"I could hear my own breathing.  This was a hard subject.  I had realized by then that I didn't feel what others called "desire." Something was missing in me.  I felt love - the strain and heat of it, the animal comfort mixed up with human fear.  I felt it for all the Glovers, for Sammi at the bakery, for Dylan when he sang "Baby Blue."  But nothing built up in my groin.  Nothing quickened, or struggled for release.  I'd made a kind of love with Jonathan because he'd wanted to, and because I'd loved him.  I'd had orgasms that passed through me like the spirits of people more devoted to the body than I was.  These spirits were pleasant enough in passing but truly gone when they were gone.  After Jonathan left town, I was alone inside myself.  This lack was probably what had made it possible for me to live my bakery life in Cleveland; to need no sensations beyond the first feathers of November snow and the living hiss of a needle touching vinyl."  - Bobby (Michael Cunningham's A Home at the End of the World)