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 277 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero lo disfruté también. La necesidad de llevarla a mi cama y saborear cada segundo y cada centímetro de ella fueron como mirar hacia el cielo la noche anterior. Lo deseaba. No podía esperar. Y no me habría detenido. Me dolían los músculos al solo pensar en lo que iba a hacerle pasar a mi cuerpo para disfrutar cada momento con ella. Pero incluso sin Cole, todavía tiene la mitad de mi edad. Nada sobre esto es correcto. —Eres una chica hermosa, Jordan —digo casi en un susurro—, pero eres solo una niña. Se detiene en el refrigerador a mi lado, y la veo aclarar su garganta. Es tan linda. Con su cabello limpio y sedoso, con maquillaje sutil con solo un toque de rosa en los labios... —No estaba pensando en ese momento —le explico—. Ambos estamos solos, y me ha encantado tanto tenerte aquí que los límites se desdibujaron. No volverá a suceder. Asiente, y su mirada cae. Desearía saber lo que estaba pensando. No es como si ella fuera muy callada. ¿Me odia? —Está bien —dice suavemente. Pero sacudo la cabeza. —No lo está. No espero eso de ti. Quiero que lo sepas. Dios sabe que tiene suficiente de esa mierda en el trabajo. Tomando su manzana y una botella de agua, se da la vuelta y camina hacia la mesa, levantando su bolso. No puede asistir a clase tan temprano, pero no voy a cuestionarla como si fuera asunto mío. Ya le he hecho suficiente por las últimas veinticuatro horas. Observo mientras sale de la cocina y entra en el vestíbulo, tomando las llaves del gancho. Cuando llega a la puerta, se detiene. —Mis manos también estaban sobre ti —dice ella. Y luego abre la puerta y sale, cerrándola suavemente tras de sí. Miro fijamente el espacio vacío haciéndome desearla de repente. —No digas cosas como esas —le murmuro a una casa vacía. Si sé que también lo deseas, ¿cómo seré capaz de resistirte? —¿Estás seguro que no quieres venir? —pregunta Dutch. Sacudo la cabeza, lanzando mis herramientas a la camioneta. —Nada suena peor en este momento que un bar lleno de personas y palos de queso de mozzarella pre-congelados —le digo—. Tengo una cita con restos de calzones en el refrigerador. Todd pasa por mi lado, sonriendo. —Apuesto que los calzones saben incluso mejor con cierta rubia descalza que también los prepara. Mi cuello se calienta ante la broma. No creo que nadie sepa que Cole ya no se está quedando en la casa en este momento, pero las interacciones entre Jordan y yo no han pasado desapercibidas. La noche de póker, el desfile de ropa interior, ella trayéndome la cena… Estoy seguro que los chicos están sacando sus propias conclusiones. Y, de hecho, los calzones los compré para llevar hace un par de días, pero sí, Jordan no trabaja esta noche y estoy ansioso por ver como está. Y, con suerte, volver a la normalidad con ella.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Alcanzando detrás de mí, cierro la puerta con llave y la miro fijamente, mientras la luz de la luna entrando por la ventana a ilumina. Está sentada con las rodillas dobladas y las manos colocadas tras de sí, apoyándose en sí misma. Sus labios están hinchados por los besos, y ya la estoy imaginando desnuda entre mis sábanas. —Dios, eres tan tierna —digo en voz baja. Una sonrisa tímida juega en sus labios. —En realidad no. Arqueo una ceja ante su desafío. —Entonces, ¿qué te gusta? —¿Qué haces? Una pequeña mierda. Regresando hacia la cama, me inclino sobre ella y me empuño sus bragas. —Dijiste que querías que comiera algo —le recuerdo—. ¿Dónde quieres mi boca? Baja su mirada a mis labios. —Sí… —Traga y acaricia su muslo interno, moviendo su mano hacia su entrepierna—. Aquí abajo. —¿Y qué hay ahí abajo? —Juego con ella, manteniéndome fuera de su alcance cada vez que se acerca a besarme—. Usa tus palabras para adultos, Jordan. ¿Qué quieres que bese? —Um… —balbucea, excitándose y muriéndose por ello—. Um, mi... ¿Mi…? Busca mi boca otra vez, pero me alejo, haciéndola descubrir sus dientes con un pequeño gruñido. —Mi… —¿Sí? —Mi, um... mi coño —susurra. Mis cejas se disparan, sorprendido. No esperaba esa palabra, en realidad, pero está bien. —Quiero que me beses y me chupes —susurra, suplicando—. ¿Haz que me corra? Y cierro mis ojos con fuerza por un momento, mi polla luchando contra mis jeans por espacio. Mierda. Todo lo que quieras. Apretando mi mano alrededor de sus bragas, les doy un tirón y las rompo. La tela se desgarra y la arrojo al otro lado de la habitación mientras toma aliento. Luego me quito mi propia camiseta y me sumerjo, llevando su lindo coño a mi boca. —Pike. —Gime, agarrando mi cabeza contra su cuerpo y cayendo sobre la cama. Jesús, estoy jodidamente drogado. He deseado esto por tanto tiempo, y finalmente la tengo, con las piernas extendidas sobre mi cama, su cuerpo rogándome. Primero chupo su clítoris, estirándolo en mi boca y volviendo una y otra vez, haciéndola retorcerse y desesperarse por correrse. Lamo de arriba hacia abajo, girando mi lengua alrededor de su protuberancia y emborrachándome con su aroma y sabor. Sin embargo, después de un minuto pierdo el control, y la estoy besando y mordisqueando en todas partes. Curvo mi brazo debajo de su muslo y lo agarro por apoyo mientras me alimento de ella, haciéndolo tanto para mí como para ella. Su espalda se arquea cuando la golpeo con la lengua y gime. Sigo haciendo eso hasta que jadea tan rápido que sé que está lista para desmoronarse. Palmeando uno de sus pechos, mantengo mi cabeza enterrada entre sus piernas hasta que siento que su estómago comienza a temblar y luego toma una respiración profunda y se congela cuando el orgasmo se afianza. Grita, dejándolo ir, y continúo lamiendo sin parar hasta que comienza a calmarse.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  I don’t care about anything else. I must eat one. I must handle one of them. For the love of heaven, my husband, help me to the fruit. I might die otherwise. The fruit! The green fruit!’ ‘Oh God,’ he replied, ‘if only I had a servant here who could climb the tree. I am blind. I cannot help.’ ‘Yes you can. If you put both your arms around the tree - like so - then I could place my feet upon your back and climb up to the branches. Trust me. I can do it.’ ‘Of course I trust you. I would do anything for you, darling. Is this the right position?’ So he stooped down on the ground beside her. She clambered on to his back and, grabbing a branch, hauled herself up into the tree. Ladies, forgive the next bit. I am a rude man. I cannot gloss over the facts. As soon as she had mounted the tree, Damian pulled up her smock and fucked her. When Pluto saw that this great wrong was being wreaked upon January, he gave back the old knight his sight. It was better than it had been before and, of course, the first thing he wanted to look upon was his lovely wife. So he glanced lovingly up at the tree. Whereupon he saw Damian thrusting away. I will say no more about it. It is not polite. I have already said enough. So January sets up a roaring and a crying, just like a mother who has lost her only child. ‘Help!’ he shouted. ‘Harrow! Havoc! Alarm! What are you doing, you little whore?’ ‘What is the matter with you, sir?’ May replied demurely. ‘Have patience. Be reasonable. I have just cured your blindness. As God is my witness, I am not lying. I was told that there was one way to bring back your sight - if I were to struggle with a man up a tree, you would be healed. That’s the truth. God knows my intentions were honest.’ ‘Struggle?’ January replied. ‘I saw his cock inside you! I hope to God that you both die of shame! He fucked you. I saw it with my own eyes. May I be hanged otherwise!’ ‘It seems that my medicine did not work,’ May said. ‘If you really could see, you would not be using these words to me. You have a glimpse, or squint, and not perfect sight.’ ‘I can see as well as I ever could, thank God. Both of my eyes were open. I am sure - I thought - that he was fucking you.’ ‘You are still dazed, good husband. You are imagining things. And that is all the thanks I get for curing your blindness. I try to be kind, and then -’ She burst into tears. ‘Now, wife,’ January said, ‘let us forget all about it. Come down from the pear tree.

