Joy

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 My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  After the first ecstasy I got her to use the syringe while I watched her curiously. When she came back to bed, “No danger now”, I cried, “no danger, my love is queen!” “You darling lover!” she cried, her eyes wide as if in wonder, “my sex throbs and itches and oh! I feel prickings on the inside of my thighs: I want you dreadfully, Frank”, and she stretched out as she spoke, drawing up her knees. I got on top of her and softly, slowly let my sex slide into her and then began the love-play. When my second orgasm came, I indulged myself with quick, short strokes, though I knew that she preferred the long, slow movement, for I was resolved to give her every sensation this golden night. When she felt me begin again the long slow movement she loved, she sighed two or three times and putting her hands on my buttocks drew me close; but otherwise made little sign of feeling for perhaps half an hour. I kept right on: the slow movement now gave me but little pleasure: it was rather a task than a joy; but I was resolved to give her a feast. I don’t know how long the bout lasted: but once I withdrew and began rubbing her clitoris and the front of her sex, and panting she nodded her head and rubbed herself ecstatically against my sex, and after I had begun the slow movement again: “please, Frank!” she gasped, “I can’t stand more: I’m going crazy—choking!” Strange to say, her words excited me more than the act: I felt my spasm coming and roughly, savagely I thrust in my sex at the same time kneeling between her legs so as to be able to play back and forth on her tickler as well. “I’ll ravish you!” I cried and gave myself to the keen delight. As my seed spirted, she didn’t speak, but lay there still and white; I jumped out of the bed, got a spongeful of cold water and used it on her forehead. At once to my joy she opened her eyes: “I’m sorry”, she gasped, and took a drink of water, “but I was so tired, I must have slept. You dear heart!” When I had put down the sponge and glass, I slipped into her again and in a little while she became hysterical: “I can’t help crying, Frank love”, she sighed, “I’m so happy, dear! You’ll always love me? Won’t you? sweet!” Naturally I reassured her with promises of enduring affection and many kisses; finally I put my left arm round her neck and so fell asleep with my head on her soft breast. In the morning we ran another course, though sooth to say, Kate was more curious than passionate.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  “I want you so, Kate,” I said, trying to kiss her: she drew her head aside: “That’s why you’ve kept away all afternoon” I suppose; and she looked at me with sidelong glance. An inspiration came to me: “Kate”, I exclaimed, “I had to be fitted for my new clothes!” “Forgive me”, she cried at once, that excuse being valid: “I thought, I feared—oh I’m suspicious without reason, I know, am jealous without cause, there! I confess!” and the great hazel eyes turned on me full of love. I played with her breasts, whispering “When am I to see you naked, Kate? I want to; when?” “You’ve seen most of me!” and she laughed joyously! “All right,” I said, turning away, “if you are resolved to make fun of me and be mean to me—” “Mean to you!” she cried, catching me and swinging me round, “I could easier be mean to myself. I’m glad you want to see me, glad and proud, and tonight, if you’ll leave your door open, I’ll come to you: mean, oh—’and she gave her soul in a kiss. “Isn’t it risky?” I asked. “I tried the stairs this afternoon,” she glowed, “they don’t creak: no one will hear, so don’t sleep or I’ll surprise you”—By way of sealing the compact, I put my hand up her clothes and caressed her sex; it was hot and soon opened to me. “There now, Sir, go!” she smiled, “or you’ll make me very naughty and I have a lot to do!” “How do you mean ‘naughty’,” I said, “tell me what you feel? please!” “I feel my heart beating”, she said, “and, and—oh! wait till tonight and I’ll try to tell you, dear!” and she pushed me out of the door.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  The next moment I began caressing her red clitoris with my hot, stiff organ: Lorna sighed deeply once or twice and her eyes turned up; slowly I pushed my prick in to the full and drew it out again to the lips, then in again and I felt her warm love-juice gush as she drew up her knees even higher to let me further in: “Oh, it’s divine”, she sighed, “better even than the first time”, and when my thrusts grew quick and hard as the orgasm shook me, she writhed down on my prick as I withdrew, as if she would hold it, and as my seed spirted into her, she bit my shoulder and held her legs tight as if to keep my sex in her. We lay a few moments bathed in bliss. Then as I began to move again to sharpen the sensation, she half rose on her arm: “Do you know”, she said, “I dreamed yesterday of getting on you and doing it to you: do you mind, if I try—” “No, indeed!” I cried, “go to it: I am your prey!” She got up smiling and straddled kneeling across me and put my cock into her pussy and sank down on me with a deep sigh. She tried to move up and down on my organ and at once came up too high and had to use her hand to put my Tommy in again; then she sank down on it as far as possible: “I can sink down all right”, she cried smiling at the double meaning, “but I cannot rise so well! What fools we women are, we can’t master even the act of love; we are so awkward!” “Your awkwardness, however, excites me,” I said. “Does it?” she cried, “then I’ll do my best”, and for some time she rose and sank rhythmically; but as her excitement grew, she just let herself lie on me and wiggled her bottom till we both came. She was flushed and hot and I couldn’t help asking her a question: “Does your excitement grow to a spasm of pleasure?” I asked, “or do you go on getting more and more excited continually?” “I get more and more excited,” she said, “till the other day with you for the first time in my life the pleasure became unbearably intense and I was hysterical, you wonder-lover!”

