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)

  He said no, just right. “Burlap tickles, though.” “Now,” she said, “you’re almost ready to go, but first you must, absolutely must, empty out the crop of mature sperm in your system, so that you will have a fresh, new generation formed under the powerful influence of Ka-Chiang. Crackers, could you please do a sexy lap dance to help Wade while he gives himself pleasure?” Wade made a noise. “You mean I’m supposed to wank while Crackers does a lap dance?” “If you’d like to give yourself pleasure privately in a different room you can do that instead.” “No, it’s not that. It’s just that you tied this handkerchief on my balls and now this. It’s happening rather fast is all I’m saying.” “It must happen fast,” said Lila, gesticulating. “We must clear out the old regime. The old tired ways of sperm must go. The young ones need their room to flourish.” She handed Wade a small jade cup. “Ejaculate your sweet salty hotness in that, if you like. Or in my hand. I’d love to hold your seed.” She held out her hand. Wade put the jade cup down. “Maybe I’m too shy to have you watch me,” he said. “Maybe I should go back home.” “Crackers, flash Wade your marvelous smile,” said Lila. Crackers smiled a marvelous smile. “See, you’re a prisoner now. You can’t escape. You’re going to have to come in this jade cup.” Lila’s hands went down to Wade’s knees, and then she slowly brought them up, touching only the hair on his thighs. Meanwhile, Crackers hooked her thumb under his cock and began moving it around. “Tell me about a girl you think about at night,” Lila coaxed. “Well, at night,” Wade said, swallowing, “sometimes I think about this girl in my Ancient Civilizations class. She listens to my ideas about the Phoenician traders, and we don’t agree but it’s okay. I’ve talked to her in the cafeteria a couple of times. She has a baggy blue T-shirt that says Froot Loops.” Crackers lightly touched Wade’s hipbones and his chest. Wade tightened his pectoral muscles when her fingers passed over them. “What do you imagine doing with her?” Lila asked. “Grip your cock with both hands and tell me.” Wade gripped his cock like a flag bearer. “I think about putting my hand up under her Froot Loops T-shirt,” he said. “And what about her ass?” “It’s sacred ground. It’s so loose and so jiggly it isn’t even funny.” Lila smiled at his shyness. “You’re a sweet boy, Wade, and I want to see those handsome white teeth when you come. We’re going to coax all the old jizz out of those hot young stones of yours. Don’t be shy now, let’s see you work it.

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

  She gently put his knee down and washed his stomach. She washed his legs. She didn’t touch his cock, although it was the most beautiful cock she’d ever seen. It lay there. “This is pleasant,” he said. “I’m lying here while a woman scrubs me.” She scrubbed his calves and thighs. “Uh, would you mind also washing my private places?” he said. “Oh, I’d like to, but I’m afraid I can’t,” said Shandee. He looked at her with eyebrows raised. “If I start washing your private places,” Shandee explained, “I’ll get carried away and want to jerk you and watch you come, and you heard what Lila said—we’re not allowed to.” He made a whimpering sound. “Just look at my cock. Look at how bad it needs you. Is it really true that you don’t mind that it curves?” “Believe me, I don’t mind,” Shandee said. “Your cock is a revelation. Some have a hammer, and some have a sickle.” With this she pressed the spray pedal and drenched Ruzty’s body with warm soapy water. The cock still stood, hunched over, proud and pale and purple tipped. She sponged his forehead gently. “You poor thing,” she said. She hit the spray pedal again and drenched his balls with warm unsoapy water, watching them metamorphose. His mouth was open so she kissed it, and then she looked down at his cock again. She simply couldn’t stop staring at it. “Just hold it for one second, will you, please?” he said. “I’m quite desperate.” “Oh, okay,” she said. She held his cock in her orange sponge mittens. In a flash he grabbed a sprayer and sprayed her shirt. “You!” she said. She looked down. The dark buttons of her nipples were visible through the white fabric. “Watch what your nipples do to me,” he said, and he tightened his cock muscles so that his scythe squirmed and nodded like some strange plant. “Whooo!” said Shandee. “Take off the mittens and hold it, please, please!” “I’m going to get in trouble, but okay.” She pulled off her sponge mittens and held her hands under the soapy water till they were slippery. Then she took hold of Ruzty’s cock, which was as hard as a summer squash. She splayed her fingers and moved them over his balls and then over his stomach. She could see his thigh muscles tighten. His cock was straining, and she had to stroke it. She took it in her hand and felt its thickness and its sense of certainty. It was like the Arch of St. Louis. It had one thing to say to the world: “I am a stiff swervie.” She slid her hand up to the tip—it was like sliding over a steering wheel—and slid it down again, enjoying the sheen of the soapy water on his cockknob. “This is a big, beautiful dick you’ve got, Ruzty,” she whispered. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re nice to say it.”

