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 The Decameron (1353)

  One of the three ambassadors, an elderly gentleman who wielded great authority and whose name was Phineas, fixed his gaze on Pietro, who was stripped to the waist with his hands tied behind his back, and perceived that on his chest there was a large red spot, which was not painted on the skin but imprinted there by Nature, being what the women in this part of the world describe as a strawberry mark. On seeing this, he was at once reminded of a son of his who had been abducted by pirates from the shore at Lajazzo9 some fifteen years earlier and had never been heard of since. Having made a mental estimate of the age of the poor wretch who was being scourged, he calculated that his son, if he were still alive, would be roughly the same age. Hence, because of the mark on the youth’s chest, he began to suspect that this was his own son; and he thought to himself that if this were indeed the case, the youth would still remember his name and that of his father, as well as one or two words of the Armenian language. So when the youth came within earshot, Phineas called out: ‘Theodor!’ As soon as he heard this cry, Pietro raised his head, whereupon Phineas addressed him in Armenian, saying: ‘Where do you come from? Whose son are you?’ The soldiers escorting him halted in deference to the great man, allowing Pietro to reply: ‘I am from Armenia, my father’s name was Phineas, and I was brought here as a child by strangers.’ On hearing these words, Phineas knew for certain that this was the son he had lost. With tears in his eyes, he descended with his companions and ran through the ranks of the soldiers to embrace him. He then removed the exquisite silken cloak he was wearing, threw it over the young man’s shoulders, and asked the leader of the execution-party to be good enough to wait there until he received the order to proceed. The man readily agreed to do so. Phineas was already aware of the reason for which the young man was being led away to his death, for it had been bruited all over the town, and he therefore hurried off with his companions and their retinue to Messer Currado, whom he addressed as follows: ‘Sir, this fellow whom you are sending to die as a slave is my own son, a freeman, and he is prepared to plight his troth to the girl he is alleged to have robbed of her virginity. I beg you therefore to postpone the execution until it is known whether she will have him as her husband, for otherwise you may find that you have acted illegally.’

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  After enjoying the voluptuous sensations of the elastic constriction the nerves of the sheath in which it was plunged exerted upon his throbbing weapon for some minutes, during which his hands roved over my body in nervous agitation, he resumed his delightful exercise, and thrust after thrust of his delicious weapon was driven into me with the most intense enjoyment to both parties. At length, his lusty efforts were rewarded with success, and, from the warm gush within me, I felt that a torrent of bliss must have issued from him, while his nervous frame shook and quivered with blissful agitation and enjoyment as the extasy of delight came over him. He lay for a few minutes bathed in enjoyment, and then raising his head, thanked me most fervently for all the bliss I had conferred on him and expressed his hope that it had been accomplished without much suffering on my part. In answer I gently turned both him and myself on one side, too much delighted with its presence to allow his sword to escape from my scabbard, and made him look at the pillow on which my weapon had rested, and where a plenteous effusion of the balmy liquid plainly attested that I too had shared in the delights of his enjoyment. He expressed his great gratification at this, as he said the sole drawback to his enjoyment had been the fear that it had been attained at my expense. But he said that what he now saw emboldened him to make a new request, and as the difficulty had now been overcome, to ask whether I might be persuaded to allow him still to retain his present quarter and enjoy another victory. I readily agreed. I told him that the sensations produced upon me by the insertion of his weapon in so sensitive a place was so agreeable--that it was so was, indeed, very evident from the powerful manner in which it still affected mine--that he must allow it to remain quietly where it was for a time and let me enjoy the agreeable sensation of its presence there.