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  The fact that some of the cattle were mine made me a most watchful and indefatigable herdsman. More than once my vigilances sharpened by Bob’s instinct, made a difference to our fortunes. When we began to skirt the Indian Territory, Bob warned me that a small band or even a single Indian might try some night to stampede the herd. About a week later, I noticed that the cattle were uneasy: “Indians!” said Bob when I told him the signs, “cunning beasts!” That night I was off duty, but was on horseback circling round as usual, when about midnight, I saw a white figure leap from the ground with an unearthly yell. The cattle began to run together so I threw my rifle up and fired at the Indian and though I didn’t hit him, he thought it better to drop the sheet and decamp. In five minutes we had pacified the cattle again and nothing unfortunate happened that night or indeed till we reached Wichita which was then the outpost of civilization. In ten days more we were in Kansas City entraining, though we sold a fourth of our cattle there at about fifteen dollars a head. We reached Chicago about the first of October and put the cattle in the yards about the Michigan St. Depot. Next day we sold more than half the herd and I was lucky enough to get a purchaser at fifteen dollars a head for three hundred of my beasts. If it hadn’t been for the Boss who held out for three cents a pound, I should have sold all I had. As it was I came out with more than five thousand dollars in the Bank and felt myself another Croesus. My joy, however, was short-lived. Of course I stayed in the Fremont, and was excellently received. The management had slipped back a good deal, I thought, but I was glad that I was no longer responsible and could take my ease in my inn. But my six months on the Trail had marked my very being. It made a workman of me and above all, it taught me that tense resolution, will-power was the most important factor of success in life. I made up my mind to train my will by exercise as I would train a muscle and each day I proposed to myself a new test. For example I liked potatoes so I resolved not to eat one for a week, or again I foreswore coffee that I loved, for a month, and I was careful to keep to my determination. I had noticed a French saying that intensified my decision, celui qui veut, celui-là peut:—‘he who wills, can.’ My mind should govern me, not my appetites, I decided. * * * THE GREAT FIRE OF CHICAGO. Chapter VII. I wish I could persuade myself that I was capable of picturing the events of the week after we reached Chicago.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  After breakfast, about five o’clock in the morning, I would ride away from the wagon till it was out of sight and then abandon myself to the joy of solitude, with no boundary between plain and sky. The air was brisk and dry, as exhilarating as champagne and even when the sun reached the zenith and became blazing hot, the air remained lightsome and invigorating. Mid Kansas is 2000 odd feet above sea-level and the air is so dry that an animal when killed, dries up without stinking and in a few months the hide’s filled with mere dust. Game was plentiful, hardly an hour would elapse before I had got half a dozen ruffed grouse or a deer and then I would walk my pony back to the midday camp with perhaps a new wildflower in hand whose name I wished to learn. After the midday meal I used to join Bob in the wagon and learn some Spanish words or phrases from him or question him about his knowledge of cattle. In the first week we became great friends: I found to my amusement that Bob was just as voluble in Spanish as he was tongue-tied in English, and his command of Spanish oaths, objurgations and indecencies was astounding. Bob despised all things American with an unimaginable ferocity and this interested me by its apparent unreason. Once or twice on the way down we had a race; but Reece on a big Kentucky thoroughbred called ‘Shiloh’ won easily. He told me however, that there was a young mare called ‘Blue Devil’ at the ranch which was as fast as Shiloh and of rare stay and stamina: “You can have her, if you can ride her,” he threw out carelessly and I determined to win the ‘Devil’ if I could. In about ten days we reached the ranch near Eureka; it was set in five thousand acres of prairie, a big frame dwelling, that would hold twenty men; but it wasn’t nearly so well-built as the great, brick stable, the pride of Reece’s eye, which would house forty horses and provide half a dozen with good loose boxes besides, in the best English style.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  I went down to Dr. Keogh’s cabin, once more joyful and grateful as I had been with E… My fingers were like eyes gratifying my curiosity, and the curiosity was insatiable. Jessie’s thighs were smooth and firm and round: I took delight in recalling the touch of them, and her bottom was firm like warm marble. I wanted to see her naked and study her beauties one after the other. Her sex too was wonderful, fuller even than Lucille’s and her eyes were finer. Oh, Life was a thousand times better than school. I thrilled with joy and passionate wild hopes—perhaps Jessie would let me, perhaps—I was breathless. Our walk on deck that evening was not so satisfactory: the wind had gone down and there were many other couples and the men all seemed to know Jessie, and it was Miss Kerr here, and Miss Kerr there, till I was cross and disappointed; I couldn’t get her to myself, save at moments, but then I had to admit she was as sweet as ever and her Aberdeen accent even was quaint and charming to me. I got some long kisses at odd moments and just before we went down I drew her behind a boat in the davits and was able to caress her little breasts and when she turned her back to me to go, I threw my arms round her hips and drew them against me and felt her sex and she leant her head back over her shoulder and gave me her mouth with dying eyes. The darling! Jessie was apt at all Love’s lessons. The next day was cloudy and rain threatened, but we were safely ensconced in the boat by two o’clock, as soon as lunch was over, and we hoped no one had seen us. An hour passed in caressings and fondlings, in love’s words and love’s promises: I had won Jessie to touch my sex and her eyes seemed to deepen as she caressed it. “I love you, Jessie, won’t you let it touch yours?” She shook her head. “Not here, not in the open”, she whispered and then, “wait a little till we get to New York, dear”, and our mouths sealed the compact. Then I asked her about New York and her sister’s house, and we were discussing where we should meet, when a big head and beard showed above the gunwale of the boat and a deep Scotch voice said: “I want ye, Jessie, I’ve been luiking everywhere for ye.” “Awright, father”, she said, “I’ll be down in a minute.” “Come quick”, said the voice as the head disappeared.