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  metal and chemicals, looking for anything we might retrieve. ‘Look,’ one of our number said, ‘there is some of the metal. It is not intact, but we can still use it again. Things may have turned out badly this time, but we will succeed in the end. We have to trust our luck. No merchant is prosperous all the time. There will be occasions when he loses his cargo at sea, and there will be occasions when he sees it safely landed.’ ‘All right,’ our master said, ‘you have made your point. I will make sure that everything is done properly next time. If I am wrong, then lay the blame on me. There was something the matter, I know that much.’ Then the argument began again. One man said that the fire was too hot, for example. Hot or cold, it never worked. We never got the desired result, however hard we tried. Still we carried on with the madness. We were lunatic with greed and desire. When we were all together, we looked on one another as Solomon the Wise. Have you heard this proverb - ‘All that glisters is not gold’? Not every apple is good for eating, however sweet it looks. So it was with us. The greatest fool among us was deemed to be the wisest. The most honest and honoured was in fact the biggest thief. You will learn the truth of this before I leave your company. Just listen to my tale. PART TWO There is a canon - do you know the man I mean? - who would infect with his presence a town the size of Nineveh or Rome. No one would be able to describe his infinite tricks and subtleties. You could live a thousand years and not be able to fathom all of his craft. No one is his equal in falsehood. He is so sly in his use of words, so slippery in his language, that he can make a fool of anyone he talks to. He could beguile the devil, even though he is one himself. He has duped many people, and will carry on deceiving them as long as he lives. Yet this is the curious thing. Men travel for miles to consult and converse with him; little do they realize that he is a swindler in disguise. If you like, I can explain it to you. My story is of a canon, as I said, but I beg other canons not to believe that I am slandering their brotherhood. There is a rotten apple in every barrel. God forbid that a whole order should be tarnished by one man’s sins. It is not my intention to defame you, good sirs, only to chastise one of your number. I address my story to everyone, not just to you. You remember well enough that among the twelve apostles there was only one traitor, Judas by name. Why should the other holy men have shared his guilt?

• From The Canterbury Tales (2009)

  ‘So it happened that one day, in the season of Lent, I was on my way to have an intimate chat with Alison. I did this all the time - March, April, May, whatever - since there is nothing I like more than hearing all the news of the town. You should see me darting from house to house! Well, on this day, in the company of dear Alison and of her new lodger, I decided to walk into the fields. My husband was in London for the whole of Lent. Thank God for that. I was not constantly looking over my shoulder. I had the chance of eyeing up some hunk. And I would be pretty visible, too. How did I know where luck might lead me? I did not really care what places we went to, as long as there were plenty of people around. So I went to vigils and to processions, to open-air preachings and to festivals. And of course I loved going on pilgrimages. You meet a better class of person, don’t you think? Then I attended miracle plays and marriages. I always wore the same lovely red robes. There was no chance that the worms or moths would get at them, either. I put them on every day. They were gorgeous. ‘Now I will tell you what happened next. I told you that the three of us were walking in the fields. I was having such a delicious conversation with Jankyn that, before I knew what I was saying, I told him that if I were a widow-woman he could have me. He could marry me there and then. Well, I did know what I was saying in actual fact. I am not boasting, but I do have a little bit of foresight left in me. I am prudent in marital matters, as in much else. If a mouse has only one hole, then it is asking for trouble; if that hole is blocked, then goodbye mouse. So I led him to believe that I had fallen madly in love with him (that’s an old trick my mother taught me, by the way). I told him that I dreamed of him every night. I dreamed that he came into my bed and killed me, and that the sheets were drenched in blood. “But,” I said to him, “this is a lucky dream. It is a good omen. Blood signifies gold, doesn’t it?” Of course it was all a lie. I never dreamed of him at all. I always followed my mother’s advice, though, in more ways than one. Now where was I? Oh yes!

