Lust is an pleasant emotion which makes you want to fuck.

It's natural.

Lust has a lot in common with anger - just being around certain people can bring it on intensely. Even just thinking about certain things can cause it. Also, like anger, it can cause a lot of problems if it runs out of control. Although it's not acceptable to mention it, feeling a righteous anger can be very pleasing, and in the same way feeling lust, although dangerous and intense, can be very nice. It's the intensity and possible rampaging nature of lust that caused successful societies to try to restrict it. The old way of restricting it was just a blanket ban on it, but gradually society is learning ways to allow lust in a non-harmful way.

lust: longing, eagerness, inclination, or sensuous desire; normal sexual desire, or sexual desire stigmatized as degrading passion.

Dictionary of Sexology Project: Main Index

Se7en's Deadly Sins

(Somerset, to Mills' wife) I remember getting up one morning and going to work. Just another day, like any other day, only it was the first day after I found out about the pregnancy. And I felt this fear for the first time ever. I remember thinking how can I bring a child into a world like this. How can a person grow up with all this around them. I told her I didn't want it, and after a few weeks, I wore her down. Looking back, I mean, I know that I did the right thing. But there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I had made a different choice. If you don't keep the baby, don't ever tell him you were pregnant. But if you choose to have this baby, you spoil that kid every chance you get. That's about all the advice I can give you, Tracy.

(Mills, later in the office) Just because the fucker's got a library card doesn't make him Yoda.

Crime scenes, or better, the scene where crimes were thought up, where they pummeled the mind of the killer. And we go in, with rubber gloves and plastic bags, to make sense of someone else's sense.

(Cashier at leather shop) I thought he was a performance artist, that's what I thought. You know, the kind of guy who pisses into a cup on stage and then drinks it. Performance art.

Down stairs painted in murels, hot red lights flashing. The music drowns out whatever thoughts would prevent the current events to unfold. A prostitute tied to a bed, dead. Her patron shod in the weapon of her execution. He screams and shakes, contorts while in his mind the events play themselves over and over.

Two men in two rooms. One who is used to it, another who is new. So a man finds two people engaging in lust, which the man carves on the hotel door. He takes the scenario a notch further than was intended, taking it past the present titilation to the death which he believes is the only justice.

(Somerset) People don't want a champion. They want to eat cheeseburgers, play the lotto, and watch TV.
(Mills) Man, how did you get like this?
(Somerset) Well, it wasn't one thing, I can assure you of that. I just don't think I can continue to live in a place that embraces and nurtures apathy as if it were a virtue.
(Mills) You're no different. You're no better.
(Somerset) I never said I was different or better. Hell I sypathize. I sympathize completely. It's easier to lose yourself in drugs than it is to cope with the life. It's easier to steal something than it is to earn it. It's easier to beat a child that to raise. Love costs, takes effort and work.

Mills come home from the bar and slides next to his wife in bed. Two parallel bodies exhausted. Mills cannot lose his hope, for he still has love, incredible love for this woman.

We know that lust can sometimes end marriages, or lives, now that sex can kill you. Is there only lust of the flesh? Can we look at various other stimulants with lust? There are certain foods that give us that pleasure, or alcohol, when it's what we crave. Anything we put into our mouth can easily take the place of a lover's flesh. Lust is a constant that needs to be maintained at equal levels among those involved. For a prostitute, it's a business. For a girlfriend whose lover has invited a third party to bed, it can be spirit crushing. Through ignorance of what we truly want, we are often led to take what is before us, stuffing it into our bodies as though it will fill the void within us. And it might, for a time. It might for years. But, in my experience, not enough to grow old with, not enough to fill me.

Go back to:

I lie...

Here in the dark

Wanting you

All my attention fixed upon 

Satisfying my

Sweetest desires

I want...

I want to fill my mouth with you

Smell your heady scent

Lick you

Nibble at you

My body still

Not a quiver

'till I can stand it no longer

and rise, at last

and go in search of you

my sweet, 


Cadbury's Dairy Milk.....

