I would not want others in my small town to catch me reading it. I carefully place my hands over the cover in a way that obscures the title.The prose ...s poetic and lurid and deals with some shocking subject matter. I am both aroused and conflicted as I read. I find myself laughing as I peruse Anais Nin's 'letter to her sponsor" in which she hurls hateful invectives at him for forcing her as a writer, to turning erotic art into unimaginative mechanical sex acts.As I am perusing this prose, I can. She wore no makeup that I could see nor jewelry. Her hair was a lustrous brown, cut so it made a lively cup for her pretty face. I prefer women's hair to be long, of course. The only imperfection on her oval young face with its ample warm lips, green eyes and fine eyebrows, was a small pale lump just by her nose. I wouldn't've noticed it if her face hadn't been so close to mine. I stared at it like it was the only explainable thing in a world gone mad. Her feet were bare.I could only figure. More

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