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 27 of 344 · 20 per page

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Good, well, good. Now grab your cock and get it in its comfort zone, honey, and do just what you want to do with it. I’m going to screw myself with this screwy fucker, I’m going to—hooo. I’m going to let it go in till my asshole muscle locks on the—almost, almost—handle’s—there it is—narrower part. Hoh, it’s locked in. Hoo yeah. Fuck. I’ve got this shiny silver screwdriver pointing straight out my ass, I wish you could see it.” Cardell scanned the room for reflective surfaces. He thought he could almost see some of what was going on behind him in the curve of a glass vase filled with colored sand. “Me, too,” he said. “Well, do the next best thing and jerk your bull cock while I abuse myself with this thing, just jerk and jack and pound it like you love to do every single day and night. And if you can, tighten your buns again so I get something to look at besides your arms and elbow moving, although I must say they’re nice arms.” “Okay.” He breathed little panting breaths, his hips rocking as he flummoxed his beatstick. “I’m going to take a moment to check in on my nipples now. Yep, crinkling up nice. And now I’m going to—oh, lord god—pull the handle out, because that empty feeling feels so good, when I feel my ass closing down again, I tighten it on itself, and it’s suddenly all, like, empty but concentrating hard on its memories, all the nerves in a huddle, and when it goes tight that always makes me want to work my clit, like right na-ha-ha-how! But then when I do my clitty, that makes me need to feel my ass tingle again, so I’m going to circle it with my fingers and feel it go soft again and oh, god, I need something in my cunt now. I think I’ll shove this tube of Push in my cunt, oooh!” “I’m jacking, Betsy, you’ve got to know I’m jacking it now.” “Back up toward me, I need to feel those balls when I come. I need a heaping handful of hot hairy balls! Don’t turn around.” Cardell backed toward her and stood with his legs parted and felt her hand enclose his balls and tug on them. “Big warm balls,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of come in these, I can tell.” “I’m close, Betsy!” “Come all over my coffee table, baby, just shoot it every-where.” “Betsy, no, I can’t come on your coffee table! Those are your husband’s hiking magazines.” She spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re right. Then close your eyes tight and turn around.” “Okay.” He turned, and just before he closed his eyes he saw her with her legs jackknifed back, propped against the arm of the couch, and the screwdriver in one hand and her other hand pincering.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  This is incredibly embarassing.” “No, it’s not, it’s beautiful. Is that your living room?” On the screen, Chilli was taking off her shirt and undoing her bra and looking at herself in the mirror of her laptop screen. “You are so sexy! Jesus. Mmm. I’m going to have to do some serious edging. I hope you don’t mind.” “You’re going to bring your charley horse out right now?” “Yeah, and I wish you would liberate your clit, too. Just set it free.” “But then I’d be masturbating to a film of myself mas-turbating.” “Exactly, and you’ll enjoy it, too. Don’t miss this opportunity to get serious with your entire cunt. It wants your attention. ” “That’s true,” she said. Dave angled out his Malcolm Gladwell. “Ooh, you’ve got it out again,” she said. “Can I hold it for a second, just the head of it? Oof.” He leaned back. “I don’t want to come right yet, though. But, oh gosh, you’re so so pretty up on the twelvemo screen. Look at that, you’re so lusciously nasty with yourself. This is fantastic.” In her movie, Chilli was holding her legs open with her elbows, and she was gripping one hand with the other and stuffing three fingers inside herself. “I am getting down and dirty, aren’t I?” “And your eyes, look at your eyes, look at that fucky sex blur in your eyes.” “This is where I came, I think,” she said. “Yep, that’s how I come.” “You are ridiculously hot, wait, don’t move your hand on my cock, don’t move even a quarter of an inch or I’ll spunk ham juice out everywhere, oh, oh, so close, let it work its way down—Zen, Zen, whooooooooo.” “But I want you to come.” “Not here,” said Dave. “I’ve seen too much porn. I need to escape. I need nature. I want to come in your field with your pussy shoved in my face.” “I can’t do that,” said Chilli. “No? Under the clouds in the sex field?” “Well, okay,” she said. “Briefly.” “Goody, just press stop on your handrest there.” The tandem chair lowered to the staging area, and they walked out. “I’ll get the blanket,” said Dave . “Hurry, because I’m here leaking right down my leg,” said Chilli. She and Dave had a breathless run—it felt like an escape—out of House of Holes territory and on through the briars and the bushes to the sex field. “We can go back close to where you were yesterday,” Chilli said, “but a little ways back. It’s private.” Dave spread out the blanket over what Chilli noticed was an old dry hole in the ground. Probably a mole hole, she thought. Then she thought, Hmmm. She sat splaylegged on the blanket, and Dave brought out his massive, porn-maddened spunk-spewer. “Let me just stare at it,” she said.