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 293 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Go to sleep,” he said. She was calmed by his words, in which she detected a shade of pity. But she could not sleep. Her body was keyed up. She knew how the breath changed in sleep, and the movements of the breasts. So she pretended to fall asleep. All the time she felt the hand on her shoulder, and its warmth penetrated right through her clothes. He began to caress her shoulder. He did this so quietly that she was afraid she would fall asleep, but she did not want to lose the pleasant sensation that was running down her spine at the round touch of his hand. She relaxed completely. He touched her throat and waited. He wanted to be sure that she was asleep. He touched her breasts. Bijou did not stir. Cautiously, deftly, he caressed her belly, and with a pressure of the finger pushed the black silk of her dress so as to outline the shape of her legs and the space between the legs. When he made this valley clear, he continued to caress the legs. He had not yet touched her legs beyond the dress. Then he noiselessly left his chair, went to the foot of the couch and kneeled down. In this position, Bijou knew, he could look up her dress and see that she wore nothing underneath. He looked for a long while. Then she felt him lifting the hem of the skirt slightly to be able to see more. Bijou had stretched herself out with her legs slightly parted. She was melting under his touch and his eyes. How wonderful it was to be looked at while apparently asleep, to feel that the man was entirely free. She felt the silk being lifted, felt her legs exposed to the air. He was staring at them. With one hand he caressed them softly, slowly, enjoying them to the full, feeling the smooth lines, the long silk passage leading up under the dress. Bijou found it difficult to lie absolutely still. She wanted to part her legs a little more. How slowly his hand traveled. She could feel how he followed the contours of the legs, lingering over the curves, how his hand stopped at the knee, then continued. He stopped just before touching the sex. He must have been watching her face to see if she was deeply hypnotized. With two fingers he began to feel her sex, knead it. When he felt the honey that had been quietly flowing, he slipped his head under the skirt, hid himself between her legs and began to kiss her. His tongue was long and agile, penetrating. She had to restrain herself from moving towards his voracious mouth.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  By now he knew what harm he had done to Elena in being the first one to instill in her a doubt of her ability to love or to be loved. Each time he brushed off an advance from a woman, he thought he was committing a minor crime, murdering a faith and confidence for good. How nice it was to be with Elena, enjoying her feminine endowments without danger. Pierre was taking care of the sensual Elena. At the same time, how jealous Miguel was of Pierre, just as he had been of his father when he was a child. His mother always sent him out of her room as soon as his father entered. The father was impatient for him to leave. He hated the way they locked themselves together for hours. As soon as his father left, his mother’s love, embraces, kisses, returned to him. When Elena said, “I am going to see Pierre,” it was the same. Nothing could hold her back. No matter how much pleasure they had together, no matter how much tenderness she showered on Miguel, when it was time to be with Pierre, nothing could hold her back. The mystery of Elena’s masculinity charmed him, too. Whenever he was with her, he felt this vital, active, positive action of her nature. In her presence, he was galvanized from his laziness, his vagueness, his procrastinations. She was the catalyst. He looked at her legs. Diana’s legs, Diana the huntress, the boy-woman. Legs for running and leaping. He was taken with an overpowering curiosity to see the rest of her body. He moved nearer to the ladder. The stylized legs disappeared into the lace-edged panties. He wanted to see further. She looked down at him and saw him standing and looking at her with dilated eyes. “Elena, I would just like to see how you are made.” She smiled at him. “Will you let me look at you?” “You are looking at me.” He lifted the edge of her skirt outwards and it opened like a summer umbrella over him, concealing his head from her. She began to step down the ladder but his hands stopped her. His hands had gripped the elastic belt of the panties and stretched them to slip them down. She remained midway on the ladder, one leg higher than the other, which prevented him from slipping the panties all the way down. He pulled the leg down towards him, so that he could slip off the panties altogether. His hands cupped her ass lovingly. Like a sculptor, he ascertained the exact contours of what he held, feeling the firmness, the roundness, as if it were merely a fragment of a statue he had unearthed, from which the rest of the body were missing. He disregarded the surrounding flesh, and curves. He caressed only the ass, and gradually brought it down nearer to his face, keeping Elena from turning around as she descended the ladder.