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

  “He’s gorgeous—what a penis!” said Rhumpa to herself, enraptured. She was desperate to nibble on his pectoral manslabs; desperate to knead his suede-soft balls. She wanted him every-where, in all holes at once—she wanted to show him the real her and not a movie of her. Dune now leaned with his left hand splayed flat against the wall, holding the other hand fisted and motionless in the air about a foot in front of his crotch. He nosed his free-hanging cock into the tightness of his fist and began pumping his hips, driving the unyielding dicklength deep into his hand tunnel. His long hair hung in his face. When, in her video, Rhumpa put one foot on the chair and held her pussylips open, Dune started thrusting hard. Again and again the head of his cock poked out, dark and bull-necked, from his immobile fist, until finally, at the end of one long plunge, he held still for an instant and sent a hot and heavy lasso of manstarch slapping against the video screen. Even through the soundproofing, Rhumpa thought she could hear his primeval cry. He squeezed his Pollock one last time, shaking the orgasmal dregs onto the floor. Breathless, elated at what she’d seen, Rhumpa wandered in a daze of dicklust back to her hotel room. She put on a dress, one dangly earring, sunglasses, and a soft sweater with big buttons, and then slowly she took everything off except the sunglasses. She lay on the bed and stuck two fingers up her simmering chickenshack and shook them. She found a can of Red Bull in the mini-fridge and humped its coldness. She thought about plaid patterns and polka dots. She could feel her ovaries and her hipbones dying for dick. She called the front desk. “I don’t want to come alone,” she said. “I want a forest of cocks around me. I want to see them up close—I want to wear my sunglasses and have dick juice splurt all over them. I want ball loads of hot cockslurp landing on all my soft parts. This is an emergency top-level request for dick.” “You got it, ma’am,” said the man at the front desk. She heard him make an announcement. “H.O.H. H.O.H. Emergency H.O.H. Hotel room 313. Eighteen stiff dicks needed.” Rhumpa heard the thumping of many feet, and then a crowd of dudes of all ages in green T-shirts arrived and began hopping out of their cargo pants. They formed an oval around the bed, where Rhumpa lay teasing herself, wearing red finger-less gloves.

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

  It was like the Arch of St. Louis. It had one thing to say to the world: “I am a stiff swervie.” She slid her hand up to the tip—it was like sliding over a steering wheel—and slid it down again, enjoying the sheen of the soapy water on his cockknob. “This is a big, beautiful dick you’ve got, Ruzty,” she whispered. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re nice to say it.” She began moving her hand slowly, then faster. “Ooh boy, I want this dick inside me,” she said, “I want to be fucked by this dick, I can’t help it, it’s so perfect. It’s literally THE perfect dick for me.” She gave it a number of good quick pulls and then she noticed that Ruzty was quivering and trembling. Suddenly he said “Ohhhhhhrrrrr” in his beautiful accent, and several white glops spouted from the end. Immediately there was a buzzer and a ringing. “Uh-oh,” said Shandee. She blew Ruzty a kiss. “Bye-bye,” said Ruzty. An assistant named Krock appeared and led Shandee away. “Why in heaven’s name did you wank him off?” Krock asked. “I didn’t mean to. He begged me, and I obliged him.” “Did you take off your sponge gloves?” Shandee nodded. “We had a rapport. I’m sorry.” Krock reassured her. “I think it’ll be okay. Lila will give you your reassignment tomorrow.” “Is there any chance that I’ll be able to see him again?” “You never know,” said Krock. He gave her a sly look. “I’ll put in a good word for you.” “Thanks.” Shandee shook her head wistfully. “I really wanted that cock of his so bad. God, I still do. I can’t stop thinking about it. I had to hold it. I’d give that cock everything.” “I wish people said that about my cock,” said Krock, as they reached the lobby of Shandee’s hotel. “I’m sure it’s nice,” said Shandee. “Do you want to see it?” “Um—” Shandee checked the wall clock. “No, thanks. Dave’s arm is going to be needing his meal.” Rhumpa Unbuttons Her Shirt Rhumpa was her name, and, yes, she paid a visit to the House of Holes. The people she was staying with in New Haven were wealthy and under-read. Although they were middle-aged, their minds were very young and she couldn’t take them seriously. She saw a pepper grinder in the middle of the table, and while they talked about the price of tires she unscrewed the little knob on the top, and when it came off she lifted the wooden part off the central spindly thing and looked inside, where she could see in the shadows of peppercorns.

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

  She could feel her ovaries and her hipbones dying for dick. She called the front desk. “I don’t want to come alone,” she said. “I want a forest of cocks around me. I want to see them up close—I want to wear my sunglasses and have dick juice splurt all over them. I want ball loads of hot cockslurp landing on all my soft parts. This is an emergency top-level request for dick.” “You got it, ma’am,” said the man at the front desk. She heard him make an announcement. “H.O.H. H.O.H. Emergency H.O.H. Hotel room 313. Eighteen stiff dicks needed.” Rhumpa heard the thumping of many feet, and then a crowd of dudes of all ages in green T-shirts arrived and began hopping out of their cargo pants. They formed an oval around the bed, where Rhumpa lay teasing herself, wearing red finger-less gloves. “Now start ragging,” she said. “Rag on yourself as fast as you can. Faster! Faster!” The men were puffing and blowing, their cheeks pink, a fine sheen of strain on their foreheads. “Who’s first?” Rhumpa said. A little man of about forty-five wearing a baseball cap said, “I’m gonna juice big-time!” Rhumpa grabbed the back of his leg and pulled him close. “Come all over these britneys,” she said. “They need it, shoot right here.” She pinched her nipples and pointed them around the crowd. “Here it comes!” the man croaked, and a long whipflick of silly string curved through the sparkling air. Then one very hairy man pulled off Rhumpa’s panties and clapped them to his nose and went, “Aaaah!” He jerked out his putz and splashed on her pussyfloss. “Next! I need more come—more come!” Rhumpa said. Just then Daggett burst in, naked, wild-eyed, with Rhumpa’s former bra twisted around his huge purple erection. “Daggett!” she said. She clapped her hand over her breasts. “I don’t care, I need to see them, I don’t care.” She let her hands fall, and he stared feastingly at her breasts while he slowly unwrapped the straps of her bra from his pulsing hellhound. He waved the other men back. “Take me and fuck me good!” Rhumpa said. She threw her legs open and he slowly socketed himself deep in her famished slutslot. Somewhere alarm bells and buzzers rang, but the lovers fucked for a moment with joyous sweaty abandon, laughing. Then two headless men appeared and pulled Daggett away. “Is this it for your balls, then?” Rhumpa asked. “They’re going back in the tank,” he said, “but it was worth it. It’s only two weeks.” “I’ll go to the opera with you,” Rhumpa called as they dragged Daggett away. When he was gone, she gestured the other men back. “More come, more come!” she said. “Jerk it out! Ice my cake, dickboys! I want to feel like a breakfast pastry!”