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  And the big hand gave her a squeeze to say, “Never mind my head, dance for me anyway.” “Let go of me, and I’ll dance,” Rhumpa said. The hand put her down and smacked the water hard. Another drench of sexual splatterment went over her. It made her tingle everywhere. She felt she was in touch with a giant collaborative moan. Climbing the five steps of a metal ladder, she stood on a tall platform that technicians used when they needed to open or close a hydraulic valve that led to a smaller treatment tank. She began singing the Benassi Brothers, swinging her ass: “I love men, money, power, and I love my sex.” She could see the monster turning on its legs, trying clumsily to keep time. On an impulse, she unclamped and unsealed the front of her wetsuit and danced with her breasts on display, her nipples high and pointy in unpuzzled skyward erections. Almost immediately, many monster hands took hold of many penises, and there was a general convulsion of orgasmic fluid release. The monster sat in a puddle of its own secretions. Then it revived. Rhumpa spoke: “I will give you good loving if you grow a head.” There was silence, and then a bulb formed at the top of the fleshy confusion. There was a huge sucking sound, and a head popped into place. It was a normal head, male, with a mouth and a nose and two eyes, and it blinked at her. “Can you hear me now?” she voiced. Out of the mouth came a strange amphibious croak: “Aaaa-oooowwwawaooo.” “Take a moment to organize your thoughts,” she said. “You are built from other people’s orgasms, and yet you seem to have a soul.” “Not much of a soul, but it’s there,” said the pornmonster. “And do you wish to be freed from the tank?” “Yes, I do.” “Do you think you would live a normal life if you were free?” “No, not normal,” said the pornmonster. “I have way too many sex organs for that. But I could lead a better life. I would like to help in some way. My name is Friggley.” In the control room, Harry watched and took notes, squeezing his crotch from time to time. The creature looked like a hedge ball with frondy things hanging off it. It moved rapidly but shufflingly forward, a tumorousness of overstimulated desire. Harry observed as it surrounded Rhumpa and slid her wetsuit completely off. One after another of the penises found and sounded her cervix. Rhumpa seemed, oddly, to be enjoying it—it was a gangbang from a single source. When the fleshly storm had passed, she leapt onto its back and grabbed hold of what looked like two scrotums. “Harry, open the main hatch, I’ve got my new friend Friggley by the balls, and I’m going to take him to the Handjob Festival.” Harry, in awe, opened the main gate of the tank enclosure, and Friggley shuffled down the road.

• From Fragments (7)

  And let his arrows rattle; His golden quiver he did show, And challenged me to battle. With breast-plate like Achilles I My shoulders then defended. My spear and ox-hide shield to try. With Eros I contended. He shot, I fled, and, in his heart Ferocious anger feeling, His arrows gone, he threw a dart, Himself in it concealing. He touched my heart, he laid me low • No arms can now protect me. Without why should I missiles throw? Within strife doth affect me. 122 Anacreontea TO HIS LOVES (13) If thou the leaves of every tree Wouldst understand to count for me, If thou couldst find the billows all, Which on the Ocean rise and fall, I'll grant thee then and then alone That all my loves by thee are known. In Athens first do I adore Full twenty loves, then fifteen more. Next Corinth with whole chains of loves My heart e'en more than Athens moves; For Corinth by Achaea is claimed. Which is for women's beauty famed. From Lesbos and Ionia, From Rhodos and from Caria Two thousand loves put down for me. What sayest thou? Do I pallor see? Still of the Syrians must thou learn, Canobians for whom I yearn, Who dwell in Egypt's sultry heat. And those from all-resourceful Crete, Where Eros orgies celebrates Throughout its populous city-states. Why shall I name those who me please Beyond the pillars of Hercules, The Bactrians and Hindoos too. Whose Orient charms my heart doth woo ? 123 Lyric SonffS of the Greeks TO A DOVE (14) " Lovely dove, pray whither, whither Do thy wings thee bear, As thou bravest wind and weather, Speeding through the air? Why so fragrant are thy wings? Pray, what care thee hither brings ? " " To Bathyllus I am going. By Anacreon sent, To the boy whom all are wooing. King of all and friend. Venus sold me for the price Of a song of smallest size. " With Anacreon now I tarry Ever lovingly. Him I serve, his letters carry. As thou well mayest see. He declares not long he'll wait Till he me will liberate. "Yet I'll serve him still — with shudder Freedom's thought me fills; For why should I sadly flutter Over fields and hills? Why should I alight on trees. Some coarse rustic food to seize? 124 Anacreontea " Now my bread I have been snatching From Anacreon's hands ; He the wine he has used for pledging Me to drink commands; Him, when to his lute he sings, Shade I with my dancing wings. " Then my feathered wings droop slowly. As to sleep I go On his very lyre. Now wholly Thou my tale dost know. Sir, depart; to thee I owe That I have chattered like a crow." TO A MAIDEN (15) Master of the Rhodian art. Best of painters, I implore thee, Paint the mistress of my heart As I say, as though before thee.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Let me just grope a little closer to you. Woops, where are you?” “I’m here. My pants are down now.” “Oh my god, your balls are like sheep balls. Wow.” She breathed in with a sipping sound, fondling Dave’s cock. He moved his hips a little so that it poked and shuttled through her loose fingers. “It’s been so so long,” she said. “Your fingers feel good. So long since what?” “Since I’ve held a really nice big cock. I went out with a boy in college for about a month. He was big. Not this big, though. Uh. It’s so heavy. I’m going to stop now though. Self-control. I have something for you.” “Your mouth?” “No, here.” She handed Dave a flash drive. “This is the movie I made of myself last night.” “Great, we’ll pop into the Porndecahedron and watch it. I’m signed up for a block of time.” Dave readjusted his clothes, and they walked out into the sunlight squinting and shading their eyes and smiling at each other. “I’m so horny I can barely walk,” Chilli said, giggling. “Where is this filthy Frigahedron?” “Right through here,” said Dave. At the upload station he keyed in his password and loaded Chilli’s movie into his playlist. “I warn you, this is pretty immersive. It may just be too much for you. All I’ve got on this playlist is women making themselves come. Plus a few titty cumshots to spice the mix. I love those.” “That’s okay. I’ll be a part of it. I want to see what you do when you watch me.” Dave got them a pack of Red