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Recuerdo que está conectado a mi cargador al lado de mi cama, y vuelvo a subir las escaleras y cruzo el pasillo, entro en mi habitación y lo desconecto. Al menos la mayoría de la fiesta se ha despejado, por lo que parece. No debería ser demasiado difícil deshacerse de los restantes ocho o algo así. Pero el patio trasero es un desastre, y he sido más que amable con esto. Es mejor que no pida otra maldita fiesta durante mucho tiempo. Bajando las escaleras, llamo a Cole con mi teléfono mientras me detengo dentro de la cocina. Sosteniéndolo en mi oído, escucho cuando suena su línea. Pero pronto escucho un tintineo que viene de algún lugar en la sala de estar y miro detrás de mí para ver una luz que viene del brazo del sofá. Es el teléfono de Cole que se enciende con mi llamada. Maldita sea. Mientras cuelgo, muevo mi pulgar y hago clic en el nombre de Jordan, llamándola. Pero cuando estoy a punto de presionar Llamar, miro hacia arriba y de repente me detengo. Esta allí. De pie en el extremo poco profundo de la piscina, hundida hasta los muslos, con los brazos unidos en la parte delantera de su cuerpo, tratando de mantener la parte superior puesta mientras Cole tira de los lazos en la parte posterior de su cuello. Se para frente a ella, mirando hacia abajo, mientras ella sacude la cabeza, tratando de resistir, pero sonriendo de todos modos. Puedo ver su vergüenza desde aquí. Una oleada de sentimientos me golpea, y muchos pensamientos nadan en mi cabeza mientras trato de mirar hacia otro lado, pero no puedo. No la mires, me digo. Y mi puño se cierra alrededor de mi teléfono, deseando que Cole también la deje en paz. A ella obviamente no le gusta. Y a mí no me gusta. Pero no puedo evitar que mis ojos se vuelvan a levantar hacia ella, viendo el bikini rosado que lleva puesto y las delgadas correas que se deslizan lentamente sobre su piel. Dios, es hermosa. Siento un nudo doloroso dentro de mí, observando su largo cabello cayendo contra su cuerpo desnudo, y sus brazos, lo único que sostiene los trozos de tela que la cubren. Deslizo mi mano por mi rostro, tratando de borrar la vergüenza, porque si fuera Cole, la trataría igual, pero mucho más en privado. No quisiera que nadie más viera lo que solo yo puedo ver. Soltando un suspiro, bajo mi mirada. Esta noche debe terminar. Tal vez debería cortar la electricidad, para que todos se vayan. Pero antes de tener la oportunidad de moverme, veo que Jordan está fuera de la piscina y se mueve hacia la ventana. Sostiene la parte superior de su bikini con una mano y se vuelve a poner mi vieja camiseta con la otra, estirándose y atando las tiras de su bikini una vez que se pone la camiseta.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Deslizo mis dedos por mi cabello, olvidándome de darle un estilo. Se queda en silencio por un momento, y no la miro mientras saco mi teléfono del cargador y lo guardo en el bolsillo. Se para a mi lado y toma mi barbilla, forzándome a enfrentarla. Me alejo. —¿Qué? —Estás sonrojado. —Hace calor —le respondo. Pero debajo de mi piel, mi sangre se calienta y mi corazón late con más fuerza. Recojo mi café, tomando un sorbo para ocultar mi nerviosismo. La mujer es un tiburón. Puede oler sangre a través de un océano. —Sé cómo luces después de correrte —acusa—. Entonces, la pregunta es... ¿es ese dulce pedazo de culo adolescente que está arriba o alguien nuevo? Bajo mi taza de golpe, mirándola. —Suficiente. Maldita sea. Olvidé lo inteligente que es. Ni siquiera he salido de la casa, y ni siquiera puedo entender lo que siento por la única persona con la que me he encontrado. Increíble. Dirigiéndome a la mesa, me siento, me pongo los calcetines y las botas y recojo todo lo que necesito para el día. —Cole renunció a su trabajo en la planta —dice finalmente—. Hace tres días. Miro hacia arriba, deteniendo lo que estoy haciendo. ¿Tres días? —Déjame darte un consejo. —Se vuelve condesciende—. La crianza de los hijos no se detiene cuando cumplen los dieciocho años y cuando ya no tienes que pagar manutención. Él todavía te necesita. —Perdóname si no tomo lecciones de crianza de una mujer que se embarazó para tener un boleto de comida por el resto de su vida. —Me vuelvo hacia ella, inmovilizándola con mi mirada—. Tal vez renunció para no tener que trabajar por nada ya que lo haces sentir culpable para que te dé la mitad de sus cheques de pago. Me da una bofetada, y mi cabeza se mueve a un lado. Pero solo me río. Por supuesto que estoy preocupado. Él ha estado sin trabajo y no ha estado en casa, pero no voy a soportar una conferencia de ella. Lo usó, y he tenido suficiente de su mierda. —Esa es la razón por la que no dejas que trabaje para mí, ¿no es así? — pregunto, sin dar marcha atrás—. Porque a cambio, iba a pagar sus cuentas y darle un estipendio para asegurarme que no pondrías tus manos en todo su maldito salario. Sólo te preocupas por él cuando viene con dinero en efectivo. —Recojo mi mierda y camino hacia la puerta, abriéndola—. ¿Sabes de quién estoy realmente celoso? De todos los hombres que se escaparon antes que los atraparas con un niño. No lamento tener a Cole, sino que haya sido contigo. Vete. Estoy orgulloso de haber mantenido mi voz baja y haber podido controlarme un poco, pero estoy furioso por dentro. Ella entra a mi casa, acusándome de ser un mal padre y luego me golpea. No es mi esposa y nunca lo ha sido. Tengo que aguantarla, pero no del todo.