Fools’ Paradise
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Blurb:
In the heyday of the Hippie Counterculture,
Jim, a disaffected postgraduate, goes on a rural retreat in quest of his
identity. He finds a cool alternative abode, which initiates in a bizarre
relationship with the housemother, Celia, who turns out to be an undercover police
officer, but also with dubious connections. Things develop, including a
delicious one—off with Celia, and Jim is drawn towards the edges of nefarious
activity. He ends up waiting for his Barrister, convinced he will clear him.
Excerpt:
So, how did I, Jim Herrington,
come across this place? By inspired fumbling, which is the way most things
cross my path. In those far off days, like so many people of my ilk, I was an
impassioned hitchhiker. Somewhat fashionably and rather typically, I followed a
long, meandering route around the country, taking occasional prompts and
directions from my Alternative Organic
Living magazine. My destination house was charted there.
Having previously been
socialized into the YHA, I didn’t really foresee any problems getting on with
whomsoever I might encounter, unless they were the problematical ones, in which
case I would split.
The girl who came to the door,
wearing a long patchwork robe, obviously home-made, looked rather like an
alternative Youth Hostel warden. “What brings you here,” she asked me, as if I
were one of many who had passed through the house, “Time warp? Culture shock?”
“A bit of both.” I felt that my
turgid, disordered thesis and my messed-up academic career merited those tags.
“So, life got you into a bit of
a tangle, and you’re interested in straightening yourself out? That’s cool.” Not as a stranger! We could have taken those
words out of each other’s mouths.
“Your bread’s ok?” She gave me
a suspicious, sidelong look which she quickly covered with a tight smile. “This
is a safe address for giros,” she said, “within reason.”
“I’m into grants and fees,” I
replied.
Her eyes lit up. “OK, Jim, then
there’s room for you. I guess you are familiar with the kind of set-up we have
here. There’s a rota of weekly tasks to keep the place shipshape—the living
rooms and the other shared rooms. What you do with your own room is your own
affair, again within reason, of course. And you must be prepared to attend
house meetings. Domestic business is done on a communal basis, that is, based
on democratic majority decision.”
“I’ve been an aspiring student
politician, honey, so that’s second nature to me.”
“Do you…take anything?”
“Only the soft ones, in harmony
with organic diets and herbal medicines.”
“That’s perfectly cool. We’ve
just got to draw the line at the hard stuff. Well, stick around. You’ll meet
the others in a couple of hours or so.”
Comment:
Jim Herrington has found himself wandering
and hitchhiking across America, trying to find his place in the world after
some difficulties in his Academic workplace. Staying at a cross between a
commune and youth hostel, he struggles to fit into the alternative, volatile
situation he finds himself in. Ceila, the “house mother” is a strange,
mysterious woman prone to sudden changes of heart, yet Jim finds himself
unaccountably attracted to her.
This is a slightly strange book, unlike
most anything else I’ve read. Told in the first person in some ways it’s
difficult to understand what’s going on, as we can only see things from Jim’s
perspective and experience. Also, while much is alluded to throughout the
story, I didn’t feel as if some things were very clearly explained, things like
why – exactly – Jim found himself at this hostel, what he was running from and
whether he was complicit in much of the drug trafficking and such. In some ways
this felt to me like one of those “confessions of” stories, and while I did
enjoy it, I spent most of the time mystified as to where the story was going,
what was fully happening with the plot, and what the thrust of the plot really
was. Despite this I wanted to understand, the author’s writing was quick,
precise and interesting and so I continued to read in the hopes of
illumination. While even upon completion I still didn’t get most of it, I
didn’t feel as if I had wasted my time either, reading something completely
alternative and refreshingly different.
There’s no traditional romance or erotica
in this short story, the sex is held pretty much behind closed doors (there’s
no graphic content to it, merely a build up to it and then declaration of the
act having been performed) and while it’s clear the main relationship is
between Jim and Celia, I didn’t personally find any romance between them. For
an erotic short story this surprised me, but seemed to resonate with the first
person, slightly disjointed, mysterious tone and presentation of the whole
tale. I feel that readers who are looking for something completely outside the
box and different might truly enjoy this, but readers wanting just a quick,
sexy read mightn’t find what they’re looking for here.
A really different read, but still
enjoyable.
Originally posted at Long and Short Reviews
Therapy Rapture
Blurb:
Perry has a desire for the right woman to
spend some time with, enjoying each other’s company, a romantic interlude that
would lead to that one fabulous encounter, bringing complete ecstasy.
Rowena is a therapist who has endured a
repressed childhood. She loves dressing up and feels that the clothes have a
way of caressing her body. She wants him to open up his mind to his dreams.
He begins to ache for Rowena. He finds her
dark, sultry and somewhat reserved. He finds hard professional women sexy, and
she happens to be just the one he believes could bring out that strong urge
that he needs to release. Rowena wants him to incorporate his dreams into a
healing process. She is able to help him release his inner self as the two have
some romantic interludes that lead to total satisfaction. By giving into what
their hearts and mind desires, they are able to find that one medium that captures
their souls. After everything is over, will they be able to face the world
positively?