Vines and opened a door, and they walked into the staging area and sat together in a tandem chair. Once Chilli had gotten herself buckled in, they were lifted up into the center of the Porndecahedron. Dave tapped a button on his handrest and they started watching. There were movies above them and below them and on all sides, and all the soundtracks merged and mingled and were confusingly present, although some people muted all but one of them or overlaid a music track. “So this is it, huh?” she said. “She looks like she’s enjoying it. Oh my goodness, that’s a lot of sperm. Don’t you find this a bit overwhelming?” “Hell, I could probably handle twenty-four screens,” said Dave. He was biting his lips, watching, his eyes ping-ponging around from clip to clip. “I love the way she moves her knees,” he said. “Now that woman looks sexy to me,” Chilli said, pointing off to the left. “Whoa, was that her orgasm? She really came hard.” Then Dave spotted Chilli’s face. It was on one of the screens just above his head and to the right. “There you are!” he said. “Where? Uh-oh.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Accordingly, she let fetch the proper instruments and sent every one forth of the chamber, except only Lusca; after which, locking herself in, she made Nicostratus lie down on a table and thrusting the pincers into his mouth, what while the maid held him fast, she pulled out one of his teeth by main force, albeit he roared out lustily for the pain. Then, keeping to herself that which she had drawn, she brought out a frightfully decayed tooth she had ready in her hand and showed it to her husband, half dead as he was for pain, saying, 'See what thou hast had in thy mouth all this while.' Nicostratus believed what she said and now that the tooth was out, for all he had suffered the most grievous pain and made sore complaint thereof, him seemed he was cured; and presently, having comforted himself with one thing and another and the pain being abated, he went forth of the chamber; whereupon his wife took the tooth and straightway despatched it to her gallant, who, being now certified of her love, professed himself ready to do her every pleasure. The lady, albeit every hour seemed to her a thousand till she should be with him, desiring to give him farther assurance and wishful to perform that which she had promised him, made a show one day of being ailing and being visited after dinner by Nicostratus, with no one in his company but Pyrrhus, she prayed them, by way of allaying her unease, to help her go into the garden. Accordingly, Nicostratus taking her on one side and Pyrrhus on the other, they carried her into the garden and set her down on a grassplot, at the foot of a fine pear-tree; where, after they had sat awhile, the lady, who had already given her gallant to know what he had to do, said, 'Pyrrhus, I have a great desire to eat of yonder pears; do thou climb up and throw us down some of them.' Pyrrhus straightway climbed up into the tree and fell to throwing down of the pears, which as he did, he began to say, 'How now, my lord! What is this you do? And you, madam, are you not ashamed to suffer it in my presence? Think you I am blind? But now you were sore disordered; how cometh it you have so quickly recovered that you do such things? An you have a mind unto this, you have store of goodly chambers; why go you not do it in one of these? It were more seemly than in my presence.'

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Fra Rinaldo, then, having returned to his former appetites, began to pay frequent visits to his gossip and waxing in assurance, proceeded to solicit her with more than his former instancy to that which he desired of her. The good lady, seeing herself hard pressed and Fra Rinaldo seeming to her belike goodlier than she had thought him aforetime, being one day sore importuned of him, had recourse to that argument which all women use who have a mind to yield that which is asked of them and said, 'How now, Fra Rinaldo? Do monks such things?' 'Madam,' answered he, 'when as I shall have this gown off my back,--and I can put it off mighty easily,--I shall appear to you a man fashioned like other men and not a monk.' The lady pulled a demure face and said, 'Alack, wretched me! You are my gossip; how can I do this? It were sadly ill, and I have heard many a time that it is a very great sin; but, certes, were it not for this, I would do that which you wish.' Quoth Fra Rinaldo, 'You are a simpleton, if you forbear for this; I do not say that it is not a sin, but God pardoneth greater than this to whoso repenteth. But tell me, who is more akin to your child, I who held him at baptism or your husband who begat him?' 'My husband is more akin to him,' answered the lady; whereupon, 'You say sooth,' rejoined the friar. 'And doth not your husband lie with you?' 'Ay doth he,' replied she. 'Then,' said Fra Rinaldo, 'I, who am less akin to your child than is your husband, may lie with you even as doth he.' The lady, who knew no logic and needed little persuasion, either believed or made a show of believing that the friar spoke the truth and answered, 'Who might avail to answer your learned words?' And after, notwithstanding the gossipship, she resigned herself to do his pleasure; nor did they content themselves with one bout, but foregathered many and many a time, having the more commodity thereof under cover of the gossipship, for that there was less suspicion.