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.

Page 38 of 299 · 20 per page

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  She was a-singing low and sweet, right there beside me, like she knew if she just called Him, the Lord would come.’ When he heard this singing, which filled all the silent air, which swelled until it filled all the waiting earth, the heart within him broke, and yet began to rise, lifted of its burden; and his throat unlocked; and his tears came down as though the listening skies had opened. ‘Then I praised God, Who had brought me out of Egypt and set my feet on the solid rock.’ When at last he lifted up his eyes he saw a new Heaven and a new Earth; and he heard a new sound of singing, for a sinner had come home. ‘I looked at my hands and my hands were new. I looked at my feet and my feet were new. And I opened my mouth to the Lord that day and Hell won’t make me change my mind.’ And, yes, there was singing everywhere; the birds and the crickets and the frogs rejoiced, the distant dogs leaping and sobbing, circled in their narrow yards, and roosters cried from every high fence that here was a new beginning, a blood-washed day! And this was the beginning of his life as a man. He was just past twenty-one; the century was not yet one year old. He moved into town, into the room that awaited him at the top of the house in which he worked, and he began to preach. He married Deborah in that same year. After the death of his mother, he began to see her all the time. They went to the house of God together, and because there was no one, any more, to look after him, she invited him often to her home for meals, and kept his clothes neat, and after he had preached they discussed his sermons; that is, he listened while she praised. He had certainly never intended to marry her; such an idea was no more in his mind, he would have said, than the possibility of flying to the moon. He had known her all his life; she had been his older sister’s older friend, and then his mother’s faithful visitor; she had never, for Gabriel, been young. So far as he was concerned, she might have been born in her severe, her sexless, long and shapeless habit, always black or grey. She seemed to have been put on earth to visit the sick, and to comfort those who wept, and to arrange the last garments of the dying.

• From The City of God

  The Lord God is my strength, and He will set my feet in completion; He will place me above the heights, that I may conquer in His song," to wit, in that song of which something similar is said in the psalm, "He set my feet upon a rock, and directed my goings, and put in my mouth a new song, a hymn to our God. " [1186]He therefore conquers in the song of the Lord, who takes pleasure in His praise, not in his own; that "He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord. " [1187]But some copies have, "I will joy in God my Jesus," which seems to me better than the version of those who, wishing to put it in Latin, have not set down that very name which for us it is dearer and sweeter to name.

• From The City of God

  [492] The reference is to the Timaeus, p. 37 C. , where he says, "When the parent Creator perceived this created image of the eternal Gods in life and motion, He was delighted, and in His joy considered how He might make it still liker its model. " [493] Jas. i. 17. [494] The passage referred to is in the Timaeus p. 29 D. :"Let us say what was the cause of the Creator's forming this universe. He was good; and in the good no envy is ever generated about anything whatever. Therefore, being free from envy, He desired that all things should, as much as possible, resemble Himself. "

• From The City of God

  Here there are more distinct promises about the calling of the nations in Isaac, that is, in the son of the promise, by which grace is signified, and not nature; for the son is promised from an old man and a barren old woman. For although God effects even the natural course of procreation, yet where the agency of God is manifest, through the decay or failure of nature, grace is more plainly discerned. And because this was to be brought about, not by generation, but by regeneration, circumcision was enjoined now, when a son was promised of Sarah. And by ordering all, not only sons, but also home-born and purchased servants to be circumcised, he testifies that this grace pertains to all. For what else does circumcision signify than a nature renewed on the putting off of the old? And what else does the eighth day mean than Christ, who rose again when the week was completed, that is, after the Sabbath? The very names of the parents are changed:all things proclaim newness, and the new covenant is shadowed forth in the old. For what does the term old covenant imply but the concealing of the new? And what does the term new covenant imply but the revealing of the old? The laughter of Abraham is the exultation of one who rejoices, not the scornful laughter of one who mistrusts. And those words of his in his heart, "Shall a son be born to me that am an hundred years old? and shall Sarah, that is ninety years old, bear? " are not the words of doubt, but of wonder. And when it is said, "And I will give to thee, and to thy seed after thee, the land in which thou art a stranger, all the land of Canaan, for an everlasting possession," if it troubles any one whether this is to be held as fulfilled, or whether its fulfilment may still be looked for, since no kind of earthly possession can be everlasting for any nation whatever, let him know that the word translated everlasting, by our writers is what the Greeks term aio;nion, which is derived from aio;n, the Greek for saeculum, an age. But the Latins have not ventured to translate this by secular, lest they should change the meaning into something widely different. For many things are called secular which so happen in this world as to pass away even in a short time; but what is termed aio;nion either has no end, or lasts to the very end of this world. [920] Gen. xv. 4. [921] Gen. xvii. 1-22. The passage is given in full by Augustin.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  Roy never knew his Sunday school lesson either, but it was different with Roy—no one really expected of Roy what was expected of John. Everyone was always praying that the Lord would change Roy’s heart, but it was John who was expected to be good, to be a good example. When Sunday school service ended there was a short pause before morning service began. In this pause, if it was good weather, the old folks might step outside a moment to talk among themselves. The sisters would almost always be dressed in white from crown to toe. The small children, on this day, in this place, and oppressed by their elders, tried hard to play without seeming to be disrespectful of God’s house. But sometimes, nervous or perverse, they shouted, or threw hymn-books, or began to cry, putting their parents, men or women of God, under the necessity of proving—by harsh means or tender—who, in a sanctified household, ruled. The older children, like John or Roy, might wander down the avenue, but not too far. Their father never let John and Roy out of his sight, for Roy had often disappeared between Sunday school and morning service and had not come back all day. The Sunday morning service began when Brother Elisha sat down at the piano and raised a song. This moment and this music had been with John, so it seemed, since he had first drawn breath. It seemed that there had never been a time when he had not known this moment of waiting while the packed church paused—the sisters in white, heads raised, the brothers in blue, heads back; the white caps of the women seeming to glow in the charged air like crowns, the kinky, gleaming heads of the men seeming to be lifted up—and the rustling and the whispering ceased and the children were quiet; perhaps someone coughed, or the sound of a car horn, or a curse from the streets came in; then Elisha hit the keys, beginning at once to sing, and everybody joined him, clapping their hands, and rising, and beating the tambourines. The song might be: Down at the cross where my Saviour died! Or: Jesus, I’ll never forget how you set me free! Or: Lord, bold my hand while I run this race! They sang with all the strength that was in them, and clapped their hands for joy.

