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Mojave Vignette

February 10, 2012 Diary, Nikki No Comments

Mojave desert

Jake drove me into the desert to fuck me. I’m not sure why. I would have fucked him anywhere. But we were talking, and somehow it came up that I liked the desert. We had been flirting at school and at the bar for a few weeks. He had broken up with Miranda, this tiny Japanese girl with blue eyes and a meth habit.

I’d gone over to Jake’s apartment once. We played Nintendo and joked around a little bit. He didn’t try to kiss me or anything.

That night, it must have been after some party because I remember I was wearing a dress with stockings, he said “let’s go to the desert.” … Continue Reading

San Blas and Other Crazy Things

July 12, 2010 Diary, Nikki No Comments

I read it, and I wanted to cry. So I started drinking water quickly to push it down. It doesn’t really matter.

I know you loved me more than anything. You taught me that the only way to love is unconditionally. You explained so much. I argued even when I knew you were right because that is how I was. That is how I am. You told me your heart is on the left.

Too selfish, these tears. I’m thinking of Guadalajara and those classes. How much easier it was for me, how little I understood about everything. We drank everyday. We went to a club called Osiris on the last day of school and we danced, heavy with beer and tequila. … Continue Reading

Eddie

May 3, 2010 Diary, Nikki 1 Comment

I know how this works. I know how indecision pushes him to dilute his implications. I know all this shit very well. I like to say “let’s play it by ear.” He likes to say “let’s go with the flow.”

It’s my fault. I’m too easily drawn into fantasy and expectation these days. I want to find meaning in a look. I manipulate because I want the reaction, and then when I get it I can’t handle it. The problem is he turned out to be really cool and smart and could match me word for word. And fucking hot. I wanted him to be dumb and hot. I just wanted to fuck. I wanted it to be easy and cool. I didn’t want to know him. I didn’t want complications. I don’t want to feel jealous or insecure.

I really am a nice girl. I am sweet and everyone loves me. I inspire some kind of protective instinct in my friends. I try to be dirty and flirtatious and guys like it but I’m never brave enough to follow through.

But I want to fuck him. I want to be his good girl turned bad. I want him to pull my head back by my hair and I want his mouth on my neck, hard. I want his hands and mouth on my tits. I want his hand against my face when his cock is in my mouth. I want to gag when he pushes my head down and then I want to taste him when he comes, hot against my tongue, salty. I want to swallow, and swallow. I want him inside me hard, pushing up, deeper, slowly then faster.

I want to be sore the next day, and the next. I want to be fucked like a whore, like he’s paying for it. I want to feel him dripping out of me later, down the inside of my leg. I want to smell it in the shower. I want to be punished like I deserve it. I want to be marked.

So it’s a problem, and I don’t know if I want to risk it. And he’s ambivalent anyway. I’m used to getting what I want without very much effort. But it’s not working for me right now, and I’m frustrated and impatient and unsure.

I showed this to him and he said, “this could be an ongoing story.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “let’s play it by ear.”

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

Formosa Cafe

April 19, 2010 Diary, Nikki 1 Comment

Last night at the bar when Jason began flirting with me, I tried to stay cool and unresponsive.  But then I started looking at his mouth as he spoke and how his hands moved and I knew we were going to fuck.

I followed him back to an old apartment building at the base of the Hollywood Hills. His room was narrow and lit by a red light bulb and a string of white Christmas lights hung around the moldings. His mattress was on the floor. His guitar was against the wall.

Jason’s mouth was soft when he kissed me but he pressed down hard. He bit my lip and pulled off my sweater and pushed me down onto the mattress. He pinched my nipples. He kept his hands on my tits and went lower, kissing and licking my stomach. Eventually he pulled off my jeans and started licking and sucking and biting me. It was too much pressure so I told him to be more gentle.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and moved his mouth lower. Then he pushed a finger inside me and moved it up and forward and the intensity almost made me pass out. My back arched and I climaxed in waves. I pushed his head off me when he tried to keep licking. He came up and pulled me back up onto the bed.

“Can I do that again?” He asked. “You taste really good.”

When I had caught my breath I turned to him. He took off his shirt and kissed me. I tasted myself and all I could think about was how his cock would feel in my mouth.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Take off my pants,” he said.  I unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down. His cock was so hard. His skin was pale and his scrotum was pierced with a little silver ring.

I pulled myself up and leaned over him, kissed him, rubbed myself up and down his body, bit his nipples. Then I went lower and took his cock in my mouth. I sucked and licked. I couldn’t go too far down without gagging and I knew he wasn’t going to come so after a while I stopped and moved up so we were lying down together with our heads at the top of the bed.

