Stories From The 6 Train

by Alexis Angel

  Already, Hollywood executives are rushing to City Hall to buy the rights to the story—something that seems like it could come out of a racy romance novel rather than reality.

  Perhaps most striking in transformation is the Mayor himself, who gave a much more subdued acceptance speech once all exit polls were closed, calling for unity and compassion between all New Yorkers—no longer the firebrand of moral righteousness that he was on the campaign trail.

  The Mayor, who had been accompanied through most of his campaign by his wife and stepson, spoke alone this time around.

  Sources are telling me that Lance Anders and Jocelyn Anders left by the Anders' private jet to London shortly after their gripping press conference two days before the election. Sources inside City Hall were not able to confirm whether the pair had in fact voted.

  Mayor Anders, in addition to his conciliatory tone that he took throughout the final days of his campaign after the what many are deeming the ‘press conference to end all press conferences’ is putting in place plans that are a vast departure from his traditional ‘family values’ principles he put out during the summer. Instead, campaign and administration officials stressed that the first year of Hizzoner’s second term will be focused on job training for displaced workers, as well as luring more manufacturing and specialty jobs back into the city that have been lost through automation and factory closings. The mayor is apparently also considering an across the board tax cut for middle income and low income families that will assist those who are currently struggling in the city’s economy.

  While critics of the Mayor, who state that he can sometimes run roughshod over his enemies, have stated that only time will tell if his startling admission to being gay will mean a kinder and gentler politician, already many in New York who felt alienated by Michael Anders are celebrating.

  “I hate to say anything good about the man, considering I spent the last several months saying bad things, but it looks like after that doozie of a press conference, we’ll see a more open and honest Michael Anders,” Jim Jenkins, his opponent commented to me after his concession speech. He went on to state, “Whereas before, if you were unemployed, elderly, poor, a single mother, working in manufacturing, or just basically not wealthy, you had cause for concern, it seems that the Mayor coming clean about his own skeletons has made him say and do some very, very different things.”

  Only time will tell what the relationship with Mayor Anders and the City of New York will be like. During that time, many of you in Gotham will undoubtedly be wondering what happens to his estranged stepson who seems to have for the moment absconded with his wife.

  “Since the Mayor and Jocelyn Carter were never truly married it turns out due to the form not being properly signed, there’s no real reason for a divorce,” his Chief of Staff Kenneth Loomis stated when contacted about this issue. “The Mayor wishes them both every happiness and hopes that they will keep him abreast of news of his grandson. But in all honesty, he’s probably going to be more focused on running the city.”

  Citizens polled during Election Day stated overwhelmingly that the Mayor’s burst of honesty was what had made them finally favor him. Many stated that holding back such a key facet regarding his personality had affected him in other areas in how he presented himself to the public, which all coalesced to create such low approval ratings for him despite his photogenic family. I think that once citizens learned the full story of their Mayor, we began to realize that we may not like him as a person on some levels because he’s so busy, but the job of Mayor requires someone who will give it their all and sacrifice everything else. And that made him the top choice, by a margin of 63% to 37%.

  That about does it for my coverage of this election cycle. I either need a vacation from politics, a long, hot shower to feel clean again, or both.

  I can’t wait till Lance and Jocelyn come back to New York though—they’re currently in London—and you can bet that as soon as they have their baby that this newspaper will be all over them, getting the facts for your reading pleasure. Till we hear more, this is Amanda Adams signing off. Keep your ears open, New York.

  Jocelyn

  Epilogue

  The limo glides next to the curb of our new home in the city. I get out, and Lance comes out from the other side, holding the baby carrier.

  I look up briefly. I can’t see the top of the tower to One57.

  “How did you say you came to a decision to live here, again?” I ask him.

  He shrugs as we walk into the ornate lobby. “I got a buddy who lives here,” he says.

  “Someone from your wilder days?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

  I can’t help it. Lance looks very cute carrying little Lola Grace in the baby carrier. A bad boy, certifiably with his tattoos, now a daddy.

