Player Club Quotes

It was a Friday night, she was at a club, and a good-looking man was currently giving her the I-want-to-take-you-home-and-I-hope-I-last-longer-than-five-minutes look… and she was thinking about pie, a young adult book, and feeding her cat. She was so turning into the cat lady at twenty-seven. Sweet.

Love isn't shit. It's not worth a damn thing. But time, attention, priority... those things are real, and until a man gives you those, don't give him the time of day, beautiful.

You made me very proud today. And you are more than enough. You are perfect.

I think we’re all tired of being shamed and shoved into these quiet, perfect little innocent versions of ourselves while men can be as deviant as they want.

When love becomes toxic, it’s not love anymore.

DON’T CRY FOR MEN WHO DON’T CRY FOR YOU

Because you are mine, Charlotte. And I don’t appreciate when anyone talks badly about something that is mine. Do you think I have bad taste?

Just because you can carry it all doesn’t mean it’s not heavy.

You said what people think in their heads is a them problem. Don’t make it yours.

Dear God, please let this be the only man I fuck for the rest of my life because there’s not a chance in Hell anyone else could ever top that.

We’ve always been best friends, but maybe that’s what best friends are—soul mates in disguise.

I learned a long time ago that basing your decisions off of the standard of what normal people would do leads to a very boring life.

I’m addicted to you,” he groans while fucking me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. You’re mine, and I never want to let you go. Do you understand me? I’d fuck you forever if I could.

Zebras are piano horses. I think about that when I’m swinging a golf club, and it brings a musical cowboy element to my game that another player might not be able to buy in a vending machine.

You are such a good girl,” he says, and I nearly melt into the floor.

They’ll say it wasn't an accident, but it was. Because I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live like this anymore.

She's too perfect to ignore and too forbidden to be mine.

But this change in me isn’t scary, not to me. It’s exciting. Because I feel like I’m on the brink of something huge, and I can’t wait to see what it is.

At least you tried. Sometimes trying is the hardest part. You don’t want to get to an age and realize that you missed out on something because you never gave it a shot.

And don’t get me started on your manwhoring,” Tucker grumbles. “You’ve always been a player, but dude, you’ve hooked up with five chicks this week.” “So?” “So it’s Thursday. Five girls in four days. Do the fucking math, John.” Oh shit. He first-named me. Tucker only calls me John when I’ve really pissed him off. Except now he’s pissed me off, so I first-name him right back. “What’s wrong with that, John?” Yup, we’re both John. I guess we should take a blood oath and form a club or something.

Re-creations of the Addams Family house, the abandoned shack in the Evil Dead trilogy, Tyler Durden’s flophouse in Fight Club, and the Lars Homestead on Tattooine.

RULE #6: AVOID MALLS FOR THE RISK OF RUNNING INTO YOUR EX WHILE HOLDING BAGS OF LINGERIE YOU FANTASIZE WEARING FOR HIS DAD.

I mean that the connection I see between you two keeps you grounded like I’ve never seen before. Like the storm inside you has subsided. And that’s what I wanted for you all along.

when I said sit on my face, I meant sit on my fucking face.

I want to express my feelings for her with our bodies.

I’m yours and you’re mine.

we judge what we don’t understand.

Charlotte, listen to me. You are a smart, beautiful, confident woman. You don’t need me to tell you what you want. I want to hear it from you. You deserve pleasure just as much as I do, and trust me, I want nothing more than to hear you utter the dirtiest words, and then I want to do whatever it is you say. So say it.

Few of us have chosen our clubs, they have simply been presented to us; and so as they slip from Second Division to the Third, or sell their best players, or buy players who you know can't play, or bash the ball the seven hundreth time towards a nine foot centre-forward, we simply curse, go home, worry for a fortnight and then come back to suffer all over again.

RULE #18: WEAR A REMOTE-CONTROLLED VIBRATOR AT YOUR OWN RISK.

For all the good girls.

RULE #3: ALWAYS DO AS YOU’RE TOLD—ESPECIALLY WHEN IT INVOLVES GETTING ON YOUR KNEES FOR A HOT MILLIONAIRE DADDY.

Gotta love anxiety, when one paranoid thought spirals into a hundred. Like

Now, come on. You can give me one more.

My point is that as long as you’re happy, who cares if you follow convention. What other people think doesn’t matter.

Saint took a seat at the main faro table at the Society club. “What the devil is a ladies' political tea?” Tristan Carroway, Viscount Dare, finished placing his wager, then sat back, reaching for his glass of port. “Do I look like a dictionary?” “You're domesticated.” Saint motioned for a glass of his own, despite unfriendly looks from the tables' other players. “What is it?” “I'm not domesticated; I'm in love. You should try it. Does wonders for your outlook on life.” “I'll take your word for it, thank you.

Wow. He’s . . . hot. I met Bennett earlier, too. You guys are like the Hot Men’s Club of Manhattan.

Don’t get me wrong—you still drive me insane. You’re bratty as fuck, and I don’t know if I want to strangle you or shut you up with my cock in your mouth,

Call me cynical, but falling in love has to be the most delusional thing a person can do.

She’s too perfect to ignore and too forbidden to be mine.