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Girándola sobre su espalda, sigo deslizando mis manos por su cuerpo, pero empiezo a mover mi boca sobre su piel también. Respirando a través de su cuello y a través de su pequeña camisa negra, tipo top, sobre sus pechos y los pezones duros llamándome a través de la tela, pero me resisto. Me arrastro por su estómago, moviendo mis labios por su ombligo, y por un momento, salen mis dientes, muriendo por tomar un pedazo de ella en mi boca, pero gime, y miro hacia arriba, viendo los montículos de sus pechos asomarse desde debajo de la pequeña camiseta. El agua de la ducha se derrama sobre mi rostro y mi barbilla, y quiero que esto sea real. La quiero en mi maldita cama. —¿Mejor? —le pregunto. Asiente con sus ojos todavía cerrados. —Mmmm —dice ella—. Aunque, ¿puedes seguir haciéndolo? Todavía tengo frío. Demonios sí. Agarro sus muslos mientras me doy la vuelta sobre mi espalda, poniéndola encima de mí. —Ven aquí, bebé. No puedo tenerla toda, pero tomaré esto. Froto sus muslos y deslizo mis manos más arriba por su cuerpo, burlándome justo debajo de su camisa. Está usando un top negro y bragas negras, y bromeo: —Pensé que te gustaba el rosa. No puedo ver su sonrisa, pero lo escucho en su voz. —¿Quieres rosa? —se burla. Y luego levanta su camiseta corta, colocándola justo encima de sus hermosos pechos. Roza sus pezones, mostrándome dónde está su rosa. Me levanto, envolviendo mi brazo alrededor de su cintura y tomo uno en mi boca, tirando de él y luego chupándolo en mi boca. Siento que la sangre corre por mi polla, y ya estoy tan cerca. Abro mi boca, como si realmente pudiera sentir su suave piel entre mis dientes. Jesús, quiero saber cómo sabe ella realmente. —¿Más caliente? —pregunto, sabiendo malditamente bien que su piel está caliente ahora. Siento su asentimiento y sé que tengo que detener esto. Lo dejé pasar demasiado tiempo. —Jordan, tenemos que detenernos. Pero puedo sentir que está empapada. Comienza a molerse contra mí, rodando ese culo suyo mientras sus palabras caen sobre mi frente. —Está bien —susurra—. Nadie tiene que saberlo. Comienza a montarme con la ropa puesta cada vez más rápido, sus gemidos son cada vez más fuertes y más pesados, y aquí estamos, solos, está oscuro, y nadie tiene que saberlo. —Jordan. —Jadeo, mi mundo inclinándose sobre su eje por el maldito placer— . Bebé, no podemos. ¿Qué estás haciendo? —Te pondré más duro. Sí, no, mierda. Me masturbo con más fuerza, el calor inunda mi ingle y el fuego se extiende desde mi estómago hasta mis muslos. Clava sus uñas en mis hombros, y aprieto sus caderas mientras se aleja de mí. —Bebé, tienes que detenerte —le ruego. Dios, me voy a correr. —Pero se siente tan bien cuando está duro. Sacudo la cabeza, susurrando contra sus labios. —No soy para ti. Algún otro hombre va a... No podemos.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  “She was a very cheerful young woman, smiling, good-natured. She had dyed her hair blond. But her eyelashes were of deep black and bushy like a man’s. She had a soft little bit of hair on her upper lip. She must have been a dark, hairy southern girl before she dyed her hair. Her one good leg was sturdy, firm, her body quite beautiful. But I could not bring myself to ask her. As I looked at her I remembered a painting by Courbet I had seen. It was a painting commissioned by a rich man long ago, who had asked him to paint a woman in the act of sex. Courbet, who was a great realist, painted a woman’s sex and nothing else. He left out the head, the arms, the legs. He painted a torso, with a carefully designed sex, in contortions of pleasure, clutching at a penis that came out of a bush of very black hair. That was all. I felt that with this whore it would be the same, one would only think of the sex, try not to look down at the legs or at anything else. And perhaps that would be exciting. As I stood in the corner deliberating with myself, another whore came up to me, a very young one. A young whore is rare in Paris. She spoke to the one with the wooden leg. It was beginning to rain. The young one was saying, ‘I’ve been walking in the rain for two hours now. My shoes are ruined. And not a single client.’ I suddenly felt sorry for her. I said, ‘Will you have a coffee with me?’ She accepted joyously. She said, ‘What are you, a painter?’ “‘I’m not a painter,’ I said, ‘but I was thinking about a painting I saw.’ “‘There are wonderful paintings in the Café Wepler,’ she said. ‘And look at this one.’ She took out of her pocketbook what looked like a delicate handkerchief. She held it opened. There was painted on it a big woman’s ass, placed so as to reveal the sex fully, and an equally large penis. She tugged at the handkerchief, which was elastic, and it looked as if the ass were moving, the penis too. Then she turned it over, and now the penis was still heaving but it looked as if it had gone inside of the sex. She gave it a certain movement which made the whole picture active. I laughed, but the sight aroused me, so that we never got to the Café Wepler and the girl offered to let me go to her room. It was in a very shabby house of Montmartre, where all the circus and vaudeville people stayed. We had to climb five flights.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Aroused by his caresses, she was left with the lower half of her body completely disregarded. Her legs would shake, begging violence, the sex would open, but he gave no attention to it. He filled his mouth with her breasts and rested his penis there; he liked to see the sperm spraying them. The rest of her body would writhe in space, legs and sex curling like a leaf at each caress, beating the air, and finally she would put her own hands there and masturbate. This morning as he was about to leave, he repeated his caresses. He bit into her breasts. She offered her sex to him but he would not have it. He made her kneel before him and take his penis into her mouth. She rubbed her breasts against him. Sometimes this made her come. Then he went out and walked leisurely to Mathilde’s place. He found the door partially open. He walked in with his catlike steps, which made no sound on the carpet. He found Mathilde lying on the floor in front of a mirror. She was on her hands and knees looking between her legs at the mirror. He said, “Don’t move, Mathilde. That’s a pose I love.” He crouched over her like a giant cat, and his penis went into her. He gave Mathilde what he would not give his mistress. His weight finally made her sink