• From The City of God

  [738] Phil. ii. 8. [739] Ps. cxliv. 4. [740] Cicero, Tusc. Quaest. iii. 6 and iv. 9. So Aristotle. Chapter 16. --Of the Evil of Lust,--A Word Which, Though Applicable to Many Vices, is Specially Appropriated to Sexual Uncleanness. Although, therefore, lust may have many objects, yet when no object is specified, the word lust usually suggests to the mind the lustful excitement of the organs of generation. And this lust not only takes possession of the whole body and outward members, but also makes itself felt within, and moves the whole man with a passion in which mental emotion is mingled with bodily appetite, so that the pleasure which results is the greatest of all bodily pleasures. So possessing indeed is this pleasure, that at the moment of time in which it is consummated, all mental activity is suspended. What friend of wisdom and holy joys, who, being married, but knowing, as the apostle says, "how to possess his vessel in santification and honor, not in the disease of desire, as the Gentiles who know not God," [741] would not prefer, if this were possi ble, to beget children without this lust, so that in this function of begetting offspring the members created for this purpose should not be stimulated by the heat of lust, but should be actuated by his volition, in the same way as his other members serve him for their respective ends? But even those who delight in this pleasure are not moved to it at their own will, whether they confine themselves to lawful or transgress to unlawful pleasures; but sometimes this lust importunes them in spite of themselves, and sometimes fails them when they desire to feel it, so that though lust rages in the mind, it stirs not in the body. Thus, strangely enough, this emotion not only fails to obey the legitimate desire to beget offspring, but also refuses to serve lascivious lust; and though it often opposes its whole combined energy to the soul that resists it, sometimes also it is divided against itself, and while it moves the soul, leaves the body unmoved. [741] 1 Thess. iv. 4.

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

  What’s it short for?” My damp arm hairs bristled in the Ruth Brown music, and the heat. I could not stand anybody messing around with my name, not even with nicknames. “Nothing. It’s just Audre. What’s Kitty short for?” “Afrekete,” she said, snapping her fingers in time to the rhythm of it and giving a long laugh. “That’s me. The Black pussycat.” She laughed again. “I like your hairdo. Are you a singer?” “No.” She continued to stare at me with her large direct eyes. I was suddenly too embarrassed at not knowing what else to say to meet her calmly erotic gaze, so I stood up abruptly and said, in my best Laurel’s-terse tone, “Let’s dance.” Her face was broad and smooth under too-light make-up, but as we danced a foxtrot she started to sweat, and her skin took on a deep shiny richness. Kitty closed her eyes part way when she danced, and her one gold-rimmed front tooth flashed as she smiled and occasionally caught her lower lip in time to the music. Her yellow poplin shirt, cut in the style of an Eisenhower jacket, had a zipper that was half open in the summer heat, showing collarbones that stood out like brown wings from her long neck. Garments with zippers were highly prized among the more liberal set of gay-girls, because these could be worn by butch or femme alike on certain occasions, without causing any adverse or troublesome comments. Kitty’s narrow, well-pressed khaki skirt was topped by a black belt that matched my own except in its newness, and her natty trimness made me feel almost shabby in my well-worn riding pants. I thought she was very pretty, and I wished I could dance with as much ease as she did, and as effortlessly. Her hair had been straightened into short feathery curls, and in that room of well-set marcels and D.A.’s and pageboys, it was the closest cut to my own. Kitty smelled of soap and Jean Naté, and I kept thinking she was bigger than she actually was, because there was a comfortable smell about her that I always associated with large women. I caught another spicy herb-like odor, that I later identified as a combination of coconut oil and Yardley’s lavender hair pomade. Her mouth was full, and her lipstick was dark and shiny, a new Max Factor shade called “WARPAINT.” The next dance was a slow fish that suited me fine. I never knew whether to lead or to follow in most other dances, and even the effort to decide which was which was as difficult for me as having to decide all the time the difference between left and right. Somehow that simple distinction had never become automatic for me, and all that deciding usually left me very little energy with which to enjoy the movement and the music. But “fishing” was different.