“Want a cigarette?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and as he moved over me to get them he started kissing me and we were entwined again and I felt him hard against my stomach and wanted him inside me so fucking badly. He moved down to lick me and this time his tongue was lighter so that when I came it was faster and the contractions were more intense and I was left trembling and my mouth was completely dry. He came up to kiss me. He stopped and looked at me. I smiled. He held my head in his hands and said “you are so sexy.”

I felt my legs shaking and said “I’m not going to be able to walk.”

“That’s okay,” he said, “you can stay here.”

“I can’t,” I said. I’m not good at spending the night. I don’t know how to be that vulnerable.

He moved up and started rubbing himself against my pussy. He lifted my legs up over his shoulders and was careful not to enter me. Once, he pushed in.

“Oops, sorry,” he said, and then, “damn, I want to do that again.”

Then he said: “we can’t have sex because I don’t have any rubbers.”

“Okay,” I said, and looked up at him. I wanted him inside me but I also desperately wanted to suck his cock until he came so I could taste him.

“But I can come like this,” he said and he kept rubbing and almost entering and pushing and it was making me crazy.

“I want to fuck you so badly,” he said, then he turned me over and moved up and down against my ass until he came on my back. I felt it splash. I felt the wetness. I love that feeling.

He wiped me off and went to get us cigarettes. He lit both in his mouth like he was in a movie and then came over next to me and lifted me up and put a pillow underneath me. He kept kissing my forehead. He pulled the covers over us and opened his arm and motioned for me to lie on his chest. We smoked and listened to Mazzy Star. I was aware of everything: the sound of a tree scraping against his window, the smell of his hair gel, his skin hot against mine. I felt safe.

On the way home I stopped at the red light at Sunset and a prostitute crossed the street in front of me. She was wearing a trench coat open down the front. She was slim with a long blonde ponytail and high heeled boots. She winked at me and did a little dance step in the middle of the intersection.

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

Paige’s Boyfriend

March 29, 2010 Diary, Nikki No Comments


The nostalgia was so sharp and so strong today.

I was walking East on Sunset to meet my friend for lunch at the Rainbow when I passed a group of teenagers asking for spare change. I saw their smiles and tired eyes and then I smelled it. Hangover sweat: sweet and rancid, rotten chemical residue escaping through the pores, releasing poison.

I smelled it and then I felt it, and suddenly I was nineteen standing on the pavement outside of a club in Hollywood wearing a lot of makeup and something kind of sleazy. I felt it, like I used to feel it: confused and thrilled and bored all at the same time. Smoking cigarette after cigarette. Then later I remembered the drugs. Fondly.

I remember being at a club at the Park Plaza Hotel by MacArthur Park (it’s that big beautiful old hotel that was in the first scene of Wild At Heart) with Paige and her boyfriend Tony.  We were all on ecstasy and I just wanted to touch, to kiss, to be held tight, and rubbed. I was wearing a short dress and stockings and boots. Tony was sitting on the floor against the wall on the landing. Paige and I were standing, swaying, watching people come up the stairs and everything was in slow motion and stop-action. People vanished into the dance area. It was huge. We didn’t care about anything.

I sat down next to Tony. He saw the top of my stocking and an inch of bare skin and asked what I was wearing. I raised my dress a little to show him and he said “you’re a bad girl, aren’t you?”

Tony motioned for me to sit in front of him Paige was right there. She looked at us, looked up. Dazed. Smiling slightly. I turned to face Tony and he kissed me and it was the most amazing kiss and I was so turned on, all I wanted to do was sit against him with his arms around me and feel his fingers sliding down the inside of my stocking and out again, his nails sharp on my inner thighs.

But Paige was there and she was one of my closest friends. I reached up for her hand and pulled her down so her ear was by my mouth. I asked her if she minded what was happening. I told her nothing more was going to happen. Nothing beyond what could happen on the red carpet of the Park Plaza Hotel with hundreds of people milling around. She smiled at me.

“Nikki, I don’t care,” she said and stood up and walked away. I found out later she was grateful for this reprieve. She wanted to search for her own fresh distraction.

Tony and I played and kissed and touched on that landing against the wall. We were high as hell and all I could see was red carpet and that amazing staircase and a lot of feet walking around and I felt the fucking bass, the hiphop. I was sinking into everything I touched and he was so sexy and he was kissing me like he was starving for it. I remember his mouth hot against mine and his tongue, teeth, lips.

I opened my eyes and looked at him and his pupils were so big I couldn’t see the irises.

All I saw was black.

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

Johnny

March 22, 2010 Diary, Nikki 2 Comments


I saw Johnny’s head for the first time that night. He followed me into the bedroom, sat on the bed and took off his baseball cap. Underneath he was wearing a blue stretchy skullcap. I watched as he pulled it off slowly. He looked away. This was a routine for him that only became nerve-wracking when he cared too much. Springy blonde curls surrounded a thick band of hairless scarred skin running down the middle of his scalp like an uneven dissection of his brain. He had a large birthmark that took up half of his forehead and extended into his hair.

