Attraction Lust Quotes

I believe in lust at first sight.And attraction.But not love.

the description of lust was simple: two people learn they're compatible , attraction grows, and the ancient instinct to preserve the species kicks in.

And it struck me then, that I liked Sean because he looked, well, slutty. A boy who had been around. A boy who couldn't remember if he was Catholic or not.

...She'd gone past interest, swung into attraction, burst through lust, tripped over affection, and was now skidding out of control into love.

If you live in rock and roll, as I do, you see the reality of sex, of male lust and women being aroused by male lust. It attracts women. It doesn't repel them.

So then why are you here, Xaden?' 'Because I can't seem to stay away.

His looks are my weakness, his mind my undoing.

I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings.

Ok, look. Whenever I hear people say that they felt ‘sparks,’ I usually think it’s a load of poo. I mean, I have felt attraction to people, sure, and I have even felt some instant lust. But sparks? Please... Then he touched my skin. Sparks. Sparks. Sparks. Hot sparks. Flashing sparks. Lightning bolt sparks. J esus, Mary, and Joseph sparks.

Chemistry is great, but eventually your relationship moves out of the laboratory.

Physical attraction was about aesthetics, not sexual performance, not mental stimulation. Without a mental connection, a remarkable sexual performance yielded no lifelong guarantees. It was only lust. And lust was not love.

I will die happy here, today, in this spot,” she sighed. “In your puddle of lust.” “Leave my puddle of lust alone. Get your own puddle.

When a man dwells on the pleasure of sense, attraction for them arises in him. From attraction arises desire, the lust of possession, and this leads to passion, to anger. From passion comes confusion of mind, then loss of remembrance, the forgetting of duty. From this loss comes the ruin of reason, and the ruin of reason leads man to destruction.

The Goddess falls in love with Herself, drawing forth her own emanation, which takes on a life of its own. Love of self for self is the creative force of the universe. Desire is the primal energy, and that energy is erotic: the attraction of lover to beloved, of planet to star, the lust of electron for proton. Love is the glue that holds the world together.

We think we like or love some people until we see them regularly.

And then I stand in front of God's Throne squinting up at His blazing glory and He says, 'You had your opportunities, boy. But did you listen? No. You went on heedlesly reading that garbagey magazine with pictures of naked girls in it. How juvenile! I gave geese more sense than that.' Please, God. I'm only fourteen years old. A teenager. Have mercy. Be loving. I was,' says God. 'For eons. And look at what it got me. You.' God turns in disgust, just the way Daddy does. 'Sorry, but I'm the Creator. I take it personally. There are slugs and bugs and night-crawlers I feel better about having created - I mean, there are sparrows - I've got my eye on one right now. Is that sparrow consumed with lust? No. He mates in the spring and that's the end of it. Consider the lilies. Do they think about lily tits all the time? No. They look not and they lust not, and yet I say unto you that you will never be half as attractive as they. Therefore, I say unto you, think not about peckers and boobs and all that nonsense and your Heavenly Father will see that you meet a good woman and marry her, just as I do for the sparrow and walleye - yea verily, even the night-crawler and the eelpout. But I've told you this over and over for nineteen centuries. And now, verily, it's too late. Time's up, buster. Lights out! Game's over!

It's the kind of kiss that ends with clothes on the floor and somebody getting dicked out up against the wall.

She was wearing a beautiful dress with straps designed to be eaten off her shoulders.

The way he looked me up and down made a part of me burn with desire. Fire and electricity. Flames and sparks. Needing and wanting. Tempting temptation.

O woman, thou art my imperfection!

You see, Islam is the only religion that gives both husband and wife a true understanding of what love is. The Western “love” concept, you take it apart, it really is lust. But love transcends just the physical. Love is disposition, behaviour, attitude, thoughts, likes, dislikes - these things make a beautiful woman, a beautiful wife. This is the beauty that never fades. You find in your Western civilisation that when a man’s wife’s physical beauty fails, she loses her attraction. But Islam teaches us to look into the woman, and teaches her to look into us.

He's unconventionally attractive and yet coincidentally everything I've ever wanted.

His gaze, though almost improper, was the most sensual thing he could have done at the moment, and it jolted her heart into a strange rhythm, leaving her unable to speak.

I won’t forget it,” I said. “I hope you meet someone perfect one day.” “Ha…yeah, that’s just it. I think I already did.” As we opened our doors to step out, he touched my arm. “Just to be clear, if I, like, leaned over and whispered your name in your ear, still nothing?

On one hand the eternal attraction of man towards femininity (cf. Gn. 2:23) frees in him-or perhaps it should free-a gamut of spiritual-corporal desires of an especially personal and "sharing" nature (cf. analysis of the "beginning"), to which a proportionate pyramid of values corresponds. On the other hand, "lust" limits this gamut, obscuring the pyramid of values that marks the perennial attraction of male and female.

Being a woman attracted to another woman was confusing; a constant game of comparison and lust. You never quite knew whether you were jealous of their body or just jealous of the person who got to touch it.

When a person sees someone attractive to them, their eyes dilate twenty percent. Their brain floods with dopamine, which makes them happy. Thus, they believe it’s love. That’s a medical fact. Love doesn’t exist.

Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. If I stay, you’ll only fall madly in love with me like so many men before you.” “It’s you we have to worry about,” he sighed out. “You’ve already been trapped in my erotic web of lust. Might as well give it up to the daddy of all cats.” Grinning, Sissy stretched out next to Mitch, her arm thrown over his waist. “You keep on dreamin’ that dream, kitty.” “I will. I own ponies in that dream, too.

He had never been so infuriated by a woman in his life. Or more flummoxed. And never more aroused. He didn’t know whether to rant at her or kiss her.

Kemia huunda mahusiano mema miongoni mwa watu.

As I looked into his eyes, trying to see into the depths of that darkness, it hit me. It was subtle, but it hit me. The rush of attraction.

For me sexuality is about attraction. Whether it’s men, women—it doesn’t really matter. The human race is filled with passion and lust. And to coin terms like heterosexuality, homosexuality or even bisexuality makes no sense to me. You are human. You love who you love. You fuck who you fuck. That should be enough—no labels. No stigmas. Nothing. Just be to be. But life isn’t that kind. People will always find things to hate.

But there was something else going on here. He had to admit even to himself that the woman challenged his intellect and his beliefs with her own, and she wasn’t afraid to disagree with him or to disapprove of his views. Nor did she make any attempt to school her sentiments behind the polite, prim, and proper demeanor of the typical English noblewoman. She was fierce. She was passionate. She was fiery and intense. She was like no other woman he had ever met. And suddenly, just like that, he was under her spell once again.

She had to remember not to look at him when he smiled like that.

He is incredibly handsome. You never realized before how beautiful evil could be.

Fuck, I'm never going to get enough of you, am I?

It was as though he had awakened something inside her. All those desires she had felt in passing had culminated, growing deeper, hungrier, darker.

Seriously, I can't think when you look at me like that.

First of all”—Feenie pointed at her—“you are not broken and I don’t ever want to hear that again. Second, being attracted to one person doesn’t necessarily change who you are. Maybe you’re graysexual instead of straight up ace. There’s just something about the way Takumi’s genetic code arranged his face and body that appeals to your brain chemistry. It’s insta-lust. Enjoy it for what it is.

She had, without realizing it at the time, learned to follow Nick's gaze, learned to learn his lust...his desires remained memorized within her. She looked at the attractive women he would look at...She had become him: she longed for these women. But she was also herself, and so she despised them. She lusted after them, but she also wanted to beat them up. A rapist. She had become a rapist, driving to work in a car.

Larry sat with his arm stretched out along the top of the front seat. His shirt cuff was pulled back by his position and displayed his slim, strong wrist and the lower part of his brown arm lightly covered with fine hairs. The sun shone goldly upon them. Something in Isabel's immobility attracted my attention, and I glanced at her. She was so still that you might have thought her hypnotized. Her breath was hurried. Her eyes were fixed on the sinewy wrist with its little golden hairs and on that long, delicate, but powerful hand, and I have never seen on a human countenance such a hungry concupiscence as I saw then on hers. It was a mask of lust. I would never have believed that her beautiful features could assume an expression of such unbridled sensuality. It was animal rather than human. The beauty was stripped from her face; the look upon it made her hideous and frightening. It horribly suggested the bitch in heat and I felt rather sick.

When selecting a one-night stand, a heterosexual woman who is materialistic is a trillion times more likely to choose a sexually unattractive poor man who seems rich over a sexually attractive rich man who seems poor.

Having someone this male next to her made her soul feel exhilarated and convey brazenly suggestive, female, liberal ideas to her inner id.

Lust and attraction were dangerous things. They could make a man rush to his death without thinking twice.

What a beautiful madness, to explore the darkness in one's own soul and find joy in the unearthing of such wicked thoughts.

It's unnerving how you fit in the basin of my thighs.

She dared not glance at him again. She might very well expire if she did.

For me the real evil of masturbation would be that it takes an appetite which, in lawful use, leads the individual out of himself to complete (and correct) his own personality in that of another (and finally in children and even grandchildren) and turns it back: sends the man back into the prison of himself, there to keep a harem of imaginary brides. And this harem, once admitted, works against his ever getting out and really uniting with a real woman. For the harem is always accessible, always subservient, calls for no sacrifices or adjustments, and can be endowed with erotic and psychological attractions which no real woman can rival. Among those shadowy brides he is always adored, always the perfect lover: no demand is made on his unselfishness, no mortification ever imposed on his vanity. In the end, they become merely the medium through which he increasingly adores himself . . . . And it is not only the faculty of love which is thus sterilized, forced back on itself, but also the faculty of imagination. The true exercise of imagination, in my view, is (a) To help us to understand other people (b) To respond to, and, some of us, to produce, art. But it has also a bad use: to provide for us, in shadowy form, a substitute for virtues, successes, distinctions etc. which ought to be sought outside in the real world—e.g. picturing all I’d do if I were rich instead of earning and saving. Masturbation involves this abuse of imagination in erotic matters (which I think bad in itself) and thereby encourages a similar abuse of it in all spheres. After all, almost the main work of life is to come out of our selves, out of the little, dark prison we are all born in. Masturbation is to be avoided as all things are to be avoided which retard this process. The danger is that of coming to love the prison.

