Fear

Passages

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

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

  “My God! How my heart leaped! What were my imaginations! When I remember the beast that lived in me at that moment, I am seized with fright. My heart was first compressed, then stopped, and then began to beat like a hammer. The principal feeling, as in every bad feeling, was pity for myself. ‘Before the children, before the old nurse,’ thought I, ‘she dishonors me. I will go away. I can endure it no longer. God knows what I should do if. . . . But I must go in.’ “The old nurse raised her eyes to mine, as if she understood, and advised me to keep a sharp watch. ‘I must go in,’ I said to myself, and, without knowing what I did, I opened the door. He was sitting at the piano and making arpeggios with his long, white, curved fingers. She was standing in the angle of the grand piano, before the open score. She saw or heard me first, and raised her eyes to mine. Was she stunned, was she pretending not to be frightened, or was she really not frightened at all? In any case, she did not tremble, she did not stir. She blushed, but only a little later. “‘How glad I am that you have come! We have not decided what we will play Sunday,’ said she, in a tone that she would not have had if she had been alone with me. “This tone, and the way in which she said ‘we’ in speaking of herself and of him, revolted me. I saluted him silently. He shook hands with me directly, with a smile that seemed to me full of mockery. He explained to me that he had brought some scores, in order to prepare for the Sunday concert, and that they were not in accord as to the piece to choose,—whether difficult, classic things, notably a sonata by Beethoven, or lighter pieces. “And as he spoke, he looked at me. It was all so natural, so simple, that there was absolutely nothing to be said against it. And at the same time I saw, I was sure, that it was false, that they were in a conspiracy to deceive me.

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

  So, after school, everybody runs up to the old playground to watch the fight. But I run home because I know somebody will get all pumped up by the first fight and will get me into the second fight. I can see the old playground from my front window, so I sit there and watch it all happen. Everybody stands in a circle around Stevie and Randy. And I can see Stevie talking. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I know he’s probably telling Randy to throw the first punch. Remember how we did that? We’d always tell the other person to throw the first punch. Why did we do that? If you’re going to fight, then you should want to throw the first punch, right? Anyway, Stevie says, “Throw the first punch,” and Randy doesn’t even hesitate. He says, “Okay,” and punches Stevie in the face and knocks him out. Knocks him unconscious. What twelve-year-old kid has knockout power like that? Only Randy. At first, I was excited because Randy had just defeated the meanest bully. And then I got depressed because that meant Randy was meaner than the meanest bully. There was proof. And that meant I was in big trouble. So I was terrified to go to school the next day. But I did. And everybody was talking about Randy’s punch, even the high schoolers. I sat at my desk and shook with fear. And then Randy walked into the classroom and sat beside me. He said, “What’s your name?” I wanted to run. I knew he’d make fun of my speech impediments—of my lisp and stutter. I knew he’d make fun of my big hydrocephalic head and my government glasses. I knew he’d make fun of how easily I cried, and then he would make fun of my crying. “Hey,” he said. “What’s your name?” “Junior,” I said. “I’m Randy J. Peone,” he said, and smiled. And then it happened. We all know about falling in love at first sight. Most of us have probably fallen in love at first sight with somebody. Hopefully, with the person you’re married to right now. Love at first sight is always romantic, right? But have you ever heard about people becoming best friends at first sight? Have you ever heard of two Indian boys becoming instant best friends? Becoming best friends the first time they ever talk to each other? After they’ve only said maybe ten words to each other? Well, that happened to Randy and me. I don’t know how to explain it. But Randy and I were suddenly best friends. We never talked about it. We never acknowledged it. We just knew. Both of us knew. And that’s just how it was always going to be. And let me tell you, after Randy became my best friend, I didn’t get bullied all that much anymore. Randy became my bodyguard.

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

  Great God! what was the use? could I have not known that tears merely enhance the object of a libertine's coveting? how was I able to doubt that everything I attempted in my efforts to sway those savages had the unique effect of arousing them.... "Take the bitch," said Severino in a rage, "seize her, Clement, let her be naked in a minute, and let her learn that it is not in persons like ourselves that compassion stifles Nature." My resistance had animated Clement, he was foaming at the mouth: he took hold of me, his arm shook nervously; interspersing his actions with appalling blasphemies, he had my clothing torn away in a trice. "A lovely creature," came from the superior, who ran his fingers over my flanks, "may God blast me if I've ever seen one better made; friends," the monk pursued, "let's put order into our procedures; you know our formula for welcoming newcomers: she might be exposed to the entire ceremony, don't you think? Let's omit nothing; and let's have the eight other women stand around us to supply our wants and to excite them." A circle is formed immediately, I am placed in its center and there, for more than two hours, I am inspected, considered, handled by those four monks, who, one after the other, pronounce either encomiums or criticisms. You will permit me, Madame, our lovely prisoner said with a blush, to conceal a part of the obscene details of this odious ritual; allow your imagination to figure all that debauch can dictate to villains in such instances; allow it to see them move to and fro between my companions and me, comparing, confronting, contrasting, airing opinions, and indeed it still will not have but a faint idea of what was done in those initial orgies, very mild, to be sure, when matched against all the horrors I was soon to experience.

