Perv Quotes

Perv." He pointed to himself. "Male and eighteen. What's your point?

You climbed into my window in the middle of the night. So, either you're some kind of Vampire or some kind of Perv. Which is it?

If you're worried about pervs breaking into the house, it's not going to make a difference whether I'm in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they're decent human beings or they're not. Their actions are on them.

Fang laughed as he shoved Vane away 'Man, quit hugging on me. You are a perv." Vane punched him in the arm. "You're such an a**hole," Trace gasped. "Daddy said a bad word!" Fang said "You tell him pup. Keep your daddy straight.

Oh my God. What in—” I was going to be killed by two generations of beautiful women. While naked. “Mom,” Isabel snapped, interrupting. “Do you mind not staring? It’s totally perv.

Some perv lured you here via a magical website?

Eat it," I ordered, holding it with two hands now, making it dance in the air. "It's begging you. 'Eat me'." He arched a brow. "Perv," I muttered. Aiden pressed his lips together, but when he glanced at me and my dancing bun, he burst into laughter. "All right, give me the bun.

So either your a vampire or a perv. Which is it?

What r u doing now? I'm beating my dad at poker. Picturing him with his family, I smiled. Getting ready for bed. Wish I was there. My eyes widened. What the what? Wait r u naked? No!!! I sent back. Perv. Damn, At least I have my imagination. That's all you will ever have. We'll c. No you won't.

Cath could hear the perv shouting curses behind them. “Oh, fuck you, Flowers in the Attic!” Levi shouted back

Back off, perv! I have a black belt in taekwondo and I will fuck you up if you take another step toward me.” Chase raised his hands in surrender, trying really, really hard to keep his eyes on hers. “Whoa, there, crouching tiger. Let’s just take this down a notch.

Are pervs only pervs if you don’t find them attractive?

A fine shiver coursed over my skin. “Seth?” “Yeah?” “You were in my dream.” One amber-colored eye opened. “Please tell me we were naked.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re such a perv.” He sighed mournfully as he wiggled closer. “I’ll take that as a no.” “You’d be correct.” Unable to fall back to sleep, I started chewing on my lip. So many worries surfaced at once that my brain spun.

Man, quit hugging me. You are a perv. (Fang) You’re such an asshole. (Vane) Daddy said a bad word! (Trace) You tell him, pup. Keep your daddy straight. (Fang)

What would you do if you had to make a run for it?’ His voice is husky as he stares, mesmerized, at the unraveling thread. ‘I’d grab my shoes and run.’ ‘Dressed like this? In front of lawless men?’ His eyes drift up to my midriff. ‘If you’re worried about pervs breaking into the house, it’s not going to make a difference whether I’m in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they’re decent human beings or they’re not. Their actions are on them.’ ‘It’ll be tough for them to take any action while I’m pummeling their faces. Disrespect will not be tolerated.’ I half smile at him. ‘Because you’re all about respect.’ He sighs as if a little disgusted with himself. ‘Lately, I seem to be all about you.

Shigure Sohma: singing High school girls high school girls all for me High school girls

You're a freak. But I really can't accept these-' Were you raised in a barn? Don't be ruuuuuude, my boy. They're a gift.' Blay shook his head. 'Take them, John. You're just going to lose this argument, and it will save us from the theatrics.' Theatrics?' Qhuinn leaped up and assumed a Roman oratory pose. 'Whither thou knowest thy ass from thy elbow, young scribe?' Blay blushed. 'Come on-' Qhuinn threw himself at Blay, grasping onto the guy's shoulders and hanging his full weight off him. 'Hold me. Your insult has left me breathless. I'm agasp.' Blay grunted and scrambled to keep Qhuinn up off the floor. 'That's agape.' Agasp sounds better.' Blay was trying not to smile, trying not to be delighted, but his eyes were sparkling like sapphires and his cheeks were getting red. With a silent laugh, John sat on one of the locker room benches, shook out his pair of white socks, and pulled them on under his new old jeans. 'You sure, Qhuinn? 'Cause I have a feeling they're going to fit and you might change your mind. Qhuinn abruptly lifted himself off Blay and straightened his clothes with a sharp tug. 'And now you offend my honor.' Facing off at John, he flipped into a fencing stance. Touché.' Blay laughed. 'That's en garde, you damn fool.' Qhuinn shot a look over his shoulder. 'ça va, Brutus?' Et tu?' That would be tutu, I believe, and you can keep the cross-dressing to yourself, ya perv.' Qhuinn flashed a brilliant smile, all twelve kinds of proud for being such an ass. 'Now, put the fuckers on, John, and let's be done with this. Before we have to put Blay in an iron lung.' Try sanitarium.' No, thanks, I had a big lunch.

