I want it to be just like the song, she told him. She slipped out of her dress, and unhooked the back of her bra. She let him take her in, the slanted lines of her shoulder blades, the tiny goosebumps that sprang all over her skin. She had to shove and wiggle to get out of the skirt. She left on the black lace panties, the nude hold up stockings and heels. She had planned this. Standing and breathing in front of him.
Okay. He said. He understood. They stood in his living room. There were sparse, black and white photographs behind him. There was the panoramic view of Manhattan behind her…
Camera Obscura - Books Written for Girls
The ultimate Valentine’s Day song, isn’t it?
Happy broken hearts, you all.
Hi there, Jonathan Franzen. We hope you are having a lovely Tuesday. So you say Edith Wharton was a prude, confined largely to a sexless marriage, hemmed in by plainness and haunted to write about the very beauty and passion that was lacking in her own life?
But have you read her porn?…
Oh Edith Wharton. How I love (and relate to) you so.