I lived without without, until I found a box full of it that was empty. That’s also where I found love. You should always check carefully—especially when the box you’re checking is a gender preference for sex.

No amount of wavy blond hair nor evenings spent with her plump lips applying just the right amount of pressure to his various pleasure points could make up for the rotting carcass of a soul that resided beneath all that beauty.

It was nice of her to want to believe the best about me. People tend to do that with the strangers they're fucking. If she wanted to think that apathy and independence were the same thing, good for her. Maybe she was right.

Sex was this primal connection like no magick she had ever known, even separated by a millimeter of latex. She knew that some combined the two and, while she could see how this would improve the magick, it would dilute the sex.

If Lacan presumes that female homosexuality issues from a disappointed heterosexuality, as observation is said to show, could it not be equally clear to the observer that heterosexuality issues from a disappointed homosexuality?

He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so...so beautiful, Desirable.

How satisfying will it be to know that no matter what happens to your relationship and no matter where or with whom he ends up in his life that you taught him everything he knows...? Catty? Maybe, but that’s a fun thought.

Ethan gave me an admiring look that wasn't about sex, but about that guy moment when they realize you are not just another pretty face, but maybe, just maybe you can be cute, petite, and one of the guys all at the same time.

Sylvie wishes the anti-depressants had been around when she was in her early twenties, not only to rescue her from the dark tunnels that came when her brother first got sick, but also to keep her from fucking all those assholes.

Cabel flicks his fingers at her, spraying her with water. Grinning. "Sure. I think I'm pretty lucky. I bet blind people have great sex. I'll even wear a blindfold so it's fair." He bumps his hips lightly against hers.

And then there was Lydia.Lydia who had hurtled into his life – into their lives – with hair like fire, eyes like amethysts and a fuck-me scent so palpable that he’d betrayed the only woman he’d ever loved.

When I masturbate, I pump my hand so fast it’s like a hummingbird blur. But I make love like the anti-hummingbird. In fact, in bed I’m so slow with my love making it’s almost indistinguishable from sleep.


I’m a designer. I’m trying to design a half a person, but I’m looking for a business partner, a female who’ll contribute the other 50% to the design and make it not only complete, but humane and personable.

Just looking at her made my mouth water, like a sip of dry wine, that flinty taste. There was a hardness in her eyes, unrelieved by the amiably commercial oriental-Fragonard vivacity you find in nearly all the eyes in these parts.

Is it always that way with men, that first burst of love or sex the thing that binds you? Do you always have to harken back to those first weeks when just the way he walked across a room made you want to take off all your clothes?