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’
Contact Links: www.davidrussell-author.blogspot.co.uk
This is about a young woman's self-discovery. Selene is a 'success story', having become a top journalist, while retaining her dazzling looks. However, in the past she has had unhappy relationships, and feels she has missed out on hedonistic fun. This she obtains, firstly with a young stranger on a beach, and finally with enigmatic Hudson: tryst is preceded by cultural tourism, and careful sizing up of minds. Afterwards Selene returns to her 'I stand on my own' attitude. While she is on holiday, her mind is free to ramble, often into Selene's chequered past. Flashback blurs into the present, past-rooted interior monologue into direct observation. The dialogue is sparse. Selene is a cautious, premeditative type, in whom thought, reflection and analysis outweigh direct action. Selene’s subtle, monitoring mind coolly observes and controls all the events. Maybe she is super-confident, or perhaps has a deep, underlying insecurity. She is many things to many readers.
Excerpt:
Here she was on a beach, pure and simple. Now the sea breathed heavily, whispering and murmuring to her. It was returning her, stare speaking to her. It was the spirit of love beckoning her with a pulsing, sinewy body. In all its lines, shades, and fleeting forms, Selene saw the essence of pure beauty, all grace of form, flesh, limb and feature. It was in one all the lovers of whom she could possibly dream, conflated into one elemental ideal. He, pure love in soul, bade her to enter his domain and make it hers. His arms moved her hands to unclasp, unbutton, and unzip…the blossom emerged. The sun became the eye of all that was not earth, and Selene loved fully, though the pallor of her skin left her momentarily abashed.
At first she lay in the tide's path, the top of her head at its most extreme mark. The sand bank made a soft bed. The sea lover smoothly caressed her calves, thighs, hips, breasts, shoulders and cheeks before retreating to pause in his mossy pinnacles. Three times this action was repeated, and then Selene stood up, wading in with arms outstretched. Her arms were linked as she stood up to her neck in the saline flow. The balls and heels of her feet wobbled, slithering on the moss. With the next wave, she lost her balance--her breath heaved in unison with the hissing around her. She threw her head back once again horizontal, and launched into a backstroke, sweeping and circling. She parted her legs wide with each thrust of motion, each sweep of self-propulsion pushing out to answer the cavernous currents of his passion. Seven circles gave her a delicious, warm bliss--then the sea lover, well pleased, carried her back to a near-dry bed. Aching and contented Selene dozed a while.
And here's another
Explorations: Newly divorced and looking for interesting new experiences, Janice takes an art class with live models and the star makes her want more than a coincidental meeting.Art model, Cedric, thinks he knows the lady from somewhere when he sees her again at the pool. Body language says a lot and chance meetings lead to a desire for more. Will Janice ask Cedric over for a private modeling job and will he accept?
Further Explorations: Energised by their lovely liberating experience, Janice and Cedric are determined to ‘spread their wings’ and take the world by storm, a two-person conspiracy. They head off physically in different directions, but remain in constant depth communication electronically, ever comparing notes, monitoring each other’s minds and experiences for a depth of mutual understanding. They may meet again fully equipped with a great depth of self-knowledge, and a knowledge of each other’s depth. They negotiate giddy peaks of high finance; Janice even does into ‘dreamscape’, making a pact with the devil. Further delights of sensuality are explored by both, with exotic partners; the depths and shallows of life are all embraced.
Excerpt from Further Explorations
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They beamed at each other, sizing up their physiques again, comparing their respective performances which had led up to that climax. Then Janice breathily broke the silence. “You were an astral rocket, surging, grounding, resurging.”
“And you the booster supreme.”
After a final hug, they wistfully shrugged, along with smiles and suspicions of tears. “We’ve both got our planes to catch, darling…we’re all wired up.” They turned their backs on each other going down their separate lanes.