Either he was a perv or an alien. Or both, which would be a winning combination.

Perv—I’ve gotten upgraded from stalker.' Wasn’t he the eternal optimist?

Why not? If you're not going to let me see you naked, we might as well be girlfriends." "You're a twisted little man." "Come on, Stretch, share with the class." "No!" I laughed. "Prude." "Perv." "Schoolmarm." "Some other word that essentially means perv.

If you’re worried about pervs breaking into the house, it’s not going to make a difference whether I’m in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they’re decent human beings or they’re not. Their actions are on them.

Anyway I was in the school nurse’s office now recovering from my slit wrists. Snap and Loopin and HAHRID were there too. They were going to St. Mango’s after they recovered cause they were pedofiles and you can’t have those fucking pervs teaching in a school with lots of hot gurlz. Dumbledore had constipated the cideo camera they took of me naked. I put up my middle finger at them.

Are pervs only pervs if you don't find them attractive?

Why do you flirt with Mr. Daimler? He's a perv, you know." I'm so surprised by the question it takes me a second to answer. "Mr. Daimler is not a perv." "Trust me, he is." "Jealous?" "Hardly." "I don't flirt with him, anyway." Kent rolls his eyes. "Sure." I shrug my shoulders. "Why so interested?" Kent goes red and drops his eyes to the floor. "No reason," he mumbles.

What would you do if you had to make a run for it?” His voice is husky as he stares, mesmerized, at the unraveling thread. “I’d grab my shoes and run.” “Dressed like this? In front of lawless men?” His eyes drift up to my midriff. “If you’re worried about pervs breaking into the house, it’s not going to make a difference whether I’m in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they’re decent human beings or they’re not. Their actions are on them.

Sometimes what I did five minutes ago scared the fuck out of me five minutes later.

So beautiful.” – Coyote ‘Ew…where’s my Perv Be Gone?’ – Abigail

I’m not a perv,” Seth said, even though there were literally hundreds of women who would absolutely have classified Seth as a perv.

In adopting a patently false but stubbornly clung-to mythology of human sexuality that makes demons out of natural drives, we've entered a stage of moral sickness, not of moral health.

Yeah yeah," h said. "I waited. She was decent. Although technically, she's still naked." "You're sch a perv," she turned on to me. "Okay, kitty. Lead on. We'll try to keep up." "Yeah,good luck with that," Rafe said. "If she runs, we're history.

There's no deodorant for desperation.

Max?” “Yeah?” “Do you ever just take off your shirt and flex in front of a mirror? You know, to perv on your own hotness?” “No. Do you ever take off your shirt and caress your breasts, just for the hell of it?” I shrug. “Sometimes. When I get stressed, I cup my boobs and give them a reassuring squeeze.” “Good information. Next time you’re stressing I’ll have to try that.

You’re such a mut!” He laughs. “I’m a mut? Jesus, what you? Twelve? And don’t throw insults at me. I wasn’t the one perving on my hot body.” “I was not perving!” I cry with indignation. “So, you admit I’m hot.” “I, what? No, I don’t admit anything!” He’s laughing at me now.

...it's not what people do, it's what they don't tell you they do. That's what hurts. That's what you think about when the television signs off and you're still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He set the RAM on the desk, then reached into his back pocket to pull out his grimoire. The size of a small paperback novel, it'd been a gift from Ambrose to help him understand some of the madness that surrounded him, and to answer some of the "other" questions that came up. "All right, Nashira," Nick said in a low tone. "Talk to me. What the heck is watching me?" He slid his knife out of his pocket, opened the book, and pricked his finger, allowing three drops of blood to touch a blank page. "Dredanya eire coulet" he whispered, waking the female spirit who lived inside the enchanted pages. The moment he finished speaking, his blood began swirling until it formed words: Do not fear that which cannot be seen. For they are lost in between. 'Tis the ones who come alive That your blood will allow to thrive. Nick snorted at the cryptic stanzas. "Not really useful, Nashira. Doesn't answer my question." His blood crawled over to the next page. Answer, answer, you always say, But it doesn't work that way. In time, the truth you shall find. And then you will understand my rhyme. "I'm such a masochist to even try talking to you" Underneath the words, a picture of an obscene gesture formed. "Oh very nice, Nashira. Very nice. Wherever did you learn that?" In your pocket I reside. Ever privy to your deride. But more than that, I can see. And that includes bathroom stall graffiti Nick screwed his face up in distaste. "Oh my God, no. Tell me you haven't been spying on me in the rest room. You perv!" Calm yourself, you evil troll. My job is not to console. But if it is privacy you seek, Leave me in your backpack so I can't peek. Now he understood why other people got so aggravated with his attitude disorder. He wanted to strangle his book.