Julia’s heart would not be still. It would not stop the riotous beating it began when she saw Charles on the lawn. He had come for her. Despite her wishes, despite her orders to stay away, he had followed her here to Drake Manor, and she loved him all the more for it. Yet, it changed nothing. They still could never be together.

When I was in college, the lust I felt for my professors was overwhelming. It did not matter if they were men or women, attractive or unattractive, brilliant or average, I desired them deeply. I desired them because I thought they had the power to tell me about myself.

I don't think I could ever live with either a man or a woman for a long time. Male and female are attractive to my mind, but when it comes to the sexual act I am afraid. In every situation I need a lot of stimulation before I am conquered by the forces of passion and lust. But confusion, before and after, is the dominant factor. I dreamed many times about a mature man with experience who would have the vigour of a boy but an adult's polished methods. Strangely enough, I also dreamed about women of my mother's age who were ideal lovers. These dreams came superimposed on one another. Sometimes the masculine element was dominant, sometimes the feminine one. At other times I wasn't sure. I saw a female body with male organs or a male body with female ones. These pictures, blended together in my mind, occasionally brought pleasure but more often pain.

Neither of us wanted to say it first. But our two souls had become one in a realm no one else could venture into. The immortal coil of passion had wrapped around us forever. It had begun with lust and attraction and blossomed into so much more. Fear of rejection kept us from declaring it.

According to scientists, there are three stages of love: lust, attraction, and attachment. And, it turns out, each of the stages is orchestrated by chemicals—neurotransmitters—in the brain. As you might expect, lust is ruled by testosterone and estrogen. The second stage, attraction, is governed by dopamine and serotonin. When, for example, couples report feeling indescribably happy in each other’s presence, that’s dopamine, the pleasure hormone, doing its work. Taking cocaine fosters the same level of euphoria. In fact, scientists who study both the brains of new lovers and cocaine addicts are hard-pressed to tell the difference. The second chemical of the attraction phase is serotonin. When couples confess that they can’t stop thinking about each other, it’s because their serotonin level has dropped. People in love have the same low serotonin levels as people with OCD. The reason they can’t stop thinking about each other is that they are literally obsessed. Oxytocin and vasopressin control the third stage: attachment or long-term bonding. Oxytocin is released during orgasm and makes you feel closer to the person you’ve had sex with. It’s also released during childbirth and helps bond mother to child. Vasopressin is released postcoitally. Natasha knows these facts cold. Knowing them helped her get over Rob’s betrayal. So she knows: love is just chemicals and coincidence. So why does Daniel feel like something more?

He kept his gaze locked on her. Though she couldn’t see it, she could sense it, and it unnerved her. “I’m probably just a little overheated myself.” His voice rumbled low around her, as though the words were meant only for her. They caressed her skin almost sensually.

Attraction is easily manufactured.

I was experiencing a full-on Mills and Boon moment, and I had no idea who he was.

...you fall in love in three stages: lust, attraction and attachment.

Galileo, yet men turn around women!

Now he was kissing the shell of her ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses. “You have no idea what you’re about to unleash if you continue.” He chuckled low once again, but said nothing as he bit the nape of her neck and gently licked it with his tongue. “You play with fire, sir.” “Let it burn, Julia. Let me be your King of Wands.

Wine enhances your beauty by making others look at you differently. Well, so long as they are the ones drinking it. If you come visit my duck farm, I have some old grapes I could serve you.

According to scientists, there are three stages of love: lust, attraction, and attachment. And, it turns out, each of the stages is orchestrated by chemicals – neurotransmitters – in the brain.

I’m a little alarmed, Mr. Rodman. You said no one will ever know anything improper happened between us. You did not say there will be nothing improper between us.” “And I meant what I didn’t say.

At moments when Herman fantasized about a new metaphysics, or even a new religion, he based everything on the attraction of the sexes. In the beginning was lust. The godly, as well as the human, principle is desire. Gravity, light, magnetism, thought may be aspects of the same universal longing. Suffering, emptiness, darkness are nothing more than interruptions of a cosmic orgasm that grows forever in intensity...

I was growing inward incessantly; like an animal that hibernates during the wintertime, I could hear other peoples' voices with my ears; my own voice, however, I could hear only in my throat. The loneliness and the solitude that lurked behind me were like a condensed, thick, eternal night, like one of those nights with a dense, persistent, sticky darkness which waits to pounce on unpopulated cities filled with lustful and vengeful dreams. My whole being could now be summed up in my voice―an insane, absolute record. The force that, out of loneliness, brings two individuals together to procreate has its roots in this same insanity which exists in everyone and which is mingled with a sense of regret, tending gradually toward death...Only death does not tell lies! The presence of death annihilates all that is imaginary. We are the offspring of death and death delivers us from the tantalizing, fraudulent attractions of life; it is death that beckons us from the depths of life.

Stunned, Julia could not speak. She lost her breath and her ability to form words as the room spun for a moment at the irony. She hated irony. Detested it. And in this case, the Fates had been quite perverse in their mockery.