There always has been and only ever will be Garrett for me.

For the A-Player, the top of one mountain is the bottom of the next.

I want his most vulnerable, private expressions. I want to see into his soul.

it’s about so much more than sex. It’s about us, like she said. Our bodies connecting because our souls are aching for it.

I’d rather be someone people deem as depraved or sinful than being narrow-minded and hateful.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder—and hornier.

DON’T APOLOGIZE FOR SHIT YOU’RE NOT SORRY FOR.

A bad mood. Fuck, I wish I knew what a bad mood felt like. I wish my bad moods weren’t like tornado-sized spirals. I wish I could brush off a bad mood with some sleep and a warm meal.

There must be some unwritten rule that people who know of and partake in the kinky stuff can be kinky and flirtatious around each other. But to the rest of us, they have to modify their behavior. Like we’re the muggles and they’re the wizards.

I’ll fill out that form for you if you want, but I don’t need to. You want me to tell you that I want to taste you, Charlotte? Because I do. I want to touch you, tease you, fuck you, bend you over my knee and turn that pretty little backside red. There’s not a thing on that list I don’t want to do with you, so you can put the paper and pen away, little girl. Every single thing would get a five from me.

A drizzling rain taps against the glass of my bedroom window as I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. I’m in my head again. And sometimes, my head is like a prison, and I’m locked behind the bars of memory and regret.

Dear Mr. Kulti, You are my favorite player. I play soccer 2 butt I'm not good like you are. Not yet. I practice all the time so 1 day I can be just like you or beter. I watch all of ur games so don't mess up. Ur #1 fan, Sal <3<3<3 P.S. Do u have a girl friend? P.P.S. Why don't u cut ur hair? "I was nineteen when that showed up to the club's offices. It was my third fan letter ever and the other two were topless pictures. That letter stayed in every locker I used for the nest ten years. It was the first thing I looked at before my games, and the first thing I saw after I played. I framed it and put it in my house in Meissen once it started to wear out. It's still there on the wall of my bedroom.

she winds her fingers in my hair and smiles. “Good boy.” And just like that, those two words become my undoing.

Happiness is just a trick to make us make stupid decisions.

Was I a good girl?” she whispers with her mouth inches from mine. A smile creeps across my face as I gather her into my arms. “You’re always a good girl.

What…are you doing?” he asks. I expected this question, so I’m prepared. “Being a good girl,” I reply, “Sir.

Without the mess, those beautiful moments would feel flat and meaningless. So I’ve learned to embrace it all.

We opened a door and it’s not going to close as easily as we thought.

You have no idea how hard this is for me, Charlotte. To have you as mine, but not in the way I want.

Oh well, I don’t need to breathe. I just need him.

What is there to be ashamed of? Everyone does it. Everyone enjoys it. What a waste of a good life to pretend you don't.

I never understood the idea of your person until now. That one other person who can make you feel comfortable, at peace, loved, and appreciated all at the same time.

Oh, my God,” she said, her whispered voice tinged with female admiration and awe. “I think my panties just hit the floor.” The

Beau doesn’t just let me be myself, but he loves me for it.

Pure, unfiltered Beau eye contact is potent.

That’s it, Charlotte. Good girl.” His words spur me on, sending bolts of lightning through my body. My own fingers rub my clit in fast circles, and it feels so good; it’s a relief. Emerson’s hand rests over mine, but he isn’t touching me. Instead, he grips my hip with one hand and grinds his erection against my backside.

But I take my punishment in stride. There’s something strangely gratifying that comes with getting what you deserve. Because, once I’ve paid the price, I don’t have to live with the guilt anymore.

Nothing is perfect, Cupcake. Not love or relationships. And there is no guarantee that it will last forever, but not every good relationship needs to last forever. You can be happy with a person for however long it lasts. The best you can do is give love a chance.

Everyone thought I was so knowledgeable and astute because of my countless trips to the library and second-hand bookstores, but only the librarian knew the truth. Oh, I was knowledgeable all right. Knowledgeable in the many eclectic terms used to describe an erect penis.

Girls like Caroline and Lily are constantly performing, as much for the Good Girl they think they should be as for the adults and peers who look on. They have spent their lives growing internally dependent on external rewards: pats on the back A's, club presidencies, Most Valuable Player trophies. They become more concerned with how they appear and should be than who they are What other think and feel replaces what is true for them.

If you can assemble a team of 11 talented players who concentrate intently during training sessions, take care of their diet and bodies, get enough sleep and show up on time, then you are almost halfway to winning a trophy. It is always astonishing how many clubs are incapable of doing this.

AFC Leopards were as thrilling a side as ever took the pitch and they dominated East African football in the eighties. That Kenyan players were an excitable bunch was attested to in one memorable Leopards match, with the opposing goalkeeper being handcuffed and dragged away to jail by police.

You have a bite mark on your ass cheek, Charlotte.

I don’t think he understands what it’s like to be Madame Kink and Eden St. Claire. There’s an invisible wall between my two lives that I can’t bring myself to cross.

what you want and who you are matters, Jade. No amount of love for someone else can change that.

