Sex in the City - New York

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Soon we were outside in the cold air of a vacant Saturday morning walking the streets of Astoria looking for breakfast. She leaned into me and we studied the gradually lightening sky. Its blue light was often lost in the halogen glare of the street lights, the glow of passing headlights, the occasional red neon of convenience stores.

  She led us to The Orpheum, a diner not far from the subway. ‘It used to be called The Pantheon,’ she said. I almost asked her if she’d ever come here with Caz.

  As we studied the menus, I asked her about her high school. She shrugged. She sounded indifferent about the past. She talked instead about her daughter’s grade school in Florida.

  Compared to the emotions of the night before, her mood was relaxed, Zen-like.

  We ordered coffee from an old man who walked around barking orders like he owned the diner. As I surveyed the stools and booths, I tried to remember whether Caz had ever taken me here when it was The Pantheon.

  When the waiter brought the coffee, I asked him what The Orpheum means in Greek. He said an Orpheum was a kind of theatre, a place of worship. Did I not know the story of Orpheus? I told him I had studied Greek philosophy but that the myths were fuzzy. He filled me in by explaining how this musician, named Orpheus, was to marry a woman named Eurydice who got a lethal snakebite on their wedding day and died. Orpheus cut a deal with the gods to go back to the underworld to rescue her and bring her back to life, on the condition that he not look back. ‘Being the putz he was,’ the waiter said, ‘He looked back.’

  ‘He was checking back to see her,’ Sophia said, sipping her coffee. ‘Normal.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ the waiter said, waving a menu. ‘A deal’s a deal.’ So Eurydice died a second time. Old Orpheus never loved anyone again, the broken-hearted bastard. ‘Wild animals tore him to shreds.’ the man said. ‘That’s us Greeks, more drama-queen than the Italians.’

  After breakfast, it seemed as if the weekend was hungry to swallow us back into our separate lives. I didn’t suggest we spend the rest of the morning together. Sophia didn’t either. She checked her phone messages as she walked me to the subway entrance. A lone Mexican guitarist was strumming a love song that I could tell was sappy even though I hardly knew a word of Spanish.

  I asked her about her remaining plans and she mentioned the names of people she had to catch up with. Names of people I didn’t know. ‘Relatives,’ she said.

  She and I hugged without kissing. This Platonic energy had slipped into us so suddenly this morning that I didn’t feel any of the previous night’s desires. It was as if in sleep we had become like sister and brother. Healed widows, I thought.

  Her hair was still matted and damp and she seemed surprisingly ordinary in her navy skirt and leather jacket. A cute girl from Queens, all grown up, back in the old neighbourhood for a weekend. I figured I probably looked even less than ordinary.

  ‘We did what we had to do,’ she said. ‘I’m glad.’ I was taken aback by her sharp emphasis. Did. Had. Over.

  I considered thanking her for contacting me and for arranging for us to have dinner. ‘I’m glad we skipped the Thai,’ I said.

  She smiled weakly.

  For a fleeting moment there at the subway stairs, I considered suggesting we try to do this every year, getting together like lovers in a B-movie. But I had started the night before with few words, and I had even fewer words now. I was no longer nervous. Caz it seemed, had vanished like he’d never been the one who brought us together.

  A train thundered overhead but we stayed there, hand in hand, until she let my hand go. ‘Bye bye ice,’ I said.

  ‘Good riddance,’ she said, kissing her palm, then pressing her palm to my cheek. ‘Good bye.’

  I kissed my own fingers and touched her nose with those fingers and we smiled and then I turned and went up the stairs.

  Waiting for the train, I leaned over the platform railing and studied the cars that were cruising in both directions over the Triboro Bridge. Girls in ballet tights flirted with a boy on a skateboard. A milk truck barrelled toward the Queens side and spilled onto the exit ramp, vanishing below the El onto the service road. The N train ride home was quicker than I would have liked.

  When I tried to e-mail Sophia later that week, my e-mails were bounced. ‘Unknown recipient.’

