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Knowledge Box Archive | home
The Moment of Desire
Desire
Women, being of a tender nature, want tender beginnings, and when they are forcibly approached by men with whom they are but slightly acquainted, they sometimes suddenly become haters of sexual connection, and sometimes even haters of the male sex.
Frank Harris, My Life and Loves , 1922 (excerpt)
Before every church festival, there was a good deal of practice with the organist, and the girls from neighboring houses joined in our classes. One girl alone sang alto, and she and I were separated from the other boys and girls; the upright piano was put across the corner of the room and we two sat or stood behind it, almost out of sight of all the other singers, the organist, of course, being seated in front of the piano. The girls E . . . ., who sang alto with me, was about my own age; she was very pretty, or so it seemed to me, with golden hair, and blue eyes, and I always made up to her as well as I could, in my boyish way. One day while the organist was explaining something, E . . . . stood up on the chair and leant over the back of the piano to hear better or see more. Seated in my chair behind her, I caught sight of her legs, for her dress rucked up behind as she leaned over; at once my breath stuck in my throat. Her legs were lovely, I thought, and the temptation came to touch them; of no one could see.
I got up immediately and stood by the chair she was standing on. Casually I let my hand fall against her leg. She didn't draw her leg away or seem to feel my hand, so I touched her more boldly. She never moved, though now I knew she must have felt my hand. I began to slide my hand up her leg and suddenly my fingers felt the warm flesh on her thigh where the stocking ended above the knee. The feel of her warm flesh made me literally choke with emotion; my hand went on up, warmer and warmer, when suddenly I touched her sex; there was soft down on it. The heart-pulse throbbed in my throat. I have no words to describe the intensity of my sensation.
Thank God, E . . . did not move or show signs of distaste. Curiosity was stronger even than desire in me and I felt her sex all over, and at once the idea came into my head that it was like a fig (the Italians, I learned later, called it familiarly fica); it opened at my touches and I inserted my finger gently, as Strangways had told me that Mary had taught him to do; still E . . . did not move. Gently I rubbed the front part of her sex with my fingers. I could have kissed her a thousand times out of gratitude.
Suddenly, as I went on, I felt her move, and the again; plainly she was showing me where my touch gave her the most pleasure: I could have died for her in thanks; again she moved and I could feel a little mound or button of flesh right in the front of her sex, above the junction of the inner lips; of course it was her clitoris. I had forgotten all the old Methodist doctor's books till that moment; this fragment of long forgotten knowledge came back to me: gently I rubbed the clitoris and at once she pressed down on my finger for a moment or two. I tried to insert my finger into the vagina; but she drew away at once and quickly, closing her sex as if hurt, so I went back to caressing her tickler.
Suddenly the miracle ceased. The cursed organist had finished his explanation of the new plain chant, and as he touched the first notes on the piano, E . . . . drew her legs together; I took away my hand and she stepped down from the chair. "You darling, darling," I whispered, but she frowned, and then gave me a smile out of the corner of her eye to show me she was not displeased.
Ah, how lovely, how seductive she seemed to me now, a thousand times lovelier and more desirable than ever before.
I can never express the passion of gratitude I felt to her for her goodness, her sweetness of letting me touch her sex. E . . . it was who opened the Gates of Paradise to me and let me taste the hidden mysteries of sexual delight,
Because of Love
Robin Skelton ( 1925 - )
You were ashamed
of the soft down on your bottom,
I of my member's
huge-bulbed gracelessness;
delicately I caressed
that delicate bottom;
graciously you rewarded
gracelessness.
Never were two so more suited,
each one's shame
answered with first, affection,
then desire:
now I lie sleepless
dwelling in your shame,
and shamelessly desiring
your desire.
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