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

  They were a very common sight, surrounded by frozen and screaming girls. I became the offical waterbug killer of the locker room society, and that served to make me braver. Once I even killed a sleek four-inch american cockroach. It was years before I ever admitted how terrified of them I was, also. It was too important to me to seem fearless and in charge and brave, an applauded champion killer of waterbugs. Maybe that is all any bravery is, a stronger fear of not being brave. Gennie and I had a fight over something or the other at the end of January. We didn’t talk or see each other again for two weeks. She called me on my birthday, and we saw each other a few days later, on Washington’s Birthday. We held hands in Central Park Zoo and watched the monkeys. The mandrill looked at us with great sad eyes and we agreed with him that whether we were angry or not we’d never go that long without talking again, because friendship was too important and besides, neither one of us could remember what we’d argued about. Afterward, we went to her house. It started to snow and we lay on the couch with Gennie’s head on my tummy, and we toasted marshmallows and smoked cigarettes. That bedroom was the only private room in the house. Gennie slept on a couch in the living room, except when her uncle came, and then she slept on the floor. She said she hated not having anywhere permanent to sleep, or keep her clothes. It was the middle of March when Gennie came to my house one night. She called and said she had to talk to me and could she come over. My mother gave a grudging permission. I said we had to study for a geometry midterm. It was almost nine o’clock when Gennie came in. No hour to be visiting on a school night, my mother observed acidly as she acknowledged Gennie’s greeting. We went into my room and shut the door. Gennie looked terrible. There were circles under her eyes, and long ugly scratches on both sides of her face. Her usually neat long braids were disheveled and mussed. All she would tell me was that she and her father had had a fight and she didn’t have any place to sleep and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She asked if she could spend the night at my house. I knew that was impossible. My parents would never allow it, and they would want to know why. I was torn, but I knew I had pushed them as far as I could with the visit. “Can’t you go stay with Louisa?” I said.

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  And Gabriel turned and fell on his face, and the voice said again: ‘So shall thy seed be.’ Then he awoke. Morning was at the window, and he blessed God, lying on his bed, tears running down his face, for the vision he had seen. When he went to Deborah and told her that the Lord had led him to ask her to be his wife, his holy helpmeet, she looked at him for a moment in what seemed to be speechless terror. He had never seen such an expression on her face before. For the first time since he had known her he touched her, putting his hands on her shoulders, thinking what untender touch these shoulders had once known, and how she would be raised now in honour. And he asked: ‘You ain’t scared, is you, Sister Deborah? You ain’t got nothing to be scared of?’ Then she tried to smile, and began, instead, to weep. With a movement at once violent and hesitant, she let her head fall forward on his breast. ‘No,’ she brought out, muffled in his arms, ‘I ain’t scared.’ But she did not stop weeping. He stroked her coarse, bowed head. ‘God bless you, little girl,’ he said, helplessly. ‘God bless you.’ The silence in the church ended when Brother Elisha, kneeling near the piano, cried out and fell backward under the power of the Lord. Immediately, two or three others cried out also, and a wind, a foretaste of that great downpouring they awaited, swept the church. With this cry, and the echoing cries, the tarry service moved from its first stage of steady murmuring, broken by moans and now and again an isolated cry, into that stage of tears and groaning, of calling aloud and singing, which was like the labour of a woman about to be delivered of her child. On this threshing-floor the child was the soul that struggled to the light, and it was the church that was in labour, that did not cease to push and pull, calling on the name of Jesus. When Brother Elisha cried out and fell back, crying, Sister McCandless rose and stood over him to help him to pray. For the rebirth of the soul was perpetual; only rebirth every hour could stay the hand of Satan. Sister Price began to sing: ‘I want to go through, Lord, I want to go through. Take me through, Lord, Take me through. ’ A lone voice, joined by others, among them, waveringly, the voice of John.