I don’t feel like an outsider with them. I’m not an addition to the relationship. I’m part of the relationship

She has a fortress of well-constructed boundaries that are meant to keep others out of her private life, but I seem to be bulldozing my way right over all of them.

Falling in love costs a piece of yourself. It takes more than it gives.

I almost forgot how this feels. To be so full and hovering near the edge of pleasure. There is no other feeling like it. And she hasn’t even switched on the remote yet.

I don’t know anything about other clubs and the national team, and I don’t care about them either.... I love the guy, not the soccer player.

If she could get into the one here at The Texas Player’s Club, she’d drag Trace Corbin out by his ass, stick her arm up it, and do his entire set ventriloquist style if she had do.

It’s not that I don’t want you, Daisy. You have to understand just how much I want you.

Yes, Daddy is the richest man in the whole world.” And I know he’s not talking about money.

Ride my cock like a good little girl.

I’m also aware that being an asshole in general sucks, but being an asshole to your best friend, who trusts you to not be an asshole, is an all-time low.

IF SHE GIVES YOU THE COLD SHOULDER, REMEMBER—EVEN ICE MELTS.

I’m both lost and found. In agony and ecstasy. Nothing and everything all at once.

Grief and joy coexist.

Give me a fucking break.

Rule #28: If you love someone, let them go. (Easier said than done.)

A better man might apologize first, but I can’t bring myself to apologize for loving Charlotte. I’m not sorry about it.

Love isn’t shit. It’s not worth a damn thing. But time, attention, priority…those things are real, and until a man gives you those, don’t give him the time of day,

Without the mess, those beautiful moments would feel flat and meaningless.

We deserve better than the world we were born into,

I bought you something.” When his face falls into a mix of dread and worry, I laugh. “It’s not bad, I promise.” “Your gifts usually hurt.

Fuck it. Let’s tell them. And then immediately move away so they can’t kill us.

If the mean nurse comes back and tries to yell at me for it, I don’t care. There’s only one woman I listen to anyway.

On her feet are black stiletto heels that I would gladly let her step on my face with. And I’d still say thank you.

My age doesn’t bother you? You’re thirty-four, not eighty. Stop trying to make it a problem.

I want to fill you up,” I mumble against her mouth. “I want you so full of my cum, it drips out of you forever.” “Garrett,” she whimpers as I kiss her again. “I want to fuck you whenever I want and I want you to take that fucking IUD out so I can really pump you full, Mia.

I don’t believe in karma. Because if karma existed, then there’s no way I’d be lying here with these two incredible people who both seem to set my life, my body, and my soul on fire.

You got dressed up for me,” I mumble into his ear, and I feel him smile against my cheek. “Of course, I did, Daisy Moon. This is your big night. And we all know I’m your only friend.

A recluse. A pale-skinned pop culture–obsessed geek. An agoraphobic shut-in, with no real friends, family, or genuine human contact. I was just another sad, lost, lonely soul, wasting his life on a glorified videogame. But not in the OASIS. In there, I was the great Parzival. World-famous gunter and international celebrity. People asked for my autograph. I had a fan club. Several, actually. I was recognized everywhere I went (but only when I wanted to be). I was paid to endorse products. People admired and looked up to me. I got invited to the most exclusive parties. I went to all the hippest clubs and never had to wait in line. I was a pop-culture icon, a VR rock star. And, in gunter circles, I was a legend. Nay, a god.

Eden is more than a sexy body and beautiful face. She’s a force. She’s like the sun, and we are all orbiting around her, basking in her glow. We are just grateful to be in her presence.

This is why I’m not worried, because I know it’s true. No matter what happens, we have each other. Falling back on my bed, I stare at the ceiling as I reply, “No matter what, I love you too.

Not just any love, Emerson. It means you’ll have true, all-consuming, intoxicating, life-changing, earth-shattering love. Love you would die for. That you couldn’t possibly live without. Love that makes it hard to breathe. Like you can feel it not just in your heart but in your veins and your bones and your muscles. Everywhere.

You’re such a good girl, Charlotte.” My shoulders relax, seeming to melt down at my sides as I gaze up at him, those beautiful words washing over me like warm water. Suddenly, I’m all gooey and compliant, like that one little phrase put me in a trance. He could literally do anything to me in this state. And I sort of want him to.

I shall give you hunger, and pain, and sleepless nights. Also beauty and satisfactions known to few and glimpses of the heavenly life. None of these you shall have continually and of their coming and going you shall not be foretold.

Most of the couples I’m with make me feel like a novelty to the women. They like to experiment or watch me with their men. They never seek me out the way Jade does. Like they wouldn’t still want me, even if the men weren’t around. But Jade does.

There's no way out," he announced with satisfaction, "and no amount of wishful dreaming will produce one. The demon won't go back in its bottle, the face-off is for ever, the embrace gets tighter and the toys cleverer with every generation, and there's no such thing for either side as enough security. Not for the main players, not for the nasty little newcomers who each year run themselves up a suitcase bomb and join the club. We get tired of believing that, because we're human. We may even con ourselves into believing the threat has gone away. It never will. Never, never, never." "So, who'll save us then, Walt?" Barley asked. "You and Nedsky?" "Vanity, if anything will, which I doubt," Walter retorted. "No leader wants to go down in history as the ass who destroyed his country in an afternoon. And funk, I suppose. Most of our gallant politicians do have a narcissistic objection to suicide, thank God.