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Do you have a recommendation?” She pointed to the roller-balls. “If you just want to jot down notes, then I’d say go with one of those.” She had a soft, thoughtful voice, with a hint of South Carolina in it. “What kinds of things are you going to be writing?” “Oh,” said Cardell, “everything I want in a woman, I guess.” The woman looked him up and down and then said, “Is that an egg in your pocket?” Cardell nodded. “I guessed as much,” she said. “You’ll want something a little more exotic, then.” She shook the pen that she’d been holding. “These are the best.” Cardell glanced at the package. “Silver gel,” he said. He looked at her questioningly. She leaned toward him. “You know that if a man signs his name with one of these,” she whispered, “something interesting happens. When he comes, his come squirts out molten silver.” Cardell was surprised. “Permanently?” “No, for a day or two. I had a friend a while back who showed me.” “Do you have a friend now?” “Well, I have a husband,” she said. “He’s very wonderful and very successful and very jealous. Sometimes we rent a condo at the House of Holes beach, and when we’re there I get a little—ah—urgie-splurgey.” She squeezed his biceps muscle. Cardell thought it was time for a compliment. “Has anyone told you that you look a lot like Marlo Thomas in her prime?” She thanked him. “Buy the gel pen,” she said. “See you later, I hope. I’m Betsy.” Cardell watched her small bottom cheeks shake under the dress as she walked quickly away. He bought the pen and a notebook in a hurry. When he went out to the parking lot, her car was already gone. At the café he got a huge cup of coffee that he didn’t want, and he sat at a table and hauled out the notebook and tore open the packaging around the silver gel pen. He looked at the white page open in front of him, and he looked around the coffee shop. There weren’t any women in dresses. There was an old guy sitting on a couch, staring. He had a Parcheesi board open in front of him. Cardell didn’t want to play Parcheesi, so he bent over the notebook page and wrote “nice, smart, sexy ass.” He tried to sign his name, but the pen went dry halfway through. He unscrewed the top and looked down into the hole at the top of the cartridge. Then he felt a very strange warm feeling in his testicles. His whole body began to lengthen, and suddenly he was flushed right down into the tiny penhole. He swam blindly through silver gel particles for a minute, and when he came out at the end he was standing on a beach in front of some footprints. A sign said: “House of Holes Harbor.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Fit but not like a male stripper? ” Kathy smiled. “Ah, yes, there are a few. The first is Lonny, who when he had his head hung gutters for a living. Here he is.” Kathy helped Lonny-body stand. Reese feasted her eyes on a headless man with a set of callused hands and a wiry strong build that had come about by work and not by working out. “Then there’s Bosco,” said Kathy. “Bosco is a painter.” “Hm, nice, trim, but too old,” said Reese. “And then there’s Ned,” Kathy said. “He’s my favorite. Come on, Ned.” She cooed at him, gently nudging his arm so that he would stand. “Look at this,” she said. She pinched his nipple, and his arm flapped her hand away. “Ned doesn’t like that, see? He’s got a lot of personality left in his body. He knows how to move. Watch.” She stood behind him and put her hands on his hips, and Ned’s body swayed, his robe flapping. Reese felt a sudden throb, which she masked perfectly. “They’re all very nice,” she said, “but I agree with you that this one is the most normal. If anyone can be normal when he’s missing his head.” “I know what you mean. Just remember that even though he has been freed of his head, he still is going to have some feelings. Treat him well, and he’ll treat you well.” “What do I call him?” Reese asked. “Well, he can’t hear, but it helps to have a name. His head’s name is Ned, so call him Nedbody.” Reese walked up to Nedbody and took his hand. He seemed to sense that she was a different person from Kathy. When she lifted his hand, he didn’t resist, but followed her movements. Kathy showed her that two fingers gently squeezing his arm muscle meant “good.” The room was large and sparely furnished. Kathy explained that furniture had to be kept to a minimum because Nedbody was blind, of course. Then she left. There were some grapes in the corner, and Reese looked at them wistfully, thinking that she could eat them but Nedbody couldn’t. She ate a grape, and then, feeling a little shy, sat down next to him on a couch and put her head on his shoulder. She inspected the low mound of his neck. It was surprisingly easy to get used to his headlessness. If you hadn’t known what human beings looked like you would simply assume that this was the way they were. She tweaked his nipple, as Kathy had done, and his hand brushed her away. That was good—it was a sign of his having preferences.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  It’s on special, only twenty-seven dollars tonight.” “Leo’s Tanlord Bronzer?” “Yes, it’s fantastic, it makes you irresistible. ” So Luna went into Room 3 and closed the door. The upright tanning booth, with its rounded blue door, filled most of the room. There was a stool with a towel and a pair of goggles on it, and a clothes hook on the doorjamb. The walls were a deep red, and taped to one wall was a gross-out picture of an eye with a tumor in the tear duct, there to scare people into using eye protection. Next to the tumor picture was a large poster of a minister with a Bible in his hand, wearing a full robe, but exceedingly bronzed. The poster quoted him as saying that going tanning helped him be a better minister. Luna stripped down in front of the eye tumor and the tanned minister. Three eyes stared at her as she slathered on the Tanlord Bronzer. She circled her nipples with it and they began speaking to her in an odd kind of Braille. With her goggles on, she pressed the on button and went into the warm blue privacy of the booth. It was loud, because there was a powerful fan over her head, and it lifted her hair up. She felt like Botticelli’s Venus. She was standing nakedly there, with both her nipples on stun, and she heard a low voice behind her—almost a metallic voice, but confiding—and she felt some localized warmth on her shoulder. She said, “Who are you?” “I’m Leo, the Lord of Tan,” the voice said. She looked back, and there standing close behind her was an elongated kind of luminous being, made up of long ultraviolet lightbulbs. He resembled a balloon sculpture, except that he was almost impossible to look at because he was so blindingly bright. “Why are you here in the booth with me?” she