Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From The Decameron (1353)

  But one day, his son, who by this time was eighteen years old, happened to ask Filippo, who had reached a ripe old age, where he was going. Filippo told him that he was going to Florence, whereupon the youth said: ‘Father, you are an old man now, and not as strong as you used to be. Why not take me with you on one of your excursions to Florence, introduce me to those charitable and devout people, and let me meet your friends? I am young, and stronger than you are, and if you do as I suggest, in future you’ll be able to send me to Florence whenever we need anything, and you can stay here.’ On reflecting that this son of his was now grown up and no longer likely to be attracted to worldly things because he was so inured to the service of God, the worthy man said to himself: ‘The fellow’s talking sense.’ And since he had to go to Florence anyway, he took him with him. When the young man saw the palaces, the houses, the churches and all the other things that meet the eye in such profusion throughout the city, he could not recall ever having seen such objects before and was filled with amazement. He questioned his father about many of them and asked him what they were called. Once his father had answered one of his questions, his curiosity was satisfied and he went on to ask about something else. And so they went along, with the son asking questions and the father replying, until they chanced upon a party of elegantly dressed and beautiful young ladies, who were coming away from a wedding; and no sooner did the young man see them, than he asked his father what they were. ‘My son,’ replied his father, ‘keep your eyes fixed on the ground and don’t look at them, for they are evil.’ ‘But what are they called, father?’ inquired his son. Not wishing to arouse any idle longings in the young man’s breast, his father avoided calling them by their real name, and instead of telling him that they were women, he said: ‘They are called goslings.’ 8 Now, the extraordinary thing about it was that the young man, who had never set eyes on one of these objects before, took no further interest in the palaces, the oxen, the horses, the asses, the money, or any of the other things he had encountered, and promptly replied: ‘Oh, father, do please get me one of those goslings.’ ‘Alas, my son, hold your tongue,’ said his father. ‘I tell you they are evil.’ ‘Do you mean to say evil looks like this?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You can say what you like, father, but I don’t see anything evil about them. As far as I am concerned, I don’t think I have ever in my whole life seen anything so pretty or attractive.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  I would certainly have done so, but I was afraid you might take it amiss.’ On hearing these words and perceiving the gleam in the lady’s eyes, Rinaldo, who was no fool, advanced towards her with open arms, saying: ‘My lady, I shall always have you to thank for the fact that I am alive, and when I consider the fate from which you delivered me, it would be highly discourteous of me if I did not attempt to further your inclinations to the best of my ability. Kiss and embrace me, therefore, to your heart’s content, and I shall be more than happy to return the compliment.’ There was no need for any further preliminaries. The lady, who was all aflame with amorous desire, promptly rushed into his arms. Clasping him to her bosom, she smothered him with a thousand eager kisses and received as many in return, then they both retired into her bedroom, where they lost no time in getting into bed, and before the night was over they satisfied their longings repeatedly and in full measure. They arose as soon as dawn began to break, for the lady was anxious not to give cause for scandal. Having provided him with some very old clothes and filled his purse with money, she then explained which road he must take on entering the fortress in order to find his servant, and finally she let him out by the postern through which he had entered, imploring him to keep their encounter a secret. As soon as it was broad day and the gates were opened, he entered the castle, giving the impression he was arriving from a distance, and rooted out his servant. Having changed into the clothes that were in his portmanteau, he was about to mount his servant’s horse, when as if by some divine miracle the three brigands were brought into the castle, after being arrested for another crime they had committed shortly after robbing him on the previous evening. They had made a voluntary confession, and consequently Rinaldo’s horse, clothing and money were restored to him, and all he lost was a pair of garters, which the robbers were unable to account for. Thus it was that Rinaldo, giving thanks to God and Saint Julian, mounted his horse and returned home safe and sound, whilst the three robbers went next day to dangle their heels in the north wind.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  This was something I thought I could do. Had she suggested I break it off with Neal, or give him an ultimatum, or try to negotiate ground rules, or any other Dear Abby advice, it would have been useless. I was so adrift in the storm of my passion that to ask me to quit would be like asking a sailor on a bucking sailboat to jump off into the turbulent sea. Anaïs was just asking me to cling to the ride and record it. As we descended the steep Chateau Marmont driveway, stepping sideways and holding onto each other to keep from falling, she offered one more bit of advice. “You can never be fulfilled through another no matter how much you love him.” She squeezed my forearm. “You must complete yourself.” She pulled away from me and, arms outstretched, twirled in circles down the remainder of the incline. “You must own your own wildness!” she called, the skirt of her dress swinging at her knees, her graceful movements those of a slim girl. I imagined her releasing the grip on her trapeze, swooping up and gliding on an air current towards Paris, and I was seized with the same panic I felt at the thought of losing Neal. I couldn’t live without her. