Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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

  Cardell went and got the screwdriver, and then he sat and read part of an article about crampons. He heard the shower going for a while in the pipes, and then he heard it turn off. Betsy emerged wearing a loose gray cotton dress with her hair turbaned and a different color of lipstick on. She was carrying a tube of something. She walked near him, and he smelled her smell of warm clean wet skin and Kentucky bourbon. He heard a drawer close in the kitchen, and she emerged with one latex glove. “Now, Card, I gave it some thought in the shower, and here’s what I think we might do. You sit in that chair, facing away from me, and I’ll sit here on the couch like so. You put the handle of the screwdriver into one finger of this glove and hand it back it to me.” “Right now?” “Why not? Here’s your drink. I’ll just take up my usual assplay position on the couch.” “This is where you usually play with your ass?” “Yes, I like to do it in the living room because it’s nastier that way.” “I got it. Here.” Cardell handed her the glove with the screwdriver in it. “I figured go with the middle finger.” She smiled. “Ah, the long fuckfinger of the night. Tried and true. Don’t turn around, now! You can’t look, you horny boy. Now.” He heard sounds. “I just pull up my dress and scooch down, and then I just squirt a whole mess of Push on the screwdriver finger, like so, mmhm, get it all ready, and then some more right around my asshole, mmhm.” “What’s ‘Push’?” “It’s a kind of organic lubricant. Really thick but really slippery. Magic stuff. Unscented. Ooh, I’m tingly now. And one thing: I’m not a fan of the word ‘enema,’ but let me just inform you that I’m very clean.” “You mean you squirted a bunch of warm water up your butt and all that?” “I did, used the syringe and the old red two-quart bottle. It was my grandmother’s hot-water bottle. She was a pretty wild lady. Passed it down to me. I used to fill it with hot water and hump it on cold nights. Now, though, mmm. I love to get savage with my ass, but it’s got to be squeaky clean. I hate shit, just hate it.” “No, I agree, shit’s bad. It’s not good.” “So now you want me to fuck myself in the ass while I play with Monsieur Twinklestump?” “Who’s Monsieur Twinklestump? A sex toy?” “My clit.” “Oh. Yes, if that’s what you most want to do, yeah.”

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

  “And we both know that there’s the appointment. So I lie there, and he rubs my back for a while.” She lay with her eyes closed as she said this, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “Sometimes he teases under my ears, and that makes me shrug, whoo! And then I reach back behind me, and I find his bulgy bits in his pajamas, and I hold them a moment to figure out what’s what. Then I reach my hand in and grab a handful, and then usually he shifts and pulls his pajamas down. And then everything begins to make itself known.” She was reaching behind herself as she said this. “Do you like feeling him get hard?” “Love feeling him get hard, yes. He says, ‘Can I tweak your titties?’ And I lift so he can get at them, and he knows just how to play with my nipples so that the two jagged lightning lines go dingalinging straight down. And then I have to turn toward him—” Here she turned in the chaise longue and held her invisible husband. Her hand slid under her blouse. “He kisses me all over me and puddles up one of my tits so that the nipple is aiming straight up. Mmm.” Cardell, watching her tell this, found that his hips had slid forward on the chair and his knees had straightened. “And then he pushes that big cockhead inside you?” “Yes, he does,” she said. “He’s quite talkative sometimes when we get going, like if we’ve been out to dinner at our little Mexican place. There’s a nice little Mexican place we go to. And he doesn’t know it, nor should he know it, but when he really gets down to fucking me I’m sometimes thinking of sucking off the Mexican busboys. I’m thinking they’re tied down on tables after the restaurant closes, and they need me to give them handjobs and blowjobs to relieve all the terrible stresses that come with the job of being a busboy, and I can feel their come boiling up the length of their cocks, and I swallow it all.” “Cocks on the boil, eh?” “Yes, often I think about jerking off well-knit young men whose dicks are out.” Betsy looked pointedly at Cardell when she said this. “But he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Except once I told him and he came so hard afterward. That’s why I thought maybe he’d say yes to letting you watch me.” “But he didn’t.” “No, he didn’t, because he’s a poky old thing. But he does know me better than anyone, and I’ve figured out just how to have a good orgasm with him, which I like.” “I kind of want to bring myself out now for you,” Cardell said. “You want to bring out Mr. Thick Dicky?” Cardell said, “Mm-hm.”

