusted after them, but the needle appalled her. “Where will you pierce me?” she asked, trying to be calm. “Wherever I like.” Roxanne gave the needle back and folded up at Alex’s feet again, trying to hide within her own arms. She had a perverse desire to fall asleep. Alex stood up and stepped behind the bar. She and Tyre scrubbed together in the sink there, lathering themselves up past the elbow with antiseptic soap. “Think we’re sterile?” Alex asked Tyre. “We’re all girls. I don’t think anybody’s going to get pregnant,” she replied.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  She felt a willful desire to crack that mask, to warm that face and bring it to life, to make Kay respond and react to her. Instead, she found herself responding, moving frantically, shamelessly, crying out. “Stop it,” EZ scolded her. “Quit showing off.” Stunned, she complied. Her shame was intensified by the fact that Kay never noted the rebuke or her response. What looked like indifference was actually concentration. Every bit of Kay’s attention was in her fingertips, which combed the sides, the floor and ceiling of Roxanne’s ass, looking for the nerves, the joyspots, the loose thread she could pull to unravel Roxanne down to her core. Little messages ran constantly up those busy, delicately searching fingers, through forearm and bicep, to the shoulder, jogging it, keeping up a minute series of rhythmic movements designed to coax the asshole, the mouth of the great snake, to unlock its jaws and swallow its meal, Kay’s folded-over, pointed, pared-down and slicked up hand. Two fingers, then three, sank into Roxanne’s ass. She barely noticed. She was humming along a smooth road. This was so easy, there was so little friction that it barley qualified as fucking. Nevertheless, there was pleasure, enough to turn her into a squirmy little girl, so bad and dirty that she wanted people to bend her over, pull down her panties, put things up her ass, move them in and out, make her tell them how much she liked it and squeal for more. Then EZ made the mistake of interrupting all the stories she was telling herself about what a naughty, provocative, kinky slut she was and told her how many fingers Kay had in her. She jerked involuntarily. The squirmy feeling went away. Immediately, she tried to correct it—took slow, deep breaths; gathered her resources; willed herself to accept, open, opening, getting back on that seamless streamlined highway to lust. “She’s tightening up,” Kay said dispassionately. It might have been a weather report. EZ’s hand—gloved in thin black kid—gripped Roxanne’s face, covered her mouth and nose. She drew in a startled breath, and realized from the potent smell that EZ held an inhaler of poppers in her palm. The amyl came on slowly, then exploded. She was flying, falling, rushing—rushing! Her mouth fell open, her limbs went slack, and she felt four of Kay’s fingers spread and claim her. Penetration was exquisite pleasure. Under the magical assault of the poppers, she felt no need to lift her littlest finger. Since she could not act, she could yield herself totally, pinned to the sling by her internal sensations. She need not cooperate with or assist the implacable beings manipulating her flesh. EZ was laughing at her. “Wild, isn’t it?” she said. “What d’you think we could do if we were all too fucking stoned to worry?” The idea seemed to be a profound insight, and she let the anxious part of her mind play with it like a difficult knot.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  I’m wet enough to drown someone.” “Put your finger just barely inside the opening. Move in little, light circles.” “I’m burning.” “Burn.” There was no sound in the car save the purring of the engine and my own labored breathing. “Can you get two fingers inside your cunt?” “Easy.” “Do it. Fuck yourself. I want to hear it.” I buried my fingers inside myself and pumped. The juices made sucking noises as my hand moved up and down. “How do you get off? Do you put your fingers on your clit?” “No, I do it just like this.” “Do you want to come?” “Yes, I can’t stand this. I’m so swollen, so sticky.” “Well, I’m real sorry about that, because if you can’t stand this, there’s no way you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening. Run your finger up and down between your inner and outer lips. Do it on both sides. Spread the wetness up and cover your clit with it.” “It’s slippery and smooth. Feels like being stroked all over. My nipples are still hard—I can feel them brushing against my leotard.” “Jostle your clit a little bit.” “I can’t find it. It’s gone up under the hood.” Her knuckles on the steering wheel had gone white. She was staring intently at the road, but her breathing had quickened. “I need to come. Please, let me come. I’ll be good for you later, I promise. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just let me. Come. Now, please, please.” I was babbling. I was begging so hard. God, she was pleased with herself. “You can start,” she told me. I cupped my hand over my mound and dabbled a finger in the molten hole of my vagina. “Make more noise.” I let myself moan. I couldn’t believe the things I was saying, the sounds I was making. My hand moved faster, harder, higher. But my climax hung off, waiting— “Go on, come. Come now.” That was all it took. I had waited so long, my orgasm was unbelievably intense. My vagina tightened like a fist, then convulsed and shuddered. I counted contractions as I continued to hold and squeeze my vulva. Waves of pleasure ran down my thighs, melted away, and filled me with a warm, sleepy glow. Jessie pulled into a driveway and turned off the engine. She reached for me and searched my body with her hands, feeling the film of perspiration that covered me from head to toe. She explored my cunt, running her fingers up and down the inner lips and probing inside of me briefly. “You weren’t kidding,” she said. “You really are wet! Are you going to sing that pretty for me?” She nuzzled my neck. “That was quite a performance.” I didn’t respond. My eyes were half-closed. I felt limp and languorous. She tapped my cheek lightly. “Wake up. We haven’t even started yet.”

