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The Year I Learned to Text: Why Am I Having Sex With a Muslim in My Basement?
Whoever said "politics and religion don't mix " forgot to throw hot sex into the equation.
When Julie, a celibate postmenopausal conservative, reinventing herself in Hollywood as an actor/comedian/realtor, takes on a handsome Persian Muslim twenty-two years her junior as her boy toy, she eagerly takes flight on a magic carpet ride into the addictive chemistry of unconditional love, which eventually consumes her.
Between auditions, working on television sitcoms and movies, driving lookie-loos about the city, caring for her two dogs and one persnickety cat, performing her stand-up routine, and attempting to keep her familial relationships from collapsing, Julie, a retired court reporter and mother of three, slips into her busy life erotic meetings in her basement with Ali, who claims to be an Internet marketing entrepreneur. In the light of scented candles, Julie comes of age and is awakened sexually by the black-eyed bad boy, who does not want to touch her in certain places, and who ritualistically washes his penis in her bathroom sink immediately after vaginal contact. Too soon he becomes her life, a life she senses has come and gone too soon. Late in life, she has learned Ali is always two hours late to their trysts. He is on Persian time.
The Hollywood bungalow mews, in which Julie lives, is a recurring character; each resident having his and her opinion of the goings on at Julie's Spanish six-hundred-forty square-foot brothel. However, no one has ever witnessed Ali's comings and goings, which leads Julie to wonder if, in deed, she hasn't simply invented him, in light of the ongoing political climate and The War on Terror.
When he invites her to join him to live in a cave in Afghanistan, she begins to believe his anti-American pillow talk. An American citizen born in Iran and an honor graduate from UCLA, Ali bemuses our heroine with the contradictions of his Islamic religion, his hypochondria, and the exact whereabouts of his apartment.
Julie feeds her bewilderment with hours spent Googling everything Middle Eastern, always a Cuba Libra and cigarette to steady her. Quickly she learns more about Islam than she ever wanted to know. Her new knowledge of Female Genital Mutilation has her legs crossed in a clenched position.
Ali's hatred toward anything American begins to frighten Julie, who dreams of contacting the FBI or the CIA in an attempt to save him from himself.
Her immediate family--a sympathetic runway model and television actress daughter, a successful know-it-all divorced sister, and an obnoxious, Pollyanna mother on the edge of dementia-- each have their own advice to stir up the cauldron of Julie's frustrations.
In an effort to loosen from his grasp, Julie buys a second home to renovate, a foreclosed vintage cabin in themountains, to which she runs in her feeble attempts to find herself in between mini-breakups from the Muslim sociopath, who continually bounces back into her Hollywood bungalow basement.
Julie at last frees herself, and after one year of soul-searching and never-before experienced depression, she finds him once again on her doorstep asking for her hand in Marriage Islam Style , the threat of three more wives looming on the sand-swept horizon.
Can Julie walk away?
Part Two of the MUSLIM ROMANCE TRILOGY : JIHAD HONEYMOON IN HOLLYWOOD; NOT WITHOUT MY DOGS.
Part Three of the MUSLIM ROMANCE TRILOGY : THE ARAB SPRUNG, WHILE A MUSLIM SLEEPS IN THE WHITE HOUSE
When Julie, a celibate postmenopausal conservative, reinventing herself in Hollywood as an actor/comedian/realtor, takes on a handsome Persian Muslim twenty-two years her junior as her boy toy, she eagerly takes flight on a magic carpet ride into the addictive chemistry of unconditional love, which eventually consumes her.
Between auditions, working on television sitcoms and movies, driving lookie-loos about the city, caring for her two dogs and one persnickety cat, performing her stand-up routine, and attempting to keep her familial relationships from collapsing, Julie, a retired court reporter and mother of three, slips into her busy life erotic meetings in her basement with Ali, who claims to be an Internet marketing entrepreneur. In the light of scented candles, Julie comes of age and is awakened sexually by the black-eyed bad boy, who does not want to touch her in certain places, and who ritualistically washes his penis in her bathroom sink immediately after vaginal contact. Too soon he becomes her life, a life she senses has come and gone too soon. Late in life, she has learned Ali is always two hours late to their trysts. He is on Persian time.
The Hollywood bungalow mews, in which Julie lives, is a recurring character; each resident having his and her opinion of the goings on at Julie's Spanish six-hundred-forty square-foot brothel. However, no one has ever witnessed Ali's comings and goings, which leads Julie to wonder if, in deed, she hasn't simply invented him, in light of the ongoing political climate and The War on Terror.
When he invites her to join him to live in a cave in Afghanistan, she begins to believe his anti-American pillow talk. An American citizen born in Iran and an honor graduate from UCLA, Ali bemuses our heroine with the contradictions of his Islamic religion, his hypochondria, and the exact whereabouts of his apartment.
Julie feeds her bewilderment with hours spent Googling everything Middle Eastern, always a Cuba Libra and cigarette to steady her. Quickly she learns more about Islam than she ever wanted to know. Her new knowledge of Female Genital Mutilation has her legs crossed in a clenched position.
Ali's hatred toward anything American begins to frighten Julie, who dreams of contacting the FBI or the CIA in an attempt to save him from himself.
Her immediate family--a sympathetic runway model and television actress daughter, a successful know-it-all divorced sister, and an obnoxious, Pollyanna mother on the edge of dementia-- each have their own advice to stir up the cauldron of Julie's frustrations.
In an effort to loosen from his grasp, Julie buys a second home to renovate, a foreclosed vintage cabin in themountains, to which she runs in her feeble attempts to find herself in between mini-breakups from the Muslim sociopath, who continually bounces back into her Hollywood bungalow basement.
Julie at last frees herself, and after one year of soul-searching and never-before experienced depression, she finds him once again on her doorstep asking for her hand in Marriage Islam Style , the threat of three more wives looming on the sand-swept horizon.
Can Julie walk away?
Part Two of the MUSLIM ROMANCE TRILOGY : JIHAD HONEYMOON IN HOLLYWOOD; NOT WITHOUT MY DOGS.
Part Three of the MUSLIM ROMANCE TRILOGY : THE ARAB SPRUNG, WHILE A MUSLIM SLEEPS IN THE WHITE HOUSE
390 pages, Paperback
First published March 3, 2011
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February 6, 2014
Juliet Montague, a Hollywood Cougar is on a wild sexual adventure with a hot Persian man twenty-one years her junior. This is an interesting torrid affair. She: right wing Republican Christian. He: Muslim. She: Hopeless romantic. He: Lying manipulator doing anything to get into Juliet's pants. Move over Jackie Collins. Juliet Montague is taking over and how. Find out in this funny, entertaining read. You won't be able to put it down.
Displaying 1 of 1 review