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

  [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Dave was out for a walk in the middle of a quiet road near the House of Holes. He’d set out at about three o’clock in the afternoon, needing a little break after spending eight hours in the Porndecahedron watching amateur movies of women making themselves come. It was a lovely budding afternoon, and the sky was a perfect Pantone 2925 blue. Dave had a big plaid blanket in his canvas bag and a thermos of barley soup, and he unfurled the blanket over some matted grass and lay down and looked up at the clouds till he found one with soft breasts and a leg held alluringly half open, and he stuffed his hand down his pants and started working himself to the bone. A young woman walked up and said, “Excuse me, what are you doing?” She had a large blunt-faced dog on a leash. The dog barked once politely and then sat down. Dave whipped his hand out of his pants. “Just having my way with the clouds,” he said. “My apologies.” “You shouldn’t be doing that here in this field. This is a working farm. It doesn’t belong to the House of Holes. Beyond that road over there is the property line. This is the real world.” Dave was horrified. “Very sorry, I had no idea I’d wandered off the range,” he said. “You’d think they’d have a little border-crossing caution sign.” He looked at the woman. She had generously messy hair and rough lips with no lipstick and a tiny scar on the bridge of her nose. “I’ll tell you, it’s one heck of a nice field you’ve got here. And you have some nice clouds, too. Nice soft luscious clouds just hanging in the sky.” “Thanks,” she said, with some friendliness, looking at his missing arm. “It was the clouds coming over this hill that convinced my parents to buy this place. It has different weather on this side. And the oats grow well down on this slope.” “Do you drive the tractor?” Dave asked. “I’m Dave, by the way. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’ve been, ah, having a meeting with the fondling fathers.” He folded up his plaid blanket and stuffed it into his canvas bag. “I’m Chilli,” she said. “Yes, sometimes I drive the tractor.” “Good skill to have,” he said. “Portable.” He stood and brushed off his pants, holding the canvas bag over his lap. “Well, I’m off. I’m practicing for a festival.” “Was that what you were doing when I walked up, ‘practicing’?” “I like to stay in shape.” They walked together down the rutted path toward the road. “Do you think there are certain fields on this planet that are sex fields? I feel that this is a sex field. It’s not just the clouds. It’s the shape of the land. You can’t tell if it’s a rectangle or a triangle or an oval. It undulates.” “It does,” said Chilli.

• From Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  THEOPHYLACT. Moreover, because all things are not taken away by theft, He adds a more excellent reason, and one which admits of no objection whatever, saying, For where your treasure is, there will your hearts be also; as if He says, “Suppose that neither moth corrupts nor thief takes away, yet this very thing, namely, to have the heart fixed in a buried treasure, and to sink to the earth a divine work, that is, the soul, how great a punishment it deserves.” EUSEBIUS. For every man naturally dwells upon that which is the object of his desire, and thither he directs all his thoughts, where he supposes his whole interest to rest. If any one then has his whole mind and affections, which he calls the heart, set on things of this present life, he lives in earthly things. But if he has given his mind to heavenly things, there will his mind be; so that he seems with his body only to live with men, but with his mind to have already reached the heavenly mansion. BEDE. Now this must not only be felt concerning love of money, but all the passions. Luxurious feasts are treasures; also the sports of the gay and the desires of the lover, 12:35–4035. Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning; 36. And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, when he will return from the wedding; that when he cometh and knocketh, they may open unto him immediately. 37. Blessed are those servants, whom the lord when he cometh shall find watching: verily I say unto you, that he shall gird himself, and make them to sit down to meat, and will come forth and serve them. 38. And if he shall come in the second watch, or in the third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants. 39. And this know, that if the goodman of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched, and not have suffered his house to be broken through. 40. Be ye therefore ready also: for the Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not.

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

  “Let me see. Oh, my, oh, my. Now please lower them, almost to my hands.” She reached forward and held his shoulders and leaned, looking down at the hanging outline of her breasts as they came closer to his immobilized hands. She stopped when she was almost there. “Ah, I can almost feel their warmth. Now very slowly lower. Lower. I want to almost hold them. Just graze the nippletips, graze the nipples, oh, that’s it, that’s good. I feel the aureole energy. Now give them all to me. Give me those glories!” “Nope, wait,” Luna said, and she lifted her chest and shook her breasts for him. “Oh, you freaky teaser!” said Jason. “I can’t wait any longer for it, right now, please.” Strange things were happening under his leather apron. Luna again descended, as gradually as she could, on the verge of filling his hands with her boobflesh. At first it was just her nipples, then a little bit of the tips of the cones, and then her boobosity began settling in, and they reformed themselves, fattening on the side fill as they gave their titfat to his upturned palms. “Ohhhhhh, I can feel you forming the bowls for me, Luna, the fullness, the brimmingness of your breasts, there’s more of you and more of you, you’re so good with your hot boobfat, I can feel the salad bowls in your beautiful knocker-jug-bosom-boobs, that’s what I need. Mmmmmm. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She could feel his hands trying to clench and grasp and pull from her all the knowledge of her palm-smothering abundance. Then he sighed and nodded, indicating that he was done. “How will you remember them?” she asked. “I have ‘absolute shape’—I never forget any shapes I really care about. Come, unvise me. I’ll walk you out to the peckerwood tree.” “Should I put my pants back on?” “Absolutely not. Never put that bottom away!” The light snuck in sideways through the trees as they walked, and Luna felt that it was a sexual sneaking in, as if the trees were long legs that could be seen beneath the skirt of the leafy canopy. Then she saw a different angle of trees, and they seemed strong and male. Her underpants, she discovered, were wet. They stopped. “This is the pearwood penis tree,” said Jason. He took off his leather apron. They listened. “Hear the fluids in it, the sap?” he said. “Hear the mushrooms growing at the base?” She listened. “Yes.” “Good, cause you’re going to hug it while I fuck you.” “I thought I was going to fuck the tree.” “After me. That’s how we wake the sleeping giant.”