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles and herseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted and waxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that it seemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of her loveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome and doughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he was taken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him a visit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair and worshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received and sumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming to discourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she were indeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the prince answered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, but thine own eyes certify thee.' Accordingly, at the duke's solicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess's lodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them very courteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her between them, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for that she understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore each contented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, and especially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe that she was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with her sight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes, beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardently enamoured of her. After he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure to bethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others in having so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and various thoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour, he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour to despoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith. Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter and setting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thought to the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and one day, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with a privy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make ready in secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  7.WILLShe picked me up to drive to John Leal’s house. Paired taillights swept ahead of us, the red lamps slewing here, there. Turning off the road, she hurtled uphill, and stopped. Phoebe and I walked up the flagstone path to a white, tall house. She held my hand, swinging it, the way children do. Piled leaves blew about, alive again. She touched the bell button. I lifted Phoebe’s hand; I kissed bitten nails that shine, in hindsight, like quartz, spoils I pulled down from the moon. – The door flung open. Strangers appeared, drawing us into the heat, the light. The rich perfume of cooked flesh filled the front hall. Saliva flooded my mouth. They asked if we’d mind removing our shoes. Light-headed, I used the excuse to crouch. I took in a breath as I unknotted the tight laces. I hadn’t eaten since morning, when I had a stolen Gala apple. With the bus behind schedule, I’d arrived at Michelangelo’s too late for the staff lunch. Phoebe and I were led down a hall, into the living room. Flat blue cushions had been placed in a half-circle in front of the lit fireplace. There was no furniture. Invited to sit, I followed Phoebe’s lead: I took a cushion, the one closest to hers. It slipped as I sat, the glossed fabric smooth. Is John Leal here? Phoebe asked. I’d love to tell him hello. He’s in the kitchen, they said. He’ll join us in a minute. Before long, the conversation split in two. Phoebe chatted with a girl whose name I hadn’t caught, then with a person called Ian. He left the room, coming back with full porcelain teacups. Mulled wine, he said. Meanwhile, I jolted through pleasantries with Philip Hecht, also an Edwards student. I wondered when they’d reveal the punchline behind this evening. When, not if, I still thought. Philip asked where I was from; the girl, Jo, smiled. I started reciting lies I’d been telling since the first day in Noxhurst, the half-truths ballooning until, in moments, I turned into a different Will again, floating above the usual Kendall problems. I cut the strings. I had the balloonatic’s glee. Timelines cracked, shifted; my father pulled his emptied seat to the table. My mother’s little rental house sailed south from dull, meth-addled Carmenita to the hills of Los Angeles, expanding mid-flight into an open villa with the kind of misshapen pool no one but the rich would have. It lit up at night. I swam in its blue fire.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex had gathered her long, curly blonde hair into a ponytail and pulled it through a hole in the hood. The only other openings in it were the nose holes. A piece of tubing, ending in an incongruous orange valve and a black rubber bulb, dangled from the mouth of the hood. Tyre cocked Roxanne’s head, made sure she was breathing freely, then drew the rope down hand over hand until the girl was standing bent at the waist, her chained hands high up in the air behind her back. Tyre secured the rope by winding it in a figure-eight around a cleat on the wall. Alex put her arm over Michael’s shoulder. She was stroking the sky-blue fly of the Marine Corps uniform. “Do you always strap it on before you come to work?” she asked. Michael grinned. “Well, you know who I work for,” she replied. Her hips rocked in response to Alex’s touch, straps pulled tight up against her cunt. She wanted Alex to take out her cock and suck it. Anne-Marie was stroking the chained girl in much the same way, but her cunt had no protection other than a pair of crotchless silk panties held together with tiny ribbons tied in bows. The rest of the pack gathered around and watched Anne-Marie pull up the girl’s skirt and untie each bow, then plunge her fingers into her cleft from behind. The chains made a pleasant accompaniment, barely discernible over the music. The girl staggered, tossed her shoulders. The rope was not long enough to let her