Embarrassment

Passages

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

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

  Ruzty was standing completely naked, his hands crossed over his crotch. “Excuse me?” he said. “Hello?” Lila turned. “Hon, what’s your name, sir?” “Ruzty. I’m from Vermont.” “Well, Ruzty from Vermont, I don’t see how you can have a problem with getting naked for a brief Penis Wash tutorial. We need to show Shandee the way we do it here at the House of Holes—the old-fashioned up-country way. Zilka?” Zilka guided Ruzty onto the massage table, and the three women leaned over him. Zilka stroked his short hair. Lila stroked his chest muscles and right shoulder. “Aren’t you a smooth sight, oh my,” she said. “A regular Marky Mark.” Shandee caught Ruzty’s eye and smiled at him. He rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, in his fetching accent. Zilka held up two orange mittens. “Okay, so your job is to put on these sponge mittens and go out and wash the men who pass by you on the line. It’s like a car wash. And the way you do it—” “Excuse me, let me just interject,” said Lila. “It’s like a car wash with only luxury sport coupes, Ferraris, Miatas, etcetera. The men who go through the Penis Wash are personally selected either by me or by Aunt Maven or by somebody in charge. They are some of the tip-toppest-looking men who come in. So it’s an honor to be washed on the Penis Wash, and it’s an honor to be a penis washer. Both. Now carry on, Zilka, you’re doing good.” Zilka held up her mitten. “Now we don’t have any warm-water sprayer in here to show you, but on the wash station you have a sprayer that hangs from the ceiling, and you have foot pedals and you spray the man down, like this, shpffffffssssssh, all around his crotch and his scrotum, get it all wet and sloppy, and then you pull down the soap hose, and you spray that on him and then you take your gloves and work the suds all up like this, squoosh squoosh squoosh.” She made pretend scrubbing motions an inch over Ruzty’s crotch. Ruzty crossed his hands over his chest and beamed at Shandee. “Can I talk to the man as I’m scrubbing him?” asked Shandee. “Yes,” said Zilka. “Of course you can,” said Lila. “They don’t really know what’s happening yet. They’ve just arrived, and this is the first time that they’ve been naked here. So yes, talk to them if you want. It’s a matter of style. This experience is important, and your job is to make sure that they’re clean and they’re happy. Happy and clean.” “But you can’t take too long,” said Zilka, “because you’re at a spray station and you only have a few minutes, and you have to be sure they’re all rinsed off.”

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

  I like festivals.” “Eh, it’s a little embarrassing for me,” he said, waving and looking away. “But she had big silver earrings on her ears, and she said that the first three winners got five thousand dollars—wow! And she said if I wanted to compete in the festival I would have to go with her to the House of Holes. She was very nice to me, all whisper- whisper. Very tall, too, like a supermodel. And then she pulled out her earring from her ear and told me to look real close at the little hole.” “The hole in her earlobe?” said Shandee. “Yeah, so I looked real close, and then, voom, I was taken into the hole, and now here I am.” “That’s like what happened to me,” said Shandee. She told the story of finding Dave’s arm in the quarry and how they communicated by writing notes and how Dave’s arm had made an O with his fingers. “Dave’s arm, meet Ruzty. Ruzty, meet Dave’s arm.” She held Dave’s arm out. “Hey, dude,” said Ruzty, and gave the arm a thumb-to-thumb handshake. He smiled at Shandee—dazzling teeth. “Good for you to travel with somebody who is a friend.” “That’s very true,” said Shandee. Just then Zilka reappeared with two more men in tow. “This is Dune,” she said. “And this is Hax.” She handed Shandee a folded men’s blue shirt and some crocheted leg warmers. “Put these on now.” She walked away. Shandee’s heart fluttered as she shook hands with the new arrivals: Dune, absurdly handsome in an old suede jacket, with an ironic, off-kilter smile, and Hax, West Indian, keen-eyed and devastatingly white T-shirted, with a broad forehead and long tawny dreadlocks and a light beard. “Hello,” said Hax. “Hey, folks,” Dune said, as he signed the form on the clipboard, after which he took several long seconds to look Shandee over. “You’re pretty, shit. Tight little body on you, too. Look at you! Your mama must be proud.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “Is that somebody’s arm you’ve got tucked away in your lap?” Shandee told the story. “So you’re a little bit in love, that’s sweet,” said Dune. “Makes sense to go for just an arm, though. Forget the head. Men are bullshitters. They’ll always feed you a line.” “Hey, man,” said Hax, turning, “don’t go all loungey on the girl. Relax.” “Loungey? Who are you, shrimp locker?” Hax looked at him. “I’m a masseur.” “Oh ho, a masseur.” “And I remove tattoos as well, manually.” “I’ve got a tattoo on my asscheek that says ‘Remember Sputnik,’ ” Dune said. “I forget why.