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

  Everyone went quiet, watching Shandee do her strenuous double service. She pulled up on and then slumped down on Glenn’s rigid stonker, and she gave simultaneous attention to Dave’s jaw-dropping mouthful of dickstick. “Both genitals are going plasmic—they’re about to flow,” Daggett announced, wrapping a bra strap tightly around his balls. “Are you ready for the transfer? It’ll happen fast.” Shandee nodded yes as her ass rose and fell, and then she involuntarily grunted as a huge molten mass of shifting sexmeat crissed and crossed through her body. She grabbed Dave’s hips to steady herself and felt the enormity of the testosterodick travel from her mouth down through her middlemost uterine self and into Glenn’s rapidly growing loinstem . Dave’s cock was still hard, but it was shrinking in girth and length. Shandee popped her head off of it for an instant, working it with her hands instead. “More and more of the dick is going down through me, oh, my god!” she said. She chewed one side of her cheek. “It’s growing huge in my vagina! Oh, there’s so much hot, bad ball-hopping dick in me now! Oh, this feels so good, oh, Dave, this dick! This dick! This dick! How can you possibly give up this massive dick, it feels so fucking full in my cunt canal, aaaaaaaaaaaaah, shit, shit, oh, shit, Glenn, unbelievable!” She caught her breath for a moment and looked around the room. Daggett, balls a-waggle, was slamming himself into Lanasha, and Jason was doing Zilka. Betsy had her legs hooched and the beardwater sprayer-wand up her ass and was jiggling it lasciviously. Suddenly, Glenn’s orgasm slammed into gear, and he threw the first hot clot of a busted nutload of jizzling twizzlering sperm up inside her. Shandee let out a ragged joyous screamy cry of pure consummated cockfuckedfulness. Then she said to Dave, “Dave, I’m ready to tug you off onto my lips. Come on these lips, these Terranova lips that will always be true to you.” She saw his eyes meet hers and felt both his hands—the one she knew and the one she didn’t—hold her head. She said, “I’m going to jack off your beautiful real Dave cock onto my face now—oh, my god, it’s never been this good.” And suddenly Dave bucked in her hands, and she felt a Tuileries Garden of manly Dave-jizm leap onto her forehead and then again on her cheek and her neck. She was dripping with one perfect man’s cockjuice, and she loved it so much that when Glenn touched her clit with his thumb she wonked down full force on his restored dickitude, and that was enough to start the Atlas-shrug shudderation of arrival that made her shiver her way through the seven, eight, nine, twelve seconds of worldwide interplanetary flux of orgasmic strobing happy unmatched tired coughing ebbing thrilled spent ecstasy.

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

  Finally she went back to the tree and got the biggest pinecone she could find, and she put a seed from it in her mouth, and she swallowed it. Meanwhile, I could definitely feel something going on inside my body. I felt this tremendous pressure in my bottom, against my anus.” “Did it hurt?” asked Wade, full of sympathy. “No, not then. I pulled down my pants and lay facedown in the grass, and Natasha opened my bottom cheeks and looked. She said she couldn’t see anything except that my pussy seemed to be very purple. I said, ‘I need to go down to the creek.’ So we went down to the creek, and I took off my shoes and my pants and held on to a branch and dipped my bottom in the creek, and I screamed because the water was so cold. Then Natasha whimpered a little and said her boycone was really hurting and needing to come out. I said, ‘Mine’s hurting, too.’ But it wasn’t hurting as much, because I hadn’t chosen quite so big a pinecone. Then we both squatted in the creek for a while, and we pushed and pushed, and we could feel the boycones wanting to come out but not being able to. Finally we took a breath together and looked into each other’s eyes and gave a huge push as hard as we could. She got very red, and then at last the boycones splashed into the creek. We were relieved, and we laughed and washed them off and laid the pinecones in the sun to dry, and we lay next to them. We were quite exhausted.” “I can imagine,” said Wade. “And a few minutes after that, we heard the two pinecones go pop, pop, and crack open. Just as Brigid said, there was a miniature boy in each one, wrapped in green plant folds.” “How old?” said Wade. “They were about seventeen, but very tiny. We rubbed them and massaged them, and after half an hour they grew to one quarter size, then half size, and then they were full-size long-legged boys, but their eyes were still closed. They were sleeping. So we looked them all over while they gathered strength, and they had the most beautiful penises and thatchy patches. Then their eyes opened, and mine said, ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ and he stretched. I stroked his chest, and I knelt over him and held the sides of his face and looked at his eyes. He was in the tent of my hair, and I could feel his hips trying to find a way in. He was very ready, so I let him in. He became my boyfriend that summer, and then unfortunately he went away.