escape. She could not lower her hands to cover her exposed vaginal lips. She was helpless. She tossed her shoulders again as Anne-Marie worked one finger into her ass. “I think you oughta stick around,” Alex growled in Michael’s ear. She had moved behind her and was massaging her butt. “Pleasure’s mine.” “It will be,” Alex promised. The girl in the middle of the pack didn’t turn her head in response to this dialogue. Apparently the hood completely sealed off hearing as well as sight. “You put in ear plugs?” Tyre asked Alex. “Yes. And it already has pads over the ears. The blindfold can be unsnapped. And you can see the gag. There’s a rubber insert that fits inside the mouth and gets pumped up.” Kay went over to the girl, took the bulb that dangled from her face, and pumped it once or twice. Roxanne shook her head, and her long hair sprayed across her back. “I already pumped that up pretty good,” Alex warned. “Why don’t you turn the valve and let some of the air out, then pump it up again? I like keeping something big in my mouth.” Michael reached over her shoulder and touched Alex’s lips. She got her fingers bitten. She gave Alex a lazy smile and put them in her own mouth, sucked the pain away.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  The black-gloved hands unbuttoned his shirt and began to play with his flat nipples, barely visible in the mat of chest hair. Suddenly, she had more cock than she could handle. Mike gripped her to him, refusing to let her get away, and pumped into her throat. The harder Don worked on his tits, the harder he got and the deeper he thrust into her soft tissues. She felt like an Accu-jac, a convenient sex toy being used to help these two men get off with each other. Mike had only one hand on her head now, and she could see that the other one was behind him, busily working Don up to full erection. Now Don’s hands were on Mike’s cock, and he was jerking him off, slowly and insistently milking his rosy shaft. “I’m going to jerk him off in your mouth,” he told her coldly. “Isn’t that exciting? Pinch your own tits, Mike. I want you to fill up that scumbag with fresh spunk. You better produce a lot of cream, boy, or it’s your ass. You, cocksucker, don’t take that rubber off him until I can see the size of his load.” They continued that way—Mike pulling on his own tits, Don pumping his cock, her twirling her tongue around the head of Mike’s dick—until he came, copiously, and sagged, weak in the knees. “God, it’s hard to come standing up,” he complained. Don let go of him, grabbed the prophylactic and slid it off. “You forgot to say thank you,” he grinned. “Now git down on the floor next to her.” Mike hesitated, and his face turned red. Don shouted, “I said kneel, you punk!” Mike obeyed him with bad grace, giving her one furious glance that wiped the smile off her face. Don took Mike’s face in his big hands and forced his mouth open. “Swallow it,” Don said, squeezing the contents of the used rubber onto his tongue. He did, grimacing. She could only imagine how your own cum would taste, cold. Don’s hard-on was in her face, and she transferred her attention to it. Mike mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” with obvious lack of sincerity, and got to his own feet while Don reached down for her and helped her up. He turned her and held her the way he had held Mike. His leather-clad hands felt her breasts, dug briefly into her sore armpits, then reached for her belt buckle and undid it and the top button of her jeans. One hand slid inside her pants, the other hand undoing buttons until he could cup his fingers around her cunt.

• From Macho Sluts (1988)

  Alex plucked her off Roxanne, tucked her inside her jacket, and began to kiss her, sloppy butch kisses that made everybody cheer. Kay gave EZ a towel and sent her over to clean off Michael and put her equipment away. When EZ knelt in front of her and began to swab at her dick, Michael couldn’t resist turning her hips just enough to slap the side of it into EZ’s face. The look she got was hatred laced with lust and panic. As if knees weren’t made to bend! She was going to remember that look and hope she saw it again sometime, when her own knees weren’t so weak. Tyre had pulled a slim blade, Damascus steel with a horn handle, from the sleeve of her jacket. She ran its edge up the back of Roxanne’s legs. The girl stopped panting and immediately froze, obviously trained to mind the blade. “I think I’m gonna wet my pants,” Kay said to Anne-Marie. “This is too delicious.” “I know just how you feel, dear. It’s such a cleansing release. So good for the system.” The knife traveled the inside of Roxanne’s thighs. The girl had spread her feet as far apart as her manacles and chain permitted. When the tip of it probed her clit, she jumped a little, then steadied herself. Shoulders, neck, upper arms felt the fine scrape of Tyre’s weapon. Then the blade disappeared between her slip and her skin, and its tip plunged through the thin material. The silk made a grieving sound as it was cut, as if it knew it could not heal itself. Tyre let the elegant rags fall from Roxanne’s body, and the girl shivered. Tiny goosebumps came out all over her. She smelled like pure sex. God, she was pretty. Under the slip she wore a leather corset, cinched so tight that her waist was visibly compressed. Six short garters on each leg kept her stockings taut. Alex motioned everyone close, and all eight women held their hands above Roxanne, then simultaneously lowered them. She jumped when she felt herself handled by so many. The rude hands went everywhere. Obviously, much was going to be demanded from her. She shook beneath their hands, but her nipples got larger and firm as cherries, and her pussy was already producing enough slippery stuff to pave the way for all of them to take her in turn. And, in fact, they did just that—hand after hand plunging as deep as it could go, turning slowly into her, then being withdrawn to give its neighbor a turn. She was being laid open to the pack, made equally the vessel of each of its members. Alex took her head between her thighs and worked on the hood’s laces. She let all the air out of the gag before peeling the thin kid off Roxanne’s face and tweaking out the ear plugs.