Nymphomaniac: Vol. II Page #2

Fill all my holes.

I can't, Joe.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Can we talk about it?

Of course.

I love you, I love your

wildness and your desire.

At the moment I don't seem to satisfy

you in the way that I'd like to.

Don't get upset, Joe. It doesn't mean

we won't continue with our sex life,

which is very important to me.

Very important to me.

Mmm, when you buy a tiger,

right?

You also have to feed it.

Um, satisfy it,

right?

Long story short:

I have a tiger on my hands.

- You mean I'm too much for you.

- No.

You're just the way you should be.

I was just thinking

if you would consider

that I get a little help with

the feeding, that's all.

You're saying I should have

sex with others as well.

That's a rather cruel way

of putting it, Joe, but...

- But exact.

- ...Exact.

For a long time I'd

been playing around

with the idea that the concept

of the f***-me-now clothes

could be improved...

You look nice.

And became the piano teacher.

You okay?

No.

What's the matter?

Well, I'm such an idiot with cars.

I don't really know what to do.

Do you mind helping me?

Well, of course it won't work.

Sparkplug caps have been removed.

Yes, I did that.

Was that wrong?

For the first time I had

the pleasure of having

an 8-cylinder car.

The possible combinations

of eight spark-plug caps

on eight spark plugs are 40,320,

if I remembered my math correctly.

And only one of these

will make the car run,

which gave me all

the time I needed.

Beethoven, huh?

He was certainly very

good, but, you know,

- ...he couldn't write a fugue.

- You think so?

Well...

Yeah, I think so.

It would be more precise

to say that Beethoven

renewed the fugue...

But he was such a visionary

that the old Bach purists,

they accused him of

not mastering it.

Good day?

And now to reach the heart

of your suffering western church,

I have to jump ahead

three years in the story

and talk about my meeting

with what I would call

"the dangerous men."

I was alone with Marcel a

lot during this period,

as Jerome was traveling

most of the time.

And when he was finally home,

he spent most of the time accusing

me of neglecting Marcel,

which in my opinion

was just a cover for his

anger over my lovers.

Any sexual satisfaction,

let alone orgasm,

was further away than ever before.

I had to make a change.

And somehow the inspiration

had been right there

beneath my window the whole time.

I could feel that it

turned me on enormously

to imagine a sexual situation

in which verbal communication

was impossible.

- Hello.

- Hello.

I'm Tobias, the interpreter.

Hello, I'm Joe.

Come in.

I understand that you master

the African languages.

I do have a basis.

Who and what needs interpretation?

Um, that man...

The one with the green jacket?

You are to ask him if he

wants to have sex with me.

Yeah? Um...

Is it a go?

It's hard to say.

I've written down the

time and the place,

but, um...

Honestly I wouldn't like

to take responsibility

for the precise

wording in this case,

which I think, uh,

accidentally may belong

to a grey zone in my profession.

It was the address

of a cheap hotel.

Why were there two?

My words exactly.

Apparently N had brought

his brother along.

Very sorry.

Sorry sorry sorry.

Why was he so angry?

Clearly it was something

personal between them,

but later I heard that

performing a sandwich

requires great sensitivity,

since the men apparently can feel

each other through the tissue.

I imagine the quarrel

had already started

on the stairs and that

one or the other party

had laid claim to one or

the other of my holes

in conflict with his negro

brother's interests.

You shouldn't use that word.

It's not what you call

politically correct...

- "Negro."

- Well, excuse me,

but in my circles

it's always been a mark of

honor to call a spade a spade.

Each time a word

becomes prohibited,

you remove a stone from the

democratic foundation.

Society demonstrates its impotence

in the face of a concrete problem

by removing words

from the language.

I think society would claim that...

That politically correctness

is a very precise expression

of democratic concern

for minorities.

And I say that society

is as cowardly as the people in it,

who in my opinion are also

too stupid for democracy.

I understand your point,

but I totally disagree.

I have no doubt in

the human qualities.

The human qualities

can be expressed in one word:

Hypocrisy.

We elevate those who say

"right" but mean "wrong"

and mock those who

say "wrong" but mean "right."

By the way, I can assure you

that women who claim that

negros don't turn them on,

- ...they're lying.

- So did they satisfy you?

Those ne-negros?

No.

But they showed me

that there was a world

far from mine I had to explore.

And there, or perhaps

on the other side,

get my life back.

Who are you?

I know what you do.

I'd like to be

one of the women you see.

That's of no interest.

Madame.

Princess,

I specifically said five days,

and five days haven't gone yet.

So...

You'll have to leave.

I'm sorry.

I, um...

I don't think this is for you.

How mysterious.

Will you give me a

reasonable explanation now

or shall we wait?

I can't give you an explanation,

and certainly not a reasonable...

What exactly were the

rumors about him?

That he was violent.

How can that be inciting?

I think the easiest

way to understand it

is to refer to my

rebellious nature.

This business of K's was

something I was completely against.

So the fact that I was

now contacting him was

a last, desperate attempt

to rehabilitate my sexuality.

The system was the

overriding factor with K.

A system of violence?

Well, you were the one

who insisted on the

western church, right?

And I...

I seem to remember

that the systematic approach

to the crucifixion is of a violent

and not to say sadistic nature.

Oh yes, the passion of Christ

is full of systematic violence...

The Via Dolorosa,

the nine stations of the cross

and the 39 lashes.

You are beginning to irritate me.

Stand up.

I just want you to sit

completely relaxed...

While I hit you in the face.

Nothing special.

It's just a...

It's just a slap.

Are you ready?

Let me tell you the rules then.

The first rule is

that I don't f*** you

and that there isn't any

discussions about that.

Then what do you get out of it?

That's my business

and I don't want you

to mention it again.

The second rule is that

we have no safe word.

Meaning that if you,

uh, go inside with me,

there is nothing that you can say

that will make me stop

any plan or procedure.

You must bring a brown

used leather riding crop.

And not one from a

shop selling sex toys.

It's not a masquerade.

Third rule:

If I choose to let you in,

you have to be sitting out here.

In other words, you...

You won't know when.

Only that it will be

sometime between...

2:
00 and 6:00 at night.

I can't stay here that late.

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