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 Saint Thomas Aquinas Collection (22 Books) (2016)

  Fourthly, the effect of this sacrament is considered from the species under which it is given. Hence Augustine says (Tract. xxvi in Joan.): “Our Lord betokened His body and blood in things which out of many units are made into some one whole: for out of many grains is one thing made,” viz. bread; “and many grapes flow into one thing,” viz. wine. And therefore he observes elsewhere (Tract. xxvi in Joan.): “O sacrament of piety, O sign of unity, O bond of charity!” And since Christ and His Passion are the cause of grace. and since spiritual refreshment, and charity cannot be without grace, it is clear from all that has been set forth that this sacrament bestows grace. Reply to Objection 1: This sacrament has of itself the power of bestowing grace; nor does anyone possess grace before receiving this sacrament except from some desire thereof; from his own desire, as in the case of the adult. or from the Church’s desire in the case of children, as stated above ([4617]Q[73], A[3]). Hence it is due to the efficacy of its power, that even from desire thereof a man procures grace whereby he is enabled to lead the spiritual life. It remains, then, that when the sacrament itself is really received, grace is increased, and the spiritual life perfected: yet in different fashion from the sacrament of Confirmation, in which grace is increased and perfected for resisting the outward assaults of Christ’s enemies. But by this sacrament grace receives increase, and the spiritual life is perfected, so that man may stand perfect in himself by union with God. Reply to Objection 2: This sacrament confers grace spiritually together with the virtue of charity. Hence Damascene (De Fide Orth. iv) compares this sacrament to the burning coal which Isaias saw (Is. 6:6): “For a live ember is not simply wood, but wood united to fire; so also the bread of communion is not simple bread but bread united with the Godhead.” But as Gregory observes in a Homily for Pentecost, “God’s love is never idle; for, wherever it is it does great works.” And consequently through this sacrament, as far as its power is concerned, not only is the habit of grace and of virtue bestowed, but it is furthermore aroused to act, according to 2 Cor. 5:14: “The charity of Christ presseth us.” Hence it is that the soul is spiritually nourished through the power of this sacrament, by being spiritually gladdened, and as it were inebriated with the sweetness of the Divine goodness, according to Cant 5:1: “Eat, O friends, and drink, and be inebriated, my dearly beloved.”

• From Escape (2007)

  Cathleen and Tammy felt threatened by my access to Merril. They felt that any attention he paid to me came at their expense. The angry bickering resumed at breakfast the next morning about who would sit next to Merril. There would be moments when I’d think how weird it was that the three of us were competing for a man none of us loved, desired, or had ever wanted to marry. After breakfast we flew to the island of Kauai. It was the most spectacular of all the islands we visited. It looked like a mock-up for the Garden of Eden. I had never seen so much vegetation. It was green beyond all imagining. Plants grew from crevices in jagged rocks. Flowers in bright Crayola colors seemed to be ablaze in bloom. Treetops were dense with tropical birds. The blue of the Pacific seemed to mirror the sky and added a pulse and vitality to the landscape it encircled. Our condo was only a few feet from the beach. I took off my shoes and tried to find someone to walk along the water with me. Tammy and Cathleen insisted on staying in the condo with Merril, who wanted to take a nap. Merril had indicated that he wanted to be with Cathleen that night. Rosie, my mother, agreed to take a walk with me. It was peaceful. The ocean was warm, my bare feet sank into the wet sand, and sparkling water washed over my toes. The breeze was gentle and the air felt pure. But swimming in the ocean was unthinkable. I didn’t own a bathing suit and never considered swimming in the ocean or even a pool during the week we spent in Hawaii. FLDS members are usually not allowed near water because it’s considered the devil’s domain. We’re taught that if you put yourself in a place where the devil has sole power, he can take your life. But this belief was often ignored. People swam in the FLDS, but only completely clothed. If your body is covered, swimming is considered daring, but not evil or wrong. The beach was so tranquil that I didn’t want to leave. I felt joy amidst such beauty and experienced a pervasive sense of calm. The absence of anger, tension, and rivalry centered me. Rosie and I had a comfortable but superficial relationship. I never told her what I was really feeling because she wouldn’t be able to hear what I needed to say. She was my father’s second wife and his favorite. He never got along with my biological mother. If I talked honestly to Rosie about my life, she’d tell me to stop whining and complaining. In her eyes, Merril was a man of God and I needed to honor him with my life.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  Do not ye as the lamb who leaves his mother’s milk, silly and wanton, fighting with himself for his disport.” 7 Thus Beatrice to me, as I write; then turned her all in longing to that part where the world quickeneth most. 8 Her ceasing and her transmuted semblance enjoined silence on my eager wit, which already had new questionings before it. And even as an arrow which smiteth the targe ere the cord be still, so fled we to the second realm. There I beheld my Lady so glad, when to the light of this heaven she committed her, that the planet’s self became the brighter for it. And if the star was changed and laughed, what then did I, who of my very nature am subjected unto change through every guise! As in a fish-pool still and clear, the fishes draw to aught that so droppeth from without as to make them deem it somewhat they may