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

  “I can get used to anything,” said Kathy. “They’re nice men.” She paused just before she closed the door. “I can tell from the way he’s humping the bed that he’s got a big hard-on,” she said. “Turn him on his side, and you’ll have a nice present.” She closed the door. Reese sat next to Nedbody for a moment, looking at the smooth muscular expanse of his back. His arms were flung wide. She smelled his underarms, which though Kathy had washed him had a whiff of man scent. She pulled on the hair, and he shrugged. Then she couldn’t stand it—she had to bring out one of her trusty erotic romances. It was Tastefully Done, one from the Untamed Wanderer series. She read Nedbody a passage as he slept, gently caressing his perfect bottom as she did and feeling his muscles involuntarily tighten as he dry humped the bed. “Shadow’s thighs registered the heat of his haughty stare,” she read. “He seized her roughly and lifted the burning torch of her sex to his mouth. ‘Shadow, I have craved your salt taste for three long years,’ he said, his lips red as embers in the deepening dusk.” “Whoo!” she said. “That’s the stuff! Nedbody, baby, do you mind if I kind of help you turn over?” He didn’t seem to mind, and she eased her fingers under one of the thick muscles of his upper thigh and pulled gently, feeling like a camel driver. He drew his arms in and turned, and she had her first glance at his cock, which lay like a railroad tie hanging out from his body. It moved with his heartbeat. She watched it for a moment, wondering at its independent spirit. “It looks like you have something major going on there, Nedbody,” she said. She found that she couldn’t help herself, and she curled her fingers around the fullness of what remained of his intelligence. “Think with your dick,” she whispered, moving her mouth closer. She pulled one knee up and pushed the other away, and he lay sprawled, jutting upward like some travesty of a Michelangelo sculpture, and from him came the dusty, meaty scent of his balls, which she breathed in for a long time and allowed to swirl around in her brain. For she did have a brain as he, poor Nedbody, did not. “You poor brainless man,” she said. “I’m going to suck your dick, and you won’t even know it. Mmmmmmm.” She encircled the base of his cock and brought it up so that it grazed her lips, and she found that when she did his hips made a little judder, a kind of minithrust, which was precious to her because it was a bit of communication. “That’s it,” she said, “use those hips, baby.” Then she closed her fist on his cock and slid her hand all the way down again until the skin pulled tight on the pistil head of his manjig.

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

  “And we both know that there’s the appointment. So I lie there, and he rubs my back for a while.” She lay with her eyes closed as she said this, rubbing her hands on her thighs. “Sometimes he teases under my ears, and that makes me shrug, whoo! And then I reach back behind me, and I find his bulgy bits in his pajamas, and I hold them a moment to figure out what’s what. Then I reach my hand in and grab a handful, and then usually he shifts and pulls his pajamas down. And then everything begins to make itself known.” She was reaching behind herself as she said this. “Do you like feeling him get hard?” “Love feeling him get hard, yes. He says, ‘Can I tweak your titties?’ And I lift so he can get at them, and he knows just how to play with my nipples so that the two jagged lightning lines go dingalinging straight down. And then I have to turn toward him—” Here she turned in the chaise longue and held her invisible husband. Her hand slid under her blouse. “He kisses me all over me and puddles up one of my tits so that the nipple is aiming straight up. Mmm.” Cardell, watching her tell this, found that his hips had slid forward on the chair and his knees had straightened. “And then he pushes that big cockhead inside you?” “Yes, he does,” she said. “He’s quite talkative sometimes when we get going, like if we’ve been out to dinner at our little Mexican place. There’s a nice little Mexican place we go to. And he doesn’t know it, nor should he know it, but when he really gets down to fucking me I’m sometimes thinking of sucking off the Mexican busboys. I’m thinking they’re tied down on tables after the restaurant closes, and they need me to give them handjobs and blowjobs to relieve all the terrible stresses that come with the job of being a busboy, and I can feel their come boiling up the length of their cocks, and I swallow it all.” “Cocks on the boil, eh?” “Yes, often I think about jerking off well-knit young men whose dicks are out.” Betsy looked pointedly at Cardell when she said this. “But he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. Except once I told him and he came so hard afterward. That’s why I thought maybe he’d say yes to letting you watch me.” “But he didn’t.” “No, he didn’t, because he’s a poky old thing. But he does know me better than anyone, and I’ve figured out just how to have a good orgasm with him, which I like.” “I kind of want to bring myself out now for you,” Cardell said. “You want to bring out Mr. Thick Dicky?” Cardell said, “Mm-hm.”

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

  “Yes, I had Marcie’s clit and pussy, and she had my cock. We were all three of us totally wiped afterward—Rianne was exhausted, poor gal—and while we were putting on our clothes I asked Marcela, ‘Can I walk you on back to your hotel room?’ Lila said she thought that would be a good idea because there’s always an adjustment period for the transferees. But Marcela said no, thanks, she wanted to be alone with her new penis. So I went back to my hotel room, and I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to get used to my pussylips, which I kind of liked, and then I took a little nap, and then the phone rang, and it was Marcie.” “What a surprise,” said Mindy. “She said she was having some problems getting the hang of my cock, and could I come down and show her some things. I said, ‘Sure, I can visit for a bit.’ I went to her room, and she was there posing in front of her mirror, and I asked her how she felt, and she just opened up her bathrobe. And god damn, she was this beautiful naked babe with two big bosoms and my big load of dick just hanging there.” Mindy envisioned it. “Mmm.” “She was a real chick with a real dick, and I’m not going to lie to you, it turned me on to see that cock of mine having found a happy home between her legs.” “Was it hard?” asked Mindy. “No, not terribly hard—that’s what she wanted help with. She said, ‘I want a real stiff one, can you help me with that?’ “I said, ‘You want me to play with my own dick? Sure, I can do that. Hell, I’ve done it a thousand times.’ But she said, ‘Dune, I want you to suck your dick.’ I said, ‘Woo, sorry, can’t do it. I do draw the line there. But I can give you a handjob because you attract me. I bet you’ll look sexy with a stiff dick.’ So she sat on the corner of the bed with her knees open, and I sat behind her.” “Can you demonstrate how?” Mindy asked. Dune took off his pants and his black briefs and sat on the corner of the bed. “I was sitting behind her like this,” he said. “Wait.” Mindy adjusted the camera. “Now you’re seeing my pussy, aren’t you?” asked Dune. “As requested.” “Yes,” said Mindy in a low voice, “thank you.” Dune pulled his pudendum open. “Mindy, let me ask you: Do you want to interview this pussy?” Mindy nodded. “Okay, then give me a microphone. Do you have a big microphone? Because what I’ve learned is that when I play with my cuntpussy, I need something inside or I feel empty.” Mindy brought out a long silver microphone. “I don’t think you want to put this piece of equipment inside you,” she said. “It’s a four-hundred-dollar shotgun mike. A Sennheiser.”