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Dioneo, who had diligently hearkened to the queen's story, seeing that it was ended and that it rested with him alone to tell, without awaiting commandment, smilingly began to speak as follows: "Charming ladies, maybe you have never heard tell how one putteth the devil in hell; wherefore, without much departing from the tenor of that whereof you have discoursed all this day, I will e'en tell it you. Belike, having learned it, you may catch the spirit[202] thereof and come to know that, albeit Love sojourneth liefer in jocund palaces and luxurious chambers than in the hovels of the poor, yet none the less doth he whiles make his power felt midmost thick forests and rugged mountains and in desert caverns; whereby it may be understood that all things are subject to his puissance. [Footnote 202: _Guadagnare l'anima_, lit. gain the soul (syn. pith, kernel, substance). This passage is ambiguous and should perhaps be rendered "catch the knack or trick" or "acquire the wish."] To come, then, to the fact, I say that in the city of Capsa in Barbary there was aforetime a very rich man, who, among his other children, had a fair and winsome young daughter, by name Alibech. She, not being a Christian and hearing many Christians who abode in the town mightily extol the Christian faith and the service of God, one day questioned one of them in what manner one might avail to serve God with the least hindrance. The other answered that they best served God who most strictly eschewed the things of the world, as those did who had betaken them into the solitudes of the deserts of Thebais. The girl, who was maybe fourteen years old and very simple, moved by no ordered desire, but by some childish fancy, set off next morning by stealth and all alone, to go to the desert of Thebais, without letting any know her intent. After some days, her desire persisting, she won, with no little toil, to the deserts in question and seeing a hut afar off, went thither and found at the door a holy man, who marvelled to see her there and asked her what she sought. She replied that, being inspired of God, she went seeking to enter into His service and was now in quest of one who should teach her how it behoved to serve Him.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Instead, on the nights I couldn’t sleep, I imagined Phoebe’s sidling hips, the fist-sized breasts. She flailed and squirmed. With an arched back, rosebud ass soaring up, she starred in solo fantasies. The fact that I still hadn’t slept with Phoebe, or anyone, didn’t preclude these scenarios. If anything, it helped. Irritation absolved me of the guilt I might have felt about the uses to which I put the spectral mouth and breasts. Each time this ghost Phoebe jumped in my lap, I bit her lips. I licked fingers; I grabbed fistfuls of made-up skin until, sometimes, when I saw the girl in the flesh, she looked as implausible as all the Phoebes I’d dreamed into being. – I pushed through a revolving door into the Colonial: a private club, college-affiliated. She’d invited me to have a drink. One last date, I’d resolved. With Phoebe, I kept spending time I didn’t have. I rushed from classes to Michelangelo’s, an Italian restaurant fifteen miles from Noxhurst’s town limits—distant enough, I hoped, that no fellow students would walk in. I took the bus. I waited tables; I relied on staff meals. I filched apples from the Edwards dining hall. I received scholarship funding, but not enough. I told no one. She was sitting alone at the bar, back facing out. I touched the girl’s waist, and she slipped down from the stool. Phoebe’s smile, angling up, floated toward me. She asked the bow-tied barkeep, Bix, to bring me a gimlet. You’ll love it, Will, she said. Bix makes, no joke, the world’s best gimlets. He puts something extra in. I’ve asked, but he won’t tell me what it is. If it was my recipe to give, I would, he said. I believed him. It was obvious he liked Phoebe. She asked how I was, and I said I’d passed a man playing the fiddle while I walked here. I’d paused, to listen. I had no small bills, so I’d put quarters in his upside-down hat. Oh, ho, he said. It’s high-rolling time. It’s like jingle bells tonight. He threw out the coins, I said, to Phoebe. I forced a smile, but I hadn’t told the story well. I’d tried to help him. Six quarters, which he’d thrown to the ground, like nothing. If I could just tell him as a gag, I’d negate his ridicule. But then, as though she heard the version I intended, Phoebe obliged me, and laughed. She asked what I’d said next. I rattled along. I was pleased; unsettled, too. It was odd, how well she listened. It made me anxious I’d reveal more than I should. When I could, I turned the questions: an old evangelist’s trick. In general, people love talking about themselves. If, at times, with Phoebe, I felt a slight resistance, I pushed through.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  This has been the cardinal fiction of my life, its ruling principle: if I work hard enough, I’ll get what I want. He heard God’s voice, she said. He’d told the group the miracle could happen for each of them, if they practiced. If they had discipline. He believed in physical training. Once, he’d had Jejah dig a large hole in the backyard. They’d labored for hours with the hard-packed dirt, after which he had them fill it in again. But a little pain cleared the mind, he said. It made space for the waiting Spirit. Then, as I walked to class one afternoon, I saw him, the soiled hems of his jeans trailing naked feet. His torso riding his hips like a serpent on its coil. From his gait alone, a lax, rolling, low-hipped stroll, I could have picked him out from a crowd. I stayed well behind him; I didn’t think he’d spotted me, but it wasn’t long after this that I had my chance. In bed, while I studied, Phoebe told me that the blond girl in Jejah, Tess, had quit. If you still want to come to a meeting, you’re invited, she said. I’ll be there, I said. It isn’t a joke, though, she said. Don’t come if all you’ll do is laugh at it— I won’t laugh, I said. I’m serious, Will. So am I. I twisted my face into a scowl, mock-solemn; she