You think everyone pervs you."... "That's cos they do, and you're just jealous, cos I'm gorgeous and you're not." ~ conversation between Dante &Ash

I hadn’t realized, until I actually heard his voice, how much I’d missed the demented little perv.

And then… he jumped on Draco! (no not in dat way u perv)

The American justice system creeps forward at a glacial pace, stymied in part by the efforts of the same powerful men who benefit from laws that protect their interests and forgive their sins.

It's different to miss somebody when they're still alive. When they die it's like, 'Okay, I'm sad.' You're supposed to be sad. When they just go away, when they disappear, that's a different thing.

Half the reason I turned into a writer is you didn't have to show up anywhere. You could work naked.

We found Trent and pulled him off the leggy girl. “Trent, it’s time to get home before your parents realize we snuck out.” I said. “What?” he asked confusedly. “Plus the bouncer found out we were sixteen and he does not look happy.” Logan added. The girl froze, “You’re sixteen? What the hell. You little perv, you’re going to pay for this.” Trent sputtered, “What? No.” Logan looked at her all doe eyed innocence and said “Sorry Ma’am, we have to get home now because it’s past our curfew.” Trent stood open mouthed in shock but his eyes were shooting murderous rays. So many death glares, so little time.

One of DeVos’s first acts of power was to rescind Obama’s Title IX guidelines, which she called “a failed system.” Survivor advocates are no fans of DeVos. But you know who loves her? Guys who’ve been accused of rape.

Okay, back to business." Billy grins, leaning back against the cushions. "Give me two more characteristics of living things. I'll give you a hint: you left out the most fun one." Fun one? Im picturing the textbook, responsiveness, growth, complex organizations, metabolism, responsiveness... Oh! I hit Billy. "You are such a perv!" "Who me? What are you talking about?" "The most fun one? Reproduction?" "Hey, even microorganisms gotta have fun, right?

His face is so close to my core that I feel the warm puff of air on my clit. I shiver in desire, then curse myself for feeling it. “Get up, you perv,” I grumble, trying to shove my dress down. He locks both my hands with one of his. “Not until I get my kiss.” A naughty gleam lights his eyes. “My lips are up here, asshole.” The curve of his mouth widens, his smile becoming filthier and filthier. “You said a kiss, honey. But you never specified where.

If you’re worried about pervs breaking into the house, it’s not going to make a difference whether I’m in this outfit or in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt. Either they’re decent human beings or they’re not. Their actions are on them.” “It’ll be tough for them to take any action while I’m pummeling their faces. Disrespect will not be tolerated.

As I stood, I took in a last breath of spring-scented air, listened to the birdsong, and then saw a member of wildlife the conservationists hadn't planned on reviving in this place. A perv in a white shirt and polyester pants. A standard hide-in-the-bushes-and-whack-it perv. Fat and balding, it was as appealing as watching a giant marshmallow go at it.

Sometimes I think life's nothin' but sittin' around watchin' pretty go bad.

There's two kinds of people, kid: the kind who pretend they are, and the kind who pretend they aren't. Take my advice and don't be neither.

That's the thing about people you loved. They disappeared on you. I didn't know much at the ripe old age of fifteen and a half. But, for better or worse, I knew that.

This was, I sometimes thought, the last gift my father gave me. And the best: His death stood out as the supreme-o excuse for fucking up, for being a successful fuck-up.

Booze has a different effect when you're, like, ten. Its doesn't round out the edges so much as wash you right out of the picture.

There were mornings I thought drugs made me insane and mornings I thought they kept me from going that way.

In my family, misery didn't just love company, it wanted hostages.

