Best 7189 quotes in «sex quotes» category

My mom says, "Do you know what the AIDS memorial quilt is all about?" Jump to how much I hate my brother at this moment. I bought this fabric because I thought it would make a nice panel for Shane," Mom says. "We just ran into some problems with what to sew on it." Give me amnesia. Flash. Give me new parents. Flash. Your mother didn't want to step on any toes," Dad says. He twists a drumstick off and starts scraping the meat onto a plate. "With gay stuff you have to be so careful since everything means something in secret code. I mean, we didn't want to give people the wrong idea." My Mom leans over to scoop yams onto my plate, and says, "Your father wanted a black border, but black on a field of blue would mean Shane was excited by leather sex, you know, bondage and discipline, sado and masochism." She says, "Really, those panels are to help the people left behind." Strangers are going to see us and see Shane's name," my dad says. "We didn't want them thinking things." The dishes all start their slow clockwise march around the table. The stuffing. The olives. The cranberry sauce. "I wanted pink triangles but all the panels have pink triangles," my mom says. "It's the Nazi symbol for homosexuals." She says,"Your father suggested black triangles, but that would mean Shane was a lesbian. It looks like female pubic hair. The black triangle does." My father says, "Then I wanted a green border, but it turns out that would mean Shane was a male prostitute." My mom says, "We almost chose a red border, but that would mean fisting. Brown would mean either scat or rimming, we couldn't figure which." Yellow," my father says, "means watersports." A lighter shade of blue," Mom says, "would mean just regular oral sex." Regular white," my father says, "would mean anal. White could also mean Shane was excited by men wearing underwear." He says, "I can't remember which." My mother passes me the quilted chicken with the rolls still warm inside. We're supposed to sit and eat with Shane dead all over the table in front of us. Finally we just gave up," my mom says, "and I made a nice tablecloth out of the material." Between the yams and the stuffing, Dad looks down at his plate and says, "Do you know about rimming?" I know it isn't table talk. And fisting?" my mom asks. I say, I know. I don't mention Manus and his vocational porno magazines. We sit there, all of us around a blue shroud with the turkey more like a big dead baked animal than ever, the stuffing chock full of organs you can still recognize, the heart and gizzard and liver, the gravy thick with cooked fat and blood. The flower centerpiece could be a casket spray. Would you pass the butter, please?" my mother says. To my father she says, "Do you know what felching is?

My name is Jasmine Lewis, and this is my story. It’s a cautionary tale about money, sex, and power, but I guess those words are redundant. Money is always about sex and power. And sex is always about power. And why have power if you can’t have sex and money? But anyway, this is a story about money, sex, and power. This is the story of The Sugar Baby Club.

My only relationship policy is, don’t bring your dirty laundry to work, no sex on company furniture and don’t let it affect your work.

My personal aim for love is not money, sex and/or having a royal wedding, but it's to have an ever-growing and ever-deepening connection with the one I choose to be with. Connection is so underrated in this day an age, and it's the most authentic thing ever, much like sensuality.

My personal aim for love is not money, sex and/or a royal wedding, but it's having an ever-growing and ever-deepening connection with the one I choose to be with. Connection is so underrated in this day an age, and it's the most authentic thing ever, much like sensuality.

My phone started to vibrate and I flipped it open. Yes, I'm the only person that doesn't have an iPhone. The phone talked to me. "Jackson, how’s it going?" "Hi, Echo. Veeva Stackpoole’s here." Silence. "What does she want?" "Well, at first she wanted me to run away with her and get a lot of plastic surgery - " "Oooo, can I come too?" she said. I love Echo so much. "Hey, Veeva, Echo wants to come. Is that okay?" Veeva sneered and said, "Asshole..." "Echo it doesn’t look like we’re going to go now. Veeva doesn’t want to.

My sub doesn't pay for me,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “That just doesn't happen.” “But we ordered so much,” I say helplessly. “It made you happy,” he says simply. “Now I get to play with you. And that makes me happy.” “I don't think it's that simple an equation.” “Maybe not,” he concedes. “But then, if if sex were the same thing as math, a lot more people would be lining up to take calculus.

