lust

This, it would turn out, is the main thing we had in common: a susceptibility to the brassy escapism of myth.

We might like to think of ourselves as autonomous beings who get to decide who we are going to be, but we are likely much more malleable than we think. We are often defined by the structure that keeps us captive. In some ways our desires are so socially constructed that they can't rightfully be called our own.

Now do you understand why I'm interested in you? You're a locked door, sweetheart. You give no one a key and you never answer the door when anyone knocks...Ah, but sometimes, sometimes I get a peek through the keyhole and what I find there...It's like glimpsing you as you're stripping. Underneath all of that darkness is something hungry, something desperate, something, oh, so deliciously vulnerable.

We hunger in earnest for that which we cannot consume.

Lust is a tool, desire a trap. Wield the first, and you can take someone__ soul. Fall into the second, and they can take yours. ~ Isadora Conti to Grayson van Court

I want your scent to intoxicate my passions to the point where lust is merely a word, dancing upon our flames of desire...

Lust? I have no desire to incite lust in anyone."Veliss turned to her with a quizzical expression, her smile suddenly genuine. "Then I'm afraid you're in for a lifetime of disappointment.

I understand it was Derian who spoiled everything. He purposefully tainted your view of me and forced you to go along with him. I know none of what happened was your idea or your desire, Eena.__he didn__ get up, but spoke from her curled position. Her voice was weak, still heavy with despair. __erian didn__ force me to do anything.___ut if he hadn__ influenced you, we would be enjoying a pleasant dinner again, telling stories and laughing. I__ sure that would be the case. You would be happy_and so would I.__ena chuckled without amusement.__ou have to admit we shared some very enjoyable evenings, didn__ we? There__ really no reason we can__ put this whole mess behind us and start from where we left off._ He sounded genuinely serious.__ou forget,_ she reminded him, __ heard your conversation with the Ghengats. This isn__ about Derian, it__ about you.___lright,_ he admitted with an acquiescent sigh, __o I__ not everything you__ hoped for. But really, what man can ever live up to any woman__ terribly high expectations?__his got her attention. She almost stood up to face him, but decided it wasn__ worth the effort. Leaning forward, she retorted, __xpecting a man to respect you, to be honest with you, and, oh yes, to not be a shameless murderer__ don__ think those are overly high expectations!__e shrugged, casually excusing his faults. __obody__ perfect.___hat do you want?_ she finally asked, exasperated.He squatted to her level and stated his desire. __ want you.__ena thought the expression on his face__he look in his weary blue eyes__ppeared strangely sincere. But there was one thing she had learned from all this: never trust a master of deceit.

Ladies, I think I speak for the majority of us on the face of the planet when I say we all have that guy who__ grown on us like a f*cking fungus. You know the kind I__ talking about--maybe he was your high school teacher or best friend__ dad--some piece of man candy so hot and edible that no matter what you do, you can__ outrun the pull he has on you.

He desired her and, so far as her virginal emotions went, she contemplated a surrender with equanimity. Yet she knew she would forget him half an hour after she left him - like an actor kissed in a picture.

She was perfect, pure maddening sex, and she knew it, and she played on it, dripped it, and allowed you to suffer for it.

There is no fulfillment that is not made sweeter for the prolonging of desire

Mankind, in all his lusts, punishes himself. The gods have to do very little.

Here all great emotions decay: here only little, dry emotions may rattle!Do you not smell already the slaughter-houses and cook-shops of the spirit? Does this city not reek of the fumes of slaughtered spirit?Do you not see the souls hanging like dirty, limp rags? _ And they also make newspapers from these rags!Have you not heard how the spirit has here become a play with words? It vomits our repulsive verbal swill! _ And they also make newspapers from this verbal swill.They pursue one another and do not know where. They inflame one another, and do not know why. They rattle their tins, they jingle their gold.They are cold and seek warmth in distilled waters; they are inflamed and seek coolness in frozen spirits; they are all ill and diseased with public opinion.All lusts and vices are at home here; but there are virtuous people here, too, there are many adroit, useful virtues.

I could say it was the nights when I was lonelyand you were the only one who'd talk.I could tell you that I like your sensitivity,when you know it's the way that you walk.

I walk across the park to her flat. It is over-heated and there is a great deal of pink. This used not to unnerve me. Now when I step into the bathroom I recoil.Pink bath, pink basin, pink toilet, pink bidet, pink tiles, pink wallpaper, pink rug. Brushes, soap, tooth brush, silk flowers, toilet paper: all pink. Even the little foot-operated waste-bin is pale pink. I know this little waste-bin well. Every time I sleep here I wonder what I am doing with my time and hers. She is sixteen years younger than I am. She is not the woman with whom I want to share my life. But, having begun, what we have continues. She wants it to, and I go along with it, through lust and loneliness, I suppose; and laziness, and lack of focus.

Just like you mistook lust for love, you have mistaken with being alone for loneliness. So I'm fine. Thanks for asking.

Beauty that steals the heart is often imperfect, suggests grace and kindness, and inspires tenderness more than it incites lust.