• From City of Night (1963)

  — and it is, because now Im in Echo Park, where a queen, camping by the head, calls out, “Hi babe — welcome to Jenny’s tearoom — and, you understand, Im Jenny, and this is my tearoom” — indicating the head (across the street from Aimee Semple McPherson’s Temple of appropriately Brotherly Love); going on: “I come here, oh, every day,” brazenly, “And I run away all those other hungry nelly queens first so I can have my pick of the cute tricks — and so, sweetie-love, if youve got A Mind To, would you join me in my tearoom for a few happy Wholesome moments?” — and soon after (mornings afternoons, nights fusing into a boundary-less existence) Im sitting in the balcony of a moviehouse in Hollywood — waiting purposely for someone to come on, turning him off to replace him with someone else — needfully adding numbers; and I leave the theater — alone — going back to that rented room in fulfilled — but only momentarily fulfilled — Awareness; and I meet a youngman, high on grass, and we drive to the hills, where the houses being built are mere skeleton frames against the grayish ghost-moon, where we turn on, smoking under the oppressive sky, and he comes on right there while I smoke looking at the stars, so few that I begin to count them — no longer looking at those stars now at a party that lasts two smoky nights, where I get so drunk I forget who I came here with, where I wake in a rumpled room, with people sleeping on chairs — and a pale wide-eyed, opportunistic, up-two-nights-in-a-row queen is saying to me almost worriedly: “You feel better now, honey?” — and I wonder what Ive said or done — but I no longer wonder when, only minutes later (or so it seemed — but it could have been hours), Im on Mulholland Drive in the parked car of a man just met: cramped in the car by the edge of a cliff overlooking the city — and another scene follows that rapidly, this time at Westlake, where two anxious fairies cruise me — one coming up saying hurriedly, “Right here — behind those trees — my “sister” will watch out for us” — and the sexnoises are stifled by the sounds of the ducks nearby shivering out of the lake-water, sounds of cars rushing along Wilshire — the park so dark, so dark, so dark, under now a starless night — that starless heaven soon replaced by the smoke-hugging ceiling in the bar where Im with a man Ive just scored from, where another score, with a youngman, talks to the man Im with about exchanging partners, and we all four go — and now coming out of a theater (the dungeon sex-head where they exchange partners, too), Im stopped by a man whos followed me and offers me “ten bills for just a few minutes — just a short time” — and I feel depressed, and I put him down, regretting it lonesomely as I go home and try to sleep and feel the Terror like a heavy blanket smothering me; but soon — and it's an afternoon — Im hitchhiking again on Sunset (not going anywhere — or, rather, going anywhere!), picked up this time by a very young fairy, with whom — because, he explains, he has A Jealous Lover — I go, instead, to the house of a friend of his — who surprisingly turns out to be a dark girl with gobbling eyes: the three of us making it, the nympho coming on like a starved fairy but not wanting to be screwed: and Im wondering why as I ride in a car with three men who will soon now come on, and I will feel hugely excited and momentarily surfeited, to be, oneway, the object of their desire — but surfeited, again, only for those few moments; and out on the streets to add more numbers, I get stopped, instead, by two cops — one frisking me Intimately against the car with the red light like an angry science-fiction eye; frisking me, his hands sliding between my legs, and I say, high on Sex: “Are you getting your kicks?” — which gets met aken to the station — not booked but fingerprinted illegally — and the cop, searching records to find a suspect who fits my description, says I gave him a fuck-you finger as he passed in His Car (which is not true), causing the detective there (more cool than most and not too fond of the paranoic cop anyway ...

• From City of Night (1963)