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

  Then she handed Crackers the jade cup and smiled at Wade. She began putting her unforgettable wonderbreasts away. “Now sleep and let the magic ball-hanky do its work,” she said. “It will give you confidence.” She slid on her sweater and fluffed her hair. “Take him to the hotel,” she said to Crackers. “He’ll be staying the night.” Wade followed Crackers to his room, hugged her, and got into bed. The sheets were cool and clean. He slept happily and soundly with the cloth of Ka-Chiang tied around his balls. Cardell Buys a Gel Pen Cardell still wanted to meet a nice, smart, sexy woman. His best bet, he decided, was to go to a coffee shop he knew called Tribe of Bean, where women sometimes wore dresses. Cardell had noticed that when a woman wore a dress at a coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon it often meant that she wanted to meet somebody. Of course, it didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to meet Cardell in particular—but she might. First what he needed, though, was a pen and a notebook, so that he could be absorbed in writing in his notebook in the coffee shop when a woman in a dress came in. So he went to an office-supply store, and he walked to the wall where all the pens were. A petite, fine-boned women was standing there looking over the display. She had dark hair with lots of body and bounce, and she had big eyes and a small bottom and a little black purse. She was wearing a dress—black with thin vertical stripes. Cardell wanted to be closer to her, so he began to move sideways. He looked at the roller-ball pens, and then moved sideways some more, to the pastel gel pens. And then he was at the metallics. He was quiet for a while, and she was quiet, as if by mutual agreement. Finally Cardell cleared his throat. “I’m going to the coffee shop,” he said, “and I need a pen to write with. Do you have a recommendation?” She pointed to the roller-balls. “If you just want to jot down notes, then I’d say go with one of those.” She had a soft, thoughtful voice, with a hint of South Carolina in it. “What kinds of things are you going to be writing?” “Oh,” said Cardell, “everything I want in a woman, I guess.” The woman looked him up and down and then said, “Is that an egg in your pocket?” Cardell nodded. “I guessed as much,” she said. “You’ll want something a little more exotic, then.” She shook the pen that she’d been holding. “These are the best.” Cardell glanced at the package. “Silver gel,” he said. He looked at her questioningly.

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

  Luna looked around the studio. “Well, you are quite isolated,” she said. “Yes, it helps me concentrate. When I come I can shout as loud as I want. Will you dance for me? Let your breasts roam for a moment—I need to see how they dance.” “Okay.” She danced, and as she danced she tried to think of the most delicious salads she could imagine—with artichokes and sundried tomato and blue cheese dressing, and beets, lots of beets. Jason nodded. “Good, good. I’m beginning to get the gist of them. Now I’ll need you to help me clamp both my hands in these vises.” He placed his hands, palms up, between two battered, smooth wooden vises. “Just turn the cranks.” “How tight?” “Uh, not so tight that my hands are crushed, but tight enough so that they are immobilized. I must be immobilized in order to feel your breasts completely. Sorry my fingers are such a mess. I’ve been staining today.” Luna tightened the screws till she reached a point that seemed right. “Good,” said Jason. “Will you give me another sip of that brew? And help yourself. And if you could stroke my palms with your fingertips for a moment to sensitize them, that would be very kind of you.” She brushed lightly over his palms with her fingertips. His eyes fluttered, and he began breathing through his mouth as if in a trance. “Mmm. And now the big event.” “My breasts?” “Yes. Take them out for me, please. Unfetter them. I want your bosoms naked as jaybirds. Big honking jaybirds.” Jason began to sway from side to side, and he looked at her with a look of heavy, slow-blinking lust. “Are you ready?” “I think so.” Luna took off her sweater and her her blue shirt and then, without breaking her gaze, reached back and flicked open her bra and shrugged it off, holding it momentarily like a baby when it landed loose in her hands. “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.

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

  She leaned toward Henriette’s vulva. “Can I kiss it a little, hon? To get a better diagnosis.” “Uh—yeah,” said Henriette. “She did this to me, too, when I told her my clit was stolen,” said Zilka to Henriette. “What kind of vibrator do you use?” “A Pocket Rocket,” said Henriette. “Tangerine-colored Pocket Rocket. I just bear down, a little to the side, about here, against the sleeve.” Lila’s mouth made juicy kissing sounds between Henriette’s legs. “Oof, careful—it does hurt a bit,” said Henriette. “Pocket Rockets are powerful,” said Zilka. “Also they’re kind of loud. What about getting something with adjustable speeds?” Lila emerged from between Henriette’s legs. “That’s a yummy lemondrop you have. Tiny but nice. Curiously refreshing. My advice would be to listen to your clit. If it’s hurting, it’s telling you something. Stop with the vibrator altogether for a while. Give those battered nerve endings time to regenerate, collect their wits.” Henriette nodded. “And we’re going to help you with a dose of the House of Holes’s healing powers. You need a leg wrap with the Cable of Induhash, and you need the Belt of Jingly Bells, and you may need a squirt of my own titmilk. And you definitely also need a higher vantage. Much higher. You need perspective on your life.” She gestured for Zilka to bring over the Cable of Induhash, which was a spool of soft yellow cord. “Can I ask what you think about when you masturbate? Krock and Zilka are going to wind this special cord around your legs. You can leave your skirt pulled up.” Henriette pulled her underpants back into position and considered the question. Zilka and Krock both began gently wrapping her upper thighs with soft rope. Their hands sometimes brushed against her pubic hair. “My mind’s in the gutter a lot,” Henriette said. “I’ll remember some nice old man selling magazines near the bus stop, with bushy eyebrows, and I’ll think of seducing him. Or I’ll think of being a coke addict and having to give blowjobs in bus stations for money. I’m into animals, especially horses, beautiful strong brown stallions with very glossy coats and six-pack abs, I think about washing the ends of their long penises with a soft cloth and watching them sniff at a mare and nip her neck, and I think about getting them ready to mount the breeding mount.” Henriette had a dreamy look, slouched back in the chair with her rope-wrapped thighs open. There was definitely something unusual about the Cable of Induhash, she thought—it was very pliant and soft and gripping, and she could feel a sexual current running through it. “I think about putting my hand on the underside of the stallion’s penis just at the moment when he’s coming, so that I can feel the pulses of the ejaculation forcing his hot come through the length of his penis and into the collection jar. Or into me.

