“We go to a hotel. He wants me to talk to the concierge. I ask her for room number three. She says it is thirty francs. I say, “You will give it to us for twenty-five.” And I take the key off the board. I start up the stairs. Henry stops midway to kiss me. We are in the room. He says with that warm laughter of his, “Anaïs, you are a devil.” I don’t say anything. He is so eager I do not have time to undress.
And here I stumble, because of inexperience, dazed by the intensity and savagery of those hours. I only remember Henry’s voraciousness, his energy, his discovery of my buttocks, which he finds beautiful—and oh, the flowing of the honey, the paroxysms of joy, hours and hours of coition. Equality! The depths I craved, the darkness, the finality, the absolution. The core of my being is touched by a body which overpowers mine, inundates mine, which twists its flamed tongue inside of me with such power. He cries, “Tell me, tell me what you feel.” And I cannot. There is blood in my eyes, in my head. Words are drowned. I want to scream savagely, wordlessly—inarticulate cries, without sense, from the most primitive basis of my self, gushing from my womb like the honey.
Tearful joy, which leaves me wordless, conquered, silenced.
God, I have known such a day, such hours of female submission, such a gift of myself there can be nothing left to give.”
– Henry and June, by Anaïs Nin