Despair

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 Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Traveling afoot as usual, with a pair of blouses and some handkerchiefs in my pockets, I had not proceeded two leagues when I met an old woman; she approached me with a look of suffering and implored alms. Far from I had just received such cruel examples, and knowing no greater worldly happiness than what comes of obliging a poor person, I instantly drew forth my purse with the intention of selecting a crown and giving it to this woman; but the unworthy creature, much quicker than I, although I had at first judged her aged and crippled, leaps nimbly at my purse, seizes it, aims a powerful blow of her fist at my stomach, topples me, and the next I see of her, she has put a hundred yards betwixt us; there she is, surrounded by four rascals who gesture threateningly and warn me not to come near. "Great God!" I cried with much bitterness, "then it is Impossible for my soul to give vent to any virtuous impulse without my being instantly and very severely punished for it!" At this fatal moment all my courage deserted me; today I beg Heaven's forgiveness in all sincerity, for I faltered; but I was blinded by despair. I felt myself ready to give up a career bese two alternatives: that of going to join the scoundrels who had just robbed me, or that of returning to Lyon to accept Saint-Florent's offer. God had mercy upon me; I did not succumb, and though the fresh hope He quickened in me was misleading, since so many adversities yet lay in store for me, I nevertheless thank Him for having held me upright: the unlucky star which guides me, although innocent, to the gallows, will never lead me to worse than death; other supervision might have brought me to infamy, and the one is far less cruel than the other. I continue to direct my steps toward Vienne, having decided to sell what remains to me in order to get on to Grenoble: I was walking along sadly when, at a quarter league's distance from this city, I spied a plain to the right of the highway, and in the fields were two riders busily trampling a man beneath their horses' hooves; after having left him for dead, the pair rode off at a gallop. Th an unluckier person than I; health and strength at least remain to me, I can earn my living, and if that poor fellow is not rich, what is to become of him ?"

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  The woman with whom I had lodgings had recommended him to me as someone whose influence and wealth might be able to meliorate the harshness of my situation; after having waited a very long time in this man's antechamber, I was admitted; Monsieur Dubourg, aged forty-eight, had just risen out of bed, and was wrapped in a dressing gown which barely hid his disorder; they were about to prepare his coiffure; he dismissed his servants and asked me what I wanted with him. "Alas, Monsieur," I said, greatly confused, "I am a poor orphan not yet fourteen years old and I have already become familiar with every nuance of misfortune; I implore your commiseration, have pity upon me, I beseech you," and then I told in detail of all my ills, the difficulty I was having to find a place, perhaps I even mentioned how painful it was for me to have to take one, not having been born for a menial's condition. My suffering throughout it all, how I exhausted the little substance I had... failure to obtain work, my hope he would facilitate matters and help me find the wherewithal to live; in sum, I said everything that is dictated by the eloquence of wretchedness, always swift to rise in a sensitive soul.... After having listened to me with many distractions and much yawning, Monsieur Dubourg asked whether I had always been well-behaved. "I should be neither so poor nor so embarrassed, Monsieur," I answered him, "had I wished to cease to be." "But," said Dubourg upon hearing that, "but what right have you to expect the wealthy to relieve you if you are in no way useful to them?" "And of what service are you speaking, Monsieur? I asked nothing more than to render those decency and my years will permit me fulfill."

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  From there I go to the home of a murderous and incestuous surgeon whom I strive to spare from doing a horrible deed: the butcher brands me for a criminal; he doubtless consummates his atrocities, makes his fortune, whilst I am obliged to beg for my bread. I wish to have the sacraments made available to me, I wish fervently to implore the Supreme Being whence howbeit I receive so many ills, and the august tribunal, at which I hope to find purification in our most holy mysteries, becomes the bloody theater of my ignominy: the monster who abuses and plunders me is elevated to his order's highest honors and I fall back into the appalling abyss of misery. I attempt to preserve a woman from her husband's fury, the cruel one wishes to put me to death by draining away my blood drop by drop. I wish to relieve a poor woman, she robs me. I give aid to a man whom adversaries have struck down and left unconscious, the thankless creature makes me turn a wheel like an animal; he hangs me for his pleasure's sake; all fortune's blessings accrue to him, and I come within an ace of dying on the gallows for having been compelled to work for him. An unworthy woman seeks to seduce me for a new crime, a second time I lose the little I own in order to rescue her victim's treasure. A gentleman, a kind spirit wishes to compensate me for all my sufferings by the offer of his hand, he dies in my arms before being able to do anything for me. I risk my life in a fire in order to snatch a child, who does not belong to me, from the flames; the infant's mother accuses and launches legal proceedings against me. I fall into my most mortal enemy's hands; she wishes to carry me off by force and take me to a man whose passion is to cut off heads: if I avoid that villain's sword it is so that I can trip and fall under Themis'. I implore the protection of a man whose life and fortune I once saved; I dare expect gratitude from him, he lures me to his house, he submits me to horrors, and there I find the iniquitous judge upon whom my case depends; both abuse me, both outrage me, both accelerate my doom; fortune overwhelms them with favors, I hasten on to death. That is what I have received from mankind, that is what I have learned of the danger of trafficking with men; is it any wonder that my soul, stung, whipsawed by unhappiness, revolted by outrage and injustice, aspires to nothing more than bursting from its mortal confines ?