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

  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.” “One sec.” Betsy dialed her husband’s number again. “Hon, I’m out on the back deck with Cardell, that’s his name, and I’ve been explaining to him how you and I make love. I know. I know, hon. I know. But he’s gotten a little aroused, the poor boy, as I have, and I wondered if it would be all right if he took out his dick and played with it, just for a moment or two, in a tasteful way, while I continued to tell him about us and what we do, so I thought I should ask you—” She listened for a moment. “Okay, no. I understand. Okay.” She clicked the phone off. “He says no. But!” She got a shrewd expression. “He didn’t say you couldn’t do what you need to do in your bathing suit.” “You mean reach in?” “Precisely. Reach in. Just don’t ‘bring it out.’ ” Cardell reached in, and as he did she came over. “But I’d like to have a peek,” she said.

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

  That was going pretty good.” “Okay, well.” She closed her eyes and thought. “Somewhere along the way my panties have been scooted down and kicked off in the bottom of the bed, which means that after we’re done I have to hunt around for them for five minutes or give up and get a clean pair and figure I’ll find them in the morning.” “Then what?” “Ah, well, then there comes a point, always, inevitably, where I have to go on my knees and put my ass up. I don’t know why it is, but I need to feel the pressure of the bed on my knees and elbows and the high-up feeling of my ass pointing straight up! I can’t help it. It simply must go up! Always has.” “Does he like that?” “Yes, it makes him crazy.” She looked at him. “Do you want to see?” He smiled. She put her ass up. She was still wearing the light-blue shorts she wore over her bathing suit. She looked entrancingly suggestive, and Cardell began breathing noisily through his nose. “Does he cram it directly in?” “Not right away. By the way, does my eye look swollen?” Cardell leaned and peered at her. “Not too swollen. A little red, maybe, in the corner. Have you been crying?” “No, just a bug bite this morning. Annoying. Anyway, yes, his cock is knobby, so sometimes he rubs it against my thigh for a second and spanks it against my asscheek, because he likes me to know how big and warm and ass-slappy and hard it is. So hard.” She was lying back on the chaise longue now with her hands in the air. “Then I feel his hands grab my hips, and his woody finds me on its own, and I’m so darn wet and puffy that he can just stab it in one long stroke, right there, that long bone, mmmf.” Floomp, floomp went Cardell’s hand in his bathing suit. She opened her eyes and looked over at him. “You like listening to me tell you about how my husband fucks me?” Flump flump flump, said Cardell’s hand. He was smiling a wanker’s smile. “You love to tug that dirty dick and listen to me chatter, don’t you?” “Yes, I do, and tell me, do you prefer when he’s slow and smooth or hard and pounding?” “I like it when he’s been going along slow and then with no warning he just barrels into me at double speed, bam bam bam bam! And I say, ‘Fuck me, moneyman, bang me hard, yeah, hard, yeah!’ He likes when I call him moneyman.” Her arm was up to the wrist in her shorts now. “But he could be anybody, then. In fact, he is anybody. He’s not my husband anymore, he’s a big bad stranger on a string connected to twelve guys I’ve seen, some on TV, some in real life.

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

  “Oh, I’m rattled and cranky and horny,” said Dune. “But I do have something that will be of interest to you.” He tucked a scrap of paper into one of Shandee’s boots. “It’s the number of Dave’s hotel room. Four thirty-four.” “Wow, thanks, Dune.” “And now, before my time runs out, I hope you’ll let me slap or spank your ass.” “Sure, that’s what it’s for,” said Shandee. “But wear the mitts, and don’t spank too hard. Some guys spank me too hard.” Dune blew on her ass and rested both his mitts on it for a moment. “Shandee, honey, I’ll spank you so soft you won’t even know it’s spanking, I’ll spank you real tender, and you’ll know it’s me, because I’m really just touching your ass with a man’s gentle touch and showing you how much respect I have for it.” “That’s nice,” said Shandee. “And can I kiss your ass, too? And worship it?” “Yes, you can kiss and worship my ass.” He bent close and kissed, closing his eyes, and then he whispered, “And can I pull out your hanky and stick one pinky finger in your pretty pussy? I know I’ll find true peace if I do.” “If you do that with your pinky, Dune, they’ll cut it off,” said Shandee, putting her knees together. “Look up on the wall above you.” Dune glanced at the long, bony row of dried fingers that were nailed there. Then he noticed a small blood-stained chopping block in the corner. It was not a pleasant sight. “Damn savages,” said Dune. “It’s almost worth it, except I play guitar and keyboards. Can’t they make an exception for an old friend?” Shandee shifted her weight fetchingly, considering. “Krock is a stickler,” she said finally, “but you’ve been so helpful, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Pull out the cloth of Ka-Chiang, and I’ll push some fresh juice from my cunny for you.” Dune breathed. “Oh, that would be a welcome treat.” He pushed an oven mitt into Shandee’s upper leg, softly, and palmed her left asscheek. Then he thumped the asscheek a little on one side, so that she jumped and her elegant flesh shimmied. He pinched her thighs gently three times and tugged on her hanky till it fell out. “Now let me see your pussy cry,” he said. Shandee was wet already; she arched her back up and pushed. Dune saw a tender shining weep of wetness that brimmed over her slit and leaked down one leg. “Oh, my glory!” Dune said, losing control. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d flung off an oven mitt and slid one pinky finger knuckle-deep into her velvet draperies.