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

  You simply have no idea, Madame, how much that threat set me at ease; Roland doubtless did not suspect, as he uttered it, the peace it sent flooding through me, for was it not clear that, since he planned to expose me to further cruelties, he was not yet eager to immolate me? I have told you, Madame, that everything the wretched hear drives home, and thenceforth I was reassured. Another increase of happiness! I was performing in vain, and that enormous mass telescoped into itself resisted all my shakings; Suzanne was in the same posture, she was palpated in the same areas, but as her flesh was toughened in a very different way, Roland treated it with much less consideration; however, Suzanne was younger. "I am convinced," our persecutor was saying, "that the most awesome whips would now fail to draw a drop of blood from that ass." He made each of us bend over and, our angle of inclination providing him with the four avenues of pleasure, his tongue danced wriggling into the two narrowest; the villain spat into the others; he turned us about, had us kneel between his thighs in such a manner our breasts found themselves at a level with what of him we were stimulating. "Oh! as regards breasts," said Roland, "you've got to yield to Suzanne; never had you such fine teats; now then, let's take a look at this noble endowment." And with those words he pressed the poor girl's breasts till, beneath his fingers, they were covered with bruises. At this point it was no longer I who was exciting him, Suzanne had replaced me; scarcely had she fallen into his clutches when his dart, springing from its quiver, began to menace everything surrounding it. "Suzanne," said Roland, "behold an appalling triumph.... 'tis your death decreed, Suzanne; I feared as much," added that ferocious man as he nipped and clawed her breasts.

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

  IF SOMEBODY BEATS UP YOUR FATHER OR YOUR MOTHER, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE SON AND/OR DAUGHTER OF THE PERSON WHO BEAT UP YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER. IF YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER BEATS UP SOMEBODY, THEN THAT PERSON’S SON AND/OR DAUGHTER WILL FIGHT YOU. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY INDIANS WHO WORK FOR THE BUREAU OF INDIAN AFFAIRS. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY WHITE PEOPLE WHO LIVE ANYWHERE ON THE RESERVATION. IF YOU GET IN A FIGHT WITH SOMEBODY WHO IS SURE TO BEAT YOU UP, THEN YOU MUST THROW THE FIRST PUNCH, BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY PUNCH YOU’LL EVER GET TO THROW. IN ANY FIGHT, THE LOSER IS THE FIRST ONE WHO CRIES. I knew those rules. I’d memorized those rules. I’d lived my life by those rules. I got into my first fistfight when I was three years old, and I’d been in dozens since. My all-time record was five wins and one hundred and twelve losses. Yes, I was a terrible fighter. I was a human punching bag. I lost fights to boys, girls, and kids half my age. One bully, Micah, made me beat up myself. Yes, he made me punch myself in the face three times. I am the only Indian in the history of the world who ever lost a fight with himself. Okay, so now that you know about the rules, then I can tell you that I went from being a small target in Wellpinit to being a larger target in Reardan. Well, let’s get something straight. All of those pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty white girls ignored me. But that was okay. Indian girls ignored me, too, so I was used to it. And let’s face it, most of the white boys ignored me, too. But there were a few of those Reardan boys, the big jocks, who paid special attention to me. None of those guys punched me or got violent. After all, I was a reservation Indian, and no matter how geeky and weak I appeared to be, I was still a potential killer. So mostly they called me names. Lots of names. [image "An illustration features a small individual surrounded by larger figures labeled ‘Chief,’ ‘Sitting Bull,’ ‘Tonto,’ ‘Redskin,’ ‘Squaw Boy,’ and ‘Chief.’" file=image_rsrc4S8.jpg] And yeah, those were bad enough names. But I could handle them, especially when some huge monster boy was insulting me. But I knew I’d have to put a stop to it eventually or I’d always be known as “Chief” or “Tonto” or “Squaw Boy.” But I was scared. I wasn’t scared of fistfighting with those boys. I’d been in plenty of fights. And I wasn’t scared of losing fights with them, either. I’d lost most every fight I’d been in. I was afraid those monsters were going to kill me. And I don’t mean “kill” as in “metaphor.” I mean “kill” as in “beat me to death.”