Her scent assails me, and I want to drop to my fucking knees. I snatch them before she changes her mind about giving them to me. “You're going home with me.

Alex wondered what it took to hold value for him. Probably had to either be a business contact or a perv

To be effective in this world you must be very well-acquainted with the underworld, with criminal life, with junkies, dealers, prostitutes, gamblers, with the perviest of pervs.

Oh my God. Why the hell had a naked guy tackled me? “Move, you perv.

I have a thing for Cumberbatch—with that deep voice and quiet way of his that you just know hides a total perv in the bedroom.

The necrophiliacs were homophobic and sexist to boot. You’d think pervs would be more tolerant of others. Go figure.

Are pervs only pervs if you don’t find them attractive? I

Could it be possible that having cancer has turned you into an even bigger perv? Yes. It's a common side effect.

EW, YOU FUCKING PERVS, STOP LOOKING AT ME NAKED! ARE YOU PEDOS OR WHAT!

This is, I believe, what happens when people take their own lives. They're not killing themselves, they're killing the world. Either to spare it pain or to cause it some, depending.

Well, I tell myself, it could be worse. You could have been rescued by some fifty-year-old perv sporting a spare tire the size of a monster truck’s who keeps his dead mother in the attic.

Still... I would have hugged my mother if we were the kind of family who hugged. If touching her weren't impossible. If her subnightie waft was not so utterly, fatally repulsive. That's how much I loved her.

It’s a long shot, but this baby is pretty cool.” He pushed the button that brought up the menu. “I need to run a search.” “Of course, master,” the computer said with an inviting smile. “Which pornographic material should I seek out today?” Dante grinned. “Really? You can do that?” He felt Meg’s stare. “Nothing like that.

Yeah. It’s just too fricking easy to steal a child. Perv says, ‘Want to see my puppy?’ Kid toddles over. Perv drags the kid inside and takes off. No witness. No evidence. And now,” I said, “the long wait for a phone call… that never comes.

Someone could be paraphilic in both his erotic target and his favorite sex act. I mean, really, any pellismophilic nebulophile (someone whose most passionate moments involve masturbating in the foggy mist while listening to a person stutter) can see that.

The second time I took acid, I watched myself in the mirror for nine hours. What I realized, when I stared, was that my face looked exactly the same when I cried as when I laughed. After awhile I couldn't tell which I was doing. Relief was just pain inside out.

The psychologist Charles Moser, for example, pointed out that those inclined to divide the "sane" from the "insane" in terms of frequency of sex and intensity of desires overlook the possibility that sex itself may be the most meaningful part of a person's life, "which appropriately can take precedence over other activities".

I wasn't sad after my father kissed the streetcar. If anything, it was a relief. Much as I missed him, his dying gave me an excuse to feel the way I already felt. Which was the way I felt right now, under the laundry room fluorescents: hollow, pissed off, wanting to be wherever I wasn't. Until I got there. Then I wanted to be somewhere else.

Yeah, and I don't want to know what she's getting from me right now. I cringe at the mere thought." Sam met his gaze. "We both know what a perv you are." He actually blushed which made her wonder what was on his mind. Deciding to alleviate his embarrassment, she wrinkled her nose. "Relax, Grizzly Adams. I'm still getting nothing from you.

She knew the secret of my creepiness.

Maybe the reason you can never go home again is that, once you're back, you can never leave...

Mom lived in 709. Five doors down from 714, the number they stamped on Quaaludes.

A waft of sweet hash drifted by, and I wanted to float after it like Wimpy levitating at the scent of a hamburger.

Pat Boone still didn't cover public cunt-licks in Tips for Teens, and there really wasn't anybody to ask.

Sometimes, it's like you know what people think: You know what they're thinking, and you know it's wrong. All you want to do if change their mind, but you can't.

Heroin spread that soft blanket over everything. But once the blanket was ripped off, it took a layer of skin with it, leaving nothing but nerve ends screaming in the breeze.

Hello, Ethan.” “What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” He seemed at a loss, for Macon, which just meant he didn’t have an immediate and charming explanation on the tip of his tongue. “It’s complicated.” “Well, uncomplicate it. Because you climbed in my window in the middle of the night, so either you’re some kind of vampire or some kind of perv, or both. Which is it?

