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 297 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  In the water they wrestled, but each movement affected her only more physically, made her more aware of his body against hers, of his hands upon her. The water swung her breasts back and forth like two heavy water lilies floating. He kissed them. With the constant motion he could not really take her, but his penis touched her over and over again in the most vulnerable tip of her sex, and Maria was losing her strength. She swam towards shore, and he followed. They fell on the sand. The waves still lapped them as they lay there panting, naked. The boy then took the girl, and the sea came and washed over them and washed away the virgin blood. From that night they met only at this hour. He took her there in the water, swaying, floating. The wavelike movements of their bodies as they enjoyed each other seemed part of the sea. They found a foothold on a rock and stood together, caressed by the waves, and shaking from the orgasm. When I went down to the beach at night, I often felt as though I could see them, swimming together, making love. [image file=image_rsrc1RD.jpg] Artists and ModelsOne morning I was called to a studio in Greenwich Village, where a sculptor was beginning a statuette. His name was Millard. He already had a rough version of the figure he wanted and had reached the stage where he needed a model. The statuette was wearing a clinging dress, and the body showed through in every line and curve. The sculptor asked me to undress completely because he could not work otherwise. He seemed so absorbed by the statuette and looked at me so absently that I was able to undress and take the pose without hesitation. Although I was quite innocent at that time he made me feel as if my body were no different than my face, as if I were the same as the statuette. As Millard worked, he talked about his former life in Montparnasse, and the time passed quickly. I didn’t know if his stories were meant to affect my imagination, but he showed no signs of being interested in me. He enjoyed recreating the atmosphere of Montparnasse for his own sake. This is one of the stories he told me:

• 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.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  Finally her hand closed around his throbbing penis. And it was a shock of such intense pleasure that he sighed. His own hand went out, blindly fumbling through her clothes. He, too, wanted to touch the core of her sensations. He, too, wanted to glide along and enter into her secret places. He fumbled with her clothes. He found an opening. He touched her pubic hair and the rivulet between the leg and the mount of Venus, felt the tender flesh, found moisture and dipped his finger into it. Then in a frenzy he tried to push his penis into her. He saw all the soldiers charging into her. The blood rushed to his head. She thrust him away and would not let him take her. She whispered in his ear, “Only with the hands,” and then lay open to him while continuing to caress him inside his pants. When he again turned over to push his wild sex against her she pushed him away, angrily this time. Her hand aroused him, and he could not lie still. She said, “I will make you come this way. Enjoy yourself.” He lay back quietly enjoying the caresses. But as soon as he closed his eyes he saw the soldiers bending over her naked body, he saw her legs forced apart, the opening dripping from the attacks, and what he felt resembled the furious panting desire of the soldiers. Mary Ann suddenly closed her robe and stood up. She had grown completely cold now. She sent him away, and he was never allowed to see her again. AT FORTY Pierre was still a very handsome man, whose successes with women, and the long and now broken liaison with Elena, had given the local people much to talk about in the small country place where he had settled. He was now married to a very delicate and charming woman, but two years after their marriage her health had grown poor and she was a semi-invalid. Pierre had loved her ardently, and his passion at first seemed to revive her but slowly had become a danger to her weak heart. Finally her doctor advised against all lovemaking, and poor Sylvia entered into a long period of chastity. Pierre, too, was suddenly deprived of his sexual life. Sylvia was naturally forbidden to have children, and so she and Pierre finally decided to adopt two from the village orphanage. It was a great day for Sylvia, and she dressed lavishly for the occasion. It was a great day for the orphanage, too, because all the children knew that Pierre and his wife had a beautiful house, a big estate, and that they were reputed to be kind. It was Sylvia who chose the children—John, a delicate fair-haired boy, and Martha, a dark and vivid girl, both about sixteen years of age. The two had been inseparable in the orphanage, as close as a brother and sister.