My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter. I am delighted to see that you do like being fucked arseways. Yes, now I can remember that night when I fucked you for so long backwards. It was the dirtiest fucking I ever gave you, darling. My prick was stuck in you for hours, fucking in and out under your upturned rump. I felt your fat sweaty buttocks under my belly and saw your flushed face and mad eyes. At every fuck I gave you your shameless tongue came bursting out through your lips and if a gave you a bigger stronger fuck than usual, fat dirty farts came spluttering out of your backside. You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora’s fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also. You say when I go back you will suck me off and you want me to lick your cunt, you little depraved blackguard. I hope you will surprise me some time when I am asleep dressed, steal over to me with a whore’s glow in your slumberous eyes, gently undo button after button in the fly of my trousers and gently take out your lover’s fat mickey, lap it up in your moist mouth and suck away at it till it gets fatter and stiffer and comes off in your mouth. Sometimes too I shall surprise you asleep, lift up your skirts and open your drawers gently, then lie down gently by you and begin to lick lazily round your bush. You will begin to stir uneasily then I will lick the lips of my darling’s cunt. You will begin to groan and grunt and sigh and fart with lust in your sleep. Then I will lick up faster and faster like a ravenous dog until your cunt is a mass of slime and your body wriggling wildly. Goodnight, my little farting Nora, my dirty little fuckbird! There is one lovely word, darling, you have underlined to make me pull myself off better. Write me more about that and yourself, sweetly, dirtier, dirtier.

My sweet naughty girl I got your hot letter tonight and have been trying to picture you frigging your cunt in the closet. How do you do it? Do you stand against the wall with your hand tickling up under your clothes or do you squat down on the hole with your skirts up and your hand hard at work in through the slit of your drawers? Does it give you the horn now to shit? I wonder how you can do it. Do you come in the act of shitting or do you frig yourself off first and then shit? It must be a fearfully lecherous thing to see a girl with her clothes up frigging furiously at her cunt, to see her pretty white drawers pulled open behind and her bum sticking out and a fat brown thing stuck half-way out of her hole. You say you will shit your drawers, dear, and let me fuck you then. I would like to hear you shit them, dear, first and then fuck you. Some night when we are somewhere in the dark and talking dirty and you feel your shite ready to fall put your arms round my neck in shame and shit it down softly. The sound will madden me and when I pull up your dress.

MYTH #2: ROMANTIC LOVE IS THE ONLY REAL LOVE Look at the lyrics of popular songs, or read some classical poetry: the phrases we choose to describe romantic love don’t really sound all that pleasant. Crazy in love, love hurts, obsession, heartbreak … these are all descriptions of mental or physical illness.

Nadia now lies back as her body perks up at me like the white lotus that reaches for the sun’s love. I now come into Nadia with all of my love, my lips running over her silk skin like water drifting downstream. Her kisses are filled with an incredible ability to give as her body merges into mine. The sounds of relief escaping her lips commend my escape, transcending me into the absolute pureness of love’s unseen realm.

Não dá não dá ela repetia mostrando o dinheirinho que não dava embolado na mão. Mas dar mesmo até que ela deu bastante. Pra meu gosto até que ela deu demais. Uma corja de piolhentos pedindo e ela dando.

Naturally all of them had a sad story: too much notice, not enough, or the worst kind. Some tale about dragon daddies and false-hearted men, or mean mamas and friends who did them wrong. Each story has a monster in it who made them tough instead of brave, so they open their legs rather than their hearts where that folded child is tucked.

Nat realised they had a lot of talking to do, but she did question Isabella’s timing. In her experience, matters of the heart should not be discussed when one party had a silicone cock strapped to their waist while the other's mouth went dry at the thought of it entering her.

Naw, I say. Mr ____, can tell you, I don't like it at all. What is it to like? He git up on you, heist your nightgown round your waist, plunge in. Most times I pretend I ain't there. He never know the difference. Never ast me how I feel, nothing. Just do his business, get off, go to sleep. She start to laugh. Do his business, she say. Do his business. Why, Miss Celie. You make it sound like he going to the toilet on you. That's what it feel like, I say. She stop laughing.

Necessity is the mother of delusion. For true love to exist there must be nothing that is necessary to it. Lovers have to live happily ever after, no matter what happens.

Neither art nor sex need to serve some higher purpose. They can just be art and sex.

Neither time nor distance should matter. Anything is doable...For love...

Nell'istituto religioso che ha frequentato da ragazza, dice la signora Wright, tutte le allieve dovevano coprirsi le orecchie con una sciarpa. Questo perché nella Bibbia si dice che la Vergine Maria rimase incinta quando lo Spirito Santo le sussurrò all'orecchio. Orecchie come vagine. La convinzione che sia sufficiente sentire un'idea sbagliata per perdere l'innocenza. n dettaglio di troppo e sei rovinata. Overdose di informazioni. E' la verità. Un'idea sbagliata può mettere radici in te e crescere.