When it comes to lust, words are never needed. You feel something inside you stir, your body begins to warm, and you just know. You can feel something buried spring to life, and just like that a connection is born. You’re strangers, then suddenly you’re something more . . . kindred spirits, like-minded in your attraction for each other.

I crushed him to me and was hit with a feeling so incredibly strong that, for a moment, I couldn't breathe. There were aspects of it that I recognized easily - attraction, lust, but there were subtler aspects as well and they weren't as readily identifiable - companionship, longing and comfort. The only way I could describe that undercurrent of emotion, strangely, was ... home.

He cupped my chin with his big hand and watched me. He breathed hard through his nose. His shoulders heaved way harder than they should have after a few minutes of kissing. I was about to suggest some additional conditioning exercises before football season started. I opened my mouth to tell him. He kissed me again. His tongue passed my lips and played across my teeth. We’d only been kissing like this for a week, but it seemed very natural when I kissed him back the same way. My body was on autopilot as I reached blindly for his waist and dragged him even closer, his torso skin-to-skin with mine against the tree. Who were we? I was turning into any of the assorted older girls who’d been seen leaving the cab of Sean’s truck at night. I’d always viewed those girls with a mixture of awe and derision. Sexual attraction was funny. Lust was hilarious. Now, not so much. Those girls had my sympathy, because I totally got it. I ran my fingers lightly up Adam’s bare back. He gasped. I opened my eyes to see if I’d done something wrong. He still touched the tree, but his muscles were taut, holding on to it for dear life. His eyes were closed. He rubbed his rough cheek slowly against mine. I had done nothing wrong. He was savoring. I knew how he felt. Tracing my fingernails down his back again, I whispered, “Stubble or what?” Eyes still closed, he chuckled. “I’m not shaving until our parents let us date again.” He kissed my cheek. “What if it takes… a… while?” I asked, struggling to talk.

[Harper'd] wondered briefly if those novels were making her set her standards too high. But then she'd realized that no, actually, what those stories had done was help her not confuse lust and crushes and simple attraction and I-kind-of-like-him with something deeper and more passionate. And they'd helped her decide to wait for the real thing. She knew what love looked like. It just hadn't come along for her. Yet.

What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me and the page I strove to read.

His kiss is deep, fathomless. It is the kiss of one who wants to invade your body will all of their being, to abolish constraints and bring to life desires long repressed. It's a kiss that removes daily existence from the mind, grounding you firmly in the moment and dragging your body with it.

In the cities of the European Franks, women roam about exposing not only their faces, but also their brightly shining hair (after their necks, their most attractive feature), their arms, their beautiful throats, and even, if what Ive heard is true, a portion of their gorgeous legs; as a result, the men of those cities walk about with great difficulty, embarrassed and in extreme pain, because, you see, their front sides are always erect and this fact naturally leads to the paralysis of their society. Undoubtedly, this is why each day the Frank infidel surrenders another fortress to us Ottomans.

Where rational thought is overcome by the strength of physical attraction. This feeling will draw words from the pen that one doesn't even know exist. This feeling will make one combine words that don't go 2gether but just sound so good U not only read them, U can smell them. (Reflecting on that straight up animal lust feeling)

As women we're raised to take tepid two-steps, to doubt, to let the other make the move. And when you are caught with another girl in that dance... How many times have I stepped the same steps, trodden the same tired grooves of my mind, an ouroboros of extreme elation and suffocating uncertainty? How does one get out of this labyrinth? Burn all your romantic novels, cough on the fumes till you spit out the sediment? Bury your pink lingerie in a bed of rock, quell those femme yearnings, become stone?

Thermodynamics is one of those words best avoided in a book with any pretence to be popular, but it is more engaging if seen for what it is: the science of 'desire'. The existence of atoms and molecules is dominated by 'attractions', 'repulsions', 'wants' and 'discharges', to the point that it becomes virtually impossible to write about chemistry without giving in to some sort of randy anthromorphism. Molecules 'want' to lose or gain electrons; attract opposite charges; repulse similar charges; or cohabit with molecules of similar character. A chemical reaction happens spontaneously if all the molecular partners desire to participate; or they can be pressed to react unwillingly through greater force. And of course some molecules really want to react but find it hard to overcome their innate shyness. A little gentle flirtation might prompt a massive release of lust, a discharge of pure energy. But perhaps I should stop there.

Annabel,” I whispered in her ear, making sure not to touch her. Her heartbeat accelerated, her skin got the chills, and her pupils dilated, not to mention how delicious she smelled and how the excitement only increased the scent. My own body got tense and aroused. “Let your guard down and trust me. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. I’m not trying to get you drunk or trick you. I just want to get to know you better.” “Shane,” she replied with her sexy, hot, and alluring voice that sent spirals of lust down my spine. “I have nothing against sleeping with you. I’m fully dressed for that.

She spun away from him and raced into the house toward her room to avoid an uncomfortable discussion. And as she flopped back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, she finally confronted the awful, alarming, dreadful, and entirely horrifying possibility that she had been rejecting all day. Though she could hardly accept it, she could no longer deny it. She was pretty sure Mr. Rodman was the King of Wands.

