Love

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 Manhunt (2022)

  Tandeka nodded slowly and stroked her jaw, considering. “All right. You take me on through the winter, I’ll help you break the eternal legion of menopausal white ladies with bad dreadlocks or whatever they’re calling themselves now.” Even here, at the gates of hell, thought Robbie, dyke drama reigns supreme. Indi kissed the scar that cut in a clean arc from Beth’s left ear down under her cheekbone. Some of Fran’s sutures had puckered the skin, but she’d gotten to it soon enough to stave off the worst of it. Most of the cut was relatively smooth, the skin between its lips of scar tissue no longer angry red but a soft infant pink, as though the wound had cut back through the calluses life had beaten into the younger woman’s skin, back to something clean and small and wondrously new. “I love you,” Indi whispered in her ear. Beth blushed a bright cherry red. “I love you.” She nipped the younger woman’s earlobe gently, tugging at it before she let it slip from between her teeth. “I love you.” Beth arched her spine, breathing hard as she tried to wriggle her bound arms into a more comfortable position behind her back. Her eyes were bright, her hair damp with sweat and fanned out over the pillow. Indi licked the surface of Beth’s right eyeball, tasting salt and something faintly bitter and acidic, as though she’d pressed an orange peel against her lips. Gently, knuckles white where she gripped the headboard, she lowered herself onto Beth’s face. A faint gasp escaped her as the other woman’s nose pressed up against her dripping cunt. Her asshole clenched, a quiver running through the rolling flesh of her hips and thighs as she settled her weight across Beth’s mouth and shoulders. Her knees ached from kneeling, but the tongue tracing the cleft of her pussy kept her muscles taut and her joints locked. She tried to breathe in time with the motion of Beth’s mouth against her, with the wet glide of her fat cunt over scarred skin and plump lips. She could almost feel the negative of that strong, beautiful face pressed into her body. Please, she prayed as her lips parted and a moan spilled out of her like water. Please, great Rati, don’t take this away from me. She remembered her one trip to Delhi with her parents, the summer of ’96, sweltering air, rank sweat in the creases of her huge, alien body, and her uncle Krishnan—who her mother had come back to talk out of abandoning his family to live as a sadhu —rocking with laughter on the steps of that huge, dirty temple, his filthy black-soled feet kicked up, his begging bowl clattering away as he held his stomach and cackled under the rumbling clouds.

• From The Liars' Club: A Memoir (1995)

  Her stories will no doubt reconfirm the only sliver of irrefutable wisdom on the subject of kin The Liars’ Club ’s odyssey has taught me, now oft-repeated: a dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it. In other words, the boat I can feel so lonely in actually holds us all. If The Liars’ Club began as a love letter to my less-than-perfect clan, it spawned (on its own terms) love letters from the world. Its publication constructed for me—in midlife, unexpectedly—what I’d hankered so desperately for as a dreamy kid comforted only by reading: that mythic village of like-minded souls who bloom together by sharing old tales—the kind that fire you up and set you loose, the true kind. So come on in. Mary Karr Jesse Truesdell Peck Professor of Literature Syracuse University December 2004

• From Manhunt (2022)

  Mariana spoke to the younger woman in rapid Spanish, then made an unmistakable neck-wringing gesture. Zia leaned forward. “I don’t know a non-psycho way to translate that, so I’ll be blunt,” she said. “We’d like your help killing TERFs.” Sylvia staring up at her, face turning purple, snot leaking from her flared nostrils as she tried desperately to suck air into her lungs. V’s head with that gory red notch bashed into it. The man on the top of the roof crashing into her, bearing her down in a lover’s embrace. She still couldn’t take a shit without a stinging reminder of that day. That moment. The mantis crawling up a blade of grass. Teach’s lantern eyes moving unerringly to find her through a hundred yards of underbrush and new-growth pine. “You’re fighting them?” asked Fran, turning a little pale. “There are what, twenty thousand women in the Legion?” “We’ve been nibbling at them as they move north. Picking off scouts. Trapping roads with IEDs.” She replaced the other gauge and set her hands on the table. She had a burn scar on the back of one hand, a smear of shining, waxy melted skin. “Fran, this Pierce TERF who saved you when you got outed”—Beth looked at Fran, her stomach turning. Why hadn’t she said anything?—“Our plant in Boston says she’s just been put in charge of the Legion’s work in Seabrook after Teach’s first pick went back to Baltimore; some kind of internal conflict between Teach and the Matriarchs.” “Probably feuding to the death over whether to spell it w-o-m-y-n or w-o-m-b-y-n,” muttered Indi. “Would you meet with her? See what she can do for us?” Fran darted a nervous glance at Robbie; Beth could practically hear the gears in the other girl’s skull turning. “I’ll do it,” she blurted suddenly, cheeks coloring. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll get it.” “I’ll fight,” said Beth. She felt a momentary flicker of pride in herself for how steady she sounded. Under the table she gripped Indi’s hand as hard as she could. I will never fucking leave you. “I’ll do whatever it takes.” “Me too,” Robbie said quietly. Indi nodded. “I can convert the great room into a clinic if you can loan me a few girls to shift tables.” Beth’s heart beat hard against her breastbone. She felt, for the first time in her life, what she’d longed to feel since the day she’d watched through the just-cracked bedroom door as her sister Debbie and her friends giggled and painted nails and whispered cutting gossip, an ache in her chest she wouldn’t put words to for a decade and change. She felt sisterhood.