down and sprawl on the rug. He raised her ass with his two hands and fell on her again and again. His penis seemed made of hot iron. It was long and narrow, and he moved it in all directions, and leaped inside of her with an agility she had never known. He quickened his gestures even more and said hoarsely, “Come now, come now, come, I tell you. Give it all to me, now. Give it to me. Like you never did before. Give yourself now.” At these words she began to fling herself against him, furiously, and the orgasm came like lightning striking them together. The others found them still entangled on the rug. They laughed at seeing the mirror which had witnessed the embrace. They began to prepare their opium pipes. Mathilde was languid. Martinez began his dream of distended, open-sexed women. Antonio retained his erection and asked Mathilde to sit over him, which she did. When this opium feast was over and all but Antonio had gone, he repeated his request that she accompany him to his special den. Mathilde’s womb still burned from his plowing and churnings, and she yielded, for she wanted to be with him and to repeat this embrace.

• 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 Delta of Venus (1977)

  Women tended to run from him. He had to beg them to stay and resorted to all kinds of tricks. He would pose as a model and look for work in women’s studios. But the condition he got into as he stood there under the eyes of the female students made the men throw him out into the street. If he were invited to a party, he would first try to get one of the women alone somewhere in an empty room or on a balcony. Then he would take down his pants. If the woman was interested he would fall into ecstasy. If not, he would run after her, with his erection, and come back to the party and stand there, hoping to create curiosity. He was not a beautiful sight but a highly incongruous one. Since the penis did not seem to belong to the austere religious face and body, it acquired a greater prominence—as it were, an apartness. He finally found the wife of a poor literary agent who was dying of starvation and overwork, with whom he reached the following arrangement. He would come in the morning and do all her housework for her, wash her dishes, sweep her studio, run errands, on condition that when all this was over he could exhibit himself. In this case he demanded all her attention. He wanted her to watch him unfasten his belt, unbutton his pants, pull them down. He wore no underwear. He would take out his penis and shake it like a person weighing a thing of value. She had to stand near him and watch every gesture. She had to look at his penis as she would look at food she liked. This woman developed the art of satisfying him completely. She would become absorbed in the penis, saying, “It’s a beautiful penis you have there, the biggest I have seen in Montparnasse. It’s so smooth and hard. It’s beautiful.” As she said these words, Manuel continued to shake his penis like a pot of gold under her eyes, and saliva came to his mouth. He admired it himself. As they both bent over it to admire it his pleasure would become so keen that he would close his eyes and be taken with a bodily trembling from head to foot, still holding his penis and shaking it under her face. Then the trembling would turn into undulation and he would fall on the floor and roll himself into a ball as he came, sometimes all over his own face.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Millard wanted to be with me again, but not in his studio where we might be surprised by his wife, so I let him find another place. It belonged to a friend. The bed was set in a deep alcove and there were mirrors above the bed and small dim lamps. Millard wanted all the lights out, he said he wanted to be in the dark with me. “I have seen your body and I know it so well, now I want to feel it, with my eyes closed, just to feel the skin and the softness of the flesh. Your legs are so firm and strong, but so soft to the touch. I love your feet with the toes free and set apart like the fingers of a hand, not cramped—and the toenails so beautifully lacquered—and the down on your legs.” He passed his hand all over my body, slowly, pressing into the flesh, feeling every curve. “If my hand stays here between the legs,” he said, “do you feel it, do you like it, do you want it nearer?” “Nearer, nearer,” I said. “I want to teach you something,” said Millard. “Do you want to let me do it?” He inserted his finger inside my sex. “Now, I want you to contract around my finger. There is a muscle there that can be made to contract and expand around the penis. Try.” I tried. His finger there was tantalizing. Since he was not moving it, I tried to move inside of my womb, and I felt the muscle that he mentioned, weakly at first, opening and closing around the finger. Millard said, “Yes, like that. Do it stronger, stronger.” So I did, opening, closing, opening, closing. It was like a little mouth inside, tightening around the finger. I wanted to take it in, suckle at it and so I continued to try. Then Millard said that he would insert his penis and not move and that I should continue to move inside. I tried with more and more strength to clutch at him. The motion was exciting me, and I felt that at any moment I would reach the orgasm, but after I had clutched at him several times, sucking his penis in, he suddenly groaned with pleasure and began to push quickly, as he himself could not hold back the orgasm. I merely continued the inner motion and I felt the orgasm, too, in the most marvelous deep way, deep inside of the womb. He said, “Did John ever show you this?” “No.” “What has he shown you?” “This,” I said. “You kneel over me and push.”