• From My Life and Loves, Vol. 1 (of 4) (1922)

  I am again, however, running ahead of my story. The second evening of the voyage, the sea got up a little and there was a great deal of sickness. Doctor Keogh was called out of his cabin and while he was away, someone knocked at the door. I opened it and found a pretty girl. “Where’s the Doctor?” she asked. I told her he had been called to a cabin passenger. “Please tell him”, she said, “when he returns, that Jessie Kerr, the chief Engineer’s daughter, would like to see him.” “I’ll go after him now if you wish, Miss Jessie”, I said. “I know where he is.” “It isn’t important”, she rejoined, “but I feel giddy and he told me he could cure it.” “Coming up on deck is the best cure”, I declared: “the fresh air will soon blow the sick feeling away. You’ll sleep like a top and tomorrow morning you’ll he alright. Will you come?” She consented readily and in ten minutes admitted that the slight nausea had disappeared in the sharp breeze. As we walked up and down the dimly lighted deck I had now and then to support her, for the ship was rolling a little under a sou-wester. Jessie told me something about herself; how she was going to New York to spend some months with an elder married sister and how strict her father was. In return she had my whole story and could hardly believe I was only sixteen. Why she was over sixteen, and she could never have stood up and recited piece after piece as I did in the Cabin: she thought it “wonderful.” Before she went down, I told her she was the prettiest girl on board and she kissed me and promised to come up the next evening and have another walk. “If you’ve nothing better to do” she said at parting, “you might come forward to the little Promenade Deck of the Second Cabin and I’ll get one of the men to arrange a seat in one of the boats for us.” “Of course”, I promised gladly and spent the next afternoon with Jessie in the stern-sheets of the great launch where we were out of sight of everyone, and out of hearing as well. There we were, tucked in with two rugs and cradled, so to speak, between sea and sky, while the keen air whistling past increased our sense of solitude. Jessie, though rather short, was a very pretty girl with large hazel eyes and fair complexion.

• From The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine, Vol. 4: Reformation of Church and Dogma (1300-1700) (1984)

  Even he was best in formed about, and principally interested in, another spe cies of Christian Gnosticism, that associated with the name of Valentinus, which also appears to be the form of Gnostic teaching most thoroughly authenticated by the direct testimony of the newly discovered Gnostic sources; much of what we say here about Gnostic doctrine in gen eral will be derived specifically from our information about Valentinian Gnosticism. There are significant af finities between this form of Gnostic heresy and various lines of thought in the second century that are acknowl edged as more or less orthodox, such as the Shepherd of Hermas, the Christian gnosis of Clement of Alex andria, and the speculations of the apologist Justin. Whether or not it was the work of Valentinus himself, the Gospel of Truth presented some of the principal revelations granted to him, and the Odes of Solomon were a liturgical statement of Valentinian doctrine. In the Gospel of Truth the Gnostic revelation was presented as one of "joy for them who have received the boon, Ev.Ver.16.31 (Grobel 32) through the Father of Truth, of knowing it." Eventually this revelation was developed into a theology further removed from normative church doctrine. Both the adop tion of more myth and the elaboration of more speculation carried the pupils of Valentinus beyond the boundaries of that doctrine, as Ptolemy's Letter to Flora makes evi dent. Approximately contemporary with Valentinus and Marcion, but apparently coming from Syria and Alex andria, was the other principal Gnostic teacher refuted by the church fathers, Basilides. According to Hippolytus, one major diiference between Valentinus and Basilides was that the former "may justly be reckoned a Pythag- Hipp.Haer.6.29.1 {GCS _ _ . „ ,.,',, . , , , 26:155) orean and Platonist while the doctrines advanced by 26:191) Basilides are in reality the clever quibbles of Aristotle." Systems of Cosmic Redemption 85 Iten.Haer.1.1.1 (Harvey 1:8-9 Ev.V'er.11.25 (Grobel 80) Ev.Ver.23.16 (Grobel 84) Harvey (1857) cx * x Iren.Haer.1.1.5 (Harvey 1:11—12) The summary of the teachings of Basilides given in Hip- polytus is contradicted at so many points by that given in Irenaeus that Irenaeus's account seems to be a state ment of later developments. We shall be noting both similarities and differences between Valentinian and Basilidian Gnosticism. Although these are the principal species of Gnosticism with which the Christian theolo gians of the second and third centuries dealt, even this brief catalog would be incomplete without a reference to a similar movement that was to be an important rival of catholic Christianity in the fourth century, Manicheism. It, too, belongs principally to the history of religions rather than to the history of the development of specif ically Christian doctrine; for Manes not only borrowed from the teachings of the church, but also elaborated some of the ideas of the followers of Marcion and Basilides.