Trina. Taking the piss out of herself since 2001

I read Pis definition of lust and had to chuckle. Us older folks do not thought-police ourselves into thinking that lust was something that was not too important. That sexual tension/animal magnetism that develops between two individuals still happens, even to an old fart like me. There are three women I've met that I have felt that old powerful lusting sensation spring forth. One is an actress, Milla Jovovich, whom I've met twice and chatted with. I'm not someone she'd be interested in for a relationship or just sexual activity (even though she eventually temporarily married a guy older than even me), but I'd have a hard time saying no to her. The second woman is one of my friends from my distant past who worked with me in the Navy. The third woman is my wife, whom I still lust after.

The big difference with us older folks is that we're usually attached at this point in our lives, and we may have feelings of lust, but we're usually wiser and don't act on those feelings. If we do, it usually ends in divorce or some damaged relationships. As George Carlin said, you can really Wanna, but following through is normally not worth it. The fantasy is usually better, and it can spice up your relationship. I have two autographed pics of Milla in my computer room and three extremely large posters of her in the music room, but the woman I spend my nights with can make Milla disappear from my thoughts at will. Lust with benefits out-trumps mere lustful fantasy anyday in my book.

He’s far too close to me.

He bent down so that he could prop his elbows on my desk, and leant into me, in full view of the office. I could hardly function. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I held my breath, I am not used to being that close to anyone apart from my boyfriend. My handsome, intelligent, young boyfriend. The lack of distance is suffocating.

So he wanted to see the paper, and I shuffled through a pile of reports, surprised to see that my hands weren’t shaking in betrayal of my agitated mind. I notice the platinum diamond ring on my index finger – not my ring finger – as I fumble through the pile, at the same time I see him notice it as well.

He moved away.

And then he comes up to me, says he wants me to come to a meeting, ‘would love’ me to come, but is looking at my cleavage and the slack look of lust droops his face. I feel wanton, like I am dressed inappropriately for the office, I hate his attention, and adjust my neckline in the bathroom afterwards, as soon as it is feasible for me to run there. When my breathing subsides, I realise that I am fine. My clothing is practically puritanical in the context of today; it’s his reaction to a younger woman, and the vulnerability and reaction that I cannot conceal, which is causing this.

We go to a meeting; I have been thinking about this all week as it is held late on a Friday afternoon, and I fantasise that he will hold me back afterwards. He will put a hand on my leg, and I will have him inside me. Cold, hard, meaningless sex. The meeting ends and I’m actually tired; I pack my things quickly, people are moving out of the room. He calls my name and draws me to the back of the room; most people have filtered out. I try to talk to him, but I have a headache: I tell him I must go.

I want him very badly. It’s the tired old story of a young woman working with an older, corporately senior man. He’s 20 years older than me. But nothing has happened. Yet.

My head is heavy, but I am so full of happiness that my fatigue doesn’t seem to reach my mind. Yet your shoulder is so warm, smooth, and capable that I can not help but rest on it. Your muscular arm laced around my shoulders, your leg buzzing pleasantly against mine...this is wrong. But how can something wrong feel so good?

“Wow, you really are tired,” You say with a good-natured laugh. We are in our own little world. Everyone around is laughing and shouting, but we are content just feeling the humming of our bodies against each other. Yearnings I should not be having fill my body, feelings that betray my loyalty. I try and remember the boyfriend that days ago I was so devoted to, but his face swims in front of my eyes as i look at you. Another scoots in next to us on the bench, and I am forced to sit in your inviting lap. You shift your arms around my waist and rest your chin on my smooth shoulder. The proximity of your face so close to mine makes me feel lightheaded…how I want to just turn towards you…

I down the bottle in one long gulp, knowing it will get me exactly what I want: an excuse. Besides, it will cloud my judgment and rid me of my inhibitions. Happy and tipsy, we stumble back to the party. The music fills my body and I begin to grind on anything I can find. For a brief moment we are face to face, but I break our eye contact quickly. My body attracts a boy, whoever he is, I don’t care. His hands find my hips, and we move in unison. I feel your eyes on us, and I eat up your envy with a spoon. Suddenly I realize you're leaving, and I rip his hands from my body to wander aimlessly after you.
I feel your hand on the small of my back slide up and slip protectively around my shoulders. I turn to face you and catch your eye. For the slightest second I almost give in to my impulse and launch myself at you, but my self control kicks in and I turn to look forward. She sees us, eyeing our flirtations warily. I know she is looking out for me, and I know I should listen to her and leave you alone. But i just can't...

