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.

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• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  “What shall I say? my emotions of fear and surprise were instantly subdued by those of the pleasure I bespoke in great presence of mind from the turn this adventure might take. He seemed to me no other than a pitying angel, dropt out of the clouds: for he was young and perfectly handsome, which was more than even I had asked for, man, in general, being all that my utmost desires had pointed at. I thought then I could not put too much encouragement into my eyes and voice; I regretted no leading advances; no matter for his after-opinion of my forwardness, so it might bring him to the point of answering my pressing demands of present case; it was not now with his thoughts but his actions that my business immediately lay. I raised then my head, and told him, in a soft tone, that tended to prescribe the same key to him, that his mamma was gone out and would not return till late at night: which I thought no bad hint; but as it proved, I had nothing of a novice to deal with. The impressions I had made on him from the discoveries I had betrayed of my person in the disordered motions of it, during his view of me asleep, had, as he afterwards told me, so fixed and charmingly prepared him, that, had I known his dispositions, I had more to hope from his violence, than to fear from his respect; and even less than the extreme tenderness which I threw into my voice and eyes, would have served to encourage him to make the most of the opportunity. Finding then that his kisses, imprinted on my hand, were taken as tamely as he could wish, he rose to my lips; and glewing his to them, made me so faint with overcoming joy and pleasure, that I fell back, and he with me, in course, on the bed, upon which I had, by insensibly shifting from the side to near the middle, invitingly, made room for him. He is now lain down by me, and the minutes being too precious to consume in ultimate ceremony, or dalliance, my youth proceeds immediately to those extremities, which all my looks, humming and palpitations, had assured him he might attempt without the fear of a repulse: those rogues the men, read us admirably on these occasions. I lay then at length panting for the imminent attack, with wishes far beyond my fears, and for which it was scarce possible for a girl, barely thirteen, but tall and well grown, to have better dispositions. He threw up my petticoat and shift, whilst my thighs were, by an instinct of nature, unfolded to their best; and my desires had so thoroughly destroyed all modesty in me, that even their being now naked and all laid open to him, was part of the prelude that pleasure deepened my blushes at, more than same.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  They assured me that I was so perfectly to their taste, as to have but one fault against me, which I might easily be cured of, and that was my modesty: this, they observed, might pass for a beauty the more with those who wanted it for a heightener; but their maxim was, that it was an impertinent mixture, and dashed the cup so as to spoil the sincere draught of pleasure; they considered it accordingly as their mortal enemy, and gave it no quarter wherever they met with it. This was a prologue not unworthy of the revels that ensued. In the midst of all the frolic and wantonness, which this joyous band had presently, and all naturally, run into, an elegant supper was served in, and we sat down to it, my spark elect placing himself next to me, and the other couples without order or ceremony. The delicate cheer and good wine soon banished all reserve; the conversation grew as lively as could be wished, without taking too loose a turn: these professors of pleasure knew too well, how to stale impressions of it, or evaporate the imagination of words, before the time of action. Kisses however were snatched at times, or where a handkerchief round the neck interposed its feeble barrier, it was not extremely respected: the hands of the men went to work with their usual petulance, till the provocation on both sides rose to such a pitch, that my particulars’s proposal for beginning the country dances was received with instant assent: for, as he laughingly added, he fancied the instruments were in tune. This was a signal for preparation, that the complaisant Mrs. Cole, who understood life, took for her cue of disappearing; no longer so fit for personal service herself, and content with having settled the order of battle, she left us the field, to fight it out at discretion.