• From The Journals of Sylvia Plath (1982)

  They accept bad flat poems, with no music, no color—only bad prose statements about bad subjects: unpleasant, nasty, uncommitted. And then, while we were going about the domestic trivialities—Ted tying his tie in the living room, me heating milk for coffee, The Telegraph came. Ted’s book of poems—The Hawk in the Rain —has won the first Harper’s publication contest under the 3 judges: W. H. Auden, Stephen Spender & Marianne Moore! Even as I write this, I am incredulous. The little scared people reject. The big unscared practicing poets accept. I knew there would be something like this to welcome us to New York! We will publish a bookshelf of books between us before we perish! And a batch of brilliant healthy children. I can hardly wait to see the letter of award (which has not yet come) & learn details of publication. To smell the print off the pages! I am so glad Ted is first. All my pat theories against marrying a writer dissolve with Ted: his rejections more than double my sorrow & his acceptances rejoice me more than mine—it is as if he is the perfect male counterpart to my own self: each of us giving the other an extension of the life we believe in living: never becoming slaves to routine, secure jobs, money: but writing constantly, walking the world with every pore open, & living with love & faith. It sounds so paragon. But I honestly believe we are: apart, we rotted in luxury, adored & spoiled by lovers. Cruelly walking over them. Together, we are the most faithful, creative, healthy simple couple imaginable! Scene for tomorrow: precise description of departure from Paris in spring with Gordon: farewell to Giovanni: doubts, horrid stifled depression; grim train ride; elegant meal; flavorless life; snow in Munich; frightening surgical hotel. Describe Paris room, breakfast [Omission.] Scorn & disgust of girl; forecast of failure of trip ahead. “You’ll never marry, if you’re like this.” Taunts & undermines weak manhood, lack of purpose. Pivot point of decision. Sweet dreams. February 26, Tuesday . It is about 7:30. Have been awake since black 3:30, Ted sneezing & fighting off cold; frigid gray dawn. Mind incredibly quick. Placing poems. Visions of books: poems, novels. Are we destined to be as successful as I picture? Or is it a wish-dream? Got up as brash, nerve-raking alarm ground off at 6 to make bad eggnog. Grim argument over silly question, Ted maintaining it would be good to read a bad book deeply for 2 years in prison—one would learn by one’s true experience it was wrong. Me saying it was better to have nothing to look at than a bad book: that only those with critical apparatus beforehand would be able to discern badness, & what good would it do them. He criticizing my Earthenware Head poem. Bad time for criticism. Me with no new poem to fight on yet. Oh, for vacation. Enough hacking. Begin. Monday, March 4 .

• From White Oleander (1999)

  They told me to wait at an orange picnic table under a tree. I was nervous and sick from the ride. I didn’t even know if I’d recognize her. I shivered, wishing I’d brought a sweater. And what would she think of me, in my bra and high heels? Women milled around behind the covered area of the visiting yard. Prisoners, their faces like masks. They jeered at us. One woman whistled at me and licked between her fingers, and the others laughed. They kept laughing, they wouldn’t stop. They sounded like the crows. The mothers started coming in from the prison through a different gate. They wore jeans and T-shirts, gray sweaters, sweat-suits. I saw my mother waiting for the woman guard to bring her through. She wore a plain denim dress, button front, but on her the blue was a color, like a song. Her white blond hair had been hacked off at the neck by someone who had no feeling for the work, but her blue eyes were as clear as a high note on a violin. She had never looked more beautiful. I stood up and then I couldn’t move, I waited trembling as she came over and hugged me to her. Just to feel her touch, to hold her, after all those months! I put my head on her chest and she kissed me, smelled my hair, she didn’t smell of violets anymore, only the smell of detergent on denim.

• From The Vagina Bible (2019)