pushed me. Unbalanced, she tumbled on top of me. We rolled to the edge of the bed, and almost fell. Will, careful, she said, but she was laughing. She butted against my chest. Don’t laugh, I said. This is serious. I kissed Phoebe’s head, the strands gliding between my lips. I tasted chlorine. Irritated, I stopped. It was too hot, I realized. I opened a window, letting the light cold drift in. Phoebe caught ash-white flakes, ice shreds, on her fingertips. She blew them at me, but they’d melted. We were talking, until we weren’t. She felt beneath my boxers; I pulled down ribbed tights, the bared thighs white. I listened to Phoebe’s quick breaths. I shut my eyes, then a line of imagined girls pirouetted through: twirling, pouting figurines. To my surprise, not one looked like Phoebe, and the last thought before I finished was that I’d broken free of my girlfriend for several minutes. Like the breeze, this change came as a relief. 22. WILL I half-ran through Platt courtyard, taking the diagonal path. On the frozen lawn, a small group huddled around a picnic table, cigarette tips burning. I rushed past while someone slung a girl across his back. Help, she wailed. I paused, uncertain. Put me down, you big dolt, she said, but then she let out a howl that rolled into a laugh. I kept going.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  An we have promised it Him, let Him find Himself another or others to perform it to Him.' 'Or if,' went on her fellow, 'we should prove with child, how would it go then?' Quoth the other, 'Thou beginnest to take thought unto ill ere it cometh; when that betideth, then will we look to it; there will be a thousand ways for us of doing so that it shall never be known, provided we ourselves tell it not.' The other, hearing this and having now a greater itch than her companion to prove what manner beast a man was, said, 'Well, then, how shall we do?' Quoth the first, 'Thou seest it is nigh upon none and methinketh the sisters are all asleep, save only ourselves; let us look about the hortyard if there be any there, and if there be none, what have we to do but to take him by the hand and carry him into yonder hut, whereas he harboureth against the rain, and there let one of us abide with him, whilst the other keepeth watch? He is so simple that he will do whatever we will.' Masetto heard all this talk and disposed to compliance, waited but to be taken by one of the nuns. The latter having looked well all about and satisfied themselves that they could be seen from nowhere, she who had broached the matter came up to Masetto and aroused him, whereupon he rose incontinent to his feet. The nun took him coaxingly by the hand and led him, grinning like an idiot, to the hut, where, without overmuch pressing, he did what she would. Then, like a loyal comrade, having had her will, she gave place to her fellow, and Masetto, still feigning himself a simpleton, did their pleasure. Before they departed thence, each of the girls must needs once more prove how the mute could horse it, and after devising with each other, they agreed that the thing was as delectable as they had heard, nay, more so. Accordingly, watching their opportunity, they went oftentimes at fitting seasons to divert themselves with the mute, till one day it chanced that one of their sisters, espying them in the act from the lattice of her cell, showed it to other twain. At first they talked of denouncing the culprits to the abbess, but, after, changing counsel and coming to an accord with the first two, they became sharers with them in Masetto's services, and to them the other three nuns were at divers times and by divers chances added as associates. Ultimately, the abbess, who had not yet gotten wind of these doings, walking one day alone in the garden, the heat being great, found Masetto (who had enough of a little fatigue by day, because of overmuch posting it by night) stretched out asleep under the shade of an almond-tree, and the wind lifting the forepart of his clothes, all abode discovered.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It chanced, not long since, that there came thither, sent by his masters, one of our young Florentines, by name Niccolo da Cignano, though more commonly called Salabaetto, with as many woollen cloths, left on his hands from the Salerno fair, as might be worth some five hundred gold florins, which having given the customhouse officers the invoice thereof, he laid up in a magazine and began, without showing overmuch haste to dispose of them, to go bytimes a-pleasuring about the city. He being of a fair complexion and yellow-haired and withal very sprightly and personable, it chanced that one of these same barberesses, who styled herself Madam Biancofiore, having heard somewhat of his affairs, cast her eyes on him; which he perceiving and taking her for some great lady, concluded that he pleased her for his good looks and bethought himself to order this amour with the utmost secrecy; wherefore, without saying aught thereof to any, he fell to passing and repassing before her house. She, noting this, after she had for some days well enkindled him with her eyes, making believe to languish for him, privily despatched to him one of her women, who was a past mistress in the procuring art and who, after much parley, told him, well nigh with tears in her eyes, that he had so taken her mistress with his comeliness and his pleasing fashions that she could find no rest day or night; wherefore, whenas it pleased him, she desired, more than aught else, to avail to foregather with him privily in a bagnio; then, pulling a ring from her pouch, she gave it to him on the part of her mistress. Salabaetto, hearing this, was the joyfullest man that was aye and taking the ring, rubbed it against his eyes and kissed it; after which he set it on his finger and replied to the good woman that, if Madam Biancofiore loved him, she was well requited it, for that he loved her more than his proper life and was ready to go whereassoever it should please her and at any hour. The messenger returned to her mistress with this answer and it was appointed Salabaetto out of hand at what bagnio he should expect her on the ensuing day after vespers.