  I checked my list online and saw she’d taken me off her friends. At first I was indignant and hurt and wondered whether I had led her into something she hadn’t wanted.

  Then I reminded myself that she had led the charge. But she didn’t want this any more. She was married. A second marriage, for Christ’s sake. She had daughters. She had a life.

  As time passed, I knew without knowing that she wasn’t thinking of Caz any more. So to make sure I wasn’t thinking of Caz any more, I deleted all my photos of Sophia. When I came to the old photo of her on the sofa, I stared one more time at the faraway look in her eyes and then deleted it.

  A year after my night in Queens, I thought about the story of Orpheus the diner owner had shared, with its operatic wedding day setting and the gloomy underworld of the dead. I wondered whether that story had anything to do with how I was no longer grieving Caz. Probably not. The diner wasn’t called The Pantheon any more. ‘Orpheum,’ whatever. The Greeks. Astoria, Queens. Socrates and justice. I almost laughed at my own dramatics. Ancient history; forget it.

  About the Story

  Sophia in Astoria was inspired by actual and imagined events as well as by the interesting neighbourhood in which it is set. Though largely unknown outside of the New York region, Astoria, Queens (named after the colonial era settler/millionaire John Jacob Astor) is a densely populated enclave directly across the East River from Manhattan. Given its close proximity to numerous train lines and the city’s airports, as well as to interstates and bridges, the neighbourhood is in many ways a gateway to all of New York City. Many films and TV shows have been shot on location there (including, paradoxically, Robert DeNiro’s 1993 film A Bronx Tale). It is one of the most energetic and culturally diverse communities in the entire city. With its easy access to and from Manhattan, in recent years it has become a popular residence for students, artists and writers seeking affordable rents, good food and thriving nightlife. The story’s elements of philosophy and mythology came naturally as Astoria has a very large Greek and Greek-American population. I also wanted to write a “ghost” story that was not about disembodied spirits or gothic fantasy but about living, contemporary people who share a certain bond and who haunt each other in positive, erotic ways. Mostly the story represented my attempt to show how the complicated and sometimes blocked process of mourning a loss might be deepened and even quickened by episodes of intense emotional and physical intimacy between two individuals who share comparable levels of unresolved grief for a lost person. Other thematic elements such as reconnecting with one’s younger self, through an unexpected reunion with a person from that period in your life, also played a role in the story’s genesis.

  Park Suite

  by D. L. King

  ‘I told you, I have a master key. Who’s gonna know?’

  I couldn’t help being sceptical. There stood my bride of thirty-six years, right in front of me, hand on her hip, getting more and more pissed off by the second.

  ‘It’s your last chance to be a part of New York history. Look, I worked there for thirty-eight years but I’m not old enough to retire. You know what that means? That means I get crap. What do they care? Where am I supposed to go now?

  ‘Mira, I really want to do this. I dreamed about it for ever. I want it to be with you, Papi, but if you won’t come with me, I’ll go by myself. Where’s my fucking vibrator?’

  Immaculata rummaged in the drawer of her bed table, pulling out various items; a flashlight, an eye mask, a pair of handcuffs, a paperback. ‘Fuck, where is it?’ Finally she found the blue vibrator with the pearls and the little rabbit on it. I
t was her favourite.

  She pointed it at me like a gun. ‘Last chance. Mami’s still pretty hot, don’t you think?’ She turned around and wiggled her ass at me, then turned back to face me again. ‘Don’t you want to fuck in a suite at The Plaza?’

  She was so hot. I think she was even hotter than the day we got married. Standing there, in her black suit and those red stilettos, her hair in a bun at the back of her neck, she was scary-hot.

  ‘¿A qué le temas? I can’t get fired, Baby.’

  ‘I’m not scared of nothin’. All right, come on, I’ll go with you.’

  ‘Good, go get your jacket, I’ll be right there.’

  Sure, she couldn’t get fired, but we could probably get arrested or something. She was right, though; I’d never seen anything more than the housekeeping offices and one of the kitchens. I’d always wanted to see the upper floors and the fancy rooms and now that they were closing the hotel, this would be my only chance. Besides, Immaculata always knew what she was doing.