Gravity is why there are suns and planets in the first place. It is practically God. In the beginning, the cosmos was nothing but empty space and vast clouds of gases. Eventually the gases cooled to the point where tiny grains coalesced. These grains would have spent eternity moving through space, ignoring each other, had gravitational attraction not brought them together. Gravitation is the lust of the cosmos.

Men's sense of being sexually oriented toward women must signal, as it does for most lesbians, an acute interest and investment in women's lives and accomplishments because, within deep heterosexuality, attraction is measly and half-baked if not a synthesis of lust and humanization... to be into women, one must be for women. To be an authentically straight man--and not a pseudoheterosexual who uses women to impress men--one must be a feminist.

UNMERCIFUL My body was a useless entity. In your presence, it betrayed me. Like dangerous waters beckoning In their mystifying beauty. Their tantalizing fluidity caressed my body As I resisted taking the plunge. My body betrayed me, Ignored me like a preoccupied stranger With a will of its own. And, I cruelly learned, I could control what happened Only if you were merciful. But, watching you, Listening to you, Was not merciful. It was a torturous joy.

Chong said, "Do yourself a favor, Morg. Next time you're staring at a girl's boobs, look up. You'll be shocked to learn it, but there's going to be a face up there. Nose, mouth, eyes. And behind the eyes is an actual person." "Yes, Confucius, I know. Girls are people. Wisom of the ages. Nix is a girl and therefore a person. I know that." "Really?" said Chong as he watched Benny vanish around a corner. "Maybe if you looked her in the eyes, she'd know that you know.

To begin with, at home I spent most of my time reading. I wanted to stifle all that was continuously boiling up inside me through external impressions. Out of all external impressions, reading was the only one possible for me. Of course, reading helped a lot - it excited, delighted and tormented me. But at times it bored me to death. For all that I still wanted to be doing things and I would suddenly plunge into dark, subterranean, vile, not so much depravity as petty dissipation. My mean, trivial, lusts were keen and fiery as a result of my constant, morbid irritability. The surges were hysterical, always accompanied by tears and convulsion. Apart from reading I had nowhere to turn - I mean, there was nothing in my surroundings that I could respect then or to which I might have been attracted. Moreover, dreadful ennui was seething within me, a hysterical craving for contradictions and contrasts would make its presence felt [...].

He was a jerk; he didn’t deserve to be the object of my lust. But he’d smelled so fucking good, like spice and musk and man. We don’t have control over what we fantasize about. The fact that he was mean and unattainable made him that much more likely to be an object of my forbidden thoughts. Just like I learned in psychology class back in college, thought suppression often leads to obsession. If you tell yourself not to think about something, then you’ll think about it even more.

Grumpy Wes stomps into the bedroom and I follow him, because it’s one of two functional rooms in our place. I set down the coffee maker and watch while he throws off his shirt and climbs onto our giant bed. “Would you please get over here?” he whines. “It’s an emergency.” “It’s a good thing you’re so attractive,” I mutter as I ditch my shoes. “I had no idea that stepping into a store turned you into cryin’ Ryan.” I walk over to the bed where a shirtless, ripped man lies waiting for me, his expression burning up with lust.

Did I misread the heat in your eyes? Was I wrong about what you wanted?” Still unable to form words, she said nothing. “Because I know without question what I wanted in that moment.” He paused as though he were waiting for her to respond, but still, she remained silent. He chuckled, his voice low and seductive. “Wouldn’t you like to know what that was?” She shook her head no. He shrugged. “I’ll tell you anyway. I wanted more than anything in the world to take you in my arms, Julia, and kiss you senseless. And much more. So. Much. More.

Most of us begin, aided by almost every aspect of our culture, hoping for a perfect marriage. What this means is that we accept sexual attractiveness as a clue to finding our way in the labyrinth of marriage. It almost never is. Oddly enough, the media, which promise marriage as the happy ending, almost simultaneously show it, after several years, to be more ending than happy. But the dream lives on that this time will be different. "Perhaps the reason the truth is so little told is that it sounds quotidian, bourgeois, even like advocating proportion, that most unappealing of all virtues. But E. M. Forester understood this: when someone suggested that truth is halfway between extremes, his answer (in Howards End) was, "No; truth, being alive, was not halfway between anything. It was only to be found by continuous excursions into either realm, and though proportion is the final secret, to espouse it at the outset is to ensure sterility." Proportion is the final secret, and that is why all good marriages are what Stanley Cavell calls 'remarriages,' and not lust masquerading as passion.

Well, let me put it this way: the only thing about the King of Wands that doesn’t quite fit with you is that he is a man of fiery passions.” He raised his brows. “And I am not?” She smirked at him. “I don’t know. Are you?” Such a question. He dismissed it as rhetorical until she laid the king on the table and locked eyes with him. Boldly. And as he studied her expression, he sensed an invitation. A dare. A challenge for him to answer her about whether he was a man of fiery passions. He nearly succumbed to the temptation to show her just how fiery his passions could be. Restraint, Charles. Hold yourself in check. He sobered, as temperance, his lifelong, rational, and calming friend, curbed his urge to kiss the question right off her lips.