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] In the following weeks, I devoured the thermofaxed pages from Anaïs’s diary. Unlike the overworked poetry of her novels, the prose of her diary was so alive it throbbed with a heartbeat. It was hard to believe that someone could write a diary that was so readable; mine certainly wasn’t. Her descriptions of her life in Paris when she was near my age filled me with longing: wearing beautiful clothes, arguing about literature in cafés with Henry Miller and his friend Larry Durrell, Henry throwing her onto the unmade bed of his Clichy apartment, visiting whorehouses in Montmartre with him, embracing his wife June as if falling into a mirror of beauty, taking drugs and staying up all night with June, dashing from husband to lovers in taxis, danger and arousal in a whirlwind rising to a tempest. If she had given me her diary pages to give me perspective, they had the opposite effect. Reading about her sexual frenzy only gave me more appetite for mine with Neal. The next time Anaïs phoned me, I gushed over her diary, which pleased her, but not enough to let me out of the visit with Renate she’d finally succeeded in arranging. Renate had capitulated because she wanted Ronnie to have a break from his caretaking. Anaïs requested that when I pick her up in Hollywood I return her diary pages, which reluctantly I did.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  SIXTH STORY King Charles the Old, victorious in battle, falls in love with a young girl; but later he repents of his foolish fancy, and bestows both her and her sister honourably in marriage . It would take far too long to recount in full the various discussions that now took place amongst the ladies as to whether Gilberto or Messer Ansaldo or the magician had displayed the greater liberality in the affair of Madonna Dianora. Suffice it to say that after the king had allowed them ample time to debate the question, he looked towards Fiammetta and ordered her to silence their arguments by telling her story, and without further ado she began as follows: Illustrious ladies, I have always been of the opinion that in a gathering such as ours, we should talk in such general terms that the meaning of what we say should never give rise to argument among us through being too narrowly defined. Such arguments as these are better conducted among scholars in seats of learning than among ourselves, who have quite enough to do in coping with our distaffs and our spindles. And therefore, since the story I was going to tell you is possibly a little ambiguous and I see you squabbling over those we have already heard, I shall abandon it and tell you another, concerning the chivalrous action, not of any insignificant man, but of a valiant king, whose reputation was in no way diminished in consequence. Now, all of you will frequently have heard mention of King Charles the Old, 1 or in other words Charles the First, by whose magnificent enterprise, as well as by the glorious victory he later achieved against King Manfred, the Ghibellines were expelled from Florence and the Guelphs returned to the city. Hence it came about that a certain knight, called Messer Neri degli Uberti, 2 left Florence with his entire household and a large fortune, bent upon taking refuge under the very nose of King Charles; and so as to seek a secluded spot, where he might live out his remaining years in peace, he went to Castellammare di Stabia, 3 where, a stone’s throw away from the other habitations in the area, amid the olives, hazels, and chestnuts that abound in those parts, he purchased an estate on which he built a fine and comfortable mansion. Beside the mansion he laid out a delectable garden, in the centre of which, there being a goodly supply of fresh water, he constructed a fine, clear fishpond in the Florentine style, which he stocked in his own good time with abundant supplies of fish. His sole occupation being that of making his garden daily more attractive, it happened that King Charles, in the heat of summer, went to Castellammare to relax for a while, and on hearing of the beauty of Messer Neri’s garden, he was anxious to inspect it.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  FIFTH STORY Zima presents a palfrey to Messer Francesco Vergellesi, who responds by granting him permission to converse with his wife. She is unable to speak, but Zima answers on her behalf, and in due course his reply comes true . The ladies shook with laughter over Panfilo’s story of Friar Puccio, and when he had finished, the queen, with womanly grace, called upon Elissa to continue. Whereupon, speaking rather haughtily, not from affectation but from habit long established, Elissa began to address them as follows: Many people imagine, because they know a great deal, that other people know nothing; and it frequently happens that when they think they are hoodwinking others, they later discover that they have themselves been outwitted by their intended victims. Consequently I consider it is quite insane for anyone to put another person’s powers of intelligence to the test when he has no need to do so. But since, possibly, there are those who would not share my opinion, I should like, without straying from the topic of our discussion, to tell you what happened once to a certain nobleman of Pistoia. The nobleman in question was called Messer Francesco, and belonged to the Vergellesi family of Pistoia. 