Tenderness

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The City of God

  28 Books That Matter: The City of God ›Furthermore, as that sort of teacher, and as one who lived a vocation of communality and public openness about his own weaknesses, Augustine taught a radical Christianity that, along with disavowing private property, insisted that the full vocation of the Christian life could be lived out in the ordinary life of the everyday person. Donatists and Pelagians „In Augustine’s lifetime, the North African Christian churches were split into two factions: ›Christians whose leaders had collaborated in the imperial persecutions a century earlier. ›Christians whose leaders broke communion with the collaborators. These churches were called Donatist, after one of their leaders. „The crucial division was whether toleration of morally corrupt people had limits. The Donatists wanted to draw clear lines and hold them absolutely; the churches Augustine joined believed that stance was unforgiving. Augustine’s signal accomplishment was to convince the Roman authorities to break the will of the Donatist leaders. „Augustine’s writings sparked the Pelagian controversy, which began in the 400s and has never really left the western Christian churches since. ›Pelagius, a British monk, thought Augustine’s emphasis on the priority of grace deflated the urgency of individuals’ moral striving, effaced individual responsibility, and degraded human dignity. ›Augustine thought Pelagius didn’t understand the actual nature of God’s saving work or the direness of the human condition after the fall. 29 Lecture 2—Who Was Augustine of Hippo? ›The debate between them, and then between Pelagius’s disciples and Augustine, continued for the rest of his life. Final Years „The end of the Donatist controversy, the beginning of the Pelagian controversy, and the beginning of the writing of The City of God converged: The controversy came to its climax and resolution in the Council of Carthage in 411, in which Augustine played a prominent role. ›He began writing The City of God in late 411 or 412, and kept at it, though often distracted by other work, until he completed it in 426 or 427. ›The remaining few years of his life were just as busy as the earlier ones, and he kept on writing, teaching, and even occasionally preaching up to a few weeks before his death, on August 28, 430, with the Vandals besieging Hippo. Sources of Misinterpretation „Augustine’s dealings with the Donatists and the Pelagians and his overall practice in the office of bishop constitute the source for his critics’ charge that he is antidemocratic, an authoritarian who gave the highest moral imprimatur for the Inquisition. In fact, in his role as a leader of the Latin Christian churches, he was anything but authoritarian. As a bishop, he continued teaching an anti-authoritarian vision of the Gospel, one that was deeply suspicious of figures such as himself. „Because Augustine overshadows most other historical figures, we forget the human Augustine and imagine the saint. No post-apostolic thinker has been invoked more successfully—or, paradoxically, more variously—to authorize the western church’s teachings.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “No taste for drawing!” replied Elinor, “why should you think so? He does not draw himself, indeed, but he has great pleasure in seeing the performances of other people, and I assure you he is by no means deficient in natural taste, though he has not had opportunities of improving it. Had he ever been in the way of learning, I think he would have drawn very well. He distrusts his own judgment in such matters so much, that he is always unwilling to give his opinion on any picture; but he has an innate propriety and simplicity of taste, which in general direct him perfectly right.” Marianne was afraid of offending, and said no more on the subject; but the kind of approbation which Elinor described as excited in him by the drawings of other people, was very far from that rapturous delight, which, in her opinion, could alone be called taste. Yet, though smiling within herself at the mistake, she honoured her sister for that blind partiality to Edward which produced it. “I hope, Marianne,” continued Elinor, “you do not consider him as deficient in general taste. Indeed, I think I may say that you cannot, for your behaviour to him is perfectly cordial, and if _that_ were your opinion, I am sure you could never be civil to him.” Marianne hardly knew what to say. She would not wound the feelings of her sister on any account, and yet to say what she did not believe was impossible. At length she replied: “Do not be offended, Elinor, if my praise of him is not in every thing equal to your sense of his merits. I have not had so many opportunities of estimating the minuter propensities of his mind, his inclinations and tastes, as you have; but I have the highest opinion in the world of his goodness and sense. I think him every thing that is worthy and amiable.” “I am sure,” replied Elinor, with a smile, “that his dearest friends could not be dissatisfied with such commendation as that. I do not perceive how you could express yourself more warmly.” Marianne was rejoiced to find her sister so easily pleased.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I have heard,” said he, with great compassion, “of the injustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been rightly informed? Is it so?;” Elinor told him that it was. “The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,” he replied, with great feeling, “of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance; but _that_, perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200£ per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting it to him, will be very great. Pray assure him of it.”

• From The City of God

  236 Books That Matter: The City of God We don’t; not anymore. Conceived as strictly merited, the sufferings we suffer due to our membership in the line of Adam and Eve, after Christ, are no more. Now, in this transaction Christ is both truly the sacrificer and truly the sacrificed; the great High Priest who sacrifices, and the sacrificed Lamb of God. Christ is in charge, for Augustine, of both the Crucifixion and the Passion, even unto being the one human who willed his own physical death. Augustine makes a lot of Jesus saying on the cross, “Into your hands I commend my spirit” and then Jesus actively dying. Augustine thinks this is the only person who actively dies in this way, and so Jesus is the true High Priest and the only theurgist in this. Once we know that Christ accomplished all the sacrifice we need, what are we to do then in response to this? What, then, does God want from us? God wants us to do likewise, and so, for Augustine, the human response to God’s loving acts, construed as sacrifice, only makes sense in light of this one true sacrifice of Christ. In a way, this is pedagogical. We suffer for our mistakes and we can say that God approves this suffering as a way for us to learn. This may sound like a distinction without a difference, but in fact it gives a quite distinct tincture to suffering if we think we are suffering pain simply as an end in itself, as payback for our past, or if we think we are suffering as a means of growth for the future form of our souls. The former framework for suffering pain returns us morbidly to brood over our own past; the latter liberates us to look hopefully, if not optimistically, towards a future we will share with others. On this account, human sacrifice is merely responsive to this one true act of God loving us. It does include any and every work that establishes communion between God and humanity. It can be ritual, but it need not be. The Old Testament sacrifices, for example, were external signs of an internal conversion of the person towards God, only the sign of the true sacrifice.

