Sometimes I get real lonely sleeping with you.

If she did experience sex--or something close to it--in high school, I'm sure it would have been less out of sexual desire or love than literary curiosity.

It's a funny thing sensing someone else's sex drive. After a while, you get to mistaking it for your own.

We returned to the hotel and had intercourse. I like that word intercourse. It poses only a limited range of possibilities.

Her cry was the saddest sound of orgasm that I had ever heard.

Once you’re lost, you panic. You’re in total despair, not knowing what to do. I hate it when that happens. Sex can be a real pain that way, ‘cause when you get in the mood all you can think about is what’s right under your nose - that’s sex, all right.

In fact, I didn't care about getting laid anymore. Wandering around Shinjuku on a noisy Saturday night, observing the mysterious energy created by a mixture of sex and alcohol, I began to feel that my own desire was a puny thing.

I'd have sex with her, all the while thinking of another woman, and the guilt was getting to me.

There's no sense forcing yourself if you don't feel like it. Tell you the truth, I've had sex with lots of guys, but I think I did it mostly out of fear. I was scared not to have somebody putting his arms around me, so I could never say no. That's all. Nothing good ever came of sex like that. All it does is grind down the meaning of life a piece at a time.