• From Manhunt (2022)

  Cringing and apologizing constantly. Looking at her with the kind of furtive, mournful hunger she’d always associated with the most deeply self-loathing chubby chasers. When had things changed? When Fran was obsessed with Cynthia Bouchard and Indi and Beth got drunk together one night while she was out? She remembered The Devils playing on the TV, unreliable solar cutting in and out and a bootleg DVD, the picture watermarked. Vanessa Redgrave licking blood from the wound in Christ’s side as a crowd jeered at her deformed spine, as she staggered in circles flailing her fists and screaming, “I’m beautiful, I’m beautiful.” They’d fucked that night for the first time, Beth turning toward her as the nuns screamed and cavorted among clouds of incense smoke, the film grain shifting as it cut to restored footage. Beth’s face, ear already notched but cheeks still unscarred, nose unbroken, so vulnerable in the flickering gloom. Piles of books sliding from the coffee table as one of them kicked its edge in their laughing, clumsy struggle to find a position that worked. Dark, tense silence when Indi’s fingers brushed Beth’s throat, then wrapped around it. Can I hurt you? Mariana spoke last, haltingly and mostly in Spanish. Fran translated quietly for them as Indi gripped Beth’s hand as tightly as she could. “She says they came here together from Ecuador when the secret police of the new state started disappearing transsexuals.” Her brow furrowed in concentration. “Something about the border; I missed it. A raft.” Mariana made a small gesture, as though she were throwing something away. Fran swallowed. “She wishes they’d died together, too.” Two hundred women and half as many Maenads stood at parade rest east of Main Street in the center of Raymond’s burn zone. Tidy blocks of twenty each. Ash drifted on the cold morning breeze where the marching ranks had kicked it up. In front of the silent crowd, Karin hung naked against the trunk of a burned-out tree, tied flat to its cruel splinters and rough, sooty knobs with doubled cords of nylon looped under her armpits and thighs and across her midriff. Ramona stood beside the trussed girl. In front of them, facing the assembly, Teach paced back and forth, ash whisking in her wake, her coat’s high collar turned up against the chill. “This traitor,” she said, her voice echoing in the zone’s blackened emptiness, “sold out her sisters for a degenerate subspecies of autogynephiles.” Spit flew. Her teeth clicked together. “Men who take sexual pleasure in stealing our bodies. In wearing our skin.” Jeers and boos rose up from the crowd. Ramona spotted Molly at the head of her platoon.

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

  We four then supped together, in the style of joy, congratulation, and pleasing disorder that you may guess. For my part, though all these agitations had left me not the least stomach, but for that uncloying feast, the sight of my adored youth, I endeavoured to force it, by way of example for him, who I conjectured must want such a recruit after riding; and, indeed, he; ate like a traveller, but gazed at, and addressed me all the time like a lover. After the cloth was taken away, and the hour of repose came on, Charles and I were, without further ceremony, in quality of man and wife, shown up together to a very handsome apartment, and, all in course, the bed, they said, the best in the inn. And here, Decency, forgive me! if once more I violate thy laws and keeping the curtains undrawn, sacrifice thee for the last time to that confidence, without reserve, with which I engaged to recount to you the most striking circumstances of my youthful disorders. As soon, then, as we were in the room together, left to ourselves, the sight of the bed starving the remembrance of our first joys, and the thought of my being instantly to share it with the dear possessor of my virgin heart, moved me so strongly, that it was well I leaned upon him, or I must have fainted again under the overpowering sweet alarm. Charles saw into my confusion, and forgot his own, that was scarce less, to apply himself to the removal of mine. But now the true refining passion had regained throughout possession of me, with all its train of symptoms: a sweet sensibility, a tender timidity, love-sick yearnings tempered with diffidence and modesty, all held me in a subjection of soul, incomparably dearer to me than the liberty of heart which I had been long, too long! the mistress of, in the course of those grosser gallantries, the consciousness of which now made me sigh with a virtuous confusion and regret. No real virgin, in short, in view of the nuptial bed, could give more bashful blushes to unblemished innocence, than I did to a sense of guilt; and indeed I loved Charles too truly not to feel severely that I did not deserve him. As I kept hesitating and disconcerted under this soft distraction, Charles, with a fond impatience, took the pains to undress me; and all I can remember amidst the nutter and discomposure of my senses, was, some flattering exclamation of joy and admiration, more specially at the feel of my breasts, now set at liberty from my stays, and which panting and rising in tumultous throbs, swelled upon his dear touch, and gave it the welcome pleasure of finding them well formed, and un-failed in firmness.

