Henry and June: From "A Journal of Love" -The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin (1931-1932) by Anaïs Nin Page A

emotions of a woman overstep normal boundaries, occasionally she is possessed by feelings she cannot express. I want to possess June. I identify myself with the men who can penetrate her. But I am powerless. I can give her the pleasure of my love, but not the supreme coition. What a torment!
     
    And Henry's letters: "...terribly, terribly alive, pained, and feeling absolutely that I need you ... But I must see you: I see you bright and wonderful and at the same time I have been writing to June and all torn apart, but you will understand: you must understand. Anaïs, stand by me. You're all around me like a bright flame. Anaïs, by Christ, if you knew what I am feeling now.
    "I want to get more familiar with you. I love you. I loved you when you came and sat on the bed—all that second afternoon was like warm mist—and I hear again the way you say my name—with that queer accent of yours. You arouse in me such a mixture of feelings, I don't know how to approach you. Only come to me—get closer and closer to me. It will be beautiful, I promise you. I like so much your frankness—a humility almost. I could never hurt that. I had a thought tonight that it was to a woman like you I should have been married. Or is it that love, in the beginning, always inspires such thoughts? I don't have a fear that you will want to hurt me. I see that you have a strength too—of a different order, more elusive. No you won't break. I talked a lot of nonsense—about your frailty. I have been a little embarrassed always. But less so the last time. It will all disappear. You have such a delicious sense of humor—I adore that in you. I want always to see you laughing. It belongs to you. I have been thinking of places we ought to go to together—little obscure places, here and there, in Paris. Just to say—here I went with Anaïs—here we ate or danced or got drunk together. Ah, to see you really drunk sometime, that would be a treat! I am almost afraid to suggest it—but Anaïs, when I think of how you press against me, how eagerly you open your legs and how wet you are, God, it drives me mad to think what you would be like when everything falls away.
    "Yesterday I thought of you, of your pressing your legs against me standing up, of the room tottering, of falling on you in darkness and knowing nothing. And I shivered and groaned with delight. I am thinking that if the weekend must pass without seeing you it will be unbearable.
    "If needs be I will come to Versailles Sunday—anything—but I must see you. Don't be afraid to treat me coolly. It will be enough to stand near you, to look at you admiringly. I love you, that's all."
     
    Hugo and I are in the car, driving to an elegant evening. I sing until it seems my singing is driving the car. I swell my chest and imitate the
roucoulement
of the pigeons. My French
rrrrrrrrrrr
roll. Hugo laughs. Later, with a marquis and a marquise, we come out of the theatre, and whores press in around us, very close. The marquise tightens her mouth. I think, they are Henry's whores, and I feel warmly towards them, friendly.
    One evening I suggest to Hugo that we go to an "exhibition" together, just to see. "Do you want to?" I say, although in my mind I am ready to live, not to see. He is curious, elated. "Yes, yes." We call up Henry to ask for information. He suggests 32 rue Blondel.
    On the way over, Hugo hesitates, but I am laughing at his side, and I urge him on. The taxi drops us in a narrow little street. We had forgotten the number. But I see "32" in red over one of the doorways. I feel that we have stood on a diving board and have plunged. And now we are in a play. We are different.
    I push a swinging door. I was to go ahead to barter over the price. But when I see it is not a house but a café full of people and naked women, I come back to call Hugo, and we walk in.
    Noise. Blinding lights. Many women surrounding us, calling us, trying to attract our attention. The
patronne
leads us to a table.