We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect. Anaïs Nïn I already knew that my body could feel things. I’d found myself aroused by words, furiously and guardedly reading late at night beneath the covers. I’d seen things that made parts of me twitch and pulse in response. But I didn’t really understand myself as an erotic being until I rented a film at a tiny video store in a sleepy college town. It wasn’t a new film. I found it buried in the “Drama” section next to all the other literary-themed films I loved so much…Howard’s End, Dangerous Liaisons, The Wings of the Dove, Jude… It was Henry…