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  The sweet Lady thrust me after them, only with a sign, up by that ladder, so did her power overcome my nature; nor ever here below, where we mount and descend by nature’s law, was so swift motion as might compare unto my wing. O reader, by my hopes of turning back to that devout triumph, for the which I many a time bewail my sins, and smite upon my breast, thou hadst not drawn back and plunged thy finger in the flame in so short space as that wherein I saw the sign that followeth the Bull, and was within it. O stars of glory, O light impregnated with mighty power, from which I recognize all, whatsoe’er it be, my genius; with you was rising, and hiding him with you, he who is father of each mortal life, when I first felt the air of Tuscany; 9 and then when grace was bestowed on me to enter the lofty wheel that rolleth you, your region was assigned to me. To you devoutly now my soul doth breathe, to gain the power for the hard passage that doth draw her to it. “Thou art so nigh to the supreme weal,” began Beatrice, “that thou shouldst have thine eyes clear and keen. And therefore, ere thou farther wend thereinto, look down and see how great a universe I have already put beneath thy feet; so that thy heart, rejoicing to its utmost, may be presented to the throng triumphant which cometh glad through this sphered ether.” With my sight I turned back through all and every of the seven spheres, and saw this globe such that I smiled at its sorry semblance; and that counsel I approve as best which holdeth it for least; and he whose thoughts are turned elsewhither may be called truly upright. I saw the daughter of Latona kindled without that shade which erst gave me cause to deem her rare and dense. 10 The aspect of thy son, Hyperion, 11 I there endured, and saw how Maia and Dione 12 move about and near him. Next appeared to me the tempering of Jove 13 between his father and his son; and there was clear to me the varying they make in their position. 14 And all the seven were displayed to me, how great they are and swift, and how distant each from other in repair. The thrashing-floor which maketh us wax so fierce, 15 as I rolled with the eternal Twins, was all revealed to me from ridge to river- mouth; 16 then to the beauteous eyes mine eyes again I turned. 1. Benedict (480-543), the founder of the Benedictines, is frequently represented in paintings as the type of monastic discipline. 2. “You would not have held back, timidly repressing your questions.” 3.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  thee.” “If the world turned to Christianity,” I said, “without miracles, this one is such that the others are not the hundredth of it; for thou didst enter poor and hungry upon the battlefield to sow the good plant which was erst a vine, but now has grown a thorn.” This ended, the high holy court made God we praise ring through the spheres, in melody such as up there is sung. And that baron who so from branch to branch, examining, had drawn me now, that we were nigh unto the utmost leaves, began again: “The grace which holdeth amorous converse with thy mind hath oped thy mouth till now as it behoved to open; so that I sanction that which forth emerged; but now behoveth thee to utter what it is thou dost believe, and whence it offered it to thy believing.” “O holy father, thou spirit who now seest that which of old thou didst so believe that thou didst overcome more youthful feet drawing anigh the sepulchre,” 10 I began, “thou wouldst have me here make plain the form of my eager belief, and dost also ask the cause of it; whereto I answer: I believe in one God, sole and eternal, who moveth all the heaven, himself unmoved, with love and with desire. And for such belief I have not only proofs physic and metaphysic, 11 but it is given me likewise by the truth which hence doth rain through Moses, through the Prophets and through the Psalms, through the Gospel and through you who wrote when the glowing Spirit had made you fosterers. 12 And I believe in three eternal Persons, and I believe them one Essence, so One and so Trine as to comport at once with are and is. With the profound divine state whereof I speak, my mind is stamped more times than once by evangelic teaching. 13 This the beginning is; this is the spark which then dilates into a living flame, and like a star in heaven shineth in me.” Like as the master who heareth what doth please him, and thereupon embraceth the servant, rejoicing at the news, so soon as he is silent; so, blessing me as it sang, three times circled me, so soon as I was silent, the apostolic light at whose command I had discoursed; so did I please him in my utterance. 1. Contrast Canto ii, note 1. 2. Carol, in old English, as in Italian, signifies a group of dancers. 3.

• From The Divine Comedy (1950)

