Undercover Lover Quotes

They'll say you are bad or perhaps you are mad or at least you should stay undercover. Your mind must be bare if you would dare to think you can love more than one lover.

It's just the end of some things. And the beginning of others.

Fine!' she snapped, the desperation to have him growing exponentially now. 'I missed you. Only you. No man could ever make me feel like you do. I'm ruined for all others. I renamed all my vibrators after you and none of them get me off like you can. Happy now?' His eyes glazed for a second. '*All* your vibrators?' -Convicted

I'd make you my favorite jungle gym if you'd let me.' - Katrina, 'Convicted

You know what would really help? If men started looking at it like a bank. The more you deposit the more you can withdraw later. Make a woman come as a rule, she’s going to be more receptive to regular sex and much more open-minded about what’s on the table as far as experimenting. Common sense.

A woman’s sexuality is not at all like a man’s. A man can literally f**k a watermelon and come. If you put enough friction on his c**k, in some semblance of a rhythm, he will orgasm. It’s a no brainer.

I'm *fine*. I'm alive and believe me, I gave as good as I got, if not better. You don't need to go kill anyone.' 'I'm not killing anyone. I'm just going to shoot them all several times. If they die, that's their fault.' -Convicted

Did you know studies show that eighty percent of women have faked orgasm? And fifty percent admit to doing it on a regular basis?

Do you take credit cards? I bet your pony would be worth a ride.

Sweetheart, I’ll be a Marine ‘til they bury my cold, dead, decrepit ass in the ground a good fifty or sixty years from now.

Baby, I’m the oldest of three boys. I can handle a fist to the face, an elbow to the ribs, even a flying tackle. But a woman’s tears? They scare me, straight to the bone.

You’re a tough, fragile, brave, cowardly woman.

Not much makes me feel uncomfortable about sexuality. It’s the most natural thing in the world. I don’t really get why people make such a stink. It’s like being embarrassed of hunger or thirst.

Do you like blowjobs? “Did you just ask me if I like blowjobs?” he asked in a low voice. “I swear that’s what it sounded like.” “Yes.” She folded her hands in front of her and met his gaze head-on. “I haven’t given nearly enough of them but I’d like to practice.

I wanted to, um, apologize for earlier. I can't believe I did that. I didn't think it could be real and—” “Didn’t think what could be real?” …Your penguin.

Do you sleep in your suits, too?" He dragged his gaze from the sweater she held up to her and completed a slow perusal starting at her totally reasonable three-and-a-half-inch metallic silver heels, up her bare calves, across the fitted pear-green pencil skirt, over her winter-white cashmere sweater and stopping briefly on her lips before reaching her eyes. She'd been stark naked, pressed up against a sixteenth-floor window, having one of the best orgasms of her life from a lover-s tongue and hadn't been as turned on as she was at that moment. Fire licked its way across her skin, flicking at all of her sensitive spots until her entire body vibrated. "Do I sleep in my suits? Do you really want to know?" he asked, his voice low with just enough dominating arrogance in it to make her shiver.

One of the first things to catch your eye on arriving in Rugeley is the obtrusively large red shopfront advertising private detectives. Is your partner cheating? Ask about our tracking service, reads the huge white lettering in the window. The shop also advertises lie-detector tests for hire. This is the paranoid world of The Jeremy Kyle Show writ large. Fidelity and faithfulness have been slowly chipped away by more ephemeral, market-driven principles promising instant gratification. You ditch one lover and take another, just as you might throw away an iPhone and buy a newer model in an emotional flight of fancy. For working-class communities this adds yet another layer of impermanence to an already insecure existence, especially for those men whose sense of masculine inadequacy is reinforced by the lack of any purposeful employment.

Cloak and Dagger was lost in the summertime NBC schedule, lumped into a mystery block with several other shows of far inferior quality. It never attracted a sponsor and got almost no critical attention, but the recent discovery of the entire run reveals a gripping show with every story an unpredictable departure from formula. It was the story of the wartime activities of the OSS—the Office of Strategic Services—“this country’s first all-out effort in black warfare … dropping undercover operators behind enemy lines, organizing local partisans to blow bridges and dynamite tunnels, operating the best spy systems of Europe and Asia.” It was a tense half-hour of patriots and traitors, of love affairs doomed by war, of triumph, tragedy, and failure. The stories did not always end with the lovers embraced and the mad-dog Germans reeling in defeat: the hero-agent, in accomplishing his mission, sometimes gave up his life. It opened with a question by actor Raymond Edward Johnson: Are you willing to undertake a dangerous mission for the United States, knowing in advance you may never return alive? It was transcribed and had a definite “canned” sound, which may also have helped turn listeners away.