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Balanceo mi pierna hacia atrás, me doy vuelta y me levanto sobre él otra vez, esta vez de vaquera inversa. Levanto mi camiseta por encima de mi cabeza, dejando que mi cabello caiga por mi espalda desnuda, y lanzo una mirada sobre mi hombro, coqueteando con él. Su polla se hincha debajo de mí, y empiezo a rodar mis caderas, frotándome. —Estás tratando de matarme —gime. Paso mis dedos por mi cabello, sintiendo sus manos correr por todo mi cuerpo y llegar hasta ahuecar mis pechos. respondas eso. Sonrío, respondiéndole de todos modos. —¿Antes de ti? Dos. —Más de dos —me da su respuesta. —¿Hay algo que no esté haciendo que quieras hacer? —Continúo rodando sobre él, sus ojos congelados en mi culo mientras se mueve. —¿Por qué preguntas eso? —Simplemente me pregunto cómo estoy a la altura de un hombre con mucha más experiencia —le explico. Encuentra mi mirada. —Primero que nada, no es mucha más experiencia. Y, en segundo lugar, hay muchas cosas que aún no hemos hecho y que tengo la intención de hacer contigo una vez que podamos calmarnos y dejar de arrancarnos la ropa al segundo en que entro a la maldita casa después del trabajo todos los días —gruñe en broma. Me recuesto sobre él, mi cabeza junto a la suya y una de sus manos se extiende entre mis muslos. —Deja de sentirte tan bien, y me controlaré —le digo. Me besa y luego sostiene mi mirada, algo serio en la suya. —No pienses en las otras mujeres —me dice—. Yo no lo hago. Mi pecho se hunde cuando lo miro fijamente, y estoy llena de cosas que no puedo decir. Yo... Abro mi boca. Yo... —¿Con cuántas mujeres te acostaste? —le pregunto. —¿Con cuántos hombres te has acostado? —replica—. No, no importa, no Lo beso, sintiendo la barba alrededor de su boca, su olor se siente como en casa. No puedo amarte, no te amo, ¿verdad? Es un impulso. Eso es lo que dirá. Dirá que soy una niña. Dirá que no es real. Te amo. —Jordan, Dios. —Jadea, besándome más profundo—. ¿Qué me estás haciendo? Lo mismo que me estás haciendo a mí. Su teléfono comienza a sonar, y tratamos de aferrarnos al beso e ignorarlo, pero

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Curva sus labios en una pequeña sonrisa. Agito la perilla de la puerta otra vez. —Jordan, abre la puerta. Solo chasquea. —Me gustaría, nene, pero... —suspira—. El baile terminó, y no puedes tocar a las chicas. —Luego me guiña un ojo—. Buenas noches, cariño. La luz en la pantalla desaparece cuando finaliza la llamada, y todo el pasillo se apaga de repente. Me quedo allí, tratando de descubrir si realmente está haciendo lo que creo que está haciendo, cuando la luz debajo de la puerta también desaparece, y me doy cuenta que ha apagado las luces. ¿Se va a la cama? Tiro de la puerta. —Jordan —gruño—. ¿Qué diablos? Escucho un cajón abrirse y cerrarse de golpe y luego la cama cruje bajo su peso. Después de unos momentos, no hay sonidos, y mis peores temores se han hecho realidad. Tengo una erección furiosa. ¿Qué haría ella si rompiera la puerta ahora mismo? ¡Mierda! Dejo que mi frente caiga en la puerta, y estoy a punto de tirar mi tarjeta de hombre y llorar. —Cuando te atrape, no será bonito —le advierto—. Es una promesa. Lo vas a pagar. Mi teléfono emite un pitido y miro hacia abajo, deslizando la pantalla. Vete a la cama, dice el texto. Se me revuelve el estómago, y estoy a medio camino entre bajar y colocar la música tan fuerte que no pueda dormir mientras disminuyo la presión haciendo vueltas en la piscina o provocar otra pelea para sacarla de la cama otra vez. Es tarde, sin embargo, y si ejercito ahora estaré despierto durante horas. Tengo mi mano e Internet, ¿no? Aunque no necesito porno cuando solo su recuerdo, de hace un momento, no se ha ido lo suficiente como para dejarme ablandar todavía. Bajando a mi habitación, cierro la puerta tras de mí y choco contra la cama, frotándome la ingle dolorida. Otro texto suena. Y no te masturbes, dice. Aprieto los dientes y lanzo el teléfono a un lado, escuchándolo golpear el tocador y caer al suelo. Mejor me despierto y la encuentro en mi polla por la mañana o nadie estará a salvo mañana. No tardé mucho en conciliar el sueño la noche anterior a como pensé que sería. Momentos después de enviar mi último mensaje de texto, escuché que algo golpeó una pared en la habitación de Pike, y me sentí un poco mal pero también sonreí, sintiéndome un poco poderosa. Jugar con él no era mi objetivo, aunque me encanta que seamos buenos para meternos debajo de la piel del otro. Simplemente quería mostrarle que soy capaz de más de lo que él cree, y no aprecio que la gente me diga lo que tengo en mi cabeza.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Y entonces, mi mente en una neblina y mi voluntad desaparecida, me arrastro al interior de mi mente, a donde nadie más puede ver excepto yo. Me escondo y cedo, porque nadie más que yo tiene que saberlo. En ese momento. En mis sucios pensamientos y pequeña tórrida fantasía, lo deseo a él. Quiero estar con él. Nuestro pequeño secreto. Oculto. —Una niña tan buena —susurra una nueva voz en mi oído. La voz de Pike. Ahora su cuerpo está detrás del mío, más grande y más alto, atrapándome contra la pared. Su mano toma un puñado de mi cabello y lentamente lleva mi cabeza hacia atrás, inclinándose para lamer mi labio con su lengua. Gimoteo. —Ocupándote de la casa del modo que me gusta —se burla y mi mano se convierte en la suya en mi cabeza mientras comienza a masturbarme con el dedo—. Preparando mis comidas del modo que me gusta. Una cosa bonita a la que mirar. Lo estás haciendo muy bien, Jordan. Mantengo mis ojos cerrados, sintiendo sus labios, todo mi cuerpo pulsando con una corriente eléctrica ante el sabor de su boca caliente y el agua de la ducha cayendo en cascada sobre su piel caliente. Puedo sentir su polla, dura y preparada detrás de mí. —Ahora necesito que hagas todo lo que hace una mujer —instruye—. Todo lo que una chica buena hace por un hombre. ¿Puedes hacer eso? Asiento, jadeando. —Sí. Mi orgasmo está creciendo de nuevo, mis pezones están presionados dolorosamente contra la pared de baldosas y se siente muy bien entre mis piernas. Lo deseo. Lo deseo sobre mí. Quiero saber cómo se siente. Estirándome detrás de mí, no pienso. Tomo una esponja y la deslizo entre mis piernas. La red roza mi clítoris de un modo que me envía sobre el borde. Ruedo mis caderas contra ella, deseando sentir algo, porque en mi cabeza es él y eso es suficiente. Su olor me rodea, su boca chupa mi cuello y me levanta, así puede deslizarse dentro de mí. Es rudo y fuerte, sus manos están en mis tetas en un instante y su boca robándome el aliento al siguiente. Dios, su lengua sabe bien. El orgasmo hormiguea en lo profundo, construyéndose más y más y el padre de Cole me está follando tan bien.