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

  "Well, is nature moral? Does the dog that smells and licks with evident gusto the first bitch that he meets, trouble his unsophisticated brains with morality? Does the poodle that endeavours to sodomize that little cur coming across the street care what a canine Mrs. Grundy will say about him? "No, unlike poodles, or young Arabs, I had been inculcated with all kinds of wrong ideas, so when I understood what my natural feelings for Teleny were, I was staggered, horrified; and filled with dismay, I resolved to stifle them. "Indeed, had I known human nature better, I should have left France, gone to the antipodes, placed the Himalayas as a barrier between us." "Only to yield to your natural tastes with someone else, or with him, had you happened to meet unexpectedly after many years." "You are quite right; physiologists tell us that the body of man changes after seven years; a man's passions, however, remain always the same; though smouldering in a latent state, they are in his bosom all the same; his nature is surely no better because he has not given vent to them. He is only humbugging himself and cheating everybody by pretending to be what he is not; I know that I was born a sodomite, the fault is my constitution's, not mine own. "I read all I could find about the love of one man for another, that loathsome crime against nature taught to us not only by the very gods themselves, but by all the greatest men of olden times, for even Minos himself seems to have sodomized Theseus. "I, of course, looked upon it as a monstrosity, a sin—as Origen says—far worse than idolatry. And yet I had to admit that the world—even after the cities of the plain had been destroyed—throve well enough notwithstanding this aberration, for Paphian girls in the great days of Rome were but too often discarded for pretty little boys. "It was but time for Christianity to come and sweep away all the monstrous vices of this world with its brand new broom. Catholicism later on burnt those men who sowed in a sterile field—in effigy. "The popes had their catamites, the kings had their mignons, and if all the host of priests, monks, friars and caluyers were forgiven, they—it must be admitted—did not always commit buggery, or cast away their seed on rocky soil, although religion did not intend their implements to be baby-making tools. "As for the Templars, if they were burnt, it surely could not have been on account of their pæderasty, for it had been winked at long enough. "What amused me, however, was to see that every writer impeached all his neighbours of indulging in this abomination; his own people alone were free from this shocking vice.

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

  I think the chicken dancers are cool because, well, they dance like chickens. And you already know how much I love chicken. [image "A hand-drawn illustration comparing a person and a chicken. The chicken is labeled with features such as beady eyes, big belly, and skinny legs. The person is shown alongside the chicken for comparison." file=image_rsrc4RR.jpg] “This crap is boring,” Rowdy said. “We’ll just watch for a little while,” I said. “And then we’ll go gamble or something.” “Okay,” Rowdy said. He is the only person who listens to me. We weaved our way through the parked cars, vans, SUVs, RVs, plastic tents, and deer-hide tepees. “Hey, let’s go buy some bootleg whiskey,” Rowdy said. “I got five bucks.” “Don’t get drunk,” I said. “You’ll just get ugly.” “I’m already ugly,” Rowdy said. He laughed, tripped over a tent pole, and stumbled into a minivan. He bumped his face against a window and jammed his shoulder against the rearview mirror. It was pretty funny, so I laughed. That was a mistake. Rowdy got mad. He shoved me to the ground and almost kicked me. He swung his leg at me, but pulled it back at the last second. I could tell he wanted to hurt me for laughing. But I am his friend, his best friend, his only friend. He couldn’t hurt me. So he grabbed a garbage sack filled with empty beer bottles and hucked it at the minivan. Glass broke everywhere. Then Rowdy grabbed a shovel that somebody had been using to dig barbecue holes and went after that van. Just beat the crap out of it. Smash! Boom! Bam! He dented the doors and smashed the windows and knocked off the mirrors. I was scared of Rowdy and I was scared of getting thrown in jail for vandalism, so I ran. That was a mistake. I ran right into the Andruss brothers’ camp. The Andrusses—John, Jim, and Joe—are the cruelest triplets in the history of the world. “Hey, look,” one of them said. “It’s Hydro Head.” Yep, those bastards were making fun of my brain disorder. Charming, huh? “Nah, he ain’t Hydro,” said another one of the brothers. “He’s Hydrogen.” I don’t know which one said that. I couldn’t tell them apart. I decided to run again, but one of them grabbed me, and shoved me toward another brother. All three of them shoved me to and fro. They were playing catch with me. “Hydromatic.” “Hydrocarbon.” “Hydrocrack.” “Hydrodynamic.” “Hydroelectric.” “Hydro-and-Low.” “Hydro-and-Seek.” I fell down. One of the brothers picked me up, dusted me off, and then kneed me in the balls. I fell down again, holding my tender crotch, and tried not to scream. The Andruss brothers laughed and walked away. Oh, by the way, did I mention that the Andruss triplets are thirty years old? What kind of men beat up a fourteen-year-old boy? Major-league assholes.

