Excitement

Passages

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

Page 45 of 182 · 20 per page

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  ing to fear. He simply liked being with her. She relaxed, and politely asked on the fire and scattered him to put his hand back. Over the next few weeks she saw him almost scent about. "Do that for which we have come here," every day. She became his secretary. Soon she was spending weekend nights Satni repeated. "First you as his house guest. He took her on skiing and boating trips. He remained will make out a deed for the perfect gentleman, but when he looked at her or touched her hand, she my maintenance," Thubuit felt overwhelmed by an exhilarating sensation, a tingling on her skin that replied, "and you will establish a dowry for me of she compared to stepping into a cold-needle shower on a red-hot day. Soon all the things and goods she was going to church less often, drifting away from the life she had which belong to you, in known. Although outwardly nothing had changed between them, inwardly writing." Satni acquiesced, saying, "Bring me the all semblance of resistance to him had melted away. One night, after a party, scribe of the school." • she succumbed. She and Flynn eventually engaged in a stormy marriage When he had done what that lasted seven years. she asked, Thubuit rose and dressed herself in a robe of fine linen, through which Satni could see all Interpretation. The women who became involved with Errol Flynn (and her limbs. His passion increased, but she said, "If by the end of his life they numbered in the thousands) had every reason in it is true that you desire to the world to feel suspicious of him: he was real life's closest thing to a Don have your pleasure of me, Juan. (In fact he had played the legendary seducer in a film.) He was con-you will make your stantly surrounded by women, who knew that no involvement with him children subscribe to my deed, that they may not could last. And then there were the rumors of his temper, and his love of seek a quarrel with my danger and adventure. No woman had greater reason to resist him than children." Satni sent for Nora Eddington: when she met him he stood accused of rape; she was inhis children. "If it is true that you desire to have volved with another man; she was a God-fearing Catholic. Yet she fell un-your pleasure of me, you der his spell, just like all the rest. Some seducers—D. H. Lawrence for will cause your children to instance—operate mostly on the mind, creating fascination, stirring up the be killed, that they may not seek a quarrel with my need to possess them. Flynn operated on the body. His cool, nonchalant children." Satni consented

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  At least one of the chapters should strike a chord—you will recognize part of yourself. That chapter will be the key to developing your own powers of attraction. Let us say you have coquettish tendencies. The Coquette chapter will show you how to build upon your own self-sufficiency, alternating heat and coldness to ensnare your victims. It will show you how to take your natural qualities further, becoming a grand Coquette, the type we fight over. There is no point in being timid with a seductive quality. We are charmed by an unabashed Rake and excuse his excesses, but a halfhearted Rake gets no respect. Once you have cultivated your dominant character trait, adding some art to what nature has given you, you can then develop a second or third trait, adding depth and mystery to your persona. Finally the section's tenth chapter, on the Anti-Seducer, will make you aware of the op-3 4 • The Art of Seduction posite potential within you—the power of repulsion. At all cost you must root out any anti-seductive tendencies you may have. Think of the nine types as shadows, silhouettes. Only by stepping into one of them and letting it grow inside you can you begin to develop the seductive character that will bring you limitless power. A man is often secretly oppressed by the role he has to play— by always having to be responsible, in control, and rational. The Siren is the ulti- mate male fantasy figure because she offers a total release from the limitations of his life. In her pres- ence, which is always heightened and sexually charged, the male feels transported to a world of pure plea- sure. She is dangerous, and in pursu- ing her energetically the man can lose control over himself something he yearns to do. The Siren is a mirage; she lures men by cultivating a par- ticular appearance and manner. In a world where women are often too timid to project such an image, learn to take control of the male li- bido by embodying his fantasy. The Spectacular Siren In the year 48 B.C., Ptolemy XIV of Egypt managed to depose and exile his sister and wife, Queen Cleopatra. He secured the country's borders against her return and began to rule on his own. Later that year, Julius Caesar came to Alexandria to ensure that despite the local power struggles, Egypt would remain loyal to Rome. One night Caesar was meeting with his generals in the Egyptian palace, In the mean time our good discussing strategy, when a guard entered to report that a Greek merchant ship, with that perfect wind was at the door bearing a large and valuable gift for the Roman leader. to drive her, fast approached the Sirens' Isle.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Spurred on by these articles, people in taverns and halls across the country began talking of how the war hero Andrew Jackson had been wronged, how an insidious aristocratic elite was conspiring to take over the country. So when Jackson declared that he would run again against Adams in the presidential election of 1828—but this time as the leader of a new organization, the Democratic Party—the public was thrilled. Jackson was the first major political figure to have a nickname, Old Hickory, and soon Hickory clubs were sprouting up in America's towns and cities. Their meetings resembled spiritual revivals. The hot-button issues of the day were discussed (tariffs, the abolition of slav- ery), and club members felt certain that Jackson was on their side. It was hard to know for sure—he was a little vague on the issues—but this elec- tion was about something larger than issues: it was about restoring democ- racy and restoring basic American values to the White House. Soon the Hickory clubs were sponsoring events like town barbecues, the planting of hickory trees, dances around a hickory pole. They orga- nized lavish public feasts, always including large quantities of liquor. In the cities there were parades, and these were stirring events. They often took place at night so that urbanites would witness a procession of Jackson sup- porters holding torches. Others would carry colorful banners with portraits of Jackson or caricatures of Adams and slogans ridiculing his decadent ways. And everywhere there was hickory—hickory sticks, hickory brooms, hickory canes, hickory leaves in people's hats. Men on horseback would Appendix B: Soft Seduction: How to Sell Anything to the Masses • 447 ride through the crowd, spurring people into "huzzahs!" for Jackson. Oth- ers would lead the crowd in songs about Old Hickory. The Democrats, for the first time in an election, conducted opinion polls, finding out what the common man thought about the candidates. These polls were published in the papers, and the overwhelming conclu- sion was that Jackson was ahead. Yes, a new movement was sweeping the country. It all came to a head when Jackson made a personal appearance in New Orleans as part of a celebration commemorating the battle he had fought so bravely there fourteen years earlier. This was unprecedented: no presidential candidate had ever campaigned in person before, and in fact such an appearance would have been considered improper. But Jackson was a new kind of politician, a true man of the people. Besides, he insisted that his purpose for the visit was patriotism, not politics. The spectacle was unforgettable—Jackson entering New Orleans on a steamboat as the fog lifted, cannon fire ringing out from all sides, grand speeches, endless feasts, a kind of mass delirium taking over the city. One man said it was "like a dream. The world has never witnessed so glorious, so wonderful a celebration—never have gratitude and patriotism so happily united."