The process by which bourgeois society developed out of the ruins of its revolutionary traditions and memories added the black ghost of boredom to economic saturation and general indifference to political questions. Jews became people with whom one hoped to while away some time. The less one thought of them as equals, the more attractive and entertaining they became. Bourgeois society, in its search for entertainment and its passionate interest in the individual, insofar as he differed from the norm that is man, discovered the attraction of everything that could be supposed to be mysteriously wicked or secretly vicious. And precisely this feverish preference opened the doors of society to Jews; for within the framework of this society, Jewishness, after having been distorted into a psychological quality, could easily be perverted into a vice. The Enlightenment’s genuine tolerance and curiosity for everything human was being replaced by a morbid lust for the exotic, abnormal, and different as such. Several types in society, one after the other, represented the exotic, the anomalous, the different, but none of them was in the least connected with political questions. Thus

It was the prospect of seeing Mr. Rodman again that agitated her, especially after their miserable discussion of her beliefs and their silent but heated interaction over the Kama Sutra last Sunday. She didn’t like Mr. Rodman. Not really. There was no denying he was attractive and that he had the potential to affect her like no other man ever had. Still, he was an arse. Not only did he disparage her beliefs and practices but also he had condemned her for keeping wives from their husbands by offering them refuge in her home. True, he might have said he approved of the shelters after hearing the story of Phoebe, but when it came down to it, he was a man. And she had no doubt that, as a man, he would side with other men, the law, and the Church over a woman’s fate, if ever asked to do so.

He takes the beer and sets it on the floor. "I've never been into guys. So, this attraction to you is a little weird for me." I try to ease his mind by telling him that a lot of straight guys have at least one homosexual experience in their lifetime and that it's pretty normal. "Yeah… that's what I hear." "So don't over-think it. Just do me." He laughs, runs his hand down my arms, over my chest, and follows my happy trail down to my pubes.

I don’t know, man.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Ew!” I recoiled. “You smoke?” “Only when I drink,” he said, reaching for a lighter, “or when I’m seriously depressed.” I snatched the pack away. “These will kill you, and you don’t want that.” “Yeah?” he said sarcastically. “How should I get myself killed then?” “You could hang out with me some more,” I suggested. “I attract homicidal maniacs like mosquitoes, baby.

Permit me. Permit me, Engineer, to say to you, and to bring it home to you, that the only sane, noble—and I will expressly add, the only religious way to think of death is as part and parcel of life; to regard it, with the understanding and with the emotions, as the inviolable condition of life. It is the very opposite of sane, noble, reasonable, or religious to divorce it in any way from life, or to play it off against it. The ancients adorned their sarcophagi with the emblems of life and procreation, and even with obscene symbols; in the religions of antiquity the sacred and the obscene often lay very close together. These men knew how to pay homage to death. For death is worthy of homage, as the cradle of life, as the womb of palingenesis. Severed from life, it becomes a spectre, a distortion, and worse. For death, as an independent power, is a lustful power, whose vicious attraction is strong indeed; to feel drawn to it, to feel sympathy with it, is without any doubt at all the most ghastly aberration to which the spirit of man is prone.

Thank you, Mr. Rodman.” When he heard her whispered response, his gaze fell to her lips, and desire coiled through his body as he imagined how they would feel beneath his. Warm and pliant, no doubt. Eager and willing, maybe. Greedy with insatiable need? He hoped. “You’re most welcome.” She didn’t move, and he? He couldn’t move. He remained rooted to the stone floor as her lovely face entranced him. He was too aware of how close they stood to one another for rational thought. It would take no effort whatsoever for him to lean down and kiss her luscious lips. Something flickered in her eyes as they stared at each other, and he could sense the moment she felt the same pull as he did. Something primal, something hot flashed between them, and as he reached up to stroke her cheek with the backs of his fingers, he determined right then he would do it. He parted his lips slightly and bent down subtly. He was inches away from contact, but he wavered just one second too long as he debated with himself whether to touch her lips lightly with his own or give in to the powerful urge to crush his mouth and body against hers.

Detecting a note of inordinate concern for the young woman, Fred quizzed, "Could it be that our pretty little rabbit has caught the hunter's heart?" Rider felt distinctly uncomfortable under Fred's all-too-knowing eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. This is a job, not a honeymoon!" "Why,you're in love with her, aren't you?" "Hell,no! What gave you that half-cocked idea?" "You objected too fast." Fred smiled. "How could I love a woman like her? For God's sake, Fred, she acts more like a man than a woman. It's just that..." Rider rubbed at the back of his neck. "Damn, the woman walks around naked under that shirt of hers, jiggling and bouncing. Naturally, I'm attracted. You would be, too! But believe me, Fred, lust is all I feel for her." "You got it bad, my friend." Fred chuckled. "When we get done talking here, I suggest you take Annie over there"-he jerked his head toward a brunette-"upstairs for a good romp in the sack." "Maybe I should.I've tried to avoid Willow but just thinking about her gets me randy." Even as he mouthed the words, Rider knew he would not do as Fred suggested. There was only one woman who could cure his ache and, unfortunately for him, no other would do.