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

  I didn’t want to get him mad. When Rowdy got mad it took him days to get un-mad. But he was my best friend and I wanted him to know the truth. “I’m not trying to get you mad,” I said. “I’m telling the truth. I’m leaving the rez, man, and I want you to come with me. Come on. It will be an adventure.” “I don’t even drive through that town,” he said. “What makes you think I want to go to school there?” He got up, stared me hard in the eyes, and then spit on the floor. Last year, during eighth grade, we traveled to Reardan to play them in flag football. Rowdy was our star quarterback and kicker and middle linebacker, and I was the loser water boy, and we lost to Reardan by the score of 45–0. Of course, losing isn’t exactly fun. Nobody wants to be a loser. We all got really mad and vowed to kick their asses the next game. But, two weeks after that, Reardan came to the rez and beat us 56–10. During basketball season, Reardan beat us 72–45 and 86–50, our only two losses of the season. Rowdy scored twenty-four points in the first game and forty in the second game. I scored nine points in each game, going 3 for 10 on three-pointers in the first game and 3 for 15 in the second. Those were my two worst games of the season. During baseball season, Rowdy hit three home runs in the first game against Reardan and two home runs in the second but we still lost by scores of 17–3 and 12–2. I played in both losses and struck out seven times and was hit by a pitch once. Sad thing is, getting hit like that was my only hit of the season. After baseball season, I led the Wellpinit Junior High Academic Bowl team against Reardan Junior High, and we lost by a grand total of 50–1. Yep, we answered one question correctly. I was the only kid, white or Indian, who knew that Charles Dickens wrote A Tale of Two Cities. And let me tell you, we Indians were the worst of times and those Reardan kids were the best of times. Those kids were magnificent. They knew everything. And they were beautiful. They were beautiful and smart. They were beautiful and smart and epic. They were filled with hope. I don’t know if hope is white. But I do know that hope for me is like some mythical creature: [image "A drawing of a winged horse soaring above two smiling clouds, with handwritten text that reads, ‘white, white, white, white, white, white, white, white, white.’" file=image_rsrc4S3.jpg] Man, I was scared of those Reardan kids, and maybe I was scared of hope, too, but Rowdy absolutely hated all of it. “Rowdy,” I said. “I am going to Reardan tomorrow.”

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

  The second document contained only a few words. “Having since many years become weary of existence and its illusions, I have of my own free will put an end to my worthless life.” I was seized with a deep horror when I had finished. There was still time, I could still withdraw, but the madness of passion and the sight of the beautiful woman that lay all relaxed against my shoulder carried me away. “This one you will have to copy, Severin,” said Wanda, indicating the second document. “It has to be entirely in your own handwriting; this, of course, isn’t necessary in the case of the agreement.” I quickly copied the few lines in which I designated myself a suicide, and handed them to Wanda. She read them, and put them on the table with a smile. “Now have you the courage to sign it?” she asked with a crafty smile, inclining her head. I took the pen. “Let me sign first,” said Wanda, “your hand is trembling, are you afraid of the happiness that is to be yours?” She took the agreement and pen. While engaging in my internal struggle, I looked upward for a moment. It occurred to me that the painting on the ceiling, like many of those of the Italian and Dutch schools, was utterly unhistorical, but this very fact gave it a strange mood which had an almost uncanny effect on me. Delilah, an opulent woman with flaming red hair, lay extended, half-disrobed, in a dark fur-cloak, upon a red ottoman, and bent smiling over Samson who had been overthrown and bound by the Philistines. Her smile in its mocking coquetry was full of a diabolical cruelty; her eyes, half-closed, met Samson’s, and his with a last look of insane passion cling to hers, for already one of his enemies is kneeling on his breast with the red-hot iron to blind him. “Now—” said Wanda. “Why you are all lost in thought. What is the matter with you, everything will remain just as it was, even after you have signed, don’t you know me yet, dear heart?” I looked at the agreement. Her name was written there in bold letters. I peered once more into her eyes with their potent magic, then I took the pen and quickly signed the agreement. “You are trembling,” said Wanda calmly, “shall I help you?” She gently took hold of my hand, and my name appeared at the bottom of the second paper. Wanda looked once more at the two documents, and then locked them in the desk which stood at the head of the ottoman. “Now then, give me your passport and money.” I took out my wallet and handed it to her. She inspected it, nodded, and put it with other things while in a sweet drunkenness I kneeled before her leaning my head against her breast. Suddenly she thrusts me away with her foot, leaps up, and pulls the bell-rope.