That can’t possibly be what turns me on. Watching porn is a lot like opening a bottle of wine. Once you’ve popped that cork, you have to just see it through and drink the whole thing. Can’t let it go to waste. Or at least that’s the justification in my mind when I return to my couch.

An official statement from Liverpool raised the spectre of a future where ‘a club’s rival can bring about a significant ban for a top player without anything beyond an accusation’. But on hearing this, many Manchester United fans would have been asking for a definition of the word ‘rival’.

It was a small world—by one estimate, there were fewer than fifty active fans—that magnified certain personality traits. The most devoted members were usually young, obsessive, and confrontational. Disputes between clubs were driven by personal grudges, and a lone player like Wollheim could exert a disproportionate influence. The dynamics were much like those of modern online communities, except considerably slower, and a pattern was established in which a club would be founded, persist for a while, and then implode, either because of internal tensions or because Wollheim came in and dissolved it.

You’re such a good girl, Charlotte.” My shoulders relax, seeming to melt down at my sides as I gaze up at him, those beautiful words washing over me like warm water. Suddenly, I’m all gooey and compliant, like that one little phrase put me in a trance. He could literally do anything to me in this state.

Ted has a friend that owns a club. They’re looking for a piano player on Thursday nights. I was thinking about it…” Blake trailed off. “I think that sounds wonderful,” Livia said immediately. “You’ll be terrific, and I’ll be front and center, every Thursday night.” She smiled again, wondering if he could feel it.

Dialogue in the works of autobiography is quite naturally viewed with some suspicion. How on earth can the writer remember verbatim conversations that happened fifteen, twenty, fifty years ago? But 'Are you playing, Bob?' is one of only four sentences I have ever uttered to any Arsenal player (for the record the others are 'How's the leg, Bob?' to Bob Wilson, recovering from injury the following season; 'Can I have your autograph, please?' to Charlie George, Pat Rice, Alan Ball and Bertie Mee; and, well, 'How's the leg, Brian?' to Brian Marwood outside the Arsenal club shop when I was old enough to know better) and I can therefore vouch for its absolute authenticity.

What is the return for falling in love? There’s no guarantee they’ll love you back. There’s no guarantee they won’t cause irreparable damage.

How the fuck did I end up in the middle of their relationship without even trying?

I had my chance at love fifteen years ago. I picked the wrong guy, jumped headfirst into marriage, and paid the price. One very bad man ruined the entire idea of love for me.

She’s so cute, naive, and oddly wholesome. I have a feeling she’s the kind of wholesome that’s secretly harboring an inner freak.

If you’re going to be a people pleaser, then the first person you need to please is yourself.

I like Jade too much. It would be very, very stupid of me to develop feelings for my ex’s new girlfriend.

We’re all after the same thing, but sometimes we have to get a little creative with how we work with those around us to get it.

The truth of who Eden really is has always been a well-kept secret. And she’d rather lie to everyone in her life than be real for even one second.

Love is nothing more than a form of control. And from here on out, I will be the only one in control.

Now he’s mine. A feather in the palm of my hand. Delicate and fragile and soft. I want to keep it.

Clay has shared enough with me about his childhood that I know he hides a lot of his pain behind laughter and avoidance.

this will end badly. So I should definitely walk away. But I don’t.

Eden doesn’t let anyone into her life. And she never accepts help. My heart aches with the realization of how lonely she must be.

Maybe that’s why I do what I do. I can give people the healing and release they want without having to reveal too much.

you won’t know for sure someone is right for you until you discover yourself first.

I know how this will go. The three of us will get entangled in something erotically blissful and intimately euphoric. And we won’t be able to stop.

That’s fine. You can stay mad at me. I think the sex is better this way.

Call me a sick fuck, but I want to be her daddy. I’d teach her every fucking thing she wants to know.

I want you, I need you, I love you. And that’s all that matters to me.

That nagging anxiety in my gut from before has turned into a gaping, bleeding wound, but it’s better this way. Get the feelings out. No secrets. And we’ll move past them.

Just when they were ready to have their lives back without me around, she basically told him she didn’t want to be alone with him for the rest of her life.

Jesus, Mia. How on earth could you get to twenty-three without having sex?” “Have you met men?

Eden ruined me. Jade loves me. And I’m clearly so fucked that I need this to make it work. Because I’m out of ideas.

It’s so different from the woman we had lunch with in her casual T-shirt, joggers, and baseball cap. That was Eden—this is Madame Kink.

I’m not worried about roles or right and wrong at this point. When I’m with him, I stop thinking. I focus only on how it feels. Because everything with him feels so good.

The longer I watch, two things happen. I get more upset. And I get more aroused. I didn’t even know you could be both at the same time, but here I am.

We are a tangled mess of lips, limbs, and skin, melting into one body of pleasure. It’s all so fucking perfect. They can both feel it, too, right? It can’t be just me.

Yes, but what are you suggesting? Tell me right now what it is you want.” I don’t hesitate. “I don’t want her to see anyone else. I want her with us. She belongs to us.

