Journal of the Marquis de Sade

I'm not at all averse to awakening with a warm body beside my own, but I am not the sort that gorges himself on wine and excess to the point of memory loss. One of the reasons is that I enjoy remembering my exploits, particularly how I came to have someone in bed with me. Admiral, you would do well to remember that.

One of these days you ought to place me in a locale with which I am familiar. For once I'd like to not be the silly foreigner who comes from a time bereft of electricity and adult book stores.

That said, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. So what do the Romans here, do?

Lucius, we will be taking a late dinner; if we dine then we dine in style. But remember: When in Rome, do as the Romans do. We'll be vacationing like "Muggles", as you call them. So your wand stays stowed away and you must dress appropriately.

I find myself in better spirits of late. Renate does not tire me so easily on her walks any longer, though they are still rather trying. I do not go into the enclosure without my cane because I will find myself leaning upon it sooner or later. The pain returns like clockwork, but not so intensely. Often in other ways, as though the small ruptures in bone are not the problem so much as every organ, nerve, and sliver of muscle around them are working especially hard not to come into contact with them. It's a feeling of strain, most certainly.

Not the manner of agony I would use to inspire me, I'm afraid. I would thank Monsieur Sexby again but I fear at present all he shall do is stare at me blankly, like a cow at an oncoming coach. I cannot trouble myself with such things as memory loss, for I am feeling nostalgic.

I remember when I first came to the barge I found myself rather smitten with an innocent young Warden who had come aboard, by name of Giselle. It is so very, very rare that I feel the impulse to slip away from my familiar and comfortable perversions, the amusement that comes of shocking the more conservative, of discourse with persons given to a greater plane of understanding when it comes to my playful eccentricities. On occasion yes, even I find myself desirous of the preservation of more...innocent inclinations. Giselle was one such individual, perhaps because her innocence was so very genuine. This might come of the fact that she seemed to have existed in a world free of the evils that scarred the cratered, bloodsopped landscape that was my first life. I deigned to offer my arm as a gentleman would. I spoke sweet odes, wooed her as I would the gentle ladies and courtesans of my youth, tried ever-so-hard not to permit my body its characteristic stirrings when she would throw my arms about my neck and embrace me, trusting always my intentions and never knowing the struggles that come of traitorous bloodflow. It was some months before I no longer suffered such instinctual responses, and our relationship had changed considerably, understandably.

She and my Paviche, perhaps my two great loves aboard this ship, and of two very different breeds. My mind is too often set upon my work and little else. I rather think I would relish my next glorious pursuit, and so long as my dear Prefect is content to continue playing hard to get, I suppose I shall have to choose another, oui?

L'amour, my barge. We should all benefit from a little more of it in our lives.

I think it would be best for me to remain on the ship during this venture, but if my Inmate desires an outing, he will require a chaperone.

Iago, if such a thing is arranged, I have two conditions.

To the rest of you, please enjoy yourselves and have a thought for this exceedingly bored patient. Update your journals regularly with things that are interesting. Give me something to read and remark upon!

My sweet fellow denizens, I have been entirely too moody of late -- sufficient enough to make an old pervert quite nostalgic. Enough so that recording my exploits in these new standard journals has become especially distasteful to me. There's a certain element of the art that is lost -- the succulent red of the ink, every sharp tip or gentle curve to a letter, the blade of the quill -- its soothing vibration against rough parchment or submissive, dimpled skin. More difficult to write upon when your canvas twitches at even the slightest prick, but it's much more entertaining.

...Odd. I have not thought of that in what feels like years.

My treasure, it is perhaps prudent we have that meeting I spoke of as soon as possible. Please inform me when you feel amenable to taking guests in your quarters.