sexuality

No woman gets an orgasm from shining the kitchen floor.

To the contemporary feminist, sexual differences mean inequality, inequality means injustice, and injustice must be stamped out at all costs. And so, they have set about stamping out sexual differences at all costs.

It was masturbation, not willpower, that made it possible for gazillions of women to walk down the aisle with their reputation and their hymen still intact.

Coco Chanel is said to have said that a girl should be two things: who and what she is. I say a girl should do two things: what and who she wants.

The primary goal of a righteous parent who has a daughter is to minimize the number of boys and men for whom their daughter will have willingly opened her legs come her wedding day; the closer to zero, the more righteous they will seem.

Some people are so sexually unattractive that the thought of masturbating turns them off.

Some men do not know the father of 'their' children.

A man cannot really be called (sexually) confident if he has never bought his woman a vibrator.

Some women have been faking orgasms for so long that they sometimes fake one when they are masturbating.

I think that people's sexual preferences are a legitimate subject for humour, dirty humour if at all possible.

Do you ever wear leather?" the guy asks."What?""Leather. Do you like leather?""It doesn't exactly wipe me out.""I like to see boys in leather."I look at him cool. "Okay," I say, "what is it you want and how much are you willing to pay for it?""I've got a leather jacket upstairs...Would you put it on?""Just put it on?""I'll go and get it."He leaves the horror hole and returns a few minutes later holding a leather flying jacket with a lambswool collar. There are tears in the jacket's sleeves, and the lambswool is yellow with age. John Wayne could've worn it in one of those crappy war films he made. "Put it on," the guy says.I give him a spiky smile and put on the jacket. "Okay, where's the plane, and what time's take-off?""Drop your jeans and turn around.

I have no objection to anyone__ sex life as long as they don__ practice it in the street and frighten the horses.

To be an American is to be accosted by bigotry and enmity for the rights that you were told to appreciate.

The wind is blowing. Don__ bend if you want to please him.

Encouraged by her parents_ applause, the girl went on: __o you think we take off our tops to give you pleasure? We do it for ourselves, because we like it, because it feels better, because it brings our bodies nearer to the sun! You__e only capable of seeing us as sex objects!__gain Papa and Mama Clevis applauded, but this time their bravos had a somewhat different tone. Their daughter__ words were indeed right, but also somewhat inappropriate for a fourteen-year-old. It was like an eight-year-old boy saying: __f there__ a holdup, Mama, I__l defend you._ Then too the parents applaud, because their son__ statement is clearly praiseworthy. But since it also shows excessive self-assurance, the praise is rightly shaded by a certain smile. With such a smile the Clevis parents had tinged their second bravos, and their daughter, who had heard that smile in their voices and did not approve of it, repeated with irritated obstinacy: __hat__ over and done with. I__ not anybody__ sex object.__ithout smiling, the parents merely nodded, not wanting to incite their daughter any further.Jan, however, could not resist saying:__y dear girl, if you only knew how easy it is not to be a sex object.__e uttered these words softly, but with such sincere sorrow that they resounded in the room for a long while. They were words difficult to pass over in silence, but it was not possible to respond to them either. They did not deserve approval, not being progressive, but neither did they deserve argument, because they were not obviously against progress. There were the worst words possible, because they were situated outside the debate conducted by the spirit of the time. They were words beyond good and evil, perfectly incongruous words.

A man or a woman can inspire such deep fantasy and emotion that through the lovemaking embrace of a partners body we make break through the limits of the human condition to touch upon another level of reality.

And eventually in that house where everyone, even the fugitive hiding in the cellar from his faceless enemies, finds his tongue cleaving dryly to the roof of his mouth, where even the sons of the house have to go into the cornfield with the rickshaw boy to joke about whores and compare the length of their members and whisper furtively about dreams of being film directors (Hanif's dream, which horrifies his dream-invading mother, who believes the cinema to be an extension of the brothel business), where life has been transmuted into grotesquery by the irruption into it of history, eventually in the murkiness of the underworld he cannot help himself, he finds his eyes straying upwards, up along delicate sandals and baggy pajamas and past loose kurta and above the dupatta, the cloth of modesty, until eyes meet eyes, and then

Libraries are sexual dream factories. The langour brings it on.