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

  “Oh, that’s what I want to do, you bet it’s what I want to do. See, I get reading these paperbacks about the dark devilish men from New Orleans with their hungry eyes and their long southern python cocks that are always ready to ransack a loving woman’s asshole, and while I’m reading I put my feet on the arm of the couch and I just feel that cool air on my cunt’s pussyhole, and I put two fingers in there and, slimp, I taste it, and then I kind of pet my clitty with my thumb, like this, ooh. I like to keep everything growling and purring as much as I can. My left hand’s for my ass, my right hand’s for my cunt and clitty. Separation of powers.” “Phew, I need a rearview mirror.” “Don’t you turn, now, Card, you just listen while I devastate my ass for you. Whooo! Oh, it’s going to go in slow. Nice and slow. I start to push it in a little and then I stop—not yet, cause I like the push part so much, and I circle it around the outside some where the choirboys sing because it feels so good on the outside and my asshole starts to melt and depuckerize and get all soft and willing and ready for this big hard screwdriver handle that I’m about to—ooooooof, there it goes in. Screwdriver’s going in. Awwwll.” “Is it all the way in?” “No. I can feel the edgy parts, the facets. It’s about an inch in. I wish you could see my cunt staring at the ceiling, Card. My cunnyhole is just looking straight up, and I’m holding the metal part of the screwdriver. I can wiggle it a little bit, that feels good. Ooh.” “You’re making me nuts!” “Stand up and slip off that bathing suit. I want to see your ass while I keep pushing and jiggling on this thing.” Cardell’s suit dropped to the ground, and he kicked it so that it billowed and landed on a bowl of shells. He flexed his asscheek muscles, trying to look as buff as possible. She said, “You’re a hairy candy-bun boy, aren’t you? Can you show me your asshole?” “What? No.” “Why not?” she asked. “I’m not into that,” said Cardell. “This is about your ass, not mine.” “Nonsense, just show it to me, bun boy, bend over. Give me a good look. Come on.” Finally, Cardell bent and opened his asscheeks for her to have a look. “Oh, Card, that’s one tiny hairy asshole you got. Very discreet. What’s the matter, you’ve never shown anyone your asshole before?” “This is outside my comfort zone.”

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

  “Dune, do you think you could show me your genitals? I’d like to get that on video.” Dune tapped his cigar. “A week ago if you’d have asked me if I’d bare my crotch for you, I would have said, Sure thing, right away. Now I’m a bit skittish. Everything has its price.” “The price is sometimes steep,” said Mindy. “You got that right, hot goddess. Lila’s got us all doing the fucky-fuck and the sucky-suck and the humpy and the squirty and the juicy-Lucy and the ooh, ah, ooh. Everything we do they keep track of, and they know what we want most, and they want to milk us till our money’s all gone and our balls ache, if we have balls, which I don’t at the present time. Because it’s the House of Holes, and is there anything worth paying court to more than a woman with a pretty face and two good titties and one hot switchy ass she wants to shove in your face? Hmm?” Mindy took that as a rhetorical question. “I’m more into men,” she said. “I like men. Sometimes I like smoky men in dirty suede.” “Course you do, Mindy,” he said. “You’re a lovely lusty woman and you want to be a part of this whole slumber party. You want an ‘experience.’ And you will have that at the House of Holes, believe me. If you haven’t already.” “I already got shrunk down and squirted out of a man’s urethra.” “Well, then, there you go.” Dune was tiring. “Listen, would you mind if I moved to the couch for a sec?” “No, go ahead,” said Mindy. “Let me just unclip your mike.” “I just need fifteen minutes of downtime. Thanks for dinner, thanks for the smoke.” He closed his eyes and was asleep almost immediately. Mindy watched him sleep. When he sat up an hour later, she had a second Winchester cigar ready for him. She said, “What was she like? The woman you switched with. You mind if I turn the camera back on?” Dune stretched. “Sure, turn the camera on. Are we rolling? Marcela was her name. She was nice, very friendly. She’d put in a request to do Dick for a Day.” “I’ve heard of Dick for a Day,” said Mindy, with interest. “Yes, now, Dick for a Day is not that involved because they can morph your clitty out for six, eight hours without too much bother, and it’ll go back good as new. But it turned out Marcela wanted something more like Dick for a Couple of Weeks, and that takes a full interplasmic transfer. That’s what it’s called, a ‘cross-crotchal interplasmic transfer.’ I’ll bet you want to know how they do that.” Mindy nodded that she did. “Well, you need a tweenella. That’s the person who is desi-gnated to put her hands on the two crotches that are going to be crossed. She completes the crotchal circuit.”

