When I read a story by Nikki Magennis I always feel as if I’m stepping into a conservatory, one of those elegant greenhouses attached to a Victorian mansion. The sultry heat, the haunting fragrance of exotic blossoms, the vibrant colors of the greenery, the quiet hand of the expert gardener—her work is a feast for the mind and the senses. I’m looking forward to reading her brand-new novel, The New Rakes (which has a great book trailer) and hope to enjoy her company in many more erotic anthologies to come.
It’s my great pleasure to pass the storyteller’s card key to Nikki today as we step into a modest hotel room for a very intimate encounter. Today’s refreshments? Bourbon-and-Cokes along with some bar snacks such as fresh-roasted salted nuts and malt vinegar potato chips—the gourmet kind you just can’t stop eating. The flavor is salt, sugar and lusciousness all mixed together like her bittersweet vignette below. Oh, and Nikki took the photo, too, but declined to reveal the identity of the model for obvious reasons. Without further introduction...enjoy!
I took him to the hotel that I’d paid for with next month’s rent money. The night watchman let us in, kept his sleepy eyes to the floor and didn’t give us a second glance. The carpet absorbed our footsteps. Even now, four, five years on, I remember the room number in gold letters on the door and the pink rose pattern of the bedlinen. He sat on the bed, heavily, like he was so, so tired. It was awkward again. I’d forgotten how to undress. We kissed, and it tasted of salt, bourbon, and sweet Coca-Cola. His hands were in my hair, and we didn’t say another word.
Maybe when you take a big risk everything becomes brighter and more vivid. Maybe that’s why I can remember every last detail of how we moved together, how he rolled down my tights and let them pool on the floor. How we were both shy and a little sad, as though we were surrendering something important without knowing what it was.
His body was long and very lean, as pale as blank paper. He had a clumsiness that intrigued me, a careless way of holding me and bumping his knees against me. For a few hours we were just two strangers finding out how we fit together.
His cock was cold, clammy even, and it bent slightly to the side. I felt like I was breaking some hugely important rule when I touched it. But everything we did that night was spoiling something, bringing us from some wild heaven back to physical earth with a scrape and a jolt.
We drifted in and out of sleep, our hands on each others’ bodies. His leg pushed between mine, his cock butted at my cleft, trying to slide in. I wouldn’t let him, for some confused reason, though if I had the chance again, oh god, I would take it. He was right there, lying heavy over me, and every minute of contact we had, every touch, should have reminded me that he was real and not some fallen angel that could save my life.
He felt my breasts, kissed me more, and then, as he fell at last asleep, cupped his hand over my pussy, heavy and unmoving. Just held it.
I felt blessed, in some small, quiet way.