He was respectful. I said, “let’s get undressed.”

He was skinny and his body had some random bumps and scars in funny places. He had battle wounds and a faded tattoo of a rabbit smoking weed. I ran my hands over his back. He smelled like baby powder and his skin was smooth and warm. I felt the delineations in the surface of his flesh, the slightly rougher parts, the sporadic protrusions. I felt along his ribs. They seemed too close to the surface, only protected by a thin layer of skin. I touched his head and as the room lightened I examined the birthmark. It was raised and very dark and had a little irregular bubble under the skin just before the hairline.

Imperfect.

He pulled me closer. I heard gospel music faintly on the radio. I felt the rhythmic pulse of air from the fan as it described its arc. I watched my bedroom wall change texture and color as the sun rose higher.

He kissed my ear and I was overwhelmed with sudden love. I loved him because he was flawed and reluctant to expose himself. I loved him because his job was washing dishes and he found the joy and meaning in it. That was good enough and I was kind of blind. I always tried to pay attention but he knew more than me.

We kissed for a long time and then he lowered himself over me, kissed my belly button and my thighs. His tongue pressed against me and into me too hard at first. When I came it was intense. Wave after wave wracked my body and I was left gasping and drained. My mouth went dry and I gulped down water so I could kiss him again. I turned so I was flat on my stomach underneath him. I felt heat radiating from his chest against my back. When he came he just sighed. He was very quiet the whole time. I only heard him say, “oh, god…”

Johnny slept until 2:30 and then I drove him home. I felt safe. He helped me reclaim some gratitude. He waved goodbye to me from his porch and I felt hydrated.

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

Rear Window

March 15, 2010 Diary, Nikki No Comments


I remember sitting in a movie theater in the middle of a Hitchcock double feature. I think it was Rear Window. My friend from school Jenna was sitting to my right. We were 16. We were transfixed.

Then just as Jimmy Stewart was beginning to sink into voyeuristic compulsion I felt something against my left leg. It was a sensation so slow and light at first, I thought I was imagining it. I was wearing black tights and my skirt had come up above my knees when I sat down. Part of my thigh was exposed. But it was dark in there. There was a man sitting on that side of me but I hadn’t seen him because we’d come in late. I hadn’t paid any attention.

I became aware of pressure increasing against my thigh but the change in sensation was so gradual it was like a dream.

And then slowly he began stroking, gently up and down my thigh in the dark. I felt an unfamiliar mixture of fear and excitement and pleasure. I didn’t want it to stop. His fingers, nails against the fabric of my tights, slow, harder and softer, up to the hem of my skirt and then an inch underneath and then out again. His hand never ventured too high. He was being respectful. He was violating my boundaries and exploiting me in the most inappropriate way but he was a gentleman about it. I lost concentration. I was only aware of that sensation against my leg.

I suddenly felt like I’d been starved for contact for years; my flesh was screaming for it. And this stranger was satisfying me. He was responding to the hunger of my skin. He knew.

I wanted to know who was doing this to me but I couldn’t look. I was scared of him. And I was also worried if I looked and he caught me he would stop. And I didn’t want him to stop.

I hovered, uncertain and afraid and aroused, in a state of suspended consciousness for the rest of the movie. I didn’t follow the story. I couldn’t. My whole body and mind were concentrated in that little area of intense sensation. It had become his area. He’d claimed me by taking liberties. He wanted skin contact. He wanted to touch me so he did and he didn’t have to ask. I was so turned on. I imagined this stranger claiming me inch by inch without asking and me yielding, unable to resist, in the middle of a dark movie theater with Grace Kelly huge and gray and elegant above us.

The lights came up when the first feature ended. His hand was gone. I finally looked. He was short with dark hair and pale skin. Green eyes. Ordinary looking.

“Will you save my seat?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I said.

Of course I said yes. I didn’t think about anything I just needed him there. I needed his hand back on my leg. I said yes.

Nikki Thomas was born and raised in Los Angeles. She was a straight A student who couldn’t follow the rules and spent as much time in the principal’s office as in the library. At university she opted not to join a sorority and instead filled her free time cruising Hollywood bars and parties, hooking up and getting down. Nikki is a bad girl with a heart of gold. These are her stories — consider it our Monday treat for you.

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Sex and the 405 is what your newspaper would look like if it had a sex section.

Here you’ll find news about the latest research being conducted to figure out what drives desire, passion, and other sex habits; reviews of sex toys, porn and other sexy things; coverage of the latest sex-related news that have our mainstream media's panties up in a bunch; human interest pieces about sex and desire; interviews with people who love sex, or hate sex, or work in sex, or work to enable you to have better sex; opinion pieces that relate to sex and society; and the sex-related side of celebrity gossip. More...