• From Amplified Holy Bible (2015)

  13 “Rise up! Consecrate the people and say, ‘Consecrate yourselves for tomorrow, for thus says the LORD , the God of Israel: “There are things under the ban among you, O Israel. You cannot stand [victorious] before your enemies until you remove the things under the ban from among you.” 14 ‘In the morning you shall come forward by your tribes. And it shall be that the tribe which the LORD chooses by lot shall come forward by families, and the family which the LORD chooses shall come forward by [separate] households, and the household which the LORD chooses shall come forward man by man. 15 ‘It shall be that the one who is chosen with the things under the ban shall be [killed and his body] burned with fire, he and all that belongs to him, because he has transgressed the covenant of the LORD , and because he has done a d disgraceful and disobedient thing in Israel.’ ” [Josh 7:25 ] The Sin of Achan 16 So Joshua got up early in the morning and had Israel come forward by tribes, and the tribe of Judah was chosen [by lot]. 17 He had the families of Judah come forward, and the family of the Zerahites was chosen; and he had the family of the Zerahites come forward man by man, and Zabdi was chosen. 18 He brought his household forward man by man; and Achan the son of Carmi, son of Zabdi, son of Zerah, of the tribe of Judah, was chosen. 19 Then Joshua said to Achan, “My son, I implore you, give glory to the LORD , the God of Israel, and give praise to Him [in recognition of His righteous judgments]; and tell me now what you have done. Do not hide it from me.” 20 So Achan answered Joshua and said, “In truth, I have sinned against the LORD , the God of Israel, and this is what I have done: 21 when I saw among the spoils [in Jericho] a e beautiful robe from Shinar (southern Babylon) and two hundred shekels of silver and a bar of gold weighing fifty shekels, I wanted them and took them. Behold, they are hidden in the ground inside my tent, with the silver underneath.” 22 So Joshua sent messengers, and they ran to the tent; and they saw the stolen objects hidden in his tent, with the silver underneath. 23 And they took them from the tent and brought them to Joshua and to all the sons of Israel, and f spread them out before the LORD . 24 Then Joshua and all Israel with him, took Achan the son of Zerah, the silver, the [royal] robe, the bar of gold, g his sons, his daughters, his oxen, his donkeys, his sheep, his tent, and everything that he had; and they brought them up to the Valley of Achor (Disaster). 25 Joshua said, “Why have you brought disaster on us?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  This song they carolled on such dulcet wise and so delightsomely that to the king, who beheld and hearkened to them with ravishment, it seemed as if all the hierarchies of the angels were lighted there to sing. The song sung, they fell on their knees and respectfully craved of him leave to depart, who, albeit their departure was grievous to him, yet with a show of blitheness accorded it to them. The supper being now at an end, the king remounted to horse with his company and leaving Messer Neri, returned to the royal lodging, devising of one thing and another. There, holding his passion hidden, but availing not, for whatsoever great affair might supervene, to forget the beauty and grace of Ginevra the Fair, (for love of whom he loved her sister also, who was like unto her,) he became so fast entangled in the amorous snares that he could think of well nigh nought else and feigning other occasions, kept a strait intimacy with Messer Neri and very often visited his fair garden, to see Ginevra.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I nibbled slices between scales, the late-afternoon sun oiling the top of my head like a benediction, a sign of grace. If I then tried to clean the dish, she didn’t let me. Haejin, go practice, she said.) Too full to eat more, I pointed out the plane. He raised his head, obedient; he looked up. I’d love to learn how to do that, he said. To fly a plane. Just in case. In case . . . If, mid-flight, the pilot fainted, or— But planes have two pilots. Not small planes. Right, I said. So, on this little plane, if the pilot fainted, you’d hurtle into the cockpit. You’d save lives, the big hero. That’s right, he said, laughing. I touched the tip of my nose to his. I wasn’t sure, though, what I was doing. Oh, I’d gained his attention: from the moment I spilled punch on his thigh, and he turned to find me smiling up at him, I’d had it, him. I’d chatted, then started dancing. He lifted one shoe at a time, inept. I’m not used to this, he said. I adjusted my tempo to his, following his motions until, relaxing, he twitched his limbs; he tried to spin me in a circle. I let him. I liked how he looked at me, as if he couldn’t help it. But since then, five nights ago, I persisted in spending time with him. Our legs mingled beneath the thick plaid blanket he’d also thought to bring. His toes pressed my calves. I hadn’t taken him to bed; I kept waiting. I didn’t think I should treat him like a one-night fling. Days passed, then weeks. He proved more evasive than even I could be. He joshed and hid. I sighted him in flashes. Late one night, while talking about religious faith, Liesl had said, I’d love to believe there’s something out there. It’s hard to imagine this is all, then we die. What solid logic, Will said. Top-notch wishful thinking. He tried to smile, as if he’d told a joke. Liesl, no idiot, winced. I filled the silence that followed by talking about the time when, as a kid, reaching for a mall-fountain nickel, I’d fallen in. Before long, I had everyone laughing; afterward, when Julian alluded to Will’s bad mood, I acted as though I hadn’t noticed. Oh, please, Julian said. But he hadn’t seen the twist in Will’s smile, how pitiful he looked. Such bravado, like a small child taught he’d be punished if he cried. From the little he let slip about leaving his church, I tried to conceive of what he’d lost. The high-minded world he used to inhabit: ordered, calm. I didn’t think I’d die, he said. It’s a fringe benefit of the faith. I believed I’d always live, along with everyone I loved.

