Best 7189 quotes in «sex quotes» category

Sports is to war as pornography is to sex.

Stab your demoniac smile to my brain, Soak me in cognac, love, and cocaine

Staring at my smoldering hot date, her husband stands tall for the first time in a decade, adjusting his toupee while flashing a horrid green toothy grin that looks more like a Steven Hawkins muscle spasm. In his hands, a frightened beer bottle is choked with the steel grip of a sexually repressed Preacher.

Starshine’s greatest challenge is deciding whether a woman is too young to soothe or too old to shame. Handling the men is much easier. They may feign interest in figures and photos, but their underlying interest is for breasts and thighs. A generous smile often adds an extra zero to a check; an additional inch of exposed cleavage can clothe five Laotian children. The vast majority of these men do not expect to purchase Starshine’s favors. They are husbands, fathers, pillars of the community, the sort of upstanding middle-aged patriarchs who would rather castrate their libidos than compromise their reputations, and even if their three-digit donations could earn them a quickie with the canvasser, they would deny themselves the pleasure.

Starving whilst schooled is like a man’s finding out that his wife is on her periods … a few seconds after he took Viagra.

Stay away from any minute of joy that can bring you a lifetime of sorrow.

Sticks and Stones may break my bones, but whips and chains excite me. So throw me down, tie me up, and show me how you like me.

Still, I was thinking that this was all wrong, despite feeling so nice, for once again one of my most sacred and deepest erotic fantasies was brutally being shattered, and once more it was all because of Ami. After all, it had been one of my fondest dreams, as a teenager, to lie in bed cuddling with a cute girl, or even with Yumi. Of course, in those many imaginations, we were both naked and we were having wild passionate sex as well as cuddling, but there before me at that very moment was the sad pathetic reality.

Still, she really did seem to be absurdly into this. It was almost existentially unsettling, that two people in such close physical proximity could be experiencing the same moment so differently.

Stop fucking dictators! Every time you have sex with a rich, sadistic sociopath, you only perpetuate all the darkness in the world.

Stop talking about “rape” and start talking about “sex”, and within a few decades India will attain the true mindset to prevent sexual assaults.

Strangers when you meet, strangers when you part -a gymnasium of bodies namelessly masturbating each other. People with no morals often considered themselves more free, but mostly they lacked the ability to feel or to love. So they became swingers. The dead fucking the dead. There was no gamble or humor in their game -it was corpse fucking corpse. Morals were restrictive, but they were grounded on human experience down through the centuries. Some morals tended to keep people slaves in factories, in churches and true to the State. Other morals simply made good sense. It was like a garden filled with poisoned fruit and good fruit. You had to know which to pick and eat, which to leave alone.

Strange to hear atheists say 'god' when having great sex.

Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room.” – Rod Serling

Stupid people sometimes complain that there is no sex in Austen's novels. In fact, they are driven by the oceanic force of suppressed female desire, which dwarfs any opportunity for enactment. Actual sexual intercourse is the off-stage climax of the Austen novel. The possibility that defloration may be an anti-climax is to be found in the tingling ironies that cling to every word that Austen writes.

Subject: Sundown Date: June 14 2011 09:35 To: Christian Grey Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten I love waking up with you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms. Yours Sex Mad and Insatiable xx

Successful long term relationships are all about power levels. A high power level male will attract and succeed with a high level power female. How do we define those power levels? We can’t, they are inherently in us, and invisible to scientists, accountants, psychologists and spiritualists alike. None can explain the Universe in its entirety, and it is more than chemistry, biology, physics, genetics, horoscopes, religion, in-laws, fame, psychology and spirituality. We may be infatuated by a person, but as soon as we hold their hands, kiss their lips, and especially, make love or have sex with them, their power levels will be instantly exposed.

Such a night cannot be shaken from a woman’s memory. Such a night changes your life forever.

Such a dark green, his eyes. They reminded her of the forest, of all the dangers lying dormant behind that verdant cloak of leaves.

Suck Cock Deep!

Sure that there was an attainable bliss somewhere beyond the decimal point in the p of his sexual trysts, I felt that maybe he had already attained what I was looking for, a more instinctual regard for sex, an equality among thirsts. He had done what I wanted to do: washed the wound of appetite in a relentless waterfall of sweat and semen.

Suck it.

Suddenly, by the sort of violent effort with which one wrenches one's head away from the pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his hatred from the face on the screen to the dark−haired girl behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at the moment of climax. Better than before, moreover, he realized why it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of chastity.

Supposedly, guys think about sex every eight seconds. If that's true, how can they talk to their grandmothers?

Surprise sex is the best thing to wake up to. Unless you're in prison.

Surely if one doesn’t find sex tiresome in life, it won’t be tiresome in fiction,’ said the Junior Dean. ‘I do find it tiresome in life,’ Dr Matthews replied. ‘Or rather, I find other people’s concern with it tiresome. One is told about it and told and told!

Suzanne had totally forgotten about their court date since she'd been a little busy having tons of condom-free sex with Ryder, planning Nikki's wedding, and forming a placenta.

Sylvie wishes the anti-depressants had been around when she was in her early twenties, not only to rescue her from the dark tunnels that came when her brother first got sick, but also to keep her from fucking all those assholes.

Sweetie,” Dino said, coming over to put his arm around her shoulder. He tipped her head up and looked into her eyes with great empathy. “You can’t fuck a statue. At least not at that angle. You’d at least have to tip it onto its back first, and as a conservator, I can’t recommend it.

