Posted by: richardcohen2013 | June 18, 2013

The historical and literary signicance of romance

As a man who loves women – along with female sensitivity and insights – I have been fortunate to hacover image --Our Seas of Fear and Love -- Maine Coastline and oceanve worked with and for many women and to have many female friends.  I am also fortunate in that I have a good marriage to a wonderful woman. One of the many conclusions that I have reached is that I would like to see more women in government.

As an author who has written many books – much of them dealing with history in one fashion or another — I am now somewhat surprised to find myself in the role of a male romance writer.  My latest novel, Our Seas of Fear and Love, covers the span of quite a bit of history as a backdrop to a love story of epic proportions.

I am planning to write blog posts about my life and writing. It is my hope that I will hear from you.  (You are free to post comments of your own, below, or to contact me at my email listed in the contact section.)

Here is an excerpt from my novel, Our Seas of Fear and Love, which is scheduled to be published soon and will be available online and in brick and mortar bookstores:

Although Brigit was supposed to wear her uniform when she went out, she didn’t in Cape Astraea, except when we went out to eat. We drove to the different beaches, would walk along the shore or just sit, she in her two-piece bathing suit, a bra that just covered her uplifted breasts, the short skirt of the suit with the cloth that covered her pubic area. Oh, I looked there and, obviously, my imagination overwhelmed me, seeing in my mind those breasts and nipples and her genitalia. We would sit, watching the water, the waves, when the wind increased, the rolling and spraying white caps against the rocky shore. Here it was so peaceful. I would look at the horizon and think of what was beyond, of ships sinking and men dying. As I managed to make those thoughts recede, I would feel Brigit against me. We would sit, sometimes never saying anything, perhaps thinking the same thing about peace and war, our arms about each others’ shoulders or back, our skin touching, both aroused. I would look around to make sure there was no one in sight, bring her to me, or she would do that to me, and we would kiss, fondle one another, kiss on the lips, behind ears or on the neck. I would get hard and wondered whether she were feeling a sensation below. It was then, a couple of days later when we were sitting that she nuzzled against my neck, raised her head a bit, blew in my ear, and whispered, “When are you taking me to the Cove?” She placed her hand on my hardness. “Oooh. You’re big.” I started to place my hand on her breast, but she stopped me. “It’s too open here. I want you to take me where you and Lynne made out.” I laughed. “You’re jealous.”

 

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