Jealousy

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 A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians (1921)

  "Epi<;, a classical word, of frequent occurrence from Homer down; in Homer of "contention," "rivalry," "strife for prizes," also "fight- ing," "strife"; after Homer "strife," "discord," "quarrel," "wran- gling," "contention." It occurs in Ps. i39ao (B); Sir. 28" 40*- », in the latter two passages in an enumeration of the common ills of life. The nine N. T. instances are all found in the epistles ascribed to Paul. ZijXog occurs in classical writers from Hesiod down; by Plato and Aristotle it is classed as a noble passion, "emulation," as opposed to 966vtK, "envy"; but in Hesiod is already used as equivalent to cp86vo?. In the Lxx used for rwj,?, but with considerable variety of mean- ing. The common element in all the uses of the word is its expression of an intense feeling, usually eager desire of some kind. In the Lxx and N. T. three meanings may be recognised: (i) "intense devotion to, zeal for, persons or things" (Ps. 69", quoted in Jn. 217, i Mac. 2" Rom. io2 2 Cor 7* Phil. 3*); (2) "anger," perhaps always with the thought that it arises out of devotion to another person or thing (Num. 25llb Ezek. 2325 Acts 5" 13" Heb. io27, the last a quotation from the Lxx); (3) "jealousy," the unfriendly feeling excited by another's pos- session of good, or "envy," the eager desire for possession created by the spectacle of another's possession (Cant. 88 Eccl. 4* 9* Rom. 13" i Cor. 3* Jas. 314- l6). In the present passage it is clearly used in the last-named sense.

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

  I only know that that year he came to Russia, and came to see me. Moist eyes of almond shape, smiling red lips, a little moustache well waxed, hair brushed in the latest fashion, a vulgarly pretty face,—what the women call ‘not bad,’—feebly built physically, but with no deformity; with hips as broad as a woman’s; correct, and insinuating himself into the familiarity of people as far as possible, but having that keen sense that quickly detects a false step and retires in reason,—a man, in short, observant of the external rules of dignity, with that special Parisianism that is revealed in buttoned boots, a gaudy cravat, and that something which foreigners pick up in Paris, and which, in its peculiarity and novelty, always has an influence on our women. In his manners an external and artificial gayety, a way, you know, of referring to everything by hints, by unfinished fragments, as if everything that one says you knew already, recalled it, and could supply the omissions. Well, he, with his music, was the cause of all. “At the trial the affair was so represented that everything seemed attributable to jealousy. It is false,—that is, not quite false, but there was something else. The verdict was rendered that I was a deceived husband, that I had killed in defence of my sullied honor (that is the way they put it in their language), and thus I was acquitted. I tried to explain the affair from my own point of view, but they concluded that I simply wanted to rehabilitate the memory of my wife. Her relations with the musician, whatever they may have been, are now of no importance to me or to her. The important part is what I have told you. The whole tragedy was due to the fact that this man came into our house at a time when an immense abyss had already been dug between us, that frightful tension of mutual hatred, in which the slightest motive sufficed to precipitate the crisis. Our quarrels in the last days were something terrible, and the more astonishing because they were followed by a brutal passion extremely strained. If it had not been he, some other would have come. If the pretext had not been jealousy, I should have discovered another. I insist upon this point,—that all husbands who live the married life that I lived must either resort to outside debauchery, or separate from their wives, or kill themselves, or kill their wives as I did. If there is any one in my case to whom this does not happen, he is a very rare exception, for, before ending as I ended, I was several times on the point of suicide, and my wife made several attempts to poison herself.” CHAPTER XX. “In order that you may understand me, I must tell you how this happened.

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

  I was conscious that some frightful misfortune must result from the presence of this man, and, in spite of that, I could not help being amiable to him. I introduced him to my wife. She was pleased with him. In the beginning, I suppose, because of the pleasure of the violin playing, which she adored. She had even hired for that purpose a violinist from the theatre. But when she cast a glance at me, she understood my feelings, and concealed her impression. Then began the mutual trickery and deceit. I smiled agreeably, pretending that all this pleased me extremely. He, looking at my wife, as all débauchés look at beautiful women, with an air of being interested solely in the subject of conversation,—that is, in that which did not interest him at all. “She tried to seem indifferent. But my expression, my jealous or false smile, which she knew so well, and the voluptuous glances of the musician, evidently excited her. I saw that, after the first interview, her eyes were already glittering, glittering strangely, and that, thanks to my jealousy, between him and her had been immediately established that sort of electric current which is provoked by an identity of expression in the smile and in the eyes. “We talked, at the first interview, of music, of Paris, and of all sorts of trivialities. He rose to go. Pressing his hat against his swaying hip, he stood erect, looking now at her and now at me, as if waiting to see what she would do. I remember that minute, precisely because it was in my power not to invite him. I need not have invited him, and then nothing would have happened. But I cast a glance first at him, then at her. ‘Don’t flatter yourself that I can be jealous of you,’ I thought, addressing myself to her mentally, and I invited the other to bring his violin that very evening, and to play with my wife. She raised her eyes toward me with astonishment, and her face turned purple, as if she were seized with a sudden fear. She began to excuse herself, saying that she did not play well enough. This refusal only excited me the more. I remember the strange feeling with which I looked at his neck, his white neck, in contrast with his black hair, separated by a parting, when, with his skipping gait, like that of a bird, he left my house. I could not help confessing to myself that this man’s presence caused me suffering. ‘It is in my power,’ thought I, ‘to so arrange things that I shall never see him again. But can it be that I, I , fear him? No, I do not fear him. It would be too humiliating!’ “And there in the hall, knowing that my wife heard me, I insisted that he should come that very evening with his violin.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  Was she sorry, I wondered, that she’d asked? It seemed like such an obvious error on her part. She was not, apparently, only snarling at me, but very angry at him as well. I was slower to realize that I, too, had asked about something better left alone; if I had never queried him about my encounter with the mousy brunette, A-Man would never have mentioned their blowup. It was us women asking for information that we didn’t really want that precipitated the events that followed. On that day, however, I just listened, feeling somewhat aloof. If anything, I enjoyed that slight thrill of drama in our midst as we proceeded into the glory of ass-fuck #272. But the next day, and the one after that, I realized that I had been given unsolicited confirmation that he was fucking her on occasion and I really hadn’t wanted to know that. This made her real to me in a way that she never had been before. Were we competing for A-Man? She clearly thought so, and was putting up some sort of fight, or at least a protest. I had always assumed that there was no fight, no competition, because I was simply in the far superior position to her or anyone else that A-Man might have been fucking. It was technically impossible that he could have been having anything greater or even equivalent with anyone else—there simply wasn’t time in a day, or cum in his balls . . . Or was there? And thus my mind started working. What was their connection? How was their sex? Was he with her the way he was with me? Did he mold her onto his cock the way he did me? Did he fuck her ass, too? What had he done to make her so attached? And what about her kept his interest? Was she to him what a Hound was for me—a balancing act? Now that his little harem was in my face, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. The jealousy began and I couldn’t stop it. But I was determined to try. This, I reminded myself, was the price of not being monogamous. Perhaps it was time to review the price of monogamy.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  —¿Ese es el carro de April Lester? —pregunta Cam a través de la ventana abierta. Giro mi cabeza, viendo un Mazda convertible rojo estacionado detrás de la camioneta de Pike, y me estómago se hunde. ¿Qué carajos sucede? Es tarde. Mis ojos se mueven como un rayo hacia la casa y veo que está oscuro, no hay luces encendidas en ningún lugar. ¿Qué estarán haciendo allí con las luces apagadas? Tengo un nudo en la garganta y siento como si fuera a vomitar. —Probablemente está vendiéndole galletas de las niñas exploradoras — bromea Cam. Pero estoy furiosa. —No es temporada de galletas. —Oh, cariño, para algunos de nosotros, siempre será temporada de galletas. Giro hacia mi hermana que está haciendo una V con sus dedos frente a su boca y metiendo su lengua entre ellos, retorciéndola. Empujo la puerta, hablándole entre diente. —Muérdeme. Pero solo se ríe, arrancando su auto a toda velocidad. —¡Bueeeeena sueeeeeerte! Me toma dos intentos pasar saliva mientras le echo un vistazo a la casa. ¿Qué está haciendo ella ahí? ¿Qué está haciendo ella ahí adentro? Sí, esta es la casa de él, y por lo que sé, no se ha estado acostando con nadie desde que vine aquí hace semanas. Es joven, soltero, tiene todo el derecho a traer mujeres a casa. Pero eso no evita que mi corazón esté latiendo a kilómetros por hora, o que me duela el estómago. Estoy aquí. ¿No pudo ir mejor a la casa de ella? ¿O a un motel? Subo los escalones del porche delantero, mi corazón palpitando en mis orejas y giro la perilla, pero está cerrada. Pike casi siempre deja la puerta desbloqueada para mí. Incluso si estoy trabajando hasta las dos de la mañana. Trato de mantener estable la cerveza de raíz en mi mano izquierda mientras busco la llave en mis pantalones cortos. Sacándola, desbloqueo la puerta, el terror me invade mientras la abro. Si los sorprendo haciendo algo, no estoy segura de no romper a llorar o empezar a gritar. Por favor, no lo hagas, Pike. Por favor no hagas esto. Entro en la casa, cerrando suavemente la puerta tras de mí. Miro la sala oscura, y mis oídos espabilándose ante el silencio, escuchando cualquier cosa que confirme mis peores temores. Entrando lentamente en la cocina, veo mi vela de dulce de manzana encendida sobre la mesa, su suave resplandor ilumina la oscuridad. Aunque yo no la encendí. Aprieto los dientes. ¿Estaba buscando crear ambiente o algo así? Miro el patio trasero a través de la ventana sobre el fregadero, viendo la piscina encendida, pero nadie por ahí. Caminando hacia la sala de estar, me dirijo hacia las escaleras pero luego escucho una risa apagada y me detengo. Dirigiéndome a la puerta del sótano, giro suavemente la perilla y abro la puerta en silencio, escuchando inmediatamente sus voces. —Quiero golpear la negra —se queja April.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Quiero que ella y Cole se reconcilien y sean amigos de nuevo eventualmente, pero no quiero que estén juntos, solos, toda la noche. Eran una pareja, maldición. Él conoce su cuerpo tan bien como yo. ¿Qué pasaría si comienzan a sentir lo que sintieron cuando estuvieron juntos por primera vez y todo fue bien? ¿Qué pasa si ella comienza a pensar que necesita a alguien... más joven? Ellos tienen historia. No voy a tener celos de mi hijo. No estamos compitiendo, pero la conoce mucho más. ¿Qué pasa si hablan y vuelven a conectar? Está en la punta de mi lengua simplemente decirlo de una vez. Es mía y no compartirá la cama con otro hombre. Pero miro a Lindsay y al desastre que ha sido, y cómo, en los últimos seis años, él se ha puesto de su parte en repetidas ocasiones. Ella siempre jugó como la víctima y lo hizo sentir culpable para que la defendiera, y la defenderá otra vez porque sabe que puedo defenderme por mi cuenta. Estaría muy feliz de descubrir que estaba follando a Jordan a espaldas de Cole. Ella solo está buscando algo que odiar, y no pondré a Jordan en medio de eso. Dejo caer los ojos, apenas capaz de abrir mi mandíbula. —Jordan, hay mantas en el sofá —digo en voz baja—. Avísame si tienes frío. Empiezo a caminar fuera de la habitación, pero