  He was still staring into the park. “Huh?” he said. “Man—” he starts. “Well, man—” And then, as he turned toward me briefly, the hat pushed back to get whatever still lingered of the smoggy sun, I saw the familiar smile gracing his face radiantly.... Had he even understood my question? I wondered, as, following his gaze, I realized why he is staring intently into the park.... Alone, about 17 or 18 years old—buttocks firm and saucy sculptured by a tight black skirt—her face heavily painted but still that of a very young girl—coy, a flirt, aware of her attractiveness—a cute young girl is walking in our direction, through the park.... And as she passes us now, she smiles. She walks to the water faucet, bends over to drink, staying there very long, casting surreptitious glances in our direction—exhibiting her little butt, stuck out toward us. Now, shaking her hair, which is vibrantly red and long to her shoulders, she stands by the faucet, waiting in posed bewilderment as if wondering where she will go next. “Hoddawg?” Chuck said, jumping off the railing in a sudden burst of energy. “Dig the smart little butt on that chick, man!” And pushing his widehat rakishly to one side of his head, he began to walk toward her, where she is now making her way slowly through the less-thick part of the park. And afterwards—? Suddenly the question I had asked made no difference. A short distance away, Chuck turned back to look at me, pushed the hat momentarily back on his head, and his mouth formed the word again: “Hoddawg!” He winked broadly—and then in a genuine cowboy gait, he swaggered toward the girl, who, aware now that he was coming after her, wiggled her butt cutely. CITY OF NIGHT AMONG THE BANDS OF MALEHUSTLERS that hang out in downtown Los Angeles, there are often a few stray girls: They are quite young, usually prematurely hardened, toughlooking even when theyre pretty. They know all about the youngmen they make it with and sometimes live with: that those youngmen hustle and clip other males. And aware of this, they dont seem to care. Occasionally, one of those girls will go into the park with a malehustler, sitting there until he will maybe spot a score; and then, as if by tacit agreement, theyll split: the youngman going off with the score, the girl back to Hooper’s coffee-and-donuts, where, in the afternoons at that time, they usually hung out.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  La dualidad de su traje de baño tiene a mi cerebro dando vueltas retorciéndose más y más, y estoy tan confundido. Usa negro en la parte inferior. Adulto, sexy y hermoso contra su piel bronceada. Y rosa en la parte superior. Inocente, dulce y enteramente Jordan, porque puede ser tan femenina. Sus tonificados y suaves muslos, y la expresión linda y estudiosa en su rostro mientras frunce el ceño y se concentra en su tarea. Todo sobre ella es joven. Excepto sus ojos. Unos ojos que pueden ser tan pacientes, porque ha tenido años de práctica siendo decepcionada, pero unos ojos que también pueden estar enojados, porque sabes que la mierda ha estado golpeando al ventilador en su vida desde el primer día y no ha disminuido un poco. Puedes ver su cerebro trabajando con cada decisión y cada interacción, porque ahora es tan buena para evaluar las consecuencias y el peligro que ahora se ha convertido en una segunda naturaleza. Sabe que el tiempo siempre pasa y su día llegará. Solo hay que esperar. Tiene la piel suave y el cuerpo de una mujer joven, pero los ojos de alguien que ha visto décadas. Mis ojos se deslizan hacia su boca, recordando la sensación de sus besos, y otra ráfaga de calor cubre mi pecho justo debajo de mi piel. Me alejo, deslizando mi mano por mi cabello mojado. No fue un golpe de suerte. La deseo. Me encanta su olor en la casa, la forma en que se sienta a mi lado, aquí o en el cine esa primera noche, tan fácil y cómodamente como si fuéramos dos guisantes en una puta vainita, y cómo me emociono al despertar todos los días sabiendo que puedo verla. —Jesucristo —digo en voz baja. Estoy teniendo mi primer enamoramiento en veinte años. —¿Qué? —La escucho preguntar. Alzo mi cabeza, girando es su dirección. ¿Lo dije en voz alta? —Nada —respondo rápidamente. Me mira mientras vacía la última pistola, y saco los flotadores de la piscina y los arrojo sobre la cubierta para evadir sus ojos. Quiero más de lo que sucedió la noche anterior, y no sé qué voy a hacer. Un teléfono comienza a sonar en la mesa de picnic otra vez, y miro hacia ella. —Tu teléfono está sonando de nuevo. Asiente, frunciendo levemente el ceño. —Sí, sé quién es. Mis cejas se elevan un poco. ¿A quién está tratando de evitar? El teléfono había sonado varias veces desde que había estado en casa y, que yo sepa, no había respondido. Me echa un vistazo, sin duda viéndome observarla con una mirada inquisitiva. Solo se ríe para sí misma y explica: —Los muchachos de la ciudad creen que soy fácil de seducir ahora que Cole y yo hemos terminado. —Desliza sus dedos por su cabello, dejando los mechones húmedos—. Están abalanzándose para consolarme. Dice lo último con comillas en el aire, y mi armadura se endurece al instante como el acero. ¿Consolarla?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Los dos sabemos muy bien que arruiné su noche cuando estuvo aquí la última vez, por lo que puede estar "ayudando" todo lo que quiera, pero lo que realmente está haciendo es ayudarse a sí misma al sacarme de su camino. —¿Y qué le dijiste? —pregunta, inclinando la cabeza hacia atrás bajo el rocío y humedeciéndose el cabello. —Dije que lo pensaría. —Pero puedes ahorrar más dinero quedándote aquí por un tiempo —señala— . Creo que es lo mejor. ¿No? Me río, enjabonando mi esponja. Sus motivos tampoco son exactamente desinteresados. —Le preocupaba que pudiera sentirme incómoda —le explico—. Nosotros aquí solos, juntos... Me empuja contra la pared, y respiro hondo, dejando caer la esponja vegetal. Su mano se hunde entre mis piernas, y levanta mi rodilla, abriéndome para él. Suave y lentamente frota mi clítoris en círculos, haciéndome pulsar y debilitándome las rodillas. —¿Estás incómoda? —pregunta, su voz baja y ronca. —No. —Mi respiración tiembla—. ¿Pero tal vez echas de menos tener el lugar para ti? Tal vez pensó que estaba molestándote. Sus ojos acalorados se clavan en los míos, y sacude la cabeza lentamente. —Si te vas, no tendré todo lo que necesito en esta casa. Aumenta su velocidad, pasando su boca sobre la mía, y luego desliza un dedo en mi interior. Jadeo, cerrando mis ojos, y sus labios se hunden en los míos, besándome suave y lentamente mientras entra en mi cuerpo una y otra vez. Su lengua muerde mi labio superior, y luego susurra: —¿Cómo podría no querer volver a casa por esto todos los días? Tan jodidamente dulce. Se aparta de mí y luego se desliza dentro, esta vez con dos dedos, lento y gentil, mientras me clava en la pared. Dejo caer mi cabeza hacia atrás, gimiendo mientras mira mi rostro. Dios, es bueno. Me estiro entre nosotros y acaricio su polla. —Tiene razón en cuidarte, Jordan —dice mordiéndome el labio inferior—. Eres demasiado joven para todas las malditas cosas que quiero hacerte. —No soy tan joven —me burlo—. Tengo edad suficiente para muchas, de hecho. —¿Sí? —gime, poniéndose más grande y duro en mí mano—. Aguanta, cariño. Saca sus dedos, agarra la parte posterior de mis muslos, y me levanta, presionándome contra la pared. Su polla es larga, dura y lista, y lo siento provocando mi entrada. Sí. —¡Oye, Pike! —grita Dutch. Los dos levantamos la cabeza, Pike me baja al suelo, y vuelve la cabeza, mirando por el cristal esmerilado. —¡Estoy en la ducha! —gruñe, protegiendo mi cuerpo de la vista. —Sí, duh —bromea su amigo—. Tu teléfono sonó un par de veces. Parece Lindsay. Voy a ponerlo en el mostrador aquí. Pike presiona su cuerpo sobre mí, por lo que Dutch solo vería un cuerpo aquí si mirara el cristal. —Sí, gracias —dice secamente. Me muerdo el labio inferior, sintiéndome traviesa. Me apoyo en él, besando su mandíbula y acariciándolo. —Jordan... —gruñe entre dientes. Me río en silencio. —Shhh... —Escucho que me regaña.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  This was a language not of the tongue but of the body, its vocabulary the pressure of a finger or a palm, the nudging of a hip, the holding or breaking of a gaze, that said, You are too slow - you go too fast - not there, but here - that’s good - that’s better! It was as if we walked before the crimson curtain, lay down upon the boards, and kissed and fondled - and were clapped, and cheered, and paid for it! As Kitty had said, when I had whispered that wearing trousers upon the stage would only make me want to kiss her: ‘What a show that would be!’ But, that was our show; only the crowd never knew it. They looked on, and saw another turn entirely. Well, perhaps there were some who caught glimpses... I have spoken of my admirers. They were girls, for most part - jolly, careless girls, who gathered at the stage door, and begged for photographs, and autographs, and gave us flowers. But for every ten or twenty of such girls, there would be one or two more desperate and more pushing, or more shy and awkward, than the rest; and in them I recognised a certain - something. I could not put a name to it, only knew that it was there, and that it made their interest in me rather special. These girls sent letters - letters, like their stage door manners, full of curious excesses or ellipses; letters that awed, repelled and drew me, all at once. ‘I hope you will forgive my writing to say that you are very handsome,’ wrote one girl; another wrote: ‘Miss King, I am in love with you!’ Someone named Ada King wrote to ask if we were cousins. She said: ‘I do so admire you and Miss Butler, but especially you. Could you I wonder send a photograph? I would like to have a picture of you, beside my bed ...’ The card I sent her was a favourite of mine, a picture of Kitty and me in Oxford bags and boaters, in which Kitty stood with her hands in her pockets and I leaned with my arm through hers, a cigarette between my fingers.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  With her hands close-pressed about my head and her legs straddling mine, she gently lowered herself upon me; then proceeded to rise and sink, rise and sink, with an ever speedier motion. At first I held her hips, to guide them; then I returned a hand to her drawers, and let the fingers of the other creep round her thigh to her buttocks. My mouth I fastened now on one nipple, now on the other, sometimes finding the salt of her flesh, sometimes the dampening cotton of her chemise. Soon her breaths became moans, then cries; soon my own voice joined hers, for the dildo that serviced her also pleasured me - her motions bring it with an ever faster, ever harder pressure against just that part of me that cared for pressure best. I had one brief moment of self-consciousness, when I saw myself as from a distance, straddled by a stranger in an unknown house, buckled inside that monstrous instrument, panting with pleasure and sweating with lust. Then in another moment I could think nothing, only shudder; and the pleasure - mine and hers - found its aching, arching crisis, and was spent. After a second she eased herself from my lap, then straddled my thigh and rocked gently there, occasionally jerking, and at last growing still. Her hair, which had come loose, was hot against my jaw. At length she laughed, and moved again against my hip. ‘Oh, you exquisite little tart!’ she said. And thus we clasped one another, sated and spent, our legs inelegantly straddling that elegant, high-backed chair; and as the minutes passed I thought with something like dismay of how the night would now proceed. I thought, She’s had me fuck her; now she’ll send me home. If I’m in luck I might get a pound, for my trouble. It was the prospect of the sovereign, after all, which had lured me to her parlour in the first place. And yet, now, there was something inexpressibly dreary to me at the idea of quitting her company - of surrendering the toy to which I was strapped, and quieting the tommish urges it and its mistress had all unexpectedly revived. She raised her head and saw, I suppose, my downcast look. ‘Poor child,’ she said. ‘And do you always grow sorry, when your business is complete?’ She put a hand to my chin and tilted my face to the lamplight, and I caught her wrist and shook my head free. My cap - which had remained on my head through all our violent kisses - now fell off. She at once returned her hands to my face, and fingered my pomade-stiff ened hair; then she laughed, and rose, and walked into her bedroom. ‘Pour yourself some wine,’ she called. ‘And light me a cigarette, will you?’ I heard the hiss of water against china, and guessed that she was using the commode. I moved to the glass, and examined myself.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I crossed, and stood before her. I said, ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you the other night.’ She seemed embarassed at the memory, but laughed. ‘You didn’t frighten me,’ she said, as if she were never frightened. ‘You just gave me a bit of a start. If I’d known you were a woman — well!’ She blushed again - or it may have been the same blush as before, I couldn’t tell. Then she glanced away; and we fell silent. ‘Where’s your friend the musician?’ I said at last. I held an imaginary mandolin to my waist and gave it a couple of strums. ‘Miss Derby,’ she said with a smile. ‘She is back at our office. I do a bit of work with a charity, finding houses for poor families that’ve lost their homes.’ She had a plain East End accent, more or less; but her voice was deep and slightly breathy. ‘We have been trying for ages to get our hands on some of the flats in this block here, and that night you saw me we had moved our first family in - a bit of a success for us, we are only a small affair - and Miss Derby thought we should make a party of it.’ ‘Oh yes? Well, she plays very nicely. You should tell her to come and busk round here more often.’ ‘You live there then, do you?’ she asked, nodding towards Mrs Milne’s. ‘I do. I like to sit out on the balcony ... She raised her hand to tuck away a lock of hair beneath her bonnet. ‘And always in trousers?’ she asked me then, so that I blinked. ‘Only sometimes in trousers.’ ‘But always, to gaze at the women and give them a start?’ Now I blinked two or three times. ‘I never thought to do it,’ I answered, ‘before I saw you.’ It was the plain truth; but she laughed at it, as if to say, Oh yes. The laugh, and the exchange which had provoked it, was unsettling. I studied her more closely. As I had seen on that first night, she was not what you might term a beauty. She was thick at the waist and almost stout, and her face was broad, her chin a firm one. Her teeth were even, but not perfectly white; her eyes were hazel, but the lashes not long; her hands, however, seemed graceful. Her hair was the kind of hair we had all been thankful, as girls, that we did not have - for though she had bound it into a bun at her neck, the curls kept springing from it and twisting about her face. With the lamp behind it, too, it had seemed auburn; but it would really be more truthful to say that it was brown. I believe I liked it better that she was not more handsome.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  Long, however, the young spark did not remain before giving it two or three shakes, by way of brandishing it, he threw himself upon her, and his back being now towards me, I could only take his being ingulphed for granted, by the directions he moved in, and the impossibility of missing so staring a mark; and now the bed shook, the curtains rattled so that I could scarce hear the sighs and murmurs, the heaves and pantings that accompanied the action, from the beginning to the end; the sound and sight of which thrilled to the very soul of me, and made every vein of my body circulate liquid fires: the emotion grew so violent that it almost intercepted my respiration. Prepared then, and disposed as I was by the discourse of my companions, and Phœbe’s minute detail of everything, no wonder that such a sight gave the last dying blow to my native innocence. Whilst they were in the heat of the action, guided by nature only, I stole my hand up my petticoats, and with fingers on fire, seized and yet more inflamed that center of all my senses: my heart palpitated, as if it would force its way through my bosom: I breathed with pain; I twisted my thighs, squeezed and compressed the lips of that virgin slit, and following mechanically the example of Phœbe’s manual operation on it, as far as I could find admission, brought on at last the critical ecstasy, the melting flow, into which nature, spent with excess of pleasure, dissolves and dies away. After which, my senses recovered coolness enough to observe the rest of the transaction between this happy pair. The young fellow had just dismounted, when the old lady immediately sprung up, with all the vigour of youth, derived, no doubt, from her late refreshment; and making him sit down, began in her turn to kiss him, to pat and pinch his cheeks, and play with his hair: all which he received with an air of indifference and coolness that showed him to be much altered from what he was when he first went on to the breach. My pious governess, however, not being above calling in auxiliaries, unlocks a little case of cordials that stood near the bed, and made him pledge her in a very plentiful dram: after which, and a little amorous parley, Madam set herself down upon the same place, at the bed’s foot; and the young fellow standing sidewise by her, she, with the greatest effrontery imaginable, unbuttons his breeches, and removing his shirt, draws out his affair, so shrunk and diminished, that I could not but remember the difference, now crest-fallen, or just faintly lifting its head: but our experience matron very soon, by chaffing it with her hands, brought it to swell to that size and erection I had before seen it up to.

