Delta of Venus - Anais Nin [122]
‘I may,’ said Marcel.
The second dance began. The lights went out. The voice of the band leader said, ‘This is the quart d’heure de passion. Messieurs, mesdames, you now have ten minutes of it, and then you will have fifteen.’
There were stifled little screams in the audience, women protesting. Marcel and I were clutched like two tango dancers, and at each moment of the dance I thought I would unleash the orgasm. Then the lights went on, and the disorder and feeling in the place was even greater.
‘This will turn into an orgy,’ said Marcel.
People sat down with eyes dazed, as if by the lights. Eyes dazed with the turmoil of the blood, the nerves.
One could no longer tell the difference between the whores, the society women, the Bohemians, the town girls. The town girls were beautiful, with the sultry beauty of the south. Every woman was sunburnt and Tahitian, covered with shells and flowers. In the pressure of the dance some of the shells had broken and lay on the dance floor.
Marcel said, ‘I don’t think I can go through the next dance. I will rape you.’ His hand was slipping into my shorts and feeling me. His eyes were burning.
Bodies. Legs, so many legs, all brown and glossy, some hairy as foxes’. One man had such a hairy chest that he wore a net shirt to show it off. He looked like an ape. His arms were long and encircled his dance partner as if he would devour her.
The last dance. The lights went out. One woman let out a little bird cry. Another began to defend herself.
Marcel’s head fell on my shoulder and he began to bite my shoulder, hard. We pressed against each other and moved against each other. I closed my eyes. I was reeling with pleasure. I was carried by a wave of desire, which came from all the other dancers, from the night, from the music. I thought I would have the orgasm then. Marcel continued to bite me, and I was afraid we would fall on the floor. But then drunkenness saved us, the drunkenness kept us suspended over the act, enjoying all that lay behind the act.
When the lights went on everybody was drunk, tottering with nervous excitement. Marcel said, ‘They like this better than the actual thing. Most of them like this better. It makes it last so long. But I can’t stand any more of it. Let them sit there and enjoy the way they feel, they like to be tickled, they like to sit there with their erections and the women all open and moist, but I want to finish it off, I can’t wait. Let’s go to the beach.’
At the beach the coolness quieted us. We lay on the sand, still hearing the rhythm of the jazz from afar, like a heart thumping, like a penis thumping inside of a woman, and while the waves rolled at our feet, the waves inside of us rolled us over and over each other until we came together, rolling in the sand, to the same thumping of the jazz beats.
Marcel was remembering this, too. He said, ‘What a marvelous summer. I think everybody knew it would be the last drop of pleasure.’
* Adapted from The Diary of Anaïs Not, Volume III
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
Preface
The Hungarian Adventurer
Mathilde
The Boarding School
The Ring
Mallorca
Artists and Models
Lilith
Marianne
The Veiled Woman
Elena
The Basque and Bijou
Pierre
Manuel
Linda
Marcel
Footnotes
Preface
Page vii