You nervous about doing this on camera?”

Chance tilted his head a little, considering. “Well, yeah, of course. You don’t know what you look like when you come—for all I know, I’m hella ugly or something. But at the same time....” He trailed off and shuddered, and his eyes got half-lidded. One hand went unconsciously to his stomach, then slid up to his nipples, which were still pointy and puckered. “It’s sort of cool. It’s making my stomach all jumpy, and....” His other hand slid down under the waistband of his shorts, as he made obvious kneading motions on his groin.

“It’s turning you on?”

“Mmmm....”

“Take the shorts off, Chance, and show us.

Not all shabby is chic, just like not every porn actor is a star.

The big problem with pornography is defining it. You can't just say it's pictures of people naked. For example, you have these primitive African tribes that exist by chasing the wildebeest on foot, and they have to go around largely naked, because, as the old tribal saying goes: "N'wam k'honi soit qui mali," which means, "If you think you can catch a wildebeest in this climate and wear clothes at the same time, then I have some beach front property in the desert region of Northern Mali that you may be interested in."

So it's not considered pornographic when National Geographic publishes color photographs of these people hunting the wildebeest naked, or pounding one rock onto another rock for some primitive reason naked, or whatever. But if National Geographic were to publish an article entitled "The Girls of the California Junior College System Hunt the Wildebeest Naked," some people would call it pornography. But others would not. And still others, such as the Spectacularly Rev. Jerry Falwell, would get upset about seeing the wildebeest naked.

My reaction to porno films is as follows: After the first ten minutes, I want to go home and screw. After the first twenty minutes, I never want to screw again as long as I live.

Don’t worry, due’ane,” He murmured lowly....“Who’s Dewey Anne.” I asked him, voice gruff. He was so familiar, this Bracken, but so strange, naked next to me. I could touch
him, I realized with wonder. I could run my hands from his flank to his shoulder, and he would welcome the touch because he was mine.
You are.” He whispered, and I met his eyes. “It’s elfish, the feminine noun
for ‘other equal half’. You are my other. My everything.”
--Wounded
(Bracken and Cory)

Green heard her voice, murmuring,
and Adrian’s, murmuring back. Something inside of him made an actual
glass-cracking noise—and before he could convince himself that that it was
his imagination, Blissa and three of the other nymphs danced through the
hallway and into the living room.
“We heard that.” Blissa said, sweetly.
“Heard what?” He asked, genuinely surprised.
“Heard your heart breaking.” Said Grace.