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  Well, triple and a half, since Takumi will be there, too. Very low pressure. You won’t be able to screw up, because I’ll be there the whole time.” “Okay.” “Who’s my date?” the Colonel asked. “Your girlfriend is your date.” “All right,” he said, and then deadpanned, “but we don’t get along very well.” “So Friday? Do you have plans for Friday?” And then I laughed, because the Colonel and I didn’t have plans for this Friday, or for any other Friday for the rest of our lives. “I didn’t think so.” She smiled. “Now, we gotta go do dishes in the cafeteria, Chipper. God, the sacrifices I make.” eighty-seven days before OUR TRIPLE-AND-A-HALF DATE started off well enough. I was in Alaska’s room—for the sake of getting me a girlfriend, she’d agreed to iron a green button-down shirt for me—when Jake showed up. With blond hair to his shoulders, dark stubble on his cheeks, and the kind of faux-ruggedness that gets you a career as a catalog model, Jake was every bit as good-looking as you’d expect Alaska’s boyfriend to be. She jumped onto him and wrapped her legs around him (God forbid anyone ever does that to me, I thought. I’ll fall over ). I’d heard Alaska talk about kissing, but I’d never seen her kiss until then: As he held her by her waist, she leaned forward, her pouty lips parted, her head just slightly tilted, and enveloped his mouth with such passion that I felt I should look away but couldn’t. A good while later, she untangled herself from Jake and introduced me. “This is Pudge,” she said. Jake and I shook hands. “I’ve heard a lot about ya.” He spoke with a slight Southern accent, one of the few I’d heard outside of McDonald’s. “I hope your date works out tonight, ’cause I wouldn’t want you stealin’ Alaska out from under me.” “God, you’re so adorable,” Alaska said before I could answer, kissing him again. “I’m sorry.” She laughed. “I just can’t seem to stop kissing my boyfriend.” I put on my freshly starched green shirt, and the three of us gathered up the Colonel, Sara, Lara, and Takumi and then walked to the gym to watch the Culver Creek Nothings take on Harsden Academy, a private day school in Mountain Brook, Birmingham’s richest suburb. The Colonel’s hatred for Harsden burned with the fire of a thousand suns. “The only thing I hate more than rich people,” he told me as we walked to the gym, “is stupid people. And all the kids at Harsden are rich, and they’re all too stupid to get into the Creek.” Since we were supposed to be on a date and all, I thought I’d sit next to Lara at the game, but as I tried to walk past a seated Alaska on my way to Lara, Alaska shot me a look and patted the empty spot next to her on the bleachers.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  the queen, the dashing Essex would often chastize her for her sourness. AMERICAN MYTH OF JFK The queen would forgive him—he was so exuberant and spontaneous, he could not control himself. But his comments got under her skin; in the presence of Essex she came to remember all the youthful ideals—spiritedness, feminine charm—that had since vanished from her life. She also felt a little The normal rhythm of life oscillates in general between of that girlish spirit return when she was around him. He quickly became a mild satisfaction with her favorite, and soon she was in love with him. Old age is constantly se- oneself and a slight duced by youth, but first the young people must make it clear what the discomfort, originating in the knowledge of one's older ones are missing, how they have lost their ideals. Only then will they personal shortcomings. We feel that the presence of the young will let them recapture that spark, the should like to be as rebellious spirit that age and society have conspired to repress. handsome, young, strong or clever as other people of our This concept has infinite applications. Corporations and politicians acquaintance. We wish we know that they cannot seduce their public into buying what they want could achieve as much as them to buy, or doing what they want them to do, unless they first awaken they do, long for similar advantages, positions, the a sense of need and discontent. Make the masses uncertain about their same or greater success. To identity and you can help define it for them. It is as true of groups or na- be delighted with oneself is tions as it is of individuals: they cannot be seduced without being made to the exception and, often feel some lack. Part of John F. Kennedy's election strategy in 1960 was to enough, a smoke screen which we produce for make Americans unhappy about the 1950s, and how far the country had ourselves and of course for strayed from its ideals. In talking about the 1950s, he did not mention the others. Somewhere in it is nation's economic stability or its emergence as a superpower. Instead, he a lingering feeling of discomfort with ourselves implied that the period was marked by conformity, a lack of risk and ad- and a slight self-dislike. I venture, a loss of our frontier values. To vote for Kennedy was to embark assert that an increase of 210 • The Art of Seduction this spirit of discontent on a collective adventure, to go back to ideals we had given up. But before renders a person especially anyone joined his crusade they had to be made aware of how much they susceptible to "falling in had lost, what was missing. A group, like an individual, can get mired in love." . . . In most cases

