Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.” He pressed his forehead down to meet mine, my eyelids fluttering open at his command. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want it.”I peered up at him with unsteady breaths, hearing his throat work when I tilted my lips to graze his. The contact was feather light, my heart hammering through my chest at the feel of it. “I’m looking,” I breathed against him.“Good. Because right now, all I want to do is rip your clothes off and make you come until you can’t stand, and I want your eyes on me the whole time, are we clear?”-Jackson and Emma

I couldn't tell anyone how I felt because I knew they wouldn't understand. Oh, poor little Christina, falling for the bad man who treats her like dirt because she didn't know any better. And isn't it a pity that they don't still teach sex-ed in schools? Or, oh, Christina, that filthy slut, if she puts out for a man like that, I imagine she puts out for anyone. You stay away from her. It wasn't like that at all. Maybe it would have been easier if it was, just like ticking a box. Are you the Madonna, or the whore? The victim, or the vixen? The Sabine, or the skank?But nothing in life is ever that simple.

Arms and legs thrashing. The hammer of blood.I’m coming, says Jude. And holds her breath. Orgasm is brief, nonviolent. What color? I say Devastating blue, she says. The pale blue eyes of a murdered boy. Very nice. You remembered, she says. Jude comes in colors. How could I forget. Trembling blond orgasms that seem to piss her off and rare pink orgasms that never end. Chemical red orgasms that fill her with guilt and perfect orgasms black as fresh earth. Orgasms shadowy and gray that may or may not cause her to weep and orgasms the color of bruised skin, orgasms that fade from purple to yellow and remain visible for days.

Francisco l'attrasse a sé e le cercò le labbra. Fu un bacio casto, tiepido, lieve tuttavia ebbe l'effetto di una scossa tellurica nei loro sensi. Entrambi percepirono la pelle dell'altro prima mai così precisa e vicina, la pressione delle loro mani, l'intimità di un contatto anelato fin dagli inizi del tempo. Li invase un calore palpitante nelle ossa nelle vene nell'anima, qualcosa che non conoscevano o che avevano del tutto scordato, perché la memoria della carne è fragile. Tutto scomparve intorno ed ebbero coscienza solo delle labbra unite che prendevano e ricevevano.

Take off your damned wrapper! The old buffer ordered, looking intensely at her lower part. Comfort was on her knees, rubbing the old man's dirty feet. All her plea and tears continually worsen the whole matter. I want to do you harder cos you gonna be fucked by other folks who needs a large hole, said the man, moving towards her. Comfort struggled with all her feminine might, but the old masculine but old man ripped her wrapper and slapped her on the face. Lie here, Lie here! I'm gonna do what your old man did to your mama and its gonna sweet you. She screamed as the man's organ prick her glory hole like a sharp needle.

سألها ماذا بإمكانه أن يقدم لها: خمر؟لا، لا، لم تكن راغبة في الخمر. إذا كان هناك شيء ترغب في شربه، فسيكون القهوة.

Look here, Mrs. Bradley," he said. "I feel a pretty frightful bounder telling you all this about the poor girl, but I think some woman ought to know about it. On Wednesday night, yes, last night, Eleanor came into my bedroom at about half-past twelve and--and wanted to stay there! I thought it was a ghost at first. I had terrible difficulty in getting rid of her. In fact, I had to get out of bed and shove her outside and lock the door. Choice, isn't it?"..."Of course you will lock your door tonight," she said."You bet I shall," Bertie said fervently, "and nothing short of the house catching fire is going to persuade me to open it.