1 He was a very wealthy and judicious man, and he was also shrewd, but at the same time he was exceedingly mean. On being appointed Governor of Milan, he laid in all the paraphernalia appropriate to his new rank before setting out for that city, but was unable however to find a palfrey handsome enough to suit his requirements, and this caused him no small concern. Now, in Pistoia at that time there was a very rich young man of humble birth called Ricciardo, who because of his well-groomed, elegant appearance was generally referred to by all the townspeople as Zima, or in other words, the Dandy. For a long time he had loved and wooed, without success, the exceedingly beautiful and virtuous wife of Messer Francesco, and it so happened that this man owned one of the finest palfreys in Tuscany, to which he was deeply attached because of its beauty. And since it was common knowledge that he was madly fond of Messer Francesco’s wife, someone told Messer Francesco that if he asked for the palfrey he was bound to get it on account of Zima’s devotion to his lady. Spurred on by his greed, Messer Francesco sent for Zima and asked him to sell him the palfrey, in the expectation that Zima would hand it over for nothing.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘Why don’t we meet in your house?’ ‘Sir,’ replied the lady, ‘as you know, I have two younger brothers, who bring their friends to the house at all hours of the day and night, and since my house is not very big, it would be quite impossible for us to meet there unless we were to remain completely silent, like deaf-mutes, without saying a word, and move about in the dark, as though we were blind. In this case, it would be feasible, for my brothers never invade my bedroom; but their own is immediately next to mine, and one can’t even whisper without being heard.’ ‘That’s no great problem,’ said the Provost. ‘Let’s do as you suggest for a night or two, until I can think of a place where we can meet more freely.’ ‘I leave that to you, sir,’ said the lady, ‘but on one thing I must insist: that the affair remains a secret, and you never breathe a word of it to anyone.’ ‘Of that you may rest assured, madam,’ replied the Provost. ‘But when are we to meet? Can you arrange it for tonight?’ ‘Why, of course,’ said the lady. And having explained to him how and when he was to come, she took her leave of him and returned home. Now, this lady had a maidservant, who was none too young and had the ugliest and most misshapen face you ever saw. She had a huge, flat nose, a wry mouth, thick lips, big teeth, which were unevenly set, and a pronounced squint; moreover she was always having trouble with her eyes, and her complexion was a sort of yellowy green, so that she looked as though she had spent the summer, not in Fiesole, but in Senigallia. 3 Apart from this, she was hipshot on the right side, and walked with a slight limp. Her name was Ciuta, but because she was so ugly to look at, everyone called her Ciutazza. 4 And although her body was so misshapen, she was always prepared for a spot of mischief. So the lady sent for her and said: ‘Ciutazza, if you will do something for me tonight, I shall give you a fine new smock.’ At the mention of a smock, Ciutazza pricked up her ears and said: ‘If you give me a smock, ma’am, I’ll go through fire for you.’ ‘That’s good,’ said the lady. ‘Now, what I want you to do is to sleep with a man tonight in my bed, and ply him with caresses. But you must take care not to utter a single word in case my brothers should hear you, for as you know, they sleep in the room next to mine.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  ‘I know lots of others,’ said the Master, ‘but let’s forget about those for the moment. Such as you see me, my father was a nobleman, though he lived in the country, and on my mother’s side I was born into a family from Vallecchio.13 Furthermore, as you will have seen, I have a finer collection of books, and a more splendid wardrobe, than any other doctor in Florence. God’s faith! I have a robe that cost me nearly a hundred pounds in farthings, all told, ten years ago at the very least. So I do implore you to have me enrolled in your company; and if you get me in, God’s faith! you can be as ill as you like, and I’ll never charge you a penny for my services.’ Bruno was more than ever convinced, having listened to his prattle, that the man was a complete nincompoop, and said to him: ‘Shed a little more light up here, Master, and just be patient till I’ve finished putting the tails on these mice, then I’ll give you my answer.’ When he had finished off the tails, Bruno pretended to be very worried by the doctor’s request, and said: ‘I know about the great things you would do for me, Master, but nevertheless the favour you are asking, though it may seem trivial to a man of your rare intellect, is anything but simple to my way of thinking, and even if I were in a position to grant it, I know of no one in the world for whom I would do it, apart from yourself. And I would do it for you, not only because I love you as a brother, but because your words are seasoned with so much wisdom that they would startle a pious old lady out of her boots, let alone persuade me to change my mind; indeed, the more time I spend in your company, the wiser you appear. Besides, even if I had no other reason for loving you, I am bound to love you on seeing that you have lost your heart to such a beauty as the one you described. I must however point out that I am not as influential as you suppose in these matters, and it is not within my power to grant your request. But if you will give me your solemn pledge, as a gentleman and a moron, to keep my words a secret, I shall explain how you can achieve your aim without my assistance. And since you have all those fine books and the other things you were telling me about, I feel certain that your efforts will be crowned with success.’