The public debate plays out in an infinite regress of blame over who’s responsible for those who fail to fit the standard erotic mold. This is variously ascribed to the people choosing to be the deviants they are, porn, the Devil (always a shoo-in), bad parents, poor role models, our sexually repressed culture, or the psychiatrists who keep needling sexual minorities by branding them mentally ill. It’s a rabbit hole of endless (and usually endlessly bad) arguments. Morally, all that matters—and allow me to reiterate that because I feel it’s quite important, all that matters—is whether a person’s sexual deviancy is demonstrably harmful. If it’s not, and we reject the person anyway, then we’re not the good guys in this scenario; we’re the bad guys.

As far as I could tell, life was nothing but a forced march down a mined highway. Even if you did everything you were supposed to do, sooner of later if was your turn to step on a claymore.

It's been six goddamn days since I could touch her, see the way one of my jokes lights up her eyes—Did I mention touch her? The thought of saying those words out loud forces sweat to break along my brow.

It seemed Mr. Kitty wanted its food unwrapped. The only good thing was it released her arms, and then her body, as it wiggled back, taking her sleeping bag with it. Prey exposed, the jaguar proceeded to sniff its way up her body. The brush of a damp nose, too close to her girl parts, made her pull up her legs. “Perv. Stay out of there. I’ve sworn off men for this trip, and that goes for big kitty cats too.” It

Jaxson, I’m fine really, and I won’t be home alone. God is living with me now… remember?” Day tried to reason with his stubborn big brother. Jaxson maneuvered the small sedan into Day’s driveway and Day’s heart rate picked up at the sight of God’s truck already there. “Oh and when did Cashel get a medical degree?” Jaxson huffed. “You may require medical attention in the middle of the night, and I won’t be there.” Day smirked. “The only attention I’ll require in the middle of the night won’t require you being there to give it to me.” Day winked. “The right man for the job will be there.” “You’re a perv.” Jaxson laughed. “Okay, okay. Just take it easy for the next few days and call me tomorrow.” “All right.” Day leaned over and gave Jaxson a wet, sloppy kiss on the cheek until the man was pushing at him to get away. Day

She stuck out her tongue at him, and he leaned forward and -- to her horror -- licked it. "Ewwww!" "Then don't stick it out." Shane smiled. "If you're going to hang out in my room and tempt me, there's a penalty. One item of clothing per minute comes off." "Perv." He pointed to himself. "Male and eighteen. What's your point?" "You are so -- " "Say, you got any pleated miniskirts and knee socks? I really get off on --

From diapers on, I felt like there was something not good about me, but it was invisible to everybody but my mother. And whenever she looked at me, she had to let me know that she knew. That was her mission in life.

In some odd gush of patriotism, my mother had once vomited on the Liberty Bell, the Statue of Liberty, and a bust of Benjamin Franklin in a single summer, aborting our vacation and causing my father to swear off historical sites until the day he died.

If I closed my eyes, I could almost count those soft hairs on the back of her neck. One day I'd even leaned forward, pretending to drop my pencil, and inhaled her until the top of my head started to steam. A scent of butterscotch wafted off of her, and it was all I could do not to plunge my face into her shag.

I have to admit, I wasn't close to my old man when he was alive. He was hardly ever home. But now that he was gone, and I was back in Pittsburgh, I thought about him all the time. I felt closer to the guy since he'd been buried than I ever did when he was walking around above ground. I realized how much I loved him.

I had to ask Scottie what TYVM meant, because now that I’ve narrowed into her activities, I notice she is constantly text-messaging her friends, or at least I hope it’s her friends and not some perv in a bathrobe. “Thank you very much,” Scottie said, and for some reason, the fact that I didn’t get this made me feel completely besieged. It’s crazy how much fathers are supposed to know these days. I come from the school of thought where a dad’s absence is something to be counted on. Now I see all the men with camouflage diaper bags and babies hanging from their chests like little ship figureheads. When I was a young dad, I remember the girls sort of bothered me as babies, the way everyone raced around to accommodate them. The sight of Alex in her stroller would irritate me at times—she’d hang one of her toddler legs over the rim of the safety bar and slouch down in the seat. Joanie would bring her something and she’d shake her head, then Joanie would try again and again until an offering happened to work and Alex would snatch it from her hands. I’d look at Alex, finally complacent with her snack, convinced there was a grown person in there, fooling us all. Scottie would just point to things and grunt or scream. It felt like I was living with royalty. I told Joanie I’d wait until they were older to really get into them, and they grew and grew behind my back.