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

  He introduced himself; his name was Daggett. He took her into a small room with a round wooden table and, referring to a clipboard, began asking her questions. He asked her to describe her ideal man. “I like men who are intelligent and witty,” Rhumpa said. “Also kind to animals and interested in other people and able to hold a conversation of a reasonable length.” Daggett frowned and looked at his clipboard. “It says here that you favor a man with a heavy, dark dick. It quotes you as saying, ‘Some nice things are just not possible with a small, pale dick.’ ” “Where did you get that piece of information?” Rhumpa asked, outraged. “During reassembly they do a spectrum analysis,” Daggett said. “They screen for diseases, of course, and comb through for lurid thoughts. What’s your ideal sexual encounter?” “Oh, touching, kissing, caressing,” Rhumpa said, at a loss. “It says here that you would favor having three Italian airplane pilots in uniform shoot their comeloads onto your belly while you cup your clitoris with a wooden spoon.” “They don’t necessarily have to be Italian,” Rhumpa said. “And they can be race-car drivers if that’s easier.” “Because of your interest in pilots, we thought you might be a good person to fly one of our pornsucker ships.” Rhumpa asked what a pornsucker ship was, and he explained. “It’s an airplane that flies around sucking up bad porn from cities.” “Why?” “Because bad porn is bad porn—it’s depressing and drowns out good porn. We store it, letting objectionable content settle out. The less porn there is overall, the more likely people are to come to the House of Holes.” “How sordid,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t want to spend time doing that.” “Oh? It says here that you’d definitely like to steer an airplane with your crotch.” “I do believe you’ve got the wrong clipboard,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t think so,” Daggett said, a trifle testily. Rhumpa asked him if she was a prisoner or a guest. “Do you want to be here?” “I’m not sure,” said Rhumpa. “If you do, then you’re a guest,” said Daggett. He looked at his notes again, and then at her. He seemed a little hesitant. Rhumpa asked him, “Are you a guest, too?” “Yes, but I’m on an intensive work-study program because I accumulated a great deal of debt and they assigned me to do intake.” “I see,” Rhumpa said. He changed his tone. “You’re very pretty,” he said, leaning forward. “You have a lovely spicy smell.

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

  “If I see your breasts,” he said, “they’ll take me away and perform a reversible orchidectomy on me.” “What’s that?” “They remove my balls and put them in storage for a couple of weeks.” “That’s harsh,” said Rhumpa. “The empty sack?” “Yes, it happened to me once, and it was bad.” “Who takes care of your balls while they’re in storage?” “Aunt Maven has a number of female helpers. They’re called ‘ballkeepers.’ ” Rhumpa took this in. “So how will you help me choose?” “Take a shower, and when you come out I’ll have all the bras arranged on the bed, and then you can try them on, and if we need to we’ll use the Silken Flesh Communicator.” He held up a finger. “But first, of course, I’ll need to see your current bra.” “On me?” He nodded quickly. “You mean, unbutton?” He nodded again, waiting. Rhumpa began unbuttoning her shirt, and to overcome the awkwardness that she felt—along with some excitement, for what woman can avoid feeling a thrill as she unbuttons her shirt in front of an attentive stranger?—she asked Daggett what the Silken Flesh Communicator was. “It’s hard to describe. It works pretty well if you know what you’re doing. You’ll see.” Rhumpa’s shirt slid off her arm onto a chair, and she stood looking at the corner of the room, a little embarrassed, with her palms toward him. “Me in my bra,” she said. Daggett exhaled and slowly sat on the bed, staring. His eyes were large, and they were fixed on her breasts. He began muttering to himself. “Oh, those are so beautiful and generous and so lonesome and shy and so full and soft,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Sorry?” Rhumpa said. He made an effort to collect himself. “A fine T-shirt bra,” he murmured. “With a lovely woven starfish pattern. Is it a Luleh brand or is it an Olivia Wallenstein?” He made a brief show of looking into his bag of bras and then gave it up and returned to staring directly at Rhumpa’s titboobs. “I think it’s an Olivia Wallenstein,” she said, smiling. “Make the porno in it. It’s perfect for you. You don’t need any of my bras.” “Ah, but I do. I need to feel like a different person. This old bra is too—autobiographical.” She pulled down on it to seat it better, and then shrugged. Daggett’s breath caught at her motions, and she laughed at her casual power over him. “They’re just breasts,” she said. “I wish they were a little bigger.” “Nonsense,” he said. “You mustn’t say that around here.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Be careful what you wish for.” His eyes moved hungrily from her right breast to her left, and then back. “So you’re saying if right now I took this bra off in front of you you’d really have your balls removed?”

