Desire

Passages

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

Page 93 of 344 · 20 per page

• From The Decameron (1353)

  But either by intuition, or because of some movement on Alessandro’s part, the Abbot understood at once what he was thinking, and began to smile. Then, hastily tearing off the shirt he was wearing, he took Alessandro’s hand and placed it on his bosom, saying: ‘Drive those silly thoughts out of your head, Alessandro. Lay your hand here, and see what I am hiding.’ And placing his hand on the Abbot’s bosom, Alessandro discovered a pair of sweet little rounded breasts, as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory. It dawned on him at once that this was a woman, and without awaiting further invitation he immediately took her in his arms. But just as he was about to kiss her, she said: ‘Wait! Before you come any closer, there is something I want to tell you. As you can gather, I am not a man, but a woman. I am also a virgin, and I set out from home in order to obtain the Pope’s permission for my marriage. I know not whether to call it your good fortune or my misfortune, but from the moment I saw you, the other day, I burned with a love deeper than woman has ever experienced for any man. Hence I am resolved to have you as my husband rather than any other. But if you do not want to marry me, you must leave me at once and return to your own place.’ Alessandro had no idea who she was, but in view of the size of her retinue he judged her to be a rich noblewoman, and could see for himself that she was very beautiful. So without wasting too much time in thought, he replied that if this was what she desired, he was only too ready to oblige. She then sat up in bed, handed him a ring, and made him plight her his troth beneath a small picture of Our Lord, after which they fell into each other’s arms, and for the rest of the night they disported themselves to their great and mutual pleasure. They decided carefully what they should do, and when it was daybreak, Alessandro arose and, retracing his steps, stole away from the room without anyone realizing where he had passed the night. Then, reeling with happiness, he set out once more with the Abbot and her retinue, and several days later they arrived in Rome. They had been staying in the city for only a few days when the Abbot, attended by Alessandro and the two knights, was received in audience by the Pope. Having paid him their respects in the appropriate fashion, the Abbot began: ‘As you, Holy Father, must know better than all others, whoever desires to live a good and honest life is obliged to shun as best he may every possible motive for behaving otherwise.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I’m more than a little delighted when he shoos them out of the house and closes the door behind them. I’m making progress: a dog in the room to a dog outside the room to dogs outside the house. He takes me through the house, a combination of a bachelor pad and a family home, as if it can’t quite decide what it wants to be, and that is probably true depending on who is inhabiting it at any given moment. His bedroom is in an open lofty area with a king-size bed, its plain brown comforter covered in dog hair. We stand near the bed, quiet now that the house tour is over. He kisses me as I pull my shirt over my head and kick off my shorts so that I am standing in my lingerie. He unbuttons his shirt and I am intrigued by how taut and muscular his arms, shoulders and chest are. I’ve never been with a man so brawny and hairless and I love the way his skin feels, smooth and warm. He presses himself against me until I back up and sit on the edge of the bed. Apologizing that he wasn’t expecting company today, he pulls back the hair-covered blanket to expose sheets that look rumpled but clean enough if I’m not being fussy, which right now, I’m definitely not. I take note that this is the third man in a matter of weeks who has excused the conditions of his home because he wasn’t anticipating having a guest over. I seem to push ahead even as my dates are ready to kiss and say goodbye; it’s never enough for me. He climbs on top of me, stroking my body and working his way down until his mouth is between my legs. Then he looks up at me, a boyish grin lighting up his face. “You take good care of yourself,” he says. At this I smile: I do take care of myself. If there’s one benefit to the swell of anger raging inside of me, it’s that I work out like I’m on fire and sweat is the only thing that can douse it. The more rage I get out through heavy exercise, the less likely I am to expel it later through ugly, impassioned text missives to Michael. When he bought me my own Peloton bike a year earlier, he could not have known how much it would actually come to help him too. #4 reaches for a condom that he must have placed discreetly under a pillow at some point, and I watch him unfurl it onto his penis. I feel decidedly awkward during this part of a sexual encounter – am I supposed to help with the condom or watch him put it on or avert my eyes?

