I've been doing some research on the Bloomsbury Group recently for an upcoming exhibition, and I can't help running across some rather salacious commentary. I put my first one up early in the blog, but they just keep coming:
"I spent a night with Saxon not long ago...I was immensely impressed by his bachelor apparatus. I think he is the most masterly man I know. He has complete control over his tea, his coffee, his chess, his books, his cat..." - Virginia Woolf
"Elsie had said she did hope I wasn't tired - which meant, I felt, she hoped I wouldn't lose my virginity or something like that." - Virginia Woolf
Lydia fashioned a tender, affectionate language of arousal in her humorous, transliterated Russian, quite free of English prurience or smut. She wrote of ‘gobbling’ and ‘regobbling’ him, ‘detaining infinitely our warm wet kisses’, ‘tasting’ his ‘buttons’, ‘warming’ him with her ‘foxy lips’, or saluting his ‘slender’ and ‘subtle’ fingers.
