Guest author David Russell visits with his contemporary romance books

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?

Read an excerpt

Therapy Rapture

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.

Everyone has secret yearnings for that breathtaking encounter with a charismatic celebrity. Who has not at some time ached to get into that fantasy video and participate actively? We all wish our of dreams would come true . . . and for some it could possibly happen . . .
Read an excerpt from 

My Dream of Madonna/An Ecstatic Rendezvous

"We'll have a romantic undress," I said.
"That's a wonderful idea," she said, "never done this before, but I've been yearning for it, dreaming about it for ages!" My jacket, shoes and socks were no trouble. Then Sandra took off my shirt and vest, feeling the muscles of my torso and my arms as she did so. I stood before her, proud in my tight black briefs.
"Darling; you've got a wonderful physique; I'm so proud of my catch!"
"I'll do the same for you. Your blouse first." It was off-the-shoulder, flimsily, casually worn. The three buttons undid with ease, to reveal her glorious sun-bedded shoulders and back.
"OK; now I'll undo your skirt." I peeled the zip along very slowly, feeling her hips, and edged it down. Sandra gave a smile and a giggle. "Is that nice?"
I find stockings so much more alluring without suspenders. I touched their tops and felt her firm flesh beneath them.
"Now, off with them, darling. I want to see your lovely legs as they really are."
The stockings looked so delicate; I didn't want to risk laddering them. Sandra lowered them with tender care. We felt each other’s thighs and calves. Her white briefs gleamed with promise.
"Now, darling; we've got to make this scene combine the boudoir and the beach. Let's put on our bathing costumes now. I'm a turn-on in briefs, so wait for the next."
Sandra went into the bedroom to do her change. As my erection began to mount, I got a thrill pulling on my trunks. Sandra's mirror was great. With shorts and singlet on, I looked gorgeously sporty - fit and confident. Sandra tiptoed out of the bathroom wearing a primrose-yellow beach wrap. "Now, let's really relish this." We stood facing the mirror. "Now for the fabulous beach party."
I raised up my arms; Sandra pulled off my dark blue singlet, put her hands on my waist, and let go. I put my right arm around her shoulder, my left around her waist. I undid her sash and slowly drew off the robe, over her shoulders and back.
There she stood, in all her voluptuous glory, hips and breasts pulsing in her clingy black strapless one-piece. It was lie a thrill of first attraction, when a boy and a girl really take a fancy to each other, decide to go for a swim together, and take a delicious foretaste of each other with clothes off.
"You're absolutely ravishing!" I gasped.
"And you're out of this world," panted Sandra, touching my waist and hips, feeling the fabric, and feeling me through the fabric. "These are really nice boxer shorts darling; shall I take them off?" She pulled them down over my thighs. I stepped out of them. Our pride in our bodies, and desire for each other, were truly levitated. My trunks were a wow; and did she respond!
"Don't I look great in trunks, darling?"
"You look wonderful."
We absolutely took our fill of admiring ourselves, and each other, in the mirror. We were lovely for each other. Our excitement and desire made us beautiful, more super than any stars or models.

Buy the books  
My Dream of Madonna/An Ecstatic Rendezvous  Amazon
Therapy Rapture Amazon

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