• From The Decameron (1353)

  To my way of thinking, anyone who devotes his energies to anything but the service of God is a complete blockhead.’ She thus developed the habit of going to Rustico at frequent intervals, and saying to him: ‘Father, I came here to serve God, not to idle away my time. Let’s go and put the devil back in Hell.’ And sometimes, in the middle of their labours, she would say: ‘What puzzles me, Rustico, is that the devil should ever want to escape from Hell. Because if he liked being there as much as Hell enjoys receiving him and keeping him inside, he would never go away at all.’ By inviting Rustico to play the game too often, continually urging him on in the service of God, the girl took so much stuffing out of him that he eventually began to turn cold where another man would have been bathed in sweat. So he told her that the devil should only be punished and put back in

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The Abbot, far from being asleep, was locked in meditation on the subject of certain newly aroused longings of his. He had overheard the conversation between Alessandro and the landlord, and was listening, too, when Alessandro turned in for the night. ‘God has answered my prayers,’ said the Abbot delightedly to himself. ‘If I do not seize this opportunity, it may be a long time before another comes my way.’ Having firmly made up his mind, he waited for complete silence to descend on the inn, then he called out to Alessandro in a low voice, and, firmly brushing aside the latter’s numerous excuses, persuaded him to undress and he down at his side. The Abbot placed one of his hands on Alessandro’s chest, and then, to Alessandro’s great astonishment, began to caress him in the manner of a young girl fondling her lover, causing Alessandro to suspect, since there seemed to be no other explanation for his extraordinary behaviour, that the youth was possibly in the grip of some impure passion. But either by intuition, or because of some movement on Alessandro’s part, the Abbot understood at once what he was thinking, and began to smile. Then, hastily tearing off the shirt he was wearing, he took Alessandro’s hand and placed it on his bosom, saying: ‘Drive those silly thoughts out of your head, Alessandro. Lay your hand here, and see what I am hiding.’ And placing his hand on the Abbot’s bosom, Alessandro discovered a pair of sweet little rounded breasts, as firm and finely shaped as if they were made of ivory. It dawned on him at once that this was a woman, and without awaiting further invitation he immediately took her in his arms. But just as he was about to kiss her, she said: ‘Wait! Before you come any closer, there is something I want to tell you. As you can gather, I am not a man, but a woman. I am also a virgin, and I set out from home in order to obtain the Pope’s permission for my marriage. I know not whether to call it your good fortune or my misfortune, but from the moment I saw you, the other day, I burned with a love deeper than woman has ever experienced for any man. Hence I am resolved to have you as my husband rather than any other. But if you do not want to marry me, you must leave me at once and return to your own place.’ Alessandro had no idea who she was, but in view of the size of her retinue he judged her to be a rich noblewoman, and could see for himself that she was very beautiful. So without wasting too much time in thought, he replied that if this was what she desired, he was only too ready to oblige.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It was not until mid-afternoon that they were able to make their plight apparent to anybody on the shore or elsewhere in the vicinity who would come to their assistance. Halfway through the afternoon, in fact, a nobleman whose name was Pericone da Visalgo happened to pass that way as he was returning from one of his estates. He was riding along on horseback with several of his men, and when he saw the ship he immediately guessed what had happened. So he ordered one of his servants to try and clamber aboard without further delay and bring him a report on how matters stood. The servant had quite a struggle, but eventually he boarded the ship, where he found the young gentlewoman, frightened out of her senses, hiding with her handful of companions in the forepeak. On seeing him, the women burst into tears and repeatedly pleaded for mercy, but when they perceived that neither he nor they could understand what the other party was saying,4 they tried to explain their predicament by means of gestures. Having sized up the situation to the best of his ability, the servant reported his findings to Pericone, who promptly arranged for the women to be brought ashore along with the most valuable of those items on the ship that could be salvaged, and escorted them all to his castle, where he restored the women’s spirits by arranging for them to be fed and rested. He could see, from the richness of their apparel, that he had stumbled across some great lady of quality, and he quickly gathered which of them she must be because she was the sole centre of the other women’s attention. The lady was pallid and extremely dishevelled-looking as a result of her exhausting experiences at sea, but it seemed to Pericone that she possessed very fine features, and for this reason he resolved there and then that if she had no husband he would marry her, and that, if marriage proved to be out of the question, he would make her his mistress. Pericone, who was a very powerful, vigorous-looking fellow, caused the lady to be waited upon hand and foot, and when, after a few days, she had fully recovered, he found that she was even more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. He was greatly pained by the fact that they were unable to communicate with each other, and that he could not therefore discover who she was. Nevertheless, being immensely taken with her beauty, he behaved lovingly and agreeably towards her in an endeavour to persuade her to do his pleasure without a struggle. But it was no use: she refused to have anything to do with him; and meanwhile Pericone’s ardour continued to increase.