I had all kinds of answers ready for the commissions that called me in and asked me what had made me become a Communist, but what had attracted me to the movement more than anything, dazzled me, was the feeling (real or apparent) of standing near the wheel of history. For in those days we actually did decide the fate of men and events, especially at the universities; in those early years there were very few Communists on the faculty, and the Communists in the student body ran the universities almost single-handed, making decisions on academic staffing, teaching reform, and the curriculum. The intoxication we experienced is commonly known as the intoxication of power, but (with a bit of good will) I could choose less severe words: we were bewitched by history; we were drunk with the thought of jumping on its back and feeling it beneath us; admittedly, in most cases the result was an ugly lust for power, but (as all human affairs are ambiguous) there was still (and especially, perhaps, in us, the young), an altogether idealistic illusion that we were inaugurating a human era in which man (all men) would be neither outside history, nor under the heel of history, but would create and direct it.

Don’t you remember how I was always all over you, wanting cuddles and hugs and your hands on me? I loved being close to you, loved your scent, even when you came from the gym and claimed that you smelled gross. I loved being your babe, your love, and your sweetheart. I “always loved touching you,” Harry said softly, licking his lips. He moved his hands from Adam’s shoulders and slipped them under Adam’s unbuttoned shirt. “Even when I was incapable of feeling arousal, I was still attracted to you so badly I felt the attraction even despite the bond, but I couldn’t quite understand what I felt until the bond broke completely.” Harry looked Adam in the eye, his face open and earnest. “I was ridiculously smitten with you. You were my sun and my moon and my stars. I wanted to make you happy. I “wanted to impress you. I wanted you to smile at me and call me love. I wanted you to say I was special to you, your only babe. I fell in love with you long before I was even capable of feeling lust.” Harry took Adam’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I love you,” he murmured. “I always have. The fact that I need you physically doesn’t negate the fact that I love you so very much. Because I do.” He nuzzled into Adam’s hand like a kitten. “I love you. I love you more than you can imagine. I don’t care what people back home will think of me because of our relationship. I want to be yours. I am yours. Your Harry.

Okay, listen to me one more time. I find you very beautiful, and I'm not going to be some guy who leaves you hanging like that idiot did yesterday evening. I am willing to show you what a real woman can do to please you in every way." Jana stood they're just looking at Angel dumbstruck, unsure what to say. She just thought of what to say next, but nothing came to words. Jana sat on the couch without a word. Angel sat next to her. "I am sorry for being so honest with you. But since I met you yesterday evening, I just can't and won't let my feelings go without knowing." She sighed. She just wished Jana could feel the same about her as she did about Jana. Jana looked at Angel. Her eyes were full of questions. "Why me? Out of all the women in this world, you choose me. I'm nothing compared to anyone else and my best friend Destiny has the life I want and crave for." Angel smiled and hugged Jana. She didn’t try to leave her embrace. Angel counted that as a small win. "That is where you are blind on. Women that are friends or couples can have all that as well. Please, just give me a chance to show you and will go from there." Jana took a deep breath looking down at her hands. She was still deciding if she should accept Angel’s suggestion. "Are you sure about this? I mean we just met, and I am not sure what to think of all this? I wouldn't even know what to tell anyone that knows me?" Angel placed a finger over Jana's lips responding, "We can keep it hidden, do you agree? I just want what is best for you and me, for us. I have never been attracted to a straight woman before, but you took my breath away.

Violet,' Xaden groans against my mouth. The plea in his tone floods my veins with a whole different form of power. Knowing he's just as affected by our attraction as I am is a rush. 'This isn't what you want.' 'It's exactly what I want,' I counter. I want to replace the anger with lust, the death of the day with the pulse-pounding assurance of my own life, and I know he's capable of delivering all that and more. 'You said to do whatever I need.' I arch my back, pressing the tips of my breasts against his chest. His breathing changes, and there's a war in his eyes that I'm determined to win. It's time to stop dancing around this unbearable tension and break it. He leans down, his mouth only inches from mine. 'And I'm telling you that I'm the last thing you need.' The barely leashed growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in my body flares to life. 'Are you suggesting someone else?' My heart races as I chance calling his bluff. 'Fuck no.' The unmistakable flare of jealousy narrows his eyes for a heartbeat before his hips pin mine to the door, and my instant relief at his answer is replaced by a jolt of pure lust. I can see that infamous control of his hovering on the edge, balancing precariously on the point of a knife. All he needs is one. Little. Push. And I'm about to shamelessly shove. 'Good.' I tilt my head up to his and draw his bottom lip between mine, sucking before gently nipping him with my teeth. 'Because I only want you, Xaden.' The words breach something within him, and he gives. Finally. One mouths collide, and the kiss is hot and hard and completely out of our control.

