Sex in the City - New York

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Title Page

  SEX IN THE CITY:

  NEW YORK

  EDITED BY

  MAXIM JAKUBOWSKI

  Publisher Information

  Published by Accent Press Ltd

  Digital Edition converted and published by

  Andrews UK Limited 2010

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © individual stories: Individual authors 2010

  Copyright © compilation: Maxim Jakubowski 2010

  The right of individual authors(as shown on stories’ title pages) to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Cover design by Zipline Creative

  Introduction

  I am reliably informed that the art and practice of sex is well-known outside of major cities too, but that’s another book altogether!

  Our new Sex In The City series is devoted to the unique attraction that major cities worldwide provide to lovers of all things erotic. Famous places and monuments, legendary streets and avenues, unforgettable landmarks all conjugate with our memories of loves past and present, requited and unrequited, to form a map of the heart like no other. Brief encounters, long-lasting affairs and relationships, the glimpse of a face, of hidden flesh, eyes in a crowd, everything about cities can be sexy, naughty, provocative, dangerous and exciting.

  Cities are not just about monuments and museums and iconic places, they are also about people at love and play in unique surroundings. With this in mind, these anthologies of erotica will imaginatively explore the secret stories of famous cities and bring them to life, by unveiling passion and love, lust and sadness, glittering flesh and sexual temptation, the art of love and a unique sense of place.

  And we thought it would be a good idea to invite some of the best writers not only of erotica, but also from the mainstream and even the crime and mystery field, to offer us specially written new stories about the hidden side of some of our favourite cities, to reveal what happens behind closed doors (and sometimes even in public). And they have delivered in trumps.

  The stories you are about to read cover the whole spectrum from young love to forbidden love and every sexual variation in between. Funny, harrowing, touching, sad, joyful, every human emotion is present and how could it not be when sex and the delights of love are evoked so skilfully?

  Our initial batch of four volumes takes us to London, New York, Paris and Dublin, all cities with a fascinating attraction to matters of the flesh and the heart. We hope you read them all and begin to collect them, and that we shall soon be offering you further excursions to the wild shores of erotic Los Angeles, Venice, Edinburgh, New Orleans, Sydney, Tokyo, Berlin, Rio, Moscow, Barcelona and beyond. Our authors are all raring to go and have already packed their imagination so they can offer you more sexy thrills …

  And it’s cheaper than a plane ticket!

  So, come and enjoy sex in the city.

  Maxim Jakubowski

  Gotham Sex

  by Donna George Storey

  First Comes Marriage

  I received my first proposal of marriage in Central Park.

  I turned the guy down.

  Of course, I was only eleven years old.

  It wasn’t the only occasion my life would take some precociously perverse detour in Gotham City. The proposal seems a fitting prologue to my New York adventures in infidelity, prostitution, voyeurism: edgy, forbidden acts that never happened to me anywhere else, not even in cities that stake their reputations on sexual sin like New Orleans or Las Vegas.

  But let’s return to the beginning of my corruption: Central Park, late summer 1973. My older sister and I had come down from Albany to see No, No Nanette featuring the great Ruby Keeler. My sister was eighteen, and for the first of many times my parents – often misguidedly as you will see – entrusted her with my care in the city of bright lights and big adventures.

  The first morning of our spree was uneventful. We shopped for dresses at Macy’s, ate the worst piece of pizza I ever had in my life in a midtown joint and, to compensate, bought chewy, charred soft pretzels from a street vendor.

  To be honest, I didn’t see much adventure in any of it.

  Then, as we strolled through the park, a tall, slim black man weaved toward us. He waved at my sister’s halo of hippy chick curls and said, ‘You’ve got great hair. Will you marry me?’

  ‘No, sorry, not today,’ she replied with a smile.

  ‘How about tomorrow?’ the man pressed.

  ‘I’m busy then, too.’

  I stood at her shoulder, taking it all in. The man’s Afro and colourful patterned shirt. His sinuous gestures and strange herbal smell. For a moment I conjured the unlikely picture of him standing beside my white-gowned sister in a church.

  ‘How about her?’ The young man glanced at me, but then fixed his gaze soulfully on my sister’s face. ‘Will she marry me?’

  ‘She’s not legal yet.’

  The man laughed and crouched down to my level. ‘Come on, honey, say you’ll marry me.’

  For one perverse instant I wondered what the future would bring if I said ‘yes’. Of course, that was absurd, but I still had a prickle of pleasure at being desired, if only as second choice.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, if you change your mind when you’re older, I’ll be waiting.’ He flashed me a knowing grin and sauntered off.

  ‘God, he reeked of pot.’ My sister took my hand and began walking quickly back toward the hotel.

  Her legs were fashion-model long and I had to run to keep up with her. My heart was racing, too. Even then I sensed the proposal didn’t mean a tiered cake and showers of rice, but something darker, dirtier, faster.

  Like New York itself.