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  We talk about how odd it is to find ourselves single and living alone, about our kids and what the impact of our marriage dissolutions has been on them. His voice is deep and sonorous and, now that I’m allowed to think of him this way, sexy. We make a date for dinner on Saturday, on the late side as I will be volunteering all day at Georgia’s school Halloween fair. I have known this man in such a specific context and I am trying now to think of him in a new way, but also to define how he sees me – not just as the friend of a friend or Michael’s wife or part of the striving young couple he first met decades earlier. I want him to see me as a strong, sexy woman, not the broken half of a unit he used to socialize with on occasion. I am still talking daily to #5, and lie to him about my plans for Saturday night when he asks if I can go out after the school fair. For years it has been a tradition for a bunch of my friends and our kids to pile into the Chinese restaurant across the street for a raucous dinner after the fair. #5 doesn’t know that these friends have long since left the school, and I tell him much as I would love to see him, I can’t disrupt tradition. I am adamantly opposed to lying, blame it as the corruptor of my marriage, but I justify it by blaming it on his possessiveness and jealousy. After all, my date with Alan might be totally innocent. Why I feel the need to come up with such a detailed and elaborate lie gives me pause, makes me dislike the person I am becoming in order to keep things smooth with #5. The next day Alan texts me, “I made a reservation for 8:30 on Saturday. I’m happy to pick you up, after all chivalry is not dead, or we can meet at the restaurant. Just wanted you to load it into your Outlook.” “Thank you, that sounds lovely,” I write back. “I don’t think I’ve ever been picked up for a date so I will take you up on that as long as you don’t mind waiting in the lobby if Hudson is home. By the way, what’s my Outlook?” “It’s an online calendar. We use it at work,” he writes. “Ah, I see. Maybe I need a job first and then Outlook,” I write.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Besides, they are all young and they seem to me to have the devil in them, because whatever you do, it is impossible to please them. Sometimes, in fact, I would be working in the garden when one of them would order me to do one thing, another would tell me to do something else, and yet another would snatch the very hoe from my hands, and tell me I was doing things the wrong way. They used to pester me to such an extent that occasionally I would down tools and march straight out of the garden. So that eventually, what with one thing and another, I decided I’d had enough of the place and came away altogether. Just as I was leaving, their steward asked me whether I knew of anyone who could take the job on, and I promised to send somebody along, provided I could find the right man, but you won’t catch me sending him anybody, not unless God has provided the fellow with the strength and patience of an ox.’ As he listened, Masetto experienced such a longing to go and stay with these nuns that his whole body tingled with excitement, for it was clear from what he had heard that he should be able to achieve what he had in mind. Realizing, however, that he would get nowhere by revealing his intentions to Nuto, he replied: ‘How right you were to come away from the place! What sort of a life can any man lead when he’s surrounded by a lot of women? He might as well be living with a pack of devils. Why, six times out of seven they don’t even know their own minds.’ But when they had finished talking, Masetto began to consider what steps he ought to take so that he could go and stay with them. Knowing himself to be perfectly capable of carrying out the duties mentioned by Nuto, he had no worries about losing the job on that particular score, but he was afraid lest he should be turned down because of his youth and his unusually attractive appearance. And so, having rejected a number of other possible expedients, he eventually thought to himself: ‘The convent is a long way off, and there’s nobody there who knows me. If I can pretend to be dumb, they’ll take me on for sure.’ Clinging firmly to this conjecture, he therefore dressed himself in pauper’s rags and slung an axe over his shoulder, 1 and without telling anyone where he was going, he set out for the convent. On his arrival, he wandered into the courtyard, where as luck would have it he came across the steward, and with the aid of gestures such as dumb people use, he conveyed the impression that he was begging for something to eat, in return for which he would attend to any wood-chopping that needed to be done.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  He takes my car key so he can move it out of the way of the car he wants to drive and heads out. Five minutes later, he’s back with a sheepish look on his face, apologizing that he can’t get my car to start. I sigh, roll my eyes and hold out my hand for the car key. Surely this is a sign that I should stop things, but who knows when my next opportunity for sex will be, so I wait as he rummages through his dresser for a T-shirt for me to pull on. The one he hands me is black and from a Harley- Davidson event. It hangs down to my thighs and I like it, feeling so delicate in this man’s oversized motorcycle T-shirt. It has started to drizzle outside so we run to my car, which I instantly turn on. I shoot him a quizzical look. “How did you do that?” he asks. “I turned the ignition,” I say and shrug, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. I smile encouragingly at him, then run through the rain to get back inside. Keeping the T-shirt on, I crawl back under the covers and try to find a playlist on Spotify that seems appropriate. Country Kind of Love? Happy Chill? Walk Like A Badass? Confidence Boost? I settle for Indie Chill and manage to lie still and nod off. An hour later, I wake up to car doors opening and closing and then it seems to take an inordinately long time once again for Johnny to reappear. I try to pretend that I’m still sleeping so he can sneak in next to me and we can get right back to where we left off without any further small talk, but by the time he finally arrives, I’m too antsy to even feign sleep. “I’m so sorry, Laura, that took forever,” he says. “Yes, I know,” I say dryly. “I almost gave up. There was only one register open in the store and a long line and there I am standing with my box of condoms. Then when it’s finally my turn, the cashiers change shifts and I stand there still holding my box of condoms while one cashier counts out her register and the other sets up. It’s as if they were messing with me. I almost walked out.” I laugh and thank him for his determination and ultimate triumph, and here he goes again, nervously shuffling around the room and in again comes Floyd, revved up and ready for round two. He undresses and joins me under the blankets. I have to give myself a silent pep talk to get back in the spirit of things as the time lapse, series of unfortunate events and watchful eyes of the dog have gotten in my head.