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  her behalf won her over. The fact that his reckless behavior could get him those who saw him come so killed any day only hastened the seduction. often to the house might think that it was for the D'Annunzio ignored the doctors' advice and returned to flying, leading sake of this damsel and not even more daring raids than before. By the end of the war, he was Italy's of herself • The young most decorated hero. Now, wherever in the nation he appeared, the public lord, feeling sure that his own love was returned in filled the piazzas to hear his speeches. After the war, he led a march on equal measure, was wholly Fiume, on the Adriatic coast. In the negotiations to settle the war, Italians obedient to her commands, believed they should have been awarded this city, but the Allies had not and for love of her agreed. D'Annunzio's forces took over the city and the poet became a compelled himself to make love to the girl; and she, leader, ruling Fiume for more than a year as an autonomous republic. By finding him so handsome then, everyone had forgotten about his less-than-glorious past as a decadent and well-spoken, believed writer. Now he could do no wrong. his lies more than other truth, and loved him as much as though she herself were greatly loved by him. Interpretation. The appeal of seduction is that of being separated from our • The mistress finding that matters were thus well normal routines, experiencing the thrill of the unknown. Death is the ulti-advanced, albeit the young mate unknown. In periods of chaos, confusion, and death—the plagues lord did not cease to claim that swept Europe in the Middle Ages, the Terror of the French Revolu-her promise, granted him tion, the air raids on London during World War II—people often let go of permission to come and see her at one hour after their usual caution and do things they never would otherwise. They expe-midnight, saying that after rience a kind of delirium. There is something immensely seductive about Prove Yourself • 329 danger, about heading into the unknown. Show that you have a reckless having so fully tested the streak and a daring nature, that you lack the usual fear of death, and you are love and obedience he had shown towards her, it was instantly fascinating to the bulk of humanity. but just that he should be What you are proving in this instance is not how you feel toward an- rewarded for his long other person but something about yourself: you are willing to go out on a patience. Of the lover's joy limb. You are not just another talker and braggart. It is a recipe for instant on hearing this you need have no doubt, and he

• From Looking for Alaska (2005)

  If he couldn’t follow us with the firecrackers, he could sure as hell follow the sound of our whispered shit s as we tripped over dead logs and fell into briar bushes. One minute. I knelt down, lit the fuse, ran. Bang . Then we turned north, thinking we’d gotten past the lake. This was key to the plan. The farther we got while still staying on campus, the farther the Eagle would follow us. The farther he followed us, the farther he would be from the classrooms, where the Colonel and Alaska were working their magic. And then we planned to loop back near the classrooms and swing east along the creek until we came to the bridge over our Smoking Hole, where we would rejoin the road and walk back to the barn, triumphant. But here’s the thing: We made a slight error in navigation. We weren’t past the lake; instead we were staring at a field and then the lake. Too close to the classrooms to run anywhere but along the lakefront, I looked over at Takumi, who was running with me stride for stride, and he just said, “Drop one now.” So I dropped down, lit the fuse, and we ran. We were running through a clearing now, and if the Eagle was behind us, he could see us. We got to the south corner of the lake and started running along the shore. The lake wasn’t all that big—maybe a quarter mile long, so we didn’t have far to go when I saw it. The swan. Swimming toward us like a swan possessed. Wings flapping furiously as it came, and then it was on the shore in front of us, making a noise that sounded like nothing else in this world, like all the worst parts of a dying rabbit plus all the worst parts of a crying baby, and there was no other way, so we just ran. I hit the swan at a full run and felt it bite into my ass. And then I was running with a noticeable limp, because my ass was on fire, and I thought to myself, What the hell is in swan saliva that burns so badly? The twenty-third string was a dud, costing us one minute. At that point, I wanted a minute. I was dying. The burning sensation in my left buttock had dulled to an intense aching, magnified each time I landed on my left leg, so I was running like an injured gazelle trying to evade a pride of lions. Our speed, needless to say, had slowed considerably. We hadn’t heard the Eagle since we got across the lake, but I didn’t think he had turned around. He was trying to lull us into complacency, but it would not work. Tonight, we were invincible. Exhausted, we stopped with three strings left and hoped we’d given the Colonel enough time.