• From History of the Christian Church: The Complete Set of Eight Volumes (1858)

  Mark accompanied Paul and Barnabas as their minister (uJphrevth") on their first great missionary journey; but left them half-way, being discouraged, it seems, by the arduous work, and returned to his mother in Jerusalem. For this reason Paul refused to take him on his next tour, while Barnabas was willing to overlook his temporary weakness (Acts 15:38). There was a "sharp contention" on that occasion between these good men, probably in connection with the more serious collision between Paul and Peter at Antioch (Gal. 2:11 sqq.). Paul was moved by a stern sense of duty; Barnabas by a kindly feeling for his cousin.946 But the alienation was only temporary. For about ten years afterwards (63) Paul speaks of Mark at Rome as one of his few "fellow-workers unto the kingdom of God," who had been "a comfort" to him in his imprisonment; and he commends him to the brethren in Asia Minor on his intended visit (Col. 4:10, 11; Philem. 24). In his last Epistle he charges Timothy to bring Mark with him to Rome on the ground that he was "useful to him for ministering" (2 Tim. 4:11). We find him again in company with Peter at "Baby]on," whether that be on the Euphrates, or, more probably, at Rome (1 Pet. 5:3). These are the last notices of him in the New Testament. The tradition of the church adds two important facts, that he wrote his Gospel in Rome as the interpreter of Peter, and that afterwards he founded the church of Alexandria. The Coptic patriarch claims to be his successor. The legends of his martyrdom in the eighth year of Nero (this date is given by Jerome) are worthless. In 827 his relics were removed from Egypt to Venice, which built him a magnificent five-domed cathedral on the Place of St. Mark, near the Doge’s palace, and chose him with his symbol, the Lion, for the patron saint of the republic. His Relation to Peter. Though not an apostle, Mark had the best opportunity in his mother’s house and his personal connection with Peter, Paul, Barnabas, and other prominent disciples for gathering the most authentic information concerning the gospel history.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  evvaios, a, ov, (εὐνήν) in one’s bed or couch, εὖν. λαγώς a hare in its form, Xen. Cyn. 5, 9; εὖν. ἔχνη traces of the form, 10. 7, cf. Soph. Fr. 184, Meineke Stratt. ’Avad. 1. 2. mostly of the marriage-bed, εὖν, δάμαρ, γαμέτης, πόσις, etc., wedded, a bedfellow, Aesch. Fr. 329, Eur. Supp. 1028, etc.; Κύπρις Id. Andr. 179; εὖν. γάμοι Aesch. Supp. 331; ἄτη εὖν., of Helen, Eur. Andr. 104. 8. λύπη Edy. making one keep one’s bed (cf. δεμνιοτήρηΞ), Id. Hipp. 160; ety. πτέρυγες brooding, of a bird on the nest, Anth. P. 9. 95. 4. edvaia, 7, a nest, v. sub καρφηρός ; also εὐναῖα, τά, a bed, Orph. Lith. 221. 11. (εὐνή 11) of or for anchorage: hence, generally, steadying, guiding a ship, πηδά- dua Eur. 1, T. 432. 2. as Subst. evvaia, -- εὐνή I, an anchor, λίθος evvains Ap. Rh. 1. 955. εὐνάσιμος, ov, good for sleeping in: εὐνάσιμα, τά, convenient sleeping places, Xen. Cyn. 8, 4. εὐναστήρ, Tpos, 6, (εὐνάζω) -- εὐνητήρ, Lyc. 144: fem. εὐνάστειρα, ap. Galen. 13. 876. 11. serving as an anchor, Opp. H. 3. 373. εὐνατήρ, εὐνάτειρα, εὐνάτωρ, v. sub εὐνητ--. εὐνᾶτήριον, τό, a sleeping-place, bed-chamber, Aesch. Pers. 160, Soph. Tr. 918 in pl. :—the marriage-chamber, Eur. Or. 590 :---εὐναστήριον is a later form which has crept into Mss. of Trag., Dind. Pers. 1. c. εὐνάω, fut. 7ow Anth.: aor. εὔνησα Od.:—Pass., Soph.: aor. εὐνήθην Hom., εἴς. : pf. εὔνημαι Anth. P. 7. 397: (edv7):—poét. Verb, τε εὐνάζω (but rarely used in Att.): 1. to lay or place in ambush, ἐξείης δ᾽ εὔνησε [ἡμᾶς] Od. 4. 440. 