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

  Jackie held her head still, averted, listening to the songs; then she relaxed and got a sad look. “They play their hearts out in hotel bars where nobody can hear the twelve clever things they’re doing with the harmony.” She pointed. “See the big brandy snifter for tips there on the top of the piano? Not much in it.” “So maybe we should casually drop a ten-spot in the snifter as we walk on by.” “When?” “When we leave together in about ten minutes to kiss and look into each other’s eyes while we fondle each other and tie colorful scarves around our knees. Oops, did I say that?” “Hold on.” Jackie squinted and grabbed his arm again. “I think it’s coming.” Again she pushed back on the bar stool and turned red. A vein stood out in her neck. “Get behind me again, and slide your hand in my pantyhose and hold it right at my pussyhole.” Cardell obliged, cupping her bush, which was slick and swollen. “Good,” she said, “this time it’s really happ—” Her throat squeezed to silence and she made a strained pushing sound, turning even redder. “Now! Uhhhhh!” Something heavy and smooth and warm fell into Cardell’s cupped hand. “There you go,” she said, straightening and sighing with relief. Cardell pulled his hand from under her skirt. He was holding an egg. It was silver in color. She handed him a bar napkin. “Wipe it down. Don’t let people see. Put it out of sight. ” “Is it a silver egg?” he asked, pocketing it in his jacket. “Yes.” “Is it solid?” “No, there’s a tiny silver man and a tiny silver woman inside. You can watch them make love if you like that sort of thing.” “I do,” Cardell said. “Me, too,” said Jackie, and she giggled and shook herself. “Phew, egg laying takes it out of me.” She ate half of a pretzel. “Cardell, I’m sorry to be a tease, because you’ve been nice, but I’m buzzed now, and I’m going to have to say good-bye.” “Forever?” “No, of course not forever. I’m just going to make an excursion to the House of Holes, where I can be a total tramp for a day or two. They let you do what you want there, you know.” “And what is it you want?” She leaned forward confidingly. “I want two lovely Brazilian stonemasons in overalls, with huge smiles and warm hands—four warm strong hands that know how to fit stones together—and sad brown eyes.” “And they can offer you that kind of specificity at this so-called House of Holes?” Jackie moved her lips to her straw, remembering something good. Cardell asked, “Well, what are you going to do with these men? I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

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

  It reached her thigh. Shandee handed it a pen and folded back the yellow pad to give it a fresh page. “Where did my roommate go off to?” she asked. “The House of Holes,” the arm wrote. “Would you like to come, too?” “Maybe,” said Shandee. “How?” “If you let me touch you,” he wrote. “Touch where?” said Shandee. “Where it aches.” “It aches in my head,” she said. “Never enough sleep.” “Let me help,” the arm scrawled. She held it, and the hand surged through her hair, and when she steered it around to the back of her neck it massaged the stiffness away. His fingers were mobile and trembly now. She gave him back the pen. “Isn’t there another place that aches?” he wrote. “Yes,” she said, “there is. ” He wrote: “TWAT?” “Mhm,” Shandee said. “But I really don’t think I can let you do that until I know you better. You need to be more than an arm to me.” “Take me to class tomorrow,” he wrote. The next morning she fed him some fish paste and drained his waste and wrapped the cloth around his life-support addendum and put him in her bag. In the middle of her nineteenth-century novel class she felt his fingers very gently brushing her calf. She reached down and held his hand and loved how it felt. When she got home that afternoon, she washed the hand carefully in the sink and then took him back to her room and dimmed the lights and put on Appleseed’s “When Are We Going (to Do It).” She said, “I’m ready for you to hold me now, any way you want.” His hand brushed over her lips—she was wearing Terranova again—and she opened her mouth and tasted his fingers, and he circled her tongue and tweaked it, and then as she steadied him he crawled down. She put her feet together and let her knees fall open. His hand found her stash and she looked down and saw his fingers half buried in her folds, and then she felt a warm filling feeling as first one, then two of Dave’s fingers slid inside. She held his arm and helped him angle his fingers in and then pull them out. Then she pulled him up to her clitty and he circled it. “Oh, that’s nice,” she said. Just before she came, he stopped and held his hand up to her mouth. “What is it, baby?” she asked. His fingers made the O and then he pushed the O shape to her mouth. She put her tongue through it, and her mind and neck and body stretched until they were very long and flowed through his fingers, and then his fingers flowed with her. She was pulled in a whoosh of wispiness, and she landed and condensed.