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

  Then she was herself again, but standing on the porch outside the House of Holes. She rang the buzzer. A man with a bag on his back answered. He introduced himself; his name was Daggett. He took her into a small room with a round wooden table and, referring to a clipboard, began asking her questions. He asked her to describe her ideal man. “I like men who are intelligent and witty,” Rhumpa said. “Also kind to animals and interested in other people and able to hold a conversation of a reasonable length.” Daggett frowned and looked at his clipboard. “It says here that you favor a man with a heavy, dark dick. It quotes you as saying, ‘Some nice things are just not possible with a small, pale dick.’ ” “Where did you get that piece of information?” Rhumpa asked, outraged. “During reassembly they do a spectrum analysis,” Daggett said. “They screen for diseases, of course, and comb through for lurid thoughts. What’s your ideal sexual encounter?” “Oh, touching, kissing, caressing,” Rhumpa said, at a loss. “It says here that you would favor having three Italian airplane pilots in uniform shoot their comeloads onto your belly while you cup your clitoris with a wooden spoon.” “They don’t necessarily have to be Italian,” Rhumpa said. “And they can be race-car drivers if that’s easier.” “Because of your interest in pilots, we thought you might be a good person to fly one of our pornsucker ships.” Rhumpa asked what a pornsucker ship was, and he explained. “It’s an airplane that flies around sucking up bad porn from cities.” “Why?” “Because bad porn is bad porn—it’s depressing and drowns out good porn. We store it, letting objectionable content settle out. The less porn there is overall, the more likely people are to come to the House of Holes.” “How sordid,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t want to spend time doing that.” “Oh? It says here that you’d definitely like to steer an airplane with your crotch.” “I do believe you’ve got the wrong clipboard,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t think so,” Daggett said, a trifle testily. Rhumpa asked him if she was a prisoner or a guest. “Do you want to be here?” “I’m not sure,” said Rhumpa. “If you do, then you’re a guest,” said Daggett. He looked at his notes again, and then at her. He seemed a little hesitant. Rhumpa asked him, “Are you a guest, too?” “Yes, but I’m on an intensive work-study program because I accumulated a great deal of debt and they assigned me to do intake.” “I see,” Rhumpa said. He changed his tone. “You’re very pretty,” he said, leaning forward. “You have a lovely spicy smell. Excuse me.” He sneezed. “What else does it say on your clipboard?” “It says you’d like to dance in a solo porn video and hold your pussy folds open with your hands, and then you’d like to watch nine men watching your video and getting completely out of control.”

• From The City of God

  341 Lecture 16 Transcript—The Two Cities and the Two Loves (Book 14) Furthermore, Augustine thinks we cannot avoid being ridiculous—if we are embarrassed by that, by our propensity to being ridiculous, we have to address our embarrassment, not our ridiculousness, for our embarrassment is the only kind of ridiculousness that we can, in fact, avoid. The basic ridiculousness that is an ingredient in humans is the fact of our adoration; that is inescapable. Everyone, he says loves; everyone over-invests, in Stoic terms, in something outside of themselves, just watch parents at a soccer game or a baseball game. To wish to escape such involuntary affective responses—which, for Augustine, is what the Stoics wish us to do—is to wish to escape the human condition. As he says, the Stoics desire escape not from our infirmity, but from our humanity. Now let’s be clear, Augustine here is not an adolescent romantic. Both he and the stoics agree that the emotions are essential to our affective orientation to the world. They might call it different things, but they agree, that’s important. They just differ over the proper content of human emotions, and their different judgments about the right intensity of affective orientation to take toward that world. Augustine is not rejecting the idea of taking responsibility for our emotional responses to things; he simply proposes different terms than the Stoics whereby to formulate that responsibility. So the Stoics are philosophically confused, for Augustine. But Christians can know that they are mistaken from an entirely different authority than philosophical argument, namely, the example of scripture. Jesus is represented in the gospels as being profoundly moved in episodes throughout his life; and of course, he suffers the passio, the ultimate experience of the world affecting him, the passion. In a way Jesus has more powerful emotions than the rest of us do, in part because he wills to have those emotions, to be properly affected by the world. He has more integrity, and so he can feel more. But it’s not just Jesus, Saint Paul, too, whom Augustine takes to be the exemplary human. He exemplifies the good human life, and in doing so, he plays the full range of what we can call the emotional

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

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

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

  I had already begun to learn that when I left my parents’ house. Like when your Black sisters on the job think you’re crazy and collect money between themselves to buy you a hot comb and straightening iron on their lunch hour and stick it anonymously into your locker in the staff room, so that later when you come down for a coffee break and open your locker the damn things fall out on the floor with a clatter and all ninety-five percent of your library co-workers who are very very white want to know what it’s all about. Like when your Black brother calls you a ball-buster and tricks you up into his apartment and tries to do it to you against the kitchen cabinets just, as he says, to take you down a peg or two, when all the time you’d only gone up there to begin with fully intending to get a little in the first place (because all the girls I knew who were possibilities were too damn complicating, and I was plain and simply horny as hell). I finally got out of being raped although not mauled by leaving behind a ring and a batch of lies and it was the first time in my life since I’d left my parents’ house that I was in a physical situation which I couldn’t handle physically—in other words, the bastard was stronger than I was. It was an instantaneous consciousness-raiser. As I say, when the sisters think you’re crazy and embarrassing; and the brothers want to break you open to see what makes you work inside; and the white girls look at you like some exotic morsel that has just crawled out of the walls onto their plate (but don’t they love to rub their straight skirts up against the edge of your desk in the college literary magazine office after class); and the white boys all talk either money or revolution but can never quite get it up—then it doesn’t really matter too much if you have an Afro long before the word even existed. Pearl Primus, the African-American dancer, had come to my high school one day and talked about African women after class, and how beautiful and natural their hair looked curling out into the sun, and as I sat there listening (one of fourteen Black girls in Hunter High School) I thought, that’s the way god’s mother must have looked and I want to look like that too so help me god. In those days I called it a natural, and kept calling it natural when everybody else called it crazy.