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  Finding that he was determined to complete his third pleasing operation, I proposed that he should change his position and take up my place in Laura's palace of pleasure and allow me again to stimulate him in the rear, and assist him to attain his object. He highly approved of this proposal, and immediately took up his position in Laura's arms, while, getting behind him and inserting my weapon in his delicious sheath, I proceeded to render him the same agreeable service he had just done me. This speedily had the desired effect, and a delicious emission from all the three parties brought our undertaking to a most successful and satisfactory conclusion. By this time, Laura for once had had enough to satisfy her, and we separated, sadly grudging the loss of the two days which were still to pass before the departure of her aunt would admit of a renewal of our joys in security. We faithfully proposed on our part that we should be abstinent in the meantime with the view of being the better able to enjoy ourselves thoroughly when the happy time for our all again meeting together should arrive. Upon the whole, with the assistance of an occasional solace from her in the summer house, when an opportunity afforded, we kept our promise tolerably well, though as Frank would insist on coming to my bed, and we could neither of us refrain from indulging in a sight of each other's charms, it was sometimes a hard struggle to restrain our desires. At length Miss Middleton's departure enabled us to give free course to all our wanton inclinations, and night after night my room was the scene of a repetition of the most exquisite and voluptuous enjoyments it is possible to conceive. When our exhausted frames could no longer furnish us with the means of indulging in the performance of our soul-stirring rites, we were never tired of gazing on and caressing the delicious forms which were constantly exhibited without reserve for the delectation and amusement of one another, for we all seemed to feel that our own delight was heightened by aiding to promote the happiness of the others. We had no secrets from Laura; in fact, she had witnessed with delight the pleasures which Frank and I mutually conferred upon each other. On one occasion when she was disqualified from joining in our amusements, she watched Frank and me stripping and enjoying by ourselves the pleasures she was unable to participate in. The evident delight they afforded us affected her so greatly that she declared she must try the effect of the same operation upon herself.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Mission accomplished! Dushawn let out a loud groan that echoed through the large empty building. On his last stroke, he tried to plunge his big-ass dick up through the roof of my pussy. I felt like I was ’bout to bust wide open, but I kept ridin’. He moaned and kept grindin’. I threw my ass into overdrive and bounced on the leftovers until I finished my second hard cum. • • • We got dressed in the purple light of night. Just before we climbed out of a secret third-story entrance, Dushawn hugged me tightly and gently devoured my lips and tongue. He gave me one last sweet deep kiss and said, “Let’s bounce.” Holding hands, we left the old abandoned factory where we’d played hide-and-seek as kids, and started walkin’ back to Alameda to where we had parked our cars by Angel’s Doughnuts. We figured it was safe there cuz it’s always some old guys on the patio playin’ dominoes and takin’ bets. As we got closer to Angel’s, the streets got noisier and more crowded than usual because it was Friday night. All the soldiers lined the sidewalks and steps of their apartments, laughin’ and plottin’ capers. Pook and Dre were at the curb slippin’ dimes of Chronic, and a slick song was blastin’ from the windows of a big tan-and-white apartment building on Willowbrook. A couple of young moms were sittin’ out front, bouncin’ their babies to the beat while they kicked it and cut it up. “Hey, gurrrrrrrrrrrl!” It was this bitch named Nakisha. She knew me and Cami from Willowbrook. I could tell she was shocked to see me holdin’ hands with Dushawn. Life had not been kind to her. She was fat as fuck, with a kangaroo pouch in the front and two grocery bags of ass in the back. “Camille never told me you and her brother was kickin’ it.” “Did I miss something? When did you and Cami start kickin’ it? We talk er’ night and she never mentioned yo ass.” I shut that shit straight down, but I knew I’d have to talk to Cami right away. Dushawn never said a word, but he never let go of my hand either. A little further down, somebody was fryin’ the hell out of some chicken. It was smellin’ up the whole block. TVs were flickering through every other window. Dushawn was quiet and I was pretty quiet my damn self. My pussy was still clenching and throbbin’ from being broke off proper. I thought about Camille. I wondered how she’d act when I told her about me and Dushawn. She used to haaate the bitches that tried to get to Dushawn by tryin’ to strike up a fake-ass friendship with her. I knew I had to tell her before Nakisha blurted it out just to see the look on her face. You know how foul bitches do it. • • •

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints (2023)

  18. Joan of Arc: Peasant-General The next day, in defiance of their plans, Joan attacked the most important of the English fortifications, known as Les Tourelles, which controlled access to the main gate of the city. With this critical victory, they liberated all of Orléans. Within days, the news was all over Europe. Joan had fulfilled the first of her divine missions; it remained only to see Charles crowned in Reims, more than 150 miles away. The main army departed Gien on June 29, and letters flew thick and fast as Joan commanded cities in their path to open their gates, provide supplies, and acknowledge their king properly. The city of Troyes offered some challenge but surrendered on July 10. After Troyes, cities began to readily open their gates to the king’s forces, and they made rapid progress. Charles entered Reims on July 16, 1429, and was crowned the next day. His coronation was the peak of Joan’s career, as she stood at his side during the long day of ceremony. After the nobles had done homage to him, she knelt before the new king and wept. Joan proved herself fearless and repeatedly put herself into the thick of the action, though she personally refused to shed blood. It was taken as a further sign of her holy status. Joan’s Capture and Trials Having fulfilled her two divine missions, Joan now embarked on a more aggressive goal: to expel the English entirely from French soil. But Charles organized a truce with Burgundy. Joan was unhappy. She was also furious when Charles deferred besieging Paris until September, then called it off after only a few days. He disbanded the army at the end of the month. It was a long and frustrating winter for Joan, detailed to attack a regional bandit but prevented from engaging with the English. The following spring, she was given only a small number of men to harass the Anglo- Burgundian forces north of Paris. She managed several small victories, but 138

