Dating in highschool was very different. Boys suddenly went up your shirt, girls were expected to give blow jobs and be sexy. You had to be hot, but not a slut. You had to be into sex, but never have it. Except when your boyfriend wanted it. If you had sex you had to keep it a secret, but also be very good at it. Except not too good, because this better be your first time.
It’s not what’s happened or what’s about to happen; what’s important is the sense of emotional uncertainty between the characters and the delicacy of the mutual trust being established.
You know the worst thing about oral sex? The view.
Are you going to spank me, daddy? I’m a very bad girl! (bending over naked)
“Oh yeah daddy – spank my ass harder!!!
Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets
Satan’s warming me a throne, that’s how long [I’ve been watching you]. Not a chair, not a seat at the bar. The big guy’s got a throne with my name on it.
What was in it for me? I wasn’t asking for any sort of reciprocation, after all. Why didn’t she want her erogenous zones stimulated? I have no idea. All I know is that you could, if you wanted to, find the answers to all sorts of difficult questions buried in that terrible war-torn interregnum between the first pubic hair and the first soiled Trojan.
When I finally let someone into my narrow bed, the first thing I told her was what I could not do. I said, “I can’t fix it, girl. I can’t fix anything. If you don’t as me to fix it, you can ask anything else. If you can say what you need, I’ll try to give it to you.
For the first time in his life he understood why the Bible called sex “knowing”. Everything was different. Now he knew Dante. He’d known Dante. And wonder of wonders, Dante had known him right back.