• From Untrue (2018)

  At the door, two beautiful, willowy, dark-haired women in kimonos and high heels greeted me, walking me through the lobby to the apartment door. They were, I learned later, hostesses, and in exchange for welcoming guests and helping everyone feel comfortable, they attended the parties for free. Inside the dark entryway of the apartment, a beautiful redhead named Isobel held a clipboard and checked me in. She tied a silky black string with an old-fashioned miniature key around my wrist. This, she told me, was the bracelet for first timers. Two more hostesses in kimonos and heels whisked me back to a bar, where a dozen or so women were getting their cocktail on. I noticed the owner of the cavernous and elegant apartment standing in the middle of the room with its double-height ceiling and fireplace, because how could I not? Tall and blonde, she wore her hair in a ponytail…and little else. A G-string revealed butterfly tattoos on her bottom, and on top she sported a harness that exposed her nipples. She seemed perfectly comfortable that way and also clearly inspired the guests, who soon peeled the tops of their cocktail dresses down to their waists, or disposed of them entirely. I scanned the room and took in the variety of body types and diverse group of women, ranging in age from their early twenties to their fifties. But this was Manhattan, after all, and most of the bodies were remarkably toned. I tried hard not to ogle the scantily clad women all around me—there were fifty guests that evening, I later learned. One woman had stripped down to a black bra and panties and many lengths of bright yellow rope around her waist like a belt. Even this early in the festivities the room buzzed with excitement. We might have been at a ladies’ luncheon or a bridal shower as we sipped champagne and chatted but for the fact that everyone was standing around in lingerie, flirting. A tall and beautiful Chinese woman with a chic choppy haircut approached me. She was an interior designer, fashionably dressed in black leather leggings and an exquisite red push-up bra. When I told her I was writing about the party—no names, I promised—she exclaimed, “I like this party because no one has to wonder what’s going to happen. We’re all here for sex!” I felt my throat constrict as we sat down on a couch together, our knees touching. LeJeune, who is petite and delicate looking, with pale skin and dark hair and mesmerizing hazel eyes, came over to where we sat chatting. She patiently answered a number of my questions about the attendees, telling me that tonight they were a mix of students, doctors, lawyers, mental health professionals, podcasters, artists, and more, all while also giving instructions to her assistant about adjusting the lighting. “Lighting’s the most important thing at a party, whether it’s a dinner party or a sex party. Except maybe alcohol.” She laughed.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  chanting doubled in volume. The crowd was begging him to join in. In- Locks can be opeu-sesamed stead he lowered his arms until silence fell, then opened them wide, and by its charms. \ But epic's a slowly intoned, in his deep voice, "Je vous ai compris" —I have understood dead loss for me. I'll get you. There was a moment of quiet, and then, as his words sank in, a deaf- nowhere with swift-footed \ Achilles, or with either of ening roar: he understood them. That was all they needed to hear. Atreus' sons. \ Old what's- De Gaulle proceeded to talk of the greatness of France. More cheers. his-name wasting twenty He promised there would be new elections, and "with those elected repre- years on war and travel, \ Poor Hector dragged in the sentatives we will see how to do the rest." Yes, a new government, just what dust— \ No good. But the crowd wanted—more cheers. He would "find the place for Algeria" in lavish fine words on some the French "ensemble." There must be "total discipline, without qualifica- young girl's profile \ And sooner or later shell tender tion and without conditions"—who could argue with that? He closed with herself as the fee, \ An a loud call: "Vive la République! Vive la France!" the emotional slogan that ample reward for your 253 254 • The Art of Seduction labors. So farewell, heroic \ had been the rallying cry in the fight against the Nazis. Everyone shouted it Figures of legend— the back. In the next few days de Gaulle made similar speeches around Algeria, quid \ Pro quo you offer to equally delirious crowds. won't tempt me. A bevy of beauties \ All swooning Only after de Gaulle had returned to France did the words of his over my love-songs— that's speeches sink in: not once had he promised to keep Algeria French. In fact what I want. he had hinted that he might give the Arabs the vote, and might grant an —OVID, THE AMORES, amnesty to the Algerian rebels who had been fighting to force the French TRANSLATED BY PETER GREEN from the country. Somehow, in the excitement his words had created, the colonists had failed to focus on what they had actually meant. De Gaulle had duped them. And indeed, in the months to come, he worked to grant When she has received a Algeria its independence—a task he finally accomplished in 1962. letter, when its sweet poison has entered her blood, then a word is sufficient to wake her love Interpretation. De Gaulle cared little about an old French colony, and burst forth. . . . My about what it symbolized to some French people. Nor did he have any personal presence will

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  part of the drama. The theatricality can come from the setting—an exotic or sensual location. It can also come from your actions. The widow piqued her victim's curiosity by creating the suspense about her bedroom. An element of fear—someone might find you, say—will heighten the tension. Remember: you are creating a moment that must stand out from the same-ness of daily life. Keeping your targets emotional will both weaken them and heighten the drama of the moment. And the best way to keep them at an emotional pitch is by infecting them with emotions of your own. When Valmont wanted the Presidents to become calm, angry, or tender, he showed that emotion first, and she mirrored it. People are very susceptible to the moods of those around them; this is particularly acute at the latter stages of a seduction, when resistance is low and the target has fallen under your spell. At the point of the bold move, learn to infect your target with whatever emotional mood you require, as opposed to suggesting the mood with words. You want access to the target's unconscious, which is best obtained by infecting them with emotions, bypassing their conscious ability to resist. It may seem expected for the male to make the bold move, but history is full of successfully bold females. There are two main forms of feminine boldness. In the first, more traditional form, the coquettish woman stirs male desire, is completely in control, then at the last minute, after bringing her victim to a boil, steps back and lets him make the bold move. She sets it up, then signals with her eyes, her gestures, that she is ready for him. Courtesans have used this method throughout history; it is how Cleopatra worked on Antony, how Josephine seduced Napoleon, how La Belle Otero amassed a fortune during the Belle Epoque. It lets the man maintain his masculine illusions, although the woman is really the aggressor. The second form of feminine boldness does not bother with such illusions: the woman simply takes charge, initiates the first kiss, pounces on her victim. This is how Marguerite de Valois, Lou Andreas-Salomé, and Madame Mao operated, and many men find it not emasculating at all but very exciting. It all depends on the insecurities and proclivities of the victim. This kind of feminine boldness has its allure because it is more rare than the first kind, but then all boldness is somewhat rare. A bold move will always stand out compared to the usual treatment afforded by the tepid husband, the timid lover, the hesitant suitor. That is how you want it. If everyone were bold, boldness would quickly lose its allure. Master the Art of the Bold Move • 413 Symbol: The Summer Storm. The hot days follow one another, with no end in sight. The earth is parched and dry. Then there comes a stillness in the air, thick and oppressive— the calm before the storm. Suddenly gusts of wind arrive, and