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

  “Brigid said, ‘The pinecone is called a boycone, and the best place to allow it out is in the creek.’ She said, ‘When it comes out, wash the cone in the creek and it’ll crack open and a miniature boy will hop out, and if you rub him he will grow rapidly until he is a full-sized boy, and you can talk to him and look at him naked.’ We said, ‘Can we eat the pinecone seed right now to get started?’ And Brigid said, ‘Go ahead.’ And then she went inside to bake a pie. My friend Natasha got scared and said she didn’t want to do it. But I said I would. I chose a nice big pinecone from the tree, and I pulled a seed from it and chewed it up, and nothing happened. We sat on the hill and looked at the telephone pole against the sky and talked about how much we liked boys.” “Nothing happened?” said Wade. “Natasha kept asking me if I felt anything, and I said no. Finally she went back to the tree and got the biggest pinecone she could find, and she put a seed from it in her mouth, and she swallowed it. Meanwhile, I could definitely feel something going on inside my body. I felt this tremendous pressure in my bottom, against my anus.” “Did it hurt?” asked Wade, full of sympathy. “No, not then. I pulled down my pants and lay facedown in the grass, and Natasha opened my bottom cheeks and looked. She said she couldn’t see anything except that my pussy seemed to be very purple. I said, ‘I need to go down to the creek.’ So we went down to the creek, and I took off my shoes and my pants and held on to a branch and dipped my bottom in the creek, and I screamed because the water was so cold. Then Natasha whimpered a little and said her boycone was really hurting and needing to come out. I said, ‘Mine’s hurting, too.’ But it wasn’t hurting as much, because I hadn’t chosen quite so big a pinecone. Then we both squatted in the creek for a while, and we pushed and pushed, and we could feel the boycones wanting to come out but not being able to. Finally we took a breath together and looked into each other’s eyes and gave a huge push as hard as we could. She got very red, and then at last the boycones splashed into the creek. We were relieved, and we laughed and washed them off and laid the pinecones in the sun to dry, and we lay next to them. We were quite exhausted.” “I can imagine,” said Wade. “And a few minutes after that, we heard the two pinecones go pop, pop, and crack open. Just as Brigid said, there was a miniature boy in each one, wrapped in green plant folds.” “How old?” said Wade.

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

  The air was warm, and the sky was a startling blue, and she said, “Wheee!” She swerved around a pylon tower and then turned down into the mountain valley, in the midst of which stretched an enormous white lake. She could see several other cables that swept down toward the lake, and she watched the other pussysurfers slow just before touchdown. She dipped down the last length of the incline and swooshed and splashed and slowed on a level liquid plain of dazzling white. The lake was warmer than she expected. It had the consistency of hand lotion but with tiny gold flecks. The lucky liquids burbled and creamed over her hydroplaning vulva and, as she slowed, churned purposefully over her clitoris. Then the harness lifted her back in the air for a moment and swung her dripping in a long laughing kicky hemicurve past the pontooned restaurant with blue tablecloths and waiters wearing white tuxedo vests. All at once, out of the lake rose a hugely gigantic phallocentric dick-shaped monster cock. It stood for a moment, thirty feet in the air, and then toppled with an enormous splash and disappeared into the white water. A group of about twenty Deprivos were following Henriette’s progress with binoculars. They gestured entreatingly—down here, down here! She landed in their midst and climbed out of the harness, dripping. She knelt, breathing the rich air, feeling better than she had in months, listening to the rustle of stroking men around her. “Come all over me, guys,” she said. One man jizzed on her cheek, another on her shirt, two on her lips, one on her nose, one on her shoulder, and another—a cute guy with blond spiky hair—came politely into her cupped hand. Krock appeared with a towel. “How are you?” he asked. “How am I? I’m a jizm-covered princess, and I’ve just pussysurfed the lake!” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. She went to her room and had a shower and slept for hours, feeling her revived clit glowing like a summer firefly. Dennis Explores Mindy’s Purse Dennis, a traveling teacher, went to a city to give his two-day fund-raising seminar for nonprofits, “How to Get Other People to Give You All the Money They Have.” After he was done he waited in line at the hotel to check out.