• From City of Night (1963)

  As I lean against the bar—for protection from the crushing mobs—leaning there next to Chi-Chi until the strategic time when I can move away—another queen, tossed out of the main current of the struggling bodies, spots Chi-Chi incredulously; but toning down the incredulity, she welcomed her to the queen sorority of the French Quarter. “Im—whew!—Echoes and Encores,” she says to the blond owl. “I never—whew!—seen you in the Quarter, but then—whew!—I just got here myself—and, well, I think We Girls—whew!—have got to stick together—or—whew!—we are Lost!... Oh, damn this maddening crowd anyway. Why dont they go home!” she shouted. She squeezed in next to me, smiling at me—Bewitchingly, she thinks—and lets her hand drop casually so that it floated tenuously over my groin. “Dont I know you from the 1-2-3 in L.A., doll?” she asked me. The floating hand finally cupped my crotch. I said maybe. “Well, it’s closed now, you know—so is Ji-Ji’s—the heat is on in downtown L.A. something fierce.” She emphasized the ferocity of heat-heavy Los Angeles with an intimate press of her searching hand.... She turns to the owlqueen Chi-Chi: “What is your name, sweetie?” she asks her. The owlqueen answered: “Chi-Chi.... And where did you get such a crazy handle like Echoes and Encores?” Holding herself as if a hundred cameras are focusing on her nonexistent beauty to record this revelatory moment, Echoes and Encores answers: “Well!... My Life Has Been Just That: a long, long series of echoes and encores.... Oh, Chi-Chi, honey,” she said dramatically as her hand more openly and with assurance now explores my thighs since I havent knocked it off, “I just got to tell you about a positively shattering experience I had just a while ago.” Suddenly she develops a thick, inconsistent Southern accent: “Ahm still shakin from it.” She held out her free hand—gloved (shes an elegant lady)—to prove it. “Ah saw this cute butch numbuh—and Ah wouldda swore hes a hustluh—and Ah thought: Well, your mothuh’s gonna go aftuh that one!... Well, honey, that butch numbuh turns out to be a les-bay-an—the butchest dam diesel dike y’evuh haid yuh gay eyes on!” Now she grinds her squirming butt against my pelvis and goes on: “I wanna tell you, Miss Chi-Chi: that dike was so dam butch if Ah wahnt such a lady muhself, why, I wouldda turned straight for huh.... Why, they are gettin butchuh and butchuh each yeah—those dam buildikes. And Ah don mine tellin you Ah personally think it is ob-see-an: girls dressed like men!” “Dikes gotta live too,” Chi-Chi growled hostilely at Echoes and Encores. “But, oh, me-oh-my!” shrieks Echoes and Encores, reaching out delightedly to touch Chi-Chi’s massively muscled arm. “Nevuh you mine about girls!... Ah just wanna ask you , Chi-Chi: Where did you get those Shoulders? And those Muscles—I swan! Rippling—thats what they are!... Honey, you just take off that dress and that paint and I’ll marry you!”