  She came out of the bedroom with her sexy leather jacket and sunglasses on, carrying her black Coach bag, and we were out the door. We rode the train downtown to the park and got off. I followed her half-way down 58th Street, to an unmarked door which she opened with a key. We didn’t meet anyone else as we walked down the dim corridor, finally arriving at the deserted housekeeping offices.

  ‘The supervisory staff is the last to go. The maids are long gone and now there are only three of us left. I doubt anyone’s here tonight, so relax,’ Immaculata said. ‘The top floors haven’t been stripped yet. We’ll take the service elevator.’

  ‘Ms Rivera!’

  We both turned around to see two men entering the offices. Emmie seemed unfazed as she greeted one of the department heads.

  ‘Hello, Mr Williams. This is my husband, Juan. I wanted to finish the floor inventory list before I forgot. Is this your son?’

  ‘My son? No, Mr Malone is, ah, interested in the hotel plumbing fixtures. Nice to meet you Mr Rivera.’ They headed off toward the service elevator. ‘Don’t work too hard,’ Mr Williams added from down the hall.

  After they’d gone up, I turned to Immaculata. ‘That was close, Emmie, maybe we’d better – Aye, Mami!’

  ‘What’s the matter, Baby?’ she said. Her hand had found its way inside my pants after taking the zipper down. Her fingers were cold, but warming up fast. So was my cock. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, leading me to the elevator.

  ‘But Immaculata, Mr Williams ...’

  ‘Is already upstairs. I’m so sure they’re interested in plumbing; well, maybe each other’s plumbing. Anyway, he’ll probably be going up to 19; we’ll go to 15. Have I got a view of the park for you!’

  Once the elevator arrived, she pushed me inside and pressed the floor button. Before I could complain, she shoved me up against the wall and buried her tongue in my mouth. It was one of those real slow elevators, so she had lots of time to get me all worked up. Her hand found its way past my cock, to my balls and she began kneading them in time with the thrusts of her tongue.

  I pushed away from her slightly. ‘But, Emmie, we’ve got to stop.’

  ‘Because why, Baby? Nobody’s here. You worry too much.’ She untucked my shirt just as the elevator arrived at our floor. ‘Well, that doesn’t hide much, does it?’ she chuckled. ‘Juanito’s just so big, Baby.’

  The next thing I knew, I was half-way down the hall, standing in front of a polished hardwood door, with my hand wrapped around my dick. But once the door opened and I saw the suite, I completely forgot about my hard-on. Slowly, I entered the room. It was pink and warm, and new and old, all at the same time, with lush carpets and antique wood furniture. I could just see the end of the king-size bed in the next room. In a trance, I made my way over to one of the windows and looked out. The sun was setting, providing the new leaves on the trees in the park with a perfect yellow-green glow. From this high up, with nothing in the way, to me they looked more like feathers than leaves. Central Park South was crowded with tourists bundled up in their coats, pointing cameras at everything. I felt like a kid, with my face pressed against the glass, that is, until I felt my wife tug my pants down. Her hands caressed my ass and found their way around to my cock. It had grown soft again when I found the room and view more interesting than the idea of sex. Of course, that was only temporary.

  As she fondled me, the specks skating on Wollman Rink grew less and less clear and the tightening in my balls grew more and more persistent. I could feel Emmie behind me, her body pressed against mine. When did she get naked? Hey, I wasn’t complaining.

  I was still standing in front of the window, but my eyes weren’t really seeing much any more. That silky feel of her fingertips sliding up my chest; my Emmie was something else. She took her hands away and stepped in front of me so she could kiss me while she unbuttoned my shirt.

  ‘Oh Mami, what you do to me!’ My hands reached for her perfect breasts. I loved the way they hung down like that. She had been complaining that they were starting to sag, but I thought they were getting better. They felt so good in my hands. Squeezing them, I couldn’t help thinking, mine, all mine, just like a little kid.

  I felt her sliding my shirt off. It was gonna get stuck on my hands; I guess she couldn’t think of everything. That’s OK; I pushed her down in front of me. She knew what to do.