luego escucho que Jordan finalmente habla. —No, Cole tiene razón —responde—. Es una cama, será para dormir, y es solo por una noche o dos. Estoy bien con eso. Me detengo y la miro, pero solo se enfoca hacia adelante, totalmente tranquila. Aprieto mi puño derecho y salgo de la habitación, dirigiéndome escaleras arriba. Son apenas las siete de un viernes por la noche, pero si no tengo espacio, haré algo estúpido. Como elegir la pelea que tan desesperadamente quiero con ella ahora mismo, frente a todos. En algún momento después de la medianoche me quedo dormido. Estuve a punto de delatarnos media docena de veces esta noche, pero el riesgo de arrepentirme de haberlo hecho fue demasiado grande. Ahora no. No frente a mi ex. Esto es una aventura. Una aventura sucia y sórdida, ¿verdad? Al menos eso es lo que todos pensarán. Y rompería el corazón de Cole. Estoy seguro que espera que ella siga adelante en algún momento. Después de todo, no se había preocupado demasiado por ella desde que se fue. Pero saber que entré, jugué con uno de sus juguetes, y que hay una posibilidad de que yo la haga más feliz... Sí, hablando por experiencia, siempre hay una parte de ti que siente que tienes más derecho a una ex novia que cualquier otra persona, incluso después de la ruptura. Verá esto como una traición. Como si estuviera de su lado y tratando de hacerlo mejor donde él no pudo. Y estaría en lo cierto. Cada sentimiento que tendría lo entendería.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  Contriving to run into her at the gym, I approached her boldly in my carefully planned outfit and asked if we had “something to talk about.” Although she was not sure that we did, she said she was willing to talk. I asked her what had happened. She said that she had been so unhappy with him, with having so little of him, that she’d asked him about the other women in his life. The Truth Will Set You Free Strategy: she’d suspected that his answer would hurt her, but she’d hoped that it would give her the courage to stop seeing him. Well, clearly it hadn’t, because almost immediately she was trying the same strategy again with me, asking me all these intensely personal questions. How often did he and I fuck? Did he sleep over? Did we eat dinner together? And I found myself doing the most awful thing. I found myself answering her, praying that this time her strategy would succeed, even though I knew it wouldn’t. And so we all limped along: no monogamy, no threesome, more fucking, no resolution. #276 He directed me onto all fours. He stood behind me and gently but insistently tapped my pubic bone skyward. I raised my ass to meet him. He tapped the insides of both thighs. I separated my legs. I laid my head down on the bed, ass high, back arched. He parted my pussy, found my little clit, and began looking and sucking and flicking. I imagined that other chick, the one with the wide ass, sitting in a chair, naked, legs spread, as he knelt before her pussy. Not an ugly pussy, but a bigger pussy than mine, a different, mousy pussy, and as she sat slumped, spread and slutty, he sucks on her clit, her obvious, swollen, big red clit. She is uninvolved, shameless. I am watching this secretly from behind a door. He knows I’m watching and spreads her pussy more and more so I can see her clit. She doesn’t know I’m watching. As her clit stands out, like a small erect cock, proud, flagrant, and hungry, I come. Conquest of the other woman is my orgasm, my pleasure. The other woman is my whore—the whore in me. Then he fucks my pussy and then my ass. My clit runneth over. THE BANANA The memory of humiliation is the bleeding scar of reliving it. . . . Humiliation, I believe, is not just another experience in our life, like, say, an embarrassment. It is a formative experience. It forms the way we view ourselves as humiliated persons. —AVISHAI MARGALIT

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  ¿Cómo es con Cole? ¿Cómo es él con ella? ¿Es bueno con ella? Me quedo junto a la puerta de entrada, escuchando la puerta del dormitorio cerrarse y sabiendo que está en la habitación con él. La casa de repente se siente pesada. Sofocante y tensa, y no puedo respirar. No quiero entrar, no importa si necesito ropa seca o no. Dejo caer mis llaves sobre la mesa a mi izquierda y veo la llave del VW allí. La tomo y retrocedo, cerrando la puerta antes de volver a bajar los escalones del porche y al garaje a la derecha de la casa. —Conseguiste unos huéspedes, ¿eh? —Escucho a alguien decir. Miro hacia el lado y veo a Kyle Cramer de pie en el porche con una taza de café en la mano, cubierto por la lluvia, que ahora es una ligera brisa. Muevo mi barbilla, saludándolo, pero no respondo. Nunca me gustó el tipo y nunca me importó ser amable. Lo que debe haber notado a estas alturas. No me importa, sin embargo. Solo mirarlo me irrita. Y no es nada específico lo que odio. Solo pequeñas cosas que se suman a lo largo de los años. Cómo trató a su esposa. Cómo era infiel y nunca estaba en casa. Cómo se quedó con la casa después del divorcio y la envió a ella y a sus hijos a vivir a un apartamento. Cómo contrata constantemente niñeras cuando se supone que sus hijos pasan tiempo con él durante el fin de semana. Eh, ¿quién sabe? Tal vez intentó obtener la custodia y tal vez ella lo engañó primero. Nunca se sabe realmente lo que sucede en la casa de alguien. Mírame a mí y cómo se crió mi hijo, después de todo. ¿Quién soy para juzgar? Todavía no me gusta el tipo. Piensa que su carrera de ejecutivo y los triatlones lo convierten en un héroe. Y ahora sueno malditamente celoso. Estupendo. Pulsando el código en el panel al costado de la puerta del garaje, retrocedo y lo abro. No guardo ningún automóvil aquí, así que hay espacio para que sirva como taller de mecánica y área de trabajo. Hay herramientas, un compresor de aire, un refrigerador extra, un par de bancos de trabajo y una mesa completa llena de piezas de automóviles que acaban de ser arrojadas aquí a lo largo de los años. El auto de Jordan está en el camino de entrada, pero sé que tendré que entrar aquí por unas cuantas cosas después de abrir el capó. Cole no es malo con los autos, pero sé que va a necesitarse dinero para conseguir que funcione nuevamente, y dinero que no tienen. Al menos echaré un vistazo, para ver qué tan malo es. —Hola, hombre. Miro por encima de mi hombro y veo a Dutch subiendo por el camino de entrada. Tiene ropa seca y una cerveza en la mano. Nada raro. Mantiene un refrigerador en la parte trasera de su camioneta.