2. to lay asleep, lull to sleep, φρουρὸν ὄφιν Ap. Rh. 4. 87: metaph., τῆς δ᾽ εὔνησε γόον Od. 4. 758; κάματον, ἐλπίδας, χόλον Anth. P. το. 12, etc. :—Pass., like εὐνάζομαι, to go to bed, lie asleep, Ib. 7.397; of a dog, to lie kennelled, Soph. O. C. 1571, cf. εὐνώμας ; used by Hom. only in aor. pass., of the winds, παύσασθαι δ᾽ ἐκέλευσε καὶ εὐνηθῆναι Od. 3. 3843; so, TOAN ἐν κακοῖσι θυμὸς εὐνηθεὶς ὁρᾷ Soph. Fr. 581; elsewhere in Hom. of sexual intercourse, Od. Io. 296, etc. ; φιλότητι or ἐν φιλότητι εὐνηθῆναι 1]. 3. 441., 14. 314, etc. ; ο. dat. pers. to be bedded with .. , θεὰ βροτῷ εὐνηθεῖσα, γυνὴ θεῷ εὐνη- θεῖσα 2. 821., τό. 176 ;—so, παρ᾽ ἀνδράσιν εὐνηθεῖσα Hes. Th. 967. εὐνάων, ovoa, ov (yaw), fair-flowing, liquid, ἀπ᾽ εὐνάοντος οὐρανοῦ (v. 1. εὐνάεντος, from εὐνάεις, but cf. ἀενάων) Aesch. Fr. 41. εὐνέτης, ov, 6, (εὐνή) --εὐναστήρ, Eur. Or. 1393, Anth. P. 9. 241 :— fem. εὐνέτις, ιδος, Hipp. 1221 E, Ap. Rh. 4. 96, etc. εὔνεως, wy, (vats) well furnished with ships, Max. Tyr. 5. 5.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  talvw, Ion. impf. -εσκον Q. Sm. 7. 340: aor. inva Od., Dor. tava Pind. :—Pass., aor. ἰάνθην. [ except in augm. tenses, e.g. Od. 15. 165; but at the beginning of a verse T without augm., Il. 23. 598, Od. 22.59, Anth. P. 12.95, Q. Sm. Il. c.] (Origin uncertain.) To heat, ἀμφὶ δέ of πυρὶ χαλκὺν invare Od. 8. 420:—Pass., ἰαίνετο δ᾽ ὕδωρ Io. 359: hence ἰαίνεται χολοῦται Phryn. Trag. ap. Hesych. 2. to melt, ἰαίνετο κηρύς Od. 12. 175: metaph., θυμὸν iaivey to melt the heart, Il. 24. 110. 3. more commonly in Hom. (cf. Plut. 2. 947 C), to warm, cheer, Lat. fovere, κραδίην καὶ θυμὸν iaivew h. Hom. Cer. 435; θυμὸν ἰαίνειν τινί Od. 15. 379, Pind. O. 7. 76, Theocr. 7. 29; καρδίαν Alcman 20, Pind. P. 1. 20; νόον Ib. 2. 166 :—oftener in Pass., iva .. σὺ φρεσὶ σῇσιν ἰανθῇς 1]. 19.174; ἐν φρεσὶ θυμὸς ἰάνθη 24. 3213 θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ἰάνθη Od. 4.549; εἰσόκε σὸν κῆρ ἰανθῇ 22.50; τοῖο δὲ θυμὸς ἰάνθη Il. 23. 598; also c. dat., σοι .. μετὰ φρεσὶ θυμὸς ἰάνθη Ib. 600, cf. 24. 321, etc.; also, θυμὸν ἰάνθης 23. 47; φρένας ἔνδον idvOns 24.382; μέτωπον ἰάνθη her brow unfolded, 1]. 15. 103; c. dat. rei, to take delight in, σφιν ἰαίνομαι εἰσορύωσα Od. 19. 537; so, καρδίην ἰαίνεται Archil. 33; iavOels ἀοιδαῖς Pind. O. 2. 26; cf. εὐφροσύνη ;—later, ἰαίνειν τινά τινι Manetho 3. 184, Polyaen. 1. γεν II. =idopat, to heal or save, τινὰ ὀδυνάων Q. Sm. 10. 327; bree κακοῦ ἰαίνονται 4. 402.—Ep. and Lyric word, never used by Trag. Ἰάκός, 7, όν, (Ids) Ionic, Polyb. ap. Ath. 440 B :---τὸ Ἰακόν the Ionic form, Ath. 400 C. Αἀν. --κῶς, Eust. 1064. 4. Taxa, ns, ἡ, Sicyonic name of a perfumed garland, Philet. and Timach. ap. Ath. 678 A, Hesych. ἼἸακχ-ἄγωγός, dv, bearing the image of Bacchus on his festivals, C. I. 481.11, Poll. 1. 35. Ἰακχάζω, to shout Ἴακχος, Longus 3. 11 (v. 1. iaxyedoartes) ; c. acc. cogn., laxxa ew φωνήν Hdt. 8. 65. IL. generally, =iaxéw, of birds, ἰακχ. ἀοιδήν Orph. Lith. 46. *Taxxatos, a, ov, Bacchanalian, στέφανος Philet. 22. Ἰακχεῖον, τό, the temple of Bacchus, Plut. Aristid, 27, Alciphro 3. 59. ἰακχέω, ἰακχή, v. sub iay-. ἰάκχιος, fa, τον, =laryxaios, restored by Erf. in Soph. O. T. 1219 (for ἰαχέων). *Taxxos, 6, (v. sub Βάκχος) Iacchos, mystic name of Bacchus, Ar. Ran. 398 sq., Valck. Hdt. 8. 65; τὸν Ἴακχον ἐξελαύνειν to lead forth a Bacchic procession, Plut. Alcib. 34. 2. the festal song in his honour (such as we have in Ar. ].c.), Hdt. 8.65, Athenio ap. Ath. 213 Ὁ, Anon. ap. Suid., C. I. (add.) 4935 b:—in Eur. Cycl. 69, where the word is found as if an Adj., Ἴακχος #57, the later word is prob. a gloss. to interpr. Ἴακχος. II. used by the Tyrant Dionysius for yotpos, Ath. 98 D. ἰαλεμίζω, Ion. ἰηλ--, (ἰάλεμος) to bewail, Call. Fr. 170.