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  So I resolved to make the best of the opportunity and humour her inclination, and do all in my power to gratify her in her own way, trusting that on some more propitious occasion I might obtain my wishes in their fullest extent. Ascertaining, therefore, that there was no one in sight and that we were in such a position as to be able to command a view all round of some considerable distance so that no one could approach us without being observed, I said that all I desired was to contribute to her happiness, and that I only wanted to know in what manner that could be best done, and that I was quite ready to use every exertion in my power to effect it; that if she had any curiosity about her new acquaintance, I was quite prepared to do anything I could to gratify her. She said she was curious about it, and would be delighted to have a better view of it and see what it could do. I immediately unbuttoned my braces and let down my trousers and tucked up my shirt under my waistcoat, then, bringing my leg over the horse so as to sit on one side in her own fashion, exposed everything to her view. She seemed perfectly enchanted as she took hold of and played with the ivory column and uncovered its ruby head and explored the secrets of the pendant receptacles of the liquid of life. She seemed to be fully aware of the effect of her soft hand moving up and down upon the object of her worship, and she watched with eagerness the consequences her operation produced. I did not attempt to conceal my emotions from her in the least, and gave myself up to the voluptuous sensations which her proceedings could not fail to occasion, till they attained such a height that a full overflow of the precious liquid, spouting from the overexcited tube, fairly attested the effect produced upon me. She gazed upon the charming sight with evident delight, and dwelt upon every excited motion I made, endeavouring by every means in her power to heighten and increase my enjoyment. When I had in some measure recovered from the pleasure-trance, I threw my arms around her and thanked her for all the pleasure she had afforded me and said it was not fair that I should enjoy all the delight, and I trusted she would allow me to repeat upon her the lesson she had thus practised on me. She said at once that she would not get off the horse, but that if it would afford me any pleasure she was quite willing that I should do anything I liked with her in that position. I saw it was no use to attempt more, so I resolved to make the most of my situation.

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  When I had recovered a little from my transports, still retaining my place, I thought it was time to endeavour to appease her indignation which I feared might have been aroused at the trap I had evidently laid for her. But I soon found I had no occasion to be alarmed on this subject. She had no hesitation in admitting that, though she had so long resisted my entrance, it had only been from the fear of the consequences and she had all along been as anxious as I was for the crowning pleasure from the first moment when she had viewed the potent charms of my pleasure-giver, and she had been as much disappointed and annoyed at the unsatisfactory manner in which our intercourse had hitherto been conducted; and she even went on to say that whatever the consequences might be to her, she was rejoiced I had had the courage to make her break through the restraint she had imposed on herself. Accordingly, when I asked her whether her new acquaintance had not justified, by the result he had produced, all that I had predicted as the consequences of his being admitted into his present delicious quarter, she frankly confessed that though she at first had suffered dreadfully from the tearing open of her interior, the final close had much more than gratified all her expectation and had fully made up for all she had endured. And she added that she never would have forgiven me, if I had yielded to her entreaties and left the performance unfinished. "But now," said she, "that this little darling has done his duty so well, do get up and take a look about, in case anyone should stray in this direction. I don't want to part with you so soon, but it would never do for anyone to come in and catch us in this situation." "No, no, dearest," I replied, "you only half enjoyed yourself the last time, and I am afraid if I were to withdraw this little gentleman I might have to give you more pain in replacing him, and as I want you thoroughly to enter into all the blissful sensations of this occasion, you must let him remain where he is." "What," said she, "do you mean to say he can do it again? Oh! That would be delicious! But I am so frightened for anyone coming." "Well, dearest, just keep your arms round me, and I shall raise you up till we can take a look about us." And clasping her round the waist so as to keep us still firmly united by the pleasantest of all links, I raised her up to a position from which we could command a view all round us, and thus satisfy ourselves that all was safe.

• From The Surprising Lives of Christian Saints (2023)

  2. Philip Neri: Playful Pragmatist Philip’s kindness, patience, and forgiving nature drew people in crisis to him so often that he hung the key to his door on a hook outside, and anyone who wished could let themselves in for confession, day or night. Philip’s advice often had to do with attaining what today we would call psychological balance: a sense of happiness and even joy in the world combined with a hefty dose of good sense. He was ever skeptical of sudden conversions and quick adoption of intensely pious attitudes, seeing them as less sustainable than consistent, small spiritual exercises. It’s unclear exactly when his gatherings became formalized into the early Oratory, as his followers’ organization was later known. But we do know something of their lifestyle. At first, his followers might work a shift at the hospital ward, then gather in Philip’s room for a short sermon or discussion on the Bible and meditation. Their leader was a master of improvisation and often led them to hear a sermon at the nearby Dominican church or on a short pilgrimage out of the city to the gardens and hillsides of some villa. Discussions were wide-ranging and in good spirit, intent on broadening the mind. As Philip’s followers grew, they moved from his small room into a room above the nave of San Girolamo. His earliest followers were men from the lower classes, but as his reputation grew, he began to attract prelates from the curia, musicians from the papal chapel, and wealthy businessmen. In 1564, a group of Florentines approached Philip to become the director of the Florentine parish in Rome, San Giovanni dei Fiorentini. He agreed but continued to live at San Girolamo. However, the new space attracted some of his followers, and they began to hold meetings of the “little oratory” there, attracting a more clerical crowd and shaping the lifestyle of what would become the formal Congregation of the Oratory. 12

• From The Girls (2016)

