This is an excerpt from the yet to be released erotic novel Love in Malawi. This is neither a promotion nor a solicitation. I'd written the foreword and have permission from the author Tessa Blade to post this excerpt on this Red Room site. We hope you enjoy the beginning and please email me if you want more excerpts.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of Tessa Blade’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Foreword by Ben Campbell:
Because Love in Malawi is such a sexy force of human nature and filled with fascinating characters, the author Tessa Blade didn’t want to neglect any one of their visions, triumphs and failures, or their erotic escapades, therefore, she’d written the story alternating chapters between third person omniscient and main character narrations.
This style of action writing swiftly steps the story forward, revealing nuance appetites, without obscuring scintillating affairs with narrative foreshadowing. With passion and guidance Tessa Blade hooks you up with Christian Love, a man whose future is under siege by difficult events from his youth. The power of sexual obsession and yearning for freedom places him in Karonga, Malawi, a locality he thought he knew, but his memory will never be the same when fresh experiences thrusts him headlong into alluring relationships.
Content warning: This novel contains naughty language, explicit sex, personal empowerment, scorching seduction, and it is fashionably pornographic with thought-provoking insights about life, death and love in a searing, frolicking adventure of lust. Love in Malawi is not for readers that are offended by sexual fantasy and sexual behavior. It contains content considered unsuitable for readers 17 years of age and under, and which may be offensive to some readers of all ages.
BEFORE CAMRYN HUNTER walked out of my life, my shocking summary about our relationship stalled for ten minutes. Before she dropped the book on the counter and walked out the door she stood beside me and listened. A slow jazz saxophone version of Stardust was playing over the sound system inside the coffee shop and I felt like shit when Camryn’s teary eyes met mine.
I’d ended our three year relationship and that was that. Was ten minutes worth three years? Was I insensitive? Was I calculating? Was she the one for me after all? Yes, yes, yes and no.
The plan I’d devised and didn’t tell her about waited in background shadows for at least fifteen years. Its’ not that Camryn Hunter was in the way of my pan. On the contrary, I just had to initiate my idea and she wasn’t part of it, not at the beginning of planning and now, not at this stage of starting it.
If Camryn would simply glimpse back at me while walking down the icy sidewalk, just the slightest, I’d cave in and run outside and embrace her delicate, athletic exterior, expansively apologize and persuade her to come with me, or even make that oh-so-elusive commitment if that was what it would take to stop her crying and not make her feel like a used puppet.
She didn’t look back and my face fell into a tar pit of sticky despair, as I’m certain where her emotions dwelled at the moment. We were equally exuberant lovers, a pair of gifted students and newly graduating attorneys that meticulously blended together. I threw a wrench into our greased gears and now she was walking away from me at my instigation and I wouldn’t stop her.
Stardust ended on the sound system and a slow saxophone version of Misty started. Now I felt like the sky fell on my head and I was the devil making headway against it.
Wiping away swelling tears with my sleeve wasn’t a good idea so I let them fall into a napkin and padded my eyes afterward. To me music was supposed to be a mood enhancer, not a sulking ambience to cry my eyes out.
How had I let myself become insensitive to her after being together for three years? Breaking away from her would be beneficial for both of us. We didn’t grow apart and there wasn’t one personal note of dissatisfaction in our relationship, well, except for her fierce sexual needs after she’d downed too much champagne, wine or a few beers, at parties and even at home with just the two of us. At least I thought the alcohol was a problem but them she’d attack me just as exuberantly when we’d awaken in the morning, during study time at home and sometimes awaken me in the middle of a hard night’s sleep and fuck my brains out. That’s right; she would fuck my brains out after taking a good whiff of my body fragrance.
Countless times I didn’t know if I could submit to her sexual antics or if I should call animal control. If being a wolf in sheep’s clothing meant I should have called animal control I should have. But instead, we blended together like oil and vinegar, and then we’d be like sugar and peanut butter most of the time and that wasn’t bad, just a little sweet and chunky.
Sometimes I’d become irritated with how kissy-kissy she’d get, poking my ribs and fingering my crotch then squeezing and pulling. She’d go for the gold, unzip my pants, manipulate and perform juicy falatio, drop her pants and back into my Johnny Come Lately.
That’s right; I named my penis package Johnny Come Lately.
And then there was the hip-hop movements and grabbing her own crotch when she danced, imitating Eminem, mouthing the song lyrics and flipping her middle finger like there was no tomorrow. None of that was really so bad, just a little embarrassing. I’d flipped my middle finger thousands of times but it had consequential emotional impact. Those were just a few irritants that we’d argued about for three years but they were not worthy of dumping her. My plan was the fallout. This is how the breakup went:
To be continued if you'd like.