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Kissing the mole and not the vulva, while sensing how it responded to the kisses given a little space away, traveling under the skin, from the mole to the tip of the vulva, which opened and closed as his mouth came near. He buried his head there, drugged by the sandalwood smells, seashell smells; by the caress of her pubic hair, the fox’s bush, one strand losing itself inside of his mouth, another losing itself among the bed clothes, where he found it later, shining, electric. Often their pubic hairs mingled. Bathing afterwards, Elena would find strands of Pierre’s hair curled among hers, his hair longer, thicker and stronger. Elena let his mouth and hands find all kinds of secret shelters and nooks, and rest there, falling into a dream of enveloping caresses, bowing her head over his when he placed his mouth on her throat, kissing the words she could not utter. He seemed to divine where she wanted a kiss to fall next, what part of her body demanded to be warmed. Her eyes fell on her own feet, and then his kisses went there, or below her arm, or in the hollow of her back, or where the belly ran into a valley, where the pubic hairs began, small and light and sparse. Pierre stretched out his arm as a cat might, to be stroked. He threw his head back at times, closed his eyes, and let her cover him with moth kisses that were only a promise of more violent ones to come. When he could no longer bear the silky light touches, he opened his eyes and offered his mouth like a ripe fruit to bite, and she fell hungrily on it, as if to draw from it the very source of life. When desire had permeated every little pore and hair of the body, then they abandoned themselves to violent caresses. At times she could hear her bones crack as he raised her legs above his shoulders, she could hear the suction of the kisses, the raindrop sound of the lips and tongues, the moisture spreading in the warmth of the mouth as if they were eating into a fruit which melted and dissolved. He could hear her strange muffled crooning sound, like that of some exotic bird in ecstasy; and she, his breath, which came more heavily as his blood grew denser, richer.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  We were tired. We closed the window. We rested for a little while. We began to talk in the dark, dreaming and remembering. “A few hours ago, Marcel, I entered the subway at the rush hour, which I rarely do. I was pushed by the waves of people, jammed, and stood there. Suddenly I remembered a subway adventure Alraune told me about, when she was convinced that Hans had taken advantage of the crowdedness to caress a woman. At the very same moment, I felt a hand very lightly touch my dress, as if by accident. My coat was open, my dress thin, and this hand was brushing lightly through my dress just at the tip of my sex. I did not move away. The man in front of me was so tall that I could not see his face. I did not want to look up. I was not sure it was he, I did not want to know who it was. The hand caressed the dress, then very lightly it increased its pressure, feeling for the sex. I made a very slight movement to raise the sex toward the fingers. The fingers became firmer, following the shape of the lips deftly, lightly. I felt a wave of pleasure. As a lurch of the subway pushed us together I pressed against the whole hand, and he made a bolder gesture, gripping the lips of the sex. Now I was frenzied with pleasure, I felt the orgasm approaching, I rubbed against the hand, imperceptibly. The hand seemed to feel what I felt and continued its caress until I came. The orgasm shook my body. The subway stopped and a river of people pushed out. The man disappeared.” WAR IS DECLARED. Women are weeping in the streets. The very first night there was a black-out. We had seen rehearsals of this, but the real black-out was quite different. The rehearsals had been gay. Now Paris was serious. The streets were absolutely black. Here and there a tiny blue or green or red watch light, small and dim, like the little ikon lights in Russian churches. All the windows were covered with black cloth. The café windows were covered or painted in dark blue. It was a soft September night. Because of the darkness it seemed even softer. There was something very strange in the atmosphere—an expectancy, a suspense.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Mira por la ventana y luego hace un gesto con la mano restándole importancia. Coloco el fósforo en el pastel. Observo mientras cierra los ojos, exhala un suspiro y relaja sus hombros, y luego, lentamente, una pequeña sonrisa curva sus labios. Instintivamente, sonrío también, como si no supiera lo que está pensando, pero creo que sé lo que siente en ese momento. Apaga el fósforo y abre los ojos, la corriente de humo blanco ondea frente a su rostro. Me quedo a su lado por un momento, sin querer moverme. Alguien debería abrazarla ahora mismo. Alguien debería acercarse para pararse frente a ella, poner ambas manos en el mostrador a los lados, y sentir su aliento contra su rostro. Respiro un poco más rápido, imaginando a qué sabe. Y luego tomo la lata de refresco que había dejado en el mostrador y la empuño hasta que el aluminio se aplasta. Eso no es bueno. Esos pensamientos no son buenos. Me alejo, tragando tres veces para mojarme la garganta, y tomo el contenedor de cintas de casetes de mi camioneta del mostrador y lo deslizo a través de la isla hacia ella. —Y eso es para ti, cumpleañera —digo para distraerme de cualquier vibración que pueda haber estado emitiendo—. De nada. Sus ojos caen sobre el contenedor negro, reconociéndolo, y se abren, al igual que su mandíbula. —¿Qué? —exclama—. Es en ser… ¡de ninguna manera! —Sonríe alegremente—. ¡No puedo recibir esto! Eran de tu padre. Asiento, ahora me siento más seguro con la isla entre nosotros. —Mi papá querría que los tuviera alguien que los atesorara. Los atesorarás, ¿verdad? No es como si alguien reprodujera las malditas cosas. Solo escucho lo que sea que esté en la radio. Parecía bastante asombrada por ellos, así que