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  He presses himself against me until I back up and sit on the edge of the bed. Apologizing that he wasn’t expecting company today, he pulls back the hair-covered blanket to expose sheets that look rumpled but clean enough if I’m not being fussy, which right now, I’m definitely not. I take note that this is the third man in a matter of weeks who has excused the conditions of his home because he wasn’t anticipating having a guest over. I seem to push ahead even as my dates are ready to kiss and say goodbye; it’s never enough for me. He climbs on top of me, stroking my body and working his way down until his mouth is between my legs. Then he looks up at me, a boyish grin lighting up his face. “You take good care of yourself,” he says. At this I smile: I do take care of myself. If there’s one benefit to the swell of anger raging inside of me, it’s that I work out like I’m on fire and sweat is the only thing that can douse it. The more rage I get out through heavy exercise, the less likely I am to expel it later through ugly, impassioned text missives to Michael. When he bought me my own Peloton bike a year earlier, he could not have known how much it would actually come to help him too. #4 reaches for a condom that he must have placed discreetly under a pillow at some point, and I watch him unfurl it onto his penis. I feel decidedly awkward during this part of a sexual encounter – am I supposed to help with the condom or watch him put it on or avert my eyes? There is something that makes a man look so vulnerable when he is handling himself and I think I should stay out of it altogether but maybe that’s considered rude or unfriendly? Our bodies glisten with sweat – even though the rain has cooled the air outside, it’s stuffy and close in here without air conditioning – and we slide against each other, which one could interpret as hot and sexy or just unseemly. I’m choosing to go with hot and sexy, that this is what lust looks like. He is inside me for only a few moments when we both come, but without skipping a beat, he peels off the condom, tosses it on the floor and we keep going, new condoms appearing every so often, seemingly out of thin air. He is at once aggressively manly and appealingly tender, touching me gently but insistently.

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  There’s something old school about him that I find utterly appealing: picking me up for our dates, holding doors for me, helping me with my jacket, ordering for me, insisting on paying the bill as if my even reaching for my wallet offends him. Being treated well, being doted on, having someone make me feel exceptional – a quiet, hopeful part of me dares to believe that maybe I deserve this. Once again, our conversation comes easily and ranges from the mundane to the difficulties of our marriages to the challenges of our childhoods. As dinner continues, we start leaning closer to each other, touching each other’s arms to emphasize a point, and when he returns from the restroom, he approaches from behind so that I don’t see him coming and kisses me on the nape of my neck. I take in a quick, audible breath, my heart quickening. He sits down next to me and continues the conversation without skipping a beat. After he pays the bill, he looks up at me, asking intently, “Shall we go to the jazz club as planned or do you want to go home?” “I think we should go home now,” I say, meeting his gaze. It turns out that the correct subway is about ten steps from the restaurant, and also that this restaurant is not the one he intended to take me to – thus the confusion. We chat as the train barrels downtown, but the tension between us is palpable. I am curious to see how this well-mannered, courteous man will devour me, which is all that I am hoping will happen when we get back to his apartment. He lets his fingers brush against mine as we ride the elevator upstairs, but otherwise maintains a gentlemanly distance. I slip out of my shoes at the door and take my jacket off so that I am down to my skinny jeans and a ruffly silk blouse with spaghetti straps that are easy to slip off. We settle on the couch for a moment, in the same spots as last Saturday night, but it only takes a moment for him to breach the space between us. He kisses me with passion and a lot of tongue so that I pull back a little to get my bearings. It’s already clear to me that I had been silly to worry about his being too genteel to be an ardent lover. Soon I am lying on the couch and he lifts the blouse over my head, then runs his finger along my clavicle, down my breastbone to my navel, slowly but finally landing at the button to my jeans, which he easily opens with one hand.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Left at home to her own devices, the lady recalled Zima’s words, reflecting how deeply he loved her and how, for her sake, he had given away his palfrey; and on observing him from the house as he passed regularly up and down, she said to herself: ‘What am I doing? Why am I throwing away my youth? This husband of mine has gone off to Milan and won’t be returning for six whole months. When is he ever going to make up for lost time? When I’m an old woman? Besides, when will I ever find such a lover as Zima? I’m all by myself, and there’s nobody to be afraid of. I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy myself whilst I have the chance. I won’t always have such a good opportunity as I have at present. Nobody will ever know about it, and even if he were to find out, it’s better to do a thing and repent of it than do nothing and regret it.’ The outcome of all this soul-searching was that one day she hung two towels in the window overlooking the garden, in the way Zima had indicated. Zima was overjoyed to see them, and after nightfall he cautiously made his way, unaccompanied, to the lady’s garden-gate, which he found unlocked. Thence he proceeded to a second door, leading into the house itself, where he found the gentlewoman waiting for him. When she saw him coming, she rose to meet him, and welcomed him with open arms. Embracing her and kissing her a hundred thousand times, he followed her up the stairs and they went directly to bed, where they tasted love’s ultimate joys. And although this was the first time, it was by no means the last, for not only during the nobleman’s absence in Milan but also after his return Zima visited the house again on numerous other occasions, to the exquisite pleasure of both parties. SIXTH STORYRicciardo Minutolo loves the wife of Filippello Sighinolfo, and on hearing of her jealous disposition he tricks her into believing that Filippello has arranged to meet his own wife on the following day at a bagnio and persuades her to go there and see for herself. Later she learns that she has been with Ricciardo, when all the time she thought she was with her husband. Elissa had nothing further to add, and after they had praised the skill of Zima, the queen called upon Fiammetta to proceed with the next story. ‘Willingly, my lady,’ replied Fiammetta, laughing gaily; and so she began:

• From The Well of Loneliness (1928)

  For Angela could never quite let the girl go. She herself would be rather bewildered at moments—she did not love Stephen, she was quite sure of that, and yet the very strangeness of it all was an attraction. Stephen was becoming a kind of strong drug, a kind of anodyne against boredom. And then Angela knew her own power to subdue; she could play with fire yet remain unscathed by it. She had only to cry long and bitterly enough for Stephen to grow pitiful and consequently gentle. ‘Stephen, don’t hurt me—I’m awfully frightened when you’re like this—you simply terrify me, Stephen! Is it my fault that I married Ralph before I met you? Be good to me, Stephen!’ And then would come tears, so that Stephen must hold her as though she were a child, very tenderly, rocking her backwards and forwards. They took to driving as far as the hills, taking Tony with them; he liked hunting the rabbits—and while he leapt wildly about in the air to land on nothing more vital than herbage, they would sit very close to each other and watch him. Stephen knew many places where lovers might sit like this, unashamed, among those charitable hills. There were times when a numbness descended upon her as they sat there, and if Angela kissed her cheek lightly, she would not respond, would not even look round, but would just go on staring at Tony. Yet at other times she felt queerly uplifted, and turning to the woman who leant against her shoulder, she said suddenly one day: ‘Nothing matters up here. You and I are so small, we’re smaller than Tony—our love’s nothing but a drop in some vast sea of love—it’s rather consoling—don’t you think so, belovèd?’ But Angela shook her head: ‘No, my Stephen; I’m not fond of vast seas, I’m of the earth earthy,’ and then: ‘Kiss me, Stephen.’ So Stephen must kiss her many times, for the hot blood of youth stirs quickly, and the mystical sea became Angela’s lips that so eagerly gave and took kisses. But when they got back to The Grange that evening, Ralph was there—he was hanging about in the hall. He said: ‘Had a nice afternoon, you two women? Been motoring Angela round the hills, Stephen, or what?’ He had taken to calling her Stephen, but his voice just now sounded sharp with suspicion as his rather weak eyes peered at Angela, so that for her sake Stephen must lie, and lie well—nor would this be for the first time either. ‘Yes, thanks,’ she lied calmly, ‘we went over to Tewkesbury and had another look at the abbey. We had tea in the town. I’m sorry we’re so late, the carburettor choked, I couldn’t get it right at first, my car needs a good overhauling.’

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I tell him I am struggling through an old Michael Chabon novel; he tells me he tried that one but couldn’t get through it. We talk about how we ended up in this area and marvel when we realize that not only did we grow up in the same suburban town, we even attended the same elementary school. He is three years older than me, so we don’t know many of the same people but we land on one or two in common. He seems familiar to me, not that I know him, but I feel like I could. Our conversation meanders and is thoroughly enjoyable; he is witty, charming, and attentive. My conversations with #1 and 2 were fun and flirty, but this is something different – he feels like a friend. We’ve passed a couple of hours without running out of steam, but it’s just us and the bartender now and I suggest that we should probably let him close up, so we reluctantly get up to leave. The rain has stopped, but the air outside is heavy and damp. “I would love to see you again if you want to share your number with me?” he asks. “Yes, that would be lovely,” I respond, and he puts my number into his phone. We are standing at my car already so it’s do-or-die time. “When are you available?” he asks. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to get away with your kids at home.” I raise my eyebrows. I don’t have an easy answer to this question: tomorrow, Georgia will return from sleepaway camp and then I’ve got kids home for the rest of the summer. “Well,” I say very slowly, “I’m available right now.” The meaning of my words sinks in and he chuckles softly. “That’s a more literal answer than I was expecting,” he says. “Just grabbing the bull by the horns,” I say with a soft laugh. “And the question of my future availability is anyone’s guess.” “What are you thinking about doing with your current availability?” he asks. “Going back to my house or yours,” I say, letting my forwardness float between us. “I’m not sure,” he says hesitantly. “I wasn’t expecting this tonight. My girlfriend and I broke up a few months ago and I haven’t been with anyone since.” “It’s OK,” I say. “I don’t have any expectations, it’s just that I’m not sure when I’ll be free again, so ...” He leans down toward me and kisses me. He’s tall, and I lean forward onto my toes to reach him. His kiss is soft and gentle. “OK,” he says, pulling back. “Let’s go to my house. It’s closer than yours plus I have to walk my dog.” Another dog, I think, my heart sinking. I follow him along dark winding roads. He knows the area well and drives fast; I have to concentrate to keep up.