Little Birds

Her eyes had a hard, lacquered glow. She shook her earrings, laughed, covered herself with a cape and left me.

The others … how you have to search for the animal in them. They have diluted it, disguised it, perfumed it, so it will smell like something else—like what? angels

The animal nature of woman has been so carefully disguised—the lips and ass and legs made to serve other purposes, made, like some colored plumage, to distract man from his desire rather than accentuate it

“She kept nothing for night, for the bed. It was all in the open, on view. She was indeed the queen of the whores, enacting possession at every instant of her life, even while she ate; and when she played cards, she did not sit impassive, her body deprived of sensuality, as other women would sit with their attention on the game. One felt from the pose of her body, the way her ass spread on the seat, that everything was still set for possession. Her breasts almost touched the table with their fullness. If she laughed, then it was the sexual laugh of a satisfied woman, the laugh of a body enjoying itself through every pore and cell, being caressed by the whole world.

wn before.

“She was the queen of the whores, Bijou. Yes, Bijou. Only a few years ago she could still be seen sitting at some little café in Montmartre, like an Oriental Fatima, but still pale, the eyes still burning. She was like a womb turned inside out. Her mouth, not a mouth that made you think of a kiss, or of food; not a mouth to speak with, to form words, to greet you—no, it was like the mouth of woman’s sex itself, the shape of it, the way it moved—to draw you in, to rouse you—always moistened, red and alive like the lips of a caressed sex … Each motion of this mouth had the power to awaken the same motion, the same undulation in the sex of a man, as if transmitted by contagion, directly, immediately. As it undulated, like a wave about to curl and engulf one, it ordained the undulation of the penis, the undulation of the blood. As it grew moist, it drew out my erotic secretion.

Her eyes—it is impossible to describe her eyes except by saying that they were the eyes of an orgasm. What constantly happened in her eyes was something so feverish, so incendiary, so intense that at times when I looked straight at her and felt my penis rising and palpitating, I also felt as if something were palpitating in her eyes.

But it was not her hair alone. Her skin was erotic, too. She would lie for hours letting me stroke her, lie like an animal, absolutely quiet, languid … The transparence of her skin showed turquoise-blue threads interlacing her body, and I felt that I was not only touching satin but living veins, veins so alive that when I touched her skin I could feel the movement underneath. I used to like lying against her buttocks and caressing her, to feel the contractions of the muscles, which betrayed her responsiveness

She was a magnificent model. She was the very essence of the whore

Hilda moaned with the pleasure and the pain of expectancy

You are so delicate, so small, I cannot believe that you have a sex.”