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  Colonel Brandon’s partiality for Marianne, which had so early been discovered by his friends, now first became perceptible to Elinor, when it ceased to be noticed by them. Their attention and wit were drawn off to his more fortunate rival; and the raillery which the other had incurred before any partiality arose, was removed when his feelings began really to call for the ridicule so justly annexed to sensibility. Elinor was obliged, though unwillingly, to believe that the sentiments which Mrs. Jennings had assigned him for her own satisfaction, were now actually excited by her sister; and that however a general resemblance of disposition between the parties might forward the affection of Mr. Willoughby, an equally striking opposition of character was no hindrance to the regard of Colonel Brandon. She saw it with concern; for what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed to a very lively one of five and twenty? and as she could not even wish him successful, she heartily wished him indifferent. She liked him—in spite of his gravity and reserve, she beheld in him an object of interest. His manners, though serious, were mild; and his reserve appeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits than of any natural gloominess of temper. Sir John had dropped hints of past injuries and disappointments, which justified her belief of his being an unfortunate man, and she regarded him with respect and compassion. Perhaps she pitied and esteemed him the more because he was slighted by Willoughby and Marianne, who, prejudiced against him for being neither lively nor young, seemed resolved to undervalue his merits. “Brandon is just the kind of man,” said Willoughby one day, when they were talking of him together, “whom every body speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to.” “That is exactly what I think of him,” cried Marianne. “Do not boast of it, however,” said Elinor, “for it is injustice in both of you. He is highly esteemed by all the family at the park, and I never see him myself without taking pains to converse with him.” “That he is patronised by you,” replied Willoughby, “is certainly in his favour; but as for the esteem of the others, it is a reproach in itself. Who would submit to the indignity of being approved by such a woman as Lady Middleton and Mrs. Jennings, that could command the indifference of any body else?” “But perhaps the abuse of such people as yourself and Marianne will make amends for the regard of Lady Middleton and her mother. If their praise is censure, your censure may be praise, for they are not more undiscerning, than you are prejudiced and unjust.” “In defence of your protégé you can even be saucy.”

• From Sense and Sensibility (1811)

  “I have heard,” said he, with great compassion, “of the injustice your friend Mr. Ferrars has suffered from his family; for if I understand the matter right, he has been entirely cast off by them for persevering in his engagement with a very deserving young woman. Have I been rightly informed? Is it so?;” Elinor told him that it was. “The cruelty, the impolitic cruelty,” he replied, with great feeling, “of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other, is terrible. Mrs. Ferrars does not know what she may be doing—what she may drive her son to. I have seen Mr. Ferrars two or three times in Harley Street, and am much pleased with him. He is not a young man with whom one can be intimately acquainted in a short time, but I have seen enough of him to wish him well for his own sake, and as a friend of yours, I wish it still more. I understand that he intends to take orders. Will you be so good as to tell him that the living of Delaford, now just vacant, as I am informed by this day’s post, is his, if he think it worth his acceptance; but that, perhaps, so unfortunately circumstanced as he is now, it may be nonsense to appear to doubt; I only wish it were more valuable. It is a rectory, but a small one; the late incumbent, I believe, did not make more than 200£ per annum, and though it is certainly capable of improvement, I fear, not to such an amount as to afford him a very comfortable income. Such as it is, however, my pleasure in presenting it to him, will be very great. Pray assure him of it.”

• From The City of God

  226 Books That Matter: The City of God God wants us to do likewise—and so for Augustine, the human response to God’s loving acts, construed as sacrifice, only makes sense in light of this one true sacrifice of Christ. Christian Sacrifice „The key feature of all true sacrifices for humans is a change of heart—an act of inner contrition that gives all glory to God and turns to our neighbors with mercy in our hearts. ›Yet these outward sacrifices cannot be confused with the true sacrifice. That was Christ’s doing, and it was fundamentally an act of compassion—of feeling one with humanity. ›The church participates in the work of Christ by becoming the compassion of Christ, by repeating its memorials of Christ’s sacrifice in the Eucharist and in acts of compassion and mercy in the world. „This vision of compassion, misericordia, is unlike anything the pagan philosophers offer. ›For the Stoics, one can have a certain kind of pity for the world, but only insofar as one does not identify with that world and does not allow oneself to be moved by that world. But that is just what Christ did: Christ did indeed feel true compassion and was moved by the world’s suffering. ›The problem with the Stoics is that they do not want us to be so vulnerable to the world. They imagine a region of radical privacy, an invulnerable citadel of the rational will which can always be locked from the inside. ›For Augustine, this is misconceived in both directions. The world is always in us, and we in the world, and besides, so is sin, so the putative enemy is always already inside the gates.

