EXTRACT FOR
Raw, Hot And Naked
(Author Unknown)

What woman is not perfect... 

When she is raw, hot and naked?

     

      Like a dog on a leash. Like a fish in a bowl. Like a chicken on the barbeque. I had no place to go. I had no place to run. And here I am again. The same coffee café. The same October. The same Xmas lights going up, and same sticky coffee cup with hot brown goo going down the front of my shirt. But it was the differences that struck me this time. The Christmas lights were already up. And there was snow on the ground.

      As far as I know, it has not snowed in Wellington for decades. It got cold, especially up on the top of the hill where my dirty little apartment was. No heat, and no money to keep it livable anyway, with only my cat to keep me warm. But now, snow. But no broken bottles.

      In New Zealand, the kiwis start to drink at the age of 12, and then slow down at the age of fifty, just as their bodies begin to liquefy. In between, they drink. And kiwis don't drink to forget. They drink to die. And the empty beer bottle is the coward's weapon of choice, and kiwis are nothing if not cowards.

      If one kiwi is facing you head on, you just know that seven of his mates are behind you, sneaking up with empty beer bottles to beat you to death. And never fight back! Never defend yourself! The kiwi consider that to be "cheating."

      But there are always seas of broken bottles in every street in every town in New Zealand. It's a law, I think. But not here. No broken glass. No vomit. No vomit covered kiwis staggering home early (or late) because the foreign taxi drivers will not let them into their cabs. It's actually clean. That is different. And empty. Where are all the people?

      At this time of day, there should be people out smoking, having endless coffees, doing anything they can to avoid work. The managers insist on that. (Why? I will explain that later. And "yes", you probably won't believe me). And I should know ??" I'm the guy who gets stuck doing their work for them. And the letter. The note. It always begins here, with the note. The beautiful handwriting, written by another beautiful, invisible woman. If she's invisible, isn't every woman beautiful? And this one is named Eleana.

      

      From the diaries of

      Jefferson Milton Davis



Chapter One: Eleana

      

      Eleana

      "Hello, dear Jefferson!

      I have read your letter and make conclusion - you are so interesting person, a little bit romantic, and with the best human qualities. 

      I hope I am right.

      But what to me is curious is how did your letter reach for me? I think I am forever grateful, but how did your letter begin in my handbag? 

      I will not ask too many questions. 

      You are man. You need keep your secrets. 

      Perhaps maybe someday you will to me explain? For this moment, my letters to you I leave in my handbag. Maybe I see you in my dream?

      Now I'll tell you something about me.

      I'm sensitive and tender, loving and caring! 

      I want to belong to my man totally, and to be for him everything: affectionate mother, devoted friend, sexy lover and loving housewife. Can bring a pure bliss. I am very sweet, HONEST and sexy lady. I like variety in my life, and in all I do. I love music - instrumental or piano, sport - especially Fitness and dancing (Latino or hip-hop). 

      If you want I will dance only for you.

      Also I like to cook - my best dish is Ukrainian national soup - Borscht - so you'll never feel hungry with me, be sure!

      And about my negative qualities - I very much like to go shopping and spend time with my girlfriends. What negative qualities have you, or are you really an angel?? I want to know your preferences, your hobby, something about your job. But the most of all about your soul - what kind people do you like, and what qualities do you value?

      I must confess I'm interested on you so much. I really liked you and I want to know you better.

      Kisses

      Eleana"

      

      So the Magic Postman strikes again.

      Oh, god. Not again.

      If she is the same woman, then we have lived this moment over one time too many already.

      If she really is a different invisible woman, then I just want the world to stop, because quite frankly I want to get off!

      I dearly wish I had the money to rent hookers. They are paid to be nice to you, and you NEVER have to tell them your life story. 

      I would do anything to never repeat the horror that is my life again.

      In other words, if I could avoid this, I would.

      But if I try to change THIS reality (if I even knew how) what would happen then?

      I mean, to me?

      I have already been drawn and quartered by flying linens. Peeled like a banana and then reassembled from the inside out. 

      Dropped into a demon's warehouse. Little stone gargoyles tried to sample my wares for lunch.

      Did I mention that I really did not enjoy that?

      So, I guess I play the game. 

      Again.

      

      Jefferson

      "Hi Eleana,

      Thank you very much for writing back to me.

      It is very kind of you to think that I am "interesting".

      The women here in the West think I am very dull as I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs! 

      So again, thank you.

      To hear your description of yourself is breathtaking. You sound like a real, true, perfect woman to me. 