fue lo único que pude pensar en darle que le gustaría. Levanta sus manos animadamente y hace una mueca como si no supiera qué hacer conmigo. —Pero… —se detiene, resoplando—, Pike, yo… —Los quieres, ¿verdad? —pregunto. Resopla de nuevo, haciendo una mueca. Puedo ver la lucha en sus ojos. Para ella, es un regalo valioso, y no tiene derecho a ellos. Pero también se muere por tomarlos. —¿Hablas en serio? —pregunta, ahuecando su rostro en sus manos. No puedo evitar reír. Es divertido hacerla feliz. Los levanta y los abraza. —Tengo casetes. Tengo una colección. ¡Mierda! —estalla—. Me siento tan mal, pero… también los quiero. Entonces, los tomaré. Finge una mirada de disculpa, pero se ríe, lo que me divierte aún más. —Bien —digo. Y me siento mejor ahora, también. Al menos, con suerte, he compensado mi comportamiento a principios de semana. Con esto y el jardín, luce eufórica. Me alejo del mostrador para despedirme, pero me detiene. —Oh, espera. Dándose la vuelta, saca una bandeja del refrigerador y camina hacia mí, colocando una bolsa de nachos en la parte superior y entregándome todo. —Hice salsa extra para ti y los chicos. Miro hacia abajo y mi estómago gruñe de inmediato.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Pierre was quick to sense what was happening to her. He made no advances. When he helped her out of the car his hand rested on her fresh bare arm. Or when she was sad and talking about John’s indifference, he would caress her hair. But his eyes rested on her and knew every bit of her body, whatever he could divine through the dress. He knew how fine the down was over her skin, how free of hair her legs were, how firm her young breasts were. Her hair, wild and thick, often brushed against his face when she leaned over to study the farm reports with him. Her breath often mingled with his. Once he let his hand stray around her waist, paternally. She did not move away. Somehow his gestures answered deeply her need of warmth. She thought that she was yielding to an enveloping, paternal warmth, and gradually it was she who sought to stand near him when they were together, it was she who put his arm around her when they were driving, it was she who rested her head on his shoulder late afternoons on their way home. They returned from these supervising trips always glowing with a secret understanding, which John observed. It made him even more sullen. But now Martha was in open rebellion against him. The more reserved and severe he became with her, the more she wanted to assert the fire in her, her love of life and movement. She flung herself into the comradeship with Pierre. About an hour’s drive away, there was an abandoned farm they had once rented out. It had fallen into disuse, and now Pierre decided he wanted to have it repaired for the day John married. Before calling in the workmen, he and Martha went together to look it over and see what needed to be done. It was a very big one-story house. A mass of ivy had almost completely smothered it, covering the windows with a natural curtain, darkening the interior. Pierre and Martha opened a window. They found much dust, the furniture musty and a few rooms ruined where the rain had come in. But one room was nearly intact. It was the master bedroom. A big, somber bed, many draperies, mirrors and a worn carpet gave it, in the semidarkness, a certain grandeur. Over the bed a heavy velvet cover had been thrown. Pierre, looking around with the eye of an architect, sat on the edge of the bed. Martha stood near him. The summer warmth came into the room in waves, stirring their blood. Again Martha felt this invisible hand caressing her. It did not seem strange to her that a real hand should suddenly be slipping among her clothes, with the same gentleness and softness as the summer wind, touching her skin. It seemed natural and pleasant; she closed her eyes.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Pierre drew her body towards him and stretched her on the bed. She kept her eyes closed. This seemed merely like the continuation of a dream. Lying alone for many summer nights, she had been expecting this hand, and it was doing all that she had expected. It was stealing softly through her clothes, stripping her of them as if they were a light skin to be peeled, setting free the real, warm skin. The hand moved all over her, to places she had not even known it would go, to secret places, which were throbbing. Then suddenly she opened her eyes. She saw the face of Pierre right over her face preparing to kiss her. She sat up brusquely. While her eyes were closed she had imagined it was John who was stealing thus into her flesh. But when she saw Pierre’s face, she was disappointed. She escaped from him. They returned home silent, but not angry. Martha was like a drugged person. She could not rid herself of the sensation of Pierre’s hand on her body. Pierre was tender, and seemed to understand her resistance. They found John rigid and sullen. Martha was unable to sleep. Every time she dozed off she began to feel the hand again, to await its movements, as it came up her leg and worked its way to the secret place where she had felt a throbbing, an expectancy. She got up and stood by the window. Her whole body was crying out for this hand to touch her again, it was worse than hunger or thirst, this yearning of the flesh. The next day she rose pale and determined. As soon as lunch was over, she turned to Pierre and said, “We have to see about that farm today?” He assented. They drove off. It was a relief. The wind struck her face and she was free now. She watched his right hand on the wheel of the car—a beautiful hand, youthful, supple, and tender. Suddenly she leaned over and pressed her lips on it. Pierre smiled at her with such a gratitude and joy that it made her heart leap to see it. Together they walked through the tangled garden, up the moss-covered path, into the green dark room with its curtains of ivy. Straight to the large bed they walked, and it was Martha who stretched herself on it. “Your hands,” she murmured, “oh, your hands, Pierre. I felt them all night.”