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIRST STORY Masetto of Lamporecchio pretends to be dumb, and becomes a gardener at a convent, where all the nuns combine forces to take him off to bed with them. Fairest ladies, there are a great many men and women who are so dense as to be firmly convinced that when a girl takes the white veil and dons the black cowl, she ceases to be a woman or to experience feminine longings, as though the very act of making her a nun had caused her to turn into stone. And if they should happen to hear of anything to suggest that their conviction is ill-founded, they become quite distressed, as though some enormous and diabolical evil had been perpetrated against Nature. It never enters their heads for a moment, possibly because they have no wish to face facts, that they themselves are continually dissatisfied even though they enjoy full liberty to do as they please, or that idleness and solitude are such powerful stimulants. Again, there are likewise many people who are firmly convinced that digging and hoeing and coarse food and hardy living remove all lustful desires from those who work on the land, and greatly impair their intelligence and powers of perception. But, since the queen has bidden me to speak, I would like to tell you a little tale, relevant to the topic she has prescribed, which will show you quite clearly that all these people are sadly mistaken in their convictions. In this rural region of ours, there was and still is a nunnery, greatly renowned for its holiness, which I shall refrain from naming for fear of doing the slightest harm to its reputation. At this convent, not long ago, at a time when it housed no more than eight nuns and an abbess, all of them young, there was a worthy little man whose job it was to look after a very beautiful garden of theirs. And one day, being dissatisfied with his remuneration, he settled up with the nuns’ steward and returned to his native village of Lamporecchio. On his return, he was warmly welcomed by several of the villagers, among them a young labourer, a big, strong fellow called Masetto, who, considering that he was of peasant stock, possessed a remarkably handsome physique and agreeable features. Since the good man, whose name was Nuto, had been away from the village for some little time, Masetto wanted to know where he had been, and when he learned that Nuto had been living at a convent, he questioned him about his duties there. ‘I tended a fine, big garden of theirs,’ Nuto replied, ‘in addition to which, I sometimes used to go and collect firewood, or I would fetch water and do various other little jobs of that sort. But the nuns gave me such a paltry wage that it was barely sufficient to pay for my shoe-leather.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Sir,’ replied Zima, liking the sound of the nobleman’s request, ‘if you were to offer me everything you possess in the world you could not buy my palfrey: but you could certainly have it as a gift, whenever you liked, on this one condition, that before you take possession of it, you allow me, in your presence, to address a few words to your good lady in sufficient privacy for my words to be heard by her and by nobody else.’ Prompted by his avarice, and hoping to make a fool of the other fellow, the nobleman agreed to Zima’s proposal, adding that he could talk to her for as long as he liked. And having left him to wait in the great hall of his palace, he went to his wife’s room, explained to her how easy it would be to win the palfrey, and obliged her to come and listen to Zima; but she was to be very careful not to utter so much as a single word in reply to anything he said. Although she strongly resented being involved in this arrangement, nevertheless, since she was obliged to do her husband’s bidding, the lady agreed and followed him into the great hall in order to hear what Zima; had to say. Zima took the nobleman aside to confirm the terms of their agreement, then went to sit with the lady in a corner of the hall that was well beyond everyone else’s hearing. ‘Illustrious lady,’ he began, ‘since you are not imperceptive, you will undoubtedly have become well aware, long before now, that I am deeply in love with you, not only because of your beauty, which without any question surpasses that of every other woman I ever saw, but also on account of your laudable manners and singular virtues, any one of which would be sufficient to capture the heart of the noblest man alive. It is thus unnecessary for me to offer you a long-winded account of my love for you. Suffice it to say that no man ever loved any woman more deeply or more ardently, and that I shall continue to do so unfailingly for as long as life sustains this poor, suffering body of mine, and longer still; for if, in the life hereafter, people love as they do on earth, I shall love you for ever. Consequently, you may rest assured that there is nothing you possess, be it precious or trifling, that you can regard as so peculiarly your own or count upon so infallibly under all circumstances as my humble self, and the same applies to all my worldly goods. But so that you may be fully persuaded that this is so, I assure you that I would deem it a greater privilege to be commissioned by you to perform some service that was pleasing to you, than to have the whole world under my own command and ready to obey me.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  By inviting Rustico to play the game too often, continually urging him on in the service of God, the girl took so much stuffing out of him that he eventually began to turn cold where another man would have been bathed in sweat. So he told her that the devil should only be punished and put back in Hell when he reared his head with pride, adding that by the grace of Heaven, they had tamed him so effectively that he was pleading with God to be left in peace. In this way, he managed to keep the girl quiet for a while, but one day, having begun to notice that Rustico was no longer asking for the devil to be put back in Hell, she said: ‘Look here, Rustico. Even though your devil has been punished and pesters you no longer, my Hell simply refuses to leave me alone. Now that I have helped you with my Hell to subdue the pride of your devil, the least you can do is to get your devil to help me tame the fury of my Hell.’ Rustico, who was living on a diet of herb-roots and water, was quite incapable of supplying her requirements, and told her that the taming of her Hell would require an awful lot of devils, but promised to do what he could. Sometimes, therefore, he responded to the call, but this happened so infrequently that it was rather like chucking a bean into the mouth of a lion, with the result that the girl, who felt that she was not serving God as diligently as she would have liked, was found complaining more often than not. But at the height of this dispute between Alibech’s Hell and Rustico’s devil, brought about by a surplus of desire on the one hand and a shortage of power on the other, a fire broke out in Gafsa, and Alibech’s father was burnt to death in his own house along with all his children and every other member of his household, so that Alibech inherited the whole of his property. Because of this a young man called Neerbal who had spent the whole of his substance in sumptuous living, having heard that she was still alive, set out to look for her, and before the authorities were able to appropriate her late father’s fortune on the grounds that there was no heir, he succeeded in tracing her whereabouts. To the great relief of Rustico, but against her own wishes, he took her back to Gafsa and married her, thus inheriting a half-share in her father’s enormous fortune. Before Neerbal had actually slept with her, she was questioned by the women of Gafsa about how she had served God in the desert, and she replied that she had served Him by putting the devil back in Hell, and that Neerbal had committed a terrible sin by stopping her from performing so worthy a service.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Do not be so astonished, my treasure,’ said the Abbot. ‘No loss of saintliness is involved,2 for saintliness resides in the soul, and what I am asking of you is merely a sin of the body. But be that as it may, your beauty is so overpowering that love compels me to speak out. And what I say is this, that when you consider that your beauty is admired by a Saint, you have more reason to be proud of it than other women, because Saints are accustomed to seeing the beauties of Heaven. Furthermore, even though I am an Abbot, I am a man like the others and as you can see I am still quite young. It should not be too difficult for you to comply with my request; on the contrary, you ought to welcome it, because whilst Ferondo is away in Purgatory, I will come and keep you company every night and provide you with all the solace that he should be giving you. Nobody will suspect us, because my reputation stands at least as high with everyone else as it formerly did with you. Do not cast aside this special favour which is sent to you by God, for you can have something that countless women yearn for, and if you are sensible enough to accept my advice, it will be yours. Moreover, I possess some fine, precious jewels, and I intend that you alone should have them. Do not therefore refuse, my dearest, to do me a service that I will do for you with the greatest of pleasure.’ Not knowing how to refuse him, yet feeling it was wrong to grant his request, the lady fixed her gaze upon the ground. The Abbot knew that she had heard him, and when he saw her at a loss for an answer, he felt she was already half-converted. He therefore followed up his previous arguments with a torrent of new ones, and by the time he had finished talking, he had convinced her that it was all for the best. And so in bashful tones she placed herself entirely at his disposal, adding that she could do nothing until Ferondo had gone to Purgatory. ‘In that case,’ said the Abbot, beaming with joy, ‘we shall see that he goes there at once. Send him along to see me tomorrow, or the following day.’ Whereupon he furtively slipped a magnificent ring into her hand, and sent her away. The lady was delight with her present, and looked forward to receiving others. And having rejoined her companions, she regaled them with marvellous accounts of the Abbot’s saintliness as they made their way home together.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Bentivegna promised he would see about it, and continued on his way towards Florence, while the priest, having decided that the time had come for him to call upon Belcolore and try his luck, set off at a spanking pace, never slowing up for a moment until he had arrived on her doorstep. As he entered the house, he called out: ‘God bless all here! Is anyone at home?’ Belcolore was upstairs, and on hearing his voice she called down to him: ‘Oh, Father, you are welcome! But why go traipsing round the village in this awful heat?’ ‘By the grace of God,’ replied the priest, ‘I’ve come to keep you company for a while, for I met your husband on his way to town.’ Belcolore came downstairs, took a seat, and began to sift a heap of cabbage seed that her husband had gathered earlier in the day. ‘Come now, Belcolore,’ said the priest, ‘must you always drive me to despair like this?’ Belcolore began to laugh, and said: ‘What have I done to you?’ ‘Nothing,’ replied the priest. ‘But the trouble is that there’s something I’d like to do to you, something ordained by God, and you won’t let me do it.’ ‘Bless my soul!’ said Belcolore. ‘Priests don’t do that sort of thing.’ ‘We certainly do,’ replied the priest. ‘Why on earth shouldn’t we? What’s more, we do a much better job of it than other men, and do you know why? It’s because we do our grinding when the millpond’s full. So if you want to make hay while the sun shines, hold your tongue and let me get on with it.’ ‘What sort of hay do you mean?’ said Belcolore. ‘You priests are all the same, you’re as tight-fisted as the very devil.’ ‘You only have to tell me what you want,’ said the priest, ‘and you shall have it. Would you like a pretty little pair of shoes, or a silk head-scarf, or a fine woollen waistband, or what?’ ‘That’s a splendid choice, I must say!’ exclaimed Belcolore. ‘I already have all those things. But if you’re really so fond of me, why not do me a little favour, and then I would do whatever you want?’ ‘Tell me what the favour is, and I’ll do it gladly,’ said the priest. So Belcolore said: ‘I have to go to Florence on Saturday to deliver some wool that I have spun, and get my spinning wheel mended. And if you’ll lend me five pounds, which a man like you can easily afford, I shall call at the pawnbroker’s and collect my black skirt and the waistband I wear on Sundays. I wore it on my wedding-day, you understand, and ever since I pawned it I haven’t been able to go to church or anywhere else. Do me this one favour, and I’ll be yours for evermore.’