  C A N T O I I At Jerusalem day is setting and night rising, and in Purgatory day rising and night setting; and as the Poets, pondering on their course, are delaying their journey against their will, they see glowing red in the east a light swiftly approaching them; which Virgil soon recognizes as Charon’s angelic counterpart, who with stroke of wing guides a light bark with its charge of happy souls to the mountain of purification. As they land the souls chant the psalm of the Exodus, and with the sign of the cross their angelic guard departs, to renew his mission. The risen sun now shoots full daylight into the sky, obliterating Capricorn from the zenith; the new-come folk inquire the way and Virgil answers that he and his companion are strangers like themselves, whereon the shades observe that Dante breathes and is still in the first life, and in their eagerness almost forget the cleansing for which they have come to the mount. One especially, the musician Casella, presses forward with a look of such affection that the Poet opens his arms to embrace him, but he only clasps an empty shade. Dante must now explain the mystery of his own presence in that place while still in the flesh, and Casella in his turn must explain the delay of many months between his death and his admission into the boat of the redeemed that gathers its happy charge at the mouth of Tiber. Dante’s heart and senses are still aching from the anguish of Hell; and the loveliness of earth, sea and sky has re-awakened his perception of the healing power of beauty. So a great longing comes over him once more to hear the sweet singer’s voice that has so often soothed him and banished all his cares. Does that power of song which on earth seems akin to the spirit world, survive the great change? Casella’s answer is to sing, in tones the sweetness whereof can never die, a song that Dante himself had written to the praise of Wisdom; whereon Virgil and all the other souls gather eagerly around, till rebuked for this premature indulgence and repose by the stern Cato, who bids them to press forward the cleansing work of the mountain. Whereon they scud along the plain like startled doves. ALREADY HAD the sun reached the horizon, whose meridian circle covers Jerusalem with its highest point, and night which opposite to him revolves, from Ganges forth was issuing with the Scales, that fall from her hand when she prevails; so that fair Aurora’s white and rubby cheeks, there where I was, through too great age were turning orange.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  “See, I can make it tighter,” and indeed he could. His eagerness to please me reminded me that I needn’t have worried, that in his own eyes he was just a kid and I a high school guy who’d done it with girls and one older lady and everything. Most of the time I had dreamed of an English lord who’d kidnap me and take me away forever; someone who’d save me and whom I’d rule. But now it seemed that Kevin and I didn’t need anyone older, we could run away together, I would be our protector. We were already sleeping in a field under a sheet of breezes and taking turns feeding on each other’s bodies, wet from the dew. “I’m getting close,” I said. “Want me to pull out?” “Go ahead,” he said. “Fill ’er up.” “Okay. Here goes. Oh, God. Jesus!” I couldn’t help kissing his cheek. “Your beard hurts,” he said. “You shave every day?” “Every other. You?” “Not yet. But the fuzz is gettin’ dark. Some guy told me the sooner you start shavin’, the faster it comes in. Do you agree?” “I think so. Well,” I said, “I’m pullin’ out. Your turn.” I turned my back to Kevin and I could hear him spitting on his hand. I didn’t particularly like getting cornholed, but I was peaceful and happy because we loved each other. People say young love or love of the moment isn’t real, but I think the only love is the first. Later we hear its fleeting recapitulations throughout our lives, brief echoes of the original theme in a work that increasingly becomes all development, the mechanical elaboration of a crab canon with too many parts. I was aware of the treacherous air vents above us, conducting the sounds we were making upstairs. Maybe my dad was listening. Or maybe, just like Kevin, he was unaware of anything but the pleasure spurting up out of his body and into mine. My father had started his own business fifteen years earlier in order to make money, be his own boss and keep his own hours. These were imperatives, not simple wishes, and whenever they were set aside he suffered, even physically. Money was for him the air superior people needed to breathe; wealth and superiority coincided, though when he said someone was from a “good” family, he meant rich first and only secondarily respectable or virtuous. But his real reason for wanting money, I imagine, was that it was a distinction as absolute as genius and as solitary; any other thing people think is worth getting would have struck him as too arbitrary and congenial. Too sociable.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  Her body changed, but not in the way she expected it to. She didn’t get skinny or tight all over. She didn’t feel like a strung drum. But little by little, the packets of fat under her arms shrank. It was easier for her to run. She didn’t look all that different, she didn’t think, but when she caught sight of herself in the mirror after the shower, she did notice that there was warmth in her cheeks and the whites of her eyes were clear. The world had a vivid intensity to it, like up north, and she felt like she was moving through pure color. After Sigrid passed her comprehensive exams, they started to sleep in on Saturday and Sunday mornings. They became lazy and easy with one another. They made love at weird times of the day, sometimes when the sun was up, which felt especially daring to Marta. It was a strange thing to her, giving of her body so easily, sharing it with another person. It had been like adjusting to Sigrid’s vegetarianism—the way Sigrid would put a hand on her back or on her shoulder, not because she wanted anything but just because she was there. It had been the reason she had not wanted to share a house with Sigrid: All that touching. All that seeing. All that being seen. But it had become the best part of her life, she thought. When they had been together one year, they celebrated by going to London. Ostensibly it was a trip for Sigrid’s research, but Marta found a way to turn it into a trip for the two of them. She had promised to leave Sigrid her own time and her own space to be with her thoughts, to commune with history’s dead women. Marta just wanted to be with her there, to walk the streets of London, holding Sigrid’s hand, carrying her bag if she needed it, offering her whatever support she could. It brought her happiness. The day after they returned, Sigrid took from her bag a small deck of playing cards. Each card was decorated with a different woman from a different historical period. Sigrid handed Marta a queen of clubs. On it, a pretty, blond woman with close-set eyes and a wry, gentle smile looked back at her. “Anne of Cleves,” Sigrid said. “We meet at last,” Marta said, sliding the card back into the deck and shuffling. As she shuffled, Marta watched the faces whip by, a parade of anonymous smiling women, all looking back at her as if across the fanning waves of time. POTLUCK Lionel had been out of the hospital for only a few days when the potluck invitation came. The host lived in the first-floor apartment of a Near East Side duplex separated by a tiny cul-de-sac from the wide-bottomed cottages that fronted Lake Monona.

