Quotes About Sensuality

Entonces él se inclina sobre mí y rodamos enlazados al hueco del lecho. Su cuerpo me cubre como una grande ola hirviente, me acaricia, me quema, me penetra, me envuelve, me arrastra desfallecida. A mi garganta sube algo así como un sollozo, y no sé por qué empiezo a quejarme, y no sé por qué me es dulce quejarme, y dulce a mi cuerpo el cansancio infligido por la preciosa carga que pesa entre mis muslos...

He kisses here with more passion that ceremony

WILL finds the loose end and spins her naked.

At that time, he was satisfying a sensual curiosity by experiencing the pleasures of people who live for love. He had believed he could stop there, that he would not be obliged to learn their sorrows; how small a thing her charm was for him now compared with the astounding terror that extended out from it like a murky halo, the immense anguish of not knowing at every moment what she had been doing, of not possessing her everywhere and always!

There is a degree of resemblance between the women we love at different times; and this resemblance, though it devolves, derives from the unchanging nature of our own temperament, which is what selects them, by ruling out all those who are not likely to be both opposite and complementary to us, who cannot be relied on, that is, to gratify our sensuality and wound our heart. Such women are a product of our temperament, an inverted image or projection, a negative of our sensitivity.

Now, in one of those utterly physical moments, when the soul takes a backseat to the digesting stomach, the skin enjoying a recent ablution and some fine linen, the mouth smoking, the eyes reveling in bare shoulders and bright lights, he repeated his prayer more indolently, doubting a miracle that would upset the psychological law of his fickleness, which was as impossible to flout as the physical laws of weight or death.

Swann had, as he shook the Marquise's hand, seen her bosom from close to and from above, he plunged an attentive, serious, absorbed, almost anxious, gaze into the depths of her corsage, and his nostrils, intoxicated by the woman's perfume, quivered like a butterfly ready to go and settle on the half-glimpsed flower.

The young woman's smiling lips met his caresses halfway, and her eyes shone in their depths like pools warmed by the sun.

Sometimes, too, just as Eve was created from a rib of Adam, so a woman would come into existence while I was sleeping, conceived from some strain in the position of my limbs. Formed by the appetite that I was on the point of gratifying, she it was, I imagined, who offered me that gratification. My body, conscious that its own warmth was permeating hers, would strive to become one with her, and I would awake.

Her initial need to confide in someone arose from the first disappointments of her sensuality, emerging as naturally as the first satisfactions of love normally emerge. She had not as yet known love. A short time later she suffered from it, which is the only manner in which we get to know it.

I didn't keep count of our ejaculations, though our moans and cries were loud and unrestrained, transforming the mesmerizing music into a symphony all our own.

Make tender and awkward sexual advances, not war. ~ t-shirt

Tom Ford Fucking Fabulous

She looked at him through the screen door; her face had a sullen aspect, but a full lower lip hinted at a concealed sensuality.

The only difference between dancing and fucking, he said in those days, is that you don't fuck in front of a live band.

Abra looked at his sunny hair, tight-curled now, and at the eyes that seemed so near to tears, and she felt the longing and itching burn in her chest that is the beginning of love. Also, she wanted to touch Aron, and she did. She put her hand on his arm and felt him shiver under her fingers.

Oh, strawberries don't taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! And

Oh, but strawberries will never taste so good again and the thighs of women have lost their clutch!

He was concupiscent as a rabbit and gentle as hell.

Cudowny miód pÄ™czniaÅ' w moich pachwinach.

The slither of sheers as she rotates her body is a silver music, sheets of pale noise extending outward unresisted by space. There was a grip he used to have on her, his right hand cupping her skull through her hair and his left hand on her breasts gathering them together, so the nipples were an inch apart. The grip is still there.

He had, in odd ways, given it to every moment of his life, and had perhaps given it most fully when he was unaware of his giving. It was a passion neither of the mind nor of the flesh; rather, it was a force that comprehended them both, as if they were but the matter of love, its specific substance. To a woman or to a poem, it said simply: Look! I am alive.

So in a way, the more you kiss with lips, the more human you are.

I am sensual and very physical. I'm very erotic. But my sexuality exists on a sort of a fantasy level.