• From Lady Chatterley's Lover (1928)

  He sighed, held her closer, then relaxed to rest again. He had not guessed her tears. He thought she was there with him. "I must go," she repeated. He lifted himself, kneeled beside her a moment, kissed the inner side of her thighs, then drew down her skirts, buttoning his own clothes unthinking, not even turning aside, in the faint, faint light from the lantern. "Tha mun come ter th' cottage one time," he said, looking down at her with a warm, sure, easy face. But she lay there inert, and was gazing up at him thinking. Stranger! Stranger! She even resented him a little. He put on his coat and looked for his hat, which had fallen, then he slung on his gun. "Come then!" he said, looking down at her with those warm, peaceful sort of eyes. She rose slowly. She didn't want to go. She also rather resented staying. He helped her with her thin waterproof, and saw she was tidy. Then he opened the door. The outside was quite dark. The faithful dog under the porch stood up with pleasure seeing him. The drizzle of rain drifted greyly past under the darkness. It was quite dark. "Ah mun ta'e th' lantern," he said. "The'll be nob'dy." He walked just before her in the narrow path, swinging the hurricane lamp low, revealing the wet grass, the black shiny tree roots like snakes, wan flowers. For the rest, all was grey rain-mist and complete darkness. "Tha mun come to the cottage one time," he said, "shall ta? We might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb." It puzzled her, his queer, persistent wanting her, when there was nothing between them, when he never really spoke to her, and in spite of herself she resented the dialect. His "tha mun come" seemed not addressed to her, but some common woman. She recognized the foxglove leaves of the riding and knew, more or less, where they were. "It's quarter past seven," he said, "you'll do it." He had changed his voice, seemed to feel her distance. As they turned the last bend in the riding towards the hazel wall and the gate, he blew out the light. "We'll see from here," he said, taking her gently by the arm. But it was difficult, the earth under their feet was a mystery, but he felt his way by tread: he was used to it. At the gate he gave her his electric torch. "It's a bit lighter in the park," he said; "but take it for fear you get off th' path." It was true, there seemed a ghost-glimmer of greyness in the open space of the park. He suddenly drew her to him and whipped his hand under her dress again, feeling her warm body with his wet, chill hand. "I could die for the touch of a woman like thee," he said in his throat. "If tha would stop another minute."

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The lady, accordingly, having regard to her past troubles and herseeming she was well enough bestowed, was altogether comforted and waxing blithe again, her beauties flourished on such wise that it seemed all Roumelia could talk of nothing else. The report of her loveliness reaching the Duke of Athens, who was young and handsome and doughty of his person and a friend and kinsman of the prince, he was taken with a desire to see her and making a show of paying him a visit, as he was wont bytimes to do, repaired, with a fair and worshipful company, to Chiarenza, where he was honourably received and sumptuously entertained. Some days after, the two kinsmen coming to discourse together of the lady's charms, the duke asked if she were indeed so admirable a creature as was reported; to which the prince answered, 'Much more so; but thereof I will have not my words, but thine own eyes certify thee.' Accordingly, at the duke's solicitation, they betook themselves together to the princess's lodging, who, having had notice of their coming, received them very courteously and with a cheerful favour, and they seated her between them, but might not have the pleasure of conversing with her, for that she understood little or nothing of their language; wherefore each contented himself with gazing upon her, as upon a marvel, and especially the duke, who could scarce bring himself to believe that she was a mortal creature and thinking to satisfy his desire with her sight, heedless of the amorous poison he drank in at his eyes, beholding her, he miserably ensnared himself, becoming most ardently enamoured of her. After he had departed her presence with the prince and had leisure to bethink himself, he esteemed his kinsman happy beyond all others in having so fair a creature at his pleasure, and after many and various thoughts, his unruly passion weighing more with him than his honour, he resolved, come thereof what might, to do his utmost endeavour to despoil the prince of that felicity and bless himself therewith. Accordingly, being minded to make a quick despatch of the matter and setting aside all reason and all equity, he turned his every thought to the devising of means for the attainment of his wishes, and one day, in accordance with the nefarious ordinance taken by him with a privy chamberlain of the prince's, by name Ciuriaci, he let make ready in secret his horses and baggage for a sudden departure.