No, not the romanticized idea. The man. Giacomo Casanova.
I’m utterly cheating on this post. I admit it. At least this cheat is words, instead of the rambling audio journal I’ve been picking up in random moments. Do ya’ll need to hear my musings upon the deliciousness of guacamole? I think not. Obviously guacamole is delicious.
I walked into a little bookstore in the Rocks and picked up a slim black paperback with a rose etched on the cover: Of Mistresses, Tigresses, and Other Conquests. The inside cover informs me that this is a selection of excerpts from Casanova’s unfinished 3,600 page memoir, Histoire de ma vie.
And I took it home and started reading, and ridiculously, laughed out loud sitting alone on my couch. Because Casanova? A pre-computer-age sex blogger. Definitely.
Here are a few choice excerpts that pushed some of my blogging buttons:
If, dear reader, you examine this preface well, you will easily guess its purpose. I have written it because I want you to know me before you read me. Only in coffee-houses and inns do we converse with strangers.
I have written my history, and surely no one could take exception to it. Still, am I wise to present it to a public I know only in the worst light? No. I know it is foolish. But since I need to keep myself busy and to laugh, why should I refrain from committing such a folly?
…
In recalling the pleasures I enjoyed, I relive them, while I laugh at the pains I endured and no longer feel.
…
What depraved tastes! And how shameful to acknowledge them without blushing! This reproach tickles me to laughter. Thanks to my coarse tastes, I am so shameless as to believe myself happier than the rest, first of all because I think my tastes make me more sensitive to pleasure.
And for a little something extra, some 18th century T&D action:
With a trembling and timid hand, and watching her with eyes that begged for mercy, I untied the six wide ribbons that closed her dress in front, delighted that she did not stop me, and found myself the happy master of the most beautiful bosom. Time was running out. She was obliged to allow me to devour it after contemplating its charms; I raised my eyes to her face and there read an amorous sweetness that said to me, be happy with this, and learn from me to suffer abstinence. Driven by love and all-powerful nature, and in despair because she would not allow my hands to roam elsewhere, I did everything I could to guide one of hers to the place that might persuade her that I deserved her mercy; but with a strength greater than mine, she would not move her hands from my chest, where there was nothing of interest to be found. Nonetheless, this was where her mouth landed when her lips left mine.
Out of necessity or the fatigue of spending so many hours without being able to do anything more than continuously swallow our mingled saliva, I fell asleep in her arms, holding her close in mine.
4 Comments
Do you know that there are some people who actually dislike guacamole? And avocados in general? Heathens! Some of whom I actually count among my friends, although it does make me question my judgment inordinately.
(Also, the rest of your post was so right on the money that I literally chortled in my joy)
Hot. You should try “My Secret Life” if you happen to come across it, though it is a bit more of a laundry list.
I’ve got to pick up some of Casanova’s writings. He was pretty pimpin’ for back in the day.
I just finished a lovely book called ‘What Casanova Told Me’ that gives an interesting account of the later part of his life. It rounds out his life in a fascinating way.
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