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

  “Well, right now,” Number 53 said, “I’m wanting a woman with a humongous oversized ass—not a fat ass but a big round wobbly huge ass that’s busting out of her pants.” Lila turned off the video and Henriette sighed. “That’s just not me,” she said. “My ass is not humongous and oversized.” “It could be you if you wanted it to be,” said Lila. “How so?” Lila called Mischa in. “The cheekpump,” she said. She held Henriette for a moment. “If you let Mischa work on you with the cheekpump, you’ll get a day with the biggest ass you could possibly want.” “Just one day, and then it goes back to normal?” “Sometimes the ass lasts two days, if the fixative is properly applied. Here is a pair of jeans that will fit you after the procedure.” She handed Henriette a pair of strangely roomy pants. Mischa took her to a small, dimly lit round chamber with a low couch against one wall. He pulled down from the ceiling two enormous clear-plastic suction cups that looked rather like cymbals or dinner plates. “You have to strip down so I can put these on,” he said. She shucked off her pants and scants and knelt on the couch. “Like this?” she said. Mischa was frozen, staring. “My dear, dear friend,” he said. “I don’t know why you want to do anything to that rear end of yours. That is a lovely piece of craftsmanship.” “Thank you,” said Henriette. “But I want it bigger.” “I’m going to have to ask Krock to come in to help position the suction pads. This is too much ass experience for one man. Krock!” There was a slight pause, and then a man emerged, chewing a hastily finished sandwich. He washed his hands at a little sink, winking at Henriette. “What do we got?” Krock said. “One day cheekpump,” said Mischa. “For her?” Krock said. “I don’t think so.” “Eh, she has a thing for a guy who likes a superbig ass.” “In that case,” said Krock sadly, “let’s do it. But first, a moment to look—okay, baby?” Henriette nodded. She sensed them both looking at her exposed wonderloaves and felt a softening and an unfurling in her innernesses. Meanwhile Mischa reached up and pulled down a black hose with a squirt attachment at the end. “This is the flesh-bulging oil,” he said. He misted it lightly over her ass, and she felt strange things begin to happen.

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

  Ned watched Woo flip his cock up. Tendresse pulled his slouchy hairless satchel toward her face and jostled its contents. “Nice size, nice movement,” she said. She closed her eyes and sniffed. “Mmmmm, yes. Rainy ruins. Frogs. Cement statuary. Gongs. Tractor tires. Mushrooms.” Pleased, Woo said, “So do I have magic sperm?” “No, sorry, no,” said Tendresse. “But your balls are well shaped. Very nice pair. Thank you so much. You can pull your boxers up now.” Woo seemed disappointed. “Sometimes I do kinky things,” he said defensively. “Once I let a girlfriend place a cucumber in my back end. It was a long British cucumber. They have the plastic sheath, and we thought that was safer.” “And how was it for you?” asked Tendresse. “Good, but I had to go to the bathroom afterward.” “Please,” said Ned. “Now it’s your turn,” said Tendresse, turning to Ned. Ned held his cock up against his abdomen and stood with his legs a little apart so that Tendresse, still blindfolded, could smell his balls. She made several long sniffing sounds. “Mmmm, warm granite, campfires, catcher’s mitts, Play-Doh, padded mailers. Very subtle. I think I know a good woman for you. I’ve sniffed hundreds of crotches, men’s and women’s. One couple I sniffed and matched got married. May I taste?” “What on earth?” said Woo, outraged. “By all means,” said Ned. Tendresse flicked her tongue over Ned’s crinkled scro-tatiousness, and then she drew the entire left ball into her mouth like a new potato. “Yow!” Ned said. His cock responded enthusiastically, although he had had a nice orgasm in the shower that morning. She suckled his other ball. Then she threw her head back and opened her mouth wide. “Now both together,” she said. “Fill my mouth with the manly warmth of your nutbag.” “Very well,” said Ned. He fed his manly nutbag into her mouth, and she made muffled gobbling and gargling noises. “Just plain disgusting,” said Woo, bending to get a better look. “Now drop the cock,” she said. “Drop it on my face, Ned. I want it.” Ned, canting his hips forward, let his cock fall gently against her nose. “Mmmmmmmm,” said Tendresse, inhaling. “You do not have magic sperm, but I know several women for you. Come, let’s meet Lila.” [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Luna Goes to a Concert [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Luna met a man named Chuck at the soup kitchen. He was manning the sink and she was unloading the dishwasher, which wasn’t an easy job because the steam was hot. They developed a nice wordless rhythm together of unloading and drying and stacking. Then, wiping the edge of the sink with a clean dish towel, Chuck directed his restless blue eyes directly at her and asked her if she would like to go with him to the Masturboats. Just like that, all of a sudden: “Would you like to go with me to the Masturboats?”

