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Joyce - Sex sur la plage

Sex sur la plage

Leopold Bloom

cead_mile_failte Sea-unworthy High-Water Diving Dun Laoghaire Old Dublin Howth Camus - sur la mer Joyce - Sex sur la plage Ocean Temperature Tides - Ireland, Britain. Forum wifi@reclaimthesea.com

Mr Bloom's adventure on Irishtown strand

And they all ran down the strand to see over the houses and the church, helterskelter, Edy with the pushcar with baby Boardman in it and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky by the hand so they wouldn't fall running.
-Come on , Gerty, Cissy called. It's the bazaar fireworks.
But Gerty was adamant. She had no intention of being at their beck and call. If they could run like rossies she could sit so she said she could see from where she was. The eyes that were fastened upon her set her pulses tingling. She looked at him a moment, meeting his glance , and a light broke in upon her. Whitehot passion was in that face, passion silent as the grave, and it made her his. At last they were left alone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she knew he could be trusted to the death,steadfast, a sterling man, a man of inflexible honour to his fingertips. His hands and face were working and a tremour went over her. She leaned back far to look up where the fireworks were and she caught her knee so as not to fall back looking up and there was no one to see only him and her when she revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and she seemed to hear the panting of his heart, his hoarse breathing, because she knew about the passion of men like that, hot-blooded....
And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look, there was another and she leaned back and the garters were blue to match on account of the transparent and they all saw it and shouted to look, look there it was and she leaned back ever so far to see the fireworks and something queer was flying about through the air, a soft thing to and fro, dark. And she saw a long roman candle going up over the trees, up, up, and, in the tense hush, they were all breathless with excitement as it went higher and higher and she had to lean back more and more to look up after it, high, high, almost out of sight, and her face was suffused with a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and he could see her other things too, nainsook knickers, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the green, four and eleven, on account of being white and she let him and she saw that he saw and it went so high it went out of sight a moment and she was trembling in every limb from being bent so far back and he had a full view high above her knee no one ever not even on a swing or wading and she wasn't ashamed and he wasn't either to look in that immodest way like that because he couldn't resist the sight of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodestly before gentlemen looking and he kept on looking, looking. She would fain have cried out to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to come, to feel his lips laid on her white brow the cry of a young girl's love, a little strangled cry, wrung from her, that cry that has rung through the ages. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind and O! and then the roman candle burst and it was like a sigh O! and everyone cried O! O!in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair treads and they shed and ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lively! O so soft, sweet, soft!
They all melted away dewily in the grey air: all was silent. Ah! She glanced at him as she bent forward quickly, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of shy reproach under which he coloured like a girl. He was leaning back against the rock behind. Leopold Bloom (for it is he) stands silent, with bowed head before those young guiless eyes. What a brute he had been! At it again? A fair unsullied soul had called to him and, wretch that he was , how had he answered? An utter cad he had been. And he of all men! But there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he had erred and sinned and wandered. Should a girl tell? No, a thousand times no. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the hiding twilight and there was none to know or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the evening to and fro and little bats don't tell...
Gerty had an idea, one of love's little ruses. She slipped a hand into her kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course without letting him and then slipped it back. Wonder if he's too far to. She rose. Was it goodbye? No. She had to go but they would meet again, there, and she would dream of that till then, tomorrow, of her dreams of yester eve. She drew herself up to her full height. Their souls met in a last lingering glance and the eyes that reached her heart, full of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her sweet flowerlike face. She half smiled at him wanly,a sweet forgiving smile,a smile that verged on tears, and then they parted.
Slowly without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy, to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed. She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her but with care and very slowly because Gerty MacDowell was...
Tight boots? No. She's lame! O!
Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl! That's why she's left on the shelf and the others did a sprint. Though something was wrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worse in a woman. But makes them polite. Glad I didn't know it when she was on show. Hot little devil all the same. Wouldn't mind. Curioity like a nun or a negress or a girl with glasses...
Virgins go mad in the end I suppose. Sister? How many women in Dublin have it today? Something in the air. That's the moon... Thankful for small mercies. Cheap too. Yours for the asking. Because they want it themselves. Their natural craving. Shoals of them every evening poured out of offices. Reserve better. Don't want it they throw it at you. Catch em alive. O. Pity they can't see themselves. A dream of wellfilled hose. Where was that?... Langerie does it. Felt for the curves inside her deshabillé. Excites them also when they're. I'm all clean, come and dirty me....
Say a woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out. Pinned together. O Mary lost the pin of her. Dressed up to the nines for somebody. Fashion part of their charm. Just changes when you're on the track of the secret. Except the east: Mary, Martha: now and then. No reasonable offer refused. She wasn't in a hurry either. Always off to a fellow when they are. They never forget an appointment. Out on spec probably. They believe in chance because like themselves. And the others inclined to give her an odd dig. Girl friends at school, arms around each other's necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing and whispering secrets about nothing in the convent garden...
Ought to attend to my appearance my age. Didn't let her see me in profile. Still, you never know. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Beauty and the beast. Besides I can't be so if Molly. Took off her hat to show her hair... O, he did. Into her. She did. Done.