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero solo levanta una ceja. —No te hagas ilusiones. No será así con nadie más. Mis pantalones cortos caen al suelo, me gira y pongo mis manos sobre la mesa para sostenerme. Escucho el crujido de un envoltorio y luego el ruido metálico de su cinturón mientras abre sus jeans. Me tiemblan los muslos, tan excitada por lo que viene. Gracias a Dios que las persianas están cerradas. Arqueando mi espalda, abro mis piernas para él y miro por encima de mi hombro. —Lamento haberte hecho eso anoche —le digo. Saca su polla de sus jeans y se pone el condón, luego se acerca, envolviendo una mano alrededor de mi cuello y me besa con fuerza. —Bueno, en realidad no lo siento, supongo —jadeo contra sus labios—. Esto hace que valga la pena. Demonios, sí. Está tan caliente en este momento. Bueno, siempre lo está, pero... Bajando mis bragas, me agarra donde mi muslo se encuentra con mi cadera y guía su polla hacia mi entrada. Una vez que me está coronando, tira de mis caderas hacia él, y soy cortada en dos, jadeando y temblando mientras su polla se desliza profundamente en mi interior. —Oh, Dios mío. —Lloriqueo, con la cabeza baja, porque estoy temblando tan fuerte. No me da tiempo para recuperarme, y todo lo que puedo hacer es aguantar mientras me abraza fuertemente y me folla. Levanto la rodilla derecha hacia la mesa y me inclino un poco más hacia adelante, su polla se desliza más profundo y me hace gemir. Jadea con fuerza, gruñendo en mi oreja, y sus manos están por todos lados mientras me rodea con sus brazos, una mano apretando mi pecho y la otra sumergiéndose entre mis piernas para frotar mi clítoris. —Puedes hacerlo de nuevo más tarde, ¿verdad? —pregunto por encima de mi hombro. —Me estás insultando —gruñe en mi oído—. ¿Crees que no puedo seguir tu ritmo?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Resoplo, mis hombros se alivian un poco. Cierto. No sé cuántas veces me levanté a la mañana siguiente con un fregadero lleno de platos. Por supuesto, no me haría más feliz con Cole si su padre soportara su peso con las tareas, pero lo ignoro como diciendo “no es mi problema”. Mientras yo no tenga que hacerlo. —Gracias —contesto, rápidamente me lanzo rápidamente al refrigerador y me llevo una botella de agua. Pero luego se me ocurre un pensamiento. —¿Tienes otros hijos? —pregunto. Supongo que necesito saber si habrá otras personas que entren o salgan de la casa. Pero cuando lo miro veo su mandíbula tensa y su ceño fruncido, luciendo un poco demasiado serio. —Creo que Cole te diría si tuviera hermanos, ¿no es así? Contra mi voluntad, mi columna se endereza instantáneamente. Su tono es castigador. Por supuesto, Cole me diría si tuviera hermanos. Lo conozco desde hace tiempo. —Claro —respondo apresuradamente, sacudiendo la cabeza como si estuviera en una niebla y por eso había hecho una pregunta tan tonta. —Además, nunca he estado casado —agrega, su manzana de Adán sube y baja—. Tener varios hijos de varias mujeres no era un error que quisiera seguir cometiendo. Me quedo quieta, mirándolo y sintiéndome un poco mal. Definitivamente Cole no fue planificado e, incluso en un pequeño grado, no deseado por sus padres adolescentes. Parte del misterio de su mala relación comienza a esclarecerse. Pero también aprecio su pragmatismo. No le llevó mucho tiempo a un joven Pike Lawson aprender que, hacer bebés con cualquiera no era lo correcto para él. Esa era una consecuencia que nunca quería experimentar, ni siquiera una vez. Parece darse cuenta de lo que ha dicho y probablemente cómo se escuchó, porque se detiene y me mira, entrecerrando sus ojos en una disculpa. —No quise decirlo... así. Yo... —Sé lo que quisiste decir. Está bien. Muevo mi pulgar detrás de mí y retrocedo. —Voy a estudiar. Voy a tomar un par de crédito este verano, así que... buenas noches.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  39 PAISLEY DRAGGED HER to a fall fundraiser at the public library, where they filled in at the ABC corporate table. Paisley was becoming known on the benefit circuit and told Vix and Maia it was a great way to network, not to mention meet the right men. Vix gave in and bought a dress on sale at Bloomingdale’s. Black lace top. Elegant yet sexy, the salesperson told her. Will approached her on the grand staircase where she’d stopped to watch the dancing below. “Great cheekbones,” he said. “A gift from a Cherokee ancestor,” she told him. She’d been waiting a long time to try that line. “A drop of Cherokee blood means the tribe can claim you forever, but not before I claim you for the night.” He extended his hand. “C. Willard Trenholm. But my friends call me Will.” “Victoria Leonard.” “Glad to meet you, Victoria.” He guided her down the stairs and out onto the dance floor. He was tall, maybe six five, and even in heels she came up only to his chest. He knew how to fox-trot, waltz, and lindy hop, all to music played by Peter Duchin himself. If her family could see her now! She heard Bru’s voice chiding her but she pushed it away and concentrated on her feet, trying to avoid being trampled or, worse yet, stepping on Will, since she had no idea how to dance that way. Later Paisley approached to say she’d met someone and was leaving with him. “Take a cab home, Victoria ... okay? I mean it, no subways tonight.” Vix nodded, then returned to the dance floor with Will. She didn’t have to worry about getting home. He took her to the Rainbow Room for a nightcap and to admire the view. In the cab on the way back to her