Once people know I’m a mom, it threatens my image as a Dominatrix. I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it is. I think it’s just as unfair as everyone else does.

I blame you,” I softly mumble over my glass. “Me? What did I do?” Ronan asks. “None of this would have happened if you had let Clay win Daisy in that auction.

No one knows this place like you do, Eden. Owner or not, Salacious has always belonged to you.

You want to give them a show? Then let’s give them a fucking show,” I say with a raspy growl.

Look at how perfect my girl is,” I say, although they can’t hear me. “I’m showing you off like my perfect little gemstone.

My cock twitches in my pants, and I shift to adjust myself as I watch them together. These two stunning, beautiful, brilliant women who I love so much. And they’re both mine.

I wish she’d just stop fighting and let us love her. We don’t need to ruin it just because of a few little secrets. We love each other enough to overcome that.

My husband just kissed someone else while I watched…and it was amazing. This all feels like a dream.

Every time I tell myself I need to stop this with Clay, I look into his eyes, feel the way he looks right through the facade I’ve built and into my soul, and I know I’m fucked.

You were the one to make me feel welcome. You make everyone feel welcome.

I just saw Clay last weekend. But sex club Clay and real-life Clay are two different people, and seeing him here is like having the air punched out of my lungs.

there’s a part that hurts. The part that knows I can’t keep my child to myself forever. I’ve been a constant in Jack’s life since he was born, but someday, I won’t be his number one.

If people in my real life knew what I was doing here every night, they’d think I was crazy, but I stopped caring about that. Why would I care when everything here feels so fucking good?

No matter how hard we worked to blood youngsters, Barcelona is still able to do this better than any club. The way they develop boys into some of the best players in the world is breathtaking.

Being this close to her, I get lost in the intensity of her eyes. I want to crawl inside and wrap myself in the comfort of her body. It’s like being drawn to my own death by a siren in the sea.

I’m driving to Eden’s house. My girlfriend is encouraging me to talk her into another night together. I should be cautious, but I’m too fucking needy and excited. For what…I don’t even fucking know.

Everything is going to be okay,” he mumbles against my head. The words instantly settle over me like a calming rain. He always has this way of making me believe it, and he’s never been wrong before.

The “Dorky Girl Fantasies” trilogy (Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, and Some Kind of Wonderful) and the “Dorky Boy Fantasies” trilogy (The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off).

Baseball is known for superstitious players and cursed teams—and at the root of every curse there’s a story. Boston’s curse was to trade Babe Ruth to the Yankees. Cubs fans claim a billy goat is responsible for their futility. And Cleveland’s curse? The club struggled after its Pennant-winning 1954 season, but it was rich with optimism just two years later as an onslaught of new talent promised to lift the club once more to the ranks of baseball’s elite—and by 1959 the club was contending for the Pennant again. And then GM Frank Lane traded Rocky Colavito to the Detroit Tigers and cursed everything.

If I want to start fresh now, I need to do so as the real me—whoever that may be. I won’t go back to the woman I was before. I won’t keep playing roles to accommodate others. It’s time I put myself first.

I used to think falling in love was simple, but it’s not. Falling in love costs a piece of yourself. It takes more than it gives. But with the way I feel for both of them, I would willfully give everything.

You’ve been carrying this alone for so long, and we know you can. But we also know how heavy it must have been.” I turn her face to mine and kiss her softly on her forehead. “But you can take a break now. We’ve got you.

Never in my life have I fantasized about being tied up by a woman and brought to the brink of ecstasy over and over, but all of a sudden, it seems to be doing the trick. Especially when the woman holding the power is her.

I’m grateful it happened this way. I’m glad things between me and Eden didn’t work out the first time, only for us to find our way back together with Jade. Everything feels right now. We are more complete than we were before.

You can’t call it relaxing because you’ve never been fully satisfied in bed. Letting go of every thought in your head and only focusing on the sensations in your body and not what you’re thinking. Working up a sweat and being so in tune with someone that you can experience their pleasure as if it’s your own. And then coming hard enough to see stars, now that’s what I call relaxing. If you find someone who can do that, then you’ll know what I mean.

From time to time, the people passing us stare for a moment too long, but I actually sort of love it. I’m sure they’re thinking that I’m much too young for him, but I don’t care. I feel like his, and I want them all to know it.

Don’t look so shocked, Eden,” Hunter replies as he holds open the door for us. “Oh, I’m not surprised. I’m actually a little relieved. I was waiting for this to happen.” “I have a feeling we’re going to get that a lot,” Drake replies.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Love and family life are complicated. It’s never perfect, and problems are truly unavoidable. Guilt, fear, and resentment are just shadows—inevitable dark spots behind where love, trust, and happiness shine.

Eden, what do you think love is? If it made sense, it would be like taxes or the weather. But it doesn’t. That’s why there are songs and art and literature—because we’re all just trying to make sense of something that never, ever makes sense.

But it turns out convincing yourself that someone else has it worse doesn’t actually make you feel better. Because sadness is just…all around. And I don’t mean in just these meetings, but everywhere. No one is really immune or safe from sadness.