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  confident dancer, letting go of any defensiveness she may feel and letting us, my sister, a tale of another person do the work. Falling in love involves anticipation; we are marvel, so that the night may pass pleasantly." • about to head off in a new direction, enter a new life, where everything "Gladly," she answered, will be strange. The seduced wants to be led, to be carried along like a "if the king permits. " • child. If you are predictable, the charm wears off; everyday life is pre-And the king, who was dictable. In the Arabian Tales from the Thousand and One Nights, each night troubled with sleeplessness, eagerly listened to the tale King Shahriyar takes a virgin as his wife, then kills her the following morn-of Shahrazad: Once upon ing. One such virgin, Shahrazad, manages to escape this fate by telling the the time, in the city of king a story that can only be completed the following day. She does this Basrah, there lived a prosperous tailor who was night after night, keeping the king in constant suspense. When one story fond of sport and finishes, she quickly starts up another. She does this for nearly three years, merriment. . . . • [ Nearly until the king finally decides to spare her life. You are like Shahrazad: with- Keep Them in Suspense—What Comes Next? • 247 out new stories, without a feeling of anticipation, your seduction will die. three years pass. ] Now Keep stoking the fires night after night. Your targets must never know during this time Shahrazad had borne King what's coming next—what surprises you have in store for them. As with Shahriyar three sous. On King Shahriyar, they will be under your control for as long as you can keep the thousand and first them guessing. night, when she had ended the tale of Ma'aruf she In 1765, Casanova met a young Italian countess named Clementina rose and kissed the ground who lived with her two sisters in a château. Clementina loved to read, and before him, saying: "Great had little interest in the men who swarmed around her. Casanova added King, for a thousand and himself to their number, buying her books, engaging her in literary discus- one nights I have been recounting to you the fables sions, but she was no less indifferent to him than she had been to them. of past ages and the Then one day he invited the entire family on a little trip. He would not tell legends of ancient kings. them where they were going. They piled into the carriage, all the way try- May I be so bold as to crave a favor of your

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  “It’s different in Norway. And anyway, I have always been tall and I told her I was twenty.” “We aren’t in Norway.” “T know,” he said. “I just bought a Chrysler LeBaron.” He stabbed his key lime pie with the tines of a fork to emphasize his point. The complete lack of segue threw her. “A what?” “A Chrysler LeBaron.” He aimed a whipped cream—covered fork out the window. Parked in front of the diner sat an early-nineties-era red Chrysler LeBaron convertible with the top down. “It is not a very good car, everyone tells me, but it looks like such an American car— like what I saw on television in Kristiansand growing up—and it was so cheap. I could never have a car like that in Norway.” She stared at the car, at a complete loss. She didn’t have a car, but even if someone offered her a LeBaron, she wasn’t sure she’d want it. “Will you come for a ride with me?” Suddenly, he was boyish, his face animated, and Reese had a moment to contemplate how charm and charisma had something to do with how someone speaks, the patterns and pauses, and how an accent can suddenly amplify that. “Say yes, please”—again the strange P to L shift that Reese had already noticed—“I have a red American convertible and I need a pretty American girl in the front seat.” She nodded without quite thinking of what she was agreeing to, just happy to be in the pretty-American-girl category. “After work, though. At seven.” She sat in that same seat two weeks later, as he drove the LeBaron west, across the pastel Badlands of South Dakota. He hadn’t liked the rules of the Wisconsin swim team any better than he’d liked the rules of the University of Oslo team, and he found Madison as stultifying as the prospect of forever nights at the Russian border.

• From Detransition, Baby (2021)

  “Are you sure you're okay with this?” she asked. “If the genders were reversed, and some man had told his female employee to take a day off of work and come over Id be appalled.” She had her fingers entwined in his hair even as she asked, so he couldn’t pull back his head, and ended up responding to her ass, his mouth speaking an inch from her right ass cheek as if it were a microphone. “Trust me, I love it,” he told her ass. “I’m in heaven. I’ve always had a thing for bossy women. Getting with my actual boss is like secret-hotness level unlocked. You have consent or whatever, just please let me keep my face here.” “Should I be more of your boss about this, then?” He looked up at her, unable to believe his luck. To find a toppy femme who was already literally in charge of him? Lotto odds. “Yes,” he said. “Please.” “Fine.” She laughed, and turned to face him, so that his nose was level with her crotch. “Make me a PowerPoint presentation about why I should let you stay down there with your face in my pussy.” He closed his eyes, inhaled happily; a dawning awareness that this play turned her on as much as it did him chiseled loose a layer of the calcification that had begun to encrust his libido, and by extension, his heart, and by extension, his life. The next day she sent him an email while they were both at the office. Still waiting on that PowerPoint deck we discussed. When can I expect it to be delivered? He wasn’t sure whether to respond openly. Here he was, with all his secret queer credentials, and this divorced straight woman had completely wrong-footed him. Which, of course, was so insanely hot that he briefly considered finding an out-of-the-way bathroom in which to jerk off. LOL, he responded weakly. No, I’m serious. I'll expect you to present your slides to me by close of day Tuesday. If youre late, I'll make you present them in a conference room. Your choice. This thing he had with Katrina—their power games, the thrill of sneaking around at the office and the explicitness of their flirting—it had all come together to make for really good sex. In his previous life, Ames had transitioned to live as a woman before he had ever had really good sex, and he wasn’t sure that post-detransition, he’d ever have truly good sex again. Every other dalliance he’d attempted as a heterosexual man had disconnected his body and mind, fostering an inability to display real excitement or joy even as he performed all the necessary acts, until eventually, his partner took that disconnect as indifference and let go of him. When that happened he’d drift away without effort, like in shipwreck movies, that ubiquitous shot