• From Available: The unfiltered and empowering new memoir for women about sex, dating and divorce after 40 (2021)

  I’m just starting to figure it out on the most infinitesimal level, so be kind!” But honestly, do I really care? I want to be desired and I’m about to have sex with another man. I pull out, spin around in a quick U-turn and Johnny and I are on our way to his house. Ten minutes on dark rural roads, and then ten more minutes on the Interstate. A few miles off the highway, we pull into a suburban enclave, ranch houses with long driveways and mailboxes in front. I’m surprised by the mundanity. I had imagined him and his big dog out in a starry field somewhere, in a cabin he’d built himself over time. I laugh at my romanticism as Johnny pulls into a driveway next to a split-level and points me off to the side. He drives his pickup into the detached garage and then minutes tick by as he moves other cars around, pulling his work van out of the garage and then a second work van back into the garage. I can’t help but feel this is a delay tactic and he regrets having invited me here. After an uncomfortably long wait in which I try to lean sultrily against my car but finally give up and do a crossword puzzle on my phone instead, he’s ready to go inside. As we enter, I see a set of weights to one side and a washer/dryer with dirty laundry piled on top on the other side. I’m suddenly aware that going to an anonymous hotel room with a man in which the most personal item on display was a motorcycle helmet is very different from being inside a man’s home and seeing how he lives, what he lifts and what his laundry habits are. And now here comes Floyd, his 80-pound German Shepherd, running in absolute ecstasy – the one I recall running for sticks in my backyard years ago. He jumps on me, panting and drooling, and I know this dog is the love of Johnny’s life, but to put it mildly and regretfully, I’m not a dog person.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  THIRD STORY Friar Rinaldo goes to bed with his godchild’s mother; her husband finds them together in the bedroom, and they give him to understand that the Friar was charming away the child’s worms. Filostrato’s reference to the Parthian mare was not so abstruse as to prevent the alert young ladies from grasping its meaning and having a good laugh, albeit they pretended to be laughing for another reason. But when the king saw that the story was finished, he called upon Elissa to speak, and she promptly obeyed, beginning as follows: Winsome ladies, Emilia’s exorcizing of the werewolf has reminded me of a story about another incantation, and although it is not so fine a tale as hers, it is the only one I can think of for the moment that is relevant to our theme, and I shall therefore relate it to you. You are to know that there once lived in Siena a dashing young man of respectable parentage, Rinaldo by name, who had fallen desperately in love with the very beautiful wife of a wealthy neighbour of his. Having convinced himself that if only he could find a way of conversing with her in private he would obtain all he wanted from her, he resolved, since the woman was pregnant and he could think of no other pretext, to offer himself as the child’s godfather; 1 so having made friends with the woman’s husband, he put this proposition to him in as tactful a way as he could manage, and it was all agreed. Having thus strengthened his hand by becoming the godfather to Madonna Agnesa’s child, which gave him a slightly more plausible excuse for conversing with her, he conveyed to her in so many words what had long been apparent to her from the gleam in his eyes. But his words made little impression on the lady, though she was not displeased to have heard them. Not long afterwards, for reasons best known to himself, Rinaldo decided to become a friar, and there were clearly some good pickings to be had, for he persevered in that profession. Although at first he put aside his love for his neighbour’s wife and gave up one or two of his other vices, nevertheless in the course of time, without abandoning the habit of his Order, he reverted to his former ways; and he began to take a pride in his appearance, wear expensively tailored cassocks, affect an air of sprightliness and elegance in all his doings, compose canzonets and sonnets and ballades, sing various songs, and engage in countless other activities of a similar nature. But why do I ramble on about this Friar Rinaldo of ours? Is there a single one of these friars who behaves any differently? Ah, scandal of this corrupt and wicked world!