The Eternal Struggle: An Amorous Story

By Lawrence G. Taylor

Updated 6.1.23: The story first appeared in third person, but a year ago I changed the storytelling to first person. The narrative is set in Stockholm, Sweden in the early 70s. I've chosen the categories literary, contemporary & historical fiction

    The story presents a psychological portrait of gender struggle between the two main characters, James is from the Caribbean and Maud is from Sweden. Both are full of themselves––two ego-strippers. The storytelling is character-driven, and the plot has a few surprises. 

    For years, James behaved like a playboy, shying away from a meaningful relationship until he began to feel like "a sex machine" and lonely. The time to turn a new page in his life had arrived. He had lost faith in meeting the right woman.

    James then meets a woman of his dreams - she's attractive and intellectually stimulating. His old seductive tricks become a threat, but James is disciplined. On the first date, a heated discussion erupts, which threatens his dream.

    James and Maud are argumentative and egoistic, and wage a battle of sexual politics against the other. Whether feminist Maud will stick to her gun or succumb to her affections remains a question. Former lady's man James has the choice of compromising to achieve his desire, by letting go of misogynistic inclinations – or walking away in despair.

 

Opposites do attract. Solid 5 stars.

Byvermont reviewer on February 5, 2017

Verified Purchase

The main character in the story James certainly could be described as a ladies man. He finds out that love is just around the corner and his life is about to be changed when he meets Maud Magnusson who is a journalist and also a feminist. James finds that a more meaningful relationship can be developed with someone who is much different than those whom he had met previously. One of my favorite lines from the story. "The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves." James had a goal in his life to become a writer. Another line that I liked. "In general, people aren't good in giving up bad habits!" I wondered what kind of relationship James and Maud would have? The old adage opposites attract certainly holds true. One more line that I liked "Guilt is an emotion that people experience because they're convinced they've caused harm." The references to the music really added to the story. Both characters had enough flaws to have the readers relate to them. Lawrence G. Taylor shows his readers a great story through his characters. I look forward to reading more works by Mr. Taylor. I have rated this one a solid 5 stars.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lawrence G. Taylor
• Release date: Dec 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370657582

Lawrence G. Taylor

I was born in Guyana, left there for the UK; worked and studied in London, before taking up residence in Sweden in autumn 1969. In the 70s, I tried my hand at writing fiction, mostly short stories, a four-act closet drama, a novella, and an unfinished novel. I spent two years nurturing the ambition to become an author of some repute. But the going was tough, with no financial security for the future. I shelved the idea of earning a living through writing and got a job as a hospital porter. Later, I got a BA (Eng. & Edu.). After a summer job at a psychiatric hospital, I decided to do a 4-term course for mental-health carers, Following that I completed the first of two stages of psychotherapy education and several short courses in cognitive therapy. After retirement, I did part-time mental health counselling work for several years. In February 2016, my debut book appeared: Strangers In Another Country, a collection of two short stories and two novellas, available in ebook and paperback. On 9th Dec. 2016, I published a novella, The Eternal Struggle: An Amorous Story. In March 2017, Two Girls in a Café, a short story appeared. Making Sense Of Past Time - a Novel available in paperback, and ebook format. Tell Me Who My Enemy Is - a four-act closet drama published this summer (2018). The Ballad of Calle and Maja - a short story published Nov 2018. Getting it Right, if Ever – Romance Novella was published 22nd Aug -19 Four Bittersweet Romances & A Four-Act Closet Drama was published 3rd Nov 2019. In 2020, I published a short story, Darker Than Blue --This Mortal Coil. MY BOOKS ARE UPDATED (Dec 2020). I have a Twitter account @lgt41 and a blog page: lgt41blog.wordpress.com. I’m a hobby photographer, and you can view several of my images at https://www.foap.com/community/profiles/lgt41 I sincerely hope you find my stories enjoyable, and a review of my books would be much appreciated. Lawrence G. Taylor

Book preview

QUOTES

"I’M SELFISH, IMPATIENT and a little insecure. I make mistakes. I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best."