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  It was only after Maman had stared at the Basque’s trousers that she recognized him and smiled. The Basque, it is true, shared this passion for nuances with Maman, and she knew he was not easily satisfied. He had a capricious member. Faced with a letter-box vagina, it rebelled. Faced with an astringent tube, it withdrew. He was a connoisseur, a gourmet, of women’s jewel boxes. He liked them velvet-lined and cozy, affectionate and clinging. Maman gave him a more lingering look than she gave other customers. She liked the Basque, and it was not for his short-nosed, classical profile, his almond-shaped eyes, his glossy black hair, his gliding smooth walk, his nonchalant gestures. It was not for his red scarf and his cap sitting at a roguish angle on his head. It was not for his seductive ways with women. It was for his royal pendentif, the noble bulk of it, the sensitive and untiring responsiveness of it, its friendliness, its cordiality, its expansiveness. She had never seen such a one. He would lay it on the table sometimes as if he were depositing a bag of money, rap with it as if calling for attention. He took it out naturally, as other men take off their coats when they are warm. He gave the impression that it was not at ease shut in, confined, that it was to be aired, to be admired. Maman indulged herself continuously in her habit of looking at men’s possessions. When men came out of the urinoirs, finishing their buttoning, she had the luck to catch the last flash of some golden member, or some dark-brown one, or some fine-pointed one, which she preferred. On the boulevards she was often rewarded with the sight of carelessly buttoned trousers, and her eyes, which were gifted with keen vision, could penetrate the shaded opening. Better still if she caught a tramp unburdening himself against a tenement wall, holding his member pensively in his hand, as though it were his very last silver piece. One might think that Maman was deprived of the more intimate possession of such pleasure, but it was not so. The clients of her house found her appetizing, and they knew her virtues and advantages over the other women. Maman could produce a truly delectable juice for the feasts of love, which most of the women had to manufacture artificially. Maman could give a man the full illusion of a tender meal, something very soft under the teeth and wet enough to satisfy anyone’s thirst. Among themselves they often talked about the delicate sauces in which Maman knew how to wrap her shell-pink morsels, the drumlike tightness of her offerings. One could tap this round shell, once, twice, it was enough. Maman’s delectable flavoring would appear, something her girls could rarely produce, a honey that smelled of seashell and that made the passage into the female alcove between her thighs a delight to the male visitor.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  The little lamp gave so dim a light that she risked opening her eyes halfway. He had withdrawn his head from her skirt and was slowly taking off his clothes. He stood near her, magnificent, tall, like some African king, his eyes glowing, his teeth bared, his mouth wet. Not to move, not to move, so as to permit him to do all he wanted. What would a man do with a hypnotized woman whom he did not need to fear or please in any way? Naked, he towered over her, and then surrounding her with his two arms, he carefully turned her over. Now Bijou lay offering her sumptuous buttocks. He raised her dress and spread the two mounts. He paused, so as to feast his eyes. His fingers were firm and warm, as they parted her flesh. He leaned over and began to kiss the fissure. Then he slipped his hands around her body and raised her towards him, so that he could penetrate her from behind. At first he found only the opening of the ass, which was too small and tight to enter, then he found the larger opening. He swung in and out of her for a moment and then stopped. Once again he turned her over, so he could watch himself taking her from the front. His hands sought her breasts under the dress and crushed them with violent caresses. His sex was large and filled her completely. He introduced it with such violence that Bijou thought she would have an orgasm and betray herself. She wanted to take her pleasure without his knowing it. He stirred her so much by his beating sexual rhythm that once, as he slipped out to fondle her, she felt the orgasm coming. Her whole desire was bent on feeling it again. He now tried to push his sex into her half-opened mouth. She refrained from responding and only opened her mouth a little more. To keep her hands from touching him, to keep herself from moving, was a great effort. But she wanted to feel again that strange pleasure of a stolen orgasm, as he was feeling the pleasure of these stolen caresses. Her passivity was driving him into a frenzy. He had touched her body everywhere, had penetrated her in every way he could. Now he sat over her belly and pushed his sex between her two breasts, tightening them around himself, and moving. She could feel his hairs brushing against her. Then Bijou lost control. She opened her mouth and her eyes at the same time. The man grunted with delight, pressed her mouth with his, and rubbed his whole body against her. Bijou’s tongue was beating against his mouth, while he bit her lips. He suddenly stopped and said, “Will you do something for me?” She nodded. “I will lie on the floor and you come and crouch over me, and let me look under your dress.”