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

  She tightened one crumpet muscle and then the other and felt how that felt. “I hope Number 53 likes this,” she said, “because this is one major derriere.” She turned toward the two of them, wearing only her bra. “What’s your verdict?” They were both open-mouthed. Her eyes flitted to Krock’s nethers, and she saw what looked like a stack of Duplo blocks. “The verdict is yes.” Mischa said, “And now, the fixative.” “What’s that?” asked Henriette. “I will excuse myself and Krock here will come on your new humongous ass.” “What? I didn’t know about that. What happens if he doesn’t come on my ass?” “It shrinks back to normal size in ten minutes. ” “No!” “Yes. You have to have the fixative. For each man who comes on your ass, it’ll remain humongous for a full hour, up to a total of twenty-four hours. How much fixative do you want?” “The full twenty-four.” “Then you’ll need us to summon the beginning of the Man Line. Kneel on the couch and Krock will come on your ass, and when he’s done I’ll wipe you down and send in the next man. Okay?” Henriette knelt on the couch and waited, jiggling her amazingly huge ass a few times to get used to how it moved. “Okay,” she said. “Bring on the Man Line.” Dune Visits the Midwa y S handee was standing up on a balcony on the midway, shaking her hips self-promotingly. She had white boots on and a small green cloth of Ka-Chiang hanging like a flag from her pussyhole. Out in front Krock was calling, “Forty to slap the pretty ass, sixty to spank it. Forty to slap, sixty to spank.” Dune, strolling by, saw Shandee and immediately got in line for her. He paid and was given a pair of blue quilted oven mitts. “I’m going to slap that girl’s happy ass,” announced the man in line in front of him. It was a long wait, in through a red door and around a series of small turns that led through a maze of plywood baffles painted black. Finally, Dune reached a small private room with a velvet curtain in it. Shandee was there—or part of her was. He couldn’t see her face or upper body because she was leaning forward through a hole in the curtain that went around her waist; only her legs and bottom and pussy hanky were visible . Dune sat down and said to himself, Will anything ever look as good to me as this girl’s wineglass shape looks to me right now?

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

  He pulled on his waistband so that she could peer into the depths of his bathing suit. She saw his fist in the green shadows, clutching his swollen packmule. “Oooh,” she said, “I’d like to have a taste of that big hunk of badness. But sadly—it is not to be.” “Why don’t you keep telling me how you and he fool around? That was going pretty good.” “Okay, well.” She closed her eyes and thought. “Somewhere along the way my panties have been scooted down and kicked off in the bottom of the bed, which means that after we’re done I have to hunt around for them for five minutes or give up and get a clean pair and figure I’ll find them in the morning.” “Then what?” “Ah, well, then there comes a point, always, inevitably, where I have to go on my knees and put my ass up. I don’t know why it is, but I need to feel the pressure of the bed on my knees and elbows and the high-up feeling of my ass pointing straight up! I can’t help it. It simply must go up! Always has.” “Does he like that? ” “Yes, it makes him crazy.” She looked at him. “Do you want to see?” He smiled. She put her ass up. She was still wearing the light-blue shorts she wore over her bathing suit. She looked entrancingly suggestive, and Cardell began breathing noisily through his nose. “Does he cram it directly in?” “Not right away. By the way, does my eye look swollen?” Cardell leaned and peered at her. “Not too swollen. A little red, maybe, in the corner. Have you been crying?” “No, just a bug bite this morning. Annoying. Anyway, yes, his cock is knobby, so sometimes he rubs it against my thigh for a second and spanks it against my asscheek, because he likes me to know how big and warm and ass-slappy and hard it is. So hard.” She was lying back on the chaise longue now with her hands in the air. “Then I feel his hands grab my hips, and his woody finds me on its own, and I’m so darn wet and puffy that he can just stab it in one long stroke, right there, that long bone, mmmf.” Floomp, floomp went Cardell’s hand in his bathing suit. She opened her eyes and looked over at him. “You like listening to me tell you about how my husband fucks me?”