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

  Then she was herself again, but standing on the porch outside the House of Holes. She rang the buzzer. A man with a bag on his back answered. He introduced himself; his name was Daggett. He took her into a small room with a round wooden table and, referring to a clipboard, began asking her questions. He asked her to describe her ideal man. “I like men who are intelligent and witty,” Rhumpa said. “Also kind to animals and interested in other people and able to hold a conversation of a reasonable length.” Daggett frowned and looked at his clipboard. “It says here that you favor a man with a heavy, dark dick. It quotes you as saying, ‘Some nice things are just not possible with a small, pale dick.’ ” “Where did you get that piece of information?” Rhumpa asked, outraged. “During reassembly they do a spectrum analysis,” Daggett said. “They screen for diseases, of course, and comb through for lurid thoughts. What’s your ideal sexual encounter?” “Oh, touching, kissing, caressing,” Rhumpa said, at a loss. “It says here that you would favor having three Italian airplane pilots in uniform shoot their comeloads onto your belly while you cup your clitoris with a wooden spoon.” “They don’t necessarily have to be Italian,” Rhumpa said. “And they can be race-car drivers if that’s easier.” “Because of your interest in pilots, we thought you might be a good person to fly one of our pornsucker ships.” Rhumpa asked what a pornsucker ship was, and he explained. “It’s an airplane that flies around sucking up bad porn from cities.” “Why?” “Because bad porn is bad porn—it’s depressing and drowns out good porn. We store it, letting objectionable content settle out. The less porn there is overall, the more likely people are to come to the House of Holes.” “How sordid,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t want to spend time doing that.” “Oh? It says here that you’d definitely like to steer an airplane with your crotch.” “I do believe you’ve got the wrong clipboard,” Rhumpa said. “I don’t think so,” Daggett said, a trifle testily. Rhumpa asked him if she was a prisoner or a guest. “Do you want to be here?” “I’m not sure,” said Rhumpa. “If you do, then you’re a guest,” said Daggett. He looked at his notes again, and then at her. He seemed a little hesitant. Rhumpa asked him, “Are you a guest, too?” “Yes, but I’m on an intensive work-study program because I accumulated a great deal of debt and they assigned me to do intake.” “I see,” Rhumpa said. He changed his tone. “You’re very pretty,” he said, leaning forward. “You have a lovely spicy smell. Excuse me.” He sneezed. “What else does it say on your clipboard?” “It says you’d like to dance in a solo porn video and hold your pussy folds open with your hands, and then you’d like to watch nine men watching your video and getting completely out of control.”

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

  Leave your panties on.” Daggett helped her set up the tripod, aiming the camera so that she could dance next to the bed or on the bed. And he showed her how to turn on the music. Then he left. Rhumpa danced at first on the balcony. Because it was so bright outside she was in a silhouette. Then she paused the camera and came inside and closed the dark- green drapes. “I’m going to do a pussy dance for you guys,” she said. She slowly took off her robe and shook her jerries in the bra for the camera. She danced with one finger up her stash, danced while circling her clit, danced with one foot up on the edge of a chair seat. She knew it was good. She phoned down. “Daggett? I’m done pussy dancing.” He came back to her room and retrieved the camera. “Have some dinner,” he said. “I’ll edit the tape and load it on channel six.” Rhumpa had an eggplant panini down at the café, and then Daggett led her down a hall inset with sixteen square, mirrored windows. There were green and red lights above each window. “In each of these little rooms is a man,” said Daggett. “He has control of a video screen that has sixteen possible tracks. By clicking a button he can switch from one track to the next. You can look in any of the windows, but only when the light is green is someone looking at the movie of you dancing.” She nodded. She stood for a moment. All the lights were red, and then one was momentarily green, and then it went red again. Another light changed from red to green and stayed at green. Rhumpa walked to the window and peered in through the one-way mirror. In it was a man she hadn’t seen before. Rhumpa was watching him from the side so that she could see a little bit of her own dancing performance. Mainly she saw him, sitting in a chair, squeezing his united parcel through his pants. She looked at his face and saw how intently he was looking at her dance, and she saw that when she turned around and lifted the scarf he undid his belt. He stood and pushed his pants down and out flopped a heavy, ugly dick in the shadows of the little room. He stroked on himself several times and then he clicked the channel- selection button with the back of his hand. He began watching someone else strip. That was a rude shock. Rhumpa stood back and looked at all of the doors: Three lights were on the green. She hurried to each window.

