“Stretched Bliss,” the third story from the Slow Boat Media e-book Reveries, begins with Caleb Abercrombie’s interior disquisition on gratification. The professor muses during a late-morning moment of post-lovemaking languor with Paz Duarte.
Long before the sweaty twining of their fevered bodies, mutual satisfaction, apparent exhaustion, and his subsequent daydreaming, they enjoyed a night on the town. Even when the attraction is based on exchanging pleasure, shouldn’t a minuet of sorts be observed?
Hours ahead of sheets getting rumpled and pillows being ruffled in the throes of fulfillment, as well as the random calls and responses of lovers, the pair observed the social component that distinguishes human carnality from lower species’ rutting. It’s the thing that sets both apart. Though just barely. Continue reading Stretched Bliss
When first creating this forum I intended flogging my ebooks Reveries and Cool Brass. That, and resume some kind of writing discipline by telling stories. Nearly two decades have passed since I last graced a newsroom, and 10 years from any article bearing my real byline.
Writing is easy. Self-promotion is craven. Funny thing is while I’m reticent about myself and my product, I could be P.T. Barnum’s spiritual heir if it came to hawking some loser starving for celebrity or another kind of dog food. Continue reading My Akhmatova
Why the pen name? Why the whole establishment of an entirely separate entity? Why isn’t the ebook’s author visible?
Does Reveries (http://www.amazon.com/Reveries-ebook/dp/B004H8G1KO/) embarrass me? Am I ashamed of publishing so much sexual detail?
Those were questions from the clique to whom I devulged my nom de porn and output.
The wise guy response: Hey. Why so many questions?
But it was good to have friends challenge me. What better preparation exists for the inevitable tight-assed abstainers, the righteous who advertise their piety instead of demonstrate virtue, and the extreme hardcore types who wonder whether procreative relations are necessary sinning?
Recently, a collar of New York City clerics and laity convened a press conference. They decried the high number of abortions within the five boroughs. Looking upon the clammy assemblage, I noticed a paucity of women. Mostly men complained about a condition unique to the second sex. Sincere as every male in that room could’ve sworn himself, not a one had first-hand knowledge regarding menstruation, ovulation or gestation.
Especially the ones who’d taken celibacy vows. A-hem, instead of amen. Continue reading Behind the Curtain