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

  “Before either of us undressed, however, he put out the candle; and the bitterness of the weather made it a kind of necessity for me to go into bed: slipping then my clothes off, I crept under the bedclothes, where I found the young stripling already nestled, and the touch of his warm flesh rather pleased than alarmed me. I was indeed too much disturbed with the novelty of my condition to be able to sleep; but then I had not the least thought of harm. But oh! how powerful are the instincts of nature! how little is there wanting to set them in action! The young man, sliding his arm under my body, drew me gently towards him, as if to keep himself and me warmer; and the heat I felt from joining our breasts, kindled another that I had hitherto never felt, and was, even then, a stranger to the nature of. Emboldened, I suppose, by my easiness, he ventured to kiss me, and I insensibly returned it; without knowing the consequence of returning it: for, on this encouragement, he slipped his hand all down from my breast to that part of me where the sense of feeling is so exquisitely critical, as I then experienced by its instant taking fire upon the touch, and glowing with a strange tickling heat: there he pleased himself and me, by feeling, till growing a little too bold with me, he hurt me, and made me complain. Then he took my hand, which he guided, not unwillingly on my side, between the twist of his closed thighs, which were extremely warm; there he lodged and pressed it, till raising it by degrees, he made me feel the proud distinction of his sex from mine. I was frightened at the novelty, and drew back my hand; yet, pressed and spurred on by sensations of a strange pleasure, I could not help asking him what that was for? He told me he would shew me if I would let him; and without waiting for my answer, which he prevented by stopping my mouth with kisses I was far from disrelishing, he got upon me, and inserting one of his thighs between mine, opened them so as to make way for himself, and fixed me to his purpose; whilst I was so much out of my usual sense, so subdued by the present power of a new one, that, between far and desire, I lay utter passive, till the piercing pain rouzed and made me cry out. But it was too late: he was too firm fixed in the saddle for me to compass flinging him, with all the struggles I could use, some of which only served to further his point, and at length an irresistible thrust murdered at once my maidenhead, and almost me. I now lay a bleeding witness of the necessity imposed on our sex, to gather the first honey off the thorns.

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

  As soon as he was in bed, he threw off the bedclothes, which I suffered him to force from my hold, and I now lay as exposed as he could wish, not only to his attacks, but his visitation of the sheets; where in the various agitations of the body, through my endeavours to defend myself, he could easily assure himself there was no preparation, though, to do him justice, he seemed a less strict examinant than I had apprehended from so experienced a practitioner. My shift then he fairly tore open, finding I made too much use of it to barricade my breasts, as well as the more important avenue: yet in every thing else he proceeded with all the marks of tenderness and regard to me, whilst the art of my play was to shew none for him, I acted them all the niceties, apprehensions, and terrors, supposable for a girl perfectly innocent to feel, at so great a novelty as a naked man in bed with her for the first time. He scarce even obtained a kiss but what he ravished; I put his hand away twenty times from my breasts, where he had satisfied himself of their hardness and consistence, with passing for hitherto unhandled goods. But when grown impatient upon the main point, he now threw himself upon me, and first trying to examine me with his finger, sought to make himself further way, I complained of his usage bitterly: “I thought he would not have served a body so... I was ruined... I did not know what I had done..., I would get up, so I would...;” and at the same time kept my thighs so fast locked, that it was not for strength like his to force them open, or do any good. Finding thus my advantages, and that I had both my own and his motions at command, the deceiving him came so easy, that it was perfectly playing upon velvet. In the mean time his machine, which was one of those sizes that slip in and out without being minded, kept pretty stiffly bearing against that part, which the shutting my thighs barred access to; but finding, at length he could do no good by mere dint of bodily strength, he resorted to entreaties and arguments: to which I only answered, with a tone of shame and timidity, “that I was afraid he would kill me... Lord!..., would not be served so... I was never so used in all my born days..., I wondered he was not ashamed of himself, so I did...,” with such silly infantine moods of repulse and complaint as I judged best adapted to express the character of innocence, and affright.

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

  Rodin sat down to dine; after such exploits he was in need of restoratives. That afternoon there were more lessons and further corrections, I could have observed new scenes had I desired, but I had seen enough to convince myself and to settle upon a reply to make to this villain's offers. The time for giving it approached. Two days after the events I have described, he himself came to my room to ask for it. He surprised me in bed. By employing the excuse of looking to see whether any traces of my wounds remained, he obtained the right, which I was unable to dispute, of performing an examination upon me, naked, and as he had done the same thing twice a day for a month and had never given any offense to my modesty I did not think myself able to resist. But this time Rodin had other plans; when he reaches the object of his worship, he locks his thighs about my waist and squeezes with such force that I find myself, so to speak, quite defenseless. "Therese," says he, the while moving his hands about in such a manner as to erase all doubt of his intents, "you are fully recovered, my dear, and now you can give me evidence of the gratitude with which I have beheld your heart overflowing; nothing simpler than the form your thanks would take; I need nothing beyond this," the traitor continued, binding me with all the strength at his command. "...Yes, this will do, merely this, here is my recompense, I never demand anything else from women... but," he continued, " 'tis one of the most splendid I have seen in all my life... What roundness, fullness!... unusual elasticity!... what exquisite quality in the skin!... Oh my! I absolutely must put this to use...." Chapter 17Whereupon Rodin, apparently already prepared to put his projects into execution, is obliged, in order to proceed to the next stage, to relax his grip for a moment; I seize my opportunity and extricating myself from his clutches, "Monsieur," I say, "I beg you to be well persuaded that there is nothing in the entire world which could engage me to consent to the horrors you seem to wish to commit. My gratitude is due to you, indeed it is, but I will not pay my debt in a criminal coin. Needless to say, I am poor and most unfortunate; but no matter; here is the small sum of money I possess," I continue, producing my meager purse, "take what you esteem just and allow me to leave this house, I beg of you, as soon as I am in a fitting state to go." Rodin, confounded by the opposition he little expected from a girl devoid of means and whom, according to an injustice very ordinary amongst men, he supposed dishonest by the simple fact she was sunk in poverty; Rodin, I say, gazed at me attentively.