• From The Decameron (1353)

  It is wrong for you to want this thing, it is dishonest; and even if you were certain (which you are not) of achieving your object, you would only have to think where the duty of a true friend lies, as you are bound to do in any case, to dismiss the idea from your mind. What will you do, then, Titus? If you want to do what is proper, abandon this unseemly love.’ But then he remembered Sophronia’s beauty, and took the opposite viewpoint, rejecting all his previous arguments. And he said to himself: ‘The laws of Love are more powerful than any others; they even supplant divine laws, let alone those of friendship. How often in the past have fathers loved their daughters, brothers their sisters, or mothers their stepsons? These are far more reprehensible than the man who loves the wife of his friend, for he is only doing what a thousand others have done before him. Besides, I am young, and youth is entirely subject to the power of Love. So that wherever Love decides to lead me, I am bound to follow. Honesty is all very well for older people, but I can only act in accordance with the dictates of Love. The girl is so beautiful that no one could fail to love her; so that if I, who am young, fall in love with her, who can justly reproach me? It is not because she belongs to Gisippus that I love her, but purely for her own sake, and I should love her no matter to whom she belonged. Here Fortune is at fault for having conceded her to my friend Gisippus rather than to some other man. But if anyone has to love her (as she must be loved, and deservedly so, on account of her beauty), then Gisippus should be all the more pleased to discover that she is loved by me and not by another.’ But then, reproaching himself for being so foolish, he returned to the contrary viewpoint, and for the rest of the day and the ensuing night he veered perpetually back and forth between the two sets of arguments. And after spending several days and nights, gradually wearing himself to a thread over it, and going without food or sleep, he was driven to take to his bed in a state of exhaustion. Great was the distress of Gisippus when, after observing Titus lost in deep thought for days on end, he now discovered that his friend was ill. Never leaving his side, he attempted to comfort him using all the skill and loving care in his power, and from time to time he earnestly entreated him to disclose the reason for his sickness and melancholy. Titus offered him a series of spurious explanations, none of which satisfied Gisippus, so that in the end, unable to withstand the pressure that Gisippus was continuing to apply upon him, he burst into tears.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  And whilst one of them poked about in the places where she knew the fish to be hiding, the other wielded her nets to such good purpose that within a short space of time, to the huge delight of the King who was watching their every movement, they caught fish by the score. Some of these they threw to the servant, who tossed them almost before they were dead into the frying-pan; but then they began to pick out some of the finest specimens, as they had been instructed, and to throw them up on the table in front of the King, the Count, and their father. The sight of these fishes writhing about on the table was marvellously pleasing to the King, who in his turn picked some of them up and politely tossed them back to the girls. And in this fashion they sported for some little time until the servant had cooked the ones he had been given, which at Messer Neri’s bidding were placed before the King, more by way of an entremets than as a specially choice or delectable dish. On seeing that the fish had been cooked, the girls emerged from the pool, their fishing done, with their thin white dresses clinging to their flesh so as to conceal almost nothing of their dainty bodies. And having taken up each of the things they had brought with them, they walked shyly past the King and made their way back into the house. The King, the Count, and the others who were waiting upon him had been eyeing the two girls most attentively, and each of them had secretly much admired their beauty and shapeliness, as well as their charm and impeccable manners, but it was upon the King that they made the deepest impression. Indeed, he had studied every part of their bodies with such rapt attention as they emerged from the water, that if anyone had pinched him at that moment he would not have noticed. The more he thought about them, without knowing who they were nor how they came to be there, the more he felt in his heart a burning desire to pleasure them, and because of this he knew full well that unless he was very careful he would soon be falling in love; nor could he decide which of the two he preferred, so closely did they resemble one another in every particular. After he had pondered this question for a while, he turned to Messer Neri and asked him who the two maidens were, and Messer Neri replied: ‘My lord, they are my twin daughters, of whom the one is called the lovely Ginevra and the other the fair Isotta.’ The King heaped compliments upon them, exhorting him to bestow them in marriage, to which Messer Neri replied apologetically that he no longer had the wherewithal to do so.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  The object of my love dwells out there upon that ship, which not only holds that which I desire above all else, but is crammed to the gunwales with treasure. If you are brave, and fight manfully, it will not be too difficult for us to take possession of these riches. My only claim upon the spoils of our victory is the lady for whose love I have taken up arms. Everything else I freely concede to you here and now. Let us set forth, then, and assail the ship whilst Fortune smiles upon us. God favours our enterprise, for He has stilled all breezes, and the ship is lying out there at our mercy.’ The dashing youth need not have wasted so many words, for the Messinese who were with him, being avid for plunder, already had visions of themselves performing the deed to which Gerbino was inciting them with his oratory. So that when he reached the end of his speech, they filled the air with a thunderous roar of approval, trumpets were sounded, and they all took up their weapons. Then they steered for the ship, plying their oars with gusto. The ship was totally becalmed, and when the people aboard her saw the galleys approaching in the distance, they prepared to repel all boarders. On reaching the ship, Gerbino called upon her officers to come aboard the galleys, unless they wanted a battle on their hands. Having proclaimed who they were and discovered what it was that their attackers were demanding, the Saracens asserted that what they were doing was in breach of the royal pledge, the granting of which they confirmed by displaying King William’s glove. At the same time, they made it perfectly clear that they would neither surrender nor give anything