Alice's Cutie Code TM Version 2.1 - Colour Expansion Pack (aka Because this stuff won’t stop being confusing and my friends are mean edition) From Red to Green, with all the colours in between (wait, okay, that rhymes, but green to red makes more sense. Dang.) From Green to Red, with all the colours in between Friend Sampling Group: Fennie, Casey, Logan, Aisha and Jocelyn Green  Friends’ Reaction: Induces a minimum amount of warm and fuzzies. If you don’t say “aw”, you’re “dead inside”  My Reaction: Sort of agree with friends minus the “dead inside” but because that’s a really awful thing to say. Puppies are a good example. So is Walter Bishop. Green-Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: A noticeable step up from Green warm and fuzzies. Transitioning from cute to slightly attractive. Acceptable crush material. “Kissing.”  My Reaction: A good dance song. Inspirational nature photos. Stuff that makes me laugh. Pairing: Madison and Allen from splash Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: Something that makes you super happy but you don’t know why. “Really pretty, but not too pretty.” Acceptable dating material. People you’d want to “bang on sight.”  My Reaction: Love songs for sure! Cookies for some reason or a really good meal. Makes me feel like it’s possible to hold sunshine, I think. Character: Maxon from the selection series. Music: Carly Rae Jepsen Yellow-Orange  Friends’ Reaction: (When asked for non-sexual examples, no one had an answer. From an objective perspective, *pushes up glasses* this is the breaking point. Answers definitely skew toward romantic or sexual after this.)  My Reaction: Something that really gets me in my feels. Also art – oil paintings of landscapes in particular. (What is with me and scenery? Maybe I should take an art class) Character: Dean Winchester. Model: Liu Wren. Orange  Friends’ Reaction: “So pretty it makes you jealous. Or gay.”  “Definitely agree about the gay part. No homo, though. There’s just some really hot dudes out there.”(Feenie’s side-eye was so intense while the others were answering this part LOLOLOLOLOL.) A really good first date with someone you’d want to see again.  My Reaction: People I would consider very beautiful. A near-perfect season finale. I’ve also cried at this level, which was interesting. o Possible tie-in to romantic feels? Not sure yet. Orange-Red  Friends’ Reaction: “When lust and love collide.” “That Japanese saying ‘koi no yokan.’ It’s kind of like love at first sight but not really. You meet someone and you know you two have a future, like someday you’ll fall in love. Just not right now.” (<-- I like this answer best, yes.) “If I really, really like a girl and I’m interested in her as a person, guess. I’d be cool if she liked the same games as me so we could play together.”  My Reaction: Something that gives me chills or has that time-stopping factor. Lots of staring. An extremely well-decorated room. Singers who have really good voices and can hit and hold superb high notes, like Whitney Houston. Model: Jasmine Tooke. Paring: Abbie and Ichabod from Sleepy Hollow o Romantic thoughts? Someday my prince (or princess, because who am I kidding?) will come? Red (aka the most controversial code)  Friends’ Reaction: “Panty-dropping levels” (<-- wtf Casey???).  “Naked girls.” ”Ryan. And ripped dudes who like to cook topless.”  “K-pop and anime girls.” (<-- Dear. God. The whole table went silent after he said that. Jocelyn was SO UNCOMFORTABLE but tried to hide it OMG it was bad. Fennie literally tried to slap some sense into him.)  My Reaction: Uncontrollable staring. Urge to touch is strong, which I must fight because not everyone is cool with that. There may even be slack-jawed drooling involved. I think that’s what would happen. I’ve never seen or experienced anything that I would give Red to.

Lies flee in the presence of truth. And the Devil turns powerless when our minds turn to our all-powerful God. Here’s where I become quite fascinated. Jesus had access to thousands of scriptures from the Old Testament. He knew them. He could have used any of them. But He chose three specific ones. I’ve decided I want these three to be at the top of my mind. I Want a Promise for My Problem of Feeling Empty Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. (Deuteronomy 8:3) My soul was hand designed to be richly satisfied in deep places by the Word of God. When I go without the nourishment of truth, I will crave filling my spiritual hunger with temporary physical pleasures, thinking they will somehow treat the loneliness inside. These physical pleasures can’t fill me, but they can numb me. Numb souls are never growing souls. They wake up one day feeling so very distant from God and wondering how in the world they got there. Since Satan’s goal is to separate us from the Lord, this is exactly where he wants us to stay. But the minute we turn to His Word is the minute the gap between us and God is closed. He is always near. His Word is full and fully able to reach those deep places inside us desperate for truth. I Want a Promise for My Problem of Feeling Deprived “Fear the LORD your God, serve him only and take your oaths in his name” (Deuteronomy 6:13). Another version of this verse says, “Worship Him, your True God, and serve Him.” (THE VOICE) When we worship God, we reverence Him above all else. A great question to ask: Is my attention being held by something sacred or something secret? What is holding my attention the most is what I’m truly worshipping. Sacred worship is all about God. Is my attention being held by something sacred or something secret? Secret worship is all about something in this world that seems so attractive on the outside but will devour you on the inside. Pornography, sex outside of marriage, trading your character to claw your way to a position of power, fueling your sense of worth with your child’s successes, and spending outside of your means to constantly dress your life in the next new thing—all things we do to counteract feelings of being left out of and not invited to the good things God has given others—these are just some of the ways lust sneaks in and wreaks havoc. Two words that characterize misplaced worship or lust are secret excess. God says if we will direct our worship to Him, He will give us strength to turn from the mistakes of yesterday and provide portions for our needs of today. Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (PSALM 73:25–26) And I Certainly Want a Promise for My Problem of Feeling Rejected Do not put the LORD your God to the test. (Deuteronomy 6:16)