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

  "You shall see, my child," put in the master of the house, abruptly seizing Eulalie, drawing her to him and forthwith beginning his kisses while, upon his orders, I excited him with one hand. Eulalie sought to protect herself, but, thrusting the girl toward the libertine, Dubois eliminated all possibility of her escape. The sitting was long; for very fresh, new-blown was that flower, and the hornet's desire to drain its pollen was commensurately great. His iterated suckings were succeeded by an inspection of Eulalie's neck; betimes, I palpated his member and felt it throb with growing insistence. "Well," said Monseigneur, "here are two victims who shall fill my cup of joy to overflowing: Dubois, you shall be well paid, for I am well served. Let's move into my boudoir; follow us, dear woman, come," he continued as he led us away; "you'll leave tonight, but I need you for the party." Dubois resigns herself, and we pass into the debauchee's pleasure chamber, where we are stripped naked.

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

  You are a splendid woman, but still half a child, and you need toys.’ “I suppose, I hardly need tell you that during his life time I had no lover; but it was through him that I have become what I am, a woman of Greece.” “A goddess,” I interrupted. “Which one,” she smiled. “Venus.” She threatened me with her finger and knitted her brows. “Perhaps, even a ‘Venus in Furs.’ Watch out, I have a large, very large fur, with which I could cover you up entirely, and I have a mind to catch you in it as in a net.” “Do you believe,” I said quickly, for an idea which seemed good, in spite of its conventionality and triteness, flashed into my head, “do you believe that your theories could be carried into execution at the present time, that Venus would be permitted to stray with impunity among our railroads and telegraphs in all her undraped beauty and serenity?” “Undraped, of course not, but in furs,” she replied smiling, “would you care to see mine?” “And then—” “What then?” “Beautiful, free, serene, and happy human beings, such as the Greeks were, are only possible when it is permitted to have slaves who will perform the prosaic tasks of every day for them and above all else labor for them.” “Of course,” she replied playfully, “an Olympian divinity, such as I am, requires a whole army of slaves. Beware of me!” “Why?” I myself was frightened at the hardiness with which I uttered this “why”; it did not startle her in the least. She drew back her lips a little so that her small white teeth became visible, and then said lightly, as if she were discussing some trifling matter, “Do you want to be my slave?” “There is no equality in love,” I replied solemnly. “Whenever it is a matter of choice for me of ruling or being ruled, it seems much more satisfactory to me to be the slave of a beautiful woman. But where shall I find the woman who knows how to rule, calmly, full of self-confidence, even harshly, and not seek to gain her power by means of petty nagging?” “Oh, that might not be so difficult.” “You think—” “I—for instance—” she laughed and leaned far back—“I have a real talent for despotism—I also have the necessary furs—but last night you were really seriously afraid of me!” “Quite seriously.” “And now?” “Now, I am more afraid of you than ever!” We are together every day, I and—Venus; we are together a great deal.

• From Sexual Politics (1970)

  Perhaps what was hardest of all for Wilde to confront was not even this rejection but the appalling and dizzying accusation of the direst kind of Sin, the sin of all others against which both convention and “manliness” had set their faces, the sin against which the entire Judaeo-Christian ages cried out “Sodom!” Nora was battling the sexual politic openly and rationally. Wilde was not able to. He could dare only a brief demonstration; then came condign sentence and silence. When Wilde fell in 1895, Nora and her band of revolutionaries had a few more years of insurrection left; Shaw and Woolf and the vote were yet to come. Wilde had broken even stronger patriarchal taboo, and the punishment was swift and terrible. It took somewhat longer for patriarchy to respond to the greater threat which Nora represented and to which it could at first reply with the concession of mild reforms. But here, too, reaction came; slowly, powerfully, the great impetus of the sexual revolution was brought to a halt.