away without a fight. Gerbino, who had caught sight of the lady as she stood on the ship’s poop, looking infinitely more beautiful than he had pictured her, grew more inflamed with passion than ever before, and when the glove was produced he retorted that since there were no falcons around at that particular moment, the glove was superfluous, adding that if they refused to hand over the lady, they had better look to their weapons. Hostilities commenced without further ado, each side raining arrows and stones upon the other, and in this manner they fought for a long time, doing one another a fair amount of damage. In the end, finding that he was making little headway, Gerbino lowered a small boat that they had picked up in Sardinia, set it on fire, and manoeuvred it into a position alongside the ship with the aid of both of his galleys. Perceiving this, and knowing they were faced with the alternative of being roasted alive or surrendering, the Saracens brought the King’s daughter up on deck from her cabin, where she had been giving vent to copious tears, and led her to the ship’s prow.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  If you haven’t the money with you, you can go and fetch it.’ ‘Oh come!’ said the priest. ‘Don’t make me go all the way back for it now, when you can see for yourself that I’m rearing to get on with the job. By the time I returned, there might be someone here to thwart our plans, and Lord knows when I shall be in such fine fettle again as I am at present.’ ‘That’s your own lookout,’ she said. ‘If you want to go, go; if not, take your fettle elsewhere.’ Seeing that she was not prepared to do his bidding without a quid pro quo , and had turned down his suggestion of a sine custodia , the priest said: ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Since you won’t trust me to send you the money, I’ll leave you this fine blue cloak of mine by way of surety.’ Belcolore looked up at him and said: ‘Will you now? And how much is the cloak worth?’ ‘How much is it worth?’ said the priest. ‘Why, I’ll have you know that it’s made of pure Douai, 6 not to say Trouai, and there are those in the parish who would claim that it’s Quadrouai. I bought it less than a fortnight ago from Lotto, the old-clothes merchant, for exactly seven pounds, and according to Buglietto d’Alberto, who as you know is an expert in such matters, it would have been cheap at half the price.’ ‘Is that so?’ said Belcolore. ‘So help me God, I would never have believed it. But anyway, let’s have a look at it.’ Master Priest, who was champing at the bit, took off his cloak and gave it to her. And when she had put it safely away, she said: ‘Let’s go into the barn, Father. Nobody ever comes near the place.’ So off they went to the barn, where he smothered her with luscious kisses and made her a kinswoman of the Lord God. And after spending some time in amorous sport with her, he made his way back to the church in his surplice, as though he’d been officiating at a wedding. By the time he arrived there, it began to dawn on him that all the candle-ends he could muster from a whole year’s offerings would scarcely amount to a half of five pounds in value, and he could have kicked himself for being so stupid as to leave her his cloak. So he began to consider how he might retrieve it without having to pay. Being a crafty sort of fellow, he soon thought of a very good way of getting it back, and it worked to perfection.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Excited that she would be seeing in person one of her artistic idols, Anaïs pulled her new Dior evening suit out of her closet, where she’d carefully hung it, safe from Rupert’s tearing. She asked Hugo to zip up the snug bustier that she had struggled with alone the night she’d worn it for Rupert. Hugo touched her small breasts raised in it, and she was aroused recalling Rupert’s frenzied kisses there. “You have to be seen in that dress tonight,” Hugo said. He called up the maître d’ at 21 Club and got them a table for after the ballet. Feeling a grateful tenderness for him as he refilled her champagne glass after their expensive evening, she toasted, “To my husband, who works so hard to give me our wonderful life. Who saved my whole family by marrying me against his father’s wishes. Dear Hugo, my savior.” He grasped her hand. “And to Anaïs, who makes my life worth living.” That night she tried to enjoy him mounting her in his absent, hurried way. A few days later, she phoned Rupert without fear, with faith in what their bodies had shared. Since Hugo was home for a stretch now, she offered to come to the print shop and take Rupert to dinner at a little Spanish cantina she knew. Once they’d settled in a corner booth, the dark brick walls and paintings of Flamenco dancers and bullfighters stirred the courage of Anaïs’s Spanish blood. She came right out and asked him, “When are you leaving for California?” “In three weeks. I have to take Cleo for a checkup and then I’m off.” “Cleo?” “Cleopatra.” “What’s wrong with her?” “She’s been very lethargic.” “I suppose you will miss her.” “Oh, no, I’m taking her with me.” “What about your girl in California?” “Anaïs, Cleo is my car.” “Oh.” She laughed. “I never know the makes of cars.” “No, Cleo’s just my name for her. She’s a Ford. Sometimes I can’t tell when you are teasing me.” “Do you think I’m teasing you if I say I’ll miss you?” “No, because I know I’ll miss you.” “Well, we can write to each other.” She suddenly felt the happiness of the past weeks drain out of her. She lowered her eyes to the shrimp shells in the bowl between their half-eaten plates of paella. She would be left as hollow as those discarded, brittle carapaces. Empty without the sweet pungency of desire. “Come with me,” Rupert said. She looked up into his steady blue gaze. “To California?” “Keep me company on the drive. We can make an adventure of it.” “Yes,” she said without thinking. She had no idea how she would manage it, what she would tell Hugo. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind, though; she was going to run away with this beautiful man.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  Late one afternoon, he and a trusted companion of his called Adriano, who knew of his love for the girl, hired a couple of pack-horses, and having laden them with a pair of saddlebags, filled probably with straw, they set forth from Florence; and after riding round in a wide circle they came to the valley of the Mugnone, some time after nightfall. They then wheeled their horses round to make it look as though they were returning from Romagna, rode up to the cottage of our worthy friend, and knocked at the door. And since the man was well acquainted with both Pinuccio and his companion, he immediately came down to let them in. ‘You’ll have to put us up for the night,’ said Pinuccio. ‘We had intended to reach Florence before dark, but as you can see, we’ve made such slow progress that this is as far as we’ve come, and it’s too late to enter the city at this hour.’ ‘My dear Pinuccio,’ replied the host, ‘as you know, I can’t exactly offer you a princely sort of lodging. But no matter: since night has fallen and you’ve nowhere else to go, I shall be glad to put you up as best I can.’ So the two young men dismounted, and having seen that their nags were comfortably stabled, they went into the house, where, since they had brought plenty to eat with them, they made a hearty supper along with their host. Now, their host had only one bedroom, which was very tiny, and into this he had crammed three small beds,2 leaving so little space that it was almost impossible to move between them. Two of the beds stood alongside one of the bedroom walls, whilst the third was against the wall on the opposite side of the room; and having seen that the least uncomfortable of the three was made ready for his guests, the host invited them to sleep in that for the night. Shortly afterwards, when they appeared to be asleep, though in reality they were wide awake, he settled his daughter in one of the other two beds, whilst he and his wife got into the third; and beside the bed in which she was sleeping, his wife had placed the cradle containing her infant son. Having made a mental note of all these arrangements, Pinuccio waited until he was sure that everyone was asleep, then quietly left his bed, stole across to the bed in which his lady-love was sleeping, and lay down beside her. Although she was somewhat alarmed, the girl received him joyously in her arms, and they then proceeded to take their fill of that sweet pleasure for which they yearned above all else.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  Now, with the shoe in one hand and a flashlight in the other, he searched the bedclothes, the walls, and the floor, finding and thwacking four more of the deadly scorpions. He focused the flashlight’s beam into a corner crack in the stucco. Tiny red eyes gleamed back. “Rats! You have scorpions and rats in your house.” She heard the disgust in his voice. “What do we do?” she said. “It’s too late to go to a hotel.” He dragged the bed out onto the veranda. He ran the flashlight beam over and under the mattress, checking for vermin, and when he was satisfied it was safe he flopped onto the bed and welcomed her into his arms. She lowered herself to him gracefully, feeling him hard against her thigh; he was always ready for her. “You are my hero,” she murmured, making her French accent more pronounced. To reward his bravery, she adored him with her tongue. When he started to turn her over to enter her, she held him in place and mounted him. With his hands on her hips, she rode him, and when she came she threw her head back and saw thousands of glowing globes in the night sky. They slept restlessly until 4 a.m. when the rooster next door started crowing and a man in the house below started coughing. Already Anaïs was disillusioned with the purchase of her casita, and she suggested that they stay the rest of his visit at the El Mirador hotel. There they spent two weeks of sensuality: he studying his textbooks, she writing in her diary, and together snorkeling in the tropical waters. They barely spoke except for the language of the body. Underwater she felt as if she had entered her inner self, the eternal feminine, the silky comfort of the womb. Her body met with Rupert’s, moving without effort in the soft current. No thoughts here, no conflicts, no time, no past, no guilt, no husband—only the dissolution of water, the fluidity of now. He left her cheerfully, having repaired the screens of her little house and rid it of vermin. But when he was gone, her body yearned for him and she could no longer enjoy her solitude or her casita. So when she received a letter from Hugo saying he was coming to Acapulco to visit and that she should make reservations for them at the expensive American hotel, it was not entirely unwelcome. He enclosed a generous money order, enough to pay for a quick round-trip to Los Angeles. With two weeks of freedom until Hugo’s arrival, she telegraphed Rupert that she would be visiting LA on business and booked herself a room at the Coral Sands motel.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Within weeks, her sense of resilience and security was restored, and she became restless again. In the past, she would have escaped at every opportunity to parties, flirtations, possible new dalliances. But none of that interested her; she had been looking for her ideal partner in passion and she had found him in Rupert. What was the point of looking anymore? Despite her resolve not to put her security with Hugo in danger again, she wrote Rupert seductive letters reminding him of their passionate days and nights on the road. His replies were discouraging, telling her not to come to Los Angeles. She had pulled too hard on him. It had made him resist and escape. Now she would have to use reverse psychology to make him chase her. She had learned, and relearned the hard way, that the only way to keep a man smitten was to stay elusive. Like a bird she would have to make spirals around Rupert—swoop, circle, and then fly away. When Dutton published Children of the Albatross, she made a plan. Right after her book parties in New York, she would do a promotional tour west, ending in Los Angeles. She would send Rupert an announcement that she would be in Hollywood for a signing but not even suggest they see each other. Then she would wait to see if he took the bait, and if he did, she would have to fly away so he could chase her. [image file=image_rsrc3R3.jpg] Several months later, Anaïs appeared at Pickwick Bookshop in Hollywood. Her small audience had squeezed together to hear her soft voice. She returned the smile of a rotund bearded man, and behind him glimpsed Rupert, who had just arrived. She forbade herself to register any response to his handsome, smiling face, but instead turned to the erotic passage she had saved for this moment. She prefaced it by saying to the group, “In the novel, the young man’s parents have forbidden him to see the heroine because she is older and more worldly than he. Secretly he visits her apartment anyway.” She read with her musical rhythm: “He leaned over swiftly and took her whole mouth in his, the whole man coming out in a direct thrust, firm, willful, hungry. With one kiss he appropriated her, asserted his possessiveness. When he had taken her mouth and kissed her until they were both breathless they lay side by side and she felt his body strong and warm against hers, his passion inflexible.” As she continued reading with her French singsong inflection, she could feel the discomfort in her audience; they were unused to an elegant woman celebrating a moment of passion in her writing. But no one left, and when they crowded around to have her sign the copies they’d bought, Rupert included, she treated him with the same charming deference she offered the others. “To whom would you like me to inscribe it?” “Where are you staying?” he whispered urgently.