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  But when I looked at her at last I saw that her features were livid, not in fury, but in lust. She reached for my hand, and placed my fingers at the collar of her gown; and, miserable as I was, when I understood what it was that she wanted me to do, I felt my own breath quicken, and my cunt gave a kick. I pulled at the lace, heard a few stitches rip, and the sound worked on me like the tip of a whip, snapping against the haunches of a horse. I tore it from her, her gown of black and white and silver, that came from Worth’s to match my costume; and when it was wrecked and trampled on the rug, she had me kneel upon it and fuck her, until she came and came again. Then she sent me to my own room, anyway. I lay in the darkness and shook, and put my hands before my mouth to keep from weeping. Upon the cabinet beside the bed, gleaming where the starlight struck it, lay my birthday gift, the wrist-watch. I reached for it, and felt it cold between my fingers; but when I placed it to my ear, I shuddered - for all that it would say was: Kitty, Kitty, Kitty ... I cast it from me, then, and put my pillow over my ears to blot the sound out. I would not weep. I would not weep! I would not even think. I would only surrender myself, for ever, to the heartless, seasonless routines of Felicity Place. So I thought then; but my days there were numbered. And the arms of my handsome watch were slowly sweeping them away. Chapter 1 H ave you ever tasted a Whitstable oyster? If you have, you will remember it. Some quirk of the Kentish coastline makes Whitstable natives - as they are properly called - the largest and the juiciest, the savouriest yet the subtlest, oysters in the whole of England. Whitstable oysters are, quite rightly, famous. The French, who are known for their sensitive palates, regularly cross the Channel for them; they are shipped, in barrels of ice, to the dining-tables of Hamburg and Berlin. Why, the King himself, I heard, makes special trips to Whitstable with Mrs Keppel, to eat oyster suppers in a private hotel; and as for the old Queen - she dined on a native a day (or so they say) till the day she died. Did you ever go to Whitstable, and see the oyster-parlours there? My father kept one; I was born in it - do you recall a narrow, weather-boarded house, painted a flaking blue, half-way between the High Street and the harbour? Do you remember the bulging sign that hung above the door, that said that Astley’s Oysters, the Best in Kent were to be had within?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El jueves siguiente tengo mi clase de verano, y Pike me deja usar su camioneta. Ha estado viajando con Dutch hacia y desde el trabajo toda la semana, así que tengo un vehículo confiable para andar, e incluso mencionó comprar otro auto bajo el pretexto de que debería tener algo mejor para ”salir”, pero sé que es solo su excusa para conseguirme algo mejor que el VW. Lo rechacé. Casi tiene mi auto en funcionamiento, así que me las arreglaré con él el tiempo que dure y cruzaré ese puente cuando tenga que hacerlo. Me detengo junto a la acera y estaciono la camioneta fuera del camino, viendo a Dutch y Pike trabajando en mi auto, en el camino de entrada. En realidad, Pike está trabajando en él, y Dutch está acampado en una silla de jardín cercana con una cerveza en la mano. Agarro mi mochila, camino por la calle y subo por nuestra entrada. —Hola, chicos —canto—. ¿Cómo les va? Pike me mira por encima del hombro, con los ojos recorriendo todo mi cuerpo. Reprimo mi sonrisa y él también lo hace, mientras rápidamente vuelve a trabajar bajo el capó. Me desperté con su boca bajando por mi estómago a las dos de esta mañana, terminando entre mis piernas y quedándose allí hasta que me corrí, dos veces. Y luego no volvimos a dormir hasta las cuatro. El hombre tiene más energía de la que puedo tomar, y hoy estoy tan cansada, pero de la mejor manera posible. Cada centímetro de mi cuerpo está siendo bien utilizado, y es difícil concentrarse en cualquier otra cosa excepto la necesidad de estar con él cuando no estoy a su lado. No quiero enamorarme de él. Quiero decir, quiero, pero no hasta que sepa exactamente lo que está sucediendo aquí. Cam podría tener razón y esto es solo una aventura. —Estamos bien, cariño —responde Dutch, su lata de cerveza descansa sobre su rodilla—. Casi está listo para salir de aquí. Paso por delante del auto y veo a Pike apretando o soltando algo con una llave inglesa. —¿En serio? —Frunzo el ceño—. ¿Ya casi está listo?