  “From Trader Vic’s.” The banality of this remark—Suzanne and I caught each other’s eyes. “What?” Mitch said. When we kept laughing, he did, too. “This is fun,” he repeated over the music. He kept saying how much some actor he knew liked the song. “He really got it,” he said. “Wouldn’t stop playing it. Tuned-in guy.” It was new to me, that you could treat someone famous like they weren’t that special, that you could see all the ways they were disappointing and regular or notice the way his kitchen smelled of trash that hadn’t been taken out. The phantom squares on the wall where photographs had once hung, the gold records leaned against the baseboard, still wrapped in plastic. Suzanne acted like it was really only she and I that mattered, and this was all a little game we were playing with Mitch. He was the background to the larger story, which was our story, and we pitied him and felt grateful to him, at the same time, for how he sacrificed himself for our enjoyment. Mitch had a little coke, and it was almost painful to watch him shake it out carefully onto a book about TM, staring at his own hands with a queer distance, like they didn’t belong to him. He cut three lines, then peered at them. He fussed around until one was markedly bigger and snorted it quickly, breathing hard. “Ahh,” he said, leaning back, his throat raw and pricked with golden stubble. He held out the book to Suzanne, who danced over, sniffing up a line, and I did the last one. The coke made me want to dance, so I did. Suzanne grabbing my hands, smiling at me. It was a strange moment: we were dancing for Mitch, but I was eaten up by her eyes, how she urged me on. She watched me move with pleasure. Mitch was trying to talk, telling us some story about his girlfriend. How lonesome he’d been since she’d left for Marrakesh, on some tear about needing more space. “Baloney,” he kept saying. “Ah, baloney.” We were indulging him: I took my lead from Suzanne, who nodded when he spoke but rolled her eyes at me or loudly urged him to tell us more. He was talking about Linda that night, though her name meant nothing to me. I was barely listening: I’d picked up a small wooden box rattling with tiny silver balls and tipped it, trying to get the balls to drop into holes painted to look like the mouths of dragons. Linda would be his ex-girlfriend by the time of the murders, only twenty-six, though that age seemed vague to me then, like a knock on a faraway door. Her son, Christopher, was five years old but had already been to ten countries, bundled along on his mother’s travels like the pouch of her scarab jewelry. The ostrich-skin cowboy boots she stuffed with rolled-up magazines so they’d keep their shape.

• From The Girls (2016)

  “Mothers and daughters who’d take a trip together. Who are sweet with each other like you two.” “Oh, she’s great,” Sasha said. “I love my mom.” She cut me a tricky smile before she leaned her face close to mine. The dry press of her lips, the stingy brine of pickles on her mouth. The most chaste of kisses. Still. Victor was shocked. As she’d hoped he would be. “Goddamn,” Victor said, both disgusted and titillated. Straightening his bulky shoulders, retucking his blousy shirt. He suddenly seemed wary of us, glancing around for support, for confirmation, and I wanted to explain that Sasha wasn’t my daughter, but I was past the point of caring, the night stoking a foolish, confused sense that I had somehow returned to the world after a period of absence, had taken up residence again in the realm of the living. 1969 6 My father had always been in charge of pool maintenance—skimming the surface with a net, heaping wet leaves into a pile. The colored vials he used to test chlorine levels. He’d never been that assiduous with upkeep, but the pool had gotten bad since he’d left. Salamanders idling around the filter. When I propelled myself along the rim, there was some sloggy resistance, crud dispersing in my wake. My mother was at group. She’d forgotten a promise to buy me a new swimsuit, so I was wearing my old orange one: pale as cantaloupe, the stitching puckered and gaping around the leg holes. The top was too small, but the adult mass of cleavage pleased me. It had only been a week since the solstice party, and already I’d been back to the ranch, and already I was stealing money for Suzanne, bill by bill. I like to imagine that it took more time than that. That I had to be convinced over a period of months, slowly broken down. Wooed as carefully as a valentine. But I was an eager mark, anxious to offer myself. I kept bobbing in the water, algae speckling the hair on my legs like filings to a magnet. A forgotten paperback ruffled on the seat of the lawn chair. The leaves in the trees were silvery and spangled, like scales, everything full with June’s lazy heat. Had the trees around my house always looked like that, so strange and aquatic? Or were things already shifting for me, the dumb litter of the normal world transforming into the lush stage sets of a different life? — Suzanne had driven me home the morning after the solstice, my bike shoved in the backseat. My mouth was leached and unfamiliar from smoking so much, and my clothes were stale from my body and smelled of ash. I kept picking bits of straw from my hair—proof of the night before that thrilled me, like a stamped passport. It had happened, after all, and I

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  Pretty well aware what would be the consequence of this proceeding, I allowed her to take her own way. And as even the application of the cold water failed to quench his ardour, she at length admitted that there was nothing for it but to renew the combat and we accordingly returned to the summer house. Notwithstanding all my care, the pain I occasioned her while getting fairly established within her was very severe; but she persevered in her efforts to introduce him to his old quarters until she had effectually accomplished it to our mutual satisfaction. As soon as I had fairly reached the bottom, I desisted from the attack, and allowed her to remain quiet till all her suffering had entirely subsided and she was again in a condition to be able to enjoy the perfect pleasure. The first hot eagerness of novelty being now over, we both felt disposed on this occasion to prolong our enjoyment as much as possible and we accordingly proceeded with the operation more leisurely, watching the effects to our mutual efforts to produce the greatest enjoyment, and telling each other when to quicken or retard our movements, so as to keep the delicious sensations at their highest pitch, and at the same time delay the final crisis as long as possible. Sometimes it was I who would urge the fierce intruder backwards and forwards in his career of pleasure; and sometimes, making me remain still, it was she who, with up-and-down heaves of her delicious buttocks, would make the lips and sides of her charming, tight-fitting sheath move over my entranced weapon, creating within it the most voluptuous sensations it is possible to conceive. But at length we could restrain ourselves no longer, and then again commenced a furious struggle of mutual heaves and thrusts intermingled with burning kisses and fond caresses, which soon resulted in drawing from us a pleasing stream of such enchanting extasy that Laura declared it was even more delicious than the previous one, which she had believed could not have been surpassed. By this time she began to be afraid that her absence might be noticed and insisted that it was time for her to return to the hall. Before she left me I easily persuaded her to resume her morning visits to the summer house, and to allow me to meet her there. I satisfied her that there was no risk in this, as in the event of anyone coming to the place by chance, I could easily take refuge in my hiding-place so that no suspicion could arise if she were found there alone. For several mornings we continued to indulge ourselves with a repetition of our amorous pranks and every meeting only added to the zest with which we gave ourselves up to every mode of enjoyment we could devise.