  “A buddy of mine from a while ago, actually, Arsen Hawke,” he says.

  The name rings a bell for me. “The porn king?” I ask.

  He nods. “His dad was the porn king, but he met some girl and they run it like a business now.”

  “The guy who’s making webcams come into the mainstream?” I ask Lance. I’m a bit skeptical. “He’s not going to want to film Lola Grace or something, is he?”

  Lance laughs. “Nah, but he’ll probably be down to him us.”

  I give Lance a look. He looks at me and smiles and whatever withering stare I may have tried vanishes. I love this man too much to even be fake mad at him.

  You know that feeling, hun? Where you’re mad at your significant other for being too cute to not let you be mad at them? Like you try to be mad at you, but then they just smirk or smile, or touch you somewhere and you stop being mad? And then you get mad that they were able to take away your anger?

  Let me just say that I’d rather be mad about this, than where I was one year ago. Right before the election.

  We open the door to the apartment and walk in.

  It’s already furnished rather tastefully. I hired someone while we were in Europe to make sure that the apartment was ready for us.

  What? I would have loved to do it myself, but it’s really hard when you have to have sex three times a day and take care of a baby.

  Although, hun, the sex part - I don’t have to do it. It’s just that my body seems to want it that often, is all. Like I’ve been walking in a desert, and now I finally have all the water I could drink.

  Besides, the $10 million a month that Michael pays me as a settlement lets me not have to worry about these things. Combined with Lance’s trust fund, I’d say we’re doing pretty good. Considering where we were.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “That must be Michael,” Lance thinks and I’m almost tempted to say speak of the devil.

  It’s funny. I want to stay mad at Lance, but I’ve already forgotten what that’s like. But Michael. I’m not mad at Michael. It’s just a chill that runs through me when I see him walk in the door.

  He doesn’t have the human feelings that are supposed to be in people. Something like that. No way else to explain any of this…

  “Hello,” Michael says walking in. “I just wanted to stop by, welcome you to my city, and visit my granddaughter.”

  Lance shakes his hand and I bite back the urge to tell him he’s not related to our little family in any way. I was never married to him. He was never Lance’s father. But I stop.

  “She’s beautiful,” Michael says bending over and examining Lola Grace.

  The baby looks up at Michael, in a few minutes she’ll be crawling around the apartment, exploring. But for now, she’s content to stay bundled up where she is.

  Michael gets up and turns around.

  He hands Lance an envelope.

  “Come back to work for the company and the campaign son,” he says to him. “Here is everything I have, and I think I’ve met your conditions.”

  “The media hitting you that badly, huh?” Lance asks.

  Michael shakes his head. “Not at all, actually,” he says. “They’ve e
mbraced this whole breaking barriers thing I’m putting up at them. Really taking the narrative of the first openly gay mayor to heart.”

  “Then why do you want me back?” Lance asks with suspicion.

  Michael shrugs. “Well, considering that I have no need for a family, having the two of you there associated with me can only help in the polls,” he says. He looks out the windows. “I mean, with the city the way it is and problems always cropping up, you can never have too few positives on your side of the table.”

  Lance looks at Michael for a second. There’s a lot of history between those two men. A lot of anger. Pain. Hurt.

  Finally he nods his head. “I can give you another chance,” he says and Michael smiles.

  The two shake hands. There’s a moment.

  Then Michael turns to me. He knows better than to take a step closer.

  “Jocelyn,” he says. “I’ve given Lance copies of everything I had on your father. He’s free and no longer ever has to worry.”

  I nod. It’s going to take time for me to trust Michael. But if Lance is willing to try, I can match.

  Michael says his goodbyes after a while and I turn to Lance. He grabs me in his arms, and the two of us walk to the floor to ceiling windows of One57. Of our new home.

  Our new life. Together.

  Just the way I want it.