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

  Then she drove slowly back on it. A long low guttural cry was hauled out of her. “Fuck me, oh, my god, it’s been too long. Oh, yes.” She bit her lips and felt his hands burning on her back, and then she began to feel a lifting that began at her asshole and swirled and whorled up through her skin and into his hands. “I must use my penis to pry the ink away under my hands,” he said. He drew himself slowly out of her pussy, and then she felt his slickened seedstick slide up over the cleavage of her ass and, directed by her slippery crack, begin bumping against his hands. “I have an opening,” he said. “I’m going to fuck your tattoo free now. Uh. Uh. Fuck it away, uh.” He slid in and out from under his hands. At first she felt nothing, and then suddenly she could detect all the tiny microampules of ink withdrawing themselves from thousands of tiny holes in her skin. “Ahhhhh!” he said, “it stings, it hurts, it’s okay, ouch.” And then he lifted his hands. “Your back is finally nude now.” He held a mirror and she saw. “Oh, baby,” she said and she turned. The butterfly was gone. “I’m so free. I’m so clean.” She held his dick in both her hands and spoke things to it. “You’ve made me new, you lovely dick. I’m going to suck you off, and I’m going to feel you come.” And so she did. She opened her mouth and let all of his big tattooed dick inside, teasing the hole, and then she pulled back and pumped him several times and felt the come splash over her, and then she collapsed in a happy heap of complete artless pubic-hairy bliss. “My tattoo-removing wizard, how can I thank you?” “Just tell people: Stop hiding, stop disguising, be naked for once. Be hairy down in the punany.” He took her to Lila’s office. “All gone?” asked Lila. “Gone,” said Jessica. “But so are my feelings for the artist, I’m afraid. He didn’t want to paint me the way I really looked, and that bothers me. I really want to see more of Hax.” “Well, that’s unfortunate, because Bosco paid for your tattoo removal by having a voluntary head detachment.” “That’s not good.” “He reveres you, but his head is, for the moment, physically separated from his body.” “Oh, dear,” said Jessica. “How awful for him.” Henriette Surfs the Lak e H enriette was sitting in Lila’s office. The book of men’s faces lay open and unregarded on the glass table next to her chair.

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

  She grabbed it and held it—it was still warm from its accelerated growing. And then she heard the summer wind begin—a warm wind that made a different kind of rustling in the leaves because the leaves were drier now—and the light that snuck in between the boughs and boles was splaying and scattering, half of it reflected off the water, half direct from the setting sun. “Fuck me deep, tall, strong penis tree,” she said. The cock shape grew longer and pushed into her, and then the whole tree seemed to branch into her core and out her arms and legs and lift her far above the earth. “Hold on!” called Jason, as she was swept up on a high bough impaled on old boreal growth. She looked out from her high-splayed vantage, and she said, “I’m a treefucking woman!” Dappled sunlight shone and emptied itself onto her. She squeezed her Kegeling love muscle around the smooth, thickened branch within, and when the wind came up again all the leaves twittered and shook. The tree itself shuddered: It was having some kind of orgasm. The new growth of penisbranches fell off. Panting and quivering, Luna climbed down. Jason hugged her, then gathered the fallen branches. “I’ll polish and stain these tomorrow,” he said. “Dendro dildos?” “Yes, inspired by you.” “Can I come back and get one?” “Please do,” said Jason. “I’ll make a salad for you.” Henriette Goes for a Walk Henriette decided to take her new extra-big ass on a walk to the noisy quay where the Masturboats docked. She wanted to feed the gulls and see what was up. First she got in the shower to wash herself so that she could be clean all day and the world wouldn’t know what a totally freaky, filthy-minded, cocksucking whore of a princess she actually was. She washed her hair and her face and her body, and last of all she washed her pussy and her huge deep asscrack. Her pussy she washed by holding it spread open with her right hand and splashing water up at it a bunch of times, and her asscrack she washed by jamming the cold soap between her pleasantly joggling cheeks and working it around a few times. Washing the asscrack wasn’t really that difficult; rinsing was trickier.