• From Austerlitz (2001)

  summer’s day years later, and passed a house with all its windows thrown open, I felt an extraordinary sense of being carried away and out of myself. It was only a few days ago that, thinking over that experience of liberation, I remembered how one of the two windows of my bedroom was walled up on the inside while it remained unchanged on the outside, a circumstance which, as one is never both outside and inside a house at the same time, I did not register until I was thirteen or fourteen, although it must have been troubling me throughout my childhood in Bala. The manse was always freezing, Austerlitz continued, not just in winter, when the only fire was often in the kitchen stove and the stone floor in the hallway was frequently covered with hoarfrost, but in autumn too, and well into spring and the infallibly wet summers. And just as cold reigned in the house in Bala, so did silence. The minister’s wife was always busy with her housework, dusting, mopping the tiled floor, doing the laundry, polishing the brass door fittings and preparing the meager meals which we usually ate without a word. Sometimes she merely walked round the house making sure that everything was in its proper place, from which she would never allow it to be moved. I once found her sitting on a chair in one of the half-empty rooms upstairs, with tears in her eyes and a crumpled wet handkerchief in her hand. When she saw me standing in the doorway she rose and said it was nothing, she had only caught a cold, and as she went out she ran her fingers through my hair, the one time, as far as I remember, she ever did such a thing. Meanwhile it was the minister’s unalterable custom to sit in his study, which had a view of a dark corner of the garden, thinking about next Sunday’s sermon. He never wrote any of these sermons down, but worked them out in his head, toiling over them for at least four days. He would always emerge from his study in the evening in a state of deep despondency, only to disappear into it again next morning. But on Sunday, when he stood up in chapel in front of his congregation and often addressed them for a full hour, he was a changed man; he spoke with a moving eloquence which I still feel I can hear, conjuring up before the eyes of his flock the Last Judgment awaiting them all, the lurid fires of purgatory, the torments of damnation and then, with the most wonderful stellar and celestial imagery, the entry of the righteous into eternal bliss. With apparent ease, as if he were making up the most appalling horrors as he went along, he always succeeded in filling the hearts of his congregation with such sentiments of remorse that at the end of the service quite a number of them went home looking white as a sheet. The minister himself, on the other hand, was in a comparatively jovial mood for the rest of Sunday. At midday dinner, which always began with tapioca soup, he would make a few informative and semi-jocular remarks to his wife, who was exhausted from cooking the meal, inquired after my welfare, generally by

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Watching me, Kianna got on all fours and crawled along the floor until she was between my legs. She inhaled Monster, taking long, slow, sloppy drags along the length of my shaft, making him swell to his full length and width. It was heavenly. I allowed her to suck it for about five minutes, all the while staring at her huge ass as her head bounced up and down on me. “You know what,” I began. “I need to hit that.” Loudly slurping her drool off my dick, she pulled Monster out of her mouth, then looked at me mischievously. “You wanna hit this?” “Yea, I think I wanna hit it. You gonna charge me more?” “No,” she answered, spinning on her knees and crawling to the middle of the floor. On all fours, she laid her head on the carpet and reached back, spreading her ample ass with both hands. Her perfectly round ass and open wet slit beckoned me to tap her. “You can have it. You don’t have to give me more money. You’re an ass man. So you probably want it like this.” “Oh, got-damn,” I sighed. “Hold up, baby. Keep it right there. Let . . . me . . . go get a condom . . .” • • • After doing the nasty, I took my new friend back to where I found her on Gilbert Avenue. “My car is parked over at Kroger. Would you drop me off there?” Kianna asked. “No problem,” I said as I drove up Gilbert the additional block and dropped her off at her car in the Kroger parking lot. Kianna got out of my car and then hesitated, leaning down and sticking her head back into the vehicle. “Save this number in your phone . . . 241–0813.” Pulling out the cell, I dutifully saved the number she recited. “What’s up?” I asked. “That’s my mama’s number. Call me sometime,” she said as I cocked my head and raised my left eyebrow. “Not to fuck . . . I mean . . . we can fuck . . . but on a . . . personal . . . tip . . . not . . . professional. Call me if you wanna kick it. Or if you just want to chill. I can cook dinner and we could watch movies. I get bored and lonely sometimes sitting at the house watching Mama all day.” “Oh . . . so . . . now . . . it’s like that!” I remarked sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear. “Yea . . . now . . . it’s like that!” Kianna replied, imitating me, smiling even broader. • • •