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  That cab-ride from the Thames to Brixton was, in consequence, the most wonderful and most terrible journey I have ever made. At last, however, we felt the carriage turn, then slow, and finally stop, and heard the driver thump upon the roof with the butt of his whip to tell us we were home: we were so quiet, perhaps he thought we slumbered. I remember a little of our entry into Mrs Dendy’s - the fumbling at the door with the latch-key, the mounting of the darkened stairs, our passage through that still and sleeping house. I remember pausing on the landing beneath the skylight, where the stars showed very small and bright, and silently pressing my lips to Kitty’s ear as she bent to unlock our chamber door; I remember how she leaned against it when she had it shut fast behind us, and gave a sigh, and reached for me again, and pulled me to her. I remember that she wouldn’t let me raise a taper to the gas-jet - but made us stumble to the bedroom through the darkness. And I remember, very clearly, all that happened there. The room was bitter cold - so cold it seemed an outrage to take our dresses off and bare our flesh; but an outrage, too, to some more urgent instinct to keep them on. I had been clumsy in the change-room of the theatre, but I was not clumsy now. I stripped quickly to my drawers and chemise, then heard Kitty cursing over the buttons of her gown, and stepped to help her. For a moment - my fingers tugging at hooks and ribbons, her own tearing at the pins which kept her plait of hair in place - we might have been at the side of a stage, making a lightning change between numbers. At last she was naked, all except for the pearl and chain about her neck; she turned in my hands, stiff and pimpled with cold, and I felt the brush of her nipples, and of the hair between her thighs. Then she moved away, and the bed-springs creaked; and at that, I didn’t wait to pull the rest of my own clothes off but followed her to the bed and found her shivering there, beneath the sheets. Here we kissed more leisurely, but also more fiercely, than we had before; at last the chill - though not the trembling - subsided. Once her naked limbs began to strain against my own, however, I felt suddenly shy, suddenly awed. I leaned away from her. ‘May I really - touch you?’ I whispered.

• 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 Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero antes de levantar la rodilla otra vez, desliza sus dedos debajo del dobladillo de su bikini y lo desliza justo bajo su trasero. Y lo deja allí. Plantando sus manos en el escritorio, se inclina sobre él, levanta su rodilla, y arquea su espalda hacia mí, sacando su culo mientras comienza a montar de nuevo la esquina del escritorio. Su trasero, su cabello cayendo por su espalda, su forma de moverse y burlarse... Me estiro y ajusto mi polla, ahora dolorosamente rígida y lista. Por tener esta visión de ella, me estoy muriendo. —Mmmm, eso es lo que me gusta. —Jadea, mirando mis ojos por encima de su hombro—. Mírame. Mírame follar para ti. Haré lo que tú digas. Es todo para ti. Va más duro, más fuerte y más rápido, y no estoy seguro de si quiero su coño en mi boca o alrededor de mi polla primero. La tomaré por detrás esta noche. Tengo que tenerla así. —Jordan... —El teléfono cruje en mi mano. —¿Te gusta? —se burla—. ¿Te gusta cuando juego conmigo para ti? —Nena. —Me levanto del sofá. La necesito. —Mmm, me gusta que me mires —gime—. ¿Estoy siendo buena ahora? No le quito los ojos de encima mientras subo las escaleras. —Ojalá hubiera diez más de ti, mirándome —dice—, queriendo verme. Si hubiera más de mí, tendría un gran problema esta noche. —Pike, estoy tan mojada. Podrías deslizarte directamente dentro de mí. Mi polla salta y pulsa, llego a su puerta y giro la perilla. —¿Te gusta? —Bombea más rápido—. Estoy tan caliente y húmeda para ti. La puerta está cerrada, y sacudo la perilla, muriendo por entrar. —¿Jordan? —llamo, mi paciencia inexistente—. Abre la puerta. —Oh, Pike. Oh, Dios. Miro la pantalla otra vez, viendo su cabello malditamente cerca de tocar su culo mientras echa la cabeza hacia atrás y folla el escritorio. Dios, su culo... —Más, más, más, más... —gime—. Estoy llegando. Oh, Dios. ¡Sí! —Jordan, mierda... —Le doy un tirón a la puerta, listo para derribarla—. Abre la puerta. No te corras sin mí. —¡Fóllame! —grita, jadeando y gimiendo—. ¡Sí! Sí… sí… sí… Su voz se vuelve más baja y más tranquila mientras lo monta, corriéndose al otro lado de la puerta y terminando sin mí. —¿Jordan? Maldita sea, no la quiero satisfecha todavía. Pero la puerta no se abre, y cuando miro el teléfono, sus movimientos se han ralentizado, solo el más mínimo ruido y pequeños sonidos cuando termina. Voy a inclinarla sobre ese puto escritorio ahora mismo. —Jordan, Jesús, abre la puerta —gruño. Se endereza, apoya el pie en el suelo y se pone los pantis del bikini otra vez. Caminando hacia la cama, se inclina y se encuentra con mis ojos, con una mirada soñadora en su rostro. —Me encanta verte disfrutar de eso —dice, con la dulce expresión de satisfacción en su rostro—. Me encanta ver que puedo mantener tu atención. Y no solo puedo hacerlo, Pike, sino que creo que me gustó.