• From Manhunt (2022)

  His eyes were closed, his arms raised. “Do you believe in the power of the savior lord Jesus Christ, raised up from the dead, and if you do, if you do believe, do you accept him into your heart as your personal savior? When I close my eyes I see the Kingdom of Heaven, the city of Jerusalem made of every precious stone and metal, and I know it will descend and open its gates to the righteous!” They cried out. His mother cried out. The stench of sweat thickened in the air as they pressed on toward the stage, toward the huge man and his thundering voice. People had their arms raised up to him. They begged to be healed as he railed against pornographers and psychiatrists, death metal and online chat rooms, anime and crack cocaine. His mother pulled him onward and now in among the crowd the tongues were coming, spilling from slack mouths in torrents of liquid glossolalia, and the man was on his knees at the platform’s edge where the hands of churchgoers lifted Robbie up and his mother shrieked, “Throw the devil out of her, reverend! He’s got in her and he has a hold of her, so throw him out!” Those beady blue eyes found his. Those big hands came for him, and the sharp smell of mint on the preacher’s breath. He wished for his father, dead somewhere on reservation land down near the Carolina border, or for the grandfather he could hardly remember. His mother’s father. The farm in Dover. Back and forth. The preacher’s soft hands met his sweating skin. And it took him. It wore him like a puppet, shaking his body and convulsing his tongue, and the words bubbled out of him. He knew that it was fake and he knew that it wasn’t, that the heat and the fervor of the tent were real, and the hard, desperate need of the people around him who despised themselves and longed to be in love with something pure. And so he let it have him, and while it did, while he gabbled in tongues like a thing possessed and the hands of the crowd held him up and the preacher gripped his shoulder and held a palm firm against his brow, he prayed. Make me a man, Lord. Take my body and burn away the parts that are wrong. Burn them out of me. I don’t care if it hurts. Make me a man. Make me a man. Make me a man. He had bitten his tongue and the taste of blood was in his mouth. Make me a man. Make me a man. Make me a man. Later, on the bus, he stared out the window through his own reflection—stab it, smash it, make it leave—while his mother wept beside him. “He touched you in there, I saw it,” she insisted. “Did he take it out of you, Kitty?

• From Manhunt (2022)

  Starlight catching black and silver stubble on the side of an angular skull. Viv. The other woman’s hands were tangled in her hair and they were locked together at the mouth in what seemed to Ramona like a contest to produce the most disgusting sound imaginable. They hadn’t noticed her, or didn’t care. Music blared through the restaurant’s walls. Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway She thought of her father, dead in his scratched and peeling bar booth, and how he’d always insisted on bellowing, “Hold me closer, Tony Danza,” when that song came on. She’d laughed at that. Her mother, thin and tired even then. Her brothers. A warm pack around her. Rabbits in their burrow. The other woman lifted her face to the sky as Viv sucked on her neck. It was the bunker girl, the one she’d had a weird feeling about at that meeting a few months back. Fran. I knew what it meant, at Hunan Palace. I let them die. Then all at once she knew where she’d seen Fran before. Sweating, half-shaven, at the bottom of a defile in the woods while her big brick friend held an arrow trained on Ramona’s heart. Mackenzie slept, muzzled and sedated, on the cool black silk sheets of the bed in one of Sophie’s guest rooms, the walls and doors already rent by old claw marks from past visits, the carpets stained by his excretions. A trail of dribbled piss and saliva led back across the room and out through the apartments, where Mariana and a few other staff knelt scrubbing on their knees beside buckets of hot, bleach-smelling water. I could have made something good here, thought Indi, watching the other women clean effluvium off Sophie’s floors. Passed on a few skills. Taught teenagers how to set bones and remove appendixes and culture penicillin. Instead she was supervising the transport and medication of a cannibal troglodyte because Sophie wanted him close when, after Doe’s return, she conceived. “We’ve always been really, like, intimate and not afraid of our bodies,” she’d offered in a confidential whisper. “He used to spread me and just inhale , because that’s where life comes from.” She had paused, as though expecting Indi to gush about the pussy’s beauty and symbolic power, then gotten bored and wandered away to the flat-screen television set in the middle of the great room’s empty, vaulted gloom, opposite an antique sofa and a low glass-top coffee table. That was how everything was in Sophie’s rooms. A little island, insular and without context. She was still there, naked from the waist down and scratching irritably at a little red spot between her right thigh and her vulva. “I’m ready for my shot,” she called, not looking away from the television, where Pride and Prejudice with Keira Knightley blared at a volume that would surely have raised Jane Austen’s eyebrows. “I’ll be right with you,” Indi said quietly, locking the guest-bedroom door.