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  I did not want to control him. I remembered him saying once, “You go out with a chick, you sleep with her once, and she hands you an armful of ‘do nots,’ and you’re looking at her great tits and her hot pussy and you’re looking at the ‘do nots’ in your arms and you hand them back. ‘Hey, I think these are yours.’” I had admired that—that’s why he was A-Man and not Any Man. He was not going to compromise himself for pussy, like so many men do. And I didn’t want to compromise a man with my pussy, I wanted a man to be true to himself . . . while desperately wanting my pussy. But this was only idle speculation, for I knew that A-Man would not be monogamous, even if I asked. He had told me long ago that he had tried being a boyfriend several times and always failed miserably. Better not to even try. I agreed. Failure is the great anti-aphrodisiac. Besides, if I wanted him to be only with me then I would have to return the favor and be only with him. And I knew that I couldn’t do that. I loved him too much. I was too vulnerable to give myself entirely to him. Without a commitment that might be broken, at least any pangs I might be feeling about the mousy brunette were not compounded by the self-righteous pain and anger of betrayal. So, I told myself, Do you know what you have to be if you’re not monogamous? Not jealous? No, jealousy is inevitable. Worth it. You’ve got to be worth it. He’s got to be worth it. The fucking has got to be worth it. Worth the occasional, gut-ripping insanity of jealousy. WAR As the days passed, however, I started feeling this overwhelming need to assert my authority over the mousy brunette. When I next saw A-Man I slyly suggested that we all get in bed together to assuage everyone’s pain with love and sperm. He smiled at me, loving that I was the kind of woman who would solve a problem with an orgy. Well, better than bayonets. He then said that he had actually suggested this to her during that first confrontation but that she had only cried harder in response, confessing that she would be too jealous. Damn. I knew if we could get her in bed, I could win. Suddenly winning became imperative. Winning what, exactly, I wasn’t sure, but the stakes seemed very high indeed. It was not about having him exclusively, it never had been; it was about knowing I was the most beloved.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Sonrío, pero por supuesto, no puede verlo. ¿Era un chico de una sola chica en la escuela secundaria, o tenía muchas como Cole antes que yo? Recuerdo lo que dijo Cole sobre que su padre engañó a su madre, pero por alguna razón no me parece así. —La verdad es, Jordan —dice—, cuando eres joven, puedes ser realmente estúpido. No me importa recordar ese momento de mi vida. Quiero seguir adelante. Pero no estás avanzando del todo, por lo que parece. —Necesitas algo de sabor en tu vida —bromeo—. Deberías tener una mujer. —Sí, y deberías volver con tus amigos ahora —responde. Me río. —Oh, vamos. —¿Qué te hace pensar que todavía no tengo una mujer, Jordan? Su voz es burlona, y puedo sentirlo hasta los pies. Mi boca se seca. —¿La tienes? —pregunto. Quiero decir, solo estaba bromeando. ¿No sería incómodo tener a dos mujeres caminando por la casa? Ya tengo mis quehaceres, y hago la mayor parte de la cocina. Esa isla con bloques de carnicero y yo tenemos una relación ahora. Podría ponerme un poco celosa si otra mujer la toca. —No me has conocido desde hace mucho tiempo —dice juguetón—. Debo ocuparme de mis necesidades de vez en cuando. Soy humano, después de todo. Se me revuelve el estómago y frunzo las cejas . ¿Sus necesidades? Una imagen de cómo se ve cuando tiene que satisfacer esas necesidades destella en mi mente. La aparto. Mmm, sí. Bueno. De repente, se ríe. —Estoy bromeando —dice—. Sí, salgo de vez en cuando, pero no veo a nadie ahora. No tienes que preocuparte por encontrarte con una mujer que no conoces en la casa. —O mujeres —digo—. ¿Cierto? Se burla, y solo puedo imaginar su rostro. —¿De verdad me ves siendo capaz de hacer malabares con más de una mujer? ¿Alguna vez? —No, te gusta tomarte tu tiempo. —Exactamente. Mi corazón se calienta y sabía que estaba en lo cierto. La madre de Cole lo alimentó con tonterías para que su hijo rivalizara con su padre. Está en la punta de mi lengua decir algo sobre Cole, pero si Pike lo confronta, con las mentiras que probablemente le contó su madre, Cole lo verá como que traicioné su confianza. Y podría avergonzar a Pike. Ellos no son mi familia No es mi lugar. Un bostezo estira mi rostro, y dejo escapar un pequeño gemido, mis ojos se vuelven más pesados. —Bueno, supongo que te dejaré ir —dice Pike—. Diviértanse, ¿de acuerdo? Cuídate. —Lo haremos. —Mis párpados se cierran, su voz persiste en mi oreja—. Y recuerda —le digo—, presiona el botón dos veces. Resopla. —Sí, señora. —Hasta luego —digo. Se detiene un momento antes de contestar. —Buenas noches, Jordan. Cuelga, y dejo mi teléfono, bostezando nuevamente y sin molestarme en volver a encender la aplicación del ventilador. Una sonrisa estira las comisuras de mis labios. ¿Cómo puede un hombre de treinta y ocho años no saber cómo hacer palomitas de maíz para microondas? Es literalmente a prueba de idiotas.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  But when she had the hooks fastened tight, she leaned and gently blew upon the singer’s throat, where the power had clogged; and then she whispered something to her, and they laughed together with their heads very close ... and I knew, as surely as if they had pasted the words upon the dressing-room wall, that they were lovers.. The knowledge made me blush like a beacon. I looked at Kitty, and saw that she had caught the gesture, too; her eyes, however, were lowered, and her mouth was tight. When the comic singer passed us on her way to the stage, she gave me a wink: ‘Off to please the public,’ she said, and her dresser laughed again. When she came back and took her make-up off, she wandered over with a cigarette and asked for a light; then, as she drew on her fag, she looked me over. ‘Are you going,’ she said, ‘to Barbara’s party, after the show?’ I said I didn’t know who Barbara was. She waved her hand: ‘Oh, Barbara won’t mind. You come along with Ella and me: you and your friend.’ Here she nodded - very pleasantly, I thought - to Kitty. But Kitty, who had had her head bent all this time, working at the fastenings of her skirt, now looked up and gave a prim little smile. ‘How nice of you to ask,’ she said; ‘but we are spoken for tonight. Our agent, Mr Bliss, is due to take us out to supper.’ I stared: we had no arrangement that I knew of. But the singer only gave a shrug. ‘Too bad,’ she said. Then she looked at me. ‘You don’t want to leave your pal to her agent, and come on alone, with me and Ella?’ ‘Miss King will be busy with Mr Bliss,’ said Kitty, before I could answer; and she said it so tightly the singer gave a sniff, then turned and went over to where her dresser waited with their baskets. I watched them leave - they didn’t look back at me. When we returned to the theatre the next night, Kitty chose a hook that was far from theirs; and on the night after that, they had moved on to another hall ... At home, in bed, I said I thought it was a shame. ‘Why did you tell them Walter was coming?’ I asked Kitty. She said: ‘I didn’t care for them.’ ‘Why not? They were nice. They were funny. They were - like us.’ I had my arm about her, and felt her stiffen at my words. She pulled away from me and raised her head. We had left a candle burning and her face, I saw, was white and shocked. ‘Nan!’ she said. ‘They’re not like us! They’re not like us, at all. They’re toms.’ ‘Toms?’ I remember this moment very distinctly, for I had never heard the word before.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  La idea de ella en mi casa, caminando como si fuera suya, me enferma. Esta no es su casa. Nunca será de ella. Es… Me detengo, sin necesidad de poner el pensamiento en palabras. Solo veo una mujer viviendo en esta casa. Camino hacia la puerta. —Y, déjame adivinar... a cambio, te apoyaría financieramente en este arreglo, ¿verdad? —Podría hacerte feliz —me dice—. Lo hice antes. Dejo caer los ojos, apenas necesitando reflexionar sobre esa afirmación. Hace un mes, pude haber estado de acuerdo con ella. Hubo una vez, durante un breve período de tiempo, que fuimos felices. Días aquí, horas allá. Pero ahora lo sé, ni siquiera se acercó. Ni siquiera se compara con lo que he tenido en las últimas semanas. —Vuelve a tu habitación. —Salgo, dejando la puerta abierta y luego agregando sobre mi hombro—. Quiero decir, a la habitación de Jordan. Corro por el pasillo, disminuyendo la velocidad cuando paso frente a la puerta de Cole y tan jodidamente tentado de abrirla. Eso allí es mío. ¿Qué clase de hombre pone a su mujer en esa situación? ¿Qué clase de hombre no confiesa y toma lo que es suyo? Necesito pensar. Bajo corriendo las escaleras y me dirijo a la cocina y luego al cuarto de lavandería, cada momento que espero me acerca cada vez más a no poder soportar esto. Sé que no dejará que pase nada, pero la necesito fuera de allí. Pero en cuanto salgo, veo que el problema ya está resuelto. Por el momento, de todos modos. Está sentada en el borde de la piscina, con las piernas colgando en el agua, y me mira cuando salgo. Me detengo momentáneamente, sus ojos azules fríos y distantes. La conciencia me pincha la espalda, sabiendo que la habitación de Lindsay —la habitación de Jordan— está orientada hacia el patio trasero, y que posiblemente podría estar mirándola. Casualmente, camino hacia la mesa de jardín, enciendo mi cigarro y bajo el encendedor, fumando e inhalando hasta que el final se vuelve naranja. El dulce aroma llena mi nariz y exhalo el humo, inmediatamente siento un cosquilleo en mi cabeza. Me acerco a un lado de la piscina frente a ella y la miro, viendo que está vestida con unos pantalones cortos de dormir y una camisa negra sin sujetador. Los puntos duros de sus pezones son visibles desde aquí. Tenso mi mandíbula. —¿Vas a dormir en eso? —murmuro, apenas moviendo mis labios y manteniendo mi voz lo más baja posible. —Me ha visto en menos. Aprieto el cigarro y golpeo el extremo con mi dedo medio. —¿Y? —¿Y qué? Arqueo una ceja. —¿Te tocó? Escucho su aliento con una risa. —Tal vez. —Luego estrecha sus ojos en mí—. Y tal vez se lo permití. De tal palo tal astilla, después de todo. Me duele la mandíbula y sacude la cabeza, apartándose de mí.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pero eso solo enojaría a Cole si su padre descubriera que metió la pata esta noche, y tampoco quiero que Pike lo sepa. Es vergonzoso. Somos adultos y nos hemos buscado esto. Me está cuidando lo suficiente y no lo despertaré cuando tiene que trabajar por la mañana. Eso me hace una carga. La única persona a la que podría llamar es Shel, y su casa está al otro lado de la ciudad. No quiero llamar a Cole, porque, por supuesto, no puede conducir, pero tal vez podría enviar a otro amigo. Pero no. No lo llamaré. Estoy muy enojada ahora mismo. Y esta ciudad tampoco tiene taxis. Veo la mesa de billar, los ceniceros que están en los bordes y las marcas de arañazos en todo el asqueroso fieltro. Bueno, maldición. Amanecerá en unas pocas horas. Puedo caminar a casa entonces. Tendré que esperar. No le voy a pedir mierda a nadie. Saltando del taburete, vuelvo a dirigirme detrás de la barra y saco dos montones de toallas blancas limpias y las llevo a la mesa de billar, abriéndolas una por una y cubriendo la superficie sucia. Apagué el aire acondicionado hace horas, por lo que ahora hacen unos cómodos veinticuatro grados, pero saco mi sudadera con capucha de mi bolso en caso que quiera cubrirme más tarde. Agarrando mi teléfono, dejo encendida la luz del pasillo y me subo a la mesa, bajando lo suficiente, para tener espacio para acostarme. Metiendo mi brazo debajo de mi cabeza, bostezo y verifico el volumen y la batería de mi teléfono, asegurándome de tener suficiente energía en caso que algo salga mal mientras estoy sola aquí toda la noche. Algo como Jay regresando. Encuentro mi aplicación que hace sonar un ventilador y la pongo, con la esperanza de poder dormir un poco, pero no soy optimista No me siento segura, así que no puedo relajarme. Cerrando los ojos, siento el peso de la fatiga en mis párpados y la agradable sensación de agotamiento. Es del tipo que sabes que te mereces, porque trabajaste duro ese día. Pero después de veinte minutos, mi mente todavía está corriendo. Mi cuerpo está agotado por hoy, pero mi cerebro no. Cuando suena mi celular, estoy bastante segura que es la señal de que no estoy destinada a dormir esta noche. Lo traigo hasta mis ojos, entrecerrándolos por la luz brillante. Pike. Frunzo el ceño. —¿Hola? —Lo sostengo en mi oído, bostezando de nuevo. —Hola —dice como esperando que no contestara—. Yo… a-acabo de ver que son más de las tres, y no había nadie en casa, así que solo quería ver que todo estaba bien. Asegurarme que todo estaba bien. Me pongo de lado, todavía usando mi brazo inferior como almohada, y sostengo el teléfono junto a mi oreja con la otra mano. —Estoy bien. —Sonrío ante su preocupación y broma—. ¿Tengo un toque de queda o algo así?