• From The City of God

  499 admiration of him as a kind of dangerous glory—a problematic glory. And he might fear for our fascination with his work, if that fascination did not lead us beyond his work, to the larger convictions that drove him to write it. Let me give you an example of what I mean. I was once, as a college kid, in a seminar where we dedicated our entire efforts to reading the works of the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre. MacIntyre’s a powerful critic of modern moral philosophy and one who argues that we live in a condition significantly after virtue, and we need to reinstitute those cultural forces that might make it possible for us to have virtue to have coherent moral lives today. Well, at the end of the semester, Professor MacIntyre graciously visited our class and spent the whole day with us. I was more than a little in love with his philosophy, or what I thought was his philosophy. And at lunch, one of us asked him a question—a rather self-congratulatory one, really—inviting a complimentary response. And the question was: “So, what do you think of us spending the semester reading your work?” Professor MacIntyre, without skipping a beat or even looking very engaged—without even putting down his sandwich—said, “Oh, I think it’s a disaster.” Silence descended on the table as everyone except Professor MacIntyre stopped eating their sandwiches. “But— but why?” one of us managed to ask. “Well,” he said, putting down his sandwich and looking slightly more engaged, “if you had all understood anything I had read, you would have put my books down at once and spent your time reading Aquinas and Aristotle.” The truth was, we found it more fun hearing him berate us, and the rest of the world, for not being properly morally formed than it would be for us to actually heed his advice and begin the long, slow boring of very hard boards that would be the process of coming to understand the philosophers who had been his own teachers. I wonder if Augustine, were he able to have lunch with us today, might Lecture 23 Transcript—The City of God as a Single Book 500 Books That Matter: The City of God say something similar. I wonder if he might ask us if we had gained the meaning of his work but missed its message. I have no answer for that now; but I owe it to you, in the sincerity of our efforts together, to give you that question to work out for yourselves.

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

  All sizes. And I do believe I have a bra for everyone.” He began grabbing handfuls of them from the bag and made a huge mound of every color and style. “If you’re going to make a solo amateur sex video, which bra you wear is important. It may be the most important choice you ever make.” “And you’d like to help me choose?” “Very much. But the unbreakable rule is that I can’t ever look at your breasts.” “What—you’re a Deprivo, too?” Daggett hung his head. “Unfortunately, I am, yes.” “You mean that if you see my breasts you’ll be turned to stone?” “No, of course not.” “Then what?” “If I see your breasts,” he said, “they’ll take me away and perform a reversible orchidectomy on me.” “What’s that?” “They remove my balls and put them in storage for a couple of weeks.” “That’s harsh,” said Rhumpa. “The empty sack?” “Yes, it happened to me once, and it was bad.” “Who takes care of your balls while they’re in storage?” “Aunt Maven has a number of female helpers. They’re called ‘ballkeepers.’ ” Rhumpa took this in. “So how will you help me choose?” “Take a shower, and when you come out I’ll have all the bras arranged on the bed, and then you can try them on, and if we need to we’ll use the Silken Flesh Communicator.” He held up a finger. “But first, of course, I’ll need to see your current bra.” “On me?” He nodded quickly. “You mean, unbutton?” He nodded again, waiting. Rhumpa began unbuttoning her shirt, and to overcome the awkwardness that she felt—along with some excitement, for what woman can avoid feeling a thrill as she unbuttons her shirt in front of an attentive stranger?—she asked Daggett what the Silken Flesh Communicator was. “It’s hard to describe. It works pretty well if you know what you’re doing. You’ll see.” Rhumpa’s shirt slid off her arm onto a chair, and she stood looking at the corner of the room, a little embarrassed, with her palms toward him. “Me in my bra,” she said. Daggett exhaled and slowly sat on the bed, staring. His eyes were large, and they were fixed on her breasts. He began muttering to himself. “Oh, those are so beautiful and generous and so lonesome and shy and so full and soft,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Sorry?” Rhumpa said. He made an effort to collect himself. “A fine T-shirt bra,” he murmured. “With a lovely woven starfish pattern. Is it a Luleh brand or is it an Olivia Wallenstein?” He made a brief show of looking into his bag of bras and then gave it up and returned to staring directly at Rhumpa’s titboobs. “I think it’s an Olivia Wallenstein,” she said, smiling. “Make the porno in it. It’s perfect for you. You don’t need any of my bras.” “Ah, but I do. I need to feel like a different person.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  The church was not very far away, four blocks up Lenox Avenue, on a corner not far from the hospital. It was to this hospital that his mother had gone when Roy, and Sarah, and Ruth were born. John did not remember very clearly the first time she had gone, to have Roy; folks said that he had cried and carried on the whole time his mother was away; he remembered only enough to be afraid every time her belly began to swell, knowing that each time the swelling began it would not end until she was taken from him, to come back with a stranger. Each time this happened she became a little more of a stranger herself. She would soon be going away again, Roy said—he knew much more about such things than John. John had observed his mother closely, seeing no swelling yet, but his father had prayed one morning for the ‘little voyager soon to be among them,’ and so John knew that Roy spoke the truth. Every Sunday morning, then, since John could remember, they had taken to the streets, the Grimes family on their way to church. Sinners along the avenue watched them—men still wearing their Saturday-night clothes, wrinkled and dusty now, muddy-eyed and muddy-faced; and women with harsh voices and tight, bright dresses, cigarettes between their fingers or held tightly in the corners of their mouths. They talked, and laughed, and fought together, and the women fought like the men. John and Roy, passing these men and women, looked at one another briefly, John embarrassed and Roy amused. Roy would be like them when he grew up, if the Lord did not change his heart. These men and women they passed on Sunday mornings had spent the night in bars, or in cat houses, or on the streets, or on rooftops, or under the stairs. They had been drinking. They had gone from cursing to laughter, to anger, to lust. Once he and Roy had watched a man and woman in the basement of a condemned house. They did it standing up. The woman had wanted fifty cents, and the man had flashed a razor. John had never watched again; he had been afraid. But Roy had watched them many times, and he told John he had done it with some girls down the block. And his mother and father, who went to church on Sundays, they did it too, and sometimes John heard them in the bedroom behind him, over the sound of rat’s feet, and rat screams, and the music and cursing from the harlot’s house downstairs.