      The kind of woman that I have been looking for my entire life.

      There is no such thing as "honesty" in the women here. Not kindness, nor warmth, or caring, or compassion of any kind.

      You sound wonderful.

      I have been Salsa dancing for two years now (seven hours a week) and would like it very much if you would dance with me. 

      And then perhaps later you could dance for me.

      I am speaking with two other beautiful women from Ukraine right now, and it would make me happier than I have ever been before in my life if we could become a family together, devoted completely to one another forever.

      I have many negative qualities (being a "fallen angel" I am expected to have at least a few). I believe that being kind to people is the only way to live (unfortunately people have discovered this about me and take advantage of me ??" so now I mostly just hide).

      I believe in being honest and truthful ??" again, these are qualities that - in the West ??" people dislike intensely.

      My hobbies are Salsa dancing, music (I sing ??" and am working on my first solo album now), history, cooking, travel, gardening, and I love to build things. I used to work on boats and rebuild houses ??" I really miss that.

      I would be honored if you would cook for me. 

      I have been cooking since I was five years old, but most of my life I have had no one to cook for, at least, no one that I liked.

      I would like to cook for you.

      I hope I hear from you again soon.

      Jefferson"

      

      Eleana

      "Hello, my sweet Jefferson!

      "You don't know a woman until you have a letter from her" - I hope from this letter you'll recognize I'm very tender and soft, and I'm serious with you, darling! 

      Oh, Jefferson, how I love to dance! 

      And I love so much you love it! So would you be my teacher in Salsa? Be sure, I'll learn it fast and we'll be dancing in our love and passion!

      I can't believe you that women in the West think so about such attractive, honest and wise man! So it's no wonder you are speak here in Ukrainian girl. 

      Ukrainian man on the contrary of you more gross and brute, that's why many girls from Ukraine find their love with another country's men. 

      Honey, I like that idea if we all could become a family together!

      And at the end my surprise for you, darling.

      Today I will prepare a cocktail for you! 

      Firstly I will prepare basis - dissolve in love my desires of you and add a bit of tenderness.

      After it I will add a peppercorn - my flaming passion, and sex appeal. Then you will help me to shake all ingredients, and I will add the piece of ice by my lips to it and compel you to have a drink this cocktail of fiery passion, you will not be able to renounce! Will we try that?

      I'm so happy you like me!

      Wait for you so much, honey!

      Your Eleana"

      

      It might just be the fact that I now travel in time, against my hopes and my will, but there is something different here, in this "now."

      Besides the snow, there is a smell in the air, something that is driving me crazy. It's like perfume, and freshly grilled steak. 

      A very rare steak.

      I leave my accustomed and dreaded place at the coffee café, and start down the street, trying to identify what this aroma, this scent could possibly be!

      And it's coming from the woman just in front of me.

      There are people in this version of Wellington, just not enough of them to crush the city under their jack-booted heels. They are still kiwis: foul, nasty, arrogant, and stupid.

      But this woman. 

      There is something delicious about her.

      I follow her, not to closely, even though I suspect that I am still invisible, I have no interest in finding out differently, at least not until I can solve this new riddle.

      The fact that I cannot die has not made me any less cautious, especially around Western females.

      But that smell!

      I know that I know that smell, but not like this. This is intoxicating. 

      It's the smell of life.

      How I know what life smells like is a mystery to me, as I was never really alive then, and I am certainly not alive now.

      But I know this.

      Or maybe it's my body that knows it.

      We all have three separate identities. The Chinese talk about charkas. The mystics talk about auras. And the western shrinks used to call it:

      The "id"

      The "super id"

      And, the "ego"

      Truthfully? You, and me? We are just parasites, invading this body. We are the ego, the arrogance you see all around us.

      The body has its own consciousness, its own thoughts. 

      And the cells of that body? They have their own memories and awareness to ??" you'd call it racial memory. All the thoughts, and dreams, and joys, and tragedies, of all our ancestors.

      And they want their say too.

      And you and I? We are the parasites that have invaded it, and the body wants nothing more than to be rid of us.

      Frankly, I don't blame it a bit.

      And the id? That is the racial memory every cell of our body carries. It's the dreams and hopes and memories of all our ancestors, and they want to be heard. 

      Believe me.

      That is why when yogis say they have balanced their charkas, what they are really saying is that they have managed to get all three of these VERY different personalities (us) to agree on something!

      And when all three parts of your own awareness agree, that is when you start walking through walls, flying through the air.

      Or moving through time.

      Oh!

      Shit.