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  Was she sorry, I wondered, that she’d asked? It seemed like such an obvious error on her part. She was not, apparently, only snarling at me, but very angry at him as well. I was slower to realize that I, too, had asked about something better left alone; if I had never queried him about my encounter with the mousy brunette, A-Man would never have mentioned their blowup. It was us women asking for information that we didn’t really want that precipitated the events that followed. On that day, however, I just listened, feeling somewhat aloof. If anything, I enjoyed that slight thrill of drama in our midst as we proceeded into the glory of ass-fuck #272. But the next day, and the one after that, I realized that I had been given unsolicited confirmation that he was fucking her on occasion and I really hadn’t wanted to know that. This made her real to me in a way that she never had been before. Were we competing for A-Man? She clearly thought so, and was putting up some sort of fight, or at least a protest. I had always assumed that there was no fight, no competition, because I was simply in the far superior position to her or anyone else that A-Man might have been fucking. It was technically impossible that he could have been having anything greater or even equivalent with anyone else—there simply wasn’t time in a day, or cum in his balls . . . Or was there? And thus my mind started working. What was their connection? How was their sex? Was he with her the way he was with me? Did he mold her onto his cock the way he did me? Did he fuck her ass, too? What had he done to make her so attached? And what about her kept his interest? Was she to him what a Hound was for me—a balancing act? Now that his little harem was in my face, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. The jealousy began and I couldn’t stop it. But I was determined to try. This, I reminded myself, was the price of not being monogamous. Perhaps it was time to review the price of monogamy.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  You’ve got to be worth it. He’s got to be worth it. The fucking has got to be worth it. Worth the occasional, gut-ripping insanity of jealousy. WAR As the days passed, however, I started feeling this overwhelming need to assert my authority over the mousy brunette. When I next saw A-Man I slyly suggested that we all get in bed together to assuage everyone’s pain with love and sperm. He smiled at me, loving that I was the kind of woman who would solve a problem with an orgy. Well, better than bayonets. He then said that he had actually suggested this to her during that first confrontation but that she had only cried harder in response, confessing that she would be too jealous. Damn. I knew if we could get her in bed, I could win. Suddenly winning became imperative. Winning what, exactly, I wasn’t sure, but the stakes seemed very high indeed. It was not about having him exclusively, it never had been; it was about knowing I was the most beloved. It subsequently became completely imperative for me to distinguish myself from her in my own mind. A-Man had told me that she’d had affairs with married men in the past; I decided that she must have a history of playing second fiddle to other women. Whereas I, on the other hand, am always lead masochist, head girl, first-best, or I don’t play. Period. I also became inordinately, insanely fixated on the size of her ass. It was, after all, twice mine, if not more . . . maybe two and half times mine . . . If A-Man so loved my tight ass, how could he love that wide one, too? Then, a few weeks later, we all had the misfortune to overlap at the gym. Having finished my own exercise routine, I was leaving through the check-in area and there they both were, sitting on the couch: she was scowling, and he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. What had happened to the sex god who strode about my bedroom with the killer erection? This man pulled his legs under him on the couch and stared at his knees, barely breathing. I breezed through on my way out the door, saying a bright hello to both. What else could I do? And while I didn’t expect her to respond, I was, I realize, testing him. And he failed me. Silence. No acknowledgment of me in front of her. Outside, devastated, I burst into tears. I needed something from him and I wasn’t getting it. And I wasn’t going to get it. Assurance. But of course—and this was the catch-22 that lay at the core of our whole affair—had he given me the assurance I so desperately needed, of my place in his hierarchy and his heart, the fire between us would most likely have been extinguished.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Desenrosco la tapa, trago la mitad del agua, respiro profundamente y trago dos sorbos más. Queda solo un par de centímetros más, así que la meto en el bolsillo de mi chaqueta para terminármela después. —Hola, Jordan —llama una voz alegre, pasando junto a mí. Veo a April Lester poniéndose un par de guantes de trabajo y bajando por las rocas hacia Pike, vestida en jeans que abrazan cada centímetro de sus piernas y una linda camiseta de camuflaje y un sombrero. Una cola de caballo negra cuelga del agujero en la parte trasera. Se ve linda y tierna. Estoy tan acostumbrada a verla en su ropa “para salir” en el bar. Saco un saco de arena de la caja de carga del camión y llevo el saco de dieciocho kilos hacia el siguiente hombre en la fila y giro de nuevo hacia el camión, repitiendo la tarea. Cada saco hace su camino de un par de manos al siguiente hasta que llega a su lugar a la orilla del río. Noto a April en otra fila de ensamblaje, justo frente a Pike y está hablando con él. Intento mantener mis ojos alejados porque no es asunto mío, pero me encuentro lanzando miradas de soslayo y no sé por qué. Calor líquido recorre mi pecho y siento un sudor frío aparecer en mi frente. ¿La conoce? ¿Alguna vez han hablado? No creo que hayan salido alguna vez. No pueden haber salido. Pike es como un sacerdote. Es tan estirado y esa mujer viene más fuerte que un martillo a la cabeza. Lo asustaría. Humedezco mis labios, pasando otro saco y no puedo evitar mirarlos. Ella dice algo y sonríe brillantemente, y él