asked. “I’m giving you an irresistible allover tan,” Leo the Tan Lord said, “and when I’ve given you an allover tan, I’m going to take you to the House of Holes, so that you can go with your new friend Chuck to an intimate concert of Russian piano music. ” “This House of Holes,” she said. “Is it safe?” “They scan you seventeen ways when you’re going in. Chuck is a recruiter, and he likes you, so you’re getting a scholarship. Oop, it’s rather close quarters in here. I’m afraid you’ve given me a large fluorescence.” Luna, glancing, couldn’t help but admire the blinding watt-age of Leo’s long, warm blue bulbs. She felt she needed to be enveloped in his endless warmth. So she closed her eyes and let Leo do what he did so well. The fan was wonderfully loud, and Leo’s humming bulbs felt good on her skin, and then he murmured, “Open yourself for me, let me take you to the House of Holes.” She felt a long steady pressure, and then he lit her up inside.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She looked down and watched her brown bush fill his hand. He pressed her and shook his hand, saying, “That’s it. There it goes. Do you feel the tingling?” “Sorry, I’m getting a little drippy,” she said. “Good, you’re feeling naked again.” He began swaying and moving his hands over her bush. “Now hold your arms up, and I will give you lots and lots of luscious hair under your arms, too.” “God, no!” “Are you quite sure?” “Very sure. No, thank you.” “Okay. But let’s see.” He removed his hands. “Spread your pussy for me?” She reached down and felt the thicket of her hair, the feeling that she remembered from when she first became a sexual person. She spread her lips and then scissored her fingers closed around her clit. “Ooooh,” she said. “Better now?” “Much, yes.” “Now maybe perhaps I will have success with your tattoo.” In one quick motion he turned her so that she was lying facedown. “I will lay my hands directly on your butterfly.” She felt his warm dry long hands pressing at the base of her spine. “And now I lift,” he said. “Rrrrrrr!” She was conscious of a force lifting her lower back up. “Come on, come on now,” he said. He lifted her trembling until she all but hung from his hands. “Your skin is not releasing the ink,” he said. “You must relax. I will put you on your knees. We are joined now, and we won’t be able to unjoin unless you give up on the release of the tattoo, or the tattoo gives up. It is a battle now. You must choose nakedness. To do that you must play with your clitoris. I may perhaps be able to draw the tattoo out with my penis. Do what your clitoris craves that you do, and show me how open you are.” She slid her knees apart until she felt the tendons tighten in her thighs. “There,” she said. “You can look at my cunt if you want.” “It’s beautiful. The hair is slick—it looks newborn.” “It’s naked, and it’s open, and—Hax?” “Yes?” “I need you to please fuck me. I want your cock in me.” “Then you will have to pull it out of my shorts,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t move my hands from your back.” He moved awkwardly around the table so that she could reach him, and with some struggle she pulled off his white shorts. His dick was shockingly enormous and covered with murky tattoos except for the head, which was bright pink. She gasped at the sight of it, and her shoulders involuntarily arched back to pop her boobs. “You need a home for that thing,” she said in a sudden low fuck-ready voice. “Get back behind me.” She rose a little higher, centering his bow-curved dick just where it needed to be, and then she circled on it for a moment so that it was wet all the way around.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Soap could burn later if you didn’t rinse every bit of it away, Henriette knew from experience—burn like a bastard—and you couldn’t just rely on the water that was coursing down your back to do the job. So Henriette employed what she thought of as the Aswan Dam method. She cupped her left hand in the shape of a C, and then she pressed this C below her anus, but before her pussyhole, in the no-man’s-land known as the perineum, which is a word that comes from the Greek word for “pine barrens.” She cupped her left hand there and made a seal against her asscheeks so that the water as it coursed down her back would be caught in this temporary well or spillway that she had created. She had in effect dammed her ass temporarily. When her hand was full she began agitating it, still keeping the seal intact—steadily slooshing the water in waves against her anus for ten seconds or so. Then she opened her fingers to let that rinse effluent fall away. Again she made the C-cup with her left hand and let it fill, and again sloshed it vigorously. At last she knew that she had a truly clean, well-rinsed asscrack, ready to greet the day. She dressed in her new form-fitting ass jeans and went strutting outside. She walked down the Avenue of the Men Who Need to Suck on Twat Every Day and took a left on Upskirt Street. There she heard a voice calling, “Wait, stop, hello, wait!” Ruzty hurried up in his torn jeans, out of breath. His T-shirt was old and red, and it said “Phillies.” “I request to squeeze your ass,” he said, in his foreign voice. “You will notice that I have the ass-squeezer’s license.” “Do you now?” asked Henriette. “Good for you. What else do you have?” “Basically, that’s it,” said Ruzty. “Everybody is trying to keep going, but then they turn out to be broke. The size of what they owe is how rich they are. If they can borrow a billion dollars, that makes them rich. Really they have nothing. But never mind, because I have”—he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and patted it—“an ass-squeezer’s license, signed. This means I can walk up to a girl like you with a big, beautiful ass and tell her I want to squeeze it, and she has to let me.” “Let’s see the license,” said Henriette. Ruzty waved it at her. “Very well. Where?” “My hotel.” They went up to his suite at the Portalino Extended Stay Suites. “How do you want to squeeze it?” Henriette asked. “I want you up on the bed, as soon as possible.”