• From Saint Augustine (Penguin Lives) (1999)

  We have only one letter from this correspondent, Maximus, with Augustine’s answer to it, but references in the letters indicate that there was correspondence preceding them, and (probably) following. The tone is one of joshing familiarity on both sides. Maximus asks Augustine not to dazzle him with his customary rhetoric, but to argue seriously: Eager as ever for the joy of hearing from you—for the energy of your words that recently gave me, in all charity, a pleasant pommeling—I am not loath to answer in kind (L 16). Augustine pretends that Maximus must be joking if he thinks that lascivious pagan gods are more admirable than men who died for their faith: Are we engaged in something serious here, or is it time to tell jokes? I cannot judge, from the tone of your letter, whether you prefer wit to pertinency because your arguments are weak or because you are, as usual, so affable. (L 17) Hasn’t Maximus noticed where he lives? How can you forget who you are, an African addressing Africans (we are both in Africa, you know), that you find Phoenician names so despicable? Since Augustine lumped the Berber and Phoenician languages together, he thought his mother’s name was Phoenician—like Dido’s. His own love of his country comes out in this rebuke to Maximus: If the Phoenician language offends you, and you deny (what the most learned admit) that much wisdom survives in Phoenician documents, then you must be ashamed of your birthplace, the cradle of that language. Augustine calls Maximus his elder. Was he a teacher or just an originally revered mentor? He was, at any rate, in a position to say that Augustine was of his religious party (secta). We can gauge from that the depth of Augustine’s seduction by pagan literature, and understand better his later denunciation of those who exposed him to it. He knew what power the pagan poets had—they had, for a while, made him a pagan. Attended only by his pedagogue in Madauros, Augustine was able to get his way, telling lies to pedagogue, teacher, and parents to avoid school and slip off to games in the amphitheater (T 1.30). When he was forced to attend school, he hated the flogging system upheld by parents and universal custom. Despite the lash, he refused to learn Greek—not because he could not, but because he would not learn it this way. He had learned Latin quickly because his “heart was laboring to express itself,” but with Greek his “unfettered inquisitiveness” was checked by “intimidating assignments” (T 1.23). Later he dutifully repented his stubbornness, but his schoolfellows probably admired his proud resistance despite repeated floggings. The lack of Greek severely limited him in later days—though even this he managed to turn into a partial advantage. His deep originality comes in part from his lack of dependence on other traditions. 3. Thagaste: 370–371

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  Another scene of delicious toying succeeded. The darling objects which had already given us so much delight were again investigated and admired, and each new proof of the bliss they were capable of conferring upon us only made us more eager to offer up our worship to them. Another delicious combat succeeded. Sir Charles this time took the combat-position, and I again received his member within me. But my concern being now well saturated with the blissful libations that had been already poured into it, the monster slipped into me this time with very little difficulty. Frank, on the other hand, was delighted as well as surprised to discover that he had no easy task to force his way into the agreeable fortress he was about to storm in Sir Charles' rear. But the difficulty only enhanced the pleasure when the breach was fairly made, and the invader revelled in full and undisputed possession of the interior works. And if I might judge from the exclamations of delight, they both enjoyed themselves to their hearts' content when they had once gained admission to their respective destinations. So much so that after they had run one course they gave no signs of wishing to change their positions. I put my hand behind to ascertain the state of matters, and found both the heroes still in such an excited condition that I said if they were disposed to break another lance in the same lists I was quite willing to keep my place, provided Sir Charles would take my charger in hand and lead him on to participate in the pleasing conflict. This proposal was highly approved of and at once carried into effect, to the entire satisfaction of all parties. After this I made Sir Charles leave us, not wishing that we should be entirely worked out as I was quite aware poor Laura would be in a sad state if she found that we were unable to do anything in the way of appeasing her longings after the excitement she must have undergone while witnessing our voluptuous proceedings. As soon as he was gone, Laura made her appearance and scolded us heartily for having wasted so much of our precious strength and enjoyed ourselves so completely without her. But as we each contrived to give her pretty satisfactory proof that we had not spent all our treasures, we soon put her in a good humour again; especially as Sir Charles was to leave on the next day, when she would have us all to herself again.

