Sunday, February 1, 2015

WE ARE INFINITE Stories: An Encounter by David Russell

Greetings everyone and welcome to another installment of the WE ARE INFINITE stories and giveaway! I'm so grateful to be able to do this and to share stories that remind us all of connection and our intrinsic worth.

Now, before we dive into today's tale, let's have a quick refresher on what's happenin' 'round here:

1. Contest is simple: you send me ( your INFINITE STORIES and I post 'em. I also promote them, so if you want to include a link to a novel you wrote, an etsy shop, or other such awesomeness, then by all means, include that in your entry! I want to share the love!

2. INFINITE STORIES are tales that remind us of connection: ghost stories, past lives, prophetic dreams, a moment that changed your life, how you found faith, how you found love, how you recovered from heartache, a friend who saved your life, a dog that meant the world, a cat that knew too much, a feeling that spared you or a loved one from pain, a feeling that hooked up a pair of friends for marriage, kids, and life. Anything and everything goes!

All the details about what I'm looking for and how to play are found HERE.

3. Each story enters you for the grand prize. What is it, you ask? Well it's Amazon cash, artwork, and a book!

4. Don't have a story you want to share? No problem! Sharing information about the contest also constitutes an entry for the grand prize! More details about that are right HERE.

5. More questions? Check out the FAQ or email me at

And last but not least, don't forget to check out the always-accumulating-ever-impressive-oh-so-powerful WE ARE INFINITE STORIES INDEX, where all the contest entries will be linked for you to peruse anytime you need a reminder that you are never, ever alone!

Today's guest is the author, David Russell, who shares with us a bit of one of his short stories which, he confides in me, is a bit more true than the average reader might suspect. In it a man arranges an encounter with a woman of his dreams.


An Encounter

Sandra and I met in the happy hinterland between domination and submission. We modulated the role balance beautifully. That brief encounter was one of my highest peaks of euphoria. It wiped off years of bitterness and misery, outdid the work of myriad arty films and steamy novels. I reply it endlessly—the replay fulfills and sustains me...

The big day arrived, I was aflutter throughout its earlier part. True to the fashions of the future, I decided to have a body shave before my shower. This took me a delicate, sensual hour, the buzz of the razor feeling like a prelude to the touch of the hands. The shower mirror was a little narrower than the one in the bedroom, but it gave me a foretaste in subdued light of course. I relished my smooth, dried form in the mirror, then splashed myself liberally all over with after-shave and deodorant. Still naked from the shower, I ironed my white shirt and underwear, fresh from the washing machine and dryer. The clothes made a beautifully laundered fit.

I got to her place at the dot of 3 PM. It was in an apartment block, eight storeys high I think. She told me that she was on the third floor. I could have walked to the place from the bus stop, but my heart was so aflutter that I took a taxi just around the block, so as not to lose my way. We’d worked out the complete wardrobe over the phone—mini-skirt, elastic-topped stockings, over crisp white linen underwear and beach change at the ready—her one-piece for the dramatic entry of the bathing belle. Of course, I had trunks, shorts, and a loose singlet, good to sway and suggest the underlying figure, to be delicately unwrapped. Don’t ask me why, but suspenders never work for me. They seem to obstruct the aesthetics of revelation, off-the-shoulder blouse and slip.

Her luxury apartment was in a leafy, secluded part of town, interspersed with plaques of great artists’ and writers’ past sojourns. The area’s overall sense of accumulated history added to my sense of initiating a unique, transcendental occasion. Passing a church or two en route added further spice to the anticipation. A couple of nuns passed me, and I pondered on their possible secret thoughts. A sense of sin perfects all sensual contents.

There was a porter’s lodge at the vestibule. The attendant was a tall, lean, grey-haired man, crisply uniformed. On noticing me, he gave a nonchalant half-smile and a half-knowing nod. I only needed to follow the directions for the flat numbers. The motor of the lift was in the deepest bass register I had ever encountered. After leaving it, and negotiating what felt like a labyrinth of thickly carpeted corridors, I found her flat door and gave three rings on the brassy doorbell. There were ten seconds of breathy silence, which was finally broken, delicately, by the padding footsteps of destiny. A heady blast of perfume greeted me as Sandra opened the door, far exceeding my own lotion and gels.

Then, we became truly face to face, like two legends, now in the flesh, having a mutual eye feast! That brow, those cheekbones, that aquiline chin, that graceful neck, those azure, deep-lashed eyes, that fine, loose, lovingly kept shoulder-length hair! As she looked into my eyes, there was almost the touch of an optician giving me a test.

The stage lighting was just right, with embroidered shades all around the lamps—soft, dark and red, deeper and richer by far than anything at my home. The mirror was full-length, at a perfect height, hanging flush from the wall. The whole decor, burnished with loving care, radiated old money and old-world courtesy, yet another condiment for the tryst—with ample stepping room around each item of furniture. There were stately mahogany bookshelves, not overcrowded, but containing some venerable tomes bound in dark brown and maroon leather— literary and philosophical texts—great to have some exotic vocabulary.

A tasteful array of porcelain and impeccably polished silver graced a medium sized cupboard and her low table. In addition, on the table was a framed photograph of her—the same print as in her advertisement. So, there the distances were just right for the most carefully studied manoeuvrings. Sandra took me by the hand as if I were her partner in a grand ball with her being the empress and I was the chosen favourite. She ushered me to her purple velvet sofa, and there we chatted for a few minutes about the movies and current affairs. Sandra beamed into my face and moved my hand to the zip of her mini-skirt on her left hip.


Thank you, David, for sharing your story with us.
To read the rest, click here!


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.’

Connect with David on his blog.


Kelly Wyre enjoys reading and writing all manner of fiction, ranging from horror to romance. She used to work in advertising but is now happily chained to her writing desk and laptop. She believes she's here to tell stories and to connect people with them. She's written several novels, novellas, and short stories and has no plans on stopping anytime soon.

Kelly relishes the soft and cuddly and the sharp and bloody with equal amounts of enthusiasm. She's a coffee addict, an avid movie lover, a chronic night owl, and she loves a good thunderstorm. Currently Kelly resides in the southeastern United States.

Available Now!

Meet Me at the Gates by Kelly Wyre

Outer Banks bookstore owner Hyacinth Silver Fox has a secret millennia in the making: her soul was magically entwined with another, and at night she dreams of every lifetime they've ever spent together. The rules of their magic are simple: Hydee always knows her lover, but he, or she, doesn't remember her. It's up to Hydee to find and make her soulmate see they are destined for each other, and this lifetime is no different, but there's one problem: her soulmate is Theo Monk, heartthrob actor and Hollywood's sometime-infamous badboy. Hydee's hope of reuniting is wearing thin, but she has no idea how dire the situation really is.

Because meanwhile in California, Theo Monk is losing his mind. Anxiety and paranoia rule his life, along with his on-again-off-again girlfriend and her entourage. When fear and frustration push him to an edge, Theo cuts and runs as far from his problems as he can without knowing Fate's giving him one last shot to unite with the only person who can help him. Hydee and Theo must save one another before hope runs out and Hydee's despair and Theo's fear keep them apart forever.


Connect with Kelly


No comments:

Post a Comment