  • OATMEAL (THE REGULAR FIVE-MINUTE CEREAL STUFF, NOT THE STEEL CUT): Put a handful in a pantyhose sock with the top tied in a knot, and then throw it in the bathwater. The pantyhose stops your tub from getting disgusting with oatmeal mush. Oatmeal has anti-itch properties. It’s not lasting, but it can be soothing while you are in the water and temporary relief from itch can sometimes break the cycle. I used this when my children had diaper rash. If you want a homemade bubble bath (won’t have big bubbles), here is a recipe: • 2 tablespoons olive, avocado, or almond oil • 2 tablespoons honey • ¼ cup liquid castile soap (fragrance free) • A drop or two of vanilla extract or any essential oil that doesn’t irritate your skin, if desired If you want huge bubbles, you need to go commercial. If it doesn’t irritate or leave you feeling dry, then the joy factor is probably worth it. If your skin is broken or irritated, then bath products may increase your risk of irritation. The vulva is more sensitive to irritants, so a bad reaction to one of these products could simply be vulvar itch or irritation. BOTTOM LINE • Mosturizers can be useful on the vulva, especially during menopause, for dry skin, and with incontinence. • Expensive moisturizers have no obvious advantage over inexpensive products such as coconut oil, olive oil, or petroleum jelly. • Bubble baths don’t cause bladder infections, but for some women, especially girls before puberty, they can irritate the vestibule. • If you love bath bombs or bubble baths and you don’t get irritated, then the joy is probably worth any potential risk. • There are some cheap, homemade options with a lower risk of irritation for those who can give up big bubbles. Menstrual Products and Mythology CHAPTER 15 The Truth About Toxic Shock Syndrome I AM OLD ENOUGH TO REMEMBER the peak fear of toxic shock syndrome (TSS) in 1979 and 1980. I had just started my period, and soon after, stories about flesh-eating bacteria lurking in the vagina seemed to be everywhere. TSS scared many women away from tampons, and that fear has been exploited by those who wrongly suggest that a woman is somehow ruined if she inserts a menstrual product vaginally before some theoretical future husband’s penis. Fear of TSS also sells magazines, gets page clicks, and has been weaponized by those who advance the idea that “natural” menstrual products are somehow better. Add in cultural taboos about menstruation and the ridiculous societal squeamishness about periods, and we have a breeding ground for misinformation. Fortunately I have the antidote. Facts. What Is Toxic Shock Syndrome? Toxic shock syndrome, or TSS, is a severe response to a toxin that has entered the bloodstream. A toxin is a substance made by an organism—bacteria, plants, and animals can all make toxins. A good example is snake venom.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  I also liked it that I had my own room, since in the trailer I shared one with my brother and my sister. My hospital room even had its very own television set up on the wall. We didn’t have a TV at home, so I watched it a lot. Red Buttons and Lucille Ball were my favorites. The nurses and doctors always asked how I was feeling and if I was hungry or needed anything. The nurses brought me delicious meals three times a day, with fruit cocktail or Jell-O for dessert, and changed the sheets even if they still looked clean. Sometimes I read to them, and they told me I was very smart and could read as well as a six-year-old. One day a nurse with wavy yellow hair and blue eye makeup was chewing on something. I asked her what it was, and she told me it was chewing gum. I had never heard of chewing gum, so she went out and got me a whole pack. I pulled out a stick, took off the white paper and the shiny silver foil under it, and studied the powdery, putty-colored gum. I put it in my mouth and was stunned by the sharp sweetness. “It’s really good!” I said. “Chew on it, but don’t swallow it,” the nurse said with a laugh. She smiled real big and brought in other nurses so they could watch me chew my first-ever piece of gum. When she brought me lunch, she told me I had to take out my chewing gum, but she said not to worry because I could have a new stick after eating. If I finished the pack, she would buy me another. That was the thing about the hospital. You never had to worry about running out of stuff like food or ice or even chewing gum. I would have been happy staying in that hospital forever. • • • When my family came to visit, their arguing and laughing and singing and shouting echoed through the quiet halls. The nurses made shushing noises, and Mom and Dad and Lori and Brian lowered their voices for a few minutes, then they slowly grew loud again. Everyone always turned and stared at Dad. I couldn’t figure out whether it was because he was so handsome or because he called people “pardner” and “goomba” and threw his head back when he laughed. One day Dad leaned over my bed and asked if the nurses and doctors were treating me okay. If they were not, he said, he would kick some asses. I told Dad how nice and friendly everyone was. “Well, of course they are,” he said. “They know you’re Rex Walls’s daughter.” When Mom wanted to know what it was the doctors and nurses were doing that was so nice, I told her about the chewing gum. “Ugh,” she said. She disapproved of chewing gum, she went on.

• From In the Unlikely Event (2015)

  She felt the same when she listened to the choir at Temple B’nai Israel but that was just on the High Holidays, the only time her family attended services, except for seventh grade, when the boys in her class had been bar mitzvahed and every week there was another celebration. Then she’d had to go with her friends to Friday night and Saturday morning services. The parties were lavish affairs at catering halls or places like Chi-Am Chateau. But no matter how thrilling it was to Miri, she couldn’t convince Irene to come to the pageant. Irene said it hurt to hear Miri singing songs about Jesus. Miri explained over and over that the songs didn’t mean anything to her. They were just songs. So what if they were about Jesus? He was a Jew, wasn’t he? They’d had this discussion every year since Miri joined the choir at Hamilton. Every year Irene told her it was against her principles. Why didn’t they celebrate the story of Hanukkah and sing Hanukkah songs, too? Deep inside, Miri knew Irene was right. It was unfair to celebrate only one religion. Still, she continued to march down the aisle singing “Adeste Fideles” in Latin. Natalie’s mother didn’t mind that Natalie was portraying Mary, mother of Jesus, in the Christmas pageant. It’s about acting, Corinne said. Not about believing. If only Miri could convince Irene of that. On the day of the afternoon performance of the pageant, halfway through, something happened onstage, something Miri couldn’t see because the choir was seated in front of the stage, facing the audience, and the pageant was unfolding behind them. A murmur went through the audience, and when Miri turned to see what was going on, Natalie was sobbing. This was not part of the pageant, although the audience didn’t know it yet. Natalie wasn’t supposed to talk or cry or do anything but look holy while cradling the baby Jesus, who was played by a doll swaddled in a blanket. “I hear the babies crying,” Natalie said once, clearly, before she ran offstage. The audience still didn’t get it. They were probably thinking this was some new, hastily added tribute to those who had lost their lives in the crash—until the other Mary, the nighttime Mary, Lois Morano, took Natalie’s place onstage. When Lois picked up the baby Jesus the pageant continued. Miri was both surprised and not surprised. Since the crash Natalie had been acting weird—that business about the buzzing in her head and Ruby talking to her. Natalie could be overly dramatic but she would never give up the chance to be onstage. Miri caught sight of Corinne, rushing out of the auditorium as the choir sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” She wondered if she should leave, too, because, after all, she was Natalie’s best friend. But that would be awkward since she was seated smack in the middle of the middle row of the choir.