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

  “You don’t know this, Nedbody, but I just love sucking dick,” she said. “And you’ve got an unusually fine one, and I’m going to be very, very nice to it.” She closed her eyes again and smelled him and stroked him once. His hips moved, sending him toward her. She opened her mouth and felt him push against her tongue. She flattened her tongue out and slathered under his head, and each time she did his pelvis jerked, and that made her happy. She tried not to look up at his head, because his head wasn’t there, and she concentrated on his true self, which was his dick. She was grinding her muffin against the muscle just above his knee, and then she stood for a second because she wanted to be naked. She wondered if he could feel her breasts, and it seemed not too difficult to find out. He was lying with his hands at his sides. She lowered one of her breasts, and when his hand felt her nipple graze the sensitive skin in the middle of his palm his hips made another small jump. “You got me feeling pussyish, Nedbody,” she said, breathily. “Think with your asshole.” She grabbed his dick with one hand, and with her left hand she snookered a finger up his ass, and then she held her mouth still and began a slow, deliberate crescendo, jerking him off into her mouth. He raised his arms, and she saw his hands waving in the air in a little twirling dance of pelvis pleasure, and then both his fists clenched suddenly and she felt his asshole crunch. His stomach worked, and his hips rocked, and his legs flumped together, his knees knocking audibly, and she felt a hot jolt of manwater against the back of her throat. Then he trembled and subsided. “There you are,” she said, “you nice headless man. There you go. You stay right there, and I’m going to get my moment now. Wait.” She rode his thigh, looking at his spent cock and remembering how it had felt in her mouth, and she twizzled her riddler and moved back and forth on the wet slippery spot on his thigh, and finally she whispered, “Oh, Nedbody, here I come.” She clamped her legs around his thigh and came and came and came. Then she flung herself down on the bed next to him and laughed. Nedbody was asleep already, breathing quietly. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Cardell Meets Betsy on the Beach [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Cardell knelt to study the footprint in the sand. In the air there was a deep-in-the-nose smell of ocean and seaweed and timeless things that have no name. The footprint was light and small—the print of a woman. He pressed his own foot into it and tried to imagine her firm footbone. He started following the footsteps, walking in them as much as he could.

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

  It’s just there to make the bottom half of your body feel good.” Henriette nodded. “I’m ready. Thanks for the lovely date, Ned. It gave me a new perspective.” “My pleasure,” said Ned. “I’m glad you got to see the zebras.” Krock tightened a final strap on Henriette’s harness. “So—are you ready to feel some deep lake love on your pussy?” he asked. Henriette swallowed and nodded . There was a whir and a clunk and she was airborne, sitting on a small U-shaped fiberglass support, sliding down the long curving cable. She went fairly fast at first, her skirt fluttering. The air was warm, and the sky was a startling blue, and she said, “Wheee!” She swerved around a pylon tower and then turned down into the mountain valley, in the midst of which stretched an enormous white lake. She could see several other cables that swept down toward the lake, and she watched the other pussysurfers slow just before touchdown. She dipped down the last length of the incline and swooshed and splashed and slowed on a level liquid plain of dazzling white. The lake was warmer than she expected. It had the consistency of hand lotion but with tiny gold flecks. The lucky liquids burbled and creamed over her hydroplaning vulva and, as she slowed, churned purposefully over her clitoris. Then the harness lifted her back in the air for a moment and swung her dripping in a long laughing kicky hemicurve past the pontooned restaurant with blue tablecloths and waiters wearing white tuxedo vests. All at once, out of the lake rose a hugely gigantic phallocentric dick-shaped monster cock. It stood for a moment, thirty feet in the air, and then toppled with an enormous splash and disappeared into the white water. A group of about twenty Deprivos were following Henriette’s progress with binoculars. They gestured entreatingly—down here, down here! She landed in their midst and climbed out of the harness, dripping. She knelt, breathing the rich air, feeling better than she had in months, listening to the rustle of stroking men around her. “Come all over me, guys,” she said. One man jizzed on her cheek, another on her shirt, two on her lips, one on her nose, one on her shoulder, and another—a cute guy with blond spiky hair—came politely into her cupped hand. Krock appeared with a towel. “How are you?” he asked. “How am I? I’m a jizm-covered princess, and I’ve just pussysurfed the lake!” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. She went to her room and had a shower and slept for hours, feeling her revived clit glowing like a summer firefly. Polly Visits the Hall of the Penise s P olly’s boyfriend Jeff said, “We can have a conversation about that if you want.” So they did.

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

  Very lightly and respectfully she touched it, as if less pressure made for less of a marital infraction. “Can I fuck you right here on this blanket?” asked Dave. “No, you absolutely cannot fuck me, no,” she said. “But you can fuck my field. Stuff a bit of the blanket down that mole hole and then put your big cock in it. I want to watch your assbuns clench. Drive your cock into my field. Root yourself. I need to show you my whole pussy now. You want to see it?” She scooted so that Dave’s face, when he arched his neck up, was inches from her cuntgash. He listened to the luscious squelching at close range as she pulled the folds away from her clit. He closed and opened his eyes, and each time he opened them her succulent stovetop filled his vision, being stretched one way and another by her questing and well-practiced fingers. Supporting himself on his one arm, he guided his dick into the prickly wool of the blanket. He sank in deep. “I’m fucking the hole,” Dave said, and he saw her gaze travel to his assclenching maximus cheeks . She said, “Here’s all of me, Dave, nurse on my big clit so I can come.” He smelled her radiating vadge, and then, opening his soft lips, he slopped and slobbered his whole face into her pussy. He rolled his eyes up to look at her. Her head was thrown back. She was feeling good. He smiled into her pussy and then took a breath. “Look up at these great clouds,” he said, “while I suck your pussy and fuck the planet earth.” Chilli breathed. “I love this,” she said. She looked down at Dave’s mouth at her lettuce patch and watched his tongue do its wonderful work. “Edge us as close as you can, loverman.” Dave said, “Gluddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle-luddle, mmmm.” “Take it out of the earth and milk your huge cock off for me. I want to see it. Please milk it off.” Dave pulled out of the crumbling earth hole and knelt close to her. “Here you go, sweet woman,” he said. “Haaahh!” Five days’ worth of sperm flowered out all over her stomach and breasts. “Now me,” Chilli said. “Jab that wicked tongue back inside me—that’s the way.” She held his head and moved her cuntal hand in slow connoisseurial ovals, and then, making her fingers rigid, she DJ’d herself, as if her clit was a scratch record. “Nnnnn, nnnn,” she said, frowning down at her frigging self. Her hips lifted off the blanket. “Oh, that’s good! Oh, shit, Dave, I’m a pornstar!