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I wake early to a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night’s sleep and lie awake staring at my crates. You should really be unpacking these, my subconscious nags, pursing her harpy lips together. No…today’s the day. My inner goddess is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly—as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me…and of course, I have to sign that damned contract. Or do I? I hear the ping of incoming mail from the mean machine on the floor beside my bed. From: Christian Grey Subject: My Life in Numbers Date: May 29 2011 08:04 To: Anastasia Steele If you drive you’ll need this access code for the underground garage at Escala: 146963. Park in bay five—it’s one of mine. Code for the elevator: 1880. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: An Excellent Vintage Date: May 29 2011 08:08 To: Christian Grey Yes, Sir. Understood. Thank you for the champagne and the blow-up Charlie Tango, which is now tied to my bed. Ana From: Christian Grey Subject: Envy Date: May 29 2011 08:11 To: Anastasia Steele You’re welcome. Don’t be late. Lucky Charlie Tango. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. I roll my eyes at his bossiness, but his last line makes me smile. I head for the bathroom, wondering if Elliot made it back last night and trying hard to rein in my nerves. I can drive the Audi in high heels! At 12:55 p.m. precisely, I pull into the garage at Escala and park in bay five. How many bays does he own? The Audi SUV and R8 are there, along with two smaller Audi SUVs… Hmm. I check my seldom-worn mascara in the light-up vanity mirror on my visor. Didn’t have one of these in the Beetle. Go, girl! My inner goddess has her pom-poms in hand—she’s in cheerleading mode. In the infinity mirrors of the elevator, I check out my plum dress, bequeathed from Kate. The last time I wore this, he wanted to peel it off me. My body clenches at the thought. The feeling is just exquisite, and I catch my breath. I’m wearing the underwear that Taylor bought for me. I flush at the thought of his buzz cut roaming the aisles of Agent Provocateur or wherever he bought it. The doors open, and I’m facing the foyer of apartment number one. Taylor stands at the double doors as I step out of the elevator. “Good afternoon, Miss Steele,” he says. “Oh, please, call me Ana.” “Ana.” He smiles. “Mr. Grey is expecting you.” I bet he is.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I nod, panting. He stands and removes the condom, knotting it at the end, and puts it in his pants pocket. I gaze at him, my breathing still erratic, and involuntarily I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find some relief. Christian does up his fly and runs his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. He turns back to gaze down at me, his expression softer. “We’d better get back to the house.” I sit up, a little unsteadily, dazed. “Here. You may put these on.” From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know—I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face: You didn’t have to ask for them. “Christian!” Mia shouts from the floor below. He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. “Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating.” I scowl back at him, hastily restore my panties to their rightful place, and stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state. Quickly, I attempt to smooth my just-fucked hair. “Up here, Mia,” he calls down. “Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that—but I still want to spank you,” he says softly. “I don’t believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.” “Unprovoked? You kissed me.” He tries his best to look wounded. I purse my lips. “It was attack as the best form of defense.” “Defense against what?” “You and your twitchy palm.” He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs. “But it was tolerable?” he asks softly. I flush. “Barely,” I whisper, but I can’t help my smirk. “Oh, there you are!” She beams at us. “I was showing Anastasia around.” Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense. I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze. “Kate and Elliot are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can’t keep their hands off each other.” Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. “What have you been doing in here?” She’s so forward. My face must be scarlet. “Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies,” Christian says without missing a beat, completely poker-faced. “Let’s go say goodbye to Kate and Elliot.” Rowing trophies? He pulls me gently in front of him, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind. I gasp in surprise. “I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon,” he threatens quietly close to my ear, then he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses my hair. Back in the house, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Mr. Grey. Kate hugs me hard.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Stand still,” he orders, and he kisses my behind and then gently nips me twice, making me tense. “Now lie down. Faceup,” he adds as he smacks me hard on the behind, making me jump. Hastily, I crawl onto the bed’s hard, unyielding mattress and lie down, looking up at him. The satin of the sheet beneath me is soft and cool against my skin. His face is impassive, except for his eyes, which glow with a barely leashed excitement. “Hands above your head,” he says, and I do as I’m bid. Wow, my body hungers for him. I want him already. He turns, and out of the corner of my eyes, I watch him saunter back over to the chest of drawers, returning with the iPod and what looks like an eye mask, similar to the one I used on my flight to Atlanta. The thought makes me want to smile, but I can’t quite make my lips cooperate. I am too consumed with anticipation. I just know my face is completely immobile, my eyes huge, as I gaze at him. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shows me the iPod. It has a strange antenna device as well as headphones. How odd. I frown as I try to figure this out. “This transmits what’s playing on the iPod to the system in the room,” Christian answers my unspoken query as he taps the small antenna. “I can hear what you’re hearing, and I have a remote control unit for it.” He smirks his private-joke smile and holds up a small, flat device that looks like a very hip calculator. He leans across me, inserting the earbuds gently into my ears, and puts the iPod down somewhere on the bed above my head. “Lift your head,” he commands, and I do so immediately. Slowly, he slides the mask on, pulling the elastic over the back of my head, and I’m blind. The elastic on the mask holds the earbuds in place. I can still hear him, though the sound is muffled as he rises from the bed. I’m deafened by my own breathing—it’s shallow and erratic, reflecting my excitement. Christian takes my left arm, stretches it gently to the left-hand corner, and attaches the leather cuff around my wrist. His long fingers stroke the length of my arm once he’s finished. Oh! His touch elicits a delicious, tickly shiver. I hear him move slowly around to the other side, where he takes my right arm and cuffs it. Again, his long fingers linger along my arm. Oh my… I am fit to burst already. Why is this so erotic? He moves to the bottom of the bed and grabs both of my ankles. “Lift your head again,” he orders.