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

  Henriette took off her roomy denim ass pants and arranged herself bending forward on the bed like a person skiing down a slalom course. She felt his hands on her, squeezing their way along her backthighs and finding her lower backcheeks and massaging her deeply, with an interest in all her cores and centers. Then she felt his cock pushing strangely at the seams of her underwear. “No, now, Ruzty,” she said. “You have an ass-squeezer’s license, not a pussy-fucker’s license.” “Wait a second, yes, I do, I do, I just forgot to show it,” Ruzty said, rummaging in his pockets. He had a slightly desperate sound. He waved another folded piece of paper. “I’ve been saving it for this moment.” Henriette looked the paper over. “You just typed this yourself and printed it out, didn’t you?” Ruzty looked chagrined. “Yes.” “Is the ass-squeezer’s license forged as well?” “Yes,” he said. “Daggett said he couldn’t give me a real one because there are too many. I was wrong, I know it now. I went outside the proper channels.” Henriette said, “Ruzty, you very bad boy.” Ruzty said, “I’m sorry.” She looked at his eyes, which traveled to her ass. Then she caught sight of his remarkably solid but curved piece of equipment. She made a tiny hissing sound and said, “Oh, might as well go ahead anyway. Fuck me, horny sailor.” Ruzty’s dick bounced with gladness. Henriette gnawed the sheet and waited. She felt his cock helmet finding the sloppy gates. Then impulsively she turned onto her back. “Take me where I can see you,” she said. He sank over her, and she led him inside, forcing his cock to unbend. She gave him the Cook’s tour of her innerness. His backbone worked lithely; his bottom, swiveling, rose and fell. Henriette straightened her knees, so that her feet were up in the air, running. She laughed because it felt so good, and she said, “Ruzty, you are a swervy-dicked master of the fuck! Don’t stop! Fill my bitchgroove!” He squeezed her very hard to him and breathed in her hair and shuddered out everything he had into her. “I give you everything,” he said. Later in the shower, Henriette remembered this and got on her knees and said, “Oh, Ruzty, oh, Ruzty,” and came.

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

  I was very good at that, and I loved to do it. It felt like reciting the endless poems I used to memorize as a child, and which I would retell to myself and anybody else who would listen. They were my way of talking. To express a feeling, I would recite a poem. When the poems I memorized fell short of the occasion, I started to write my own. I also wanted to go back to college. The course we were taking at the New School didn’t make too much sense to me, and the idea of studying was not a familiar one to me. I had managed high school without it, and nobody had bothered to notice. I entered college believing one learned by osmosis, and by concentrating intently on what everybody said. That had meant survival in my family’s house. When I left college, I said to myself at the time that one year of college was more than most Black women had and so I was already ahead of the game. But when Muriel came to New York, I knew I was not going back to Mexico any time soon, and I wanted a degree. I had had tastes of what job-hunting was like for unskilled Black women. Even though I had a job which I enjoyed, I wanted someday not to have to take orders from everybody else. Most of all, I wanted to be free enough to know and do what I wanted to do. I wanted not to shake when I got angry or cry when I got mad. And the city colleges were still free. I started therapy on the anniversary of the first day Muriel and I met the year before. On Thanksgiving Day, we fixed a great feast in celebration and invited Suzy and Sis for dinner. Since even at student rates therapy was a luxury, and we had only one income between us, money became even tighter. The day before Thanksgiving, I took my mail-pouch pocketbook and Muriel put on her loosest fitting jacket, and we went across town to the A&P next to Jim Atkins’s, the all-night diner in the Village. We came back with a little capon, two pounds of mushrooms, a box of rice, and asparagus. The asparagus was the hardest of all to get, and some of the tips were broken from being tucked so quickly into Muriel’s waistband. But we managed without mishap or detection, and walked home whistling and pleased. About stealing food from supermarkets—I felt that if we needed it badly enough, we would not get caught. And truth to tell, I stopped doing it when I no longer had to, and I never did get caught. On our way home we splurged on a pint of cherry-vanilla ice cream for dessert, and Suzy and Sis brought the wine. Muriel made an italian pepper and egg pie, and we had a wonderful feast.

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

  I do love a veiny hand.” “I think I’ll take Dave with me, if that’s all right,” said Shandee, a little crisply. “Of course, hon,” said Lila. “And Ruzty, thank you for being our teaching aid. I really think you’re going to have to adopt a sideways stance at the cumshot competition.” Ruzty sat up—his penis, fortunately, had subsided. “Yes, I will stand almost sideways,” he said. “But I will still make my come go quite far that way, I think.” “Good for you,” said Lila. “And thank you, Zilka, for your tips, and let’s see if we can get Ruzty in on tomorrow afternoon’s penis scrub with the other men, if there’s a slot, and we’ll put Shandee on the main station, okay?” “Is this how I should be dressed tomorrow?” asked Shandee. “Just a man’s shirt and crocheted leggings?” Everyone nodded enthusiastically. Ruzty couldn’t take his shining eyes off her. “Oh, I almost forgot the most important thing,” said Lila. “Tomorrow, if you’re inclined, go ahead and stroke the men’s penises. Make them feel good. But gently. Do not ever, ever jerk them through to a climax. If you do, their enthusiasm will flag, and they won’t spend their life savings on activities here at the House. Scrub, don’t tug.” “Scrub, don’t tug, got it,” said Shandee. “I guess I’ll get back to the hotel now.” Like never before, Shandee felt the blood slamming in her bursting clit. She was beside herself. She had to get somewhere private. “See you soon, Ruzty,” she said, putting every emotion she had into her good-bye smile. “See you,” said Ruzty. Zilka took her to the hotel room. Shandee said good-bye to her and closed the door and took off her clothes. She pulled out Dave. “Oh, Dave, I missed you so much,” she said. “I want to sit on your hand so bad. Can I sit on your hand?” Dave’s fingers wiggled yes. Shandee positioned his hand on the corner of the bed, and she sat down on it and crushed her pussy into his fingers and worked her hips in circles. “Give me a couple of stiff fingers up there, Davie,” she said. She felt them slip up inside her, and whoo that was good! She bounced up and down on Dave’s hand for a while, and then saw a bowl of fruit and said, “Wait, Dave, I want you to hold this orange.” She put a navel orange in his palm and then she lowered herself onto its thick bumpy skin, cool against her opening pussyhole. She circled around the orange for a while—rocked and rolled on it—crushing Dave’s knuckles into the bedspread. Then she pulled a green banana off the fruit bowl. “Dave, please hold this big banana straight up for me.”