• From Escape (2007)

  Lisa argued that Merril should be allowed to continue to see our children, but in Salt Lake City. She made a persuasive case for why it wasn’t good for the children to be forced to travel to Colorado City every two weeks. The fill-in for the guardian ad litem admitted she didn’t know much about the case but said she didn’t see why the children couldn’t travel back and forth. Lisa was brilliantly prepared. She outlined in great detail the incident that had happened, the stress and anger the visits caused, and why this was damaging to the children. When the judge finally issued his opinion, the courtroom fell still. Our lives were on the line. He spoke deliberately and in an even tone. “While I believe it is important for the children involved to have a relationship with their father, I find there is enough evidence to support the need to have the visitation restricted to the Salt Lake City area.” My heart stopped. I’d won. We were safe. I knew Merril would never put the effort into coming up to Salt Lake City. The fight was over. It was a huge win. I had proven that it was not in my children’s interests to ever be in Colorado City. We were finally and truly free. This was a groundbreaking case at many levels. If I could get my children out of the cult, any woman with enough determination could, too. The absolute power the FLDS had over women had been cracked. I had proved that a woman could not only flee and live on her own but also win custody of her children. It was a proud day. Brian After I won custody, I went home to gather up all my children to take them to the zoo. We were going to celebrate! Betty refused to go with us and Arthur was very upset. The younger ones were confused and felt they should be angry, but they were too excited about the zoo to muster any anger. We all had a great time, and when we got home we had pizza and root beer floats. It felt like the weight of the world had been erased from every aspect of my being. The school year started and life began to feel more normal. I was feeling stronger and less debilitated by the PTSD. It wasn’t such an ordeal getting the kids out the door. I was stronger and more optimistic than I’d been since the escape. Merril came through Salt Lake City one night and took the children out to dinner. He was heading home from Canada with a new wife. Merril had married a young girl, Bonnie Blackmore, who was a Canadian citizen. He introduced her to my children as their new mother. Bonnie was barely older than Betty.

• From Escape (2007)

  I told Arthur that now that I knew what Merril was saying about me behind my back, there was no way I’d speak with him. Arthur told his father I’d heard what he had said about me in church. Merril was furious that someone had ratted him out. Two weeks later, on May 17, 2003, was our seventeenth wedding anniversary. To mark the day, I got a babysitter and went to a salon to have my hair cut and styled. This was the first time I had ever had my hair cut professionally. Annette took me there and we looked through books and magazines to pick out a hairstyle. It felt weird to be looking at all these different and forbidden ways to comb my hair and to know that I could have any of them I wanted! I had always worn my hair in the FLDS style, which meant a big wave in the front and then pulled tight in the back. Sometimes we wore long braids wrapped around our head. A woman’s hair could never be loose. Sometimes I’d rolled my hair up and put a lace hairnet over it. Now I was overwhelmed by the choices when I looked at all the styles, and had absolutely no idea what would look good on me. Trying to be pretty was such an alien concept. Annette helped me pick a cut that was soft and easy to comb and style. I got a professional perm—which I’d done once before in the FLDS as an act of sheer rebellion—and the stylist taught me how to comb it to match the picture. It felt so strange to me to wear my hair down and without a big wave across the front that was anchored in place with hairspray. When I got home, I was in the midst of making dinner for my children when a big bouquet of carnations and other flowers arrived from Merril. Much joy for a pleasant day, the card read. Pleasant was one of Barbara’s favorite words, so it was obvious to me that the flowers were from her. My children were so excited by the flowers that I couldn’t throw them away immediately. I just left them on the table and proceeded to make dinner. Harrison had been born on my anniversary, so we were celebrating his fourth birthday that night. I had bought a cake and candles for him, which was a novelty for all of us. In the FLDS, birthdays were rarely celebrated. Early the next morning, while everyone was still asleep, I took the entire vase of flowers to the dumpster and threw them in. I could hear the glass shattering. It was liberating. The oppression was over. My life was my own, and no one could take my freedom away from me now.

• From Hot Daddies: Gay Erotic Fiction (2011)