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

  She thought, then frowned. “I’m going to idolize their cockpoles,” she said. “I’m going to slide their foreskins back, so that the heads of their cocks pop out all pink and heart shaped. I’m going to gorge myself on as much of their deliciousness as I can stuff into my mouth without gagging. I don’t enjoy gagging. I’m going to look up into their eyes and feel them pump their come down my throat.” “Yee.” Cardell tried not to look shocked, although he was a little. “Maybe I could tag along and sort of—watch? We could get some dinner first?” He touched a menu. Jackie heard the brokenness and despair, but also the excitement, in his voice. She took pity on him. “Everybody’s got to find their own porthole,” she said. “It’s harder for men to get in than women unless they pay and pay. Although you’re pretty cute—you’ll have a chance.” “Any hints on where to find a porthole?” “Try the fourth dryer from the left at the laundromat at the corner of 18th Street and Grover Avenue,” said Jackie. She waved. “Bye.” Her face began to blur and liquefy, and then she poured herself down into her straw and was gone. Cardell picked up the straw and looked through it. There was no blockage. “Jackie?” he said. The bartender stood watching him, holding a glass. “What just happened?” Cardell said. “Your lady friend seems to have been sucked into her straw,” the bartender said. “That’s what I think, too,” Cardell said. The bartender shrugged. “It happens, man.” “Well,” Cardell said, “I guess I’ll be heading out.” “Have a good night.” Cardell dropped a twenty in the brandy snifter and waved at the pianist, humming along to Hoagy Carmichael. In the elevator down, Cardell smelled his fingers. Then he felt in his pocket. Yes, the silver egg was still there. Shandee Learns How to Wash a Peni s S handee climbed the steps to the porch of the House of Holes and rang the doorbell. A dreamy leggy woman, barefoot, wearing only a man’s blue shirt and yellow wooden beads, opened the screen door. Her name tag read “Zilka—Intake and Interview.” “I’m here to find the man who belongs to this arm,” said Shandee, holding up Dave’s arm. Zilka, toying with her beads, looked Shandee over and led her to a waiting room, where she gave her a clipboard with a legal agreement to sign. “Lila will see you soon,” she said. “She’s the director.” She walked away. The waiting room was empty. There were two couches and some lamps with fringed lampshades and some pictures on the wall of sheep in fields.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  Muriel spent a lot of her time over there too, where used copies of Byron and Gertrude Stein could be bought at the Strand one week and traded in for a little less at the Pine down the street a week later. Books were not so much in excess then; I remember trading a birthday copy of Lindbergh for a handful of used paperbacks, two hardcover volumes of minor poets, and a first issue of MAD magazine, which cost ten cents. In June, Lynn came to live with us. We hadn’t planned it that way, that’s just the way it worked out. Muriel and I had reestablished a guarded communication with Bea, and Lynn was her ex-lover whom we had first met on that infamous New Year’s Eve. She came to call unexpectedly from Philadelphia one Sunday evening in early summer, her long blonde hair streaming around her short sturdy neck, and an overstuffed duffle bag slung across one shoulder. Rumpled army fatigues covered her ample hips. Lynn had a sly smile and screwed up her face whenever she laughed. She was broad, and squat, and very sexy, and in terrible emotional shape. She was the same age I was, twenty-one, but had lived a very hectic life. Lynn’s young husband, on army leave, had died three months before, burned in a truck accident from which he had thrown her clear. They had been moving Lynn’s belongings to her new lover’s house in Philly. Lynn arrived on our doorstep with no place to go. She and Bea had broken up for reasons I knew only too well, and Lynn had followed the gay lorelei to New York. Jittery with dexedrine and crazed with exhaustion, she was afraid to go to sleep because of her nightmares of death and dying and the burning wreck from which arose billows of guilt over Ralph’s death. Nobody I knew could have remained immune to this game little girl-woman’s piteous story. This was a chance to put into practice the kind of sisterhood that we talked and dreamed about for the future. Muriel and I took Lynn into our home to live with us. For a while that summer, we had a vision and possibility of women living together collectively and sharing each other’s lives and work and love. It almost worked. But none of us knew quite enough about ourselves; we had no patterns to follow, except our own needs and our own unthought-out dreams. Those dreams did not steer us wrong, but sometimes they were not enough. I found myself day-dreaming over the library catalogue, imaging Lynn’s malocclusion, and I had to finally admit to myself how physically attracted to her I was. I was frightened and embarrassed as well as perplexed by this strange and unexpected turn of events.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  Dancing with her this time, I felt who I was and where my body was going, and that feeling was more important to me than any lead or follow. The room felt very warm even though it was only just spring, and Kitty and I smiled at each other as the number ended. We stood waiting for the next record to drop and the next dance to begin. It was a slow Sinatra. Our belt buckles kept getting in the way as we moved in close to the oiled music, and we slid them around to the side of our waists when no one was looking. For the last few months since Muriel had moved out, my skin had felt cold and hard and essential, like thin frozen leather that was keeping the shape expected. That night on the dance floor of the Page Three as Kitty and I touched our bodies together in dancing, I could feel my carapace soften slowly and then finally melt, until I felt myself covered in a warm, almost forgotten, slip of anticipation, that ebbed and flowed at each contact of our moving bodies. I could feel something slowly shift in her also, as if a taut string was becoming undone, and finally we didn’t start back to the bar at all between dances, but just stood on the floor waiting for the next record, dancing only with each other. A little after midnight, in a silent and mutual decision, we split the Page together, walking blocks through the West Village to Hudson Street where her car was parked. She had invited me up to her house for a drink. The sweat beneath my breasts from our dancing was turning cold in the sharpness of the night air as we crossed Sheridan Square. I paused to wave to the steadies through the plate glass windows of Jim Atkins’s on the corner of Christopher Street. In her car, I tried not to think about what I was doing as we rode uptown almost in silence. There was an ache in the well beneath my stomach, spreading out and down between my legs like mercury. The smell of her warm body, mixed with the smell of feathery cologne and lavender pomade, anointed the car. My eyes rested on the sight of her coconut-spicy hands on the steering wheel, and the curve of her lashes as she attended the roadway. They made it easy for me to coast beneath her sporadic bursts of conversation with only an occasional friendly grunt. “I haven’t been downtown to the bars in a while, you know? It’s funny. I don’t know why I don’t go downtown more often. But every once in a while, something tells me go and I go. I guess it must be different when you live around there all the time.” She turned her gold-flecked smile upon me. Crossing 59th Street, I had an acute moment of panic. Who was this woman?