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

  Then he pushed his sleeve up higher and aimed his stump so it touched her gently between her legs—too gently. “You can go ahead and grind it in,” she said. He ground it in. “Like that?” “No, harder. You have to get it all wet. In other words, fuck me with your stump.” He pushed harder. “How about that?” “Oh, god, aaah, whoa, fuck, that’s far enough. Now tighten your biceps muscle so I can feel it jerk. Aaah! Good.” She sat up and straightened her hair. “That should do it, yes, you’re all moistened up now.” “Feels strange, a little like burning,” said Dave. “Now, quickly,” said Shandee. Dave held out his glistening stump, and Shandee peeled off the cap on Dave’s arm. She pushed the two ends together, and they joined, making a juicy sloomping sound. Dave was whole again. He fell on the bed, clutching his elbow. “Eee, eee, eee!” he said. “Pins and needles, and thorns and burrs and shrapnel—ow! I can feel the bone knitting back together.” Then, after the pain passed, he smiled, flexing his hand. “My arm is sending me up some vivid memories of touching your face,” he said. “May I touch your face?” “Mmm,” said Shandee. She moved toward him and opened her mouth to be kissed again. But just at that moment there was a knock on the door. Zilka strode in, followed by Jason the bowl man, who held an enormous wooden bowl of his own fashioning, and Glenn the Australian wilderness photographer, and Betsy the beachgoer, and Lanasha the masseuse, and Daggett. Lanasha had a spray tank strapped to her back, and Daggett was carrying his bag of bras. “We’re the field unit for crotchal transfers,” said Daggett. “That was awfully fast, guys,” said Dave. “You must have been waiting in the hall.” He waved. “Hi, Glenn. I’ve enjoyed your dick very much.” Glenn, dressed in a blue button-down shirt and stone-colored chinos, looked pleased. “I’ve enjoyed yours,” he said. Daggett, his days as a Deprivo over, took charge. “Now everyone take off your clothes—let’s just right off get crazy batshit naked, okay? If you women want a special bra, feel free. And I hope you will admire my new balls.” They all admired Daggett’s balls as they shucked off their clothing, and then Lanasha sprayed Glenn’s genitals with the special plasmic transfer liquid from the tank on her back. Daggett had more commands. “Shandee, if you would sit down in the bowl and make yourself comfortable, we can wash your pussy with the magic blue fluids. Jason, you could help by holding Shandee’s legs apart. Spread her wide so Lanasha can spray all of her. Good. And Betsy, could you please suck on Glenn’s cock till he’s good and stiff?” “I’ll have to call my husband,” said Betsy, dialing. “Hi, honey, I’m here with some important people, and they need me to prepare a cock for transfer. Is that okay with you?

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

  Rhumpa watched, fascinated. Daggett seemed almost on the verge of coming, but, with what seemed to be an immense effort of will, he straightened and gained control of his compulsions. He flung the bra on the bed and pulled up his pants and buckled himself away. In a trice he had himself more or less arranged. His wary eye then darted once again to the bathroom door, but Rhumpa was too quick for him—she’d already pulled back from the gap. She got into the shower and began humming. Who could blame the poor man? Forbidden as he was to see any living breasts, he yet had to spend his life carrying around a bag of bras. It was no wonder that he developed what seemed to be a fetish. Rhumpa felt sorry for him. She liked him. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Cardell Goes to the Laundromat [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Cardell put on a black corduroy jacket and went to the laundromat at 18th Street and Grover Avenue. A woman was peering into the dryers. “Do you know which dryer leads to the House of Holes?” she asked, giving him an appraising look. She was pretty in an ethereally wavy flaxen-haired way. “Well, I was told it was the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. An old man spoke. “It is indeed the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. “But stay away from the House, both of you. Lila will suck you dry. You ever heard of King Nynus?” Cardell shook his head. The ethereal girl nodded. “That was me. I wasn’t a king, but I was rich. I had a harem with eighteen women, each lovely in a different way, and I spent my days eating watercress sandwiches. Now that’s all gone.” “What happened?” asked the ethereal girl. “Debts. I couldn’t get enough of the summertime Tit Swarm. That’s when they put a lot of women in a dark room and tell them, ‘Okay, tops off, girls, it’s a tit swarm!’ Then they let in one guy—me. The speaker says, ‘Man entering, repeat, man entering,’ and then the man gropes around, feeling everyone’s breasts. It’s so damn much fun.” “What do you do now?” asked the flaxen girl. “Now I sit here and tell people never to go to the House of Holes.” “You’re kind of a naysayer, you know,” said the flaxen girl. Her curiosity piqued, she opened the door of the dryer and peered in. “See anything?” said Cardell. “Looks pretty ordinary to me,” she said. “It’s not ordinary,” warned King Nynus. The girl climbed in and pushed with her fingertips against the back. Cardell stared at the pockets of her jeans. “I think I found the way,” she called excitedly. Then suddenly she disappeared. “Don’t let it close up, hold it open for me!” said Cardell. He climbed in after her, but when he pushed on the back it didn’t budge. “It’ll be shut for a while now,” said King Nynus. “They never listen.”

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

  Shandee straightened her skirt and checked her lipstick before she answered. “Hi, I’m Dave,” said Dave. “Oh, hi, Dave,” said Shandee, as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve got your arm for you. I found it in a quarry.” She kissed Dave’s arm softly on the knuckles and handed him over, and as she did she took a slow second to look Dave up and down. He was wearing a soft nubbly greeny-gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he needed a haircut. She saw his stump, which ended smoothly and tastefully just below his elbow, and she felt tender stirrings in her nethers. Dave greeted his arm. “Hey there, dude,” he said. “I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.” He looked up at Shandee. “Thanks for taking care of him.” “I’m going to miss him a lot,” said Shandee. “He’s been nice to me—very caring, very responsible. Very sensual in the bedroom, may I add. A little jealous, which isn’t a bad thing.” “No, I guess not,” said Dave. Shandee waved at the couch. “You want to sit down? I feel I know a lot about you. You look the way I thought you’d look, except you’re taller.” “Well, you are quite stunningly, incredibly—damn!” Dave blushed at his enthusiasm. “I would have gotten in touch before now,” said Shandee, “but Lila said you were not ready to be reunited because then you’d have to say good-bye to your huge dick. I thought I’d see you onstage today at the festival.” Dave shrugged. “I kind of decided that being jacked off in front of hundreds of people wasn’t my style.” “I understand,” said Shandee. They were quiet for a moment. “I hope you’ve had some fun times here,” said Dave. “Oh, definitely. You?” “I snuck off the reservation, did some crazy stuff. Spent more time in the old Porndecahedron than I care to admit.” He breathed. “And now here we are.” “Here we are.” Shandee smiled at him, loving his rueful in-telligent eyes. Her vagina—or maybe it was her heart?—felt as if it weighed about eight pounds. Dave’s arm snapped its fingers impatiently. “So,” said Dave, “how do we do this?” “Lila told me how,” said Shandee. “I’ve been sleeping every night with the cloth of Ka-Chiang tucked in my pussyhole, so my juices have special healing powers.” “Oh, nice.” “Now all you have to do is, ah”—she lay back on her bed and pulled up her little denim skirt—“press your stump right here on my cunny.” She pulled her panties to one side and pointed. “I can do that,” said Dave. “But could we maybe kiss a little bit first?” Shandee nodded, and Dave knelt by the bed. She felt the full-on murflement of his enveloping kiss. Their tongues made friends; they’d known each other forever, it seemed. Shandee let her hand fall as if casually till it found the cocky thickness under his pants. She smoothed it over, feeling it swell, and he made a happy sound.

