sex

Chloe didn't have all the answers, either. I knew that now. But she had known something all along that I hadn't: that being ashamed of what you want or how you feel is pointless, and letting anyone else make you feel ashamed is a waste. We all wanted different things, and that was okay. Chloe wanted sex without commitment. Mary wanted to wait until she was ready. And I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I didn't want to make any decisions until I knew. And I was proud of that.

It seemed inequitable at best that one could and did gain a reputation for things that left one both physically and emotionally unsatisfied.

Henry Miller, Genet, Sade, Bataille are really important writers for me and I love them, but I feel often they don__ love me, you know? I feel I always have to wrap my head around the way the girl is treated in the works, and the way the woman writer has been treated within their philosophies. I think of Kathy Acker__ Blood and Guts in High School, where Janey Smith is in an S&M relationship with Jean Genet, who she follows around the deserts of Algeria, and he__ horrible to her, and that__ what I think of when I think of my relationship to those writers. I think you have to read the text, obviously, despite that. You seem to be subverting Sade and Bataille__ ideas of the whore, and Henry Miller _ all of his cunt portraits, all of his horrors that he writes about _ you__e writing about it from an interiority and a subjectivity that we don__ typically get with the __hore_ or the __lut_ or the sexual girl.

We fell into each other__ arms and kissed like we were coming up for air after being underwater for days. The melding of our mouths was sweeter than oxygen. We took huge, deep gulps of each other as we struggled with worldly constraints like clothing and gravity, seeking to transcend it all in our coming together.

Sex was like the wooden horse of Troy, he decided. How uncomplicated a gift it seemed at first, but once you had let it through the gate how many unexpected dangers might be found to have stowed themselves away inside.

I have seldom met an individual of literary tastes or propensities in whom the writing of love was not directly attributable to the love of writing.A person of this sort falls terribly in love, but in the end it turns out that he is more bemused by a sheet of white paper than a sheet of white bed linen. He would rather leap into print with his lady than leap into bed with her. (This first pleases the lady and then annoys her. She wants him to do both, and with virtually the same impulse.)

He didn't say anything and I thought I'd shocked him, because I tend to do that. Not just with Michael but with pretty much anyone who can't deal with being honest and admitting that you have wants and needs and desires and all those other fun things.

Sex and battle were each dangerous in their own ways.

Did you think I'd only want you once? Oh, my, you are more naïve than I thought. Why would I go through so much trouble for a mere tryst? Does a man ride a stallion but one time before condemning it to the abattoir?

Fireworks. Snowflakes. Sunstroke and frostbite. It was all that I could ask for and completely unexpected. I expected demands. He gifted me with tenderness. I expected ego. He let me experiment. I expected disrespect. He called me beautiful. I expected him to expect perfection. He taught me all I needed to know.

But you don't fuck me cold-heartedly,' she protested.'I don't want to fuck you at all.'Lady Chatterly's Lover

They had imagined too often and too much and so they had exhausted all their possibilities. When they embraced each other__ phantoms, each in his separate privacy has savoured the most refined of pleasures but, connoisseurs of unreality as they were, they could not bear the crude weight, the rank smell and the ripe taste of real flesh. It is always a dangerous experiment to act out a fantasy; they had undertaken the experiment rashly and had failed_

With her eyes alone she could give this response, this absolutely erotic response, as if febrile waves were trembling there, pools of madness... something devouring that could lick a man all over like a flame, annihilate him, with a pleasure never known before.

The two of you are different now, calmer. There is still sex, occasionally, but is no longer a priority to seduce or be seduced by him.

Orpheus said the mind is a slide ruler. It can fit around anything. Show me your body, he said. It only means one thing.

Every night that he watched over her sleeping form, his urge to protect and take care of her grew. And those weren't the only urges. When she'd throw back the blanket and bare her long legs, it was all he could do not to kneel at her feet, kiss her slim ankles, and slip his hands up her smooth thighs.

The most expensive sex is free sex

I swear to God, I think my panties just melted off my body. How can Crush just talking sex make me hot?