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

  Were I really the woman who beats her slaves you would be horrified.” “No, Wanda,” I replied, “I love you more than myself; I am devoted to you for death and life. In all seriousness, you can do with me whatever you will, whatever your caprice suggests.” “Severin!” “Tread me underfoot!” I exclaimed, and flung myself face to the floor before her. “I hate all this play-acting,” said Wanda impatiently. “Well, then maltreat me seriously.” An uncanny pause. “Severin, I warn you for the last time,” began Wanda. “If you love me, be cruel towards me,” I pleaded with upraised eyes. “If I love you,” repeated Wanda. “Very well!” She stepped back and looked at me with a sombre smile. “Be then my slave, and know what it means to be delivered into the hands of a woman.” And at the same moment she gave me a kick. “How do you like that, slave?” Then she flourished the whip. “Get up!” I was about to rise. “Not that way,” she commanded, “on your knees.” I obeyed, and she began to apply the lash. The blows fell rapidly and powerfully on my back and arms. Each one cut into my flesh and burned there, but the pains enraptured me. They came from her whom I adored, and for whom I was ready at any hour to lay down my life. She stopped. “I am beginning to enjoy it,” she said, “but enough for to-day. I am beginning to feel a demonic curiosity to see how far your strength goes. I take a cruel joy in seeing you tremble and writhe beneath my whip, and in hearing your groans and wails; I want to go on whipping without pity until you beg for mercy, until you lose your senses. You have awakened dangerous elements in my being. But now get up.” I seized her hand to press it to my lips. “What impudence.” She shoved me away with her foot. “Out of my sight, slave!” * * * * * After having spent a feverish night filled with confused dreams, I awoke. Dawn was just beginning to break. How much of what was hovering in my memory was true; what had I actually experienced and what had I dreamed? That I had been whipped was certain. I can still feel each blow, and count the burning red stripes on my body. And she whipped me. Now I know everything. My dream has become truth. How does it make me feel? Am I disappointed in the realization of my dream? No, I am merely somewhat tired, but her cruelty has enraptured me. Oh, how I love her, adore her! All this cannot express in the remotest way my feeling for her, my complete devotion to her. What happiness to be her slave! * * * * * She calls to me from her balcony.

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

  In our calmer intervals Charles gave the following account of himself, every tittle of which was true. He was the only son of a father, who, having a small post in the revenue, rather overlived his income, and had given this young gentleman a very slender education: no profession had he bred him up to, but designed to provide for him in the army, by purchasing him an ensign’s commission, that is to say, provided he could raise the money, or procure it by interest, either of which clauses was rather to be wished than hoped for by him. On no better a plan, however, had his improvident father suffered this youth, a youth of great promise, to run up to the age of manhood, or near it at least, in next to idleness; and had, besides, taken no sort of pains to give him even the common premonitions against the vices of the town, and the dangers of all sorts which wait the unexperienced and unwary in it. He lived at home, and at discretion with his father, who himself kept a mistress; and for the rest, provided Charles did not ask him for money, he was indolently kind to him: he might lie out when he pleased, any excuse would serve, and even his reprimands were so slight, that they carried with them rather an air of connivance at the fault, than any serious control or constraint. But, to supply his calls for money, Charles, whose mother was dead, had, by her side, a grandmother, who doated upon him. She had a considerable annuity to live on, and very regularly parted with every shilling she could spare, to this darling of her’s, to the no little heart-burn of his father; who was vexed, not that she, by this means, fed his son’s extravagance, but that she preferred Charles to himself; and we shall too soon see what a fatal turn such a mercenary jealousy could operate on the breast of a father. Charles was, however, by the means of his grandmother’s lavish fondness, very sufficiently enabled to keep a mistress, so easily contented as my love made me; and my good fortune, for such I must ever call it, threw me in his way, in the manner above related, just as he was on the look-out for one.