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —Me muero por probarte —le digo—. Y sentirte. Cada día se hace más difícil ignorar lo que mi cuerpo quiere. Me despierto tan mojada, Pike. —Muevo mi boca hacia la suya, cubriendo nuestros labios—. Quiero que me desees. Quiero verte deseándome y corriéndote sobre mí. Puedo sentir la humedad escurriéndose entre mis piernas, y su aliento es tan caliente. Me apoyo nuevamente sobre mis pies, pero mantengo mis ojos en los suyos. —Me encanta cómo te preocupas por mí y cómo quieres protegerme —le digo—. Pero una niña también tiene necesidades, y eventualmente, tendré que buscar a otro hombre que pueda hacer mejor tu trabajo. La rabia arde detrás de su mirada congelada, pero no pestañea. —Otro hombre me besará. —Suspiro—. Y me quitará la ropa y me mirará en su cama, en su ducha, y me extenderá sobre la mesa de la cocina para desayunar... Los labios de Pike están casi retorcidos en un gruñido, y está respirando con fuerza, dentro y fuera, dentro y fuera mientras me fulmina con la mirada. Está ahí. Puedo sentirlo. Es como si estuviéramos envueltos juntos, el calor entre nosotros es casi sofocante, y todo lo que tiene que hacer es tender la mano y tomarme en sus brazos. Tómame. Espero. Soy tuya. Solo extiende la mano y tómame. Pero no lo hace. Solo se queda allí, y las lágrimas arden en la parte posterior de mis ojos mientras se mantiene inmóvil. Poco dispuesto. Mi corazón está rompiéndose. Sacudo la cabeza. —No tienes ni idea de qué hacer conmigo, ¿verdad? Me burlo y me alejo, pero de repente, agarra mis brazos y me lleva de vuelta hacia él. Jadeo mientras pone sus manos bajo mis brazos y me levanta sobre mis pies, llevándome cara a cara con él como si tuviera cinco años. —Oh, puedo estar fuera de práctica, pequeña niña —dice en tono amenazante—, pero creo que lo resolveré. Y me atrae hacia sí, besándome y robando mi aliento tan duramente que lo único que puedo hacer es envolver mis piernas a su alrededor y aguantar. Maldición, sí. Maldita sea ella. Maldita sea. No me voy a detener. A la mierda. No puedo. Siguió presionando y presionando, presionando todos mis botones, todo lo que sabía me traería a esto, y yo quería que lo hiciera. En el fondo de mi mente, siempre supe que no podría no tenerla. Agarro su trasero y caemos en su cama. Abre sus piernas y se sienta a horcajadas sobre mí, nuestros labios nunca rompen el contacto. Amo su boca. Caliente y dulce, y se burla de mí con esa lengua, meneando y deslizándose de maneras que me vuelven loco. —Odiaba sentirme así. —Jadea. —¿Así cómo? —Deslizo mis manos sobre ella, agarrando y apretando mientras respira por mi boca y me aprieta, poniéndome dolorosamente duro. —Celosa —dice.

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  Phœbe lay down by me, and asked me archly, “if, now that I had seen the enemy, and fully considered him, I was still afraid of him? or did I think I could come to a close engagement with him?” To all which, not a word on my side; I sighed, and could scarcely breathe. She takes hold of my hand, and having rolled up her own petticoats, forced it half strivingly, towards those parts, where, now grown more knowing, I missed the main object of my wishes; and finding not even the shadow of what I wanted, where every thing was so flat, or so hollow, in the vexation I was in at it. I should have withdrawn my hand, but for fear of disobliging her. Abandoning it then entirely to her management, she made use of it as she thought proper, to procure herself rather the shadow than the substance of any pleasure. For my part, I now pined for more solid food, and promised tacitly to myself that I would not be put off much longer with this foolery of woman to woman, of Mrs. Brown did not soon provide me with the essential specific. In short, I had all the air of not being able to wait the arrival of my lord B——, though he was now expected in a very fews days: nor did I wait for him, for love itself took charge of the disposal of me, in spite of interest, or gross lust. It was now two days after the closet scene, that I got up about six in the morning, and leaving my bedfellow fast asleep, stole down, with no other thought than of taking a little fresh air in a small garden, which our back parlour opened into, and from which my confinement debarred me, at the times company came to my house; but now sleep and silence reigned all over it. I opened the parlour door, and well surprised was I at seeing, by the side of a fire half-out, a young gentleman in the old lady’s elbow chair, with his legs laid upon another, fast asleep, and left there by his thoughtless companions, who had drank him down, and then went off with every one but his mistress, whilst he stayed behind by the courtesy of the old matron, who would not disturb or turn him out in that condition at one in the morning; and beds, it is more than probable there were none to spare. On the table still remained the punch bowl and glasses, stewed about in their usual disorder after a drunken revel.

• From City of Night (1963)

  (It’s a summer day, the warmth hugs the director’s house, this garden, loving the luxury, too: a Special warmth. And Skipper looks about him hungrily. The director senses the Craving in Skipper’s eyes — which he knew would be there even from the photographs — as he has sensed it many times before in others; and he looks around at his house, his garden, his pool, owning every inch of it, possessing it. Now he looks at Skipper in the same way. “Would you like to take a swim?” he asks Skipper. And Skipper, in his early 20s then, goes swimming in the director’s pool, and the water embraces him as if he, too, were meant for all this luxury. When he comes out of the water, laughing — the director places his hand on Skipper’s shoulder and says: “I have a feeling youre my new Discovery.”) “He asked me to move in with him,” Skipper was saying now, spewing out for the fatman with the cigar the steps by which his life had led him to squint his eyes now at Harry’s bar. “How long?” the fatman shoots at him. “I moved in the next day,” Skipper said evasively. “He said I’d be real big in the flix—I heard him—he told everyone I was his Biggest Discovery.” (“Youre a Very Beautiful Boy,” the director tells Skipper. “And in this town thats All that matters”) “He took me around—showed me off,” Skipper said. He smiles, the phantom smile of the youngman who believes hes seeing materialize fully the world hes been searching. “Man—I was really Someone!” (Skipper learns how to make drinks—like the youngman who would be there when I would meet the director later. He learns, at dinner, to cue the director’s best stories: “Remember when you were filming Angels in Paradise?” he may say, and the director: “Oh, yes — it was very amusing. The star was —...”) “And what did you have to do in return?” the fatman said. “Or did you just live there?” he asked derisively. Skipper’s eyes rise slowly from the surface of the table—he erases the circles of water in one sweeping move of his palm—and focuses his eyes evenly on the fatman. “I—” he started, and then instinctively he wiped his lips as if in physical disgust at the remembered contact “Nothing!” he almost shouted. (Skipper learns, for the first time, to reciprocate in bed — to close his eyes in order to stem the revulsion — to concentrate on the doors swinging open before him, leading to that glittering world .... Those first weeks he and the director will be alone. The groups of other youngmen are no longer invited. And in the afternoons, when hes not at the studio, Skipper will dive into the water of the pool, which, warming him, will reassure him....) “How long did you stay there?” the fatman persisted. “A month—more—maybe two—” Skipper says at last “Why didnt you stay longer?”

