Hey, I hate this program. Gimme the switchbitch! Person with whom one may have intercourse with while being on a "break" with it's stable partner. Manuel : I haven't had sex since two hours ago when I got in a fight with my girlfriend. Xzibit : Damn nigger we gots ta gets you a switch bitch. A child, usually under the age of 12 or 13, and can be spoiled, who has a Nintendo Switch but is not worthy of owning one.
This can be because of their age, the fact that they are spoiled by their parents, or because of their ignorant ingratitude for owning one. That little kid is playing Fortnite on a Nintendo Switch. He's a Switchbitch for sure. But eventually he hits the jackpot when he kisses her in the ear and her whole body lights up with lust. She strips and unbuttons his shirt but two things happen.
Conrad behaves coldly and clinically. Then he himself stands and takes off all his clothes, folding them carefully and placing them over the back of the bedroom chair. At one point, looking own on her head, he notices that she is showing signs of incipient alopecia. She tells him to shut up and kiss her. Only then does he grab her wrist and fling her onto the bed where she floats and the room spins in a great swirl of sensations as, we gather, he fingers her vulva, working her up into a state of screaming arousal, and then swings his body over hers and starts making love to her.
The reader is reminded, again, that this story is from over fifty years ago. There is something very stiff and constrained and embarrassed about it all. I can see why Anna had to get drunk to nerve herself for the ordeal.
But right in the middle of sex Conrad asks if she is wearing a cap or diaphragm. Obviously the head of his penis is bumping against something. She indignantly says no, but she insists that she must be and… suddenly she is sober-remorseful, suddenly she sees the whole situation with blinding clarity, suddenly his face over hers looks like a dentist peering into her face and about to use a drill.
She gets up, weeping, and flees into the bathroom locking the door behind her, and Conrad hears her rooting about in the bathroom cabinet, by implication — after the running thread of suicidal thoughts — looking for an overdose of pills to take. Quietly, Conrad dresses, wipes the lipstick off his face, combs his fine black hair, takes a last check in the mirror, and walks out.
Obsessed with sex but, when it comes down to it, narrow and unimaginative, but also getting pretty rude come-uppances.
She was a great artist. There seemed no point in getting into bed beside her. A novel. It was travelling at a great speed, at a really amazing speed. Search for all books with this author and title. The Sinai entry is from the last volume of all, Vol.
Uncle Cornelius is a great creation, a fabulously shameless posh boy aesthete and philanderer. He collects women, or more accurately one-off sexual experiences with women, the same way he collects Persian carpets and Chinese porcelain.
He was a totally amoral man, that much was clear, but then so was I. He was also a wicked man and although I cannot in all honesty claim wickedness as one of my virtues, I find it irresistible in others. This man is an expert on smells and scents and perfumes.
He devised the two of the most famous perfumes in the world for a Parisian perfumier. Now Biotte persuades sceptical Uncle Cornelius to fund his attempt to carry out a revolution in smell. Biotte tells Cornelius the ability to emit or smell this scent was evolved out of humans over , years ago.
Now he proposes to recreate the scent and the chemical catalyst which will activate it, spray it on a woman, and see what happens. Cornelius forgets about the project till he gets a phone call. Biotte has isolated the chemical. He invites Cornelius to witness an experiment. Biotta has booked a short wiry boxer named Pierre Lacaille.
They place his assistant, Simone, on a chair and stationthe boxer six metres away. Nothing happens and he is puzzled and Simone bored until… suddenly the scent hits him, he whinnies like a stallion, tears all his clothes off and ravishes Simone. It is an instructive display. Biotte goes up to the copulating couple and threatens Lacaille with a revolver, he ignores him.
The scent really takes complete animal possession of a man. They wonder what to call it. So far Biotte has only manufactured 10cc of the stuff. Cornelius insists on being given 1cc for purposes of his own. He takes the carefully sealed phial to a gadget-maker he knows in Paris and asks him to make a tiny container, no bigger than an inch which will contain the scent but also have a tiny timing mechanism and hammer, so that the phial can be set to be punctured and leak its life-changing content. This the gadget-maker does. But when Cornelius returns to the lab the next morning he discovers that the vixenish assistant Simone had used up the entire supply of scent on herself and sent Biotte into such a frenzy that he had a heart attack and died.
The special plan Cornelius has is to use the spray on the American president! The current president is according to him a particularly loathsome, lying reptile. So he flies into New York, checks into a hotel and reads in his paper that the president is due to give a speech to the Daughters of the American Revolution that same evening. Cornelius discovers the head of the Daughters is one Mrs Elvira Ponsonby. Concealed among them is the phial of scent and the tiny little timer. Cornelius cackles with anticipation.
He will be ruined. He will be thrown out in shame and dishonour. Mrs Ponsonby answers the door to her room and, after some initial doubt, is persuaded that Cornelius is a courier bringing flowers from the president himself. The stories certainly reveal in graphic detail the thoughts of the kind of Playboy-reading male chauvinist pig which feminists have spent fifty years hunting to extinction.
Nobody nowadays could write such frank assessments of women solely in terms of their fuckability as the narrators of three of these stories do.
here But I found his portrayal of a woman destroyed by grief, redeemed by finding a tough demanding job to do, and then undone on a disastrous date with a high school boyfriend, contained surprising depths and acuities. Uncle Cornelius is a monstrous cartoon caricature and I want to read much more about his outrageous escapades and absurd pratfalls apparently, there is a short novel about him.
But it is the messy, modern story of the widow Anna Cooper which sticks in my memory.