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “See you in a moment. You kids enjoy yourselves.” Ray heads out. I glance nervously up at Christian. We pause briefly as a photographer takes a picture of both of us. “Thank you, Mr. Grey.” The photographer scurries off. I blink from the flash. “So you’ve charmed my father as well?” “As well?” Christian’s eyes burn and he raises a questioning eyebrow. I flush. He lifts his hand and traces my cheek with his fingers. “Oh, I wish I knew what you were thinking, Anastasia,” he whispers darkly, cupping my chin and raising my head so that we gaze intently into each other’s eyes. My breath hitches. How can he have this effect on me, even in this crowded tent? “Right now, I’m thinking ‘Nice tie.’” He chuckles. “It’s recently become my favorite.” I blush scarlet. “You look lovely, Anastasia. This halter-neck dress suits you, and I get to stroke your back, feel your beautiful skin.” Suddenly, it’s like we’re on our own in the room. Just the two of us. My whole body has come alive, every nerve ending singing softly, that electricity pulling me to him, charging between us. “You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?” he whispers. I close my eyes as my insides uncoil and melt. “But I want more,” I whisper. “More?” He looks down at me puzzled, his eyes darkening. I nod and swallow. Now he knows. “More,” he says again softly. Testing the word—a small, simple word, but so full of promise. His thumb traces my lower lip. “You want hearts and flowers.” I nod again. He blinks down at me, and I watch his internal struggle played out in his eyes. “Anastasia.” His voice is soft. “It’s not something I know.” “Me, neither.” He smiles a little. “You don’t know much.” “You know all the wrong things.” “Wrong? Not to me.” He shakes his head. He looks so sincere. “Try it,” he whispers. A challenge, daring me, and he cocks his head to one side and smiles his crooked, dazzling smile. I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist. “Okay,” I whisper. “What?” I have his full, undivided attention. I swallow. “Okay. I’ll try.” “You’re agreeing?” His disbelief is evident. “Subject to the soft limits, yes. I’ll try.” My voice is so small. Christian closes his eyes and pulls me into an embrace. “Jesus, Ana, you’re so unexpected. You take my breath away.” He steps back, and suddenly Ray’s returned, and the volume in the pavilion gradually rises and fills my ears. We are not alone. Holy shit, I’ve just agreed to be his sub. Christian smiles at Ray, his eyes dancing with joy. “Annie, should we get some lunch?” “Okay.” I blink up at Ray, trying to find my equilibrium. What have you done? my subconscious screams at me. My inner goddess is doing backflips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “How long will the flight be?” I manage breathlessly. I wasn’t thinking about sex at all. No, no way. “Less than an hour—the wind is in our favor.” Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle… That’s not bad going. No wonder we’re flying. I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly. I have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach. Holy shit, what has he got in store for me? “You okay, Anastasia?” “Yes.” My answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through my nerves. I think he smiles, but it’s difficult to tell in the darkness. Christian flicks yet another switch. “PDX, this is Charlie Tango now at one four thousand, over.” He exchanges information with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional to me. I think we’re moving from Portland’s airspace to Seattle International Airport’s. “Understood, Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.” “Look, over there.” He points to a small pinpoint of light in the far distance. “That’s Seattle.” “Do you always impress women this way? ‘Come fly in my helicopter’?” I ask, genuinely interested. “I’ve never brought a girl up here, Anastasia. It’s another first for me.” His voice is quiet, serious. Oh, that was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh, the sleeping thing, perhaps? “Are you impressed?” “I’m awed, Christian.” He smiles. “Awed?” And for a brief moment, he’s his age again. I nod. “You’re just so…competent.” “Why, thank you, Miss Steele.” I think he’s pleased, but I’m not sure. We ride in the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle slowly gets bigger. “Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And stand by. Over.” “This is Charlie Tango. Understood, Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.” “You obviously enjoy this,” I murmur. “What?” He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments. “Flying,” I reply. “It requires control and concentration. How could I not love it? Though my favorite is soaring.” “Soaring?” “Yes. Gliding, to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters—I fly them both.” “Oh.” Expensive hobbies. I remember him telling me during the interview. I like reading and occasionally going to the movies—I’m out of my depth here. “Charlie Tango, come in, please, over.” The disembodied voice of air traffic control interrupts my reverie. Christian answers, sounding in control and confident. Seattle is getting closer. We’re on the very outskirts now. It looks absolutely stunning. Seattle at night, from the sky… “Looks good, doesn’t it?” Christian interrupts my thoughts. I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly—unreal—like I’m on a giant film set—José’s favorite film maybe, Blade Runner. The memory of José’s attempted kiss haunts me. I’m beginning to feel a bit cruel not calling him back. He can wait until tomorrow, surely.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Hmm. You are so sweet, Miss Steele.” His nose glides along the line between my belly and my pubic hair, biting me gently, teasing me with his tongue. Sitting up suddenly, he kneels at my feet, grasping both of my ankles and spreading my legs wide. Holy shit. He grabs my left foot, bends my knee, and brings my foot up to his mouth. Watching and assessing my every reaction, he tenderly kisses each of my toes, then bites each one of them softly on the pads. When he reaches my little toe, he bites harder, and I convulse, whimpering. He glides his tongue up my instep—and I can no longer watch him. It’s too erotic. I’m going to combust. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to absorb and manage all the sensations he’s creating. He kisses my ankle and trails kisses up my calf to my knee, stopping just above. He then starts on my right foot, repeating the whole, seductive, mind-blowing process. “Oh, please,” I moan as he bites my little toe, the action resonating deep in my belly. “All good things, Miss Steele,” he breathes. This time he doesn’t stop at my knee—he continues up the inside of my thigh, pushing my thighs apart as he does. And I know what he’s going to do, and part of me wants to push him off because I’m mortified and embarrassed. He’s going to kiss me there! I know it. And part of me is glorying in the anticipation. He turns to my other knee and kisses his way up my thigh, kissing, licking, sucking, and then he’s between my legs, running his nose up and down my sex, very softly, very gently. I writhe… Oh my. He stops, waiting for me to calm. I do and raise my head to gaze at him, my mouth open as my pounding heart struggles to calm. “Do you know how intoxicating you smell, Miss Steele?” he murmurs, and keeping his eyes on mine, he pushes his nose into my pubic hair and inhales. I blush scarlet everywhere, feeling faint, and I instantly close my eyes. I can’t watch him do that! He blows gently up the length of my sex. Oh, fuck… “I like this.” He gently tugs at my pubic hair. “Perhaps we’ll keep this.” “Oh, please,” I beg. “Hmm, I like it when you beg me, Anastasia.” I groan. “Tit for tat is not my usual style, Miss Steele,” he whispers as he gently blows up and down me. “But you’ve pleased me today, and you should be rewarded.” I hear the wicked grin in his voice, and while my body is singing from his words, his tongue starts to slowly circle my clitoris as his hands hold down my thighs. “Aargh!” I moan as my body bows and convulses at the touch of his tongue.