Nessa held her arm up. She was staring at it, trying to gauge how big that was. “Dude, that’s as big as my arm. That’s like being f****d by a limb dude!” She wiggled her arm back and forth. “That's not normal.

Never depend on a single income. Make Investments to create a second source.” - Warren Buffet

Never fuck anyone you wouldn't want to be.

Never give a lousy person the opportunity to create lousy babies.

Never let a man stay the night,” she told me. “Dawn has a way of casting a pall on any night magic.

Never loved the taste of someone before baby, but with you, I would willingly drown in it.  I’m going to devour you Tessa, from the inside out, and you’re going to come so many times that you’ll forget there even was anyone before.  Focus on us babe.  You and me together is all that will ever matter.

Never pass up a chance to have sex or appear on television.

Never shut off pain till it eats you up completely. Ensure you find someone you can confide in and trust, share your burdens, cry if you need to by letting it all out. No one is conditioned for pain. We all need to address it and let it go, knowing we cannot change the past but we can make a brighter future out of the lessons learned.

Never sleep with someone whose troubles are worse than your own.

Never regard sex as big deal. See it as that little, fascinating empire which all persons, big and small, rich and poor, stoop low to conquer. ~Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu

Never underestimate the power of a pity fuck, which makes for about ninety percent of women’s collective dating history.

Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates! All streaming into cozy hotels All going to do the same thing tonight The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen The lobby zombies they knowing what The whistling elevator man he knowing The winking bellboy knowing Everybody knowing! I'd be almost inclined not to do anything! Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye! Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon! running rampant into those almost climatic suites yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel! O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy a saint of divorce--

Nice guys finish but that's what makes them good in bed.

...Next thing I know you've run off to Paris and thrown yourself under the nearest Frenchman-

Nick? Have you ever…” ”No.” He lifted his head again, studied me. “I’ve thought about it, but it never seemed right.” The idea of him making love to anyone else sent a shaft of pain straight through my middle. “You better wait on me, damn it.” ”I don’t think I have much choice.” He brushed my hair back. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted, Alix, the only one I’ll ever want. That’s a promise.

Nice guys finish last but that's what makes them good in bed.

Nixie, every party is an orgy waiting to happen." Nix opened her mouth, then closed it, dragging Neomi and Mari away. "Well, you can't argue with reason, can you?

No act is purer, more chaste, than the sex act.

No boyfriend," I said, perhaps a little too quickly. Have I mentioned my total lack of social life? Having a dream about Alex last night was the closest thing I'd had to a date in months and that was only a dream and it was about a guy who was undead. Admittedly very sexy, but still completely undead. Although I have heard that vampire sex is supposed to be pretty damn good.

Nobody cares for getting belittled by a person you’ve had sex with. A person you’ve licked all over. Nobody wants to sit there and get run down too far by somebody who gives them a hard-on.

No amount of wavy blond hair nor evenings spent with her plump lips applying just the right amount of pressure to his various pleasure points could make up for the rotting carcass of a soul that resided beneath all that beauty.

No being with a sexual appetite can be a rational being.

Nineteen ninety-eight was a banner year for Connie. She was separately invited by two male former college friends to participate in an ménage à trois with them and their wives, despite her overbite and diminutive breasts.

No act is so private it does not seek applause.

no glove, no love

No. I can’t have sex with you today because there aren’t enough spoons.

No matter how long or how difficult, we will undo whatever that Moroi boy has done to you." I managed a wavering smile, tasting blood in my mouth. "You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

No man wants his daughter to be the kind of girl whom he liked in high school.

No matter what corruption he’s taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which he cannot perform for any motive but his own enjoyment—just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity?-an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exaltation, only in the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces him to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and to accept his real ego as his standard of value.

No matter how much I tried to justify the affair, the fact remained that I was a deceitful person. One moment I was making out with a man and an hour later I was in bed with another man. Who had I become? What had I lost in life that led me to do this? Did I not have a perfect life? Was I not happy? Of course, I was happy. I knew I was happy and content. Had I become greedy? I was in a maze and I could not find a way out.

No matter what happened, there was always one thing Isla could rely on: the sheer arrogance of male wolves. That, and their overriding assumption all females found them irresistible and were desperate to get them in the sack. Mostly she was desperate to get them in the sack, if only to stop their whining, but she didn't think a sack six feet under was precisely what they meant.