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero luego se me ocurre algo, y miro alrededor del capó de nuevo. —¿Todas trabajan juntas? ¿Con Jordan? —No, trabajamos en The Hook. Dutch hace un sonido de gárgaras, y me doy cuenta que se está ahogando con su cerveza. Tose y se ríe al mismo tiempo que se aclara la garganta. Cam asiente y se burla. —Sí, ya conoces The Hook. Se ríe, y juro que lo veo sonrojarse. —Es posible que haya estado familiarizado con el lugar en algún momento. The Hook es un club de striptease en el centro, no lejos de Grounders, donde trabaja Jordan. —Jordan no trabaja allí, ¿verdad? —pregunto. Quiero decir, podría tener dos trabajos, supongo, pero si no puedo imaginarla detrás de la barra en Grounders, realmente no quiero la imagen mental de ella en The Hook. Pero afortunadamente, Cam se apresura a responder. —Oh, no, pero mi jefe sí le ofreció un trabajo de camarera —contesta—. Ha estado tratando de convencerla por un año. Sin embargo, es tímida. Dice lo último con un pequeño guiño, y no estoy seguro de lo que eso significa. ¿Tímida sobre qué? ¿Tendría que usar algo similar a las bailarinas para trabajar detrás de la barra? Sí, no. Imaginarla en The Hook, tratando con los tipos que llegan queriendo una cosa, me estresaría. ¿Sabe Cole sobre la oferta de trabajo? No me puedo imaginar que quiera que trabaje allí. Sin embargo, no tengo tiempo para pensarlo más, porque Jordan baja por el porche delantero y camina hacia su hermana por el césped. —Deja de hablar de mí —le advierte, agarrando la correa de su bolso sobre su pecho, pero Cam solo le lanza una mirada juguetona. Jordan responde poniendo los ojos en blanco, pero apenas lo noto. Mi corazón late con fuerza, mirando su atuendo. Miro hacia otro lado. Por alguna razón, el juicio que le di a Cam por su ropa no se transfiere a Jordan, a pesar que es unos años más joven. Vestida con shorts jean azul oscuro, bajos en la cadera y ajustados en el muslo, no están cortados, sino enrollados, y su holgada camiseta negra muestra su estómago y cuelga de un hombro. El cabello le cuelga por la espalda en grandes rizos sueltos, y sus ojos están bordeados por un delineador oscuro y una sombra de ojos oscuros, haciendo que el azul medianoche en sus ojos explote como una corriente de luna en un mar nocturno. Me pregunto si está usando sus Chucks, pero eso significaría pasar sus piernas, y estoy teniendo dificultades para hacerlo, así que mantengo mi mirada apartada y continúo trabajando en el auto.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  El calor llena mi coño mojado, y miro como su lengua caliente golpea el endurecido botón de mi pezón, mi clítoris palpita con tanta fuerza que no puedo respirar. Me estremezco, una explosión de placer se apodera de mí y me calienta las entrañas. Pongo lo ojos en blanco y grito. ¡Mierda! Mierda, mierda, mierda... Me estremezco, abro los ojos, un poco sorprendida. Miro hacia abajo, viendo a Pike mirándome. —¿Acabas de correrte? —pregunta, con sus ojos sorprendidos. Trago, mi boca seca de repente, y asiento. —Sí. Creo que sí. Sus cejas se disparan. —Te gusta que besen tus pechos, ¿eh? —Me gusta cuando besas cualquier parte en mí. Se levanta y me pone de pie, sosteniendo mis ojos mientras desabotona mis pantalones cortos. —Estuviste tan increíble anoche. Mis ojos se iluminan. —Entonces, estuvo bien, ¿eh? —Tal vez tengo una actriz en mí, después de todo. Pero solo levanta una ceja. —No te hagas ilusiones. No será así con nadie más. Mis pantalones cortos caen al suelo, me gira y pongo mis manos sobre la mesa para sostenerme. Escucho el crujido de un envoltorio y luego el ruido metálico de su cinturón mientras abre sus jeans. Me tiemblan los muslos, tan excitada por lo que viene. Gracias a Dios que las persianas están cerradas. Arqueando mi espalda, abro mis piernas para él y miro por encima de mi hombro. —Lamento haberte hecho eso anoche —le digo. Saca su polla de sus jeans y se pone el