• From The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce: A 25-Year Landmark Study (2000)

  He nodded, as if he had been waiting for me to ask. “One morning, after I knew Dad hadn’t been home the night before, I was feeling really low. I guess I was seriously worried that he wouldn’t come back. Mom had been all teary-eyed and silent during breakfast. I got on my bike to ride to school but I just couldn’t face going. So I rode down to Dad’s store. I thought I’d just peek in to see if he was there. He saw me looking and must’ve sensed something was wrong because he just left off helping a customer and came straight out to me. I remember he looked tired but he also looked kind of alarmed. He asked if anything was wrong at home and looked relieved when I told him there wasn’t. So we went back into his office and we talked. He said he didn’t know why Mom was so angry and suspicious but that sometimes he had to leave because it got to him and made him angry. He pointed to the old leather couch in the office and told me that when he did leave, this was where he slept. That was when I asked him if they might divorce. I’ll always remember this part. His face went all saggy like he was going to cry and he reached out and hugged me hard. ‘Let me tell you something, Sport. Marriage is like a roller coaster. It has real highs and real lows. The lows have been worse than I thought and the highs have been better than I thought. The big picture is that I love your mother and you kids are the high point of our marriage. The picture right now is your mother and I are in a slump, but we’ll work our way out of it. I know we will because we love you kids so much. Our marriage has been challenging, but it’s been a good ride and I’m hanging on till the end.’” Gary was choking up as he recalled his father’s words and blinking back tears. We smiled at each other. “Your father gave you a great gift. Very few dads talk that way to their young sons.” He nodded silently, unable to speak. Finally, he said, “That was one of the most important conversations of my whole life.” When a Marriage Is Unhappy— What Should a Parent Do?

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

  Shandee applauded briefly and turned back toward her hotel. Sad about Ruzty, she thought. Maybe if she’d been stroking him he would have won. She got in bed and turned on a house-fix-up show and watched a man repair a screen door. She got Dave’s arm out and fed him and changed his liquid wastes, and they lay together and looked at the ceiling fan. Dave’s arm tweaked her nipple solicitously. She reached a moment of decision. “Come on, honey, let’s go,” she said. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dave Gets His Old Cock Back [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Shandee went to Dave’s room, number 434, and knocked. There was no answer. “Probably out carousing,” she said to Dave’s arm. “Would you feel comfortable writing him a note?” Dave’s hand took her pen and wrote this: Hey Dave, I’m not feeling too good. Shandee has been taking care of me and showing me some of her kind and loving ways, but I miss being attached to you and doing all the fun things we could do together. I want back on. Shandee will be in her room, 676, tonight after seven. Do not miss this opportunity. Signed, Your Arm. Shandee folded the note and held Dave’s arm as he slipped it under the door. They went back and took a nap together. At 7:15 there was a knock on the door. Shandee straightened her skirt and checked her lipstick before she answered. “Hi, I’m Dave,” said Dave. “Oh, hi, Dave,” said Shandee, as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve got your arm for you. I found it in a quarry.” She kissed Dave’s arm softly on the knuckles and handed him over, and as she did she took a slow second to look Dave up and down. He was wearing a soft nubbly greeny-gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he needed a haircut. She saw his stump, which ended smoothly and tastefully just below his elbow, and she felt tender stirrings in her nethers. Dave greeted his arm. “Hey there, dude,” he said. “I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.” He looked up at Shandee. “Thanks for taking care of him.” “I’m going to miss him a lot,” said Shandee. “He’s been nice to me—very caring, very responsible. Very sensual in the bedroom, may I add. A little jealous, which isn’t a bad thing.” “No, I guess not,” said Dave. Shandee waved at the couch. “You want to sit down? I feel I know a lot about you. You look the way I thought you’d look, except you’re taller.” “Well, you are quite stunningly, incredibly—damn!” Dave blushed at his enthusiasm. “I would have gotten in touch before now,” said Shandee, “but Lila said you were not ready to be reunited because then you’d have to say good-bye to your huge dick. I thought I’d see you onstage today at the festival.” Dave shrugged. “I kind of decided that being jacked off in front of hundreds of people wasn’t my style.”