• From The Master and Margarita (1966)

  Whistling some quiet song, the rider made his way at an unhurried trot through the deserted streets of the Lower City, heading for the Antonia Tower, glancing occasionally at the five-branched candlesticks, such as the world had never seen, blazing above the temple, or at the moon that hung still higher than the five-branched candlesticks. The palace of Herod the Great took no part in the solemnities of the Passover night. In the auxiliary quarters of the palace, facing to the south, where the officers of the Roman cohort and the legate of the legion were stationed, lights burned and there was a feeling of some movement and life. But the front part, the formal part, which housed the sole and involuntary occupant of the palace—the procurator—all of it, with its columns and golden statues, was as if blind under the brightest moon. Here, inside the palace, darkness and silence reigned. And the procurator, as he had told Aphranius, would not go inside. He ordered his bed made up on the balcony, there where he had dined and where he had conducted the interrogation in the morning. The procurator lay on the made-up couch, but sleep would not come to him. The bare moon hung high in the clear sky, and the procurator did not take his eyes off it for several hours. Approximately at midnight, sleep finally took pity on the hegemon. With a spasmodic yawn, the procurator unfastened and threw off his cloak, removed the belt girded over his shirt, with a broad steel knife in a sheath, placed it on the chair by his couch, took off his sandals, and stretched out. Banga got on the bed at once and lay down next to him, head to head, and the procurator, placing his hand on the dog’s neck, finally closed his eyes. Only then did the dog also fall asleep. The couch was in semi-darkness, shielded from the moon by a column, but a ribbon of moonlight stretched from the porch steps to the bed. And once the procurator lost connection with what surrounded him in reality, he immediately set out on the shining road and went up it straight towards the moon. He even burst out laughing in his sleep from happiness, so wonderful and inimitable did everything come to be on the transparent, pale blue road. He walked in the company of Banga, and beside him walked the wandering philosopher. They were arguing about something very complex and important, and neither of them could refute the other. They did not agree with each other in anything, and that made their argument especially interesting and endless. It went without saying that today’s execution proved to be a sheer misunderstanding: here this philosopher, who had thought up such an incredibly absurd thing as that all men are good, was walking beside him, therefore he was alive.

• From Laura Middleton; Her Brother and Her Lover (1890)

  I was amused and delighted with his eagerness about it, but fearful of hurting him, I did not attempt to force my way in, until he asked me why I did not assist him in getting it farther in. I said simply because I was afraid that, as he had not tried it before, I might hurt him the first time, but that if he would allow me to try, I would endeavour to do it with as little suffering to him as possible. He at once told me to do anything I liked, that he could not expect me to allow him to enjoy himself within me again unless he reciprocated the pleasure and that he would willingly suffer any amount of pain to be permitted again to taste the delight he had already felt. I was in no way averse to take him at his word and accordingly set to work. As he gave me every facility, I was enabled with the aid of a little cold cream to make my way in with less difficulty than I had expected. My first penetration no doubt hurt him a little, but he bore it manfully and urged me to proceed till, to my infinite delight, I was fairly lodged within him up to the hilt. The avenue was as tight and delightful as possible, but it was of that charming elasticity which yielded sufficiently to admit the invader, and at the same time pressed upon him with that degree of force which occasioned the most consummate voluptuous gratifications. As soon as I was fairly in, all annoyance seemed fairly at an end and, judging from the rise of his thermometer which I held in my hand, there succeeded an increase of the pleasure heat which I had hardly anticipated. The result was that eagerly availing himself of the lessons I had given him, he set to work so deliciously and exerted himself so much to promote my pleasure that in spite of my efforts to prolong the enjoyment, he drew down from me in a very few minutes the first flow that had saturated his virgin premises. After some little fondling of each other he again wished to repeat the operation. I told him I was afraid of his exerting himself too much, and proposed that we should put it off till morning, but he would not be satisfied with this, and urged me to comply by appealing to an argument the strength and beauty of which I could not withstand. Again this fascinating charmer was plunged into my interior with the same lascivious results and again I was rewarded for my compliance by the full enjoyment of his delicious charms, and after we had each thus attained again to the height of felicity we fell asleep locked in a close embrace.

• From From the Streets to the Sheets: Noire's Urban Erotic Quickies (2007)

  Truth be told, my plan was to come up to Santa Barbara, get freaked proper by my first good fuck, and then take my ass back to Compton. Things had swung serious though, and I knew Dushawn wasn’t just askin’ shit to be askin’. I told him I needed to think about that. “Take your time, baby. I got plenty a shit to keep me busy ’til you hit me back with your answer. I just need for you to know that I can’t ever come back to Compton. I did some serious dirt before I left.” “You askin’ me to move up here?” “That depends on whatchu got planned.” I felt like my brain was ’bout to bust. Everything had flipped so fast. I told him, “I need to come up here for a few weeks and take a look and see where I fit in. I can’t come up here blind, Dushawn. I gotta be able to take care of myself. I got a business to think about. I mean . . . every couple thinks they gon’ make it forever. Know what I mean?” He said, “If I say forever, I mean forever. Splittin’ up ain’t a option. I want some kids. Don’t you want kids, La La?” That shit blew me away. He was talkin’ marriage and family. I asked him, “Where the ring, fool?” I was just jokin’ but he went to the bedroom and started diggin’ through his suitcase. When he came back, he hit the floor and grabbed my hand. What he slid on my finger was some’m that would make the ladies say, “Oooooh!” It was at least three carats and slangin’ fire all over the room. There was a lotta shit I coulda said, but I kept it short and sweet. I said yes. Me and Dushawn spent our last day together fuckin’ each other’s brains out. We talked about er’ything—friends, family, work, old times, and times ahead. I felt like I was dreamin’. We talked about his moms. I saw her from time to time in the streets, and nothing had changed between us. She turned away when she saw me, just so she didn’t have to speak. Dushawn said, “Don’t worry about her. She’s down there and we’ll be up here.” I said, “That sounds all good and shit right now, but how do you think she’ll feel when she knows we’re gettin’ married?” He said, “She’ll get over it—or she won’t. My pops thinks she will.”

