Quotes About Intimacy

I'd kissed him on the mouth, put my tongue in his mouth, and I knew that I did not know how to stop it. I had forgotten how to stop it.

I said nothing, fearful that he would stop.

He doesn't seem to have a private life, only a secret life which appears to overlap and even be a part of his work life.

She don't want you around all fucking day. Many women that I know take you home, you make love, it's all over, you get up, you can see the relief on their faces: Not only does he fuck me well, he leaves.

It's like trying to remember a dream," I said. "It's in me somewhere." "I wish I were in you somewhere," he said. To my surprise, I was a little disappointed. Too easy, I thought. "Where are you instead?

It has been my experience that when two people talk about sex, sex in the abstract, if there is such a thing, it is a way of fucking before you get into bed, trying it out, seeing if it's going to work.

When are you seeing Pauline?" "Oh, she'll eat me alive. Are you kidding? She's worse than you.

You know," she said dreamily, "I can remember every man I ever fucked by the way he liked to do it. Not the way I liked to do it.

He resisted for a moment, laughing, nudging aside my head with his hip, and then with a heavy sigh, as if I were leading him to his doom, he leaned back on the bed, elbows bent, and watched me.

I realized with even more surprise that while it already seemed that I was interested in doing whatever it was this man wanted, I did not want to pick up another girl. I would be too jealous. I didn't want to share him.

and with a low moan he entered me with such ease, such presumption, that I began to come the moment he was inside of me.

His orgasm was short, doubled and tripled with a quick convulsion, so private, so disciplined that he made no cry, no whisper, no exhortation.

They make these confessions to me in a shyly flirtatious way, as if they were trying to seduce me.

I wanted to see his face. He could see mine.

Pauline, who claims completely disingenuously to fuck only married men because she prefers to be alone on the holidays . . .

I don't want a boyfriend," I said. "I don't even want any more friends." "What about a fuck?" "That would be fine.

I wondered if, in some way that I did not understand, he was using that knowledge to presume an intimacy between us, as if we shared a secret that was exciting because it was dangerous to both of us.

And there was still pleasure in it. A man who knew he could fuck.

Maybe you got a date in the city. You're going to get laid. A stranger, someone new, 'cause you wouldn't take the trouble for someone you already fucked.

The one thing she didn't teach me because I was always in a rush was to stick around. I was always getting laid on the run.

A relationship is lovely if you're happy, comfortable in it and you really like the person. I can think of nothing better. But there's nothing worse than having a relationship in which you feel no interest.

Women, of whatever age, share secrets with each other more readily than they share them with men.

Sex is one of the few honest places inside us; it doesn't know how to lie, even if we change the story for the public.

Sexual creativity is a mystery that will never be solved by commercialism.