• From Holy Ghost Girl (2012)

  Gary ran his sneaker over the loose rocks, clearing a small path through them. “You don’t have to do it. I don’t think it makes him feel better about being disgusting and all.” The bus huffed to a stop and the door opened. My brother looked over his shoulder before he stepped inside. “I won’t tell.”I took my seat at the front of the bus that morning without saying a word. Dead silence. Followed by a hailstorm of spitballs and laughter.My mother introduced herself to neighbors as Mrs. Ter-rell , with the emphasis on the last instead of the first syllable, a mispronunciation intended to throw off anyone who might connect Mr. Ter-rell , with Brother Terrell. They decided a certain amount of disguise was necessary, and Brother Terrell began to go incognito in lime-green leisure suits and straw fedoras. This in a community where Wranglers and cowboy hats were standard male dress. Then there were the big black Jackie O sunglasses he and my mother insisted on wearing indoors. A waitress who worked the dark cavern of Marlin’s “nicest” restaurant once suggested they take off their sunglasses if they wanted to actually see the menu.“Or you could stand under the Schlitz sign over there by the counter.”They raised their sunglasses slightly to peruse the menu and lowered them again when she returned to take our orders.Brother Terrell fueled rumors with his habit of paying in cash for everything from the most expensive saddles in Barnett’s Feed and Seed to land. A neighbor told us the townspeople speculated he was a professional gambler, mobster, drug dealer. He squinted at my mother in her dark glasses and waited for her to fill him in. She tried to dance around the question.“Oh, he does a little of this and that.” The neighbor pressed her and finally she said her husband was a traveling salesman. What did he sell? “Oh, cars, heavy equipment, land, things like that.”The neighbor said, “Uh-huh, I see.”Whatever people suspected, the great silver heist probably confirmed. The Lord revealed to Brother Terrell that as the Mark of the Beast approached, U.S. paper currency would lose its value and silver and gold coins would be the only money worth anything. Around the same time, he heard the government was withdrawing silver dimes, quarters, half-dollars, and silver dollars from circulation and replacing them with coins that had either less silver or no silver at all. He began to bring home sacks of change from the offerings.Mama held a large cloth bag over my bed and the coins rushed from it like water through a broken dam. She emptied another and another. A metallic smell filled my closet-size bedroom. The smell was so strong I could taste it on my tongue. Mama shook another bag and hundreds of dimes fell onto the inverted cone-shaped mountain of coins. I thrust my hands into the pile, buried up to my wrists in money.“Careful, now.