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

  Excuse me.” He sneezed. “What else does it say on your clipboard?” “It says you’d like to dance in a solo porn video and hold your pussy folds open with your hands, and then you’d like to watch nine men watching your video and getting completely out of control.” “Hm, is that so?” He tapped his finger on the page. “I’m just going by what it says. ” “Well—I do like the idea of men being out of control at the sight of me.” “Ah.” “But I don’t want anybody to watch me making the video.” “Of course. You can do it in your hotel room. I’ll take you there now.” They rose, and Daggett led her to an elevator and down several hallways and then they came to a catwalk. “Don’t be worried,” Daggett said. “We’re going through a visual privation area. You’ll probably hear some shouting. The men are Deprivos. They haven’t been able to see nude breasts in any form for three full weeks. This is the last day of their treatment, and they’re in pretty sorry shape.” Below was a crowd of men looking up at her. “Take off the top, baby!” they called. “Show us the titties! Flash them, honey, just for a second! Shake them, jiggle them, squeeze them together!” Finally, Daggett exploded. “For gosh sakes, men, Rhumpa’s not going to show off her titties right here! They’re way too hot for that. Have some sense. If you want to see her nude you’ll have to go to one of the booths in the boothbay after you get out of Deprivo. Check channel six, where, if we’re lucky, she’ll be doing the homemade amateur nasty for us and showing us her hot fat warblers. Right, Rhumpa?” Rhumpa shrugged, a little nervous. “Maybe.” “And congratulations, men, on making it through the program.” That quieted them down, and Rhumpa and Daggett passed on without incident. They turned down a hall and reached Rhumpa’s room, number 715. Daggett opened the door for her and ushered her in. He set the bag down on the bed, massaging his stiff fingers. “What’s in your bag?” Rhumpa asked. “This is the bag of bras. Aside from intake, my job is to carry this bag on my back and help women choose a new bra for their time in the House of Holes.” “That must be fun for you,” Rhumpa said. He nodded. “Yes and no. The bag is a burden to me at times, because of the conditions of my assignment.” “You must like breasts.” He nodded. “Of course. All sizes. And I do believe I have a bra for everyone.” He began grabbing handfuls of them from the bag and made a huge mound of every color and style. “If you’re going to make a solo amateur sex video, which bra you wear is important.

• From The City of God

  Chapter 7. --Whether It is Reasonable to Separate Janus and Terminus as Two Distinct Deities. Who, then, is Janus, with whom Varro commences? He is the world. Certainly a very brief and unambiguous reply. Why, then, do they say that the beginnings of things pertain to him, but the ends to another whom they call Terminus? For they say that two months have been dedicated to these two gods, with reference to beginnings and ends--January to Janus, and February to Terminus--over and above those ten months which commence with March and end with December. And they say that that is the reason why the Terminalia are celebrated in the month of February, the same month in which the sacred purification is made which they call Februum, and from which the month derives its name. [265]Do the beginnings of things, therefore, pertain to the world, which is Janus, and not also the ends, since another god has been placed over them? Do they not own that all things which they say begin in this world also come to an end in this world? What folly it is, to give him only half power in work, when in his image they give him two faces! Would it not be a far more elegant way of interpreting the two-faced image, to say that Janus and Terminus are the same, and that the one face has reference to beginnings, the other to ends? For one who works ought to have respect to both. For he who in every forthputting of activity does not look back on the beginning, does not look forward to the end. Wherefore it is necessary that prospective intention be connected with retrospective memory. For how shall one find how to finish anything, if he has forgotten what it was which he had begun? But if they thought that the blessed life is begun in this world, and perfected beyond the world, and for that reason attributed to Janus, that is, to the world, only the power of beginnings, they should certainly have preferred Terminus to him, and should not have shut him out from the number of the select gods. Yet even now, when the beginnings and ends of temporal things are represented by these two gods, more honor ought to have been given to Terminus. For the greater joy is that which is felt when anything is finished; but things begun are always cause of much anxiety until they are brought to an end, which end he who begins anything very greatly longs for, fixes his mind on, expects, desires; nor does any one ever rejoice over anything he has begun, unless it be brought to an end.