• From Manhunt (2022)

  No word from Fran or Beth or Robbie. She tried not to think about what might have happened to them because of her. Because she’d slapped the child now scratching herself in the blue glow of the screen. She thought of the baby, Mackenzie’s only daughter, swept off to who knew where, and with trembling hands unclasped her medical bag and looked inside. Her father had given it to her when she completed her residency at Concord Hospital. Black leather, a little creased now, and steel fasteners to bind its jaws. How her mother had rolled her eyes telling her about their trip to the custom leatherworker. The man said you’re sure you don’t want the gold-plated clasps? And your father told him why would I? She is a doctor, not the Sultan of Oman. I want her to use the bloody thing. She remembered the tears in his dark eyes as he’d said, I’m very proud of you . Now it held Sophie’s fertility treatment, a syringe of expired clomiphene to stimulate her ovarian follicles. She held it up, squinting in the low light to check for bubbles, and then made her way to lower herself slowly and awkwardly, one hand braced on the couch, down to the floor at Sophie’s side. The girl drew up one bare leg and planted her little foot on Indi’s shoulder. “Remember,” she said, not looking away from the television. “If I get sick from this, Doe’s going to kill your friends and shoot you in the stomach.” I’m going to die in this place. In this also-ran little dystopian cult. A teenager whose parents shorted medical stocks is going to kill me for not getting her pregnant. “I remember, Sophie.” The foot withdrew. Indi pinched the slender woman’s belly, chose her spot, and gave her the injection. “Be gentle ,” Sophie snarled. She slapped Indi across the face the second the needle was out and the gauze taped into place, just hard enough to humiliate. “I’m going to be in a delicate condition soon. I don’t need you jabbing me .” Indi stood with a sharp grunt of effort and turned from the couch, not wanting the younger woman to see her expression. Her whole face tingled. She felt an overwhelming urge to grab hold of the girl and shake her. To pull her hair until she bawled. “Of course. I’ll be more careful. I’m so sorry.” Across the room, the security light above the barracks-side entrance burned green as someone accessed it. The door hissed open and a tall, solid woman in riot gear stepped through and made a beeline for Sophie. Indi backed slowly away from the couch, the television, and their island of blue light. “There are people moving down the Screw,” said the guard, stopping short and folding her arms. “Ten or fifteen of them. Camp people.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  What did I do to him, I asked myself, to have deserved such cruel treatment at his hands? I save his life, restore his fortune to him, he snatches away what is most dear to me! A savage beast would have been less cruel! O man, thus are you when you heed nothing but your passions! Tigers that dwell in the wildest jungles would quail before such ignominies... these first pangs of suffering were succeeded by some few minutes of exhaustion; my eyes, brimming over with tears, turned mechanically towards the sky; my heart did spring to the feet of the Master who dwelleth there... that pure glittering vault... that imposing stillness of the night... that terror which numbed my senses... that image of Nature in peace, nigh unto my whelmed, distraught soul... all distilled a somber horror into me, whence there was soon born the need to pray. I cast myself down, kneeling before that potent God denied by the impious, hope of the poor and the downtrodden. "Holy Majesty, Saintly One," I cried out in tears, "Thou Who in this dreadful moment deign to flood my soul with a celestial joy, Who doubtless hath prevented me from attempting my life; O my Protector and my Guide, I aspire to Thy bounties, I implore Thy clemency, behold my miseries and my torments, my resignation, and hear Thou my entreaties: Powerful God I Thou knowst it, I am innocent and weak, I am betrayed and mistreated; I have wished to do well in imitation of Thee, and Thy will hath punished it in me: may Thy will be done, O my God I all its sacred effects are cherished by me, I respect them and cease to complain of them; but if however I am to find naught but stings and nettles terrestrially, is it to offend Thee, O my Sovereign Master, to supplicate Thy puissance to take me into Thy bosom, in order untroubled to adore Thee, to worship Thee far away from these perverse men who, alas I have made me meet with evils only, and whose bloodied and perfidious hands at their pleasure drown my sorrowful days in a torrent of tears and in an abyss of agonies."