  Brain Fuck

  Seven years later my sister had graduated from barely respectable midtown hotels bankrolled by parents to staying with friends; at a very different price. On this, our second visit to the city together, she was already talking about finding a way to live in New York. Only here, she said, did she feel like her true self.

  I was only a few inches taller than I’d been that day in Central Park, but I was much wiser. For example, I’d finally figured out that I didn’t have to wait for a stupid high school boy to ask me out. I could make my own wild times with her friends, grown-up men in their late twenties, who were proving ridiculously easy to seduce.

  Not that I was totally confident in my new powers. When we walked into Joel’s apartment in a white brick building across from the Strand Bookstore, I had no idea that within hours I’d be sprawled on his bed naked, my mouth stretched wide as he fed me his thick, swollen cock.

  But first, he gave me a New York kiss on the cheek and a ‘Great-to-meet-you-I’ve-heard-so-much-about-you.’

  I’d heard a lot about him, too.

  Joel was my sister’s on-again-off-again boyfriend’s best friend, and his very name was shorthand for brilliance and achievement. He’d graduated from Harvard Law School and now had
a job in a top law firm located in the Citicorp Building. My sister told me his office had a stunning view, as if all of New York were bowing at your feet.

  The promising young lawyer had just gotten home from that very office when we arrived at his apartment on a Saturday around six. Joel worked hard, but he played hard too. My sister had slept in the same bed with any number of guys without having sex with them; everyone did that in those days. But when she crashed on Joel’s bed one night expecting he’d honour his friend’s claim, she woke up the next morning with his erection wedged between her ass cheeks. And, being Joel, he didn’t stop there.

  I wasn’t sure if this was a warning or a promise.

  My sister also told me I was the type of woman he liked: blonde, blue-eyed, ready to start Princeton in a few short weeks. The minute he sees you there won’t be any introductions, he’ll just drag you over to the sofa and start humping away ...

  It didn’t happen exactly that quickly, but I did note the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at me across the table in the ‘best Hunan place in Chinatown’. Joel ordered all his favourite dishes for us: twice-cooked pork, General Tso’s chicken, and cold noodles tossed in spicy peanut butter sauce.

  I studied him covertly as he ate, envying his culinary knowledge of the city, his shameless appetite. I was already smitten with his five o’clock shadow, his dark curls, his long, thick fingers. Barely touching the food, I realized I was really hungry for Joel himself, as if I could suck down his savvy and success along with his jism.

  Back at his apartment, he fixed us gin and tonics, as a proper host should. He offered us a joint, too. My sister declined, but I accepted immediately. I knew it meant he would sit next to me on the floor and our fingers would brush as we passed the homemade cigarette between us, bathed in the rain-soaked neon glow filtering through the Venetian blinds. It also meant that when I slumped to the carpet, my skull as soft and hazy as a cloud of smoke, Joel would lean down and whisper, ‘Are you all right, sweetie?’

  ‘I’m great,’ I murmured. ‘This is all so New York. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  Lie down next to me.

  Of course, I didn’t say it out loud, but some incantations need no words. Obediently, Joel made a soft sound in his throat and stretched out beside me.

  Touch me. Press your dick up against my ass.

  I waited. Joel remained motionless. I could feel the heat of his body, but he wasn’t touching me at all. I knew he had a live-in girlfriend who was visiting her parents for the weekend, but she was just a name, a character in my sister’s stories. How could such a flimsy thing come between his erection and my ass?

  Unable to bear the suspense any longer, I rolled my head toward him so that our temples were pressed lightly together. Still he didn’t move. My scalp began to prickle. The tingle turned to a delicious, throbbing ache. Slowly my skin softened, opened, until I had a brand-new orifice, wet and hungry, pulling him inside me. I swear I could feel Joel’s brilliance flooding into me through that hot crescent of skin-to-skin contact.

  One of the smartest men – in a city of the smartest, most successful men in the world – was fucking my brain.

  Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It rested there a moment and began to move slowly down my arm. I imagined a man stroking a beautiful statue, willing it to come to life. My cunt muscles twitched. Now I was the one in total control. I could ignore the caress, sensing he would go no farther. I could brush his hand away, feigning innocence and indignation. Or I could reach up and squeeze his hand in a wordless ‘yes’.

  I touched his hand. He froze. I closed my fingers around his and squeezed. Yes. Through that open channel between our skulls I could feel his surprise and pleasure. Yes. I turned toward him and offered my lips. We kissed. His mouth was gentle, almost shy. I quickly grew tired of subtlety and thrust my tongue between his teeth.

  ‘Slow down, sweetie, we have all night.’

  Did we? I pulled away and glanced over at my sister. She had dozed off on the sofa. At least I hoped she was asleep.

  ‘Can we go to your bedroom?’

  He grinned at my audacity.

  The rest would be easy, or had been with the others, but when Joel joined me on the bed he was shivering. His voice trembled, too, when he told me, ‘Oh, God, you’re so young, and this is so sexy. I feel like I’m back in high school.’

