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Writing this story at the age of nineteen was a first attempt at creating a full-length novel. At that age, there was little thought about format or grammar and certainly no restraint in telling the story its ‘kinky-thrills-snarky-from all angles made worse subject matter.

It turned out to be an adult flick… ahem… Book.

The protagonist in my story is Daniel Coulton. The story begins not with him but with a young model (yeah, I know I was nineteen and into music, and it seems to me at the time that most musicians liked models...)... Anyhow, the model Janine Montgomery is out with another model friend and finds herself in the middle of a horrible tragedy. They are hanging out a night in a car when the friend pulls out a gun and holds it to her head, shoots and kills herself. Janine is then in shock, leaves the car, the dead friend and her belongings behind and walks for miles in the darkness and eventually discovered at a bar where some guy, (the bartender?) sees the blood on her and tries getting her help. So Janine wakes up the next day in a hospital bed and goes into a panic when along comes a mystery guy who amazes the medical staff when he calms Janine with just the touch of his palm to her head. What a nice thing that was.. ..Then he threatens to kill them all if they allow anything to happen to Janine.

Story goes on to tell the relationship that builds between Janine and Daniel with a whole rig of twists and turns along the way. ...Daniel's got this odd and hateful aunt "Lily" and what seems to be his yesman Jonathan Goodard (I think that was the name). Janine's camp includes the agency boss Frances Robart (robot? robot? robot?) and her sister Erin, the sis's boyfriend Simon, and a ton of other people all connect in the grand scheme of things. I am tired of trying to explain this story so I guess I will put it on here just in case anyone wants to read. I warn you...written when I was NINETEEN.

This story has not been changed at all from first writing it. I did attempt to make some name changes but have since changed them back — perhaps haven’t discovered all those changes. My mind was a bit screwed up then as ever and now looking back, I am glad to say that I have discarded this sort of writing altogether. I’m not proud of it, not accepting of its premise, and somewhat angry at myself for writing a story about fictional man who believes in his own (gifted) superiority to the extent of jeopardizing the entirety of humankind. All for what?

Pleasure. Control.

But here we are, forty years later.