  A Goodbye From Lance

  Jocelyn really wanted to be the person that got to say goodbye to you. But I got here first, and since it’s only really one of us that talks to you at a time, I guess this is my turn.

  But no, really, I wanted to tell you how fucking awesome I think you are for making it this far. Most novels are 40,000 to 50,000 words. If you’re reading this, babe, you’ve just digested 82,000 words of fucking story. Actually, wait, that’s pretty much what it was, wasn’t it? A story about fucking? Or a fucking story?

  Whatever, listen, this is all I came to tell you and I wanted to tell you a bit about the chick who wrote this because she doesn’t usually like doing things the normal way.

  So her name is Alexis Angel and she usually has all this shit she puts down about how she likes having fun and shit and whatever the fuck girls talk about they like to buy, and Jocelyn even gave me a list of things to say but I fucking forgot. It’s not my fault. Jocelyn got these black yoga pants from Lululemon and I was just staring at that ass. Wanted to fucking bury my face in those fucking cheeks. And slap that ass while I was rubbing my face in it. Got my cock so fucking hard I swear to God its a fucking wonder I’m even sitting here talking to you instead of fucking her right now. But I gotta do this first because Alexis took the fucking time to write about us that Jocelyn won’t forgive me if I forget.

  What am I even talking about? Oh, right. So, you can reach Alexis at alexis@naughtyangelpublishing.com if you want to email her about anything. She loves all the normal shit that girls do, but I sometimes think she’s a fucking dirty girl too at heart. I mean, she made us describe the sex we had in such fucking detail. Like, ‘where did you move your hand after that? How hard did you squeeze her nipple? What did it feel like when her tongue was at the tip of your cock? What about when it was on your shaft?’

  I swear, it’s like I should have fucking invited her with the two of us, she seems to know every fucking thing about our lives.

  Anyways, Alexis is on Facebook right now where she’s probably talking about me. You can friend her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/alexis.angel.754. But she’s also got a page where she took pictures of me and Jocelyn and put it on a cover. Her page is at: https://www.facebook.com/author.alexisangel/.

  Ok, so that’s everything right? I forgot her fucking Twitter and shit, and seriously, Jocelyn can’t expect me to remember everything when she’s shaking her ass like that in my face. I swear to God.

  I think I’m going to go fuck her now. It’s been a couple of hours and I’m fucking horny. Oh, you haven’t read about our wedding in Europe, have you? If you want to read about how we started, or the shit that you didn’t get to see - and trust me, you’ve seen more into my fucking life than me at this point, I think - then you can do all that by signing up for the Naughty Angels Newsletter, here.

  But seriously, do whatever you got to do, just know that it was fucking good having you. And I’m serious, if you had met me before Jocelyn, or if you ask Alexis really nicely, I will totally come over and fuck you. Yeah, you fucking read that right. I’ll come over and rub my 12-inch cock all over your tits before I suck on them and make you fucking sigh. Then I’ll eat your pussy till you fucking squeal. Then I’ll stick my cock inside of you till you pass the fuck out.

  You just gotta either be part of her Naughty Angels or ask her on Facebook. Don’t believe me? You already saw my ass on the Prequel, didn’t you?

  See you around.

  Well hello again

  Jailbait was the first book under Alexis Angel. It sold like 300 copies lol. Never got anywhere. Barely broke rank #1000. So long ago. So, I’m proud to present…Jailbait!

  After that…Man Chaser by Alexis Angel.

  And then a copy of Wicked Lil’ Brat by Alexis Angel.

  And then a copy of DILF by Alexis Angel. This has never before been seen in added content and is provided exclusively for you today as a thank you!

  After that, I have two short stories.

  Followed by Buyer’s Remorse, a short story by Cara Angel - who is new to the Naughty Angel lineup.

  All followed by, Whitney & Dax, which is a short story by Alexis Angel.

  Both are never before seen and brand new. They will never be published anywhere else separately.