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

  I mean, it’s not that outrageous, it’s just that it’s not something that you normally say at the checkout counter.” “You’d be surprised at what people say here.” Pendle said, “I was going to say that I wish I was a man who had a store where he made custom sequin pasties for exotic dancers and you were an exotic dancer and came into the store and ordered a set of spiral pasties and so I had to measure your aureoles for fit.” “How would you measure them, with a ruler?” “Probably with my mouth,” said Pendle, “and then I’d measure my mouth with the ruler.” “I see. How does the bathing suit feel?” “Intense. Things are definitely hopping down there. But here’s the thing. When I look at you my fingertips actually go cold on me. Your face is that powerful. Do you want to have a bowl of soup and half a sandwich?” “Sure, I’d like that.” So at nine o’clock, when Trix got off work, she and Pendle went to a restaurant and had smooth soup and talked about working at the House of Holes. Pendle showed her the little purple vial of Bohu’s beardwater. Trix said, “What does it do, make you horny? I don’t need much help with that.” “Me neither, frankly,” said Pendle. “But I think it also makes the sexual experience more intense.” “Well then, I’ll try a drop in my spritzer.” “I’ll put a drop in my spritzer, too, so we’re even,” said Pendle. Then they went for a walk down Quim Street and turned right on Loulou Avenue. They talked about shipping lanes, the European Union, Trix’s French grandmother, and what Trix did after she got home from work when she wasn’t at the House of Holes. Bohu’s beardwater was beginning to kick in by then. “I walk around in my bare feet listening to NPR and eating soy crisps and cherry tomatoes,” Trix said. “Gradually I take off my clothes. I open the fridge and look in the celery drawer, and I sometimes flash the fridge my pussyhair, and the fridge seems to like it. At least, its motor comes on and it gives me a breath of cold air. I like to have my breasts out when I eat soy crisps.” “And then a little later you . . .” “Mhm. Close the curtains. Now here, it’s different. Here I go to a groanroom with a friend. Sometimes I don’t have sex, I just listen. I love sex sounds.” “I’ve never been to a groanroom.” “Oh, you should go. The groanrooms are like the darkrooms except bigger. There are four couples in each one, and you can’t talk at all, not one word, and everyone wears a glowing wristband and a glowing ankleband. That’s all you can see. Mostly it’s just juicy sex sounds. I love when people make a surprised sound, ‘ooh!’

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

  There was a burbling and a different feeling in the air. Rhumpa sensed that the pornmonster had slid into the ancillary tank. She waited. “If you’re here,” she called, nervously, “let me see your biggest hand.” There was a powerful odor of sexual fluids, and a huge mottled hand appeared. Rhumpa was shocked by how large it was, how freshly formed and strong. It reached and found the bars that separated her from the pornslurry. “If you understand my cuntlips talking to you, and if you understand how I like to frig myself silly every morning before I go to work, please hold up your middle finger.” The pornmonster flung up his middle finger, and a splash of iridescence surged over Rhumpa in a wave. She called on the walkie-talkie back to Harry at the control console. “Harry, unlock the electric gate. I need to go mano a mano.” “Can’t do it, for insurance reasons.” “Pish-posh,” said Rhumpa. “He needs a friend. He’s been in these tanks too long.” Harry made a doubtful sound. “Okay,” he said. The gate clicked open, and Rhumpa stepped out, unprotected—a set of jiggy curves in a wetsuit. She knelt and put her rubber-gloved hand in the liquid. She could feel the energy of warm spiffle juice going up her arm. Under the liquid she flipped out her middle finger. “I’m here to talk about hot, hard holefucking,” she said. “Come on over, you big sexy vulgarian, climb out where I can see you naked.” Almost before she’d finished there was a sudden volcanic swirling of the waters. An amalgamation of body parts heaved itself up on the widest part of the ledge and stood dripping. There must have been a hundred penises—some pale pink, some coffee colored—along with breasts and eyes and clits and an enormous mouth at the center. It stood on a mass of arms and legs. “There you are,” Rhumpa said, more appalled than she let on. “Take a moment to relax. May I touch you?” Seventeen penises nodded yes. “Where’s your head?” she asked. The hands and feet shook: none. “No head? Why not?” Then ten hands grabbed ten semi-erect cocks and began stroking them. Another ten hands circled tiny clitlike buttons of flesh in folds of skin. “Must you do that right now in front of me?” Rhumpa asked. Suddenly a very large hand came thrusting out of the central fleshball and scooped her up. “I’m lurid and loveless and lost,” the monster seemed to say. “I need a real person. I’m growing out of control. I’m propagating without guidance.” “You need a head,” she said. “If I dance for you, will you develop a head?” All the legs and hands said no. No way. No head today.