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Never in my life have I suffered so much. Clement steps forward; he is armed with a cat-o'-nine-tails; his perfidious designs glitter in his eyes. "'Tis I," says he to Severino, "'tis I who shall avenge you, Father, I shall correct this silly drab for having resisted your pleasures." He has no need of anyone else to hold me; with one arm he enlaces me and forces me, belly down, across his knees; what is going to serve his caprices is nicely discovered. At first, he tries a few blows, it seems they are merely intended as a prelude; soon inflamed by lust, the beast strikes with all his force; nothing is exempt from his ferocity; everything from the small of my back to the lower part of my thighs, the traitor lays cuts upon it all; daring to mix love with these moments of cruelty, he fastens his mouth to mine and wishes to inhale the sighs agony wrests from me... my tears flow, he laps them up, now he kisses, now he threatens, but the rain of blows continues; while he operates, one of the women excites him; kneeling before him, she works with each hand at diverse tasks; the greater her success, the more violent the strokes delivered me; I am nigh to being rent and nothing yet announces the end of my sufferings; he has exhausted every possibility, still he drives on; the end I await is to be the work of his delirium alone; a new cruelty stiffens him: my breasts are at the brute's mercy, he irritates them, uses his teeth upon them, the cannibal snaps, bites, this excess determines the Crisis, the incense escapes him.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Then Monsieur de Bressac told me how he had gone about the interception of Madame's messages, and how the suspicion had been born which had led him to decide to stop them. "What has your duplicity done for you, unworthy creature? You have risked your life without having saved my aunt's: the die is cast, upon my return to the chateau I will find a fortune awaiting me, but you must perish; before you expire you must learn that the virtuous road is not always the safest, and that there are circumstances in this world when complicity in crime is preferable to informing." And without giving me time to reply, without giving evidence of the least pity for the frightful situation I was in, he dragged me toward the tree destined for me and by which his valet stood expectantly. "Here she is," he said, "the creature who wanted to poison my aunt and who may already have committed the terrible crime in spite of my efforts to prevent it; no doubt, it would have been better to have put her into the hands of justice, but the law would have taken away her life, and I prefer to leave it to her in order that she have longer to suffer." The two villains then lay hands on me, in an instant they strip me naked. "Pretty buttocks," said the Count in a tone of cruelest irony, brutally handling those objects, "superb flesh... excellent lunch for the dogs." When no article of clothing is left upon me, I am secured to the tree by a rope attached around my waist; so that I may defend myself as best I can, my arms are left free, and enough slack is provided for me to advance or retreat about two yards. The arrangements completed, the Count, very much moved, steps up to have a look at my expression, he turns and passes around me; his savage way of handling me seems to say that his murderous fingers would like to dispute the rage of his mastiff's steel teeth.... "Come," says he to his lieutenant, "free the animals, the time has arrived." They are loosed, the Count excites them, all three fling themselves upon my poor body, one would think they were sharing it in such wise that not one of its parts would be exempt from assault; in vain I drive them back, they bite and tear me with renewed fury, and throughout this horrible scene, Bressac, the craven Bressac, as if my torments had ignited his perfidious lust... the beastly man gives himself up, while he regards me, to his companion's criminal caresses. "Enough," said he after several minutes had gone by, "that will do. Tie up the dogs and let's abandon this creature to her sweet fate.

• From Manhunt (2022)

  It’s not your sister.” Her own hands were numb but steady on the handgun’s grip and over the other girl’s finger on the trigger. “It’s just a man in a disguise. We let it go, sooner or later it’s going to come out of its skin.” Her dry mouth. Tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “It’s going to hurt us. Rape us. Eat us, if it can.” “Aim,” said Molly. The guns came up. Ramona could smell Molly’s cigarette smoke, thick and stale, and the sour stench of rotten crabapples crushed underfoot, their guts mingled with the pulp of the tree’s fleshy pink petals. Karin trembled against her. She thought of the big freak she’d winged that day on the edge of the woods, of the glistening edges of her unzipped cheek. Karin whimpered. “Pigs!” the old woman screamed, spit flying, the breeze tugging at her fine white hair. “Fucking gestapo!” Beside her, Eyebrows was whispering something to Karin’s blond brick, their foreheads together. Ramona’s mouth twitched. She began to squeeze, or Karin did. Later, she thought, in a moment of terrible clarity, each of us will tell herself the other was the one who pulled the trigger. “Fire.” As she sat waiting on the steps of the super’s trailer at the edge of the farm compound, Beth thought for the first time in months of the house on Iris Avenue in Wilbraham. The Flying Saucer Collective, a shabby two-story place right off Park Avenue where seven queers cooked communal vegan meals and brewed their own trash-can beer and fought over how to properly store sourdough starter. There was an herb garden nobody weeded and somebody’s mother’s old paisley shawls tacked up as wall hangings in the living room. Morning glories withering on the trellis leaned against the east wall. A real Pinterest board of a house, just unkempt enough to be chic without sliding into dereliction. For a year and a half after dropping out she’d lived on the second floor in a filthy closet of a room, slowly dating her way through a rotating cast of roommates and friends of friends: skinny trans mascs, angry leatherdykes, demisexuals with half-ironic bowl cuts who talked endlessly about Tumblr gender discourse and whether wearing bow ties was class warfare until each half-assed relationship inevitably flamed out into brittle, silent resentment. Tension boiling around the scarred kitchen table on board game night. It was actually good that the world had ended, because now no one could make her play Settlers of Catan. And then, three days into the nonstop onslaught of broadcast carnage in the wake of the Liverpool Massacre, Aster called a house meeting. They called it via email, which was typical passive-aggressive bullshit, and as soon as Beth saw the notification on her phone and read the subject line—IMPORTANT: HOUSING SITUATION—she knew what it meant. She was the situation. She and Venus and V’s girlfriend, Tara, who’d been staying with them since the news hit.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  The two peasants, completely nude, are flogged with exceeding violence; while he plies his whip upon the one the other pays him back in kind, and during the intervals when he pauses for rest, he smothers with the most uninhibited, the most disgusting caresses, the same altar in Rosalie who, elevated upon an armchair, slightly bent over, presents it to him; at last, there comes this poor creature's turn: Rodin ties her to the stake as he tied his scholars, and while one after another and sometimes both at once his domestics flay him, he beats his daughter, lashes her from her ribs to her knees, utterly transported by pleasure. His agitation is extreme: he shouts, he blasphemes, he flagellates: his thongs bite deep everywhere, and wherever they fall, there immediately he presses his lips. Both the interior of the altar and his victim's mouth... everything, the before-end excepted, everything is devoured by his suckings; without changing the disposition of the others, contenting himself with rendering it more propitious, Rodin by and by penetrates into pleasure's narrow asylum; meanwhile, the same throne is offered by the governess to his kisses, the other girl beats him with all her remaining strength, Rodin is in seventh heaven, he thrusts, he splits, he tears, a thousand kisses, one more passionate than the other, express his ardor, he kisses whatever is presented to his lust: the bomb bursts and the libertine besotted dares taste the sweetest of delights in the sink of incest and infamy...

