Sex with Strangers

By Nikki Magennis

To my mind, sex can be many things. It can be transcendental, angry, healing, tender, frightening, funny, or sad. Sex with someone you love has got to be one of the most wonderful experiences in the world.

But what about sex with someone you don’t give a damn about, beyond liking their cute smile or tightly-packed body (Or, and I do feel a little rueful about this one – their shoes)? What about sex with someone you don’t even know?

Is it reckless, dangerous, sexy, stupid or wild? Perhaps all of the above?

Can we get away with it these days without the usual labels peppering the air? Slut, slag, trollop, whore, easy. Dirty stop-out.

Ah, been there, done that. Made the T shirt.

I remember the walk of shame. Making your way home at dawn in last night’s clothes. Sleepless, bedraggled, sated. Torn tights and smudged eyeliner. So louche. So obviously recently fucked.

Sex with someone you don’t know is such an adventure – everything is possible. No ties, no promises, no safety net. No heartache, no responsibility, no jealousy. Just a brief taste of pleasure, and the comfort of strangers.

I always thought it was so simple and beautiful - two people catching each other's eye, smiling. Letting nature and the madness of summer nights take their course. With no artifice or pretence, just the song of the body and all the rich, foreign smells of a new lover. The sex tasted all the sweeter for being so inevitably brief.

I don’t go out on the hunt anymore. Once you’re happily shackled to one man there’s no need or opportunity. But in stories the writer (and reader) is free to pick up strangers, fuck them and move on to the next one with no hard feelings. Black Lace’s latest Wicked Words anthology: ‘Sex with Strangers’, released today in the US, is full of short, sweet never-to-be-repeated adventures that fuel those dangerous daydreams.

I have two stories in this book - both about women who find that fucking someone they don’t know broadens their horizons. As a little taste, here is the moment the artist in ‘Art of Fucking’ gets down and dirty with her life model.

(I think it’s fitting that they’re both nameless...)

*****

The distance reduced to zero and his mouth was on me, wet lips covering mine in a warm shock. All of a sudden the cold tension of the studio was flooded with sensation - the quiet Northern light was eclipsed by the movement of this man against me, his hot human aliveness crashing into my world, encircling me, gripping me in those naked, marble smooth arms. Everything was dark, but dark in the way of flesh, with a heartbeat and a pulse and the vivid animal sounds filling my ears.

I didn’t pull away, and I didn’t miss the smell of love in the air. Instead, I felt the delicious surprise of an unfamiliar man kissing me, and the want and the need to feel him closer yet.

Michelangelo always said the sculpture was already in the stone, and he just had to work out how to find it. When the model kissed me, it felt like he’d found a new image of me, of what I could be. Like he’d dug out the long-forgotten, reckless girl I used to be from where she was buried deep in the cold hard rock and brought me back to life.

His prick was stiffening, pressing against my leg, while he slid his tongue into my mouth and we tasted each other.

'A mouthful of fun,' Sandy had said.

I'd never been so hungry in my life. I knelt.

The wood planks of the studio floor were hard under my knees as I took hold of the guy's hips and pulled him towards me. I buried my face in his pubic hair, letting it scratch against my mouth. His cock bobbed against my cheek and I nuzzled at it, feeling the smoothness and the heat of what I'd been longing for for months. I'd spent a half hour looking at his body, trying to recreate it on paper, but drawing his beauty was nowhere near close enough to this. Touching him, taking him in my mouth, sucking on him. Tasting the bittersweet honey of his pre-cum as his cock swelled and grew rock hard.

Fuck drawing, I thought. It doesn’t get to the heart of the matter. I realised just how flat a picture can be as his hands tangled in my hair and I pulled at his ass, sticking a fingertip into his hole and feeling the corresponding spasm in his cock. This wasn't static, everything was in motion, stimulating all my senses at once and we were sinking inside each other, intertwining, pushing and pulling at each other. He was tumbling down to kneel in front of me and his hands were burrowing into my clothes, seeking out the pockets of heat, the dark and wet spots that connected straight to my brain.

His fingers ran into my knickers, slid quickly between my thighs and into my pussy. A slight resistance, before he found the groove and the moisture of my pussy and dove into it. Two fingers, three, jammed inside me, opening me up, wriggling in there with a funny little shock before I felt the rhythm of it, the to and fro rocking that made me feel like my body was caught in a tide. Waves ebbing and flowing, he was imitating the beat of sex that would sink into me and pull me under.

*****

Find ‘A Whole New City’ and ‘The Art of Fucking’, as well as stories by Mathilde Madden, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Olivia Knight, Sophie Mouette, Kristina Lloyd and ADR Forte in Sex With Strangers.

...Don't be a stranger! Say hello in the comments and I'll pick someone at random to win a copy of 'Sex with Strangers' signed by moi.

x Nikki