“It seemed that my body was full of music, nothing but deep and beautiful sounds rising into the air, singing as a bird, calling into the winter sky. Slowly my whole body was but an instrument of love, and Master Genji, with his magical fingers, played me, with hands that knew every sound I could create. Oh, and deep within, at the deepest part of my being, from the center of my softest place, as his fingers delved deeper, touching and tickling, circling, the more my voice cried out with the strange sounds, notes, the song of my pleasure. The unknown within me was revealed, in a shivering ripple, a vibrato of a string, my deepest and highest octaves.” ~ Little Snow, Butterfly


“The water buoyed us, as he slowly, deeply, moved inside of me, his eyes watching my face, focused on giving pleasure. Shuddering upon him, rippling sensations. He responded to my body, my breath, holding me as I melted upon him again, and soon, his own pleasure, his climax, his answer to my body. I wanted nothing but to yield, primal, just to feel him fill my cunt with his orgasm, like the milky white waters pouring into the opening of the earth. Semen, sticky, scent of freshly cut grass, Springtime, mating in the afternoon. He kissed me hungrily, everywhere, all along my neck, clutching my shoulders, pressing his cock deeper into me, my breasts against his satiny smooth chest. I felt him gush inside my cunt like a geyser of orgasmic pleasure. Impregnating me, maybe, I didn’t care. My body wanted this.” ~Hot Spring, Butterfly

“I looked over at him, returning his gaze. This was an affirmation of my interest, and I thought to myself, perhaps this is how animals mate. The dance of mating, the body language. I recalled watching Muscovy ducks do their mating dance when vacationing in Florida. The female and male faced one another, bobbing their heads in response to each other’s move, copying each motion, like a dance. Imitating, observing, waiting. Then facing each other. How far had we, as human beings, come from this kind of ritual in Spring?” ~Hot Spring, Butterfly

“We were barely brushing each other’s skin underneath the water. His arm floated close to mine. Then, his hand. He hooked his little finger, looping it around my little finger. His hand completely held mine, under the water. His expression shifted, and he pulled me near, upward, facing him, kissing me, just like that, so natural. Kissing, his warm mouth, tasting his lips, sweetly, lovingly. I felt my entire body tingle with a wild sensation. His fingers, searching, brushing against my belly, down to my sex, my soft hair. He caressed my back, my wet hair, his fingers reading my shape, every curve. Kissing, floating, back under the waterfall. He took my hand and led me back to the warm pool.” ~Hot Spring, Butterfly


“He placed it between her legs. She touched it. His hands searched her, caressed her everywhere. Then again she moved away, and he had to swim to catch her. Again his penis lay lightly between her legs, then he pressed her more firmly against him and sought to penetrate her. She broke loose and ran out of the water, into the sand dunes. Dripping, shining, laughing, he ran after her. The warmth of the running set him on fire again. She fell on the sand, and he over her.” ~ pages 23-24, The Woman on the Dunes, Anais Nin


“He’s torn off the dress, he throws it down. He’s torn off her little white cotton panties and carries her over like that, naked, to the bed. And there he turns away and weeps. And she, slow, patient, draws him to her and starts to undress him. With her eyes shut. Slowly. He makes as if to help her. She tells him to keep still. Let me do it. She says she wants to do it. And she does. Undresses him. When she tells him to, he moves his body in the bed, but carefully, gently, as if not to wake her.” ~ page 38, The Lover, Marguerite Duras


“She felt dizzy with conflicting sensations. She did not move or turn her head. A hand now sought an opening in the skirt and discovered the buttons. Each button undone by the hand that made her gasp with both fear and relief. The hand waited to see if she protested before proceeding to another button. She did not move.

Then, with a dexterity and a swiftness she had not expected, the two hands twisted her skirt round so that the opening was at the back. In the heaving crowd, now all she could feel was a penis slowly being slipped into the opening of her skirt.” ~ page 28, Little Birds, The Woman on the Dunes, Anais Nin


“Somehow or other even the hair of a whore seems impregnated with sex. This woman’s hair… it was the most sensual hair I have ever seen. Medusa must have had hair like this and with it seduced the men who fell under her spell. It was full of life, heavy, and as pungent as if it had been bathed in sperm. To me it always felt as if it had been wrapped around a penis and soaked in secretions. It was the kind of hair I wanted to wrap around my own sex. It was warm and musky, oily, strong. It was the hair of an animal. It bristled when it was touched. Merely to pass my fingers through it could give me an erection. I would have been content just touching her hair. But it was not her hair alone. her skin was erotic, too…” page 105-106, Little Birds, Anais Nin


“Calixta,” he said, “don’t be frightened. Nothing can happen. The house is too-low to be struck, with so many tall trees standing about. There! aren’t you going to be quiet? say, aren’t you?” He pushed her hair back from her face that was warm and steaming. Her lips were as red and moist as pomegranate seed. Her white neck and a glimpse of her firm, full bosom disturbed him powerfully. As she glanced up at him the fear in her liquid blue eyes had given place to a drowsy  gleam that unconsciously betrayed a sensuous desire. He looked down into her eyes and there was nothing for him to do but to gather her lips in a kiss. It reminded him of Assumption.

“Do you remember– in Assumption, Calixta?” he asked in a low voice broken by passion. Oh! She remembered; for in Assumption he had kissed her and kissed her and kissed her; until his senses would wellnigh fail, and to save her he would resort to a desperate flight. If she was not an immaculate dove in those days, she was still inviolate; a passionate creature whose very defenselessness had made her defense, against which his honour forbade him to prevail.  Now– well, now — her lips seemed in a manner free to be tasted, as well as her round, white throat and her whiter breasts.

They did not heed the crashing torrents, and the roar of the elements made her laugh as she lay in his arms. She was a revelation in that dim, mysterious chamber; as white as the couch she lay upon. her firm, elastic flesh that was knowing for the first time its birthright, was like a creamy lily that the sun invites to contribute its breath and perfume to the undying life of the world.

The generous abundance of her passion, without guile or trickery, was like a white flame which penetrated and found response in depths of his own sensuous nature that had never yet been reached. When he touched her breasts they gave themselves up in a quivering ecstasy, inviting his lips. Her mouth was a fountain of delight. And when he possessed her, they seemed to swoon together at the very borderland of life’s mystery.”

~The Storm, Kate Chopin

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