• From The Master and Margarita (1966)

  Woland waved his hand and Frieda vanished from sight. ‘Thank you, and farewell,’ Margarita said, getting up. ‘Well, Behemoth,’ began Woland, ‘let’s not take advantage of the action of an impractical person on a festive night.’ He turned to Margarita: ‘And so, that does not count, I did nothing. What do you want for yourself?’ Silence ensued, interrupted by Koroviev, who started whispering in Margarita’s ear: ‘Diamond donna, this time I advise you to be more reasonable! Or else fortune may slip away.’ ‘I want my beloved master to be returned to me right now, this second,’ said Margarita, and her face was contorted by a spasm. Here a wind burst into the room, so that the flames of the candles in the candelabra were flattened, the heavy curtain on the window moved aside, the window opened wide and revealed far away on high a full, not morning but midnight moon. A greenish square of night light fell from the window-sill to the floor, and in it appeared Ivanushka’s night visitor, who called himself a master. He was in his hospital clothes—robe, slippers and the black cap, with which he never parted. His unshaven face twitched in a grimace, he glanced sidelong with a crazy timorousness at the lights of the candles, and the torrent of moonlight seethed around him. Margarita recognized him at once, gave a moan, clasped her hands, and ran to him. She kissed him on the forehead, on the lips, pressed herself to his stubbly cheek, and her long held-back tears now streamed down her face. She uttered only one word, repeating it senselessly: ‘You . . . you . . . you . . .’ The master moved her away from him and said in a hollow voice: ‘Don’t weep, Margot, don’t torment me, I’m gravely ill.’ He grasped the window-sill with his hand, as if he were about to jump on to it and flee, and, peering at those sitting there, cried: ‘I’m afraid, Margot! My hallucinations are beginning again . . .’ Sobs stifled Margarita, she whispered, choking on the words: ‘No, no, no . . . don’t be afraid of anything . . . I’m with you . . . I’m with you . . .’ Koroviev deftly and inconspicuously pushed a chair towards the master, and he sank into it, while Margarita threw herself on her knees, pressed herself to the sick man’s side, and so grew quiet. In her agitation she had not noticed that her nakedness was somehow suddenly over, that she was now wearing a black silk cloak. The sick man hung his head and began looking down with gloomy, sick eyes. ‘Yes,’ Woland began after a silence, ‘they did a good job on him.’ He ordered Koroviev: ‘Knight, give this man something to drink.’ Margarita begged the master in a trembling voice: ‘Drink, drink! You’re afraid?

• From The Girls (2016)

  Any irritation was softened by Suzanne’s return. She gusted into the kitchen, breathless. “The guy gave Russell the truck,” Suzanne said, her face bright, casting around for an audience. She opened a cabinet, rooting inside. “It was so perfect,” she said, “ ’cause he wanted, like, two hundred bucks. And Russell said, all calm, You should just give it to us.” She laughed, still residually thrilled, and sat up on the counter. Starting to crack her way through a bag of dusty-looking peanuts. “The guy was real angry, at first, that Russell was just asking for it. For free.” Roos was only half listening, picking through the makings of that night’s dinner, but I turned off the faucet, watching Suzanne with my whole body. “And Russell said, Let’s just talk for a minute. Just let me tell you what I’m about.” Suzanne spit a shell back into the bag. “We had some tea with the guy, in his weird log cabin house. For an hour or something. Russell gave him the whole vision, laid it all out. And the guy was real interested in what we were doing out here. Showed Russell his old army pictures. Then he said we could just have the truck.” I wiped my hands on my shorts, her giddiness making me so shy I had to turn away. I finished the dishes to the sound of her snapping open peanut after peanut from her perch on the counter, amassing an unruly pile of damp shells until the bag was gone and she went looking for someone else to tell her story to. —The girls would hang out near the creek because it was cooler, the breeze carrying a chill, though the flies were bad. The rocks capped with algae, the sleepy shade. Russell had come back from town in the new truck, bearing candy bars, comic books whose pages grew limp from our hands. Helen ate her candy immediately and looked around at the rest of us with a seethe of jealousy. Though she’d also come from a wealthy family, we weren’t close. I found her dull except around Russell, when her brattiness took on a directed aim. Preening under his touch like a cat, she acted younger, even than me, stunted in a way that would later seem pathological. “Jesus. Stop staring at me,” Suzanne said, hunching her candy away from Helen. “You already ate yours.” Her shape on the bank next to me, her toes curling into the dirt. Jerking when a mosquito swarmed by her ear. “Just a bite,” Helen whined. “Just the corner.” Roos glanced up from the chambray mess of cloth in her lap. She was mending a work shirt for Guy, her tiny stitches made with absent precision. “You can have some of mine,” Donna said, “if you be quiet.” She picked her way to Helen, her chocolate bar craggy with peanuts. Helen took a bite. When she giggled, her teeth washed with chocolate. “Candy yoga,” she pronounced.