  At Dad’s bedroom door, I knock softly. “Donnie?” I hear him say. “Come in.” I enter, stand by his bed. My cock bobs in its web of rope; I stroke it. Dad looks up at me, rubbing his eyes. He’s so damn handsome—an older version of me, he’s often said, and that’s the biggest compliment he can give me. Dad’s thirty-eight. He’s got a burly body, a full black beard, a head of thick black hair going silvery at the temples. To my relief, he’s smiling rather than frowning. “Uhhmmm?” That’s my well-taped way of saying, “Is this all right? You like this? Do I please you, Sir?” I’ve been his part-time bottom for five years, so Dad understands even my grunts. “Yes, cub. Very hot.” He throws back the covers, and there’s his cock. We both watch as it rises to its full length and thickness. If I weren’t gagged so tight, I’d lick my lips. When Dad beckons, I fall to my knees by the bed. I lay my head on his barrel chest, snuffle the fur there, black mingled with silver, like the hair on his head. “Come on in,” he says, running his fingers over my buzz cut. Now that I have permission, I climb in beside him. It’s so good to be in his bed. I love Bob and the life we’ve made—we’ve been together seven years, since undergrad days, lived together the last four, and it’s all good except for the sex, which is seldom and hardly ever kinky—but even when I’m with Bob, I’m always aching for Dad to truss me up and hold me all night. I’m a restless sleeper, though, and Dad’s a light sleeper, so always, after whatever rough play he gives me, he leads me to my basement nest, leaves a piss-bucket by the couch, ties me up and leaves me there till morning. Just once, I wish Dad would let me spend another night in his bed. As it is, guess I’ll have to settle for this, late-night and early-morning snuggle-fests, his big arms around me, his chest hair tickling my back, his beard brushing my ears. “Sleep all right?” Dad’s fingers range between my pec-meat and cock, squeezing, stroking. I can feel his hard-on against my butt. I nod. I’m so damn happy to be in his arms. “I know it’s raining but…want to go to that Ren Faire today? I’ll bet I can find you that Viking drinking horn you’ve been wanting. There’ll be lots of vendors.”

• From Escape (2007)

  It was a relief to go back to Dan’s guest house. I immediately started doing laundry because we didn’t have enough clothing. My children went outside to play, and I’d never seen them more excited or happier. This was a great adventure for them. Little did they know they were never going back. For the second night in a row I put eight happy children to bed. It felt like a miracle. Betty kept up her threatened hunger strike and claimed she would never eat. But I put food in her bedroom at night and when I went up in the morning, the plate was empty. Arthur was quiet now but concerned. I think he understood what I was trying to do and why. But he was afraid I couldn’t pull it off. Harrison awakened me the next morning with his crying. I gave him a bath and then took him outside to pull him around Dan’s reservoir in a wagon. The morning was silent with a shimmer to it. Dew was still on the grass as the sun was beginning to rise. I watched two Canadian geese fly low toward the water, then skid across the surface of the reservoir before gliding to a stop. The world looked brand-new. I was seeing life in color again. For seventeen years I’d lived in a blur of terror and fear. It had taken all my energy to survive my life. I’d noticed a sunset here and there, but there had been no time for beauty, wonder, or marvel. It hit me all at once. I could suddenly see beauty in an ordinary day: the bright green grass, the emerald pines, and the red, red roses on Dan Fisher’s rosebushes. The forbidden color looked especially brilliant to my grateful eyes. I took Harrison out of the wagon and sat with him in the grass. I looked up and saw that the gates at the entrance to Dan’s property were locked and a security guard was stationed outside. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt safe. Harrison went into a spasm, and I held his body next to mine to quiet him. When I looked up, I saw a black truck on a hill above Dan’s property. It was an FLDS truck. I was being monitored. My sweet moment vanished. I put Harrison in the wagon and headed back to the guest house. Once inside, I realized I was still safe. The only power the person in the truck had was the power of observation. The next day I went with an attorney to file more paperwork for my order of protection. I also got a call from my father, who tried to convince me to stay out of the courts. He said he was sure Merril would help me work things out and that I didn’t need to make such a big fuss.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  She did not see how it had anything to do with her, either. It seemed like the sort of thing that people did at parties. A game, a guessing game of the self. “So if I’m Anne of Cleves, what does that mean?” “It means you’re practical about your limitations, and you do the best you can.” “And who are you?” Marta asked. Sigrid smiled and lay back down. She closed her eyes. “I’m Catherine of Aragon.” “And what does that mean?” Marta asked. She put her hand on Sigrid’s stomach, came close to her on the bed. Sigrid turned to look at her and shook her head. “It means I’m mad as hell.” They did get the place that summer. It was a small cabin near a river—more a shack than a cabin, really, but Marta did not mind it. The air was fresh and clear, the clearest she’d breathed in a long time. The world had a deep, saturated hue, and the tops of the trees were so green that they were almost black. They fished but didn’t catch anything. They waded into the edge of the river, where it was still and cool, up to their ankles, and they splashed one another. Sigrid cut her foot on a sharp rock, and Marta bandaged it and drove her into town, where a local doctor, who had hair growing out of his ears, stitched it up for twenty dollars. At night, it was colder than Marta had thought summer could get. There were deer in the yard. There were birds in the trees. The sky was so vast that Marta felt small when she walked from the porch to the edge of the road. They drank lemonade on the swing, and Sigrid braided Marta’s hair for her, weaving in blue wildflowers. It was the most beautiful place. The most beautiful time. On their last night, they lay outside on a flannel blanket and watched the slow progression of the stars, the smooth carapace of the sky like glass. “I never want to leave here,” Sigrid said. “You’ll have to take it up with the owners,” Marta said, but she knew what Sigrid meant. She wrapped her arms around her, and they shed their clothes and held each other tight as they touched each other. They didn’t get off. They tried and tried, stroking and touching each other’s bodies every way they knew, but as the pressure inside them rose, it dissipated just as quickly, so that by the end of it they were frustrated and hot and damp. They couldn’t get traction on their desire. Every time it seemed that as they were cresting into the oblivion of orgasm, sadness drenched them. Sadness at leaving. Sadness at going back to their lives. The sadness of knowing it would never again be this perfect, this easy.