Ah! Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. O Lord, that little limping devil. begins to feel cold and clammy. Aftereffect not pleasant. Still you have to get rid of it someway. They don't care. Complimented perhaps. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the kiddies. Well, aren't they. See her as she is spoil all. Must have the stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music...
Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Still I feel. The strength it gives a man. That's the secret of it...
There she is with them down there for the fireworks. My fireworks. Up like a rocket down like a stick...
Didn't look back when she was going down the strand. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Fine eyes she had, clear. It's the white of the eye brings that out not so much the pupil. Did she know what I? Course. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Women never meet one like that Wilkins in the high school drawing a picture of Venus with all his belongings on show. Call that innocence? Poor idiot!...
Did me good all the same. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. For this relief much thanks. In Hamlet, that is. Lord! It was all things combined. Excitement. When she leaned back felt an ache at the bottom of my tongue. Your head it simply swirls. He's right. Might have made a worse fool of myself however. Instead of talking about nothing. Then I will tell you all. Still it was a kind of language between us. It couldn't be? No, Gerty they called her. Might be false name however like my and the address Dolphin's barn a blind.
Her maiden name was Jemina Brown
And she lived with her mother in Irishtown.
Here's this nobleman passed before. Blown in from the bay. Just went as far as turn back. Always at home at dinnertime. Looks mangled out: had a good tuck in. Enjoying nature now. Grace after meals. After supper walk a mile. Sure he has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. Walk after him now make him awkward like those newsboys me today. Still you learn something. See ourselves as others see us. So long as women don't mock what matter? That's the way to find out. Ask yourself who is he now. The mystry man on the beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom. Payment at the rate of one guinea per column... Howth. Bailey light. Two, four, six, eight, nine. See. Has to change or they might think it a house. Wreckers. Grace Darling. People afraid of the dark...
Like to be that rock she sat on. O sweet little, you don't know how nice you looked. I begin to like them at that age. Green apples. Grab at all that offer. Suppose it's the only time we cross legs, seated. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Happy chairs under them. But it's the evening influence. They feel all that. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Nightstock in Mat Dillon's garden where I kissed her shoulder. Wish I had a full length oil-painting of her then.
June that was too I wooed. The year returns. History repeats itself. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. And now? Sad about her lame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity. They take advantage.
All quiet on Howth now. The distant hills seem. Where we. The rhodondendrons. I am a fool perhaps. He gets the plums and I the plumstones. Where I come in. All that old hill has seen. Names change: that's all. Lovers: yum yum.
Tired I feel now. Will I get up? O wait. Drained all the manhood out of me, little wretch. She kissed me. My youth. Never again. Only once it comes. Or hers. Take the train there tomorrow. No. Returning not the same. like kids your second visit to a house. The new I want...
Howth a while ago amethyst. Glass flashing. That's how the wise man what's his name with the burning glass. Then the heather goes on fire. It can't be the tourists' matches. What? Perhaps the sticks rub together in the wind and light. Or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun. Archimedes. I have it! My memory's not so bad...
Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes ofocean-going steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Faugh a ballagh...
Then you have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker. Moon looking down. Not my fault, old cockalorum...
Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howth settled for slumber tired of long days, of yumyum rhodondendrons ( he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slow breathing, slumberous but awake. And far off on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom...
Mr Bloom stoopedand turned over a piece of paper on the strand. He brought it near his eyes and peered. Letter? No. Can't read. Better go. Better. I'm tired to move. Page of an old copybook. All those holes and pebbles. Who could count them? Never know what you find. Bottle with story of treasure in it thrown from a wreck. Parcels post. Children always want to throw things in the sea. Trusr? Bread cast on the waters. What's this? Bit of a stick.
O! Exhausted that female has me. Not so young now. Will she come here tomorrow? Wait for her somewhere for ever. Murderers do.
Will I?
Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. Write a message for her. Might remain. What?
I.
Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. Useless. Washed away. Tide comes here a pool near her foot. Bend see my face there, dark mirror, breathe on it, stirs. All these rocks withlines and scars and letters. O, those transparent! Besides they don't know. What is the meaning of that other world. I call you naughty boy because I do not like.
AM. A.
No room.Let it go.
Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot. Hopeless thing sand. Nothing grows in it . All fades. No fear of big vessels coming up here. Except Guinness's barges. Round the Kish in eighty days. Done half by design.
He flung his wooden peg away. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck. Now if you were trying to do that for a week on end, you couldn't. Chance. We'll never meet again. But it was lovely. Goodbye, dear. Thanks. Made me feel young.
Short snooze now if I had. Must be near nine. Liverpool boat long gone. Not even the smoke. And she can do the other. Did too. And Belfast. I won't go. Race there, race back to Ennis. Let him. Just close my eyes amoment. Won't sleep though. Half dream. It never comes the same. Bat again. No harm in him. Just a few.
O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul to perfume your wife black hair heave under embon senorita young eyes Mulvey plump years dreams return tail end Agendath swooney lovely showed me her next year in drawers return next in her next her next. A bat flew. Here. There. Here. Far in the grey a bell chimed. Mr Bloom with open mouth, his foot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Just for a few.
Cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo
Because it was a little canarybird bird that came out of its little house to tell the time that Gerty MacDowell noticed the time she was there because she was as quick as anything about a thing like that, was Gerty McDowell, and she noticed at once that that foreign gentleman that was sitting on the rocks looking was
Cuckoo cuckoo cuckoo

Ulysses~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~James Joyce

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