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  There is nothing I can do to defend myself, the project is executed, Julien triumphs, and it is not without atrocious agonies I sustain this newest attack: the assailant's exorbitant bulk, the lacerated condition of those parts, the fire with which that accursed ball had devoured my intestines, everything combined to make me suffer tortures which La Rose renewed immediately his companion was finished. Before arriving I was thus yet another time victim of those wretched valets' criminal libertinage; we reached our destination at last. The jailer greeted us, he was alone, it was still night, no one saw me enter. "Go to sleep, Therese," said he, restoring me to my cell, "and if ever you wish to tell, it makes no difference whom, that on this night you left prison, remember that I will contradict you, and that this useless accusation will get you nowhere...." And, said I to myself when I was left alone, I should regret departing this world! I should dread to leave a universe freighted with such monsters! Ah! were the hand of God to snatch me from their clutches at whatever instant and in whatever manner He sees fit! why! I'd complain no more; the unique consolation which may remain to the luckless one bred up in this den of savage beasts, his one comfort is the hope of leaving it soon. The next day I heard nothing and resolved to abandon myself to Providence, I languished and would touch no food. The day after that, Cardoville came to question me; I could not repress a shudder upon beholding the nonchalance wherewith that scoundrel walked in to execute his judiciary duties Ä he, Cardoville, the most villainous of mortals, he who, contrary to every article of the justice in which he was cloaked, had just so cruelly abused my innocence and exploited my misery; it was in vain I pled my cause, the dishonest man's artfulness devised more crimes than I could invent defenses; when all the charges had been well established in the view of this iniquitous judge, and when the case was made, he had the impudence to ask me whether I knew in Lyon one Monsieur de Saint-Florent, a wealthy and estimable citizen; I answered that I knew him, yes. "Excellent," said Cardoville, "no more is needed. This Monsieur de Saint-Florent, whom you declare you know, also has a perfect knowledge of you; he has deposed that he saw you in a band of thieves, that you were the first to steal his money and his pocket- book. He further deposes that your comrades wished to spare his life, that you recommended they take it from him; nevertheless, he managed to escape.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Several people used these identical tortures, or passions, to initiate their warriors; this was known as huscanaver (viz., the religious ceremonies of every race on earth). These pleasantries, whose maximum inconvenience may be at the very most the death of a slut, are capital crimes at the moment. Three cheers for the progress of civilization! How it conspires to the happiness of man, and how much more fortunate than our forebears we are!) ...that was the name he gave that deadly legerdemain of which I gave you a description when I mentioned Roland's cavern for the first time. I mount the three-legged stool, the evil fellow fits the halter about my neck, he takes his place opposite me; although in a frightful state, Suzanne excites him manually; an instant passes, then he snaps the stool from beneath me, but equipped with the sickle, I sever the cord immediately and fall uninjured to the ground. "Nicely done, very neat!" says Roland, "your turn, Suzanne, there it is, and I'll spare you, if you manage as cleverly." Suzanne takes my place. Oh, Madame, allow me to pass over that dreadful scene's details.... The poor thing did not recover from it. "And now off we go, Therese," says Roland, "you'll not return to this place until your time has come." "Whenever you like, Monsieur, whenever you like," I reply; "I prefer death to the frightful life you have me lead. Are there wretches such as we for whom life can be valuable?..." Chapter 35And Roland locked me into my cell. The next day my companions asked what had become of Suzanne and I told them; they were hardly surprised; all were awaiting the same fate and each, like me, seeing therein a term to their suffering, passionately longed for it. And thus two years went by, Roland indulging in his customary debauchery, I lingering on with the prospect of a cruel death, when one day the news went about the chateau that not only were our master's expectations satisfied, not only had he received the immense quantity of Venetian funds he had wished, but that he had even obtained a further order for another six millions in counterfeit coin for which he would be reimbursed in Italy when he arrived to claim payment; the scoundrel could not possibly have enjoyed better luck; he was going to leave with an income of two millions, not to mention his hopes of getting more: this was the new piece of evidence Providence had prepared for me.