• From Ulysses (Kindle edition — verify full work) (1922)

  This is, indeed, a provocative and consequential gesture, with new critical perspectives, approaches, and epistemologies, that interrogates black womanhood within intersectional, integrative, cross-cultural and other frameworks. We need more scholarship that examines, without ambiguity, ambivalence, or "fear of reprisals," the dynamics governing black womanhood and the politics of representation. We need work that transcends ideological and disciplinary boundaries and further engages race, gender, and sexuality. We need discourses that transcend silence, omission, and limitation. We need politics and practices that reflect the totality of our humanity, as well as our individual and collective experiences. We need models and paradigms that broaden our understandings of the functions and conventions governing our identities and representations of them. We need future projects, like this one and our First Lady's official White House photograph, that, simply put, transgress. [image file=img/page0217_0000.svg] Introduction 1. Chisholm, Unbought and Unbossed 19. 2. Evelyn Brooks Higginbotham coins the terminology "politics of silence" in reference to the strategic secrecy surrounding black women's sexuality-or what Darlene Clark Hine refers to as a "culture of dissemblance." For discussions, see Higginbotham, Righteous Discontent; and Hine, "Rape and the Inner Lives of Black Women in the Middle West." 3. For extensive discussions of the "cult of true womanhood," see Welter, "The Cult of True Womanhood, 1820-1860"; and Carby, Reconstructing Womanhood. Carby examines the cultural and political impact of the cult of true womanhood on representations of black women in abolitionist literature, as well as the ways in which these ideologies informed black women's display of propriety and respectability after the cult of true womanhood was no longer "the dominant ideological code." For scholarship on the gender politics of black nationalism, see Collins, "When Fighting Words Are Not Enough"; Lubiano's "Black Nationalism and Black Common Sense"; and J.H.Scott, "From Foreground to Margin." 4. Dubey, Signs and Cities 31. 5. D.Scott, Extravagant Abjection 18. 6. See Carby, Reconstructing Womanhood; Tate, Domestic Allegories of Political Desire; duCille, The Coupling Convention; Dubey, Black Women Novelists and the Nationalist Aesthetic; Jenkins, Private Lives, Proper Relations; and Thompson, Beyond the Black Lady. 7. My assertion here benefited from the intellectual insight of literary scholar and critic Cathy Schlund-Vials, who advanced my thinking regarding this interregnum period and multiculturalism. 8. While "mainstream" scholars theorizing about transgression typically ignore issues of race and the racialized dynamics, I do want to acknowledge that a great deal of work is treated by queer of color scholars, as well as theorists in race and sexuality and black queer studies, who do engage racialized blackness and transgression broadly construed. 9. Cohen, "Deviance as Resistance" 24.

• From Ulysses (Kindle edition — verify full work) (1922)

  Shockley, in her rendering of Renay and Jerome's abusive, patriarchal relationship-and especially her characterization of Jerome as nationalist discourse incarnate-conflates black nationalism with unprogressive politics that, instead of liberating black women, at times threaten and violate their agency and autonomy. Yet, readers should not perceive Shockley's characterization of Jerome as indicative of black nationalists' violent stance toward black women. Rather, it is best read metaphorically as a delineation of the ways in which particular sexist and patriarchal ideologies undergirding nationalism "endanger" black women and pose for them a life of submission to black men within fundamentally hierarchical or masculinist constructions of the black family, manhood, and womanhood.38 Equally consequential, we might read Renay's interracial same-gender loving relationship with Terry in a similar vein in that Renay resituates: leaving one type of domesticity in a (racialized) black nationalist domain for another domestic partnership that also does not, like her relationship with Jerome, divorce itself of a gender patriarchy/ hierarchy/hegemony, which Terry, like Jerome, often embodies. Renay thus negotiates two competing "nationalisms," propagated by the Black Power and gay liberation movements, at the crux of which is "citizenship": black and sexual citizenship, respectively. "A Love So Bold": The Politics of Interracial Same-Gender Loving Renay meets Terry Bluvard, a wealthy writer, at the supper club where she plays the piano to earn money to pay the bills. When she receives a song request, accompanied by a twentydollar tip and an invitation to join Terry at her table, she accepts. Not long afterward, Terry invites her for a drive, during which she expresses a sexual preference for women and desire for Renay: "I'm wealthy. I'm used to getting what I want [...]. I'm one of those women who prefers her own sex and I want you" (22). Slightly bemused yet not surprised, Renay reflects on Terry's remarks and, though not responding verbally, thinks that within herself "a desire to be loved and to love existed [...]. But could it be met in this form?" (23). After an episode with Jerome, who threatened to beat her if she did not cook for him and his drinking buddy, Renay acquiesces and then leaves for work, where Terry invites her home for a drink. Accepting Terry's offer, Renay accompanies her to her house, where she shares with Terry her revulsion for Jerome, equating her life with him to a "drowning, a wish unfulfilled, a death." In an act of consolation, Terry puts her arms around Renay, who, "surprised by her [own] boldness," insists that Terry not remove them (26); and, from there, Terry, after first receiving consent and affirmation, kisses Renay, as the narratorial voice describes:

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  For my part, who had sincerely no intention to push the joke further than simply satisfying my curiosity with the sight of it alone, I was content, in spite of the temptation that stared me in the face, with having raised a May-pole for another to hang a garland on: for, by this time, easily reading Louisa’s desires in her wishful eyes, I acted the commodious part, and made her, who sought no better sport, significant terms of encouragement to go through stitch with her adventure; intimating too that I would stay and see fair play: in which, indeed, I had in view to humour a new born curiosity, to observe what appearances active nature would put on in a natural, in the course of this her darling operation. Louisa, whose appetite was up, and who, like the industrious bee, was, it seems, not above gathering the sweet of so rare a flower, though she found it planted on a dunghill, was but too readily disposed to take the benefit of my cession. Urged then strongly by her own desires, and emboldened by me, she presently determined to risk a trial of parts with the idiot, who was by this time nobly inflamed for her purpose, by all the irritation we had used to put the principles of pleasure effectually into motion, and to wind up the springs of its organ to their supreme pitch; and it stood accordingly stiff and straining, ready to burst with the blood and spirits that swelled it... to a bulk! No! I shall never forget it. Louisa then, taking and holding the fine handle that so invitingly offered itself, led the ductile youth, by that mastertool of his, as she stept backward towards the bed; which he joyfully gave way to, under the incitations of instinct, and palpably delivered up to the goad of desire.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  parte interna de mis piernas, pero sigue tonteando cerca como si quisiera ir hacia allí y está luchando por contenerse. Termina mis pantorrillas y mis pies, y finalmente miro sobre mi hombro y hacia él. —Mi turno —digo. Levanta su mirada, su pecho moviéndose arriba y abajo en respiraciones superficiales. Sus labios están separados y hay cientos de emociones diferentes en sus ojos. Pero reconozco las mismas que estoy sintiendo. Miedo y anhelo, confusión y necesidad. Lo queremos, pero sabemos que no deberíamos. Giro y le quito la manguera y su mirada cae a mis pechos justo allí para él y solo cubiertos por mi fino sostén de encaje rosado con rosas en él. Soy una chica femenina de corazón y creo que eso le gusta. Sin una palabra, se endereza y me mira fijamente, impávido cuando levanto la manguera y empiezo a lavarlo de nuevo. En primer lugar, ninguno tenía tanto lodo. Podríamos fácilmente entrar en la casa y en la ducha, y ambos lo sabemos. Paso mi mano sobre la piel suave de su pecho, trazando el mural que tiene tatuado a lo largo de su hombro, su pectoral y su brazo. No miro sus ojos, pero sé que está observando mi rostro. —¿Te hiciste todos estos tatuajes cuando eras más joven? —pregunto en voz baja. —La mayoría de ellos —dice, con voz áspera—. En el pasado cuando no tenía otra cosa en la que gastar mi dinero. —¿Te arrepientes de alguno de ellos? —Veo lodo bajo su oreja y me pongo de puntillas, poniéndonos pecho contra pecho. —No, yo... —Se detiene, su pesada respiración sobre mi mejilla mientras me acerco. —Tienes algo de lodo —explico, mirándolo, con mi cuerpo presionado contra el suyo. Me dejo caer de nuevo sobre mis pies y continúo: —¿Me decías? Aclara su garganta.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  But guess my surprise, when I saw the lazy young rogue lie down on his back, and gently pull down Polly upon him, who giving way to his humour, stradled, and with her hands conducted her blind favourite to the right place; and following her impulse, ran directly upon the flaming point of this weapon of pleasure, which she staked herself upon, up pierced, and infixed to the extremest hair breadth of it: thus she sat on him a few instants, enjoying and relishing her situation, whilst he toyed with her provoking breasts. Sometimes she would stoop to meet his kiss: but presently the sting of pleasure spurred them up to fiercer action; then began the storm of heaves, which, from the undermost combatant, were thrust at the same time, he crossing his hands over her, and drawing her home to him with a sweet violence: the inverted strokes of anvil over hammer soon brought on the critical period, in which all the signs of a close conspiring extasy informed us of the point they were at. For me, I could bear to see no more; I was so overcome, so inflamed at the second part of the same play, that, mad to an intolerable degree, I hugged, I clasped Phœbe, as if she had wherewithal to relieve me. Pleased however with, and pitying the taking she could feel me in, she drew towards the door, and opening it softly as she could, we both got off undiscovered, and reconducted me to my own room, where, unable to keep my legs, in the agitation I was in, I instantly threw myself down on the bed, where I lay transported, though ashamed at what I felt.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  In the mean time, if I may judge from my own experience, none are better paid, or better treated, during their reign, than the mistress of those who, enervate by nature, debaucheries, or age, have the least employment for the sex: sensible that a woman must be satisfied some way, they ply her with a thousand little tender attentions, presents, caresses, confidences, and exhaust their inventions in means and devices to make up for the capital deficiency; and even towards lessening that, what arts, what modes, what refinements of pleasure have they not recourse to, to raise their languid powers, and press nature into the service of their sensuality? But here is their misfortune, that when by a course of teasing, worrying, handling, wanton postures, lascivious motions, they have at length accomplished a flashy enervate enjoyment, they at the same time light up a flame in the object of their passion, that, not having the means themselves to quench, drives her for relief into the next person’s arms, who can finish their work; and thus they become bawds to some favourite, tried and approved of, for a more vigorous and satisfactory execution; for with women, of our turn especially, however well our hearts may be disposed, there is a controlling part, or queen-seat in us, that governs itself by its own maxims of state, amongst which not one is stronger, in practice with it, than, in the matter of is dues, never to accept the will for the deed. Mr. Norbert, who was much in this ungracious case, though he professed to like me extremely, could but seldom consummate the main-joy itself with me, without such a length and variety of preparations, as were at once wearisome and inflammatory. Sometimes he would strip me stark naked on a carpet, by a good fire, when he would contemplate me almost by the hour, disposing me in all the figures and attitudes of body that it was susceptible of being viewed in; kissing me in every part, the most secret and critical one so far from excepted that it received most of that branch of homage. Then his touches were so exquisitely wanton, so luxuriously diffused and penetrative at times, that he had made me perfectly rage with titillating fires, when, after all, and much ado, he had gained a short-lived erection, he would perhaps melt it away in a washy sweat, or a premature abortive effusion, that provokingly mocked my eager desires: or, if carried home, how faultered and unnervous the execution! how insufficient the sprinkle of a few heat-drops to extinguish all the flames he had kindled!