• From A Sexplanation (2021)

  There's plenty of things that I feel shame around, but I had that bubble around me of like, the way in which my mother just engaged in these topics with me in a way that I think is just much more healthy. And literally, I was looking at an apartment and she was just like, "Oh, the bathroom is too far away. How are you gonna clean yourself off after you have sex?" [laughing] Like, so I grew up in this world where for me, sex has always been something that wasn't shameful. -You know, my sexual learning education came from television, watching HBO late night. [static blares] [warm hum resounds] Like, you know, sneaking into the living room. [upbeat instrumental music] You know, like, God, I hope my mother doesn't find out that I'm watching this stuff. And that was like the first time I was just like, oh, what is she doing? What is she doing to her thing down there? Oh, let me check that out. [laughter] And I was like, oh shit! I was like, that's when I realized I was like, wait, women could have this feeling. And I was probably already in my 20s or like late teens when I figured that out. -I also feel like, especially starting in college being open about talking about masturbation. And all of my friends know the way I masturbate, the positions I masturbate in and like what I do. That's just kind of like common knowledge, wouldn't you say? [group laughing] And I feel like part of that was me being like, hey, men talk about masturbating all the time. And I had so many girlfriends who said, "Oh, I never masturbate, I don't know how." And I had to be like, "A, I don't believe you and you're lying 'cause who hasn't touched themselves?" Like, you have hands, you have a clit. But I felt like it was my responsibility to talk about me masturbating all the time to say, hey, women are sexual beings, too. And like, we masturbate also and make room for this. -And one other thing I also want to answer is this question of like, can you actually have education that prepares you for sex, right? -Good sex education would take away the shame element and talk about communication and desire and what that means, you know, and consent. -It's such a strange time to just leave adolescents alone in their bedrooms because it's of primary importance to them and nobody is helping them figure it out. The thing that I'm learning about sex as an adult is really more than intimacy and how to be intimate with somebody. [Danielle] Yeah. -And that's the thing I don't talk to my friends about. We don't talk about the difference between having sex with someone you love, someone who you just met.

• From The Glass Castle: A Memoir (2005)

  I grabbed the biggest rock I could find and hit one of the girls on the head with it. From the jolt in my arm, I thought I’d cracked her skull. She sank to her knees. One of her friends pushed me to the ground and kicked me in the face; then they all ran off, the girl I had hit holding her head as she staggered along. Brian and I sat up. His face was covered with sand. All I could see were his blue eyes peering out and a couple of spots of blood seeping through. I wanted to hug him, but that would have been too weird. Brian stood up and gestured for me to follow him. We climbed through a hole in the chain-link fence he had discovered that morning and ran into the iceberg-lettuce farm next to the apartment building. I followed him through the rows of big green leaves, and we eventually settled down to feast, burying our faces in the huge wet heads of lettuce and eating until our stomachs ached. “I guess we scared them off pretty good,” I said to Brian. “I guess,” he said. He never liked to brag, but I could tell he was proud that he had taken on four bigger, tougher kids, even if they were girls. “Lettuce war!” Brian shouted. He tossed a half-eaten head at me like a grenade. We ran along the rows, pulling up heads and throwing them at each other. A crop duster flew overhead. We waved as it made a pass above the field. A cloud sprayed out from behind the plane, and a fine white powder came sprinkling down on our heads. • • • Two months after we moved to Blythe, when Mom said she was twelve months pregnant, she at last gave birth. After she’d been in the hospital for two days, we all drove out to pick her up. Dad left us kids waiting in the car with the engine idling while he went in for Mom. They came running out with Dad’s arm around Mom’s shoulders. Mom was cradling a bundle in her arms and giggling sort of guiltily, like she’d stolen a candy bar from a dime store. I figured they had checked out Rex Walls–style. “What is it?” Lori asked as we sped away. “Girl!” Mom said. Mom handed me the baby. I was going to turn six in a few months, and Mom said I was mature enough to hold her the entire way home. The baby was pink and wrinkly but absolutely beautiful, with big blue eyes, soft wisps of blond hair, and the tiniest fingernails I had ever seen. She moved in confused, jerky motions, as if she couldn’t understand why Mom’s belly wasn’t still around her. I promised her I’d always take care of her. The baby went without a name for weeks. Mom said she wanted to study it first, the way she would the subject of a painting.