  Our goal in this is simple.

  To entertain you as long as we can to give you the best experience with the words that we hold so dear. Because while we may be in various corners of the world, the fact that we are sharing these brings us closer together we feel.

  Thank you so much for reading!

  xoxo

  Alexis

  Description

  Jailbait: A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance

  I’m a bad man. That’s why I’m in jail. And I’m gonna use her as my ticket out…

  She’s sexy, sassy, and cute. But she’s never met anyone like me. I should have no trouble getting what I need from her and moving on.

  I’ve done it before. Broken hearts when I left ‘em after I got what I needed. I can do it again.

  I can’t let that curvy body sway me from my goal. I can’t let those wide eyes and beautiful lips make me forget what I am – an inmate looking to escape.

  Ain’t no way I’m falling in love while I’m using her if I know what’s good for me.

  There’s just one problem. I’ve never done what’s good for me. That’s why I’m in jail, remember?

  Incarcerate yourself with this secret baby bad boy romance—filled with brooding bad boy alpha-males and the women they love! No cliffhangers, but it’s a scorcher with super-steamy scenes. Happily Ever After? You know it.

  Kerri

  The house is quiet. I place my keys on the dining table and walk through the living room. It's dark, but I hear the steady hum of a fan. He must have left it on and then got called into work because I don't hear him, I think to myself. But then I hear a noise coming from an upstairs bedroom. Was that a giggle or a cough, or maybe something else? I can't tell. The sound is too far away.

  I slowly make my way up the stairs. "Hello?" I call out. But I don't receive a response. Maybe Jonathan is home and taking a shower. I approach our bedroom. The door is closed but there is a light on. I turn the knob and push the door open. The stereo is on and I hear our familiar song playing its soulful melody:

  "If the stars don't shine, if the moon won't rise, if I never see the setting sun again, you won't hear me cry, this I testify, please believe me, boy, you know I won't lie, you and me, you and me…"

  I blink back the light of the room as my eyes adjust. At first nothing seems amiss. I notice our rumpled white comforter on the bed and it's m
oving rhythmically. "Jonathan?" I ask. But before I hear anything else, I now know what I'm looking at, and I'm having a hard time believing it. My eyes burn, and I blink, but when I open them again, I know everything is now changed. My life is irrevocably altered.

  "Babe, what are you doing home? I thought you were working?" Jonathan stammers, holding the comforter up to his chin.

  At first, I'm too stunned to say anything. And then I scream, and once I open my mouth, I can't stop. Words spill out of my mouth like water from a fire hose. "Get out! You bastard, get out! Now! Just get out!" Hot tears are spilling out of my eyes, and I hate myself for crying. I should be stronger than this. My strong-willed mother raised me, and if she were here right now, she'd tell me to be tougher than this. I can almost hear her voice in my ear, with its deep, serious tone, telling me that this man doesn't deserve me. He isn't worth crying about. But I'm devastated—there is no question about it—and the hurt that's coursing through me drowns that all out.

  "We can work this out," Jonathan pleads. He's getting out of our bed, naked, and holding a pillow in front of his erect cock. His hair is a mess and he runs his fingers through it. His face is flush; he seems scared, but he's forcing his mouth into a smile, and I can't help but look at his rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. I used to think they were a thing of beauty, and now I think they make him look fake, like a real-life talking mannequin, which reminds me of a horror movie. He extends his hand to mine, but I don't let him touch me. I swat it away and turn my body before crossing my arms defensively.

  Before this moment, I thought he was the perfect man, even the man of my dreams. I believed that the fairy tale was possible—I bought into the Disney dream that said everyone had their soul mate—their hero on a white horse would come along, so long as you waited for him. I pictured us in this house with kids. I pictured the wedding. I even found myself day dreaming about what kind of flowers I'd use for our arrangements. Hell, I even thought we'd eventually have the mini-van and the weekday soccer practices. It was such a clear picture.