condón, luego se acerca, envolviendo una mano alrededor de mi cuello y me besa con fuerza. —Bueno, en realidad no lo siento, supongo —jadeo contra sus labios—. Esto hace que valga la pena. Demonios, sí. Está tan caliente en este momento. Bueno, siempre lo está, pero... Bajando mis bragas, me agarra donde mi muslo se encuentra con mi cadera y guía su polla hacia mi entrada. Una vez que me está coronando, tira de mis caderas hacia él, y soy cortada en dos, jadeando y temblando mientras su polla se desliza profundamente en mi interior. —Oh, Dios mío. —Lloriqueo, con la cabeza baja, porque estoy temblando tan fuerte. No me da tiempo para recuperarme, y todo lo que puedo hacer es aguantar mientras me abraza fuertemente y me folla. Levanto la rodilla derecha hacia la mesa y me inclino un poco más hacia adelante, su polla se desliza más profundo y me hace gemir. Jadea con fuerza, gruñendo en mi oreja, y sus manos están por todos lados mientras me rodea con sus brazos, una mano apretando mi pecho y la otra sumergiéndose entre mis piernas para frotar mi clítoris. —Puedes hacerlo de nuevo más tarde, ¿verdad? —pregunto por encima de mi hombro. —Me estás insultando —gruñe en mi oído—. ¿Crees que no puedo seguir tu ritmo? —Realmente quiero... —¿Quieres qué? Abro mi boca, susurrando contra sus labios mientras nuestros cuerpos se encuentran una y otra vez. —Quiero chuparte. —Froto mis labios sobre los suyos, burlándome de él—. Quiero sentirte en mi boca.

• From Delta of Venus (1977)

  At first he was shy about this, ashamed. Then, almost surreptitiously, he began to write, hiding the pages from her when she came into the room, using a worn pencil, writing as though it were a criminal confession. It was by accident that she read what he had written. He was urgently in need of money. He had pawned his typewriter, his winter coat and his watch, and there was nothing more to be pawned. He could not let Marianne take care of him. As it was, she tired her eyes out typing, worked late at night and never made more than was necessary for the rent and a very small supply of food. So he went to the collector to whom Marianne delivered manuscripts, and offered his own manuscript for sale, apologizing for its being written by hand. The collector, finding it difficult to read, innocently gave it to Marianne to be typed. So Marianne found herself with her lover’s manuscript in her hands. She read avidly before typing, unable to control her curiosity, in search of the secret of his passivity. This is what she read: “Most of the time the sexual life is a secret. Everybody conspires to make it so. Even the best of friends do not tell each other the details of their sexual lives. Here with Marianne I live in a strange atmosphere. What we talk about, read about and write about is the sexual life. “I remember an incident I had completely forgotten about. It happened when I was about fifteen and still sexually innocent. My family had taken an apartment in Paris which had many balconies, and doors giving on these balconies. In the summer I used to like to walk about my room naked. Once I was doing this when the doors were open, and then I noticed that a woman was watching me across the way. “She was sitting on her balcony watching me, completely unashamed, and something drove me to pretend that I was not noticing her at all. I feared that if she knew I was aware of her she might leave. “And being watched by her gave me the most extraordinary pleasure. I would walk about or be on my bed. She never moved. We repeated this scene every day for a week, but on the third day I had an erection. “Could she detect this from across the street, could she see? I began to touch myself, feeling all the time how attentive she was to my every gesture. I was bathed in delicious excitement. From where I lay I could see her very luxuriant form. Looking straight at her now, I played with my sex, and finally got myself so excited that I came.