Women in movies from Hollywood's golden era dressed the way my mother did now. My entire childhood, she'd shown up at PTA meeting in bust-hugging sequins, the sight of which gave my father complicated facial twitches. She was flamboyant, really, in no other way. There was nothing Auntie Mame about her. Unless Auntie Mame had a penchant for public collapse.

I wrote an article once about the color pink. I interviewed Dr. Windfree Bennet, a psychiatrist and New Age Colour Therapist. Dr. Bennet theorized that women who prefer the color pink over other colors are sexually repressed and therefore hypersexual. He said pink does not appear on the color spectrum. It is actually made up of several other colors, including red, which arouses base sexual instincts, and orange, which stimulates internal sexual organs. Who knew I was stimulating my internal sexual organs just by looking at my shirt? All this time I thought I liked the color pink because of some desire to recapture my childhood, when in reality I am just some perv secretly stimulating my internal sexual organs.

Not fair,” I muttered. “Your sword was bigger than mine.” “My sword is bigger than everyone’s.” I lobbed my controller at his head, but of course he ducked and made me miss. Damn it. “Perv.” “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You walked right into that one, Duffy.” I scowled at him for a moment, but I could feel the aggravation slipping away. Finally, I just shook my head… and smiled. “Okay, you’re right. I did leave that one wide open. But you know, boys that talk big never are.” Wesley frowned. “We both know that isn’t true. I’ve proved it to you plenty of times.” He smirked, then leaned against me, letting his lips brush against my ear. “But I can prove it again if you want me to… and you know you want me to.” “I… I don’t think that’s necessary,” I managed. His lips were moving down my neck, sending an electric current up my spine. “Oh,” he growled playfully. “I do.” I laughed as he shoved me to the floor, one of his hands perfectly catching the space above my left hip where I was most ticklish. He’d discovered that spot a couple of weeks ago, and I was furious with myself for letting him use it against me. Now he could make me squirm and laugh uncontrollably whenever he wanted, and I could tell that he totally got off on it. Jerk. His fingers probed the sensitive spot over my hip as his mouth moved from my collarbone to my ear. I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Not fair. So not fair. I made a halfhearted attempt to kick him away, but he trapped my leg between his and proceeded to tickle me harder.

mind.” “No plan,” I admit as I toe off my shoes and put my feet up on the seat. “Nothing more than just cutting loose with you.” “I like that plan,” he says. “And I know exactly where I want to get off.” He glances at me as he says the last, the deliciously devious gleam in his eyes so exaggerated that I can’t help but laugh. “Perv,” I say. “Only for you,” he retorts. I am hugging my knees, and he reaches over and traces his fingertip over the platinum and emerald ankle bracelet that was a gift from him, a physical reminder that I am his. As if I could ever forget. His hand moves from the bracelet to the back of my thigh, the touch light and sensual. It’s nothing more than a simple caress, but my reaction to it is all sorts of complicated. Taut ribbons of heat shoot through me to pool between my legs, to tug at my nipples. How

Power comes at a price, love," Veliss replied through bared teeth, maintaining the smile she offered to the townsfolk lining the square. "What power?" "All power. The power to rule, to kill, or, in your case this fine morning, the power to incite the lust of the old goat you're about to meet." "Lust? I have no desire to incite lust in anyone." Veliss turned to her with a quizzical expression, her smile suddenly genuine. "Then I'm afraid you're in for a lifetime of disappointment.

Thanks for the ride.It was really nice of you." "No worrie. Since I'm down here, maybe I'll swing by Geno's for a cheesesteak." He shook his head. "You saw what was in my fridge." "I did. Alex..." I could ask. It would be so easy. A pizza,some of Nonna's fettuccine... "I had a good time," I told him. Coward, I scolded myself. "I didn't expect to." "Yeah,well,you can't beat a good raptor attack. Next time before we get started, I'll show you my French comic book collection..." He wiggled his eyebrows at me in perv fashion. "Then we'll work." "Okay," I agreed. "Sounds good." I started up the sidewalk. Instead of going home,I'd decided to go over to Marino's. Offer to peel garlic or something.Dad would appreciate it. "Hey,Ella." I turned. "Yeah?" "I'll see you tomorrow." I must have looked blank. "At the dance," he added. "Oh.Yeah.See you tomorrow." I turned back toward the restaurant. "Hey,Ella." "Yeah?" "J'ai passe un tres bon moment, aussi." When I just stared at him again, he snorted. "Work it out." I did,but not before he'd driven away. He'd had a really good time,too.

