What books have made you sexually excited? (Or any other writing format)

Sounds pretty abhorrent honestly.

Not proud of it, but 120 days of sodom. Especially the part where the nun talks about her memories.

Therese Raquin gave me a boner

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Can’t wait to read it user. Also snagged King, Queen, Knave and Glory from a local bookstore for a couple of dollars. I think I’ll start Ada first tho. read the plot on wiki and was impressed, I never thought of Nabokov doing a sci fi book, It seems like Vonnegut’s Slapstick but written by Nabokov. I know I’m probably way off. I’m hoping some good passages will jolt me into it. I tried starting it twice but couldn’t get past much

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Not books, but I sometimes RP as a girl on chats and write erotic stories with other dudes. I then put it down for a few days until the exact memory of what I wrote fades away after which I read it and masturbate to it.

which parts? the morgue or ?

tfw no therese gf

We all know those old wardrobes in old hotels in the Old
World subalpine zone. At first one opens them with the utmost
care, very slowly, in the vain hope of hushing the excruciating
creak, the growing groan that the door emits midway. Before
long one discovers, however, that if it is opened or closed with celerity, in one resolute sweep, the hellish hinge is taken by
surprise, and triumphant silence achieved. Van and Ada, for
all the exquisite and powerful bliss that engulfed and repleted
them (and we do not mean here the rose sore of Eros alone),
knew that certain memories had to be left closed, lest they
wrench every nerve of the soul with their monstrous moan.
But if the operation is performed swiftly, if indelible evils are
mentioned between two quick quips, there is a chance that the
anesthetic of life itself may allay unforgettable agony in the
process of swinging its door.
Now and then she poked fun at his sexual peccadilloes, though
generally she tended to ignore them as if demanding, by tacit
implication, a similar kind of leniency in regard to her frailty.
He was more inquisitive than she but hardly managed to learn
more from her lips than he had from her letters. To her past
admirers Ada attributed all the features and faults we have
already been informed of: incompetence of performance, inanity
and nonentity, and to her own self nothing beyond easy fem-
inine compassion and such considerations of hygiene and sanity
as hurt Van more than would a defiant avowal of passionate
betrayal. Ada had made up her mind to transcend his and her
sensual sins: the adjective being a near synonym of "senseless"
and "soulless"; therefore not represented in the ineffable here-
after that both our young people mutely and shyly believed in. Van endeavored to follow the same line of logic but could not forget the shame and the agony even while reaching heights of happiness he had not known at his brightest hour before his darkest one in the past.

I HAVE NEVER BEEN AROUSED BY A BOOK. I AM NOT AUTISTIC

One afternoon they were climbing the glossy-limbed shattal tree
at the bottom of the garden. Mlle Larivière and little Lucette,
screened by a caprice of the coppice but just within earshot,
were playing grace hoops. One glimpsed now and then, above
or through foliage, the skimming hoop passing from one unseen
sending stick to another. The first cicada of the season kept try-
ing out its instrument. A silver-and-sable skybab squirrel sat
sampling a cone on the back of a bench.
Van, in blue gym suit, having worked his way up to a fork
just under his agile playmate (who naturally was better acquain-
ted with the tree's intricate map) but not being able to see her
face, betokened mute communication by taking her ankle be-
tween finger and thumb as she would have a closed butterfly.
Her bare foot slipped, and the two panting youngsters tangled
ignominiously among the branches, in a shower of drupes and
leaves, clutching at each other, and the next moment, as they
regained a semblance of balance, his expressionless face and
cropped head were between her legs and a last fruit fell with a
thud—the dropped dot of an inverted exclamation point. She was wearing his wristwatch and a cotton frock.

("Remember?"
"Yes, of course, I remember: you kissed me here, on the in-
side—"
"And you started to strangle me with those devilish knees of
yours—"
"I was seeking some sort of support.")
That might have been true, but according to a later (con-
siderably later!) version they were still in the tree, and still
glowing, when Van removed a silk thread of larva web from his
lip and remarked that such negligence of attire was a form of
hysteria.
"Well," answered Ada, straddling her favorite limb, "as we
all know by now, Mlle La Rivière de Diamants has nothing
against a hysterical little girl's not wearing pantalets during
l'ardeur de la canicule."
"I refuse to share the ardor of your little canicule with an
apple tree."
"It is really the Tree of Knowledge—this specimen was im-
ported last summer wrapped up in brocade from the Eden National Park where Dr. Krolik's son is a ranger and breeder."
"Let him range and breed by all means," said Van (her na-
tural history had long begun to get on his nerves), "but I swear
no apple trees grow in Iraq."
"Right, but that's not a true apple tree."

*I AM AUTISTIC. FUCK

But you‘ve undoubtedly have read the wrong books

>I enjoy fantasies of humiliation, abuse, sexual torment, coprophilia, sadistic murder: no problem
>but god help me I might be fascist!

You remind me of Dahmer who freely admitted to raping and eating little boys, but blanched at the suggestion he might be racist.

D-definitely not Lolita, haha

voyeur scene in 2666

Story of the Eye, i can beat my meat to that shit all day

I tried to read erotic lit to my husband but he‘s a brainlet. Fml.

>I tried to read erotic lit to my husband
Should be glad he didn't smack you tbqh.

Maybe he did

this is my only beat off material

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