• From The Whole Lesbian Sex Book: A Passionate Guide for All of Us (2004)

  Technologically innovative vibrator designs abound: dual-action vibes (clit stimulation plus penetration), remote-control vibes, pretty vibes, waterproof vibes, stronger battery-operated vibes, strap-on vibes, and vibes that swirl and pulse as well as vibrate. Pocket rockets are among the most popular battery-operated vibrators. Hardly bigger than a lipstick, they can be kept anywhere. They’re cheap and their many imitators come in colors to match your favorite purse. Or your entire shoe collection. Fukuoku 9000 finger vibes caused a sensation when they appeared in sex toy stores. They’re cute, fit on your finger tips, and pack a whole lotta buzz in such a small package. Then there’s the Audi-Oh Butterfly vibe. The vibe straps on where you want it most, and a control (which looks like a pager) innocently hangs off your belt. The vibrator pulses in time to music. As if you needed a reason to go dancing. Other innovations in multitasking include a pantheon of toys that provide additional stimulation during strap-on sex. Harness cuffs fasten onto the center strap of a thong-style harness to hold a dildo or butt plug inside the wearer of a strap-on dildo. Either partner can tuck any of a dozen small vibrators into a harness or pouch for clitoral stimulation during dildo play. You can also wear a corset harness to hold up your stockings while you strap it on. Introducing Sex Toys into Partner Play The same communication skills you use to negotiate any type of sex will help you introduce your partner to your favorite sex toys. (See “Sex Talk Guidelines” in chapter 7, Communication and Finding Sex Partners.) • Tell your partner your sex toy fantasies. She may have no idea what you want to do with that vibrating cock ring. • Bring up the subject in a relaxed setting. • Speak in positives. She may jump to the conclusion that if you want to bring your vibrator to bed you must find her techniques inadequate.Tell her what you like about her sexual style and what you like about sex toys. • Trust your senses. Are you concerned that sex toys are contrived or unnatural? One woman wrote, “I used to believe that ‘real’ lesbians only had sex in a ‘natural’ way—hands, mouth, tongue, fist.” The blood pulsing through your clitoris, the contractions of your vaginal and anal muscles, the rush of pleasure through your genitals—all are deliciously “natural.” So trust your body, not your judgments. • Demonstrate on yourself. Show your partner exactly what you like to do with your favorite sex toy. (See “Masturbating with a Partner” in chapter 6, Masturbation.) • Be playful. We call them toys because they’re meant to be fun. “My lover and I keep our lubes chilly in the fridge and then shock each other by dripping the cold lubricant on each other’s steamy vaginas,” wrote one woman. • Go shopping together. Perhaps your partner isn’t turned on by the toys you’ve got at home. You may be surprised by what catches her eye.

• From While You Were Out (2023)

  He had a recurring dream for decades that he tripped on the stairs and got to the lake a second too late, yanking my icy little corpse from the reeds. As it happened, he dived in, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, then revived me with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My mother wrapped me in a pink wool blanket, plopped me onto her lap, and gave me a few sips of her bourbon to stop my teeth from chattering. But, when it came to death-defying stunts, no one could hold a candle to Billy. That kid was in a class by himself. Billy was what Holmer called a “ranger.” Even at four years old, he could cover an amazing amount of ground. My mother got a phone call one afternoon from Steve, the family barber, saying that he caught Billy toddling past his shop on Green Bay Road, about a mile from our house. Can you please come by and fetch the little fella so he can get home safely? Somehow, Billy’s chubby little legs had carried him over the railroad tracks and across a busy state highway. A regular Houdini, Billy could escape anything, it seemed. He was so rambunctious, one of our babysitters refused to take him outside unless she could put him on a leash. OUR NEW HOUSE WAS just a few blocks from Lake Michigan, close enough that with wind from the east, we could smell the stacks of rotting alewives and hear the screeching of ring-billed gulls as they circled the shore each morning in search of a good meal. My mother would pack the station wagon with towels and suntan lotion and pails and shovels and take us all to the Wilmette beach nearly every sunny day in the summer. The soles of our bare feet sizzled as we scurried across the frying pan pavement and onto the scorching sand. We streamed toward the blue-green water, where we’d play for hours, pretending to be sharks, bumping butts in games of Underwater Tea Party or lying on the shore and letting the waves crash over us, filling our bathing suits with sand. My mother never went swimming. She didn’t want to ruin her hairdo. No heat or humidity was high enough to risk ruining her hairdresser’s handiwork. She would sooner suffer a little heat stroke than lay all that to waste. Each Friday afternoon, no matter what was going on at home, my mother escaped to the beauty parlor where Jerry, her hairdresser, would wash, cut, curl, tease, shape, and spray her hair into a furry little helmet. It was a ritual as sacred to my mother as anything on the altar at church. For two precious hours each week, she was the one being cared for. If Patty and I had been good that week, my mother would let us tag along while Mary Kay or Nancy tended to the littlest kids at home.

• From Blue Like Jazz (2003)

  When my sister and I visited my father we would eat from the grill every night, which is something we never did with my mother. My father would crumble Ritz crackers into the meat and add salt and sauces, and I thought, perhaps, he was some sort of chef, some sort of person who ought to write books about cooking meat. Later he would take my sister and me to the grocery store and buy us a toy, any toy we wanted. We’d pace the long aisle of shiny prizes, the trucks and Barbies and pistols and games. In the checkout line I’d cling to the shiny, slick box in stillness and silence. On the drive home we’d take turns sitting on his lap so we could drive, and whoever wasn’t steering would work the shifter, and whoever worked the steering wheel could drink from my father’s can of beer.