Gina flopped back on her cot, arm up over her eyes. “Oh, my God, Molly, what am I going to do? The fact that he came here tonight at all is . . . He’s clearly interested, but that’s probably just because he thinks I’m a total perv.” “Whoa,” Molly said. “Wait. You lost me there.” Gina sat up, a mix of earnestness, horror, and amusement on her pretty face. “I didn’t tell you this, but after I first spoke to Lucy’s sister—we were in the shower tent so no one would see us—I let her leave first and then I waited, like, a minute, thinking we shouldn’t be seen leaving the tent together. And before I go, he came in.” He. “Leslie Pollard?” Molly clarified. Gina nodded. “I freaked out when I saw him coming, and it’s stupid, I know, but I hid. And I should have just waited until I heard the shower go on, but God, maybe he wouldn’t have pulled the curtain, because he obviously thought he was in there alone . . .” Molly started to laugh. “Oh my.” “Yeah,” Gina said. “Oh my. So I decide to run for it, only he’s not in one of the changing booths, he’s over by the bench, you know?” Molly nodded. The bench in the main part of the room. “In only his underwear,” Gina finished, with a roll of her eyes. “Oh, my God.” “Really? Molly asked. Apparently Jones was taking his change of identity very seriously. He hated wearing underwear of any kind, but obviously he thought it wouldn’t be in character for Leslie Pollard to go commando. “Boxers or briefs?” Gina gave her a look, but she was starting to laugh now, too, thank goodness. “Briefs. Very brief briefs.” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, my God, Molly, he was . . . I think he showers at noon because he knows no one else will be in there, so he can, you know, have an intimate visit with Mr. Hand.” Oh, dear. “And now I know, and he knows I know, and he also probably thinks I lurk in the men’s shower,” Gina continued. “And the fact that he actually came to tea tonight, instead of hiding from me, in his tent, forever, means . . . something awful, don’t you think? Did I mention he has, like, an incredible body?” Molly shook her head. Oh dear. “No.” “Yes,” Gina said just a little too grimly, considering the topic. “Who would’ve guessed that underneath those awful shirts he’s a total god? And maybe that’s what’s freaking out the most.” “You mean because . . . you’re attracted to him?” Molly asked. “No!” Gina said. “God! Because I’m not. I felt nothing. I’m standing there and he’s . . . You know how I said he reminds me of Hugh Grant?” Molly nodded, too relieved to speak. “Well, I got the wrong Hugh. This guy is built like Hugh Jackman. And beneath the hats and sunblock and glasses, he’s actually got cheekbones and a jaw line, too. I’m talking total hottie. And, yes, I can definitely appreciate that on one level, but . . .” She glanced over at the desk, at her digital camera. She’d gotten it out of her trunk earlier today. Which, Molly had learned, meant that she’d spent more time this afternoon looking at her saved pictures. Which included at least a few of Max. Molly’s relief over not having to deal with the complications of Gina having a crush on Leslie felt a whole lot less good. She wished someone would just go ahead and steal Gina’s camera already. Maybe that would help her move on.

We’ve become so focused as a society on the question of whether a given sexual behavior is evolutionarily “natural” or “unnatural” that we’ve lost sight of the more important question: Is it harmful? In many ways, it’s an even more challenging question, because although naturalness can be assessed by relatively straightforward queries about statistical averages—for example, “How frequently does it appear in other species?” and “In what percentage of the human population does it occur?”—the experience of harm is largely subjective. As such, it defies such direct analyses and requires definitions that resonate with people in vastly different ways. When it comes to sexual harm in particular, what’s harmful to one person not only is completely harmless to another but may even, believe it or not, be helpful or positive. If the supermodel Kate Upton were to walk into my office right now and tie me to my chair before doing a slow striptease and depositing her vagina in my face, I think I’d require therapy for years. But if this identical event were to happen to my heterosexual brother or to one of my lesbian friends, I suspect their brains would process such a “tragic” experience very differently. (And that of my not-very-amused sister-in-law would see my brother’s encounter with said vagina differently still.)