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  But later, when he was on fire with whisky, he looked again directly at her, and saw immediately that she had also been thinking of him. There were not so many people with her—it was as though she had been making room for him. He had already been told that she was a widow from the North, in town for only a few days to visit her people. When he looked at her she looked at him and, as though it were part of the joking conversation she was having with her friends, she laughed aloud. She had the lie-gap between her teeth, and a big mouth; when she laughed, she belatedly caught her lower lip in her teeth, as though she were ashamed of so large a mouth, and her breasts shook. It was not like the riot that occurred when big, fat women laughed—her breasts rose and fell against the tight cloth of her dress. She was much older than he—around Deborah’s age, perhaps thirty-odd—and she was not really pretty. Yet the distance between them was abruptly charged with her, and her smell was in his nostrils. Almost, he felt those moving breasts beneath his hand. And he drank again, allowing, unconsciously, or nearly, his face to fall into the lines of innocence and power which his experience with women had told him made their love come down. Well (walking homewards, cold and tingling) yes, they did the thing. Lord, how they rocked in their bed of sin, and how she cried and shivered; Lord how her love came down! Yes (walking homewards through the fleeing mist, with the cold sweat standing on his brow), yet, in vanity and the pride of conquest, he thought of her, of her smell, the heat of her body beneath his hands, of her voice, and her tongue, like the tongue of a cat, and her teeth, and her swelling breasts, and how she moved for him, and held him, and laboured with him, and how they fell, trembling and groaning, and locked together, into the world again. And, thinking of this, his body freezing with his sweat, and yet altogether violent with the memory of lust, he came to a tree on a gentle rise, beyond which, and out of sight, lay home, where his mother lay. And there leaped into his mind, with the violence of water that has burst the dams and covered the banks, rushing uncontrolled toward the doomed, immobile houses—on which, on rooftops and windows, the sun yet palely shivers—the memory of all the mornings he had mounted here and passed this tree, caught for a moment between sins committed and sins to be committed. The mist on this rise had fled away, and he felt that he stood, as he faced the lone tree, beneath the naked eye of Heaven.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  I loved Muriel like my own life; we were pledged to each other. How could I desire another woman physically? But I did. Naturally, the thing to do was to examine this new state of affairs in all of its endless ramifications, and to discuss each one of them in detail. That is what the three of us did, endlessly, over and over until all hours of the morning. Muriel thought it was an exciting idea, possible in a new world of women. Lynn wanted to sleep with us both and no more to-do about it. I knew what I wanted, which was everybody one at a time, and since my wants felt contradictory, I had to figure out some way I could have everything that I wanted and still be safe. That was very difficult, because we were in uncharted territory. What we were trying to build was dangerous, and could have enormous consequences for Muriel and me. But our love was strong enough to be tested, strong enough to provide a base for loving and extended relationships. I always used to say that I believed in sleeping with my friends. Well, here was a chance to put theory into practice. Besides, every time Lynn laughed her slightly hysterical laugh or wrinkled her nose, my knees turned to pudding. I could smell her like wilted fall flowers throughout the house as soon as I opened the door of the apartment from work. Our conversations went on all night. Sometimes I arrived at the library without having slept at all, looking like something the cat dragged in and the kittens wouldn’t eat. I said that my boyfriend Oliver had a fatal disease and had been sick all night and his sister Muriel and I had stayed up to nurse him. Mrs. Johnson, head of the children’s room, looked at me with a very funny eye, but never said a word. I think she was gay too. So all in all, I was rather relieved one day when I opened the door after work to find Muriel and Lynn just getting out of bed together. A piece of me was furious (What, another woman’s hands on Muriel’s body?), and another piece of me was afraid (Well! Now I’d really have to fish or cut bait). But a large piece of me was just relieved that we had moved beyond talking, and that the direction of that movement was out of my hands. The three of us kissed and held hands and had dinner, which Lynn cooked for the first time. Then Muriel went to Laurel’s for a beer, and I found out that Lynn was every bit as delicious as I had fantasized her to be. Our new living arrangement called for a celebration, so I took the next two days off from work.

• From Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (1982)

  Throughout the day, Rose came by each machine regularly and spot-checked crystals from each of our racks, checking to make sure that no one racked unread crystals, or rushed through crystals with incorrect readings in order to raise our counts and make bonus. The first two weeks I worked in the RR I talked to no one, raced my readings every day, never flipped the shield, and made three dollars in bonus. I decided I would have to reassess the situation. Ginger and I talked about it one night. “You’d better slow down a little at work. The word’s going out you’re an eager beaver, brown-nosing Rose.” I was offended. “I’m not ass-kissing, I’m trying to make some money. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?” “Don’t you know those rates are set high like that so nobody can beat them? If you break your ass to read so many, you’re going to show up the other girls, and before you know it they’re going to raise the day rate again, figuring if you can do it so can everybody. And that just makes everybody look bad. They’re never going to let you make any money in that place. All the books you read and you don’t know that yet?” Ginger rolled over and tapped the book I was reading on my pillow. But I was determined. I knew I could not take Keystone Electronics for much longer, and I knew I needed some money put aside before I left. Where would I go when I got back to New York? Where would I live until I got a job? And how long would I have to look for work? And on the horizon like a dim star, was my hope of going to Mexico. I had to make some money. Ginger and Ada, her new workmate, went to the movies more and more often now that I was living at the Thurmans’, and I was determined not to care. But my sixth sense told me I had to get away, and soon. My daily rate of crystals began to increase steadily. Rose came by more and more often to my machine, but could find nothing wrong with my crystals, nor their slotting. She even went so far as to ask me to turn out my jeans pockets one evening. I was outraged, but complied. By the next payday, I had made an additional thirty dollars in bonus money for two weeks. That was almost as much as my weekly wages. It became the talk of the RR women. “How does she manage to do all those?” “Just wait and see.