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

  “You want to head down to the powwow?” Rowdy asked. “Nah,” I said. The Spokane Tribe holds their annual powwow celebration over the Labor Day weekend. This was the 127th annual one, and there would be singing, war dancing, gambling, storytelling, laughter, fry bread, hamburgers, hot dogs, arts and crafts, and plenty of alcoholic brawling. I wanted no part of it. Oh, the dancing and singing are great. Beautiful, in fact, but I’m afraid of all the Indians who aren’t dancers and singers. Those rhythmless, talentless, tuneless Indians are most likely going to get drunk and beat the shit out of any available losers. And I am always the most available loser. “Come on,” Rowdy said. “I’ll protect you.” He knew that I was afraid of getting beat up. And he also knew that he’d probably have to fight for me. Rowdy has protected me since we were born. Both of us were pushed into the world on November 5, 1992, at Sacred Heart Hospital in Spokane. I’m two hours older than Rowdy. I was born all broken and twisted, and he was born mad. He was always crying and screaming and kicking and punching. He bit his mother’s breast when she tried to nurse him. He kept biting her, so she gave up and fed him formula. He really hasn’t changed much since then. Well, at fourteen years old, it’s not like he runs around biting women’s breasts, but he does punch and kick and spit. He got into his first fistfight in kindergarten. He took on three first graders during a snowball fight because one of them had thrown a piece of ice. Rowdy punched them out pretty quickly. And then he punched the teacher who came to stop the fight. He didn’t hurt the teacher, not at all, but man, let me tell you, that teacher was angry. “What’s wrong with you?” he yelled. “Everything!” Rowdy yelled back. Rowdy fought everybody. He fought boys and girls. Men and women. He fought stray dogs. Hell, he fought the weather. He’d throw wild punches at rain. Honestly. “Come on, you wuss,” Rowdy said. “Let’s go to powwow. You can’t hide in your house forever. You’ll turn into some kind of troll or something.” “What if somebody picks on me?” I asked. “Then I’ll pick on them.” “What if somebody picks my nose?” I asked. “Then I’ll pick your nose, too,” Rowdy said. “You’re my hero,” I said. “Come to the powwow,” Rowdy said. “Please.” It’s a big deal when Rowdy is polite. “Okay, okay,” I said. So Rowdy and I walked the three miles to the powwow grounds. It was dark, maybe eight o’clock or so, and the drummers and singers were loud and wonderful. I was excited. But I was getting hypothermic, too. The Spokane Powwow is wicked hot during the day and freezing cold at night. “I should have worn my coat,” I said. “Toughen up,” Rowdy said. “Let’s go watch the chicken dancers,” I said.

• From Naked Lunch (1959)

  And torture can be employed to advantage as a penalty when the subject is far enough along with the treatment to accept punishment as deserved. To this end I devised several forms of disciplinary procedure. One was known as The Switchboard. Electric drills that can be turned on at any time are clamped against the subject's teeth; and he is instructed to operate an arbitrary switchboard, to put certain connections in certain sockets in response to bells and lights. Every time he makes a mistake the drills are turned on for twenty seconds. The signals are gradually speeded up beyond his reaction time. Half an hour on the switchboard and the subject breaks down like an overloaded thinking machine. "The study of thinking machines teaches us more about the brain than we can learn by introspective methods. Western man is externalizing himself in the form of gadgets. Ever pop coke in the mainline? It hits you right in the brain, activating connections of pure pleasure. The pleasure of morphine is in the viscera. You listen down into yourself after a shot. But C is electricity through the brain, and the C yen is of the brain alone, a need without body and without feeling. The C-charged brain is a berserk pinball machine, flashing blue and pink lights in electric orgasm. C pleasure could be felt by a thinking machine, the first stirrings of hideous insect life. The craving for C lasts only a few hours, as long as the C channels are stimulated. Of course the effect of C could be produced by an electric current activating the C channels.... "So after a bit the channels wear out like veins, and the addict has to find new ones. A vein will come back in time, and by adroit vein rotation a junky can piece out the odds if he don't become an oil burner. But brain cells don't come back once they're gone, and when the addict runs out of brain cells he is in a terrible fucking position. "Squatting on old bones and excrement and rusty iron, in a white blaze of heat, a panorama of naked idiots stretches to the horizon. Complete silence -- their speech centers are destroyed -except for the crackle of sparks and the popping of singed flesh as they apply electrodes up and down the spine. White smoke of burning flesh hangs in the motionless air. A group of children have tied an idiot to a post with barbed wire and built a fire between his legs and stand watching with bestial curiosity as the flames lick his thighs. His flesh jerks in the fire with insect agony. "I digress as usual. Pending more precise knowledge of brain electronics, drugs remain an essential tool of the interrogator in his assault on the subject's personal identity.