• From Sexual Politics (1970)

  …picture me for the next eight years, as a bark slumbering through halcyon weather, in a harbour as still as glass—the steersman stretched on the little deck, his face up to heaven, his eyes closed…A great many women and girls are supposed to pass their lives something in that fashion; why not I with the rest?…However, it cannot be concealed that in that case, I must somehow have fallen overboard, or there must have been a wreck at last.187 She is traumatically cast out of the middle class quite unprepared to live, for all the world had expected her to exist parasitically. She now lacks the prerequisites: a face, respectable social connections, and parents to place her. She is a serf without a proprietor who must become a wage slave, namely a governess or teacher. The only way out, and it’s a desperate track, is to learn the world and books. Villette chronicles her formal and informal education in the acquisition of her own competence through both. But what work can Lucy do; what occupations are open to her? Paid companion, infant nurse, governess, schoolteacher. As they are arranged, each is but another name for servant. Each involves starvation wages which only a lifetime of saving could ever convert to ransom. There is another humiliation in the fact of servant status which rested with particular severity on middleclass women who in taking employment are falling a step below the class of their birth. (While a paid companion, Lucy encounters a schoolmate now the mistress of a household-Lucy had been visiting another servant in the kitchen.) Furthermore, these occupations involve “living-in” and a twenty-four-hour surveillance tantamount to imprisonment. The only circumstances under which Lucy is permitted an occupation are such that they make financial independence and personal fulfillment impossible. It is not very hard to understand her envy at the gratification and status which Paul and John are given automatically in their professions. One might well ask. as Lucy does unceasingly, is it worth it then, under these conditions. to work? Is it not easier to keep falling into daydreams about prince charmings who will elevate one to royalty, or so they claim? At any rate, they could provide easy security and a social position cheaply attained. They will provide, if nothing else, the sexual gratification which women occupied like Lucy arc utterly forbidden to enjoy.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  Still I continued in a state of stupidity, or melancholic despair, as my spirits could not yet recover from the violent shocks that they had received; and the accommodating landlady had actually left the room, and me alone with this strange gentleman, before I had observed it, and then I observed it without alarm, for I was now lifeless, and indifferent to every thing. The gentleman, however, no novice in affairs of this sort, drew near me; and, under the pretence of comforting me, first with his handkerchief dried my tears as they ran down my cheeks: presently he ventured to kiss me on my part, neither resistance nor compliance. I sat stock still; and now looking on myself as bought by the payment that had been transacted before me. I did not care what became of my wretched body: and wanting life, spirits, or courage to oppose the least struggle, even that of the modesty of my sex, I suffered, tamely, whatever the gentleman pleased; who proceeding insensibly from freedom to freedom, insinuating his hand between my handkerchief and bosom, which he handled at discretion: finding thus no repulse, and that every thing favoured, beyond expectation, the completion of his desires, he took me in his arms, and bore me, without life or motion, to the bed, on which laying me gently downed, and having me at what advantage he pleased, I did not so much as know what he was about, till recovering from a trance of lifeless insensibility, I found him buried in me, whilst I lay passive and innocent of the least sensations of pleasure: a death-cold corpse could scarce have less life or sense in it. As soon as he had thus pacified a passion which had too little respected the condition I was in, he got off, and after recomposing the disorder of my clothes, employed himself with the utmost tenderness to calm the transports of remorse and madness at myself, with which I was seized, too late, I confess, for having suffered on that bed, the embraces of an utter stranger I tore my hair, wrung my hands, and beat my breast like a mad woman. But when my new master, for in that light I then viewed him, applied himself to appease me, as my whole rage was levelled at myself, no part of which I thought myself permitted to aim at him, I begged of him with more submission than anger, to leave me alone, that I might, at least, enjoy my affliction in quiet. This he positively refused, for fear, as he pretended, I should do myself a mischief. Violent passions seldom last long, and those of women least of any.