le echa un vistazo, escuchando con diversión. Le muestra una de sus extrañas sonrisas espectaculares y hermosas y mi corazón deja de latir. Frunzo el ceño y tomo otro saco. ¿Está malditamente ruborizándose? En realidad luce un poco tímido, pero no luce como si estuviera ignorando su coqueteo. Gruño. Supéralo. Es un hombre. Uno aún joven y estoy segura que también es uno saludable. Ha tenido sexo con mujeres, Cole es una prueba de ello. Es irreal pensar que se está privando de eso. En algún momento traerá una mujer a la casa. Todo el mundo tiene necesidades. Dejo caer mis ojos a su torso, donde la delgada chaqueta de lluvia negra se moldea a su cuerpo como una segunda piel. Sus mangas están subidas, mostrando sus antebrazos y juro que puedo ver la lluvia cayendo por su cuello desde aquí. Es tan alto y ancho y me encanta la forma en que se ajusta su camiseta y como lleva esos jeans. Cuando un hombre luce así de bien con ropa, sabes que luce bien sin ella. Y si se veía la mitad de bien en la preparatoria, todas las chicas deben haberlo deseado. Tengo curiosidad por saber cómo era él en ese entonces, pero luego hay algunas cosas que tampoco quiero saber.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Pike vacila por un momento, y puedo ver sus puños apretados alrededor de la silla al otro lado de la mesa, pero no lo miraré a los ojos. Sé que acabo de actuar como una mocosa maleducada, y estoy un poquito avergonzada, especialmente porque no lo engañé, pero… Pudo haberla llevado a cualquier parte. La trajo aquí con la esperanza de que los viera juntos. La acompaña afuera, y no puedo oír las pocas palabras apagadas que intercambian, pero en cuanto se cierra la puerta y oigo el clic de la cerradura, exhalo. Se ha ido. Camina de regreso a la cocina hacia el refrigerador, y noto que todavía usa la camiseta azul marino y los jeans de antes con sus botas de trabajo todavía puestas. No está ni un poco desnudo, así que es una buena señal. —Lo siento si fue incómodo —me dice, sacando un refresco—. De hecho, acabamos de llegar por nuestra cuenta. Ella se detuvo para... —Es tu casa. No me importa —le digo, fingiendo estar concentrada en mi tarea—. Haz lo que quieras. —¿Estás segura? —pregunta con tono divertido—. Estabas golpeando las puertas de la lavadora y secadora y poniendo la música a todo volumen a las diez de la noche. Pareces... irritada. Sacudo la cabeza, encogiéndome de hombros. —Por supuesto que no. No esperaría que cambies tu estilo de vida solo porque estoy aquí. Adelante. Guarda silencio, y puedo verlo por el rabillo del ojo por un momento, simplemente allí de pie. Ahora, me siento mal por estar eufórica de que vaya a la cama solo. Quiero que él tenga a alguien. Alguien que lo ame y lo haga sentir bien. Pero… No ella. Y nadie más, en realidad. Me estoy enamorando de él. Quiero que me tenga a mí. Y es tan terco, que hizo eso esta noche solo para probar lo mucho que no me desea. —Pero creí que tendrías mejor gusto, por el amor de Dios —comento, pegando más césped debajo del árbol falso. —¿Disculpa? Levanto la mirada. —¿Sabías que terminó con el matrimonio de Marcus Weathers? —le pregunto—. Ella merodea por el bar, esperando ver quién la llevará a su casa una noche determinada, y no es exigente. Casados, tomados, lo que sea... —Lo bueno es que no estoy tomado entonces —replica—. No hay problema. Bajo la mirada y vuelvo a tomar el pegamento, dándome cuenta que perdí esa ronda. —Puedes conseguir algo mejor —murmuro finalmente. No es que odie a April. No me importaba lo que le hizo al matrimonio de él antes. Se necesitan dos para bailar tango, ¿no? Y Marcus Weathers también fue el culpable. Pero me importa ahora que está poniendo el blanco demasiado cerca de casa. Pike está tomado.

• From The Surrender: An Erotic Memoir (2004)

  I had always assumed that there was no fight, no competition, because I was simply in the far superior position to her or anyone else that A-Man might have been fucking. It was technically impossible that he could have been having anything greater or even equivalent with anyone else—there simply wasn’t time in a day, or cum in his balls . . . Or was there? And thus my mind started working. What was their connection? How was their sex? Was he with her the way he was with me? Did he mold her onto his cock the way he did me? Did he fuck her ass, too? What had he done to make her so attached? And what about her kept his interest? Was she to him what a Hound was for me—a balancing act? Now that his little harem was in my face, I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. The jealousy began and I couldn’t stop it. But I was determined to try. This, I reminded myself, was the price of not being monogamous. Perhaps it was time to review the price of monogamy. If I asked A-Man to be monogamous, then I would always know I had taken his freedom, and I loved him basking in his freedom. I did not want to control him. I remembered him saying once, “You go out with a chick, you sleep with her once, and she hands you an armful of ‘do nots,’ and you’re looking at her great tits and her hot pussy and you’re looking at the ‘do nots’ in your arms and you hand them back. ‘Hey, I think these are yours.’” I had admired that—that’s why he was A-Man and not Any Man. He was not going to compromise himself for pussy, like so many men do. And I didn’t want to compromise a man with my pussy, I wanted a man to be true to himself . . . while desperately wanting my pussy. But this was only idle speculation, for I knew that A-Man would not be monogamous, even if I asked. He had told me long ago that he had tried being a boyfriend several times and always failed miserably. Better not to even try. I agreed. Failure is the great anti-aphrodisiac. Besides, if I wanted him to be only with me then I would have to return the favor and be only with him. And I knew that I couldn’t do that. I loved him too much. I was too vulnerable to give myself entirely to him. Without a commitment that might be broken, at least any pangs I might be feeling about the mousy brunette were not compounded by the self-righteous pain and anger of betrayal. So, I told myself, Do you know what you have to be if you’re not monogamous? Not jealous? No, jealousy is inevitable. Worth it.