• From Ulysses (Kindle edition — verify full work) (1922)

  In her 1928 song "Prove It on Me," Ma Rainey, a leading black woman blues singer, offers a treatment of putatively "nonnormative" female sexual longings in overt lyrics in which she openly expresses sexual desire for women. Rainey's performance is emblematic of the performative nature of gender and sexuality, as her song's persona demonstrates. She concomitantly challenges "normativity" and opens space for liberatory sexual politics and nonconformity. The song's persona, its narratorial consciousness, flaunts a particular sexual fluidity and diversity. On the one hand, her sexuality, namely her desire for women, is visible and overt in her declaration of her penchant for female company: when she goes out at night with a group of friends, she asserts it was "women," of course, because she "don't like no men." Moreover, this fluidity manifests in a performative gesture and aesthetic through clothing and the semiotics of attire, as she prefers to dress in "collar and tie" or traditional male accoutrements. Yet, her sexuality and desires remain, contrastingly and paradoxically, private and shrouded: "Don't you say I do it, ain't nobody caught me. You sure got to prove it on me." In its "invisibility" and the fact that "nobody caught" her, as the lyrics suggest, her sexual and intimate preferences, as well as desires, remain within the realm of speculation: the claim goes unsubstantiated without confirmation or proof of the reality of her sexual engagements.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  As we went up, Louisa whispered me “that she had conceived a strange longing to be satisfied, whether the general rule held good with regard to this changeling, and how far nature had made him amends, in her best bodily gifts, for her denial of the sublimer intellectual ones; begin, at the same time, my assistance in procuring her this satisfaction.” A want of complaisance was never my vice, and I was so far from opposing this extravagant frolic, that now, bit with the same maggot, and my curiosity conspiring with hers, I entered plump into it, on my own account. Consequently, soon as we came into Louisa’s bed-chamber, whilst she was amusing him with picking out his nosegays, I undertook the lead, and began the attack. As it was not then very material to keep much measures with a mere natural, I made presently free with him, though at my first motion of meddling, his surprise and confusion made him receive my advances but awkwardly: nay, insomuch that he bashfully shied, and shied back a little; till encouraging him with my eyes, plucking him playfully by the hair, sleeking his cheeks, and forwarding my point by a number of little wantonnesses, I soon turned him familiar, and gave nature her sweetest alarm: so that aroused, and beginning to feel himself, we could, amidst all the innocent laugh and grin I had provoked him into, perceive the fire lighting in his eyes, and, diffusing over his cheeks, blend its glow with that of his blushes. The emotion in short of animal pleasure glared distinctly in the simpleton’s countenance; yet struck with the novelty of the scene, he did not know which way to look or move; but tame, passive, simpering, with his mouth half open, in stupid rapture, stood and tractably suffered me to do what I pleased with him. His basket was dropt out of his hands, which Louisa took care of.