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

  I drew her up to my breast. “Now, you are no longer Gregor, my slave,” said she, “but Severin, the dear man I love—” “And he—you don’t love him?” I asked in agitation. “How could you imagine my loving a man of his brutal type? You were blind to everything, I was really afraid for you.” “I almost killed myself for your sake.” “Really?” she cried, “ah, I still tremble at the thought, that you were already in the Arno.” “But you saved me,” I replied, tenderly. “You hovered over the waters and smiled, and your smile called me back to life.” * * * * * I have a curious feeling when I now hold her in my arms and she lies silently against my breast and lets me kiss her and smiles. I feel like one who has suddenly awakened out of a feverish delirium, or like a shipwrecked man who has for many days battled with waves that momentarily threatened to devour him and finally has found a safe shore. * * * * * “I hate this Florence, where you have been so unhappy,” she declared, as I was saying good-night to her. “I want to leave immediately, tomorrow, you will be good enough to write a couple of letters for me, and, while you are doing that, I will drive to the city to pay my farewell visits. Is that satisfactory to you?” “Of course, you dear, sweet, beautiful woman.” * * * * * Early in the morning she knocked at my door to ask how I had slept. Her tenderness is positively wonderful. I should never have believed that she could be so tender. * * * * * She has now been gone for over four hours. I have long since finished the letters, and am now sitting in the gallery, looking down the street to see whether I cannot discover her carriage in the distance. I am a little worried about her, and yet I know there is no reason under heaven why I should doubt or fear. However, a feeling of oppression weighs me down, and I cannot rid myself of it. It is probably the sufferings of the past days, which still cast their shadows into my soul. * * * * * She is back, radiant with happiness and contentment. “Well, has everything gone as you wished?” I asked tenderly, kissing her hand. “Yes, dear heart,” she replied, “and we shall leave to-night.

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  You see, Randy was the first person who really listened to me. I’d stay the night at his house. He’d sleep on the bottom bunk, and I’d be on the top bunk. And I would do most of the talking. Wherever I’ve gone in my life, I’ve usually done most of the talking. Talk, talk, talk, that’s me. So Randy and I would stay awake all night, and I would talk about the girls I loved. Some of you girls are in this room. You’re women now, and I’m still a little bit in love with some of you. Ha! No, I’m not going to say who. But, hey, none of you loved me back. Not as a boyfriend. So my heart was always broken. I would talk about you, the girls I loved who did not love me back, and I would cry. I would cry hard. Randy never made fun of me for crying. He would listen and listen and listen, and he would tell me that you girls didn’t deserve my love. He’d tell me the love of my life was somewhere else in the world and that she and I would find each other. Randy was only twelve years old, and he was saying that smart and romantic stuff. But he would also give me advice. He’d challenge me. This one time, he said, “Junior, you fall in love too easy.” And, oh man, he was right about that. The thing is, whether we were talking about basketball or girls or school or anything else, Randy was the first person who always, always, always made me feel loved. Made me feel appreciated. Made me feel understood. And yeah, in the meantime he was fighting and arguing with almost everybody else. With kids and adults. But he was always good to me. And so I started to believe that I was good. I started to believe I was great. More than that, I started to believe that a little Indian boy like me could compete against white people. Do you remember how it felt to be so Indian and so poor and so powerless? And it felt like you would lose to white people? That you’d always lose to white people? Well, Randy didn’t believe that. And he wouldn’t let me believe it, either. He wouldn’t let me believe I was inferior to white people. Or to other Indians. Randy had so much faith in me. It was amazing. And it feels weird to say this. It sounds hurtful, maybe. But I think Randy’s faith in me gave me the faith to leave the reservation school and transfer to Reardan. I think about my older son. He was really sick when he was born, and he needed a lot of speech therapy and physical therapy as he grew older. For a few years, he did hippotherapy. I know that sounds like he rode hippos. Ha!

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

  But when I drew nearer, to view the sleeping estray, heavens! what a sight! No! term of years, no turn of fortune could ever eraze the lightninglike impression his form made on me. Yes! dearest object of my earliest passion, I command for ever the remembrance of thy first appearance to my ravished eyes, it calls thee up, present; and I see thee now. Figure to yourself, Madam, fair stripling between eighteen and nineteen, with his head reclined on one of the sides of the chair, his hair disordered curls, irregularly shading a face, on which all the roseate bloom of youth and all the manly graces conspired to fix my eye sand heart; even the languour and paleness of his face, in which the momentary triumph of the lily over the rose was owing to the excesses of the night, gave an inexpressible sweetness to the finest features imaginable: his eyes, closed in sleep, displayed the meeting edges of their lids beautifully bordered with long eye-lashes; over which no pencil could have described two more regular arches than those that graced his forehead, which was high, perfectly white and smooth; then a pair of vermilion lips, pouting and swelling to the touch, as if a bee had freshly stung them, seemed to challenge me to get the gloves off this lovely sleeper, had not the modesty and respect, which in both sexes are inseparable from a true passion, checked my impulses. But on seeing his shirt collar unbottoned, and bosom whiter than a drift of snow, the pleasure of considering it could not bribe me to lengthen it, at the hazard of a health that began to be my life’s concern. Love, that made me timid, taught me to be tender too: with a trembling hand I took hold of one of his, and waking him as gently as possible, he started, and looking, at first a little wildly, said with a voice that sent its harmonious sound to my heart: “Pray, child, what-a-clock is it?” I told him, and added that he might catch cold if he slept longer with his breast open in the cool of the morning air. On this he thanked me with a sweetness perfectly agreeing with that of his features and eyes; the last now broad open, and eagerly surveying me, carried the surightly fires they sparkled with directly to my heart.