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

  The Pearloiner Says She’s Sorry Shandee Goes to the Festival Dave Gets His Old Cock Back Lila Says It’s Almost Time to Go The Silver Egg Hatches [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Shandee Finds Dave’s Arm [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Shandee’s sister gave her all her makeup because she was going off to Guatemala. That night Shandee spent about two hours trying on lipstick. Then, the next morning, she went to a quarry with her Geology 101 class. The quarry was called the “Rock of Ages.” It was vast and they dug granite there, mostly for tombstones. The tour guide was kind of cute although his hair wasn’t good—he was maybe twenty-seven. Pretty drastically cute, though, she thought. They were standing on the brink of a space that looked like something from another planet, and he said, “There’s enough granite here to last us four thousand five hundred years.” My gracious goodness, thought Shandee, that’s a lot of tombstones. She turned away from the edge, and that’s when she saw a hand poking out from behind a rock. While the others listened to the tour guide, she went over to the hand. The hand was attached to its forearm, and there was a clean torn cloth wrapped around the end that would have been attached to the rest of his arm. There was no blood on the cloth. Shandee picked it up and felt it. It was warm; the fingers moved a little. The hand pointed urgently at her bag, so she stuffed it inside and went back to the group and listened to the rest of the tour. When she got home she pulled the forearm out and laid it on her bed. It was strong, with sensitive fingers and a blue vein traveling up along the muscle on the underside. She lifted it and whispered, “Arm, can you hear me?” In answer the arm caressed her cheek with two fingers. It had a gentle touch. Shandee said, “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” The arm made a handwriting gesture. Shandee found a pen and handed it over. The hand wrote, “Please unwrap the rag and feed me some mashed-up fish food in an electrolyte solution.” “Where?” Shandee asked. “Funnel it into the little hole with the green rim,” the arm wrote. And then: “I’m glad you found me.” She unwrapped the towel and saw that the arm was capped with a sort of power pack made of black rubber. There looked to be a place for a battery and a place for waste to be discharged, and a place for nutrients to enter. She had an intuition. “Are you Italian?” “Half Italian, half Welsh,” the arm wrote. “I’m known as Dave’s arm.” “Well, Dave’s arm, I’m very pleased to meet you.” They shook. Then she noticed the clock. “Oh dear. Can you sit tight here for an hour?” she said. “I promised someone I’d go to his party and I can’t bear to hurt his feelings.”

• From Go Tell It on the Mountain (1953)

  You put your faith in the Lord, Johnny, and He’ll surely bring you out. Everything works together for good for them that love the Lord.’ He had heard her say this before—it was her text, as Set thine house in order was his father’s—but he knew that to-day she was saying it to him especially; she was trying to help him because she knew he was in trouble. And this trouble was also her own, which she would never tell to John. And even though he was certain that they could not be speaking of die same things—for then, surely, she would be angry and no longer proud of him—this perception on her part and this avowal of her love for him lent to John’s bewilderment a reality that terrified and a dignity that consoled him. Dimly, he felt that he ought to console her, and he listened, astounded, at the words that now fell from his lips: ‘Yes, Mama. I’m going to try to love the Lord.’ At this there sprang into his mother’s face something startling, beautiful, unspeakably sad—as though she were looking far beyond him at a long, dark road, and seeing on that road a traveller in perpetual danger. Was it he, the traveller? or herself? or was she thinking of the cross of Jesus? She turned back to the wash-tub, still with this strange sadness on her face. ‘You better go on now,’ she said, ‘before your daddy gets home.’ In Central Park the snow had not yet melted on his favourite hill. This hill was in the centre of the park, after he had left the circle of the reservoir, where he always found, outside the high wall of crossed wire, ladies, white, in fur coats, walking their great dogs, or old, white gentlemen with canes. At a point that he knew by instinct and by the shape of the buildings surrounding the park, he struck out on a steep path overgrown with trees, and climbed a short distance until he reached the clearing that led to the hill. Before him, then, the slope stretched upward, and above it the brilliant sky, and beyond it, cloudy, and far away, he saw the skyline of New York. He did not know why, but there arose in him an exultation and a sense of power, and he ran up the hill like an engine, or a madman, willing to throw himself headlong into the city that glowed before him. But when he reached the summit he paused; he stood on the crest of the hill, hands clasped beneath his chin, looking down.

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

  Shandee applauded briefly and turned back toward her hotel. Sad about Ruzty, she thought. Maybe if she’d been stroking him he would have won. She got in bed and turned on a house-fix-up show and watched a man repair a screen door. She got Dave’s arm out and fed him and changed his liquid wastes, and they lay together and looked at the ceiling fan. Dave’s arm tweaked her nipple solicitously. She reached a moment of decision. “Come on, honey, let’s go,” she said. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Dave Gets His Old Cock Back [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Shandee went to Dave’s room, number 434, and knocked. There was no answer. “Probably out carousing,” she said to Dave’s arm. “Would you feel comfortable writing him a note?” Dave’s hand took her pen and wrote this: Hey Dave, I’m not feeling too good. Shandee has been taking care of me and showing me some of her kind and loving ways, but I miss being attached to you and doing all the fun things we could do together. I want back on. Shandee will be in her room, 676, tonight after seven. Do not miss this opportunity. Signed, Your Arm. Shandee folded the note and held Dave’s arm as he slipped it under the door. They went back and took a nap together. At 7:15 there was a knock on the door. Shandee straightened her skirt and checked her lipstick before she answered. “Hi, I’m Dave,” said Dave. “Oh, hi, Dave,” said Shandee, as nonchalantly as she could. “I’ve got your arm for you. I found it in a quarry.” She kissed Dave’s arm softly on the knuckles and handed him over, and as she did she took a slow second to look Dave up and down. He was wearing a soft nubbly greeny-gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he needed a haircut. She saw his stump, which ended smoothly and tastefully just below his elbow, and she felt tender stirrings in her nethers. Dave greeted his arm. “Hey there, dude,” he said. “I’m sorry I left you in the lurch.” He looked up at Shandee. “Thanks for taking care of him.” “I’m going to miss him a lot,” said Shandee. “He’s been nice to me—very caring, very responsible. Very sensual in the bedroom, may I add. A little jealous, which isn’t a bad thing.” “No, I guess not,” said Dave. Shandee waved at the couch. “You want to sit down? I feel I know a lot about you. You look the way I thought you’d look, except you’re taller.” “Well, you are quite stunningly, incredibly—damn!” Dave blushed at his enthusiasm. “I would have gotten in touch before now,” said Shandee, “but Lila said you were not ready to be reunited because then you’d have to say good-bye to your huge dick. I thought I’d see you onstage today at the festival.” Dave shrugged. “I kind of decided that being jacked off in front of hundreds of people wasn’t my style.”