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  That is what I suffered, Madame, but at least my honor was respected even though my modesty assuredly was not. Their calm restored, the bandits spoke of regaining the road, and that same night we reached Tremblai with the intention of approaching the woods of Chantilly, where it was thought a few good prizes might be awaiting us. Nothing equaled my despair at being obliged to accompany such persons, and I was determined to part with them as soon as I could do so without risk. The following day we fell hard by Louvres, sleeping under haystacks; I felt in need of Dubois' support and wanted to pass the night by her side; but it seemed she had planned to employ it otherwise than protecting my virtue from the attacks I dreaded; three of the thieves surrounded her and before my very eyes the abominable creature gave herself to all three simultaneously. The fourth approached me; it was the captain. "Lovely Therese," said he, "I hope you shall not refuse me at least the pleasure of spending the night with you?" and as he perceive my extreme unwillingness, "fear not," he went on; "we'll have a chat together, and I will attempt nothing without your consent. "O Therese," cried he, folding me in his arms, " 'tis all foolishness, don't you know, to be so pretentious with us. Why are you concerned to guard your purity in our midst? Even were we to agree to respect it, could it be compatible with the interests of the band? No need to hide it from you, my dear; for when we settle down in cities, we count on you to snare us some dupes." "Why, Monsieur," I replied, "since it is certain I should prefer death to these horrors, of what use can I be to you, and why do you oppose my flight?" "We certainly do oppose it, my girl," Coeur-de-fer rejoined, "you must serve either our pleasures or our interests; your poverty imposes the yoke upon you, and you have got to adapt to it. But, Therese, and well you know it, there is nothing in this world that cannot be somehow arranged: so listen to me, and accept the management of your own fate: agree to live with me, dear girl, consent to belong to me and be properly my own, and I will spare you the baneful role for which you are destined." "I, Sir, I become the mistress of a -"

• From Best Erotica & Sexual Deviance Narratives Ever Written (2024)

  The thirty-six-year-old woman, six months pregnant, as I have told you, is perched upon a pedestal eight feet high; unable to pose but one leg, she is obliged to keep the other in the air; round about her, on the floor, are mattresses garnished three feet deep with thorns, splines, holly; a flexible rod is given to her that she may keep herself erect; it is easy to see, on the one hand, that it is to her interest not to tumble, and on the other, that she cannot possibly retain her balance; the alternatives divert the monks; all four of them cluster around her, during the spectacle each has one or two women to excite him in divers manners; great with child as she is, the luckless creature remains in this attitude for nearly a quarter of an hour; at last, strength deserts her, she falls upon the thorns, and our villains, wild with lust, one last time step forward to lavish upon her body their ferocity's abominable homage... the company retires. The superior put me into the keeping of the thirty-year-old girl of whom I made mention; her name was Omphale; she was charged to instruct me, to settle me in my new domicile. But that night I neither saw nor heard anything. Annihilated, desperate, I thought of nothing but to capture a little rest. In the room where I had been installed I noticed other women who had not been at the supper; I postponed consideration of these new objects until the following day, and occupied myself with naught else but repose. Omphale left me to myself; she went to put herself to bed; scarcely had I stepped into mine when the full horror of my circumstances presented itself to me in yet more lively colors: I could not dispel the thought of the execrations I had suffered, nor of those to which I had been a witness. Alas! if at certain times those pleasures had occurred to my wandering imagination, I had thought them chaste, as is the God Who inspires them, given by Nature in order to comfort human beings; I had fancied them the product of love and delicacy. I had been very far from believing that man, after the example of savage beasts, could only relish them by causing his companion to shudder... then, returning to my own black fate...

• From Sexual Politics (1970)

  Through Athena’s deciding vote, Orestes is not only acquitted but reinvested with his patrimony. Having entirely appropriated the creative force of fertility for the male, patriarchal dogma shall not stop short of devaluating female existence as well. And such is the force of the decision: “Zeus so ordained and Zeus was right…their two deaths are in no way to be compared” Apollo legislates, finding Clytemnestra, in taking the life of Agamemnon, husband, king and father, guilty of a very grave crime indeed, but exonerating Orestes in taking a woman’s life, though it be his own mother’s. The Furies, whose wrath Aeschylus had designed to give off the pathos of foregone defeat, are never permitted to pose any real threat, and lament helplessly: The old is trampled by the new! Curse on you younger gods who overrule The ancient laws… The Furies, who are of course fertility goddesses, had considered wreaking their revenge in a murrain all over Greece, “a sterile blight” on “plant and child.” But Athena stands by to cajole them out of their rage and into an ancillary role within the new order. By dint of fair talk and the threat that since their day is over they would be wise to co-operate, she coaxes the Furies into a bargain which appears to afford them no benefits beyond survival—yet is an absolute necessity to the new order. For all his boasting that he is the sole source of life, patriarchal man, by tacit concession, appears to acknowledge that he cannot prosper without the assistance of the female principle. So Athena wheedles the Furies to provide. Blessings from earth and sea and sky; blessing that breathes In wind and sunlight through the land; that beast and field Enrich my people with unwearied fruitfulness, And armies of brave sons be born… Ignominious in their defeat, The Furies jump at the offer of a home in Athens and launch into five pages of local chamber of commerce rhapsody. In Aeschylus’ dramatization of the myth one is permitted to see patriarchy confront matriarchy, confound it through the knowledge of paternity, and come off triumphant. Until Ibsen’s Nora slammed the door announcing the sexual revolution, this triumph went nearly uncontested. III DIGRESSION ON THE EVIDENCE OF SEXUALITY