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  I ENJOY making love with Gustavo more than with Marcel, because he has no timidities, no fears, no nervousness. He falls into a dream, we hypnotize each other with caresses. I touch his neck and pass my fingers through his black hair. I caress his belly, his legs, his hips. When I touch his back from neck to buttocks his body begins to shiver with pleasure. Like a woman, he likes caresses. His sex stirs. I don’t touch it until it begins to leap. Then he gasps with pleasure. I take it all in my hand, hold it firmly, and press it up and down. Or else I touch the tip of it with my tongue, and then he moves it in and out of my mouth. Sometimes he comes in my mouth and I swallow the sperm. Other times it is he who begins the caresses. My moisture comes easily, his fingers are so warm and knowing. Sometimes I am so excited that I feel the orgasm at the mere touch of his finger. When he feels me throbbing and palpitating, it excites him. He does not wait for the orgasm to finish, he pushes his penis in as if to feel the last contractions of it. His penis fills me completely, it is just made for me, so that he can slide easily. I close my inner lips around his penis and suck him inwardly. Sometimes the penis is larger than at other times and seems charged with electricity, and then the pleasure is immense, protracted. The orgasm never ends. Women very often pursue him, but he is like a woman and needs to believe himself in love. Although a beautiful woman can excite him, if he does not feel some kind of love, he is impotent. It is strange how the character of a person is reflected in the sexual act. If one is nervous, timid, uneasy, fearful, the sexual act is the same. If one is relaxed, the sexual act is enjoyable. Hans’s penis never softens, so he takes his time, with a sureness about it. He installs himself inside of his pleasure as he installs himself inside of the present moment, to enjoy calmly, completely, to the last drop. Marcel is more uneasy, restless. I feel even when his penis is hard that he is anxious to show his power and that he is hurrying, driven by the fear that his strength will not last.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Over her prone body, Elena and Leila took up their tongue-kissing again, hands drunkenly searching each other, penetrating everywhere, until Elena cried out. Leila’s fingers had found her rhythm, and Elena clung to her, waiting for the pleasure to burst, while her own hands sought to give Leila the same pleasure. They tried to come in unison, but Elena came first, falling in a heap, detached from Leila’s hand, struck down by the violence of her orgasm. Leila fell beside her, offering her sex to Elena’s mouth. As Elena’s pleasure grew fainter, rolling away, dying off, she gave Leila her tongue, flicking in the sex’s mouth until Leila contracted and moaned. She bit into Leila’s tender flesh. In the paroxysm of her pleasure, Leila did not feel the teeth buried there. ELENA NOW understood why some Spanish husbands refused to initiate their wives to all the possibilities of lovemaking—to avoid the risk awakening in them an insatiable passion. Instead of being contented, calmed by Pierre’s love, she had become more vulnerable. The more she desired Pierre, the greater her hunger for other loves. It seemed to her that she had little interest in the rooting of love, in its fixity. She wanted only the moment of passion from everyone. She did not even want to see Leila again. She wanted to see the sculptor Jean because he was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt. She thought to herself, I talk almost like a saint, to burn for love—for no mystic love, but for a ravaging sensual meeting. Pierre has awakened in me a woman I did not know, an insatiable woman. Almost as if she had willed her desire to accomplish itself, she found Jean waiting at the door. He was, as usual, carrying some little offering in a package, which he held awkwardly. The way his body moved, the way his eyes trembled when she approached him, betrayed the strength of his desire. She was already possessed by his body, and he moved as if he were installed within her. “You have never come to see me,” he said humbly. “You have never seen my work.” “Let’s go now,” she answered, and with a light, dancing step, she walked at his side. They reached a curious, barren part of Paris, near one of the gates, a city of sheds turned into studios, side by side with workmen’s homes. And there Jean lived with statues in place of furniture, massive statues. He himself was fluid, changeable, hypersensitive, and he had created a solidity and power with his trembling hands. The sculptures were like monuments, five times life size, the women pregnant, the men indolent and sensual, with hands and feet like tree roots. One man and woman were so kneaded together that one could not detect the differences between their bodies. The contours were completely welded together. Bound by their genitals, they towered over Elena and Jean.