As if all that isn’t enough, in addition to my occult readings, he’s picked now, of all times, to have me commence a study of erotica beyond what I’ve already read in Yellow Silk. He wants me to be familiar with the classics. The short stories of Anais Nin; The Story of O; Justine. He wants this done now, despite my lack of a personal time machine to help me stay on top of my studies.
The latter text was underwhelming, and would have been underwhelming even if I’d done more than just skim it to get it read in time to write my weekly essay.
“Sade has a nicely vicious sense of ironic humor,” I complain, “but otherwise, yuck. It’s like reading Ayn Rand, only with more s*x, and the s*x scenes aren’t even written well. And comparing Sade to Ayn Rand is no compliment, whether you’re talking a