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

  "'And is it likely that the inflammation will take place?' "'Alas! more than likely.' "'And if it does——?' "Dr. Charles looked serious, but gave no answer. "'It might be fatal?' "'Yes.' "'Well, I'll think it over. Anyhow, I must go home—that is, to my lodgings, to put some things to rights.' "In fact, he was accompanied home, and there he begged to be left alone for half an hour. "As soon as he was by himself, he locked the door of the room, took a revolver and shot himself. The cause of the suicide remained a mystery to everybody except ourselves. "This and another case which happened shortly afterwards, cast a dampness on us all, and for some time put an end to Briancourt's symposiums." "And what was this other case?" "One you have most likely read about, for it was in all the papers at the time it occurred. An elderly gentleman, whose name I have quite forgotten, was silly enough to be caught in the very act of sodomizing a soldier—a lusty young recruit lately arrived from the country. The case made a great ado, for the gentleman occupied a foremost position in society, and was, moreover, not only a person of unblemished reputation, but a most religious man besides." "What! do you think it possible for a truly religious man to be addicted to such a vice?" "Of course it is. Vice renders us superstitious; and what is superstition save an obsolete and discarded form of worship. It is the sinner and not the saint that needs a Saviour, an intercessor, and a priest; if you have nothing to atone for, what is the use of religion to you? Religion is no bridle to a passion, which—though termed against nature—is so deeply engrafted in our nature that reason can neither cool nor mask it. The Jesuits are, therefore, the only real priests. Far from damning you, like ranting Dissenters do, they have at least a thousand palliations for all the diseases which they cannot cure—a balm for every heavy-laden conscience. "But to return to our story. When the young soldier was asked by the judge how he could thus degrade himself, and sully the uniform he wore,—'M. le Juge,' quoth he, ingenuously, 'the gentleman was very kind to me. Moreover, being a very influential person, he promised me un avancement dans le corps' (an advancement in the body)! "Time passed, and I lived happily with Teleny—for who would not have been happy with him, handsome, good, and clever as he was? His playing now was so genial, so exuberant with lusty life, so beaming with sensual happiness, that he was daily becoming a greater favourite, and all the ladies were more than ever in love with him; but what did I care, was he not wholly mine?" "What! you were not jealous?"

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

  Joy pleases him, it is in him, it is his own, crime's effect touches him not, is exterior to him; well, I ask, what thinking man will not prefer what causes his delectation to what is alien to him? who will not consent to commit this deed whereof~ he experiences nothing unpleasant, in order to procure what moves him most agreeably?" "Oh Madame," I said to Dubois, asking her leave to reply to her execrable sophistries, "do you not at all feel that your damnation is writ in what you have just uttered? At the very most, such principles could only befit the person powerful enough to have nothing to dread from others; but we, Madame, perpetually in fear and humiliated; we, proscribed by all honest folk, condemned by every law, should we be the exponents of doctrines which can only whet the sword blade suspended above our heads? Would we find ourselves in this unhappy position were we in the center of society; were we to be where, that is to say, we ought to be, without our misconduct and delivered from our miseries, do you fancy such maxims could be any more fitting to us? How would you have him not perish who through blind egoism wishes all alone to strive against the combined interests of others? Is not society right never to suffer in its midst the man who declares himself hostile to it? And can the isolated individual fight against everyone? Can he flatter himself he is happy and tranquil if, refusing to submit to the social contract, he does not consent to give up a little of his happiness to insure the rest? Society is maintained only by the ceaseless interexchange of considerations and good works, those are the bonds which cement the edifices; such a one who instead of positive acts offers naught but crimes, having therefore to be dreaded, will necessarily be attacked if he is the strongest, laid low by the first he offends if he is the weakest; but destroyed at any rate, for there is in man a powerful instinct which compels him to safeguard his peace and quiet and to strike whosoever seeks to trouble them; that is why the long endurance of criminal associations is virtually impossible: their well-being suddenly confronted by cold steel, all the others must promptly unite to blunt the threatening point.

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

  The tea was made, and the landlady, unwilling, I suppose, to lose any time, observing my silence and shyness before this entire stranger: “Come, Miss Fanny,” says she, in a coarse familiar style, and tone of authority, “hold up your head, child, and do not let sorrow spoil that pretty face of yours. What! sorrows are only for a time; come, be free, here is a worthy gentleman who has heard of your misfortunes, and is willing to serve you; you must be better acquainted with him, do not you now stand upon your punctilios, and this and that, but make your market while you may.” At this so delicate, and eloquent harangue, the gentleman, who saw I looked frighted and amazed, and, indeed, incapable of answering, took her up for breaking things in so abrupt a manner, as rather to shock than incline me to an acceptance of the good he intended me then, addressing himself to me, told me “he was perfectly acquainted with my whole story, and every circumstance of my distress which he owned was a cruel plunge for one of my youth and beauty to fall into.... that he had long taken a liking to my person, for which he appealed to Mrs. Jones, there present; but finding me so deeply engaged to another, he had lost all hopes of succeeding, till he had heard the sudden reverse of fortune that had happened to me, on which he had given particular orders to my landlady to see that I should want for nothing; and that, had he not been forced abroad to the Hague, on affairs he could not refuse himself to, he would himself have attended me during my sickness;... that on his return, which was the day before, he had, on learning my recovery, desired my landlady’s good offices to introduce him to me, and was as angry, at least, as I was shocked, at the manner in which she had conducted herself towards obtaining him that happiness; but, that to show me how much he disdained her procedure, and how far he was from taking any ungenerous advantage of my situation, and from exacting any security for my gratitude, he would before my face, that instant, discharge my debt entirely to my landlady, and give me her receipt in full; after which I should be at liberty either to reject or grant his suit, as he was much above putting any force upon my inclinations.”