Diario de una ninfómana by Valérie Tasso

By Valérie Tasso

La historia actual de un descenso a los infiernos del sexo.
Diario de una ninfómana es el conmovedor relato de una mujer francesa, de buena familia, licenciada en dirección de empresas, que narra su evolución very important a través de las relaciones sexuales que va manteniendo: con los sepultureros de un cementerio, con un árabe muy aficionado a l. a. Coca-Cola, con un policía sin escrúpulos, con desconocidos en lugares imprevistos... Multitud de vivencias que asume con l. a. máxima libertad que tiene cualquier character: los angeles que uno se concede a sí mismo, sin obligación alguna. Esta bizarre manera de relacionarse los angeles lleva a vivir una verdadera odisea al lado de un hombre maquiavélico quien los angeles maltratará psicológicamente. Para sobrevivir al dolor y debido a sus ilimitadas ansias de curiosidad, abarcará ejerciendo l. a. prostitución en una agencia de contactos de lujo. Allí se enfrentará a l. a. debilidad de los hombres, a su vulnerabilidad: hombres de reconocido prestigio, hombres de negocios, políticos... Hombres que no le harán perder sus ganas de comunicarse con el lenguaje que mejor conoce: el del cuerpo y el de los angeles palabra escrita. Un libro sincero, desgarrado, escrito a contracorriente de l. a. actitud políticamente correcta respecto al sexo. Un libro que revela, en definitiva, que hasta en el propio infierno se puede encontrar el amor. Un libro que no deja, indiferente a nadie.

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It was bad enough that he had endure the slaver’s abuse, let alone have his comrades make fun of him because of it. Someday, Septimius. I do not know how nor when, but someday I am going to kill you. That I promise you. * * * * * Sara was relieved she did not have to tend the sacred fire that night. She couldn’t wait to be alone with her memories. Annachie. She had thought his image was still clear in her mind. But after seeing him today, she knew her remembered version of him paled to little more than a shadow.

Bato could not keep the leer out of his voice. Through gritted teeth Annachie said, “I have told you I am no puttano. I will not service a woman so you can become wealthier, Bato. ” Rich Roman women seemed to make a game of collecting gladiators, to see how many different ones they could lay. Bato spoke the truth; Annachie had received many offers. He had been tempted to accept, if only to rid himself of the feel of Septimius. But in the end he refused each one. He was Septimius’ slave and therefore had to endure his abuse, but he did not have to become a plaything for a bunch of bored matrons.

They turned a corner and Sara saw the Flavian Amphitheater in the distance. More “games”, she thought. How could anyone call men fighting, maiming and killing each other a game? Sara hated the games. She tried to look down at her lap or close her eyes to avoid seeing the wounds and the death throes of the combatants. But she couldn’t close her ears to the howls of dying animals, the cries of injured men, or the cheers of the bloodthirsty crowd. And she couldn’t keep from smelling the blood and excrement that spilled into the sand.

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