Now for those who aren't in the know, Tarot is a series by a superlative (Worst. Sci-fi writer. Evr) sci-fi author who's a total and utter misogynistic.
But he sure does write some deeply quotable sci-fi!
Today a passage from page 155...
The priestess knelt before him, as though in supplication, her breasts sliding excruciatingly down the length of his torso. "I adore thee, I A O!" she repeated.
"Hey, that's not I A O!" Brother Paul protested. but then the he realized that perhaps it was; she worshipped a serpent-legged God, so she sought the serpent in man.
Under her massage, that serpent rose, swelled like the forepart of a cobra. The skin of hte head peeled back, releasing the faint scent generated in the special pocket--the scent that the knife denied to most Christians and all Moslems and Jews, in the guise of "health."
But Brother Paul had never been subjected to that unkindest cut. His member was whole, and it functioned as God had designed it to. The scent of arousal wafted out. She inhaled that aroma. A beatific smile spread across her face. "I A O!" she breathed exstatically, her breath caressing the organ.
"Love is the law," Therion intoned. "Love under will."
"Enough of this!" Brother Paul cried, drawing her hands and face away from his anatomy. He lifted her up, but she spun away and sprawled half across the couch. (Couch? Where was the cup? Oh--they were the same.) He pursued her, caught her with both his hands about her waist as she pushed herself up on the support, and brought his groin to her swelling posterior. Her hands, dislodged as her bottom was raised up, slid off the rim; the upper section of her body fell down inside the cup. Now she was bent forward at a right angle, breasts flattening agains the inner surface of the cup, her elbows braced at its depth, her face invisible within its shadow. but he didn't need her breasts or arms or face. He guided his member by hand, found the place, and thrust.
So let that be your thought for the week: A cock is like a spitting cobra, posteriors routinely swell during sex and there's nothing wrong with being this obsessed about the smell of your own genitals.
Next Week: Piers Antony does to race relations what he does in swimming pools - pisses all over the place without a second thought.