  I bit back a smile. That’s what they all said before they fucked me.

  Then he asked, ‘Are you a virgin?’

  Strangely, I got the strong impression he hoped I’d say yes.

  ‘No,’ I replied haughtily, not admitting that I’d only gone ‘all the way’ twice. Let him think I had a cunt as busy as Grand Central Station.

  I moved in to kiss him again and now I did feel it, his storied boner, hot against my thigh. I reached down and closed my fingers around the thick shaft. He tilted his hips toward me for a moment, but then suddenly pulled back.

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Wait right here.’

  I burrowed into the sheets, my flesh humming with anticipation. Of course he was going to bring back a condom.

  Two shadows appeared in the doorway.

  He’d returned with my sister instead.

  With an odd, almost merry little laugh, Joel helped her onto the bed as if he were handing her into a taxi. He climbed in beside her. ‘Let’s have a slumber party!’ he announced.

  Through the lingering buzz of marijuana, I struggled to make sense of this. Did he want a threesome? Then why was she in the middle? New York was for adventures, but I wasn’t willing to go that far. Or maybe once he saw me naked, my tits smaller than he expected and my ass bigger, he didn’t want me any more?

  I didn’t need to stay to find out the answer.

  I rolled off the bed, grabbed his robe and retreated to the sofa. Soft voices floated out from the bedroom. I took a swig of my drink and watched the lights of his stereo wink green in the darkness, my skin still tingling with humiliation. The evening was not turning out the way I expected at all.

  A few minutes later, my sister crept out of his room and snuggled next to me on the sofa. ‘Hey, what’s going on?’

  ‘I thought you two were having a slumber party,’ I snarled.

  She laughed. ‘Well, whatever you did to Joel, you sure got his motor running.’

  Why did she seem so surprised? She’d predicted it – or was it all a joke at my expense? Then it occurred to me that she’d just given me some useful information. If Joel was turned on, then he was just scared to go through with it for some stupid reason like my age or the pesky girlfriend. But even if the hotshot lawyer was chicken underneath, I had enough daring and desire to make a satisfying ending for both of us.

  Whenever anyone claims Bill Clinton ‘took advantage’ of young Monica Lewinsky, I remember how I stood in Joel’s bedroom door in his bathrobe and demanded with all the indignation an ambitious eighteen-year-old girl can muster, ‘Damn you, why won’t you fuck me? What are you afraid of?’

  Joel’s head jerked back into the pillow as if I’d slapped him. Then his eyes narrowed and flashed with a steely light.

  ‘Close the door.’

  Suddenly the room was noticeably chillier. Even his voice was different; deeper, implacable. It was my turn to start in surprise. My pussy tightened in an almost painful spasm.

  I closed the door.

  ‘Take off your robe.’

  I undid the belt with quivering fingers. The terrycloth fell to the floor and puddled around my ankles.

  ‘Come over here.’

  Cheeks burning, I shuffled over to the bed.

  ‘Do you want me to fuck you? Is that what you want?’

  ‘Yes.’ How could I be so afraid, yet like it so much?

  ‘Get into bed.’

  This time there was no nostalgic hesitation
in Joel’s hands. He touched my flesh as if he owned it, tweaking my nipples, testing my slit to see how ready I was.

  ‘You are a wet, horny little bitch, aren’t you?’

  I flinched at the words, but couldn’t deny it.

  ‘I want to suck your cock,’ I whispered, not sure if this would put me back in control or lead me deeper into this intoxicating new state of submission.

  ‘Go ahead and suck it then,’ he said, his icy tone unaltered.

  I scooted down and straddled his knees, noting how pale his sturdy thighs were under the dark, wiry hair. I imagined them hidden away in his dark suits as he talked with clients, did all those mysterious things important men did. I felt another stab of lust in my belly. I wrapped my hand around his shaft and stretched my lips over the glans. I sensed his eyes gazing down at me from above, like the lights glowing down from skyscraper windows. I began to move, taking him as far into my mouth as I could, fighting the gag reflex to show him I could do it. Joel merely watched me in silence. I pumped faster, hoping to make him arch up and moan. Instead his hand came to rest on my hair.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘but I want to do something else now.’

  Licking my swollen lips, I waited for instructions.

  ‘I want to watch you masturbate.’

  My secret muscles clenched again. No one had ever said that naughty word in my presence. Not that I didn’t play with myself, frequently, but the thought of doing it in front of him took my breath away. Showing him what I did after school, on boring Saturday afternoons, at night when I couldn’t sleep – my darkest, dirtiest secret – would make me more than naked before him.

  ‘Please, no,’ I whispered.

  He frowned, as if pondering whether to insist. Afterwards, in my fantasies, he always did exactly that. Only much later did I see that his command was a favour, a clever way to teach him how I liked to be touched. But it probably struck him then, as it did me, that I was way in above my head.

  ‘Can’t we fuck now?’ I ventured. That always made them forget everything else.