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  And let me tell you, that old, old, old, decrepit geometry book hit my heart with the force of a nuclear bomb. My hopes and dreams floated up in a mushroom cloud. What do you do when the world has declared nuclear war on you? [image "A comic-style illustration of a character labeled ‘Mister P’ being hit by another character throwing a book. The impact is emphasized with the word ‘SMASH!’ prominently displayed nearby." file=image_rsrc4RW.jpg] Hope Against Hope [image file=image_rsrc4RJ.jpg] Of course, I was suspended from school after I smashed Mr. P in the face, even though it was a complete accident. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly an accident. After all, I wanted to hit something when I threw that ancient book. But I didn’t want to hit somebody, and I certainly didn’t plan on breaking the nose of a mafioso math teacher. “That’s the first time you’ve ever hit anything you aimed at,” my big sister said. “We are so disappointed,” my mother said. “We are so disappointed in you,” my father said. My grandmother just sat in her rocking chair and cried and cried. I was ashamed. I’d never really been in trouble before. A week into my suspension, I was sitting on our front porch, thinking about stuff, contemplating, when old Mr. P walked up our driveway. He had a big bandage on his face. “I’m sorry about your face,” I said. “I’m sorry they suspended you,” he said. “I hope you know that wasn’t my idea.” After I smashed him in the face, I figured Mr. P wanted to hire a hit man. Well, maybe that’s taking it too far. Mr. P didn’t want me dead, but I don’t think he would have minded if I’d been the only survivor of a plane that crashed into the Pacific Ocean. [image "A comic-style illustration of a person standing on a tiny island featuring a single palm tree. The island is labeled ‘The world’s smallest reservation.’ The person has a speech bubble saying ‘Sigh.’" file=image_rsrc4RX.jpg] At the very least, I thought they were going to send me to jail. “Can I sit down with you?” Mr. P asked. “You bet,” I said. I was nervous. Why was he being so friendly? Was he planning a sneak attack on me? Maybe he was going to smash me in the nose with a calculus book. But the old guy just sat in peaceful silence for a long time. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just sat as quietly as he did. That silence got so big and real that it felt like three people sat on the porch. “Do you know why you hit me with that book?” Mr. P finally asked. It was a trick question. I knew I needed to answer correctly or he’d be mad. “I hit you because I’m stupid.” “You’re not stupid.” Wrong answer. Shoot. I tried again.

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  I mean, I can’t even tell you how I found the strength to get up every morning. And yet, every morning, I did get up and go to school. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I was so depressed that I thought about dropping out of Reardan. I thought about going back to Wellpinit. I blamed myself for all of the deaths. I had cursed my family. I had left the tribe, and had broken something inside all of us, and I was now being punished for that. No, my family was being punished. I was healthy and alive. Then, after my fifteenth or twentieth missed day of school, I sat in my social studies classroom with Mrs. Jeremy. Mrs. Jeremy was an old bird who’d taught at Reardan for thirty-five years. [image "Comic strip titled ‘Why I Did Actually Miss a Lot of School’ with five panels illustrating various reasons for missing school, including funerals, transportation issues, and family concerns." file=image_rsrc4T8.jpg] I slumped into her class and sat in the back of the room. “Oh, class,” she said. “We have a special guest today. It’s Arnold Spirit. I didn’t realize you still went to this school, Mr. Spirit.” The classroom was quiet. They all knew my family had been living inside a grief-storm. And had this teacher just mocked me for that? “What did you just say?” I asked her. “You really shouldn’t be missing class this much,” she said. If I’d been stronger, I would have stood up to her. I would have called her names. I would have walked across the room and slapped her. But I was too broken. Instead, it was Gordy who defended me. He stood with his textbook and dropped it. Whomp! He looked so strong. He looked like a warrior. He was protecting me like Rowdy used to protect me. Of course, Rowdy would have thrown the book at the teacher and then punched her. Gordy showed a lot of courage in standing up to a teacher like that. And his courage inspired the others. Penelope stood and dropped her textbook. And then Roger stood and dropped his textbook. Whomp! Then the other basketball players did the same. Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! And Mrs. Jeremy flinched each and every time, as if she’d been kicked in the crotch. Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Whomp! Then all of my classmates walked out of the room. A spontaneous demonstration. Of course, I probably should have walked out with them. It would have been more poetic. It would have made more sense. Or perhaps my friends should have realized that they shouldn’t have left behind the FRICKING REASON FOR THEIR PROTEST! And that thought just cracked me up. It was like my friends had walked over the backs of baby seals in order to get to the beach where they could protest against the slaughter of baby seals. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that bad. But it was sure funny.