  ‘Oh, does little Juanito need some attention? Is he getting all lonely with nobody to talk to? Pobrecito.’ While I unbuttoned my cuffs and finished taking my shirt off, she wrapped her hand around the base of my cock. Yeah, Juanito knew what was gonna happen and I could tell he was getting pretty happy about it. My Immaculata’s some kind of great cock sucker. I put my hand on her head to keep my balance while I stepped out of my pants and kicked them aside.

  ‘But Emmie, what about the window?’

  Her lips were just encircling the head of my cock when she started to laugh. She licked across the top and looked up at me. ‘Come on, Baby, you know no one can see in. You just relax and let Mami make you feel good.’

  She wrapped her lips around the head of my cock again and used her tongue to get it all wet. The more wet she got it, the further down she went. I loved how she always grabbed me real tight around the base and then pulled down. It made the rest of my cock super sensitive and she knew it. Like I said, the lady always knows what she’s doing.

  That tongue kept swirling around and around and her mouth slid up and down the shaft, making me all slick. I love the way her teeth and her tongue and the sides of her mouth feel and I tend to lose all track of time. At some point she stopped licking and started swallowing my cock. She can get me all the way in; all the way until her chin hits my balls. I wanted to bury my hands in her hair but she still had it in that bun. She can be funny about me messing her hair, so I just rested my hands on her head, closed my eyes and let her mouth carry me away until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  ‘Aye, Mami, necesito!’

  She backed away and I felt a draught on my wet, pulsing cock. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ she said. She grabbed my hips and pulled herself up from the floor. ‘It’s time we checked out that big bed.’ So hand in hand and cock in hand, I waddled and she walked into the bedroom.

  The bed was a huge four-poster. Emmie tore the bedspread off and pulled back the blanket and sheet and fell backwards onto the mattress. I followed right after, coming to rest half on her and half on the bed. ‘Emmie, take your hair down.’

  I never could figure out how she got it to stay up in the first place. She only took out a few hairpins and down it came. How can just a few hairpins keep that much hair up like that? It’s a mystery to me. She ran her hands through her long, thick, black hair, just to shake it out, and then leaned over to kiss me. Now it was my turn to run my fingers through her hair. She had almost no grey hairs at all. Half of the hair I had left was grey, but my Immaculata still looked like a mo
del.

  I don’t know what it was, but having her hair falling over my face and chest and running my hands through it turned me into an animal. Grabbing her, I flung her back on the bed and fell on top of her. Sometimes it’s like I want to consume her. I want to wrap myself around her and hang on tight so nothing else can touch her.

  I could smell her heat. I reached down and felt the wetness welling up inside her and stroked her there, just at her opening, with my fingers.

  ‘Oh, Papi,’ she moaned. ‘Touch me, mi amor, touch me.’

  I continued to stroke her and then I slowly pushed a finger inside. She was so wet, so hot. Slowly, I moved the finger in and out. I could feel her walls tighten and relax around my finger, tighten and relax. She sucked in her breath when I brushed her clit and groaned my name out as a sigh. ‘Juan. I need you inside me, Juan. Please, baby, please.’ She grabbed my hand and held it against her, with my finger still inside.

  Immaculata grinding against my hand pushed me on to do what she asked. I pulled my hand free and pushed my cock inside her in one motion. She didn’t make a sound, but her eyes burned into mine as I sucked my finger clean. I shoved myself up against her sex and she shook under me then. Her eyes went out of focus. That was the thing about Emmie: once she got started, you couldn’t stop her. I had my second wind so I knew we had some quality time stretched out before us.

  After she came that first time, we made love slowly. It felt so good and it was kinda romantic. I kept that slow lovemaking going for quite a while, but I could tell she was getting restless so we changed positions a couple of times. But Immaculata really only likes it with me on top, so eventually we got back to where we’d started. I used to tell her, “Baby, everybody always says it’s better for the woman if she’s on top.” But she’d always say something like, “Everybody can do what they want. I like what I like.”