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Augustine’s rejection of Pelagius is doubly complex. First, there was the rivalry for the affections and attention of the well-connected Romans whose support Augustine craved so strongly throughout his career. At the same time, Augustine and his world had changed, and what was needed now was to bring official teaching into line with views that had evolved over time. The teachings of the younger Augustine that had shaped his vision of Christianity as a religion that gentlemen could share had evolved as he read scripture and as he found himself embroiled in the struggles of the African churches. The evolution of the Pelagian controversy over the last twenty years of Augustine’s life depended on the choices he made in 411–12, choices he could have made quite differently. The anti-Pelagian venture was an endless struggle for high principles with no prospect of success. Augustine failed to see that his doctrinal positions were unsustainable as a matter of pastoral practice and thus would be subject to attacks in his own lifetime and for centuries after, from the best-intentioned of his coreligionists. Jerome had shown the way here. Augustine rarely shows us how deeply conscious he was of the anti-Origenist theological wars of the early 400s, but he seems to have missed their main lesson, perhaps because Jerome was the persecuted, rather than the persecutor, in that case. But the “Origenist controversy,” like the “Pelagian controversy” was marked by the same willful creation of a polemical target by those with good intentions and high principles but insufficient detachment and objectivity. It ended with the same mainly counterproductive results.499 So Pelagius sailed away from Africa in 411; the aristocratic refugees from Rome sailed away as well; and the Donatists stayed behind. Augustine always wrote as if it were the other way around. The battles with Pelagianism that sapped Augustine’s energies for years are ones we will return to. THE SILENCE OF EMERITUS

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Yes. And I felt his hands on my hips. I said, ‘Don’t forget to hold the base of your penis because I can’t take all of you.’ Because I’ve been with men sometimes who are big and it’s quite uncomfortable. One of his hands went away from my hips and he found me, and he began to push himself in. It was a combination of wide and deep, and I’ve never felt so full of anything in my life, it was like a complete Thanksgiving dinner of cock. Then I felt his fist coming up against me, and he said, ‘Would you like to have a thumb ride?’ I said sure, because I was ready to say yes to anything. And then every time he drove his dick in, he let his thumb push, at my bungee hole. Not in, just pressure here, pushing, moving, like this.” “Oofy. Feels like a meteor shower. Did you like it?” “I had three little tiny orgasms and then suddenly I had this huge shuddering orgasm that was bigger than anything I’d had before. It was like the god of pleasure had punched me in the pussy.” Marcela whimpered and pulled the hair out of her face. “Mmm, I’m almost ready to be fucked now,” she said. “Do you want me to squeeze the Magic Kentucky Lime fruit on your pussy? It will make you feel extreme cravings for stiff cock.” “Is it safe?” Lanasha said it was. “Some people call it the Purple Cometwat, but its real name is Magic Kentucky Lime.” “Go right ahead,” said Marcela. Lanasha took a large yellow-and-green fruit and cut it in half on the side table. It didn’t look anything like a lime to Marcela. Lanasha gently helped Marcela turn over so that she lay face up. She gently massaged Marcela’s stomach and around her hip bones, and then she drew her knees up, and she said, “Hold your labia open.” Marcela held herself open and Lanasha pressed the fruit between her hands. Cold drops fell on Marcela’s little thumper bean and trickled down. And then Lanasha took the whole half of the fruit, and she pushed it down over Marcela’s mound so that the pulp of it was mashed into her folds. Marcela felt an incredible almost burning warmth flow back into her body and down her legs. “Ooooh,” Marcela groaned. “I don’t just want to be full of a cock, I also want to have a cock. I want a cock of my own. Can you arrange that for me?” “Ah, no,” said Lanasha. “That’s called a crotchal transfer. You’ll have to ask Lila about that.” “Oh, okay. Well, can you put a trickle of the Kentucky Lime on my bottom, too?” “Yes,” said Lanasha, “but if I do, I warn you, you’re going to want to have something in there.”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  She looked down and watched her brown bush fill his hand. He pressed her and shook his hand, saying, “That’s it. There it goes. Do you feel the tingling? ” “Sorry, I’m getting a little drippy,” she said. “Good, you’re feeling naked again.” He began swaying and moving his hands over her bush. “Now hold your arms up, and I will give you lots and lots of luscious hair under your arms, too.” “God, no!” “Are you quite sure?” “Very sure. No, thank you.” “Okay. But let’s see.” He removed his hands. “Spread your pussy for me?” She reached down and felt the thicket of her hair, the feeling that she remembered from when she first became a sexual person. She spread her lips and then scissored her fingers closed around her clit. “Ooooh,” she said. “Better now?” “Much, yes.” “Now maybe perhaps I will have success with your tattoo.” In one quick motion he turned her so that she was lying facedown. “I will lay my hands directly on your butterfly.” She felt his warm dry long hands pressing at the base of her spine. “And now I lift,” he said. “Rrrrrrr!” She was conscious of a force lifting her lower back up. “Come on, come on now,” he said. He lifted her trembling until she all but hung from his hands. “Your skin is not releasing the ink,” he said. “You must relax. I will put you on your knees. We are joined now, and we won’t be able to unjoin unless you give up on the release of the tattoo, or the tattoo gives up. It is a battle now. You must choose nakedness. To do that you must play with your clitoris. I may perhaps be able to draw the tattoo out with my penis. Do what your clitoris craves that you do, and show me how open you are.” She slid her knees apart until she felt the tendons tighten in her thighs. “There,” she said. “You can look at my cunt if you want.” “It’s beautiful. The hair is slick—it looks newborn.” “It’s naked, and it’s open, and—Hax?” “Yes?” “I need you to please fuck me. I want your cock in me.” “Then you will have to pull it out of my shorts,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t move my hands from your back.” He moved awkwardly around the table so that she could reach him, and with some struggle she pulled off his white shorts. His dick was shockingly enormous and covered with murky tattoos except for the head, which was bright pink. She gasped at the sight of it, and her shoulders involuntarily arched back to pop her boobs. “You need a home for that thing,” she said in a sudden low fuck-ready voice. “Get back behind me.” She rose a little higher, centering his bow-curved dick just where it needed to be, and then she circled on it for a moment so that it was wet all the way around.

