Many thanks to Fang-tastic Books for letting me introduce you to my new novella “HE:A Sexual Odyssey”. I’m Stephan Morsk, a mental health professional who’s been writing daily for about fifteen years. “HE” explores the cravings of a thirty-ish law student in Manhattan to break his routine detachment by finding Ms. Right. His search brings him into contact with a mellifluous menagerie of oddball women, a coterie of thugs, more than one attempt on his life, sexual exploitation, etc. He’s cursed with a heinous karmic vortex that plunges him into situations that are more than a little intolerable. He stumbles along with an indomitable black humor and an overarching need to find the perfect soul mate.
Take his reunification with one such candidate, Eve.
“I’ll be staying a while,” she said. He nodded excitedly at the news. Not that he had invited her. She’d brought her bosoms, and that was enough to engage his endorsement. “I’m in a bit of a mess,” she said, cutely as ever. She kept tossing off phrases, warnings really, puntos de informacion by way of explication. “I’m not who you think I am,” she said. Then finally, “I carry a gun.”
Ignoring all this data momentarily, he asked, “Can I get you anything?” p. 37.
His desperate ‘lustoration’ for these angels blinds him to their glaring flaws. Eve vanishes a day later. His adoration of her, however, persists. These flawed characters make up the bulk of my writing, while they attempt in various delineations of crippled reserve to connect with an irascible universe. The power of women is another theme in my work. Here’s an excerpt in which our protagonist is contemplating the elusively sensuous and irate Misha...
“She’d succeeded in tempting, luring him, and, be it said, dominating his soulless desire. She was terminally cute, emasculatingly sensuous. Misha had wormed her way into his mind’s core with two pubic detonations. Yet there was no modus operandi with which to gratify himself of her. Her mouth, twisted cutely in remonstrance of her charge, Sisco, was enough to engage his senses. Her breasts, punching their way through her top, were addictive. He longed to cradle them in a death-squeeze-inducing syncope. He was infused with her cute-essence, no longer furtive in its agenda. She’d cooked his cajones in a no-stick fryer and watched them simmer in an aromatic Spanish mole, made him her bitch in two easy pieces.” p. 9.
My protagonist is a lover of women, far from misogynistic, he’s bound and tethered to their essence, a pussy whipped pushover although that certainly doesn’t stop him from having sex with them. “HE” pushes ahead, despite all odds, in his quest for salvation.
“She stated her name was Eve, then retracted that. She was a mysterious, bullet-breasted chanteuse. She was diaphoretic and passed out. Pure beneficence, he expected no payoff from this femme ruse. Yet, if true, if she really was the one woman with whom he could on some level connect, his generosity would be gratified by her presumptive consanguinity. Yet all he saw was a mass of malaise under a sheet.” p. 38.
“HE” attempts connection, more often than not finding sex, sadism, exploitation or overt homicide.
Collapsing more than sitting onto the back seat, he said, “Mount...”
“What?” the man asked. “Can’t hear ya’, brother.”
“Mount,” he said again, the words sticking on his lips. He was getting daffier by the moment.
“Mount... what?” the cabby said.
“Cy... an... ide...”
Shaking his head no, he said, “Sigh... nigh...”
“Oh, Mount Sinai hospital?” the guy asked. He nodded. “You all right, brother?” He shook is head no.
“Mer... gen... see...”
“You ain’t gonna die on me in my cab are you?” He shook his head no. “Okay, then I’m movin’. Otherwise I call you a ambulance man. Got no dyin’ in my cab, brother. Uh, uh.” p. 65.
Even after near death experiences, soul haunting humiliations, penile exploitations and more he’s still invested in his quixotic quest for ‘the one’. His absurd faith unbroken, he persists in this folly. One evening in law class he spots a woman whose breasts match those of the ill-fated Eve. Although he knows it’s impossible, he follows her in desperation.
She was a few feet away; her small, compact body about the height he remembered. He got up the nerve and called out, “Eve?” The woman froze then slowly turned around.
“Why did you call me that?” she asked. Same voice, same cuteness, delivered in disguise.
“That’s your name then isn’t it?”
She shook her head no and kept walking.
“Adrienne?” he asked.
She froze again.
“That’s your name isn’t it?” he asked.
She just kept walking. He watched her disappear into the engulfing crowd for the last time. p. 71.
Blind adoration of the female entity. Blitzkriegs of gonzo karma, and tactile exploitations cannot demur my hero from his quest. He knows she is out there. It is just a matter of finding her.
Thanks again for the opportunity to uncover a small shred of “HE: A Sexual Odyssey.” I’ve won some awards, published short stories and maintain my own website morsklitmonthly.com. I hope you’ll give this quick read a try. It’s on Amazon and e formats Nook and Kindle.
All feedback is welcome.
HE: A Sexual Odyssey
In HE the unnamed protagonist, a law student, is involved with a series of women who either loathe him, try to poison him, save his life or exploit him sexually. The first is the nanny of his ex boss’ kid. She sends him a hateful letter, enclosing a pubic hair and rubbed with pheromones. After observing a woman in a coffee shop whose breasts are ‘freaks of nature’ she leaves a briefcase and departs. He’s unsuccessful in returning it to her, but this karmic event exposes him to a bevy of dangerous and seductive paramours.
Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiZA1Ps10F8
About the Author:
Stephan Morsk is a mental health professional who writes daily. He won a 7th and an 8th place in the Writer’s Digest competition 2001 out of a field of 19,000 writers. He has published a short story and won honorable mentions in other years. His web site morsklitmonthly.com offers a new short story each month. He is interested in novellas and recently submitted “Parrot Moon” to the Paris Literary Prize. He’s finished several other short books, part of a four part series including “HE”, “Trashy Novel-A Love Story”, “She” and “I”. He lives in rural Minnesota with his family. Favorite novelist, Normal Mailer. He enjoys exercise and is a reasonable amateur magician.