• From The Perfect Vagina: The Dangers of Extreme Plastic Surgery

  48:12 also after you have babies looks a bit 48:14 48:14 older you know it doesn't look the same 48:17 48:17 as it did before yeah yeah I've got 48:19 48:19 varus veins too um so you're feeling 48:23 48:23 that age as well from similar to what 48:26 48:26 you said after babies as well yeah like 48:28 48:28 a secondhand 48:30 48:30 car I've lost my Porsche I've got my 48:33 48:33 Volvo 48:35 48:35 now I think I kind of look at my 48:37 48:37 children and go it's such a small price 48:39 48:39 to pay so 48:42 48:42 uh 48:44 48:44 well didn't think you were going to do 48:46 48:46 it no I didn't think I was going to do 48:48 48:48 it 48:49 48:49 either was it been a benefit for you 48:52 48:52 too yeah I think so yeah I didn't think 48:56 48:56 I'd feel this way 48:57 48:57 I felt earlier I thought yeah what a 49:00 49:00 load 49:02 49:02 of but now I feel a little bit 49:05 49:05 differently 49:07 49:07 yeah it's amazing that the healing 49:10 49:10 session has made Reagan realize that 49:11 49:11 surgery isn't the solution but she still 49:14 49:14 has a long way to go it's just the 49:16 49:16 beginning of her journey and nearly the 49:17 49:17 end of mine this film really is is the 49:20 49:20 end of a journey which started um two 49:23 49:23 two years ago when I got 49:25 49:25 pregnant because I I didn't do what most 49:28 49:28 people do which is kind of slowly grow 49:30 49:30 up and slowly stop partying and meet 49:32 49:32 somebody and settle down and get a house 49:34 49:34 and you know I was 49:36 49:36 partying then I got pregnant and so I 49:38 49:38 had to grow up really suddenly and I 49:40 49:40 think this film is kind of um I kind I 49:43 49:43 Feel Like a Woman and having having 49:44 49:44 children obviously makes you feel like a 49:46 49:46 woman but doing this also makes me feel 49:48 49:48 like um I'm a 49:54 49:54 grownup I now know more than ever that 49:56 49:56 I'm responsible for doing everything I 49:58 49:58 can to make sure my girls grow up 49:60 50:00 feeling comfortable about their bodies 50:03 50:03 I'm really going to make such a 50:04 50:04 conscious effort to make sure I have a a 50:07 50:07 normalized conversation about sex and 50:09 50:09 sex matters of a sexual nature with 50:12 50:12 them I've seen surgeons and alternative 50:15 50:15 therapies and I've come up with my own 50:17 50:17 solution that won't cost you a penny it 50:20 50:20 just doesn't 50:22 50:22 matter what your vagina looks like 50:28 50:28 love it love your flaps 50:31 50:31 [Music]

• From Take Back Your Life: Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships (2000)

  With a referral from a trusted friend, I started therapy with a Jungian psychotherapist. After four months of intense work, my therapist suggested that I might want to go and get Ganga someday. My reply was total surprise, "You mean I can?" From that moment on, Harry and I worked to get our daughter back. We assembled a team of lawyers, cult specialists, therapists, and private investigators. Four months later, I went to Kashi Ranch with my father, a private investigator, and the local SWAT team, and demanded my daughter back. With the cooperation of the local criminal justice system, I had secured the necessary court order. Our daughter was reluctantly released to the police, and had to wait in a foster home until the judge awarded us custody. Two weeks later, Ganga was on the airplane with her true family, flying to her new home in Colorado. This is what she wrote at the age of nine: A cult is a person that uses mind control and can make you gullible and you don't even know it. But you start to love her because she makes you feel special. A cult can hurt you very bad. She can even make you think she's god! A cult is bad. Even though it is easier to express what is wrong with Kashi Ranch, we do our best to keep it in perspective and let Ganga express what was good about her cult experience. There were some positive things, and these helped mold her to become the wonderful person she is today. I feel quite lucky. I got a second chance, a chance to be whole and live a full life with all of my children. Having my daughter back is a dream come true. Yet I struggle not only with the loss of those precious six years but also with the pain of the wound I inflicted on my daughter. Every day I search for forgiveness; the healthier Ganga gets, the easier it becomes. (In Chapter 15, Rosanne describes the challenges faced by Ganga and her family as she learned to adjust to life away from the cult.) Troubles Overcome Are Good to Tellby Alexandra Stein Alexandra Stein spent ten years in a political cult in the Midwest. She documented her experiences in her book, Inside Out: A Memoir of Entering and Breaking Out of a Minneapolis Political Cult (North Star Press of St. Cloud). Currently, she is completing a Ph.D. in sociology, specializing in the social psychology of political extremism. She also writes creative nonfiction on a variety of less heady topics. I was in a left-wing political cult called the "0" for about ten years, from the age of twenty-six to thirty-six. I wrote this eight years after I left the group, and another six years have passed since then. Even though I have come along even further in my recovery, these earlier insights will, I hope, be beneficial to others.