• 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)

  She was forced to beg, “Slip it in again.” It was sweet. Then he placed it halfway in, where she could feel and yet not clutch at it, where she could not truly hold it. He acted as if he would leave it halfway there for good. She wanted to move towards it and engulf it but she restrained herself. She wanted to scream. The flesh he did not touch was burning at his nearness. At the back of the womb there lay flesh that demanded to be penetrated. It curved inwards, opened to suck. The flesh walls moved like sea anemones, seeking by suction to draw his sex in, but it was only near enough to send currents of excruciating pleasure. He moved again, watching her face. Then he saw her mouth open. She wanted to raise her body now, to take his sex in wholly, but she waited. By this slow teasing he had her on the edge of hysteria. She opened her mouth as if to reveal the openness of her womb, its hunger, and only then did he plunge to the very bottom and felt her contractions. THIS IS HOW the Basque found Bijou. One day when he arrived at the house he was met by a melted Maman who told him that Viviane was busy. Then she offered to console him, almost as if he were a deceived husband. The Basque said that he would wait. Maman continued her teasing and caresses. Then the Basque said: “May I look in?” Every room was arranged so that amateurs could watch through a secret aperture. Now and then the Basque liked to see how Viviane behaved with her visitors. So Maman took him to the partition, where she hid him behind a curtain and let him look. There were four people in the room: a foreign man and woman, dressed with discreet elegance, watching two women on the large bed. Viviane, the heavy, dark skinned one, lay sprawled on the bed. On her hands and knees over her was a magnificent woman with ivory-colored skin, green eyes and long, thick, curly hair. Her breasts pointed high, her waist tapered to extreme slenderness and spread again for a rich display of hips. She was shaped as if she had been molded in a corset. Her body had a firm, marble smoothness. There was nothing flabby or loose in her, but a hidden strength, like the strength of a puma, an extravagance and vehemence in her gestures as in those of Spanish women. This was Bijou. The two women were beautifully matched, without amorousness or sentimentality. Women of action, who both carried an ironic smile and a corrupt expression.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  “It was a mutual decision.” “Don’t tell us,” Maia said, “we were here … remember?” “How could I forget?” Vix asked. “Without the two of you …” “Then listen to us now,” Maia said, “and get a job someplace else. There are notices posted everywhere.” But Vix didn’t listen. AbbySHE’S THRILLED Vix is returning to the Vineyard. She’d worried at first, after the breakup with Bru, that she’d never come back. She and Lamb know this could be the last summer they’ll have her with them. Next year she’ll graduate and who can say what will happen? She just hopes Vix won’t slip back into her romance with Bru because it’s easy, because he’s there. She knows how hard it is to break away … 33IF HER GOAL was to prove to herself that it was over, that they both wanted to end it, she got her chance two days after she settled in with Lamb and Abby, when Bru came looking for her at the Dynamo office, a cramped space on the second floor of a ratty building on Beach Road. She was alone in the office, taking inventory in the supply closet, when he called, “Hello … anybody home?” Please, God … help me live through this. Help me to be strong . “Hey,” he said, finding her as still and lifeless as one of the vacuum cleaners. He held out a bunch of peonies. She took them, her hands shaking. She was afraid to look at him, afraid if she did she’d lose it. “Hey …” he said again, tilting up her chin. She tried to focus on the wall clock over his shoulder —4:15 P.M. He waved his hand in front of her face. “Victoria?” Okay. She could do this. She’d keep it light, as if it meant nothing, as if he meant nothing. “What happened to your nose?” she asked. She could see he’d had an accident. A Band-Aid covered the bridge of his nose, but it only made him more attractive, giving his face a mysterious, slightly dangerous look. “Hockey,” he said. She nodded, reached up, touched it. A mistake. His arms went around her. “Missed you,” he whispered. “Missed you so much.” She was all over him in the truck, tugging at his shirt, undoing the zipper of his jeans. She’d never felt this kind of lust. He pulled off the road and fell onto her, pushing her panties aside, his jeans around his knees. Her head banged against the door as he pumped her but she barely noticed. The peonies crushing beneath her released their fragrance. She would never smell peonies again without reliving this moment. She had wished for a return to the feelings of that first summer—the thrill of being with him, the rush—and now her wish had come true. He said, “Wow … what have you been up to since January?” Caitlin sent a series of postcards showing stars from old movie musicals. Judy Garland. Cyd Charisse.

• From Summer Sisters (1998)

  her but she couldn’t express it. She hated the way Tim made her feel, as if she barely existed. Buy one, get the second one free. When they reached the construction site Tim lifted Max out of the stroller, and hiked him onto his shoulders, moving in for a closer look. Max announced for the zillionth time, “I’m into construction!” Vix and Caitlin followed though they hadn’t exchanged a word since the beach. As they approached the house Caitlin suddenly grabbed her by the arm. “What?” Caitlin pointed and Vix saw that Bru and Von were part of the crew. Bru and Von looking unbelievably sexy in low-slung jeans, with strong, lean, suntanned backs and muscled arms. She was hit by a sudden wave of heat, making her face flush and her knees go weak. Eat your heart out, Tim Castellano, because next to them you’re nothing! A minute later both guys were coming toward them. Von recognized Tim. “Hey ... you’re that cop on TV. No, wait ... don’t tell me ... Sukovsky ... something like that, right?” Actually, it was Wolkowsky, but Tim didn’t correct him. Von said, “How’re you doing?” and put out his hand for Tim to shake. “That’s a damn good show.” “Thanks, man,” Tim said, all of a sudden one of the guys. “And this is my kid, Max. He likes construction.” “Hey, Max ...” Von said. “I have a hard hat,” Max told him. “It’s yellow.” “Yeah ... you want a job? We could use another helper.” “I have to go to Kitty’s house,” Max said. “I’m having peanut butter for lunch. I always have peanut butter for lunch. With grape jelly.” “Sounds good to me,” Von said. Then he focused on Caitlin. “These are our baby-sitters,” Tim said. “Caitlin and ... Vicky.” “Vix,” she said under her breath, annoyed at Tim for getting it wrong. “Oh yeah ...” Von said. “We know them.” Bru just stood there gulping Coke from a can. After an uncomfortable silence, Von asked, “So ... where’ve you two been hiding?” “You’re the ones who’ve been hiding,” Caitlin said. “How would you know unless you’ve been looking?” Von asked. Caitlin punched him in the arm, like in the old days. But this time he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of dirty laundry.