Eden is my Domme. My gaze connects with Jade, and it stings in my chest to feel the intensity of her eyes on mine. Jade is mine, too. I’ve never been so confused in all my life. My heart and body both ache in ways I can’t comprehend for two separate women.

Yes,” I reply before licking my lips. I feel like the answer to just about any question right now would be yes. Do I think he deserves to come? Yes. Do I think I deserve to come? Yes. Do I think we should all just get naked and make each other come all night? Yes, yes, yes.

You don’t mind if I eat your girlfriend’s pussy, do you?” I whisper quietly with a wicked smile. He wraps a hand around the back of my neck, and I let out another whimper. Then he drags my face closer, pressing his lips to my ear. “She could be your girlfriend too, you know?

As we sprinted from the Candle Room to the Music Club to the Boudoir to the Virtual Video Room, a song called “Interactive” played on a continuous loop in every room. Aech explained that this was a song Prince wrote exclusively for a Myst-like videogame he released with the same title.

You’re not kind enough to yourself, pet. I notice the way you don’t like to receive rewards. You think you don’t deserve it or that you’re not good enough. I can tell. But you’re mine, aren’t you?” I have to force myself to swallow. Her words ring with truth, but it’s the kind of truth we keep hidden and don’t talk about. The ugly, embarrassing truth. “Yes, Madame,” I say, forcing my voice not to crack. “That’s not how I want you to treat what’s mine. You should pleasure what’s mine. You should value what’s mine. Never think or talk bad about what’s mine. Understand?

Did I find it a little strange that he’s suddenly building a relationship with his ex-Domme’s seven-year-old son? Yes. Did I ignore the red flags because I was excited to see her again? Yes, like an idiot. Do I have any room to talk since I’ve been seeing her in private for weeks? Nope.

Last night was one of the best nights of my life. One to be remembered forever. And not only because it was hot and sexy and so, so, so dirty. It was also…strangely romantic. It’s one thing to be so connected to another person but to be so connected to two other people is out of this world.

It’s our first kiss. And it changes everything. Our mouths open together, our tongues colliding as we both devour each other in a ravenous kiss. Her body melts into mine as it grows more and more passionate, as if we’ve broken through this dam and we’re both being dragged under the surface together.

And I have absolutely no intention of getting caught up in some romantic hostage situation like you’ve gotten yourself entangled in at the mercy of a woman who refuses to let you go.” Leaning back in his office chair, a slow, lazy grin stretches across his face. “Oh yeah…it’s terrible,” he replies sarcastically.

Wait…is Eden St. Claire your real name?” Jade asks, lifting her head from Eden’s shoulder. Eden smiles. “It is now. This is who I am. I’m not that woman anymore. Who I was matters. I believe that, but I like to think she died so we could live. I may not have been born Eden St. Claire, but I was reborn Eden St. Claire.

Tennis has a Dip. The difference between a mediocre club player and a regional champion isn’t inborn talent—it’s the ability to push through the moments where it’s just easier to quit. Politics has a Dip as well—it’s way more fun to win an election than to lose one, and the entire process is built around many people starting while most people quit.

Are you sure there’s not someone…” “Mom! I literally go to work and come home. Where would I even meet a guy?” She’s laughing with a sly smile as she tries to hide her face from me. “I’m just sayin’. You have the look of a girl who’s been—” “I am begging you not to finish that sentence.” “I’m an ER nurse, Charlie. You think a little sex talk makes me squeamish?

Then my eyes find hers. We’re staring at each other behind his back while our hands are wrapped around his cock. And I know at this very moment that I want more. I want more of this, whatever it is. More time watching them or being with them, or anything. It suddenly feels like the possibilities are endless—like we could do anything. I wonder if she feels it too.

A nation's footballing style is reflected in various ways. It's not simply about the national side's characteristics, but about the approach of its dominant clubs, the nature of its star players and the philosophy of its coaches. It's about the experiences of a country's players when moving abroad, and about the success of its imports. It's about how referees officiate and what the supporters cheer.

How did we get so lucky to find this family and this home? Under the table, Clay squeezes my fingers in his, and Jade rests her head on my opposite shoulder. So fucking lucky. “Okay, okay,” I say, interrupting the commotion at the table. “Emerson, tell me the fucking story.” Everyone falls silent and turns their attention to him. He picks up his beer with an amused smile as he starts, “Okay, so this woman was sucking my cock…

London’s mom only has one boyfriend. And there’s a girl named Victoria who has two dads. But my mom has a boyfriend and a girlfriend.” “If you ever have any questions, you know you can ask me, right?” “Yes, Mama.” “And no matter what,” I say, leaning toward him to press my forehead to his. “You will always have me. Me and you, forever. Okay?” “Okay. I love you, Mama,” he whispers, putting his arms around my neck. “I love you so much, buddy.

There are a number of subjective and objective criteria that I use as a way to rank players. The subjective ones include their ability with both feet; their sense of balance; the disciplined fashion in which they take care of their fitness; their attitude towards training; the consistency between games and over multiple seasons; their demonstrated mastery in several different positions; and the way they add flair to any team for which they play. The objective ones that are impossible to dispute are: the number of goals they have scored; the games they have played for several of the best club teams in the world; the number of League championship and cup medals they have won, and their appearances in World Cups. When you employ this sort of measurement approach, it becomes far easier to define the very highest levels of performance. The people who are least confused about this are other players.