We continue to walk along in the heavy darkness. We come into the light, and separate. I shiver, feeling the nights cool air for the first time. You hold your arms open and I rush to them eagerly, savoring the sensation of my cheek against your smooth, muscular bare chest. As a group, we walk to the center of the dark field. I make sure I’m sitting close to you, but don’t get near you just yet. I sit uncomfortably, hugging my knees and shivering.

“God, its cold.” I exclaim, maybe overplaying the chattering of my teeth.
“Get over here,” You say, a smile on your perfect face. I grin and snuggle up to you, enjoying the feeling of my body so close you yours. I look up to face you, and you appear expectant.

I’m sorry.” I whisper softly as I pull away. There is a frustration that is so apparent in my brain, torturing me. I stare up at the star-spangled night sky, so much clearer than I am used to. Then I realized, here you are. You are beautiful, and for some inexplicable reason you want me. So I turn my head ever so slightly, and then press my lips to yours. Your gentle, tentative at first, afraid I will change my mind. Your fears are realized when I jerk away, “What the fuck am I doing, I have a boyfriend. I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” You say, loosening your grasp around my waist. And although I had a taste of you, it wasn’t enough. It was timid. And with you, I want it to be passionate and out of control. I am not remotely satisfied with a mere taste. So I remain ensconced in your embrace. Finally I give in entirely, forgetting all rational thought and throwing caution to the wind. Again we kiss, and this time I can feel the passion begin to build. After you are confident that I will not pull away as I did before, you pin me down on the grass. For a split second I realize what I'm doing, seeing his face hovering before me. But as I move to pull away I feel your lips on my neck, completely melting me. My longing increased, I pin you down between my legs and kiss you, real and hard and deep. The feeling is so incredible I clench the grass in my fists to keep in control of my impulses. Your hands move freely up and down my body, and I don’t stop you.

“Is there macking going on over there?” Somebody says. We immediately jerk away and I move off you.
“No. ” I say almost urgently.
“Hmm that’s funny I thought I heard macking.” I turn away from you, but my mind remains in this strange alternate universe where it is okay for me to do this. Your arms snake around me, and your body closely cups mine. For a moment, I remain satisfied just feeling your body against me. But you’re being so sweet and patient with me, and I know that I am enjoying the spooning more than you are, so I lean around and give you a soft kiss. This plan, however, backfires because I am again filled with desire and we start up again. Kissing you is just…indescribable. I free myself of the building feelings and hormones that had been tormenting me the entire week.
“I should go,” I whisper, as I stood up, although my words and actions defy my feelings.
“Wait,” You breathe. Our faces are centimeters apart, my nose resting softly against yours. I look up into your eyes, and I can’t help but kiss you again.

Lust (?), n. [AS. lust, lust, pleasure, longing; akin to OS., D., G., & Sw. lust, Dan. & Icel. lyst, Goth lustus, and perh. tom Skr. lush to desire, or to E. loose. Cf. List to please, Listless.]



[Obs.] " Lust and jollity."



Inclination; desire.


For little lust had she to talk of aught. Spenser.

My lust to devotion is little. Bp. Hall.


Longing desire; eagerness to possess or enjoy; -- in a had sense; as, the lust of gain.

The lust of reigning.



Licentious craving; sexual appetite.



Hence: Virility; vigor; active power.




© Webster 1913.

Lust (?), v. i. [imp. & p. p. Lusted; p. pr. & vb. n. Lusting.] [AS. lystan. See Lust, n., and cf. List to choose.]


To list; to like.

[Obs.] Chaucer. " Do so if thou lust. "


⇒ In earlier usage lust was impersonal.

In the water vessel he it cast When that him luste. Chaucer.


To have an eager, passionate, and especially an inordinate or sinful desire, as for the gratification of the sexual appetite or of covetousness; -- often with after.

Whatsoever thy soul lusteth after. Deut. xii. 15.

Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her, hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. Matt. v. 28.

The spirit that dwelleth in us lusteth to envy. James iv. 5.


© Webster 1913.

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