• From Memoirs of Fanny Hill (1749)

  “It seems that the circumstance of his going down, or sinking, which in my extreme ignorance I had mistaken for something very fatal, was no other than a trick of diving, which I had not ever heard, or at least attended o, the mention of: and he was so long-breathed at it, that in the few moments in which I ran out to save him, he had not yet emerged, before I fell into the swoon, in which, as he rose, seeing me extended on the bank, his first idea was, that some young woman was upon some design of frolic or diversion with him, for he knew I could not have fallen asleep there without his having seen me before: agreebly to which notion he had ventured to approach, and finding me without sign of life, and still perplexed as he was what to think of the adventure, he took me in his arms at all hazards, and carried me into the summer-house, of which he observed the door open: there he laid me down on the couch, and tried, as he protested in good faith, by several means to bring me to myself again, till fired, as he said, beyond all bearing by the sight and touch of several parts of me, which were unguardedly exposed to him, he could no longer govern his passion; and the less, as he was not quite sure that his first idea of this swoon being a feint, was not the very truth of the case; seduced then by this flattering notion, and overcome by the present, as he styled them, super-human temptations, combined with the solitude and seeming security of the attempt, he was not enough his own master not to make it. Leaving me then just only whilst he fastened the door, he returned with redoubled eagerness to his prey: when, finding me still entranced, he ventured to place me as he pleased, whilst I felt, no more than the dead, what he was about, till the pain he put me to roused me just in time enough to be witness of a triumph I was not able to defeat, and now scarce regretted: for as he talked, the tone of his voice sounded, methought, so sweetly in my ears, the sensible nearness of so new and interesting an object to me, wrought so powerfully upon me, that, in the rising perception of things in a new and pleasing light, I lost all sense of the past injury. The young gentleman soon discerned the symptoms of a reconciliation in my softened looks, and hastening to receive the seal of it from my lips, pressed them tenderly to pass his pardon in the return of a kiss so melting fiery, that the impression of it being carried to my heart, and thence to my new discovered sphere of Venus, I was melted into a softness that could refuse him nothing. When now he managed his caresses and endearments so artfully, as to insinuate the most soothing consolations for the past pain and the most pleasing expectations of future pleasure, but whilst mere modesty kept my eyes from seeing his and rather declined them, I had a glimpse of that instrument of mischief which was now, obviously even to me, who had scarce had snatches of a comparative observation of it, resuming its capacity to renew it, and grew greatly alarming with its increase of size, as he bore it no doubt designedly, hard and stiff against one of my hands carelessly dropt; but then he employed such tender prefacing, such winning progressions, that my returning passion of desire being now so strongly prompted by the engaging circumstances of the sight and incendiary touch of his naked glowing beauties, I yield at length at the force of the present impressions, and he obtained of my tacit blushing consent all the gratifications of pleasure left in the power of my poor person to bestow, after he had cropt its richest flower, during my suspension of life, and abilities to guard it.

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

  The mouth meeting [Renay's] was soft like her own and very, very gentle, unlike the hardness she had been accustomed to feeling. Then it increased its pressure and the tongue went into the cavern of her mouth as if it belonged there, joining hers, and the hands brushed over her face and down to her neck where it stopped. Her eyes were closed, and she felt a warmth consume her-a warmth she had never known before. She didn't want Terry to stop. She wanted the lips and hands to return to her-to where they belonged. (27) Drawing upon a language of intimacy, a lexicon replete with the sexual and erotic, this passage is provocative and consequential. Disengaging heterosexist sensibilities that ascribe stigma and abnormality to same-sex affection and desire, Shockley inscribes a "natural-ness" and normativity to Renay and Terry's kiss that legitimizes, naturalizing as authentic, their same-sex intimacy. Mainly through the use of a rhetoric of belonging-Terry's tongue belonging in the caverns of Renay's mouth, as well as Renay's wanting Terry's lips and hands to return "where they belonged"-Shockley challenges heteronormativity by demonstrating that intimacy and sexual desire are not restricted solely to heterosexual relationships. The narrator (and thereby Shockley) achieves this by juxtaposing Renay and Terry's affectionate exchange with that of Renay and Jerome-the latter operating as the antithesis of the former. Whereas Jerome's kissing Renay had been marked invariably by roughness and the absence of desire, the kiss shared between Renay and Terry is gentle and sensation-filled, invoking in Renay newly experienced feelings of undisguised passion, erotic longing, and desire. This longing, this very erotic desire expressed through the sexual and intimate arousal, has far greater implications, serving, as I have argued previously, metonymically for another aspirational racial desire: a racialized blackness that is ungoverned by reductionist or retrograde politics overdetermined by race divorced of racialized gendered sexuality. If black racial politics (of the 196os and 1970s) rooted in the nationalist agenda construct "racial identity and its centralizing of race as the sole axis of emancipatory politics," Shockley rejects such reductive constructions.39 Not, that is, for "a racial authenticity that erases the differences within the black experience," but, rather, for one that embraces/expands the heterogeneity of racialized (black) conditions through the sexual (a point to which I will return momentarily) 40 This is evidenced and enacted in a seminal passage: when Renay's acclimation to physical desire and erotic pleasure expresses itself beyond her and Terry's kiss in their first interracial sexually intimate scene imbued with sexual ecstasy and pleasure. Terry, with a double entendre and vocative, "Renaycome," escorts her into the bedroom, after which: Renay opened her eyes and stood up shakily to follow Terry to the other room. Eyes clouded with passion, she hardly saw the large bed. [...] Then Terry undressed her and left her for a cold instant on the smooth white sheets while she quickly threw off her own clothes.