• From The Decameron (1353)

  On seeing that the fish had been cooked, the girls emerged from the pool, their fishing done, with their thin white dresses clinging to their flesh so as to conceal almost nothing of their dainty bodies. And having taken up each of the things they had brought with them, they walked shyly past the King and made their way back into the house. The King, the Count, and the others who were waiting upon him had been eyeing the two girls most attentively, and each of them had secretly much admired their beauty and shapeliness, as well as their charm and impeccable manners, but it was upon the King that they made the deepest impression. Indeed, he had studied every part of their bodies with such rapt attention as they emerged from the water, that if anyone had pinched him at that moment he would not have noticed. The more he thought about them, without knowing who they were nor how they came to be there, the more he felt in his heart a burning desire to pleasure them, and because of this he knew full well that unless he was very careful he would soon be falling in love; nor could he decide which of the two he preferred, so closely did they resemble one another in every particular. After he had pondered this question for a while, he turned to Messer Neri and asked him who the two maidens were, and Messer Neri replied: ‘My lord, they are my twin daughters, of whom the one is called the lovely Ginevra and the other the fair Isotta.’ The King heaped compliments upon them, exhorting him to bestow them in marriage, to which Messer Neri replied apologetically that he no longer had the wherewithal to do so. By now the supper was nearly over, with only the fruit remaining to be served, and the two girls reappeared, clad in gowns of finest sendal and bearing two huge silver trays, piled high with all the different fruits that were in season, which they placed upon the table before the King. This done, they stepped back a little from the table, and began to sing a song beginning: The story of my plight, O Love, Could not be told in many words, in such’ sweet and pleasant tones, that it seemed to the King, as he sat there listening and gazing with rapture upon them, that all nine orders of the angels had come down there to sing. But when their song was finished, they knelt before the King and respectfully asked his permission to withdraw, and although he was loath to see them go, he granted it with a show of cheerfulness.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  He carefully folded his slacks and laid them on one of Lenore’s worktables. He unbuttoned his shirt so it fell open but he did not remove it. He stood over me, shorts still on, and lowered himself so he was sitting next to me on the rollaway bed. He attempted to raise my slip again, and this time I helped him by lifting my weightless arms, inhaling my own bouquet of sweat and deodorant. He deftly unfastened and removed my bra, watching me in the light of the streetlamp shining through the high loft windows. He touched my breasts with a kind of reverence, then kissed them. I was floating, enjoying, without the fear I’d always felt when boys I made out with wanted to go farther. The nuns had indoctrinated me so well that I was terrified of sex, yet that night I could not find my fear and didn’t want to. I still had on the light girdle with garters that held up the nylons I’d ruined by dancing holes in the feet. “Why do you wear a girdle?” Jean-Jacques asked. “You have no need.” I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know why; my mother was fat and wore a girdle, and I thought that’s what all women did. I allowed him to unfasten the nylons and skillfully roll them down. Then he pulled down the girdle, expertly, as if he’d done it many times. I felt so much better with it off, and I was still safe because I still had on my panties, and he did not try to touch them, as he covered my body with his. The totem gods hanging above us swayed, nodding in approval as he pushed his pelvis against mine. I had never experienced a man moving his body on mine like that before, and it seemed so natural, so right. He raised himself with one arm and ran his fingertips from my nipples down my abdomen, sending shivers of pleasure through me. Then he lowered his frame over mine again on the cot. I could feel the satin of his shorts protruding against the nylon of my crotch. I looked down and caught sight of his penis coming through the opening in his shorts. I had the impulse to touch it, because a girlfriend had told me that touching a penis felt like petting a horse’s nose, and I loved the soft nose of a horse. I slipped one hand between us as he rose up and let my fingers brush against it. I was surprised by its heat and pulled my hand away. The great totems were watching from above, saying yes, touch it, feel it, do it; it is right, it is nature. I closed my hand over it. He stopped moving then. “What do you want?”