Excerpt:
A breeze smiled on me, soothing
the migraine of the day’s travelling.
Rowena, my therapist, was so
soothing. Her almond eyes were a warm synthesis of liquidity and matured resin,
her lips verging on purple. She was dark, sultry, feline, laid back, reserved,
and accommodating, but with such potential for elusiveness! Her low velvet
voice melted my reserve and made me ache, my fingers poised to do that touch talk.
She had a hold on me, so tender, so yielding, but so firm, I had some token
resistance, some caution, but I wanted that, I arranged it, but I did not know
what to do about it.
I’d been in my self-protective
shell for so long, and always tended to put others down for being conned. It
was good that I finally got out of that job. I had had to stretch my upper lip
to near the snapping point. Considering what I felt about my supervisor, that
good lump of severance pay would give me time so sort myself out. Still, I had
committed myself to what I had decided was essential treatment. She had to
bring me out, and it would be a sustained operation. She outlined to me that
there were a multitude of blocks. We had been consulting together for several
months, and at the mental level, we had melted many defensive barriers. How
often had our breath felt like a string, pulling us closer to that introductory
caress, how often had I felt we nearly touched each other as we delicately
paced our minds through those in-depth confessions! Or, how skilled she was at
covering up a possible web of stresses and tensions, which was strictly her
private area! What traumas must she have experienced to get that delicious
equipoise that now faced me, defined me, challenged me, the positives balancing
the rejection taboos of my past? Her body language rippled and throbbed—the way
she controlled the crossing and uncrossing of her legs, the way she wore skirts
of just the right length, or jeans just loose enough to ripple, knowing how to
caress herself, knowing how to make her clothes caress her. Her favourite
delicate fabrics must really turn her on. She certainly showed me a wide
variety of outfits at our various consultations. My wishful thinking simmered.
Perhaps there was a coded message underneath her assured professional front. My
eyes alternated between her body and her file, between the hand controlling her
pen and the eyes, brain and body controlling me. I had laid myself open to her
by consulting her…there is always two-way potential…
She had put on no scent, but
the natural perfume of her aura permeated me. I was a confused cocktail of
trance and clear-headedness.
She had spent one long session
struggling to coax me into positive thinking. Through the usual heavy family
conditioning and through a good number of snubs and vicious deceptions, I had
grown so many defensive membranes, layers that now felt congealing,
coagulating.
Next session, I had to go back
to her with a progress report on the programme of self-redirection she had
drafted for me. As ever, Rowena urged me to incorporate my dreams into the
healing process. She switched on some rippling, vaporous meditation music with
a background of natural sounds, water and breeze on her sound system, got me
comfortable on the couch. She then sat beside me, looking me hypnotically,
straight in the face. I felt that she always mentally undressed me in these
sessions, putting out laser rays on my buttons and zips. That was what made
them so effective and sustained her hold on me.
Her soul embraced me, so that I
wanted her to absorb my essence into her own body and mind. Her lips and nostrils were in titillating
accord as she faced me and acknowledged me. I ached for her hands, I longed to
reciprocate. The buttons on her blouse, the suggestion of the crisp bra within,
were so magnetic. When she touched the buckle of her belt, her fingers almost
clinching to undo…Rowena induced a trance in me, barely repressed by formality,
and I felt it was taking hold of her, as well. It was obeying a non-verbal
instruction, tunnelling out of the prison of routine obedience. I ached for her
hands to undo my clothes.
Comment:
I have been reviewing David Russell’s work
the past couple of days, and I must say that I have saved the best for last. Therapy Rapture is one of the most
eclectic short stories I have come across. It combines a short story, art, and
poetry. Crazy cool, huh?
Our male protagonist has an issue
separating fantasy from reality. Throw in a therapist and a fitness trainer,
and we have all the hot makings of a sensual read. After reading a few of
Russell’s short stories, I see that he has an eye for romance and subtle
details. His character lives in the moment, and each movement is filed with
emotion and meaning. This builds quite the anticipation for lovemaking. And
speaking of lovemaking, David has a soft hand for these types of scenes,
preferring to keep the erotic details hidden. I find it refreshing and
alluring.
I also really enjoyed how Russell changed
up things a little with artwork and poetry. It was an unexpected break from the
usual short stories, and one I liked very much. After reviewing Russell’s work
over the past couple of days, I’ve come to know his work as truly unique. His
writing is very abstract, sophisticated, and sensual, and I highly recommend Therapy Rapture!
~Zee
[Fire Pages]
Author Bio:
b. 1940. Resident in the UK. Writer of
poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction and romance. Main poetry
collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998); poems published in online International
Times. Main speculative works High Wired On (2002); Rock
Bottom (2005). Translation of Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013.
Romances: Self’s Blossom; Explorations; Further Explorations; Therapy Rapture;
Darlene, An Ecstatic Rendezvous (all pub Extasy (Devine Destinies).
Singer-songwriter/guitarist. Main CD albums: Bacteria Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope
Concentrate. Many tracks on You
Tube, under ‘Dave Russell’
Find
David Here
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