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

  Some of them suggest it would be karmic payback, but I’m not interested in revenge. I am hurt, but what I want from Michael is continued acknowledgement of how deeply he’s wounded me, not vengeance. I don’t want to get back at him, but I do want to experience aspects of life that have been unavailable to me up to this point, like Blaze, the current object of my fantasies. Frugal as I am, I am prepared to shell out big bucks for new bikinis that will help in my hunt. I ask my friend Jen for help. We meet at a bathing suit boutique and carry dozens of options into the fitting room, treating this like a broad science experiment. What will it take to get a breathtaking 30-something man who sits on a beach and witnesses beautiful bodies all day long to notice a petite Jewish woman with a pancake ass who is nearing fifty? I have convinced myself that the secret lies in the suit I pick and attack it as such, finally landing on one bikini I think is adequate. The next week, I fixate on needing another bikini. It’s as if the slate of the past year is going to be washed clean if I can find the perfect bikini. Lauren and I head to Bloomingdale’s, where I try on a string bikini with a tropical floral print. She walks into my fitting room as I am snapping a picture of myself to send to #6 to see if he thinks this will do the trick. My phone rings and I assume it’s #6 weighing in with an opinion, but it’s Michael calling from a bag store I love in Soho to tell me they have a new line of backpacks that would be ideal for the new laptop he got for me and he wants to get me one as a gift. Meanwhile, #6 texts to say the bikini is a winner. Lauren looks at me agape, shaking her head and laughing. “Girl,” she says, “I never want to hear you complain again. Your ex-husband is sending over a fancy new bag for you, you’re going on an all-expenses-paid trip to the Caribbean, you’re sending photos to your boyfriend to advise if you can get a new lover with these bikinis. Talk about being handed lemons and making lemonade! If you ever complain to me about anything again, I will remind you of this moment.” “But—” I start. “No, stop right there. I’ve lived through the past year with you. I’ve seen you at your lowest moments and I’m telling you, what you’ve pulled off is magic.

• From The Pisces (2018)

  Craving the fake light was a completely real feeling, even if those around you could see that you were just another junkie. I think this is what was most frightening: me and my Theo haze and Claire and her druglike need were the same thing. I didn’t want to look at it; I didn’t want to look at her. To look at her would be to see the danger that I was facing on the other side of Theo’s visit, the darkness that inevitably fell when you spent too much time basking in the sun of a man. To look at her was to know that I was inevitably the cause of my own darkness, my own nothingness. The more you went for the ephemeral light, the more the void opened on the other side. It was waiting for me right there. I set my alarm for five. I wanted time to try to look beautiful, even though the wind and salt air always washed away anything I did to my hair or face. Dominic, never an early riser, was still asleep—sprawled in the bed where I had been, one ear above the sheets. I picked him up, carried him to the little white loveseat in the bedroom, and covered him with a blanket. He didn’t stir. Then I changed the sheets on the bed so they would smell clean and not like wet dog. I got in the deep tub and soaked. It was cold out and the hot water felt good to my bones. I brushed my teeth, then drenched myself in one of my sister’s expensive body oils: something called Exotic Seduction made with jasmine, ylang-ylang, vanilla, and lavender oils. I dabbed two extra drops on my nipples and one in my belly button. I applied spearmint lip gloss and rubbed some honey wax in my hair. Then I put on a knee-length gray cotton sundress and a wool sweater. I brought two large blankets outside and placed them in the wagon, unlocked the gate, and started dragging it across the sand. It was quiet. No one was out. If anyone saw me they would have thought I was using the wagon to carry my beach stuff out for the day. I was simply having a beach day.

• From Shoe Dog: A Memoir by the Creator of Nike (2016)

  (A year or two later he did the same thing with college football coaches, landing all the greats, including Vince Dooley and his national champion Georgia Bulldogs. Herschel Walker in Nikes—yes.) We rushed out a press release, announcing that Nike had these schools under contract. Alas, the press release had a bad typo. Iona was spelled “Iowa.” Lute Olson, coach at Iowa, phoned immediately. He was irate. We apologized and said we’d send a correction the next day. He got quiet. “Well now wait wait,” he said, “what’s this Advisory Board anyway...?” The Harter Rule, in full effect. OTHER ENDORSEMENTS WERE a greater struggle. Our tennis effort had started so promisingly, with Nastase, but then we’d hit that speed-bump with Connors, and now Nastase was dumping us. Adidas had offered him one hundred thousand dollars a year, including shoes, clothes, and rackets. We had the right to match, but it was out of the question. “Fiscally irresponsible,” I said to Nasty’s agent, and everyone else who would listen. “No one will ever see a sports endorsement deal that big ever again!” So there we were in 1977 without a horse in tennis. We quickly hired a local pro to be a consultant, and that summer he and I went to Wimbledon. On our first day in London we met with a group of American tennis officials. “We’ve got some great young players,” they said. “Elliot Telscher may be the best. Gottfried is also