In the name of freedom and redistribution of wealth, I’ve decided to grow a beard on my chest.
You are my heart as it beats within my chest, my soul as it moves through my mind. The breath in my body that so fascinates you is your essence pouring in and out of me in a wave that drowns me over and over again until I cannot breathe for wanting y...
The F word turns me on, she whispered. The F word? Food He threw back his head and laughed. It rumbled up out of his chest and felt so good it startled him. For the first time in years,his laughter was spontaneous. It wasn`t tinged with bitterness an...
She snuggled back under the blanket with me, turned toward me so that she could rest her head on my chest. “I hear your heart,” she said. “Do you check every once in a while, just to make sure I’m not undead?
Just ’cause a body says somethin’ don’t make it so. You know who you are, and they can’t change that no matter what them cacklin’ hens is to say.” He tapped him on the chest. “What matters is what’s in here, son. Not a soul can take t...
He felt full of a dense and sour substance that was blocking his chest, and it wasn't grief. After all those years, life now seemed like no more than a trap, a maze, not even a maze, just a room that was all walls, no door.
Her chest full of crisp air and inspiration, her feet atop a forgettable mountain where the stars make you feel insignificant and important all at once. And she sang.
I wonder sometimes what the memory of God looks like. Is it a palace of infinite rooms, a chest of many jeweled objects, a long, lonely landscape where each tree recalls an eon, each pebble the life of a man? Where do I live, in the memory of God?
Professor Khupe felt his chest swell with pride. It was doing so without his encouragement. If an electrical fault had stopped the elevator from rising, his inflating ego would have powered the remainder of their journey to the twenty-second floor.
when she removed my hand from her chest for the one hundred thousandth time. Attack and defense, invasion and repulsion... it was as if breasts were little pieces of property that had been unlawfully annexed by the opposite sex - they were rightfully...
Death straps me to the hospital bed, claws its way onto my chest and sits there.I didn't know it would hurt this much. I didn't know that everything good that's ever happened in my life would be emptied out by it.
Then I rest my head on his chest and I feel the beating of his heart, even though it is not as fast as mine at this moment. I imagine that his heart can be as cold as an ice vial or a steel shield that will never be penetrated by any kind of feeling ...
I've lived the literal meaning of the "land of the free" and "hone of the brave." It's not corny for me. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my chest. Even at a ball game, when someone talks during the anthem or doesn't take off his hat, it pisses me...
And for a moment―for a split second―everything else falls away, the whole pattern and order of my life, and a huge joy crests in my chest. I am no one, and I owe nothing to anybody, and my life is my own.
You all set?” he asked, tossing me a pair of sunglasses. “Wow, nice.” I felt the frame, rubbing my finger over the lenses to wipe away a smudge. “Not bad, Phoenix.” “Twinkies.” He slid his pair on and adjusted the gun across his chest. ...
Running my fingers into his thick hair, I wallow in the strength and heat surrounding me before he pulls away, giving me such a happy smile it makes my heart rattle inside my chest. There's nothing better in this whole world than to be held in someon...
I can see her, chin to chest, straining to push Junior out, and Junior snagging on her insides, grabbing hold of what he caught on to try to stay inside her, but instead he pulled it out with him when he was born.
The father hesitated only a moment. He felt the vague pain in his chest. If I run, he thought, what will happen? Is Death important? No. Everything that happens before Death is what counts. And we've done fine tonight. Even Death can't spoil it.
I tore off another chuck of muffin and stared down at my chest. I shrugged and dabbed the muffin in the cum and popped it in my mouth. "I can't believe you just did that!" "Yeah," I snarled up my lip, "didn't quite think that one through all the way.
He pulled me toward him, and all I could do was stand there with arms at my sides and head against his chest. Broken, I feared even the slightest movement would cause pieces of me to snap off and fall to the gritty pavement.
A magician is strong because he feels pain. He feels the difference between what the world is and what he would make of it. Or what did you think that stuff in your chest was? A magician is strong because he hurts more than others. His wound is his s...
