lady chatterley's lover

story of o

kama sutra

my secret life

delta of venus

tropic of capricorn

tropic of cancer

fanny hill

story of the eye

120 days of sodom

torture garden

bride stripped bare

diary of a chambermaid

searching for the important canonical works, what i'm really finding is that, amazingly, they were a modest cohort, modestly immodest.

the gols rosey complexion suggests immortality, and behaves thus. the gols ghost rose up as aforetomentioned, and peeper was repentant. gol forgave as gol always does, peeper renegged as peeper always does. Gol is now assuming habitat inside the lumpy stained nest of mrs m. hubbard, during the reprieve. What gol really wonders is what all the reasons were. the outline is vague, the colouring vaguer still. All that tends to happen is that gol more and more frequently falls from nest to nest. Gol misses peeper badly. It is the nature of gol's ghost, to mourne her reeper. It is nature.

After the gol's souls exploded unto the dirt, her ghost rose up with a rosey complexion. Her ghost was such that the peeper thought her recovered. He put his hand out to her and said smuggly, i'm sorry gol, you can come back and make the nest again. Firstly, the gol had already dropped all of the good twigs, somewhere betwixt the perch and the fall, they had flang everywhich way. Secondly, doesn't a peeper know, that once you kick a gol off of the perch and explode all of her souls on the dirt that you can't put her back together again?

one time there was a girl and one time there was a peeper. they met they wooed they loved they lilted. they leaned to and fro together as though they were two insects, to and fro. one day the gorl and the peeper decided to build a nest together. The girl went off to find the twigs, she found many many good twigs. It took her a lot of time and strength, she was only one girl, and she was very happy about the nest. the girl carried the twigs back to the peeper and was ready to make the nest. When she got there the peeper said sorry and kicked her off the perch and onto the ground where she exploded all her souls all over the dirt. Poor girl.

phoney gonna get er

730 bouquiniste, 830 smart lady, 930 sweat. my smart lady has figured it all out, and i can't say i'm pleased. apparently i'm a phoney. i already knew. playing tricks on the ones who love me, making gifts for the ones who don't. apparently tom is one who don't. but i'm praying for us to evolve or for my smart lady to be wrong.

i have reduced to the level of jarred minced garlic. i can't stand the smell of secondhand garlic under fingernails next day,

two angels are at war, it aint very good.

sophia's gonna put her diamond on.

i'm gonna take a gift for tom's mother.

then i'm goinna put on this terribly over the top nighty.

snowballing

hello world, alot has happened mind you. i have become a firefly in a jar, shooting off this gentle glare. tom has become cross with me because i use sex as a way to feel close with him. this confuses me and what i'm really wondering is, is that just? i know i use it, but the thing is, it's use it or lose it. there is no other way in times like these.

my friend saint charles says my friend sophia would make a cute skeleton, and i can see her point. we were nude together yesterday, rubbing vanilla and orange blossom oil onto eachothers backs and butts. 'butt time' we called it. we love eachother, and it is true.

a lady that i admire/think is beautiful has written a book. it is more enigmatic than i could ever imagine. i can't believe it. i want to ask her for dinner, but i'm nervous. she is the kind of lady who you love from across the street/room. but it is flexible.

on the weekend i snowballed tom. he came in my mouth and then i french kissed him and we shared the jus. he didn't like it. he looked stricken, so i let him give it back to me after a while and then i drank it. he didn't like it. somehow i thought it would be terribly intimate, but all it was was wrong.

i have to wonder sometimes whether the whole thing isn't wrong.