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

  Hear then, Madame, of the one deliberate fault with which I have to reproach myself.... What am I saying, a fault? It was a folly, an extravagance... there has never been one to equal it; but at least it is not a crime, it is merely a mistake, for which I alone have been punished, and of which it surely does not seem that the equitable hand of Heaven had to make use in order to plunge me into the abyss which yawned beneath me soon afterward. Whatever the foul treatment to which the Comte de Bressac had exposed me the first day I had met him, it had, all the same, been impossible to see him so frequently without feeling myself drawn toward him by an insuperable and instinctive tenderness. Despite all my recollections of his cruelty, all my thoughts upon his disinclinations toward women, upon the depravity of his tastes, upon the gulf which separated us morally, nothing in the world was able to extinguish this nascent passion, and had the Count called upon me to lay down my life, I would have sacrificed it for him a thousand times over. He was far from suspecting my sentiments... he was far, the ungrateful one, from divining the cause of the tears I shed every day; nevertheless, it was out of the question for him to be in doubt of my eagerness to fly to do his every bidding, to please him in every possible way, it could not have been he did not glimpse, did not have some inkling of my attentions; doubtless, because they were instinctive, they were also mindless, and went to the point of serving his errors, of serving them as far as decency permitted, and always of hiding them from his aunt. This behavior had in some sort won me his confidence, and all that came from him was so precious to me, I was so blinded by the little his heart offered me, that I sometimes had the weakness to believe he was not indifferent to me. But how promptly his excessive disorders disabused me: they were such that even his health was affected. I several times took the liberty to represent to him the dangers of his conduct, he would hear me out patiently, then end by telling me that one does not break oneself of the vice he cherished.

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

  My love, in fine, was so excessive, that is arrived at annihilating every suggestion or kindling spark of jealousy; for, one idea only, tending that way, gave me such exquisite torment, that my self-love, and dread of worse than death, made me for ever renounce and defy it: nor had I, indeed, occasion; for, were I to enter here on the recital of several instances wherein Charles sacrificed to me women of much greater importance than I dare hint (which, considering his form, was no such wonder), I might, indeed, give you full proof of his unshaken constancy to me; but would not you accuse me of warming up against a feast, which my vanity ought long ago to have been satisfied with? In our cessations from active pleasure, Charles framed himself one, in instructing me, as far as his own lights reached, in a great many points of life, that I was, in consequence of my no-education, perfectly ignorant of: nor did I suffer one word to fall in vain from the mouth of my lovely teacher: I hung on every syllable he uttered, and received, as oracles, all he said; whilst kisses were all the interruption I could not refuse myself the pleasure of admitting, from lips that breathed more than Arabian sweetness, I was in a little time enabled, by the progress I had made, to prove the deep regard I had paid to all that he had said to me: repeating it to him almost word for word; and to shew that I was not entirely the parrot, but that I reflected upon, that I entered into it, I joined my own comments, and asked him questions of explanation. My country accent, and the rusticity of my gait, manners, and deportment, began now sensibly to wear off: so quick was my observation, and so efficacious my desire of growing every day worthier of his heart. As to money, though, he brought me constantly all he received, it was with difficulty he even got me to give it room in my bureau; and what clothes I had, he could prevail on me to accept of on no other foot, than that of pleasing him by the greater neatness in my dress, beyond which I had no ambition.

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

  Had those of the house had the least observations on me, they must have remarked something extraordinary from the discomposure I could not help betraying; especially when at dinner mention was made of the charmingest youth having been there, and stayed breakfast. “Oh! he was such a beauty!... I should have died for him!... they would pull caps for him!...” and the like fooleries; which, however, was throwing oil on a fire I was sorely put to it to smother the blaze of. The fluctuations of my mind, the whole day, produced one good effect: which was, that, through mere fatigue, I slept tolerably well till five in the morning, when I got up, and having dressed myself, waited, under the double tortures of fear and impatience, for the appointed hour. It came at last, the dear, critical, dangerous hour came; and now, supported only by the courage love lent me, I ventured, a tip-toe, down stairs, leaving my box behind, for fear of being surprized with it in going out. I got to the street door, the key whereof was always laid on the chair by our bed side, in trust with Phœbe, who having not the least suspicion of my entertaining any design to go from them (nor, indeed, had I, but the day before), made no reserve or concealment of it from me. I opened the door with great ease; love, that emboldened, protected me too: and now, got safe into the street, I saw my new guardian angel waiting at a coach door, ready open. How I got to him I know not: I suppose I flew; but I was in the coach in a trice, and he by the side of me, with his arms clasped round me, and giving me the kiss of welcome. The coachman had his orders, and drove to them. My eyes were instantly filled with tears, but tears of the most delicious delight; to find myself in the arms of that beauteous youth, was a rapture that my little hear swam in; past or future were equally out of the question with me; the present was as much as all my powers of life were sufficient to bear the transport of, without fainting. Nor were the most tender embraces, the most soothing expressions wanting on his side, to assure me of his love, and of never giving me cause to repent the bold step I had taken, in throwing myself thus entirely upon his honour and generosity. But, alas! this was no merit in me, for I was drove to it by a passion too impetuous for me to resist, and, I did what I did, because I could not help it. In an instant, for time was now annihilated with me, we were landed at a public house in Chelsea, hospitably commodious for the reception of duet parties of pleasure, where a breakfast of chocolate was prepared for us.