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  She knew that he might see evidence of Hugo’s things. She heard herself say, “My husband and I have been using the apartment alternately until I move to France and the divorce is final.” It wasn’t really a lie. She wanted a divorce from Hugo; it had been on her mind repeatedly. “What about you?” she asked. “There must be a special person in your life. Do you live with anyone?” “I have a girlfriend.” The bite of veal on her fork turned to lint in her mouth. She pulled herself away, erect in her chair. “Oh, I’m surprised. Actually, you surprise me altogether. I had assumed you were homosexual.” “Why would you assume that?” “Maybe it was the long, dramatic leather coat.” He laughed. “It belonged to my stepfather’s father, Frank Lloyd Wright. I thought it might improve my acting prospects. It didn’t.” That he was related to the famous architect made him even more alluring, but she decided not to pursue it; she needed to know if his love for another, younger woman meant he’d inevitably reject her. “So you’re returning to Los Angeles to be with your girl.” “No, to study at UCLA. I’ll live at my mother’s place.” Stop it, Anaïs, she warned herself. Don’t clutch. Don’t scare him off. But she had to know. “Is it serious with your girl?” “I love her, but she’s religious. We’ve never made love because she’s waiting for marriage. I think she wants someone who can offer more security than I can.” She saw the pain and confusion on his face and felt relieved. “Does that mean you haven’t had sexual experiences with women?” He laughed. “I was married. I just got divorced.” “You do surprise me. How old are you?” “Twenty-eight.” She quickly calculated. He was sixteen years younger than she. As she waited for him to ask her age, she deliberated what to say. But he didn’t ask. He sprang up from his chair to change the record. He stopped at her chair on his way back to his seat. “Listen to Wagner’s harmonic suspension in the Liebestod. It’s been rising since the prelude.” He wrapped his arms around her just under her small breasts and spoke into her ear. “Hear how it creates desire and expectation? It teases you by taking you right to the brink, expecting the musical climax, and then withholds it, building your desire, your need for resolution even higher so that when the climax of Isolde’s death finally comes, it is shattering, explosive. There is nothing like it.” Anaïs rose from her seat into Rupert’s arms, her passion rising with the repeated harmonic chord, with increased intensity, again and again, mouth on mouth, his hands moving hungrily on her back, pulling her into him.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  The theme of our first night was first arousal. What were the earliest erogenous zones we were aware of? Mine were related to tickling. At what age did we discover masturbation? One woman never had! How did we pleasure ourselves? A teddy bear, the edge of the bed. To everyone’s surprise, our memories of first arousal had little to do with men—or women, for that matter. Horses, dogs, cats, and cartoon characters were more primary. One woman made us laugh by saying she first masturbated to the vision of turds falling into a toilet, and another described how she got off to the imagined advances of an ugly boy with pimples whom she hated. Another remembered her fantasy of a girl with a broken arm, which later morphed into men missing an arm, a leg, an eye. The dirties, the nasties, the ugly, for some reason, were prevalent in their earliest fantasies. Only mine were stereotypically romantic, a knight on a white horse in the forest. Even in my conveyor belt fantasies, I got rescued by a heroic boy. Over the following weeks, we explored what pleased us in the lantern light, what we endured, as well as our fantasies during intercourse. One woman imagined while having sex that she would be caught and punished for it. Another confessed she found the physical act of intercourse so funny that she giggled during it, which made her boyfriend furious. To my surprise and chagrin, I was the only one who didn’t have fantasies during sex about anything or anyone other than the man I was with. The other women’s reports were filled with a mad and colorful array of characters and creatures, and I was awed by the amazing variety within just our small group. Unlike our larger consciousness-raising group, in which there had been several lesbians, all the women here preferred guys. Nevertheless, I found myself listening carefully to hear if Clara had ever fantasized about women, as I had been having fantasies about her. She dismissed the question offhandedly, denying any interest. The narrow door through which I might have known Sapphic love closed that evening, sealing off a realm of pleasures. When Anaïs wanted something, she was anything but passive, and I had never experienced her lobbying me so intently as she did for those tent tapes. Upon her return from a European trip, she immediately phoned me to bring over the tapes. Our group had spoken with such unexpected openness that I regretted having convinced them to share the tapes with her. If we’d taken a vote again, I would have sided with Clara. She was right; we didn’t know what Anaïs would do with the tapes. Anaïs had recently asked me if I, or my students, had any erotic stories to sell; she said she was in touch again with “the Collector” for whom she and Henry Miller and other struggling Village artists had written pornography.

• From Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin (2017)

  He carefully folded his slacks and laid them on one of Lenore’s worktables. He unbuttoned his shirt so it fell open but he did not remove it. He stood over me, shorts still on, and lowered himself so he was sitting next to me on the rollaway bed. He attempted to raise my slip again, and this time I helped him by lifting my weightless arms, inhaling my own bouquet of sweat and deodorant. He deftly unfastened and removed my bra, watching me in the light of the streetlamp shining through the high loft windows. He touched my breasts with a kind of reverence, then kissed them. I was floating, enjoying, without the fear I’d always felt when boys I made out with wanted to go farther. The nuns had indoctrinated me so well that I was terrified of sex, yet that night I could not find my fear and didn’t want to. I still had on the light girdle with garters that held up the nylons I’d ruined by dancing holes in the feet. “Why do you wear a girdle?” Jean-Jacques asked. “You have no need.” I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know why; my mother was fat and wore a girdle, and I thought that’s what all women did. I allowed him to unfasten the nylons and skillfully roll them down. Then he pulled down the girdle, expertly, as if he’d done it many times. I felt so much better with it off, and I was still safe because I still had on my panties, and he did not try to touch them, as he covered my body with his. The totem gods hanging above us swayed, nodding in approval as he pushed his pelvis against mine. I had never experienced a man moving his body on mine like that before, and it seemed so natural, so right. He raised himself with one arm and ran his fingertips from my nipples down my abdomen, sending shivers of pleasure through me. Then he lowered his frame over mine again on the cot. I could feel the satin of his shorts protruding against the nylon of my crotch. I looked down and caught sight of his penis coming through the opening in his shorts. I had the impulse to touch it, because a girlfriend had told me that touching a penis felt like petting a horse’s nose, and I loved the soft nose of a horse. I slipped one hand between us as he rose up and let my fingers brush against it. I was surprised by its heat and pulled my hand away. The great totems were watching from above, saying yes, touch it, feel it, do it; it is right, it is nature. I closed my hand over it. He stopped moving then. “What do you want?”