— Marilyn Monroe

...OUR NATURAL TENDENCY to talk to ourselves, see the world egocentrically, defend our egos, seek validation, and engage in other acts of selfhood often works against our best interests. Self and ego are part of the problem.

— Mark R. Leary**, The Curse of The Self

WE’VE ALL HEARD THAT women need to feel loved to have sex, but men need to have sex to feel loved.

__ Jed Diamond PhD.

THE ONLY THING A MAN wants more than sexuality is a secure harbor. (To paraphrase Jed Diamond PhD.)

Copyright © 2016, 2019, 2021, 2022, 2023 Lawrence G. Taylor

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and dialogue in the stories are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Purely coincidental are any resemblances to persons living or dead. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Book layout by www.draft2digital.com

For my wife, son, and his family

Chapter1

A SWEDISH WOMAN APPEARED from the hall to the heart of the Paradise disco, and, on her way to the coat counter, she produced a numbered chip for Ricky, the Afro-American cloak attendant. Alain and I eyed her. She was slim, medium height, jet-black-haired, and lovely. She put on a hooded black duffle coat.

I approached her and smiled as I said, Are you leaving already? I spoke in English, a language I was most comfortable with, away from the workplace. My words conveyed a humorous halo. Talking to a stranger like that was not untypical of me.

Precisely, the woman spoke in English. She frowned, stopped, and looked me in the eye as if she was ready to stand her ground. I was caught a bit off guard, which made me uncomfortable.

My luck! I never got a chance to dance with you, and rubbed my palms together, a habit even though nervousness was a factor.

The woman continued to stare. A slight smile skimmed across her bare lips. Are you suggesting that I change my mind? If so, you’re wasting your time. She made a face and then put a black scarf around her neck.

Oh, what a pity, I whimpered, making a face in jester.

I imagine you’re about to add you wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. She said as if making fun of my disingenuous behaviour.

No. Not that platitude, I smiled, recovering some serenity. I wanted to dissuade you from leaving. I thought: a smart ass!

Then I’m sorry to disappoint the desire. The woman spoke with self-assurance. She still seemed ready to leave. Her brown leather bag’s strap is now on her left shoulder, and a grey woollen bonnet is in her right hand.

I ventured, Then I wouldn’t be able to experience your warmness.

The remark was spontaneous and thoughtless, and I expected it to backfire. But my mood became upbeat, and I didn’t feel the need for prudence. To hell with the consequence. My face might’ve shown the expectation of positivity.

Really, the woman said, wearing a fixed smile, still sounding confident. Is that so! I can’t remember seeing you touching anyone while dancing.

I suddenly felt trapped. The woman’s words had caught me off guard again. But the truth amused me.

Of the three women, she had been the one who kept eyeing me from time to time.

Trying to laugh off her remark, I said, Oh, well. You’re right. I peddled back a bit as if outperformed and the thought of standing in quicksand.

According to anecdotes from a few girlfriends I dated who spent summer vacations in Italy, the idea of touching was popular among hippies, left-wing groups, and Italian men. But I wasn’t much for touching, not at least on the first date.

I added, Probably because I find many women who do not appreciate being fondled by strangers. Naturally, I’m against touching women against their will.

The woman shook her head in amazement. Alain guffawed.

I changed the subject. Are you a student?

"Why do I look so young? She smirked, adding, No, I earn a living as a journalist."

Oh, I see. I beamed but felt a little disconcerted, like a boxer caught by a surprise punch. I affected coolness. That’s interesting. I do some writing without hope of financial benefit for the struggle.

Really! she exclaimed; her face lighted up. I’m using the underground. Tell me what you’re writing about if you want to."

Why not! I heard myself say. Her manner made me happy, and I winked at Alain as I exited the door in step with the woman’s shadow.

IT DRIZZLED, AND THE air was cool. While the woman put on the hood of her duffle coat and put away the orange-coloured bonnet in the coat side pocket, she remarked about the weather, which I missed out on.