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

  She rode his thigh, looking at his spent cock and remembering how it had felt in her mouth, and she twizzled her riddler and moved back and forth on the wet slippery spot on his thigh, and finally she whispered, “Oh, Nedbody, here I come.” She clamped her legs around his thigh and came and came and came. Then she flung herself down on the bed next to him and laughed. Nedbody was asleep already, breathing quietly. Cardell Meets Betsy on the Beach Cardell knelt to study the footprint in the sand. In the air there was a deep-in-the-nose smell of ocean and seaweed and timeless things that have no name. The footprint was light and small—the print of a woman. He pressed his own foot into it and tried to imagine her firm footbone. He started following the footsteps, walking in them as much as he could. The beach curved back into a small bay where the House of Holes condominiums were, and as Cardell turned the corner he saw a distant figure wearing a hat. He increased his pace, still stepping in her footsteps. With each step he took, he learned more about the arch of her foot, the ball of her foot, and her small, strong toes. He was almost loping now. Finally, he caught up to her. She was wearing a loose, faded dress and a hat, and she held her sandals hooked on her fingers. Her hat was woven of pale fine straw and made her face glow like a classy tangerine. He recognized her. “Hi, I bought the pen,” he said. “Oh, good,” said Betsy. “I’ve been walking in your footsteps,” he said. “It was the most intimate experience. Did you feel my feet pressing against your feet?” “I’m not sure,” she said. “Let me try walking in your footsteps, and you can see what you feel.” “Okay.” Cardell walked a few paces ahead and stopped. “Don’t turn around,” she said. He didn’t. She walked up to him. “Did you feel the ball of my foot pressing into your footprint?” she asked. “Some,” he said. “More I felt the arch. But yes, I feel I know you better now.” “And I know you better. We’re old friends, in fact.” Cardell paused, full of indecision. “But we’re very different.” “That’s true. I collect beach glass, and you don’t.” “You seem rich.” “I’m not poor. My husband’s father was rich. He was sup-posedly a ruthless businessman, but he was always nice to me.” She smiled. “I’d love to see you come,” Cardell said thickly. She laughed. “Ah, but I’m married, as you know. I don’t cheat. Much.” “Does your husband have a friendly sex organ that treats you well?” he asked. “He does,” she said, in a distant voice. “It’s got a knobby end that fits me just right. But I suppose that’s private information.”

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

  I was a virgin, and Marcie was considerate. She said, ‘I’m going to go slow, Dune,’ and I put my hands on her wonderful full, smooth ass and felt her long, long, deep push, and she started really fucking me in and out, ung, ung, and I said, ‘Oh, lord help my naked soul, I’ve never been fucked by own cock before.’ She said, ‘You’re getting it now.’ I said, ‘Marcie, fuck me, I’m so confused and I love it, fuck me harder, tear up my virgin pussy!” Dune looked over at Mindy. “Mm, twat yourself, Mindy, bat your bug, that’s the way.” Mindy’s head was back, and she was biting her tongue. “Don’t stop,” she said. “Then Marcie lay down on her back and I saw my cock sticking straight up on her, and she pulled on it, and I said, ‘What do you want, baby?’ She said, ‘I want you to sit right down and rock on this big thick piece of rhubarb.’ So I straddled her, and I let myself sink down, and oh, shoot, was that nice. I started bouncing up and down on it, and it nailed me so good. She said, ‘Now tickle your clit, and you will come.’ So I found my clit, which was, as I say, a tiny little thing but quite sensitive, and I started rubbing and nubbing and scrubbing on it, and meanwhile I was bouncing up and down like a horse thief.” “Mmm,” said Mindy, dipping a finger deep and then circling. “And I think all the nerve connections were still being sketched in because I had something that I think was a very teeny orgasm, and then another little one, but bigger. And I thought, Shit, that’s it? That’s all? That’s a woman’s pussy orgasm? And then, whoa, my clit screamed out, and this incredible shaky feeling tore like a wrecking ball through my whole body.” “Was it mainly in your vagina or your clit?” “I don’t know, clit, vagina—it was all over the county, and I held her tits and looked up at her pretty face and let everything just flow through me, huhhh, huhhh. ” Mindy’s breathing got fast and she said, “I’m going to come, Dune, mercy, I’m going to come!” Dune shuttled his finger over his clit, spanking it once, and he lifted himself up and he went, “Ahhhh, errrrrr, aaaahhh!” He frigged himself with the microphone and then he started hip-jouncing on the bed, and after he came he laughed and swore. He said, “This is just plain daffy, Mindy. I need my old dick back. Marcela’s going to want her pussy back soon, I know it. Will you go with me to Lila and dip your hands in the blue bowl and be the go-between?” “Sure,” said Mindy, “if I can get it on film.”