• From The City of God

  When a male and a female are united, the god Jugatinus presides. Well, let this be borne with. But the married woman must be brought home: the god Domiducus also is invoked. That she may be in the house, the god Domitius is introduced. That she may remain with her husband, the goddess Manturnae is used. What more is required? Let human modesty be spared. Let the lust of flesh and blood go on with the rest, the secret of shame being respected. Why is the bed-chamber filled with a crowd of deities, when even the groomsmen [246] have departed? And, moreover, it is so filled, not that in consideration of their presence more regard may be paid to chastity, but that by their help the woman, naturally of the weaker sex, and trembling with the novelty of her situation, may the more readily yield her virginity. For there are the goddess Virginiensis, and the god-father Subigus, and the goddess-mother Prema, and the goddess Pertunda, and Venus, and Priapus. [247]What is this? If it was absolutely necessary that a man, laboring at this work, should be helped by the gods, might not some one god or goddess have been sufficient? Was Venus not sufficient alone, who is even said to be named from this, that without her power a woman does not cease to be a virgin? If there is any shame in men, which is not in the deities, is it not the case that, when the married couple believe that so many gods of either sex are present, and busy at this work, they are so much affected with shame, that the man is less moved, and the woman more reluctant? And certainly, if the goddess Virginiensis is present to loose the virgin's zone, if the god Subigus is present that the virgin may be got under the man, if the goddess Prema is present that, having been got under him, she may be kept down, and may not move herself, what has the goddess Pertunda to do there? Let her blush; let her go forth. Let the husband himself do something. It is disgraceful that any one but himself should do that from which she gets her name. But perhaps she is tolerated because she is said to be a goddess, and not a god. For if she were believed to be a male, and were called Pertundus, the husband would demand more help against him for the chastity of his wife than the newly-delivered woman against Silvanus. But why am I saying this, when Priapus, too, is there, a male to excess, upon whose immense and most unsightly member the newly-married bride is commanded to sit, according to the most honorable and most religious custom of matrons?

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

  Mindy waited, moving her head around nervously. “I’m sorry,” said Dennis. “You’re kind of jammed in there, and I always pee just before I check out of a hotel. I’m dry. This is really embarrassing.” “You don’t need to be sorry,” said Mindy. “I’m sorry about this horrendous inconvenience.” “No, it’s fine, we’ll beat this thing.” “What about if you—you know—do yourself proud?” said Mindy. “It might make it easier for me to wriggle.” Dennis held up his finger. “You know, that thought crossed my mind,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do on that front.” He went back to the bed, lay down, and began gingerly stroking himself. “This is tricky because I don’t want to squeeze you.” “You can squeeze some,” said Mindy. “Just please don’t waggle. That’s better. It’s much better for me when you’re pointing up—otherwise I’m upside down and the blood rushes to my head and I get confused.” “What did you say?” Mindy resumed talking loudly. “Nothing! You just really have to get hard. Is it at all erotic for you that I’m here, stuck in your dickknob?” “Well, it gives me a chance to know you better, that’s for sure. It’s a nice first date. Are you naked in there? Or do you have your clothes on? Because if you’re naked that’s definitely erotic for me.” “I’m pretty sure I’m naked. Let me see. Yep, I’m totally starkers. ‘Naked as a worm,’ as the French say.” “That’s good news, Mindy. I’m going to think about you being naked. Can you toy with yourself?” “I’ll try. I’m putting my finger down between my puffy pussylips. That’s my little friend there, oh, yeah. It’s warm in here. I feel like you’re hugging me all over my body. I’m playing with my pussylips now. I don’t feel panic anymore. You can squeeze me a little more. Squeeze me through your cock. That’s it.” “This is better,” said Dennis. He was gently stroking the middle section of his cock, which had lengthened and stiffened. “Can you do a little hip dance in there, shake your hips for me?” “How about this?” Mindy’s head moved back and forth. “Can you feel it? I’m shimmying my hips for you.” She bit her tiny lip with her tiny teeth. “I’ve got a finger going in my fuckalope now. I can feel your cock getting longer. That’s good, when you do that I can feel you squeezing my hips.” “Mmf, getting some wood now,” said Dennis. “You feel slightly painful in there, but good.” A froth of bubbly fluid surged up around Mindy’s neck. “Woops, what’s this?” she said. “Precum! Hah-hah! This is sick! My hair’s all wet with it! Oh, you juicy, juicy man! Squeeze me a little more!” Dennis squeezed some more, and this pushed her a little ways up, freeing one of her arms.

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

  She winked at Ruzty and began an aerial simulation. “So I spray him all over, fffffff, and then I suds him up, like this, and I suds around all over his nice chest and his stomach and I suds all around his thighs, and higher up, and I get to his balls, and I suds his cock, like this —” “Look at him,” said Zilka. “And look at his cock, wow.” Ruzty’s cock was leaning dramatically to one side. “Oh my goodness, our boy’s got a banana cock!” said Lila. “That’s why I am shy,” Ruzty said. “When it gets hard it curves sharply to the left. Almost a full ninety degrees when it’s very hard, as it is now. It has been true my whole life. Once I had a girlfriend who said it was my progressive penis. But actually I’m a libertarian.” He lifted it to show them. It was heavy and hard, like a shepherd’s crook. “It can straighten some, you see? I am trying to overcome many years of embarrassment because some women say that they like a strong curve.” “Oh, some women love a curve,” said Lila. “Am I right, Shandee?” “Sure, I guess,” Shandee said. But she was in shock. She hadn’t seen that many penises in her life, and she had never seen one shaped like that. It was extreme, and it was extremely exciting. Also there was something distracting happening low down on her leg. She looked toward the floor. Dave’s arm was gripping her ankle and squeezing it fussily. “Oh, I’m sorry, Davie,” she said, “did you crawl all the way over here from my bag? Oh, my dear. Isn’t that sweet. I’m sorry.” She gave the sponge mittens back to Zilka and lifted Dave’s arm. Then she felt flummoxed. “You two have met, I think,” she said. Lila wanted to wind things up. “And we will help you find Dave,” she said. “But now it’s time for you, Shandee, to go to your hotel and check in. Tomorrow you’ll do the Penis Wash for real. I’ll watch over Dave’s arm back here, if you don’t mind. He’s such a heartbreaker, isn’t he?

