It takes a woman to no one. The frightened namby-pamby man who attempted the first sub rosa translation of Miss Trepan's classic was far too squeamish. He glossed over obscenities and quailed before realities.

But I, I am a woman. I can grovel before the original of this superb, unabashed sexual woman without a qualm. I ask only to bring the beauty of her limpid prose before the English-speaking world. Though if the reader will permit, I have stopped somewhat this side of abject enslavement. I ask only to bare this woman's essence to the world. We must know who she is. Why has she kept herself in secret? She must be a lovely creature to know so much of the whip.

If it were not for the threat of the police I am certain this divinity would reveal herself. Oh fie, men disgust me so! I wish all men were women were men were women. Anyone with a cat 'o' nine tails can reach me at my apartment.

NIGHT WATCHMAN'S PREFACE

A phantom of the night she was. All dressed in black. She done come in through the back window slick as you please with this big pile of papers. I says "Can I help you, Miss?" and she takes out this long knife and threatens molest me if I don't let her run the presses. She had me strip naked and watch her as she printed up this book of hers. I read it myself later. It's only my opinion but it didn't seem like much to me. Our next door neighbors are far more interesting, nights. Even the Missus and me know a few tricks.

But my boss says this phantom was literary which I guess excuses it all. I'm not sure she wasn't a man. She looked like a seal in all that black leather.

AUTHOR'S FORWARD

I raise my barbaric yawp sur les toits de Paris

Here it comes

Ya

Yawp!

Oh world I love your dark places

Let me crawl in with my fine body

I love my body

I hate your body