Janice and Cedric’s bittersweet parting, executed with watertight composure, froze that moment of perfection. Their state-of-the-art arrangements, so efficient in sustaining long-term contact were so effortlessly executed—miraculously, none of the hitches either of them experienced with their other contacts—that they simply had to have been exquisitely premeditated, but all the more because, regarding functioning in the immediate present, they were both prone to fumble and stutter.
Yet, there was a sense of permanence in that kaleidoscope world of fleeting acquaintances. Shattering glasses always sharpens, enriches the vision. Closet pyromania fantasy makes every dreamer dynamic—visions of the inferno, crashing of all solid architecture, but with the stench of charred flesh blanked off. Such an abundance of good looks and vibrant expressions passing by on the streets; it felt that any one of them had destructive potential, mighty cataracts at close quarters. The diffusion of that potential sustains the world’s equilibrium, global spark potential.
Blurb
Excerpt
The hero, Percival arranges a date through a contact mag. He and Darlene have a rapturous scenario, handled with superb finesse and supreme command of the wardrobe. He finds some hints of her complicated past. Before and after the encounter, he is eyed up and accosted by malicious-seeming men. The sense of an underlying hornet’s nest is scary, and immediately detracts from the euphoria, which does finally prevail.
Excerpt
At last, the sun peeped through the cloud-blankets after all those overcast days. I needed to be refreshed again. It had now been quite a while since that last fabulous foray, which had so beautifully realized my dreams, and convinced me unreservedly that I had overcome that fumbling clumsiness to attain tactile fulfilment. It had flushed me with a surge of my unrealized teenage —all those things I’d missed in those formative years, now the gaps and fissures filled in— made me feel I’d both frozen the body and mind in their freshness, and kept them pulsing, too. The intervening daily routines had levelled comfortably down, then dullness loomed again. So, it came to me in a flash, with light shards shimmering from my stepping into a puddle—I desperately needed a replay, a recharge—activate the spark plug.
Indeed, there was a twinge of regret coursing through me about having mislaid Sandra’s number. It was so stupid of me to throw out that precious piece of paper in that fit of impulsive spring-cleaning, which often has the effect of unearthing old snippets of sentimental value, and reconnecting with submerged, valid threads which are then slotted into reflective order. Not all was lost, though. No one is finally unique, no matter how exceptional she appears. There are always others. Just cast an eye on those other fish in the sea, those beautiful swathes milling through the shopping precincts, that visual, tactile kaleidoscope, brushing off on me, making me feel rejuvenated.
For some time now, I kept that next in preference, special, alluring phone number lying alluringly in the top of my desk drawer, together with its seductive picture, throbbing in that electric corset, with a bit of plastic sheen, but not too much. The photo was in the back number of Rendezvous magazine. It was Darlene, her firm breasts feeling like power switches throwing out energy to my delicate touch. Some evenings, I alternated between looking at her picture, watching Madonna’s Eroticavideo and looking online at the catalogues of retro lingerie. It was a turn-on flashback to those relics of a repressive era relating in some way to current tastes for bondage and corporal punishment— probably now that the horrid past is now at a safe distance, for some of the people, some of the time.
Everybody is constrained a bit by workaday routines, but the right amount of delay never fails to add relish to any quest.. Contrast is essential to any definition. Going too fast always detracts from the final effect. So there was a happy, breathy anticipatory gap of a few days, which honed the expected savour to perfection, the oven simmering at a low heat to prepare the exotic dish. All through it, I was flooded with a rapturous cocktail of reminiscence and anticipation. It started with the exquisite euphoria of my first, unpremeditated, off-balance one-night stand. This included an opening, long drawn-out kiss, tiptoeing back to the flat, the body revelation, the love, the bath, the idyllic park walk, and the farewell. It was the perfect memory, frozen expressions of affection and always there for replay in my mind in times of stress and depression Now, with the extra bonus of all those breathy film and video scenes to spice it up further, every thought was a metaphorical caress. Cameramen have a good time, which must be great to touch with the eyes, and great to have the senses melt into each other.
David's work can be found at:
David Russell - Extasy Books
www.extasybooks.com/david-russell
www.extasybooks.com/david-russell
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