outstanding. Whatever you do, just stay away from the kid playing out on Court 14.” “Why?” “He’s a hothead.” I went straight to Court 14. And fell madly, hopelessly in love with a frizzy-haired high schooler from New York City named John McEnroe. AT THE SAME time we were signing deals with athletes and coaches and nutty professors, we were coming out with the LD 1000, a running shoe that featured a dramatically flared heel. The heel flared so much, in fact, that from certain angles it looked like a water ski. The theory was that a flared heel would lessen torque on the leg and reduce pressure on the knee, thus lowering the risk of tendinitis and other running-related maladies. Bowerman designed it, with heavy input from Vixie the podiatrist. Customers loved it. At first. Then came the issues. If a runner didn’t land just right, the flared heel could cause pronation, knee problems, or worse. We issued a recall and braced ourselves for a public backlash—but it never came. On the contrary, we heard nothing but gratitude. No other shoe company was trying new things, so our efforts, successful or not, were seen as noble. All innovation was hailed as progressive, forward-thinking. Just as failure didn’t deter us, it didn’t seem to diminish the loyalty of our customers. Bowerman, however, got very down on himself. I tried to console him by reminding him that there was no Nike without him, so he should continue to invent, create, fearlessly.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  With this stripling, all whose art of love was the action of it, I could, without check of awe or restraint, give a loose to jay, and execute every scheme of dalliance my fond fancy might put me on, in which he was, in every sense, a most exquisite companion. And now my great pleasure lay in humouring all the petulances, all the wanton frolic of a raw novice just fledged, and keen on the burning scent of his game, but unbroken to the sport: and, to carry on the figure, who could better read the wood than he, or stand fairer for the heart of the hunt? He advanced then to my bed side, and whilst he faultered out his message, I could observe his colour rise, and his eyes lighten with joy, in seeing me in a situation as favourable to his loosest wishes, as if he had bespoke the play. I smiled, and put out my hand towards him, which he kneeled down to (a politeness taught him by love alone, that great master of it) and greedily kissed. After exchanging a few confused questions and answers, I asked him if he would come to bed to me, for the little time I could venture to detain him. This was just asking a person, dying with hunger, to feast upon the dish on earth the most to his palate. Accordingly, without further reflection, his clothes were off in an instant; when, blushing still more at this new liberty, he got under the bed clothes I held up to receive him, and was now in bed with a woman for the first time in his life. Here began the usual tender preliminaries, as delicious, perhaps, as the crowning act of enjoyment itself; which they often beget an impatience of, that makes pleasure destructive of itself, by hurrying on the final period, and closing that scene of bliss, in which the actors are generally too well pleased with their parts, not to wish them an eternity of duration. When we had sufficiently graduated our advances towards the main point, by toying, kissing, clipping, feeling my breasts, now round and plump, feeling that part of me I might call a furnace mouth, from the prodigious intense heat his fiery touches had rekindled there, my young sportsman, emboldened by the very freedom he could wish, wontonly takes my hand, and carries it to that enormous machine of his, that stood with a stiffness! a hardness! an upward bend of erection! and which, together with it bottom dependence, the inestimable bulse of ladies jewels, formed a grand showout of goods indeed! Then its dimensions, mocking either grasp or span, almost renewed my terrors. I could not conceive how, or by what means I could take, or put such a bulk out of sight. I stroked it gently, on which the mutinous rogue seemed to swell, and gather a new degree of fierceness and insolence; so that finding it grew not to be trifled with any longer, I prepared for rubbers in good earnest.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I began to look at Florence’s hands — I had never done such a thing before - and imagine all the occupations I would have set them to, had I been in Lilian’s place... Again, I couldn’t help it. I had persuaded myself that Florence was a kind of saint, with a saint’s dimmed, unguessable limbs and warmths and wantings; but now, in telling me the story of her own great love, it was as if she had suddenly shown herself to me, robeless. And I could not tear my eyes from what I saw. One night, for example - one dark night, quite late, when Ralph was out with his union friends and Cyril was quiet upstairs - she bathed and washed her hair, then sat in the parlour with her dressing-gown about her, and fell asleep. I had helped her tip her tub of soapy water down the privy, then gone to warm some milk for us to drink; and when I returned with the mugs, I found her slumbering there, before the fire. She was sitting, slightly twisted, and her head had fallen back, and her arms were slack and heavy, and her hands were loose and vaguely folded in her lap. Her breaths were deep, and almost snores. I stood before her, holding the steaming mugs. She had taken the towel from her head, and her hair was spread out over the bit of lace on the back of her chair, like the halo on a Flemish madonna. I did not think that I had ever seen her hair so full and loose before, and I studied it now for a long time. I remembered when I had thought it was a dreary auburn; but it was not auburn, there were a thousand tints of gold and brown and copper in it. It rose and curled, and grew ever more rich and lustrous, as it dried. I looked from her hair to her face - to her lashes, to her wide pink mouth, to the line of her jaw, and the subtle weight of flesh beneath it. I looked at her hands — I remembered seeing them at Green Street, beating the hot June air; I remembered taking her hand in mine, a little later — I remembered the exact pressure of her fingers, in their warm linen glove, against my own. Her hands were pink, tonight, and still a little puckered from her bath.