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  Its lush cloth wings dangled down. I wish I could explain how helpful he’s been, she said. I feel light again. Will, I’m jubilant. I’m glad to be alive. If I could just have you with me, as well— You haven’t enjoyed living, I said. But you know what I mean. It’s the peace that passeth understanding. Phoebe’s smile flared, the old outsize grin. It belonged to someone I’d known. Last fall, caught in a flash storm, we were rushing through Noxhurst when Phoebe’s shoe strap broke. I picked her up, but the hold slipped. She laughed, or I did. Legs flailed, fish-bright. The beige raincoat bunched, slid; wet hairs, like blown seaweed, filled my mouth. She writhed, but I held on. I’d carried Phoebe home. She’d left the bedroom door open. It had to be on purpose: she wished me to learn what he’d done. She joined her hands on the table. I pulled one loose, and I kissed the inside of Phoebe’s wrist. The pulse flitted, urgent with life. When I licked the trapped blue of a vein, she shivered. I kissed an eyelid. She lifted open lips, at first, to meet mine. We slid down, the planks cold, but then she stopped responding, mouth rigid. Beneath the kitchen lights, Phoebe’s face was a mask of gold. It hid the living girl. If I could crack it apart—she pushed herself up, sitting cross-legged, and I saw the logical solution, so simple I wanted to laugh. I told Phoebe we should get married. You’re joking, she said. No. I watched as she realized I was serious. I think, she said, Will, I— Phoebe— I’m late for Julian, and you’ve had a few drinks—we’ll talk about this in the morning, when you’ll— Since I didn’t want to let Phoebe refuse, I pushed my mouth on hers again. The shift dress had come loose. Bra-strap nicks, like the lines dividing a doll’s joints, indented Phoebe’s skin. It’s possible she struggled awhile before I noticed she wasn’t, as I thought, excited, but I’d waited a long time. If I pretended I didn’t understand, I could postpone letting go. The fitted bottom half of Phoebe’s dress had twisted at waist-level. With my body pressing hers down, I could easily move the panties aside, unzip my jeans. Stop, she said; I slipped inside. She went still. I finished, then I went to the bathroom. I locked myself in. – I woke the next morning on the bathroom mat. She’d left the apartment. I went outside, too. I walked until it was night; I called her, leaving messages, apologies I couldn’t finish. What you crying about, pal, a man said, panhandling. Take this soda bottle, drink it all up like Lou Reed, baby. He rattled his plastic cup, and laughed. I knew where she’d be. In three nights, she called back to tell me she’d return home Sunday, at noon, but just to finish moving out.

• From The Incendiaries (2018)

  I’d fantasized about this for weeks, in detail. Even as I slid a nail up the ridged line of the real Phoebe’s spine, those previous versions, ghostly but alive, crowded around us. They flexed thin backs, exhaling phantom sighs while I tried to focus on this girl, Phoebe, with these specific ribs. Fingers with this exact tang of lime juice. We fell in bed. I put Phoebe’s thumb in my mouth; I lapped at taut nipples. She lowered a breast to brush my lips, then raised it again, playful. But when I tried to roll on top, she resisted. What’s wrong? I asked. Let’s stay like this, she said. She straddled me, then shifted onto hands and knees. She looked back, shoulders arched, and instructed me to keep going. Small hipbones jutted out like half-formed handles; I reached for them. She rocked back and forth, but I still couldn’t tell if she was having a good time. I heard a branch scratch the windowpane, insistent. The sound emphasized Phoebe’s silence. It was too soon to stop. I tried to think. The other night, while it rained, a gingko had fallen. In the morning, a passerby noticed a white gleam in its root ball. It turned out to be a skull. The Edwards quadrangle had been built on top of an old burial site. Beneath the lawn, the earth would be latticed with bones. I bent low, kissing the knotted spine. I wanted to slow down. Phoebe thrust back against my thighs. It was too fast, too—she tensed at the waist. Letting go, I collapsed. 10. WILL I stayed the night with Phoebe. In the morning, I watched as she slept, netted in white sheets. Nostrils flared with each long inhale. Pearl studs glinted at slim earlobes. Minute, fish-scale veins patterned Phoebe’s eyelids in faint blue. The birthmark speckling a left clavicle, slight indents at both temples—from the start, I wanted Phoebe memorized. In the old-gold light of morning, I had the idea she might have been a wild sea-creature who’d washed onshore, luck’s gift, legs tucked like a mermaid’s tail. I learned to swim before I could walk, she’d said. But I was so involved with the piano, I went three years without using my own pool. It was still early, not quite six. I waited as long as I could; at last, I tried shaking Phoebe awake, but she rolled toward the wall. – I left Platt Hall as a drunk slouched past, the label on his bottle dissolving. I wished he’d solicit cash; in the mood I was in, spilling with goodwill, I’d have relished giving him something. If I’d been riding the bus, I’d have looked around to find a person who could use my seat. Instead, I thought to check my phone, and I saw I’d missed a call.