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

  There can be no limit to my power over you. Remember, that you won’t be much better than a dog, or some inanimate object. You will be mine, my plaything, which I can break to pieces, whenever I want an hour’s amusement. You are nothing, I am everything. Do you understand?” She laughed and kissed me again, and yet a sort of cold shiver ran through me. “Won’t you allow me a few conditions—” I began. “Conditions?” She contracted her forehead. “Ah! You are afraid already, or perhaps you regret, but it is too late now. You have sworn, I have your word of honor. But let me hear them.” “First of all I should like to have it included in our contract, that you will never completely leave me, and then that you will never give me over to the mercies of any of your admirers—” “But Severin,” exclaimed Wanda with her voice full of emotion and with tears in her eyes, “how can you imagine that I—and you, a man who loves me so absolutely, who puts himself so entirely in my power—” She halted. “No, no!” I said, covering her hands with kisses. “I don’t fear anything from you that might dishonor me. Forgive me the ugly thought.” Wanda smiled happily, leaned her cheek against mine, and seemed to reflect. “You have forgotten something,” she whispered coquettishly, “the most important thing!” “A condition?” “Yes, that I must always wear my furs,” exclaimed Wanda. “But I promise you I’ll do that anyhow because they give me a despotic feeling. And I shall be very cruel to you, do you understand?” “Shall I sign the contract?” I asked. “Not yet,” said Wanda. “I shall first add your conditions, and the actual signing won’t occur until the proper time and place.” “In Constantinople?” “No. I have thought things over. What special value would there be in owning a slave where everyone owns slaves. What I want is to have a slave, I alone, here in our civilized sober, Philistine world, and a slave who submits helplessly to my power solely on account of my beauty and personality, not because of law, of property rights, or compulsions. This attracts me. But at any rate we will go to a country where we are not known and where you can appear before the world as my servant without embarrassment.

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

  Brown did not soon provide me with the essential specific. In short, I had all the air of not being able to wait the arrival of my lord B——, though he was now expected in a very fews days: nor did I wait for him, for love itself took charge of the disposal of me, in spite of interest, or gross lust. It was now two days after the closet scene, that I got up about six in the morning, and leaving my bedfellow fast asleep, stole down, with no other thought than of taking a little fresh air in a small garden, which our back parlour opened into, and from which my confinement debarred me, at the times company came to my house; but now sleep and silence reigned all over it. I opened the parlour door, and well surprised was I at seeing, by the side of a fire half-out, a young gentleman in the old lady’s elbow chair, with his legs laid upon another, fast asleep, and left there by his thoughtless companions, who had drank him down, and then went off with every one but his mistress, whilst he stayed behind by the courtesy of the old matron, who would not disturb or turn him out in that condition at one in the morning; and beds, it is more than probable there were none to spare. On the table still remained the punch bowl and glasses, stewed about in their usual disorder after a drunken revel. But when I drew nearer, to view the sleeping estray, heavens! what a sight! No! term of years, no turn of fortune could ever eraze the lightninglike impression his form made on me. Yes! dearest object of my earliest passion, I command for ever the remembrance of thy first appearance to my ravished eyes, it calls thee up, present; and I see thee now.

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

  When by chance I happened to be close to her on the way back, she secretly pressed my hand. Her glance was so radiant, so full of promised happiness, that in a moment all the torments of these days were forgotten and all their wounds healed. I now am aware again of how much I love her. * * * * * “My friend has complained about you,” said Wanda to-day. “Perhaps she feels that I despise her.” “But why do you despise her, you foolish young man?” exclaimed Wanda, pulling my ears with both hands. “Because she is a hypocrite,” I said. “I respect only a woman who is actually virtuous, or who openly lives for pleasure’s sake.” “Like me, for instance,” replied Wanda jestingly, “but you see, child, a woman can only do that in the rarest cases. She can neither be as gaily sensual, nor as spiritually free as man; her state is always a mixture of the sensual and spiritual. Her heart desires to enchain man permanently, while she herself is ever subject to the desire for change. The result is a conflict, and thus usually against her wishes lies and deception enter into her actions and personality and corrupt her character.” “Certainly that is true,” I said. “The transcendental character with which woman wants to stamp love leads her to deception.” “But the world likewise demands it,” Wanda interrupted. “Look at this woman. She has a husband and a lover in Lemberg and has found a new admirer here. She deceives all three and yet is honored by all and respected by the world.” “I don’t care,” I exclaimed, “but she is to leave you alone; she treats you like an article of commerce.” “Why not?” the beautiful woman interrupted vivaciously. “Every woman has the instinct or desire to draw advantage out of her attractions, and much is to be said for giving one’s self without love or pleasure because if you do it in cold blood, you can reap profit to best advantage.” “Wanda, what are you saying?”