If you want different things, how is communicating going to help?” I ask. She shrugs. “Because we all want the same thing—to feel safe, satisfied, and seen. We just take different roads to get there. If my friend’s wife loves pain and wants it, then is he really hurting her, or is he just giving her exactly what she wants? If a submissive’s only desire is to please their Dom, then who is really in control if the sub is getting exactly what they want?

I’m a Dominatrix. I fulfill the role of Domme for money. I don’t form intimate, personal relationships. I’m a fucking businesswoman. I don’t stand outside shaking nervously because I know that if I go in there, everything will change. I don’t do that. I’m the walking, talking embodiment of confidence. I am the woman in the mirror that stared back at me seven and a half years ago. Not the one trembling and on the run. But here I am. Fucking trembling.

The old woman sat in her leather recliner, the footrest extended, a dinner tray on her lap. By candlelight, she turned the cards over, halfway through a game of Solitaire. Next door, her neighbors were being killed. She hummed quietly to herself. There was a jack of spades. She placed it under the queen of hearts in the middle column. Next a six of diamonds. It went under the seven of spades. Something crashed into her front door. She kept turning the cards over. Putting them in their right places. Two more blows. The door burst open. She looked up. The monster crawled inside, and when it saw her sitting in the chair, it growled. “I knew you were coming,” she said. “Didn’t think it’d take you quite so long.” Ten of clubs. Hmm. No home for this one yet. Back to the pile. The monster moved toward her. She stared into its small, black eyes. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to just walk into someone’s house without an invitation?” she asked. Her voice stopped it in its tracks. It tilted its head. Blood—from one of her neighbor’s no doubt—dripped off its chest onto the floor. Belinda put down the next card. “I’m afraid this is a one-player game,” she said, “and I don’t have any tea to offer you.” The monster opened its mouth and screeched a noise out of its throat like the squawk of a terrible bird. “That is not your inside voice,” Belinda snapped. The abby shrunk back a few steps. Belinda laid down the last card. “Ha!” She clapped. “I just won the game.” She gathered up the cards into a single deck, split it, then shuffled. “I could play Solitaire all day every day,” she said. “I’ve found in my life that sometimes the best company is your own.” A growl idled again in the monster’s throat. “You cut that right out!” she yelled. “I will not be spoken to that way in my own home.” The growl changed into something almost like a purr. “That’s better,” Belinda said as she dealt a new game. “I apologize for yelling. My temper sometimes gets the best of me.

I love football. I love the aesthetics of football. I love the athleticism of football. I love the movement of the players, the antics of the coaches. I love the dynamism of the fans. I love their passion for their badge and the colour of their team and their country. I love the noise and the buzz and the electricity in the stadium. I love the songs. I love the way the ball moves and then it flows and the way a teams fortune rises and falls through a game and through a season. But what I love about football is that it brings people together across religious divides, geographic divides, political divides. I love the fact that for ninety minutes in a rectangular piece of grass, people can forget hopefully, whatever might be going on in their life, and rejoice in this communal celebration of humanity. The biggest diverse, invasive or pervasive culture that human kinds knows is football and I love the fact that at the altar of football human kind can come worship and celebrate.

5-4-10 Tuesday 8:00 A.M. Made a large batch of chili and spaghetti to freeze yesterday. And some walnut fudge! Relieved the electricity is still on. It’s another beautiful sunny day with fluffy white clouds drifting by. The last cloud bank looked like a dog with nursing pups. I open the window and let in some fresh air filled with the scent of apple and plum blossoms and flowering lilacs. Feels like it’s close to 70 degrees. There’s a boy on a skate board being pulled along by his St. Bernard, who keeps turning around to see if his young friend is still on board. I’m thinking of a scene still vividly displayed in my memory. I was nine years old. I cut through the country club on my way home from school and followed a narrow stream, sucking on a jawbreaker from Ben Franklins, and I had some cherry and strawberry pixie straws, and banana and vanilla taffy inside my coat pocket. The temperature was in the fifties so it almost felt like spring. There were still large patches of snow on the fairways in the shadows and the ground was soggy from the melt off. Enthralled with the multi-layers of ice, thin sheets and tiny ice sickles gleaming under the afternoon sun, dripping, streaming into the pristine water below, running over the ribbons of green grass, forming miniature rapids and gently flowing rippling waves and all the reflections of a crystal cathedral, merging with the hidden world of a child. Seemingly endless natural sculptures. Then the hollow percussion sounds of the ice thudding, crackling under my feet, breaking off little ice flows carried away into a snow-covered cavern and out the other side of the tunnel. And I followed it all the way to bridge under Maple Road as if I didn't have a care in the world.

Endless praise sounds false. They see through it. A central component of the manager-player relationship is that you have to make them take responsibility for their own actions, their own mistakes, their performance level, and finally the result. We were all in the results industry. Sometimes a scabby win would mean more to us than a 6-0 victory with a goal featuring 25 passes. The bottom line was always that Manchester United had to be victorious. That winning culture could be maintained only if I told a player what I thought about his performance in a climate of honesty. And yes, sometimes I would be forceful and aggressive. I would tell a player what the club demanded of them.