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

  “You may.” She held the purse out to him and Dennis gingerly reached in. He felt around for a moment, found her keys, and then under it came across the tiny book. “Ooh, I’m squeezing it,” he said. “I wish my name were in here.” “It can be,” she said. “How?” he asked. “Become an investor in my film.” “I’ll think seriously about that.” Mindy held open her purse wider. “Come inside where it’s dark and warm,” she said. He bent and gazed deep and then, shrinking, he fell forward and was enveloped in purseness. “Come with me, Mindy,” he called as he shrank. He smelled the fumes of leather and bottles of nail polish, and he saw Mindy’s driver’s license picture staring at him behind plastic. Her eyes were generous and pretty. He lay for a minute in the jumble of her things, and then it occurred to him that if he didn’t climb out, he would probably suffocate. He grabbed the edge of the purse and hauled himself out onto the floor of a fancy hotel room. He sat, collecting his wits, until he had grown back to his normal size. The purse was on the floor next to him. “Mindy, are you in there?” he called. She wasn’t. He felt an odd tickling or burning sensation in the tip of his penis, and he heard a tiny voice shouting something muffled. He got up and took off his chinos and peered into his striped boxer shorts. Something was definitely going on inside his penis. He stripped off his boxers and sat on the edge of the bed, lifting his penis so that he could get a better look. Mindy’s head was protruding from its tip. Just her head and neck were visible. “Good lord, are you all right?” he said. “I think so!” Mindy shouted in her tiny voice. “Welcome to the House of Holes. I’m here stuck in your penis for some reason.” “Can you get out? You’re so teeny-tiny!” Mindy said something. “What did you say?” said Dennis. “You have to really shout, I’m afraid.” “I said that I feel like a kidney stone!” “Oh. We really need to get you safely out of there.” Dennis thought for a moment. “I don’t think I should try to pull on your head.” “No, you might injure me.” Mindy struggled, trying without success to free her arms, which were pinned next to her body. “I just need a good push. Do you think you could try urinating? That would work, I think. I’ll hold my breath.” “Well, I could try, but I’m warning you I’ve got a shy bladder.” Dennis went into the bathroom and got a glass and held it under his penis and pushed. Mindy waited, moving her head around nervously. “I’m sorry,” said Dennis. “You’re kind of jammed in there, and I always pee just before I check out of a hotel. I’m dry. This is really embarrassing.”

• From The City of God

  Chapter 16. --Concerning Apollo and Diana, and the Other Select Gods Whom They Would Have to Be Parts of the World. Although they would have Apollo to be a diviner and physician, they have nevertheless given him a place as some part of the world. They have said that he is also the sun; and likewise they have said that Diana, his sister, is the moon, and the guardian of roads. Whence also they will have her be a virgin, because a road brings forth nothing. They also make both of them have arrows, because those two planets send their rays from the heavens to the earth. They make Vulcan to be the fire of the world; Neptune the waters of the world; Father Dis, that is, Orcus, the earthy and lowest part of the world. Liber and Ceres they set over seeds,--the former over the seeds of males, the latter over the seeds of females; or the one over the fluid part of seed, but the other over the dry part. And all this together is referred to the world, that is, to Jupiter, who is called "progenitor and mother," because he emitted all seeds from himself, and received them into himself. For they also make this same Ceres to be the Great Mother, who they say is none other than the earth, and call her also Juno. And therefore they assign to her the second causes of things, notwithstanding that it has been said to Jupiter, "progenitor and mother of the gods;" because, according to them, the whole world itself is Jupiter's. Minerva, also, because they set her over human arts, and did not find even a star in which to place her, has been said by them to be either the highest ether, or even the moon. Also Vesta herself they have thought to be the highest of the goddesses, because she is the earth; although they have thought that the milder fire of the world, which is used for the ordinary purposes of human life, not the more violent fire, such as belongs to Vulcan, is to be assigned to her. And thus they will have all those select gods to be the world and its parts,--some of them the whole world, others of them its parts; the whole of it Jupiter,--its parts, Genius, Mater Magna, Sol and Luna, or rather Apollo and Diana, and so on. And sometimes they make one god many things; sometimes one thing many gods. Many things are one god in the case of Jupiter; for both the whole world is Jupiter, and the sky alone is Jupiter, and the star alone is said and held to be Jupiter. Juno also is mistress of second causes,--Juno is the air, Juno is the earth; and had she won it over Venus, Juno would have been the star. Likewise Minerva is the highest ether, and Minerva is likewise the moon, which they suppose to be in the lowest limit of the ether. And also they make one thing many gods in this way. The world is both Janus and Jupiter; also the earth is Juno, and Mater Magna, and Ceres.