Because baby, I'm wild pussy and wild pussy can't be bought. Wild pussy doesn't like having pretty things thrown at it and being expected to do the samba on someone's cock in return. Wild pussy doesn't do deals. Wild pussy lives free and for itself and takes it however it likes it; on a bed, on a couch, on the hood of a car, in a bathroom stall or up against a wall in an alleyway and it laughs the entire time. I've known you for a while now Chase. I know you've never had wild pussy and I know you never will. Wild pussy doesn't fuck uptight cock. And it sure as hell doesn't like silk boxers

If I had thought the beef marrow might be a hell of a lot of work for not much difference, I needn’t have worried. The taste of the marrow is rich, meaty, intense in a nearly-too-much way. In my increasingly depraved state, I could think of nothing at first but that it tasted like really good sex. But there was something more than that, even. What it really tastes like is life, well lived. Of course the cow I got marrow from had a fairly crappy life – lots of crowds and overmedication and bland food that might or might not have been a relative. But deep in his or her bones, there was a capacity for feral joy. I could taste it.

Battery Park resonates with lust as the sun approaches its zenith. A primal impulse takes hold of the young couples strolling the gravel walkways, the newlyweds who have paused to admire DeModica’s bronze bull, the truant teens laid out on the cool grass. Maybe because all flesh tantalizes in the early summer, in the right light, or because, at this time of year, there is more flesh exposed, midriffs, cleavage, inner thighs, the park is suddenly transformed into a dynamo of panting and groping. This desire is not the tender affection of evening, the wistful intimacy of the twilight’s last gleam. It is raw, concupiscent hunger.

I still dream to quiver rich,And we still tremble poor.Over, under, Madam and Bitch,To each, her John Does floor.Grieved cliche to ban the kiss,And yet we all refuse.To add one name onto our lists,Of cants, and don'ts, and dudes.Unuttered sighs of uncriticized law,Polished flesh covering strong, well members.Real grins and moans, matching fair new bras,Sweet nights with long, full slumbers.In which we lie in thoughts like these,The things we once deserved.Homes, and love, own families,Now, far, and wrong, absurd.Once done, now blue and black with lace.Yes Sir it was my fault.The suck, the chew, my class and taste?My only taste is salt.

They were beyond the present, outside time, with no memories and no future. There was nothing but obliterating sensation, thrilling and swelling, and the sound of fabric on fabric and skin on fabric as their limbs slid across each other in this restless, sensuous wrestling. ... They moved closer, deeper and then, for seconds on end, everything stopped. Instead of an ecstatic frenzy, there was stillness. They were stilled not by the astonishing fact of arrival, but by an awed sense of return - they were face to face in the gloom, staring into what little they could see of each other's eyes, and now it was the impersonal that dropped away.

Guys who would make fun of girls for sexual inexperience are terrible people, and when girls do it to other girls it feels even shittier. Guys who shame girls who haven't had sex want them to feel like they aren't doing their job, which is to be sexually available and attractive to guys. (And never mind if they are gay, or just uninterested.) Girls who shame other girls for these reasons are helping those guys. They are saying this: You are not accomplished where it matters, and I am better than you. I have proven that men find me attractive, and that is what counts. These people, boys and girls and men and women alike, are all dickheads.

Children who are victimized through sexual abuse often begin to develop deeply held tenets that shape their sense of self: 'My worth is my sexuality. I'm dirty and shameful. I have no right to my own physical boundaries.' That shapes their ideas about the world around them: 'No one will believe me. Telling the truth results in bad consequences. People can't be trusted.' It doesn't take long for children to being to act in accordance with these belief systems.For girls who have experienced incest, sexual abuse, or rape, the boundaries between love, sex, and pain become blurred. Secrets are normal, and shame is a constant.

Successful long term relationships are all about power levels. A high power level male will attract and succeed with a high level power female.How do we define those power levels? We can’t, they are inherently in us, and invisible to scientists, accountants, psychologists and spiritualists alike. None can explain the Universe in its entirety, and it is more than chemistry, biology, physics, genetics, horoscopes, religion, in-laws, fame, psychology and spirituality.We may be infatuated by a person, but as soon as we hold their hands, kiss their lips, and especially, make love or have sex with them, their power levels will be instantly exposed.