• From The Sexual Outlaw (1977)

  Before he can plunge in again, the shorter of the two lovers holds Jim's cock, redirects it to his own ass. The tall man sits up watching. The shorter man's ass is tighter than the other's; it won't open at first—and then it does, slowly, barely allowing Jim's cock entry, opens slowly, slowly. Now the taller of the two pops the other ampule, holding it, crushed, to each alternately. Lifted by the amyl's waves of sensuality, Jim continues to delve deeper into the other's tight ass, feeling the flesh of the asshole gathering closely about the head of his cock, now about the sensitive ring of flesh below, now about the vein-pulsing shaft. Cum gathers with the sudden joyous rush of amyl as Jim fucks the smooth hole. As the tall man licks the point of contact—Jim's cock and balls and his lover's ass—Jim leans over, straining awkwardly, to suck the tall man's long cock, creating a line of raw sensation between his own cock and his mouth. Now Jim's hand directs the long cock toward the mouth of the man he's fucking. The tall man kneels before the shorter man bent over. The shorter one receives the cock as Jim thrusts over and over into his ass in exactly the right rhythm, the ass opening to his cock, closing, opening, the softness inside kissing it. Jim looks down—sees his own cock, beautiful and hard and round and long, sees the hair-brushed flesh opening and closing to it, feels the shorter man's full cock pulsing in his hand. Sees and feels flesh and sex. Male, male, male. Jim pulls the man's legs wider, to enter the deepest part of him. Jim's lips meet the tall man's, tongues connecting moistly. Bodies shift. Both lovers kneel head down, buttocks raised on the bed. Jim fucks one, fucks the other, returns to the tighter one, to the other again, the tighter one. The taller man is jerking off his own cock, and his face is under Jim's groin. As Jim pulls in and out of the other's ass, the tall man licks the lunging cock and the other's parting asshole. Jim's body contracts! Pulls forward like a gun! Death is challenged. Cocks explode! Jim's cock shoots into the ass. The tall man shoots into his lover's mouth, the other shoots a gliding arc of sperm into the air. “Oh, God!” Naked bodies lie back, motionless. They lie there for moments. The odor of sex and amyl hovers over the room. Now the two lovers dress. “Goodbye.” “Bye.” “Bye.” In the shower, Jim's soaped hands adore his muscular body. This night's hunt. And what was found? He concentrates on the sound of the jetting water. How many hands? How many mouths? How many cocks? How many assholes? How many lovers, strangers, men? He feels the specialness of his outlawry, and an exquisite joy.

• From Filthy Animals (2021)

  All the other girls in ballet did, too. It’s not special or anything, but I did. And then I got these awful ulcers. And I couldn’t dance because I had no energy and my vision started to get weird? I felt like my body was betraying me.” Lionel sat up then. Sophie’s thumb traced his knuckles. “Then my sister died, and I thought, I can keep doing this or I can try to fucking live. Really live. Dance is awful, don’t get me wrong—if your foot is too big or your shoulder doesn’t bend a certain way. There are fewer than zero jobs. And everyone is on coke or a serial rapist. But when I’m dancing, sometimes, I feel that little ping . I know where I am in the world. I can feel myself. And, like, yeah, my technique is not classical. Come on. I learned to dance in Arkansas. But as long as I can dance, I’ll be okay. I don’t need ABT. Or Royal Ballet or anything. I just want to dance for as long as I can.” “It’s your something,” Lionel said. “Everybody deserves a something, right?” Lionel nodded, and Sophie blotted the corners of her eyes with a sleeve. “Okay, so. Don’t think you can distract me with all this blubbering. Tell me more about you and Charlie last night.” Lionel put his hands over his face. He could smell Sophie’s lotion. The coffee. His own breath. “You’re relentless,” he said. “I just like to know things. I hate secrets.” Lionel felt exhausted by the prospect of telling her more of the seedy details from last night. But also by the prospect of convincing her that he’d already told her all there was to know. There was nothing interesting left except the petty details of how their bodies had been arranged and what it had felt like. But she seemed keen to know exactly that, and Lionel shook his head. “You don’t want to know,” he said. “I absolutely do,” was her reply, but then there was a solid bang at the window between their heads, and they looked out into the dim, late-afternoon sun. A snowball had exploded against the glass. Sophie leaned back and squinted. The world had attained a patina of blue light. The blue hour was upon them. “It’s Charlie,” she said. “Oh no.” The door opened and admitted a wave of cold, dense air. Lionel did not turn but instead watched Sophie’s eyes course over his head toward the front of the café. “White Christmas” was playing, the version Lionel recognized from childhood, by the Drifters. Charles came strolling through the café, and Lionel could almost feel his body heat. “Look what the cat dragged in,” Sophie said.

