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The Memoirs of the Marquis de Sade

5th June 2011

The Marquis sat in his cell and gazed around at his surroundings. Granted, because he was rich he was allowed certain concessions that would not have been availed to other inmates of the Asylum of Charenton. He had some plush, ornate chairs, a mahogany writing desk, a large bed with sumptuous sheets , a bath with gold features and a small window, which though it afforded no view given it was above head height at least allowed in some natural light so that he could write.

He dipped his quill in the pot of indigo ink and continued with his writing. He had been imprisoned here for three years now, for crimes against decency... His sexual proclivities were not exactly mainstream he knew but it angered him that he should be so shackled and denied the very things that were the essence of his being. He lived for sex, for pain and most of his conquests had been consensual. Most, he pondered, and therein lay the rub. There were two women in particular who had objected to his ‘wantonness’, his ‘wayward manners’ and wandering hands. One of them had been standing nearby when he witnessed the latest execution of some aristo or other.

Sex and death, they were connected he knew. In that moment of witnessing a death your very essence so wanted to assert itself, scream at the top of its longs, I’m alive and there are very few more ways of best asserting life than to engage in lusty, passionate, animalistic sex. He had simply reached out and lifted the woman’s skirt before attempting to pleasure her. Unfortunately she was not one of his regular conquests, nor one of the girls from the village who put up with his sexual mores for the opportunity to live in the lap of luxury, at least for a time. Nor was she a women with any liberated or liberal views of sex. In fact she had turned out to be an old crone but how was he to know when he had simply seen the rear view – and that had given him the impression of a hot and horny young beauty. After all, everyone knew that watching the guillotine from this quarter of the courtyard had unwritten, hidden rules with a band of loyal devotees to the way of the Marquis?

Well, not Madam de Bouvary who promptly yelled for his arrest, and as they say the rest is history. A show trial presided over by the reactionaries, by his enemies, by men of little vision. Five years in an a asylum had been the sentence... How was he to survive...

To be continued.

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