``Lick my legs and I'm on fire; lick my legs and I'm desire..." --P.J. Harvey


I find my love fishing
His feet in the shallows.

We have breakfast together
And drink beer.

I offer him the magic of my thighs
He is caught in the spell.
--Anonymous Hieroglyphic (1500 BC)

Hamdonna threw herself upon Bahloul, took his member between her hands and began to look at it. She was astonished at its size, strength and firmness, and cried: ``Here we have the ruin of all women and the cause of many troubles. O Bahloul ! I never saw a more beautiful dart than yours!" Still she continued keeping hold of it, and rubbed its head against the lips of her vulva till the latter part seemed to say: ``O member, come into me."

Then Bahloul inserted his member into the vagina of the Sultan's daughter, and she, settling down upon his engine, allowed it to penetrate entirely into her furnace till nothing more could be seen of it, not the slightest trace.
--Shaykh Nefzawi, The Perfumed Garden

Sex Dreams

How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights! This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes. I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the boughs thereof: now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples: And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.
--Song of Solomon, King James Bible

The kiss was not over yet. The woman's mouth lingered, began to play, teased and tempted, and finally seized his lips with greed and violence, set fire to his blood, made it throb in his veins; in slow, patient play the brown woman gave herself to the boy, teaching him gently, letting him seek and find, setting him afire and stilling the flames. The exalted, brief joy of love vaulted above him, burned with a golden glow, sank down and died. He lay with eyes closed, his face against the woman's breast. Not a word had been said.
--Herman Hesse, Narcissus and Goldmund

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...many women wanted this poet (Orpheus) for their own, and many grieved over their rejection. His love was given to young boys only, and he told the Thracians that was the better way: ``Enjoy that springtime, take those first flowers!"
--Ovid, Metamorphoses


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