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

  “Is it toxic?” asked Henriette. “It’s inert,” said Krock. “But still, I wouldn’t drink it if I were you. It’s just there to make the bottom half of your body feel good.” Henriette nodded. “I’m ready. Thanks for the lovely date, Ned. It gave me a new perspective.” “My pleasure,” said Ned. “I’m glad you got to see the zebras.” Krock tightened a final strap on Henriette’s harness. “So—are you ready to feel some deep lake love on your pussy?” he asked. Henriette swallowed and nodded. There was a whir and a clunk and she was airborne, sitting on a small U-shaped fiberglass support, sliding down the long curving cable. She went fairly fast at first, her skirt fluttering. The air was warm, and the sky was a startling blue, and she said, “Wheee!” She swerved around a pylon tower and then turned down into the mountain valley, in the midst of which stretched an enormous white lake. She could see several other cables that swept down toward the lake, and she watched the other pussysurfers slow just before touchdown. She dipped down the last length of the incline and swooshed and splashed and slowed on a level liquid plain of dazzling white. The lake was warmer than she expected. It had the consistency of hand lotion but with tiny gold flecks. The lucky liquids burbled and creamed over her hydroplaning vulva and, as she slowed, churned purposefully over her clitoris. Then the harness lifted her back in the air for a moment and swung her dripping in a long laughing kicky hemicurve past the pontooned restaurant with blue tablecloths and waiters wearing white tuxedo vests. All at once, out of the lake rose a hugely gigantic phallocentric dick-shaped monster cock. It stood for a moment, thirty feet in the air, and then toppled with an enormous splash and disappeared into the white water. A group of about twenty Deprivos were following Henriette’s progress with binoculars. They gestured entreatingly—down here, down here! She landed in their midst and climbed out of the harness, dripping. She knelt, breathing the rich air, feeling better than she had in months, listening to the rustle of stroking men around her. “Come all over me, guys,” she said. One man jizzed on her cheek, another on her shirt, two on her lips, one on her nose, one on her shoulder, and another—a cute guy with blond spiky hair—came politely into her cupped hand. Krock appeared with a towel. “How are you?” he asked. “How am I? I’m a jizm-covered princess, and I’ve just pussysurfed the lake!” she said, laughing and crying at the same time. She went to her room and had a shower and slept for hours, feeling her revived clit glowing like a summer firefly. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dennis Explores Mindy’s Purse

• From The City of God

  And not only on their own account do they experience these emotions, but also on account of those whose deliverance they desire and whose perdition they fear, and whose loss or salvation affects them with grief or with joy. For if we who have come into the Church from among the Gentiles may suitably instance that noble and mighty hero who glories in his infirmities, the teacher (doctor) of the nations in faith and truth, who also labored more than all his fellow-apostles, and instructed the tribes of God's people by his epistles, which edified not only those of his own time, but all those who were to be gathered in,--that hero, I say, and athlete of Christ, instructed by Him, anointed of His Spirit, crucified with Him, glorious in Him, lawfully maintaining a great conflict on the theatre of this world, and being made a spectacle to angels and men, [698] and pressing onwards for the prize of his high calling, [699] --very joyfully do we with the eyes of faith behold him rejoicing with them that rejoice, and weeping with them that weep; [700] though hampered by fightings without and fears within; [701] desiring to depart and to be with Christ; [702] longing to see the Romans, that he might have some fruit among them as among other Gentiles; [703] being jealous over the Corinthians, and fearing in that jealousy lest their minds should be corrupted from the chastity that is in Christ; [704] having great heaviness and continual sorrow of heart for the Israelites, [705] because they, being ignorant of God's righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God; [706] and expressing not only his sorrow, but bitter lamentation over some who had formally sinned and had not repented of their uncleanness and fornications. [707]