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  And here, Madam, I ought, perhaps, to make you an apology for this minute detail of things, that dwelt so strongly upon my memory, after so deep an impression; but, besides that this intrigue bred one great revolution in my life, which historical truth requires I should not sink from you, may I not presume that so exalted a pleasure ought not to be ungratefully forgotten, or suppressed by me, because I found it in a character in low life; where, by the by, it is oftener met with, purer, and more unsophisticated, than among the false, ridiculous refinements with which the great suffer themselves to be so grossly cheated by their pride: the great! than whom, there exist few amongst those they call the vulgar, who are more ignorant of, or who cultivate less, the art of living than they do; they, I say, who for ever mistake things the most foreign to the nature of pleasure itself; whose capital favourite object is enjoyment of beauty, wherever that rare invaluable gift is found, without distinction of birth, or station. As love never had, so now revenge had no longer any share in my commerce in this handsome youth. The sole pleasures of enjoyment were now the link I held to him by: for though nature had done such great maters for him in his outward form, and especially in that superb piece of furniture she had so liberally enriched him with; though he was thus qualified to give the senses their richest feast, still there was something more wanting to create in me, and constitute the passion of love. Yet Will had very good qualities too: gentle, tractable, and, above all, grateful; silentious, even to a fault: he spoke, at any time, very little, but made it up emphatically with action; and, to do him justice, he never gave me the least reason to complain, either of any tendency to encroach upon me for the liberties I allowed him, or of his indiscretion in blabbing them. There is, then, a fatality in love, or have loved him I must; for he was really a treasure, a bit for the Bonne Bouche of a duchess; and, to say the truth, my liking for him was so extreme, that it was distinguishing very nicely to deny that I loved him.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I handed the book to her. ‘Read it to me, now,’ I said.‘You have already read it.’‘Read me the bits you used to read to her ...’She hesitated, then did so; and as she murmured, I put my hand between her legs and touched her, and her voice grew less steady, the more firmly I stroked.‘There are books written especially for this sort of thing,’ I said to her, thinking back to the many times I had lain doing something similar with Diana - on the very same nights, probably, that Florence had lain squirming next to Lilian. ‘Wouldn’t you rather I bought you a book like that? I can’t believe Mr Carpenter really intended his poem to be enjoyed in such a way.’She put her lips against my throat. ‘Oh, I think Mr Carpenter would approve all right.’She had let the book fall on to her breast. Now I pushed it aside, and rolled upon her.‘And this,’ I said, moving my hips, ‘is really contributing to the social revolution?’‘Oh, yes!’I wriggled lower. ‘And this, too?’‘Oh, certainly!’I slid beneath the sheet. ‘And how about this?’‘Oh!’‘Lord,’ I said a little later. ‘To think I have been part of the socialist conspiracy all these years, and never knew it till now ...’We kept Towards Democracy beside the bed permanently, after that; and just as Florence would sometimes say to me, when the house was quiet, ‘Sing me a song, in your moleskins, Uncle ...’, so I would occasionally lean to whisper to her, over supper or as we walked side by side: ‘Shall we be democratic tonight, Flo ... ?’ Of course, there were certain songs - ‘Sweethearts and Wives’ was one of them - I would never have sung for her. And Leaves of Grass, I noticed, stayed downstairs, on the shelf beneath the photographs of Eleanor Marx and Kitty. I didn’t mind it. How could I mind it? We had struck a kind of bargain. We had fixed to kiss for ever. We had never once said, I love you. ‘Isn’t it marvellous to be in love, in spring-time?’ Annie asked us one evening in April: she and Miss Raymond were sweethearts now, and spent long hours in our parlour, sighing over one another’s charms. ‘I went visiting a factory today, and it was the grimmest, most broken-down old place you ever saw. But I came out into its yard and there was a piece of pussy-willow growing there — just a piece of common old pussy-willow, but with a bit of yellow sun on it, and it looked so exactly like my dear Emma I thought for a moment I would fall down and kiss it, and weep.’Florence snorted. ‘They should never have let women into the civil service, I said it all along.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  What if Mrs Lethaby should come?’‘She won’t. She is leaving me, as a kind of punishment.’ I touched her knee, and then her thigh, through the layers of her skirts.‘We cannot ...’ she said again; but this time, her voice was fainter. And when I tugged at her frock and said, ‘Come on, take this off — or shall I tear the buttons?’ she gave a drunken sort of laugh: ‘You shall do no such thing! Help me nicely, now.’Naked she was very thin, and strangely coloured: flaming crimson at the cheeks, a coarser red from her elbows to her fingertips, and palely white - almost bluish-white - on her torso, upper arms, and thighs. The hair between her legs - you can never guess at that kind of thing in advance - was quite ginger.When I dipped my lips to it, she gave a squeal: ‘Oh! What a thing to do!’ But then, after a moment, she held my head and pressed it. She didn’t seem to be at all sorry about my swollen nose, then. She only said: ‘Oh, turn around, turn around quick, that I might do it to you!’ After that, I pulled the counterpane over us, and we drank more champagne, taking turns to sip from the bottle. I put my hand upon her. I said: ‘Did you used to frig yourself in the reformat’ry?’ She gave me a slap, saying, ‘Oh, you are as bad as them downstairs! I nearly died!’ She pushed the blanket back, and squinted at her quim. ‘To think of me with a cock! What an idea!’‘What an idea? Oh, Zena, I should love to see you with one! I should love -’ I sat up. ‘Zena, I should love to see you in Diana’s dildo!’‘That thing? She’s made you filthy! I should die with shame, before I ever tried such a thing!’ Her lashes fluttered.I said, ‘You are blushing! You’ve fancied it, haven’t you? You’ve fancied a bit of that kind of sport - don’t tell me you haven’t!’‘Really, a girl like me!’ But she was redder than ever, and would not gaze at me. I caught hold of her hand, and pulled her up.‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You have got me all hot for it. Diana will never know.’‘Oh!’I pulled her to the door, then peered into the corridor outside. The music and laughter from downstairs was fainter, but still loud and rather furious.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  “I now shunned all company in which there was no hopes of coming at the object of my longings, and used to shut myself up, to indulge in solitude some tender meditation on the pleasure I strongly perceived the overture of, in feeling and examining what nature assured me must be the chosen avenue, the gates for unknown bliss to enter at, that I panted after. “But these meditations only increased my disorder, and blew the fire that consumed me. I was yet worse when, yielding at length to the insupportable irritations of the little fairy charm that tormented me, I seized it with my fingers, teazing it to no end. Sometimes, in the furious excitations of desire, I threw myself on the bed, spread my thighs abroad, and lay as it were expecting the longed-for relief, till finding my illusion, I shut and squeezed them together again, burning and fretting. In short, this develish thing, with its impetuous girds and itching fires, led me such a life, that I could neither, night or day, be at peace with it or myself. In time, however, I thought I had gained a prodigious prize, when figuring to myself that my fingers were something of the shape of what I pined for, I worked my way in with one of them with great agitation and delight; yet not without pain too did I deflower myself as far as it could reach; proceeding with such a fury of passion, in this solitary and last shift of pleasure, as extended me at length breathless on the bed in an amorous melting trance. “But frequency of use dulling the sensation, I soon began to perceive that this work was but a paultry shallow expedient, that went but a little way to relieve me, and rather raised more flame than its dry and insignificant titillation could rightly appease.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I tell you, all the world is here this afternoon - and her amongst ’em. She is over at the table of some paper or magazine. I saw her, and nearly fainted dead away!’ ‘My God.’ Diana, here! The thought was awful — and yet ... Well, they do say that old dogs never forget the tricks their mistresses beat into them: I had felt myself stir, faintly, at the first mention of her hateful name. I looked once into the tent, and saw Florence, on her feet again and still shaking her arm at the platform; then I turned to Zena. ‘Will you show me,’ I asked, ‘where?’ She gave me one swift warning sort of look; then she took my arm and led me through the crowd, towards the bathing lake, and came to a halt behind a bush. ‘Look, there,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Near that table. D’you see her?’ I nodded. She was standing beside a display - it was for the women’s journal Shafts, that she sometimes helped with the running of — and was talking with another lady, a lady I thought might be one of the ones who had come dressed as Sappho to the fancy-dress ball. The lady had a Suffrage sash across her bosom. Diana was clad in grey, and her hat had a veil to it — though this was, at the moment, turned up. She was as haughty and as handsome as ever. I gazed at her and had a very vivid memory - of myself, sprawled beside her with pearls about my hips; of the bed seeming to tilt; of the chafing of the leather as she straddled me and rocked ... ‘What do you think she would do,’ I said to Zena, ‘if I went over?’ ‘You ain’t going to try it!’ ‘Why not? I’m quite, you know, out of her power now.’ But even as I said it, I looked at her and felt that doggishness come over me again — or doggishness, perhaps, is not the term for it. It was like she was some music-hall mesmerist, and I a blinking girl, all ready to make a mockery of myself, before the crowd, at her request ... Zena said, ‘Well I ain’t going nowhere near her ...’; but I didn’t listen. I glanced quickly again at the speakers’ tent, then I stepped out from behind the bush and made my way towards the stall - straightening the knot in my necktie, as I did so.