• From The City of God

  30 Books That Matter: The City of God „The churches today have “learned” many things by having them authorized by citations from Augustine’s texts. But what the churches have learned and what Augustine meant to teach need not be the same thing. ›No other thinker is as rhetorically supple, or as alert to his audience’s expectations. He was a Christian Platonist monastic; a living church father; a savvy civic and ecclesiastical administrator; judge, advocate, and jury; author, reader, preacher, and teacher; philosopher and anti-philosopher. ›He was never content with his last formulation of a particular issue. His thought reveals a continuous dynamism and flexibility of style, tone, and even argument that makes his position on many matters very hard to pin down. ›We have treated his books as canonical, and they fossilized into something like divine writ. Augustine feared that people would find in his books whatever they wanted to find, and he tried to stop that from happening. And he mostly failed. Why Read Augustine Now „Consider where he stands in the history of philosophy: He lived roughly 800 years after Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle and roughly 800 years before Aquinas, and there are roughly 800 years between Aquinas and today. Augustine marked the transition between ancient and medieval philosophy. ›In terms of political thought, to read The City of God forces you to grapple with multiple interpretations of that book, rival readings whose alternatives structure much of the history of political thought in the West. ›Augustine helps us better understand our past. Even non- Christians can find usefulness in understanding this most influential of Christian imaginations of the cosmos, of political order, and of the meaning of history.

• From The City of God

  116 Books That Matter: The City of God „The idea of libido dominandi is susceptible to two sorts of moralistic misreadings, each of which undoes the irony at the heart of the notion. ›One makes the category all about sex. In this reading, the problem is that humans are in the grip of lust and are beasts, in some way sub- human. ›Another makes the category all about violence. In this reading, we are all about subjugation and are devils, perversely super- human. „Yet for Augustine, the true tenor and terror of the category lies precisely in its indeterminacy between these two meanings. ›The libido dominandi can rightly be described as a lust, though in a far broader sense than any reductive sexual categorization; and it can rightly be described as aggression, though again in a far deeper sense than sheer physical abuse. ›Both are forms of longing for a kind of utterly unconstrained agency, both are forms of slavery, and both are both at the same time. „In fact there is no worldly coherence to the libido dominandi because it is theological: the fundamental form of the longing that governs humans after Eden. It is essentially an unstable, ambivalent, and ambiguous desire precisely because the fallen longing it expresses—rebellion against God—is so. Demons appear in The City of God in a way unlike their portrayal elsewhere Augustine’s writings. They have a functional role in Augustine’s depiction of the cosmic and social order; they are active and dynamic forces, seducing humans to their doom. 117 Lecture 6—The Price of Empire (Books 2–3) „Finally, Augustine exhorts the pagans to recognize that they have misconceived the proper shape of their desires and the proper means whereby they might satisfy them. Rome’s old gods are not gods but demons; the Romans should turn to the true liberty of the City of God, where all the old Roman virtues are transfigured. Questions to Consider 1. Consider August ine’s disagreement with Cicero’s definition of a commonwealth. Do you think justice plays an essential role in the idea of a political community? What do you think of Augustine’s rejection of this view? 2. August ine distinguishes between moral evils and physical evils. Give an example of each. Which does Augustine think is worse? Was Rome beset by one kind of evil more than the other?

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “She likes to get her ass drilled,” said Koizumi. “All my women do. It’s the very last thing I do with each sculpture.” Marcela looked around the sculpture garden, and, sure enough, each of the four Koizumi women had a small hole drilled in her bottom. One had a drill bit left in place. Marcela looked from the moon face of the sculpture to the thin, intent face of the sculptress. Koizumi saw her and smiled. “Would you like to give it a few turns?” “Can I?” “Just apply steady pressure while you turn the crank—not too hard.” Koizumi put her hands on Marcela’s hands and showed her how to hold the pommel and the handle of the drill. Marcela leaned and turned the drill and it ground into the wooden woman. A long curl of wood peeled up and fell away. “It’s rather straightforwardly erotic, isn’t it?” said Marcela. “Are you her, in this case, or are you the drill?” “Both, neither, I don’t know,” said Koizumi. She raised her hand. “That’s probably deep enough.” Marcela pulled the drill out, and Koizumi bent and blew away the sawdust. Then she took a rag with some linseed oil on it and pushed the rag into the hole with her pinkie and worked it around. “Do you want to try oiling the hole, too?” she asked. “Sure.” Marcela moved her pinkie finger in the wooden woman’s new hole and felt a strange tingling clench deep in her bottom. “When I push the rag I feel my muscles tighten,” she said. “Is that normal?” “Which muscles?” Marcela patted her behind. “These. The back ones.” “Yes,” said Koizumi, solemnly, “that happens to me, too.” “Oof, I’m all confused,” said Marcela in a small voice. “I feel like I want to fuck a football team.” “Put your finger in the hole for a moment and wait, and you will be taken to a place where you can be made love to any way you like, by anyone you choose,” said Koizumi. “Okay.” Marcela pushed with her finger and waited. She felt herself turning sparkly and growing narrower. Her finger, and then her hand, and then her arm flowed into the carven woman’s asswood, and then she found herself swimming deep into the wooden woman’s body. She smelled the smells of linseed oil and cherry bark. Things went dark for a moment. When she became solid again, she was facedown on a wooden rolling table with a soft, thin mattress, moving down a dimly lit hall. Two nice-looking naked men with towels around their necks were pushing the table by its railing. To the first naked man, Marcela said, “Where is this?” “This is the House of Holes, where you can do whatever you want.” “Whatever I want? For instance, I can just reach out and hold your penis right now if I want?”