• From Birthday Girl (2018)

  Es bastante increíble. Cole ha estado ocupado con los autos de todos menos el mío, aunque sospecho que es solo una excusa para salir de la casa. Un foco cuelga del capó, Pike rodea el VW y se inclina, desenroscando algo. Ha estado ahí afuera desde después de la cena. Quería la ayuda de Cole, pero por supuesto, está fuera de nuevo. Creo que está esperándolo. Un par de mujeres caminan por la acera, vestidas con ropa de ejercicio, y se detienen, sonriendo y diciéndole algo a Pike. La morena de la izquierda trota en el mismo lugar, incluso aunque hace un momento caminaba velozmente, mientras la pelirroja pone sus manos en sus caderas y le da una sonrisa coqueta. ―¿En serio? ―murmuro. ¿Quién diablos sale a caminar a estas horas de la noche? ―. Que inteligentes, señoras. Muy inteligentes. Como si no vieran a Pike trabajando aquí a través de las ventanas de sus cocinas, sin camisa, flexionando sus músculos contra su piel bronceada, todavía luciendo como el chico malo sexy por el que babeaban en la secundaria, probablemente. Entonces se llaman para trazar un plan para ponerse su ropa deportiva y luego “pasan por su casa” ¿cierto? Quiero decir, después de todo sería grosero no saludar, ¿cierto? Pongo los ojos en blanco. Las amas de casa de los suburbios, aburridas de sus esposos, intentando provocar a Pike Lawson, es una parada rápida para emocionarlas. Suelto las persianas y retrocedo. Estoy siendo tan mala. Entonces, están coqueteando. ¿Y eso, qué? Me enorgullece el hecho de ser una persona tranquila y sensata, pero mi comportamiento ha sido errático últimamente. La mudanza, las cuentas, Cole… Estoy fuera de mí, insegura, y confundida. No me gusta. Comienzo una lista de reproducción en mi teléfono, Pity Party zumbando para que coincida con mi enojado humor cuando la puerta del dormitorio se cierra detrás de mí. Dejo de peinar mi cabello, girando mi cabeza. Cole está de repente de pie en mi habitación, inclinado contra la puerta, y mirándome con una mirada en sus ojos que conozco demasiado bien. ¿Cuándo llegó a casa? El calor se eleva en mi piel, y aprieto mi toalla, pero no sé por qué. Cruza los brazos sobre su pecho mientras sus ojos escalan por mi cuerpo de arriba hacia abajo. ―¿Qué? ―pregunto cuando no dice nada. ―Suelta la toalla. ¿Ahora? Pero su padre todavía está despierto, y… ―Vamos ―protesto pero trato de mantener mi tono ligero y calmado―. Se está haciendo tarde y estoy agotada. ―Te pondré de humor. ―Se aleja de la puerta y se mueve hacia mí, un metro ochenta fácilmente llenando la pequeña habitación―. Ya nunca te veo. Te extraño. Se acerca y envuelve sus brazos alrededor de mi cintura, mirándome. No puedo evitar sonreír un poco. Muerdo mi labio inferior juguetonamente y agarro su suave cabello rubio en la cima de su cabeza, trayéndolo por un rápido beso. ―Estuve en casa anoche ―respondo―. Tú no.

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

  "'Imbecile,' she hissed like a snake, as she slipped out of my arms and was beyond my reach. "'Wait till next time, and you will then see who is the imbecile,' said I, but she was already out of hearing." "I must own you were somewhat of a greenhorn; I suppose, however, that you had your revenge, next time." "My revenge, if it can be called by that name, was a fearful one. "Our coachman, a young, stalwart, broad-shouldered and brawny fellow, whose fondness had hitherto expended itself on his horses, had fallen in love with this slight girl, who looked as sapless as a holly twig. "He had tried to woo her in honourable fashion in every possible way. His former continence and his newly-born passion had softened all that was boorish in him, he had plied her with flowers, ribbons and trinkets, but she had scornfully refused all his presents. "He had offered to marry her at once; he had gone so far as to make her a free gift of a cottage and a bit of land he possessed in his country. "She exasperated him by treating him almost with scorn, resenting his love as an insult. An irresistible longing was in his eyes, in her's a vacant stare. "Goaded to madness by her indifference, he had tried by strength what he could not obtain by love, and had had to understand that the fairer sex is not always the weaker one. "After his attempt and failure she tantalized him all the more. Whenever she met him she would put her thumb-nail up to her top teeth and emit a slight sound. "The cook, who had a latent fondness for this strong and sinewy young fellow, and who must have had an inkling that something had taken place between this girl and myself, evidently informed him of the fact, arousing thereby in him an ungovernable fit of jealousy. "Stung to the quick, he hardly knew whether he loved or hated this girl most, and he cared but little what became of him provided he could satisfy his craving for her. All the softness which love had awakened gave way to the sexual energy of the male. "Unperceived, or probably let in by the cook, he stealthily secreted himself in her room, and ensconced himself behind an old screen, which, together with other lumber, had been stowed away there. "His intention was to remain hidden till she was fast asleep, and then to get into her bed, and, nolens volens, to pass the night with her. "After waiting there some time in mortal anxiety—for every minute was like an hour to him—he finally saw her come in. "As she did so, she shut and locked the door behind her.