I thought about whether to return for my green duffle coat, but I quickly dismissed the idea. I didn’t wish to appear fragile in the face of a drizzle.

That prompted her to say, You should have taken a coat. The drizzle may get heavier. Autumn weather.

Ah, that’s okay. The walk to the tube station is short; I’ll survive, I chuckled.

Still, fetch it. I can wait.

It doesn’t matter. I smiled, taking out a handkerchief from my trousers' back pocket, unfolding it and holding it over my head—a habit from my youth.

What type of writing do you do? the woman reiterated.

Articles about black foreigners in Sweden. There are cultural, social, and political issues for a bi-monthly community newsletter run by some liberal friends in London. I earn some money from the newsletter. Not much, though. I have no schooling in journalism. After learning Swedish for six months, I took an aptitude test at the unemployment centre. The administrative officer suggested I try journalism, but I would first have to improve my Swedish. I know little Swedish to write properly. I’m writing a debut novel in English, but I feel more comfortable writing non-fiction. Fiction is difficult. I’m optimistic and believe that much practice makes perfect. I’m not gifted. I must work hard at whatever I want to do. Photography took me years to do decent shots. I put much effort into things and expected practical knowledge to develop independently. But that’s a story for later, I smiled.

So, you’re aiming at becoming a writer!

Well, yes. An ambitious goal.

The woman said, It’s interesting. What’s the novel about?

Oh, well, lots of things! Problems that people face. Not just about issues that affect foreigners.

Interesting, she said.

I thought of the drizzle. It affected my composure. I thought about ending the conversation, saying goodbye, and returning to comfort. But on second thought, it might seem inappropriate. I began to think of a proper way to say goodbye and head back to Paradise. I suddenly felt bored from babbling about myself, so I asked a silly question, whether it was her first time at the disco.

First time, she said. My two friends and I met for dinner, and I thought I’d try Paradise for a change. I’m not fond of attending discos. I prefer the cosy atmosphere of private parties, where the music doesn’t make conversation impossible.

Perhaps that explains why you left so early.

The music is okay, and the scene is a typical discotheque environment.

But it’s for dancing, I said to change my mood. Conversation takes a backseat! Our non-verbal language runs the show?

I laughed.

At private parties, the music is moderate, allowing chatting while dancing. She looked up at me, and I averted my eyes straight ahead.

That’s true, I said, looking ahead as if I wished not to press home the point.

Speaking of dancing: I danced twice with some silly chap. And that was enough: Both him and the loud music! She grimaced. But I must add that some men appeared amusing, with funny hats and outfits. I felt well entertained by their antics. She paused. But I wouldn’t be going there again. Not worth it, even if it was free. You can expect my two friends to be there again. She laughed.

I said, I can understand if some people wouldn’t enjoy the atmosphere there. I’m likely to return there for the music.

That I cannot believe, the woman smirked.

I didn’t quite understand but had a suspicion. Not for the girls, I heard myself say. The purpose is to observe others. It’s good stimulation for an aspiring writer. Looking at the interaction of genders might be just fine to satisfy me. I wanted it to be so. The saying, judge a man by his deeds, not words, crossed my mind.

The woman said, I detected some difference in your manner from the other black men. Your whole demeanour seemed unlike theirs. That’s what I noticed at once. You danced with one of my friends. You danced, even walked, differently. While dancing, you weren’t indulging in over-embracing your dancing partner like the other black men enjoyed. Even your style of dress is different.

I instantly felt the blood flowing in my cheeks, blushing with pride. Really! All that your eyes picked up. I smiled and looked ahead. I never imagined how others would see me. In one way, I’m flattered. But I’m no different from most of my black brothers that appeared amusing to you. Culturally, we’re the same, with variations regarding our mindsets or point of view. People generally are the same; they have more in common than they’re willing to admit. I like to think of other people, regarding history and culture, and, to a lesser extent, race. I paused. "I