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  Henriette pulled her underpants back into position and considered the question. Zilka and Krock both began gently wrapping her upper thighs with soft rope. Their hands sometimes brushed against her pubic hair. “My mind’s in the gutter a lot,” Henriette said. “I’ll remember some nice old man selling magazines near the bus stop, with bushy eyebrows, and I’ll think of seducing him. Or I’ll think of being a coke addict and having to give blowjobs in bus stations for money. I’m into animals, especially horses, beautiful strong brown stallions with very glossy coats and six-pack abs, I think about washing the ends of their long penises with a soft cloth and watching them sniff at a mare and nip her neck, and I think about getting them ready to mount the breeding mount.” Henriette had a dreamy look, slouched back in the chair with her rope-wrapped thighs open. There was definitely something unusual about the Cable of Induhash, she thought—it was very pliant and soft and gripping, and she could feel a sexual current running through it. “I think about putting my hand on the underside of the stallion’s penis just at the moment when he’s coming, so that I can feel the pulses of the ejaculation forcing his hot come through the length of his penis and into the collection jar. Or into me. I’d give birth to a centaur.” Krock paused in his wrapping and sat back on his heels. “You’ve been watching cable.” “Now you’re being honest,” said Lila, unbuttoning her blouse. “Are you afraid of heights?” “Heights? No. I love flying. I went parasailing once in the Cayman Islands.” Zilka finished wrapping the cable around Henriette’s leg and then threaded it between her toes. From there she tied the end of the soft rope around one of Lila’s huge white breasts. Lila was teasing her nipple, which was very dark. “Now I’m going to squirt you with my titmilk, if I can—sometimes it’s difficult to get it to flow, and then I need a nipplerider. But let’s see. We need just a drop or two for your clit, to start the healing process. Krock, honey, will you help me lift my breast? It’s huge today.” Krock, grunting, lifted her breast, and Lila, leaning forward, squeezed out a tiny spray of titmilk directly onto Henriette’s clitoris. Henriette shuddered, feeling an odd sensation that wasn’t pain or pleasure, and wasn’t warm or cold. It flowed through her pelvis and made her Fallopian tubes go squirmy. “Feels like it’s working,” she said. “Fantastic.” Lila untied the rope end from her breast. “Now can you stand up for me? And Zilka, I’ll ask you to wrap the tinkly bells around Henriette’s pretty waist. We’re going to attack this on all fronts.” Zilka arranged the bells. Lila sat in her chair, flicking the end of the cord that led to Henriette’s legs against her crotch. “Thanks for doing all this,” said Henriette.

• From House of Holes: A Book of Raunch (2011)

  “Well, I’m glad that it worked out for you,” she said. He took a long, deep breath and laughed and shook his head. “I’m Bosco. I want to paint you,” he said, handing her a card. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to paint anyone more than you. What’s your name?” She told him. “Well, Jessica, I hope you’ll come to my studio sometime and take off your clothes and pose for me.” She thanked him, and then she hesitated. There was some-thing in his eyes of pleading and of hope that she hadn’t seen in a man before. “Where can I see your paintings?” she asked. He was in a group show in a gallery not far away, he said. “Do you want to go there now? That way you can see if you like my paintings.” “Well, sure, okay,” said Jessica. They walked up the street. Bosco asked Jessica what she was doing in school and whether she’d ever done any modeling before. She said she’d posed for photographers but never for a painter. “It’s very different,” Bosco said. “Photographers take lots and lots of pictures. Painters look at you for a long, long time and make one picture. It’s more like giving birth. Not that I know what that’s like.” “Me neither,” she said. “All in due time,” he said. They turned into a small track-lit gallery. There was a table with some crackers on it. Most of the dip and the carrots and celery had been eaten. She took a cracker and cracked it in her hand. “Which are yours?” she asked. He touched her back, directing her to a wall with five paintings. They were all of women sitting on chairs, wearing pants but not wearing anything over their breasts. Some sat relaxedly, some seemed tense. He’d caught something unusual in their expressions, which were sad and human. “I like their faces,” Jessica said. “Thanks, will you excuse me for a moment? My underpants are wet with my come, and I’m just going to take them off and throw them out.” Bosco went into the back and reemerged in a few minutes. Jessica had stood standing, looking at the women. She sensed someone looking at her, and when she turned she saw that he was staring once again. “Do you offer a modeling fee?” she asked, in order to preserve her dignity. “Name it,” he said. “When I modeled for the photographer, he paid me two hundred dollars.” He shook his head. “I’ll sell the painting for eight thousand, of which the gallery will take fifty percent. So I will gross four thousand dollars. Nothing that I paint would exist without your beauty. How about two thousand for you, two thousand for me?” She thought. “That’s generous. But sure, yes.” He nodded. “Good. Now?” She took a moment to reflect. “I’m kind of sweaty from walking,” she said.