• From Escape (2007)

  Several days later one of Dan’s friends drove into his yard and saw several of my children playing. He stopped the car and asked ten-year-old Patrick how he was doing. Patrick’s face lit up in a big smile. “We’re living in hell!” he replied automatically. His words said one thing, his smile another. Patrick, like my other kids, was having the time of his life. Leenie kept a cupboard full of cookies and snack foods. Her freezer was loaded with ice cream. The day we first arrived she said my children were welcome to help themselves anytime they were hungry. She also told them when they came over for a snack that they could give her a hug. This was a gift Leenie gave both to my children and to me. I had to learn how to hug my children again after we escaped. In Merril Jessop’s family, it was against the family laws to hug and kiss our children, so nobody did it. When Arthur was a baby, I hugged and kissed him constantly. But his older brothers and sisters taunted him about this until he started to cry. My hugging and kissing him was causing him so much pain, I stopped. When Betty was a small child, she would never allow me to hug or kiss her because she knew her other siblings would mock her. It’s hard to explain how routine an abnormal life can become. But over time, I simply stopped hugging and kissing my children. Of all my eight children, I probably held Harrison the most because when he was in a spasm it was one of the few things that helped. I held my children when I nursed them and felt the miracle of that bond, but once they became toddlers, our physical contact stopped. For a time that broke my heart, but then so much of life crushed down on top of me that this one loss got buried under the rubble and I never gave it much thought until Leenie told me how important it was to show affection to my children. Holding them again helped reconnect me to life in a tender way. Dan and Leenie invited us to join them for a week in San Diego, where they had a beach house. My children had never seen the ocean and were excited at the thought. Betty refused to come with us because we were being so wicked and because we told her that she couldn’t wear her FLDS clothing on the beach. So she stayed behind, but it was okay because she was actually doing better at Karen’s house. It seemed to be a relief for her not to feel responsible for keeping all of her brothers and sisters in line with FLDS doctrine.

• From Escape (2007)

  Merrilee has finally decided there might be more to life than becoming a princess. She’s a Girl Scout and devoted to her karate lessons like the rest of her siblings. She dreams of becoming a veterinarian. Harrison, who’s almost eight, still works with Lee and is on the verge of walking. Bryson is starting kindergarten in the fall. He’s bright, with a happy and well-balanced personality. His teacher says he is always smiling at school and has great social skills. Bryson is very athletic and eager to play soccer. Bryson was a year old when we fled and the only child I’ve been able to parent one-on-one in a nonpolygamist environment. I am never far from terrible reminders of the awful world we escaped. On April 7, 2007, eighteen-year-old Parley Dutson, one of the “lost boys” who was kicked out of the FLDS two years before, allegedly put a gun to the head of his fifteen-year-old girlfriend, Kara Hopkins, at a party, pulled the trigger, and then sexually assaulted her. He’s been charged with murder. Police say drugs were involved. Desperate people do desperate things. His cry for help was a gunshot blast. It shouldn’t have to come to that. Two weeks later marked the fourth anniversary of my family’s escape on April 22, 2003. Brian had taken me out to dinner the night before. I never could have imagined when I fled in a panic with my children that four years later I’d be dining in a fine restaurant with the love of my life. We celebrated as a family the next day—except for Betty, who said she had too much homework to do. We went to see a movie, Meet the Robertsons, and had dinner at a Chinese restaurant. It was the most ordinary of evenings. But not to me. My children and I now know what it means to be safe. Freedom is extraordinary, and love a miracle. EPILOGUE My life has been unbelievable and unbelievably good since Escape was published. I’m living a life now that was unimaginable to me before. Fleeing the FLDS was like jumping off a cliff; I had no idea where I would land. The U.S. Senate was definitely not on the list. But on the morning of July 23, 2008, I raised my right hand and was sworn in as a witness before the Senate Judiciary Committee. It was an extraordinary moment. At the request of one of the most powerful men in the Senate, Majority Leader Harry Reid, the Judiciary Committee held a hearing to investigate crimes associated with polygamy. There were eight witnesses; I was the only woman.

• From Escape (2007)

  On December 25, at 6 A.M., we unwrapped the first present. But that sounds more orderly than it was. Christmas morning was the happiest chaos of our lives. When I went into the living room, the kids were ripping into their presents. I didn’t know so much happiness could exist. Our little family had never shared such boundless joy. There were smiles and shrieks and laughter and exclamations—“Oh, wow, look at this!” Betty was very excited about her presents and shocked that she had received so many. Merrilee got more princess-related gifts and was ecstatic. There were a lot of presents for Harrison, which he couldn’t open by himself, so each child took a turn helping him open something. It was miraculous. Hope was alive again inside me and triumphed over the despair I’d felt when I broke down in sobs and pounded on the floor, wondering if we were ever going to be better off than we had been before. Yes, we were. I had risked all our lives for freedom. My gift that morning was the knowledge that it had not been a mistake. Last Custody Case Before Christmas vacation was over and my kids were back in school, I got sick. It felt like the flu on top of all the morning sickness I had ever had. I was so weak and disoriented that I could barely walk across the room. I was vomiting and running fevers. It was almost impossible to marshal enough energy to cook for my family. Betty decreed that her brothers and sisters could not help me. She insisted that since I’d taken them away from their father, I was responsible for all the work. My sickness was proof to her that God was answering Merril’s prayers. I think that her strategy was to make things so difficult for me that I would have no choice but to cave in and return to Merril. I was sick for a month. There was no way I could keep up with the laundry. I still cooked simple things for Harrison but came to rely on prepared foods for everyone else. Taking my children to six different counseling appointments each week in addition to Harrison’s doctor and therapy visits kept me on the run. It was also becoming a full-time job staying on top of the paperwork required to keep our welfare checks coming. I was sinking fast. Life on the outside was so hard. I had started seeing a therapist myself after leaving the shelter: Larry Bill, who worked with domestic violence victims. We talked for a while about my history. I told him that everything would be a lot better if I could just shake this flu.