When Benjamin Bloom studied his 120 world-class concert pianists, sculptors, swimmers, tennis players, mathematicians, and research neurologists, he found something fascinating. For most of them, their first teachers were incredibly warm and accepting. Not that they set low standards. Not at all, but they created an atmosphere of trust, not judgment. It was, “I’m going to teach you,” not “I’m going to judge your talent.” As you look at what Collins and Esquith demanded of their students—all their students—it’s almost shocking. When Collins expanded her school to include young children, she required that every four-year-old who started in September be reading by Christmas. And they all were. The three- and four-year-olds used a vocabulary book titled Vocabulary for the High School Student. The seven-year-olds were reading The Wall Street Journal. For older children, a discussion of Plato’s Republic led to discussions of de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America, Orwell’s Animal Farm, Machiavelli, and the Chicago city council. Her reading list for the late-grade-school children included The Complete Plays of Anton Chekhov, Physics Through Experiment, and The Canterbury Tales. Oh, and always Shakespeare. Even the boys who picked their teeth with switchblades, she says, loved Shakespeare and always begged for more. Yet Collins maintained an extremely nurturing atmosphere. A very strict and disciplined one, but a loving one. Realizing that her students were coming from teachers who made a career of telling them what was wrong with them, she quickly made known her complete commitment to them as her students and as people. Esquith bemoans the lowering of standards. Recently, he tells us, his school celebrated reading scores that were twenty points below the national average. Why? Because they were a point or two higher than the year before. “Maybe it’s important to look for the good and be optimistic,” he says, “but delusion is not the answer. Those who celebrate failure will not be around to help today’s students celebrate their jobs flipping burgers.… Someone has to tell children if they are behind, and lay out a plan of attack to help them catch up.” All of his fifth graders master a reading list that includes Of Mice and Men, Native Son, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, The Joy Luck Club, The Diary of Anne Frank, To Kill a Mockingbird, and A Separate Peace. Every one of his sixth graders passes an algebra final that would reduce most eighth and ninth graders to tears. But again, all is achieved in an atmosphere of affection and deep personal commitment to every student. “Challenge and nurture” describes DeLay’s approach, too. One of her former students expresses it this way: “That is part of Miss DeLay’s genius—to put people in the frame of mind where they can do their best.… Very few teachers can actually get you to your ultimate potential. Miss DeLay has that gift. She challenges you at the same time that you feel you are being nurtured.

What I like to see is when actors use their celebrity in an interesting way. Some of them have charitable foundations, they do things like try to bring attention to the plight of women and girls in Afghanistan, or they're trying to save the White African Rhino, or they discover a passion for adult literacy, or what have you. All worthy causes, of course, and I knowtheir fame helps to get the word put. But let's be honest here.None of them went into the entertainment industry because they wanted to do good in the world. Speaking for myself, I didn't even think about until I was already successful. Before they were famous, my actor friends were just going to auditions and struggling to be noticed, taking any work they could find, acting for free in friends movies, working in restaurants or as caterers, just trying to get by. They acted because they loved acting, but also, let's be honest here, to be noticed. All they wantedf was to be seen. I've been thinking lately about immortality. What it means to be remembered, what I want to be remembered for, certainquestions concerning memory and fame. I love watching old movies. I watch the faces of long-dead actors on the screen, and I think about how they'll never truly die. I know that's a cliche but it happens to be true. Not just the famous ones who everyone knows, but the bit players, the maid carrying the tray, the butler, the cowboys in the bar, the third girl from the left in the night-club. They're all immortal to me. First we only want to be seen, but once we're seen, that's not enough anymore. Afterthat, we want to be remembered.

In Dream Street there are many theatrical hotels, and rooming houses, and restaurants, and speaks, including Good Time Charley's Gingham Shoppe, and in the summer time the characters I mention sit on the stoops or lean against the railings along Dream Street, and the gab you hear sometimes sounds very dreamy indeed. In fact, it sometimes sounds very pipe-dreamy. Many actors, male and female, and especially vaudeville actors, live in the hotels and rooming houses, and vaudeville actors, both male and female, are great hands for sitting around dreaming out loud about how they will practically assassinate the public in the Palace if ever they get a chance. Furthermore, in Dream Street are always many hand-bookies and horse players, who sit on the church steps on the cool side of Dream Street in the summer and dream about big killings on the races, and there are also nearly always many fight managers, and sometimes fighters, hanging out in front of the restaurants, picking their teeth and dreaming about winning championships of the world, although up to this time no champion of the world has yet come out of Dream Street. In this street you see burlesque dolls, and hoofers, and guys who write songs, and saxophone players, and newsboys, and newspaper scribes, and taxi drivers, and blind guys, and midgets, and blondes with Pomeranian pooches, or maybe French poodles, and guys with whiskers, and night-club entertainers, and I do not know what all else. And all of these characters are interesting to look at, and some of them are very interesting to talk to, although if you listen to several I know long enough, you may get the idea that they are somewhat daffy, especially the horse players.