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

  But you are my slave, my—” She suddenly leaped up; the furs slipped down, and she threw her arms with soft pressure about my neck. “My beloved slave, Severin, oh, how I love you, how I adore you, how handsome you are in your Cracovian costume! You will be cold to-night up in your wretched room without a fire. Shall I give you one of my furs, dear heart, the large one there—” She quickly picked it up, throwing it over my shoulders, and before I knew what had happened I was completely wrapped up in it. “How wonderfully becoming furs are to your face, they bring out your noble lines. As soon as you cease being my slave, you must wear a velvet coat with sable, do you understand? Otherwise I shall never put on my fur-jacket again.” And again she began to caress me and kiss me; finally she drew me down on the little divan. “You seem to be pleased with yourself in furs,” she said. “Quick, quick, give them to me, or I will lose all sense of dignity.” I placed the furs about her, and Wanda slipped her right arm into the sleeve. “This is the pose in Titian’s picture. But now enough of joking. Don’t always look so solemn, it makes me feel sad. As far as the world is concerned you are still merely my servant; you are not yet my slave, for you have not yet signed the contract. You are still free, and can leave me any moment. You have played your part magnificently. I have been delighted, but aren’t you tired of it already, and don’t you think I am abominable? Well, say something—I command it.” “Must I confess to you, Wanda?” I began. “Yes, you must.” “Even if you take advantage of it,” I continued, “I shall love you the more deeply, adore you the more fanatically, the worse you treat me. What you have just done inflames my blood and intoxicates all my senses.” I held her close to me and clung for several moments to her moist lips. “Oh, you beautiful woman,” I then exclaimed, looking at her. In my enthusiasm I tore the sable from her shoulders and pressed my mouth against her neck. “You love me even when I am cruel,” said Wanda, “now go!—you bore me—don’t you hear?” She boxed my ears so that I saw stars and bells rang in my ears. “Help me into my furs, slave.” I helped her, as well as I could. “How awkward,” she exclaimed, and was scarcely in it before she struck me in the face again.

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

  "'Why not? Can you not always be as fond of me as I am of you, or do I only care for you on account of the sensual pleasures you afford me? You know that my heart yearns for you when the senses are satiated and the desire is blunted.' "'Still, had it not been for me, you might have loved some woman whom you could have married——' "'And have found out, but too late, that I was born with other cravings. No, sooner or later I should have followed my destiny.' "'Now it might be quite different; satiated with my love, you might, perhaps, marry and forget me.' "'Never. But come, have you been confessing yourself? Are you going to turn Calvinist? or, like the "Dame aux Camellias," or Antinöus, do you think it necessary to sacrifice yourself on the altar of love for my sake?' "'Please, don't joke.' "'No, I'll tell you what we'll do. Let us leave France. Let us go to Spain, to Southern Italy—nay, let us leave Europe, and go to the East, where I must surely have lived during some former life, and which I have a hankering to see, just as if the land "Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine," had been the home of my youth; there, unknown to everyone, forgotten by the world.' "'Yes, but can I leave this town?' said he, musingly, more to himself than to me. "I knew that of late Teleny had been dunned a good deal, and that his life had often been rendered unpleasant by usurers. "Caring, therefore, but little what people might think of me—besides, who has not a good opinion of the man that pays?—I had called all his creditors together, and, unknown to him, I had settled all his debts. I was about to tell him so, and relieve him from the weight that was oppressing him, when Fate—blind, inexorable, crushing Fate—sealed my mouth. "There was again a loud ring at the door. Had that bell been rung a few seconds later, how different his life and mine would have been! But it was Kismet, as the Turks say. "It was the carriage that had come to take him to the station. Whilst he was getting ready, I helped him to pack up his dress suit and some other little things he might require. I took up, by chance, a small match-box containing French letters, and smiling, said,— "'Here, I'll put them in your trunk; they might be useful.' "He shuddered, and grew deathly pale. "'Who knows?' said I; 'some beautiful lady patroness——' "'Please, don't joke,' he retorted, almost angrily. "'Oh! now I can afford to do so, but once—do you know that I was even jealous of my mother?' "Teleny at that moment dropped the mirror he was holding, which, as it fell, was shivered to pieces. "For a moment we both looked aghast. Was it not a dreadful omen?