• From A Boy's Own Story (1982)

  Kevin took my hand. He was sitting next to me in the dark. I had scooted forward on the cushion to give the others more room. Now our linked hands were concealed between his leg and mine. Just as I’d almost given up on him with his Vaseline, he placed that hot hand in mine. I could feel the calloused pads on his palm where he’d gripped the bat. Outside, the half-moon sped through the tall pines, spilled out across a glimpse of water, hid behind a billboard, twinkled faintly in the windows of a train, one window still lit and framing the face of a woman crowned by white hair. Dogs barked, then stopped as the trees came quicker and quicker and pushed closer to the winding road. Only here and there could a house light be seen. Now none. We were in the deep forest. The change from scattered farms to dense trees felt like an entry into something chilled and holy, a packed congregation of robed and mitered men whose form of worship is to wait in a tense, century-long silence. Kevin had made me very happy—a gleeful, spiteful happiness. Here we were, right under the noses of these boring old grown-ups, and we were two guys holding hands. Maybe I wouldn’t have to run away. Maybe I could live here among them, act normal, go through the paces—all the while holding the hand of this wonderful kid. Back in the basement, we three undressed under the glaring Ping-Pong light. Peter stumbled out of his clothes, which he left in a puddle on the floor. His shoulders were bony, his waist tiny, his penis a pale blue snail peeping up out of its rounded shell. He mumbled something about the cold sheets and turned his face to the wall. Kevin and I, at either end of the long, narrow room, undressed more deliberately, said nothing and scarcely looked at each other. Lights out. Then the long wait for Peter’s breathing to slow and thicken. The silence was thoughtful, like a pulse heard in an ear pressed to the mattress. Peter said, “Because I don’t want to … squirrel … yeah, but you …” and was gone. Still Kevin waited, and I feared he too had gone to sleep. But no, here he was, floating toward me, the ghost T-shirt on his torso browner from today’s sun. With the Vaseline jar in hand. The cold jelly with its light medicinal odor, which warms quickly to body temperature. As I went in him, he said straight out, as clear as a bell, “That feels really great.” It had never occurrred to me before that sex between two men can please both of them at the same time.

• From The Sexual Outlaw (1977)

  Minutes later Jim moves along the path. The boyish youngman who lay barely concealed, legs spread inviting, is still in the same spot; but now another man crouches over him. The unmistakable roar of the hated helicopter! The cops! Men move for cover. Jim continues along the sheltered path. The helicopter circles ominously, whipping up the dirt along the paths. 1:38 P.M. Griffith Park. The Road. A Path. On the main road the hunters have increased. Jim drives past the exhibitionistic lookout: A “U” in the road, where, parked strategically, men in cars flash naked bodies at each other across a gorge. Most of the areas along the road are taken; several cars in each—and Jim never joins others already there—an attitude as arrogant as it is defensive. Finally, on the upper part of the road, he stops in an area shaded by trees; three cars just drove away. Behind, rocks rise into a brushy hill. He stands exhibiting himself. A very handsome man drives by. He looks back. Jim answers the signal. The man U-turns, parks behind Jim's car, and gets out. He's even better than Jim thought; he's very muscular, obviously a bodybuilder too. Jim walks slowly toward the path behind—slowly, to make sure that the other follows before he commits himself to the rocky climb. The other does. They climb steep rocks, move along a short dirt path, climb more rocks—higher into the hill. Still higher. They have silently conveyed to each other that they want more than the furtive moments a readily accessible place might provide. They climb still more. Now they reach a tightly sheltered pocket of trees. They have to stoop to enter it. 1:47 P.M. Griffith Park. The Isolated Cove. Standing before each other—mirror images—they flex in the fantasy poses of body magazines. Briefly, they touch each other. Now they remove their clothes. Naked in the remote cove, they kiss, hands outline carved muscles. Now the other's downward-sliding tongue draws a moist line along Jim's flat stomach to his groin. Jim cups the other's hard pectorals. The other's mouth glides slowly lower. Jim looks down, seeing his own firm thighs, the other's; his flat stomach, the other's; his stone-hard cock, the other's. Their muscles. Jim squeezes the other's nipples very softly; the other sighs. Both stand, separating so they can study each other's flexing bodies, looking at the muscles they will soon touch, lick, fuse with—aware, each, of the rush of blood into aroused organs, as into weight-pumped muscles.