I carefully place my hands over the cover in a way that obscures the title.The prose is poetic and lurid and deals with some shocking subject matter. ... 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 feel my body responding predictably to the sexual scenes that. She heard a click on the outside, and smiled. "I guess your helper is already here! Now don't be concerned about making noise, boys. Totally soundproofed in here!" "Um," I said, a little fearful now, more than a little. "What did we swallow?" "Oh, don't worry, just a concentrated form of viagra. It will help move things along!" Wallace and I both gasped, we had needle-studded sheaths over our penises ready to spring if we got hardons and now we had taken a dose of viagra! "I'll be. More

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