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  “So, anyway,” he said. “I was reading this book about old-time Indians, about how we used to be nomadic.” “Yeah,” I said. “So I looked up nomadic in the dictionary, and it means people who move around, who keep moving, in search of food and water and grazing land.” “That sounds about right.” “Well, the thing is, I don’t think Indians are nomadic anymore. Most Indians, anyway.” “No, we’re not,” I said. “I’m not nomadic,” Rowdy said. “Hardly anybody on this rez is nomadic. Except for you. You’re the nomadic one.” “Whatever.” “No, I’m serious. I always knew you were going to leave. I always knew you were going to leave us behind and travel the world. I had this dream about you a few months ago. You were standing on the Great Wall of China. You looked happy. And I was happy for you.” Rowdy didn’t cry. But I did. “You’re an old-time nomad,” Rowdy said. “You’re going to keep moving all over the world in search of food and water and grazing land. That’s pretty cool.” I could barely talk. “Thank you,” I said. “Yeah,” Rowdy said. “Just make sure you send me postcards, you asshole.” “From everywhere,” I said. I would always love Rowdy. And I would always miss him, too. Just as I would always love and miss my grandmother, my big sister, and Eugene. Just as I would always love and miss my reservation and my tribe. I hoped and prayed that they would someday forgive me for leaving them. I hoped and prayed that I would someday forgive myself for leaving them. “Ah, man,” Rowdy said. “Stop crying.” “Will we still know each other when we’re old men?” I asked. “Who knows anything?” Rowdy asked. Then he threw me the ball. “Now quit your blubbering,” he said. “And play ball.” I wiped my tears away, dribbled once, twice, and pulled up for a jumper. Rowdy and I played one-on-one for hours. We played until dark. We played until the streetlights lit up the court. We played until the bats swooped down at our heads. We played until the moon was huge and golden and perfect in the dark sky. We didn’t keep score. Discover Your Next Great Read Get sneak peeks, book recommendations, and news about your favorite authors. Tap here to learn more. [image "Two circles containing the white letters L and B, representing Little Brown and Company." file=image_rsrc4RH.jpg] [image "Book cover of ‘The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, 10th Anniversary Edition’ by Sherman Alexie." file=image_rsrc4TF.jpg] Contents [image file=image_rsrc4TG.jpg] A NOTE FROM SHERMAN ALEXIE PERSONAL PHOTOS FROM SHERMAN ROWDY, ROWDY, ROWDY A LETTER FROM AN EDUCATOR FAN ARTWORK WATER ON THE BRAIN JESS WALTER INTERVIEWS SHERMAN ALEXIE INTERVIEW WITH ELLEN FORNEY DISCUSSION GUIDE

• From The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (2007)

  “You just have to send me postcards,” he said. “You have to be a postcard Indian. You have to send me postcards from everywhere in the world.” Well, I don’t think I ever sent one postcard to Randy J. Peone. But I wrote a novel about him. And I’ve discovered that millions of people love the fictional version of Randy. Randy, I don’t know if you knew how important Rowdy has become to people. And I never told you how important you have always been to me. We didn’t talk about things like that. We didn’t talk about us. But I do know some good things. I am a storyteller because you listened to me. I am alive because you lived. And, like I said earlier, I don’t believe in magic. I don’t believe in God, either. But I thank God anyway for you. I thank God you stepped into that sixth-grade classroom and asked me my name. Dear Randy J. Peone, dear Rowdy, I love you so much. And I will miss you forever. Personal Photos from Sherman [image "A photograph of Sherman and his siblings Arnold, Kim and Arlene surrounding their father." file=image_rsrc4TH.jpg] Arnold, my big brother; my younger sisters, twins Kim and Arlene; and me piling on my father, Sherman Alexie Sr. It was taken by my mother in 1971 in our nineteenth-century house on the Spokane Indian Reservation. At this point, we lived in our one-bedroom house with our big sister, Mary; my father’s grandmother Lizzie and his great-uncle Stubby; and five adult cousins, Johnny, Tinker, Bill, Eugene, and Sam. [image "Sherman, Arnold and their father pose with raised fists, all shirtless." file=image_rsrc4TJ.jpg] Me, my big brother, and my father pretending to be Bruce Lee. It was taken by my mother in 1975 in our house constructed by the Department of Housing and Urban Development. My father had just returned from a ten-day drinking binge, and we were happy to have him home. [image "Arnold jumps to shoot a basketball while another player defends. Other players and spectators are visible in the background." file=image_rsrc4TK.jpg] Reardan High School Annual, 1985 This is me, six feet two inches and 145 pounds, hitting a jumper against Harrington High School during my senior year. We were an undersized and underdog team that year but won our district playoffs by defeating Ritzville and Davenport, who finished second and third in the Class B state tournament. We lost our two games in the state tourney, and I still have nightmares about those losses. [image "The late Randy J. Peone sitting at a desk holding a phone with papers and a wall with drawings behind them" file=image_rsrc4TM.jpg] Springdale High School Annual, 1985 The late Randy J. Peone, my childhood best friend and the inspiration for Rowdy. I will miss him forever.