Take a trip to the exotic landscape of your lover’s body.

Take off your damned wrapper! The old buffer ordered, looking intensely at her lower part. Comfort was on her knees, rubbing the old man's dirty feet. All her plea and tears continually worsen the whole matter. I want to do you harder cos you gonna be fucked by other folks who needs a large hole, said the man, moving towards her. Comfort struggled with all her feminine might, but the old masculine but old man ripped her wrapper and slapped her on the face. Lie here, Lie here! I'm gonna do what your old man did to your mama and its gonna sweet you. She screamed as the man's organ prick her glory hole like a sharp needle.

Taking into consideration all your loveliness why can't you burn your bootsoles and your draft card? How can you sit there saying yes to war? You'll be a pauper when you die, sore boy. Dead, while I still live at our addresss. Oh my brother, why do you keep making plans when I am at seizures of hearts and hands? Come dance the dance, the Papa-Mama dance; bring costumes from the suitcase pasted Ille de France, the S.S. Gripsholm. Papa's London Harness case he took abroad and kept i our attic laced with old leather straps for storage and his scholar's robes, black licorice - that metamorphosis with it's crimson blood. "The Papa and Mama Dance

También le dijo que los amantes, después de celebrar el rito del amor, no pueden separarse sin que se admiren mutuamente, sin sentirse a la vez vencido y vencedor; de ese modo, ninguno de los dos notará saciedad, monotonía, ni tendrá la mala impresión de haber abusado o de haber padecido abuso.

Tatiana is a ridiculously curvy thing of dreams, with smooth succulent thighs, long strawberry blond cascading beneath a teal bandana, and a nympho sparkle in her eyes that says pick me, lick me, spank me, or I punish you. Raw innocence and mayhem at once.

Tandis qu'il se mouvait sur elle, en avant puis en arrière, il lui semblait décrire sans cesse le même mouvement, de l'enfance à l'âge adulte puis en sens inverse, et encore une fois du petit garçon qui regardait misérablement un gigantesque corps de femme à l'homme qui étreint ce corps et le dompte. Ce mouvement, qui mesure habituellement quinze centimètres à peine, était long comme trois décennies.

Tell me I’m enough for you,” he demanded. “Can you be with me even though I’m so wrong?” She was satin and warmth. The way she squeezed, he was desperate to move, pound, inject her. She looked at him. “This is. You are. I can’t do this any more if it’s not with you. So please fuck me straight to hell.

Tell me what a man finds sexually attractive and I will tell you his entire philosophy of life. Show me the woman he sleeps with and I will tell you his valuation of himself.

Ten seconds is the distance between silence and a smile...

Thanks to a lifetime of brainwashing by Disney and Lifetime and Hallmark, she naively believes glimpsing God during an epic fuck somehow translates into some kind of happily ever after with her Prince Charming.

That top," he said when he dipped his face close, and I realized his voice sounded funny. It was intense but it was also hoarse like when we were fooling around and I understood why when he again spoke. "Tonight, when I fuck you, I want you naked. Later, I want you ridin' my cock wearin' nothin' but that fuckin' top.

That first drunk, first high, first sexual encounter, those feelings of first are the most intense, the best remembered, always impossible to attain again.

That hedge provides almost complete privacy from cars and pedestrians, and I would bet he and his wife do it more than the national average.

That’s probably the most sincere thing that I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” Logan lowered his eyes to Tate’s hand. “Now, that’s not true. I was very sincere this morning when I told you that I loved sucking your—” “Don’t ruin it,” Tate interrupted.

That’s what sex does: it starts relationships and it verifies the end of relationships.

That was not sex. That was naked poetry.

That was wonderful,” Natasha lied. “Not half; you are brilliant. Can I fuck you up the arse later?

That was her last rational thought. She gave herself up to Cam completely, feasting on her. She couldn't get enough of her.

That we are horny creatures is proven by the fact that the invention of video calling found us already having sex over the phone.

The act of sex is healthy, normal, God-given. It's the emotions and entitlement that everyone attaches to it that is harmful.

The American really loves nothing but his automobile: not his wife his child nor his country nor even his bank-account first (in fact he doesn't really love that bank-account nearly as much as foreigners like to think because he will spend almost any or all of it for almost anything provided it is valueless enough) but his motor-car. Because the automobile has become our national sex symbol. We cannot really enjoy anything unless we can go up an alley for it. Yet our whole background and raising and training forbids the sub rosa and surreptitious. So we have to divorce our wife today in order to remove from our mistress the odium of mistress in order to divorce our wife tomorrow in order to remove from our mistress and so on. As a result of which the American woman has become cold and and undersexed; she has projected her libido on to the automobile not only because its glitter and gadgets and mobility pander to her vanity and incapacity (because of the dress decreed upon her by the national retailers association) to walk but because it will not maul her and tousle her, get her all sweaty and disarranged. So in order to capture and master anything at all of her anymore the American man has got to make that car his own. Which is why let him live in a rented rathole though he must he will not only own one but renew it each year in pristine virginity, lending it to no one, letting no other hand ever know the last secret forever chaste forever wanton intimacy of its pedals and levers, having nowhere to go in it himself and even if he did he would not go where scratch or blemish might deface it, spending all Sunday morning washing and polishing and waxing it because in doing that he is caressing the body of the woman who has long since now denied him her bed.