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

  Rhumpa watched, fascinated. Daggett seemed almost on the verge of coming, but, with what seemed to be an immense effort of will, he straightened and gained control of his compulsions. He flung the bra on the bed and pulled up his pants and buckled himself away. In a trice he had himself more or less arranged. His wary eye then darted once again to the bathroom door, but Rhumpa was too quick for him—she’d already pulled back from the gap. She got into the shower and began humming. Who could blame the poor man? Forbidden as he was to see any living breasts, he yet had to spend his life carrying around a bag of bras. It was no wonder that he developed what seemed to be a fetish. Rhumpa felt sorry for him. She liked him. [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SW.jpg] Cardell Goes to the Laundromat [image "decoration" file=image_rsrc2SX.jpg] Cardell put on a black corduroy jacket and went to the laundromat at 18th Street and Grover Avenue. A woman was peering into the dryers. “Do you know which dryer leads to the House of Holes?” she asked, giving him an appraising look. She was pretty in an ethereally wavy flaxen-haired way. “Well, I was told it was the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. An old man spoke. “It is indeed the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. “But stay away from the House, both of you. Lila will suck you dry. You ever heard of King Nynus?” Cardell shook his head. The ethereal girl nodded. “That was me. I wasn’t a king, but I was rich. I had a harem with eighteen women, each lovely in a different way, and I spent my days eating watercress sandwiches. Now that’s all gone.” “What happened?” asked the ethereal girl. “Debts. I couldn’t get enough of the summertime Tit Swarm. That’s when they put a lot of women in a dark room and tell them, ‘Okay, tops off, girls, it’s a tit swarm!’ Then they let in one guy—me. The speaker says, ‘Man entering, repeat, man entering,’ and then the man gropes around, feeling everyone’s breasts. It’s so damn much fun.” “What do you do now?” asked the flaxen girl. “Now I sit here and tell people never to go to the House of Holes.” “You’re kind of a naysayer, you know,” said the flaxen girl. Her curiosity piqued, she opened the door of the dryer and peered in. “See anything?” said Cardell. “Looks pretty ordinary to me,” she said. “It’s not ordinary,” warned King Nynus. The girl climbed in and pushed with her fingertips against the back. Cardell stared at the pockets of her jeans. “I think I found the way,” she called excitedly. Then suddenly she disappeared. “Don’t let it close up, hold it open for me!” said Cardell. He climbed in after her, but when he pushed on the back it didn’t budge. “It’ll be shut for a while now,” said King Nynus. “They never listen.”

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

  Noticing that she’d left the bathroom door slightly ajar, she peered through the crack, at an angle, and was surprised to see Daggett with his back to her and his pants around his ankles. He looked around at the bathroom door to be sure it was closed—it wasn’t—and as he turned she saw that he was clutching his erection in one hand and her bra in the other. He turned back and paused, evidently undergoing an inward struggle. Suddenly, with a moaning expression, he began wrapping her bra straps around his erection, which was startlingly large and curved upward slightly like some exotic purple tusk. Holding his hands motionless around her bunched and jumbled brassiere, he rocked his hips, poking and shoving the head of his cock into its waddedness. Then, doubling over, he folded one cup around the length of his cock and made several long gimbaling strokes. Rhumpa watched, fascinated. Daggett seemed almost on the verge of coming, but, with what seemed to be an immense effort of will, he straightened and gained control of his compulsions. He flung the bra on the bed and pulled up his pants and buckled himself away. In a trice he had himself more or less arranged. His wary eye then darted once again to the bathroom door, but Rhumpa was too quick for him—she’d already pulled back from the gap. She got into the shower and began humming. Who could blame the poor man? Forbidden as he was to see any living breasts, he yet had to spend his life carrying around a bag of bras. It was no wonder that he developed what seemed to be a fetish. Rhumpa felt sorry for him. She liked him. Cardell Goes to the Laundromat Cardell put on a black corduroy jacket and went to the laundromat at 18th Street and Grover Avenue. A woman was peering into the dryers. “Do you know which dryer leads to the House of Holes?” she asked, giving him an appraising look. She was pretty in an ethereally wavy flaxen-haired way. “Well, I was told it was the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. An old man spoke. “It is indeed the fourth dryer from the end,” he said. “But stay away from the House, both of you. Lila will suck you dry. You ever heard of King Nynus?” Cardell shook his head. The ethereal girl nodded. “That was me. I wasn’t a king, but I was rich. I had a harem with eighteen women, each lovely in a different way, and I spent my days eating watercress sandwiches. Now that’s all gone.” “What happened?” asked the ethereal girl. “Debts. I couldn’t get enough of the summertime Tit Swarm. That’s when they put a lot of women in a dark room and tell them, ‘Okay, tops off, girls, it’s a tit swarm!’ Then they let in one guy—me. The speaker says, ‘Man entering, repeat, man entering,’ and then the man gropes around, feeling everyone’s breasts.