Wednesday, 19 September 2012

Welcome Author Nick Santa Rosa

I've been writing short fiction, of all varieties, for about twenty years and have found small success along the way, having managed to get a few stories published in print and electronic form, a brief list of which is below.  My writing is dialogue driven, as it's my feeling characters should tell their own stories as much as possible.  As a result, I limit the narrative exposition to a minimum and only where I think it's absolutely necessary.

My characters are wholly fictional but the situations I put them in are almost always based on personal observations.  I might have them act in ways I wish I had in similar situations I've found or imagined myself.  Although, there are times when the story is cut from whole cloth.  Over the years, I've developed the view that the reader has a much better imagination than I and allow them to fill in certain details.  Consequently, I choose to avoid explicit descriptions of sex acts, where possible,  I also find it important for the story to drive the sex, rather than the other way around.

I recently created a blog where I've been posting stories:
The same stories can be found on my Facebook profile, in the Notes section.

A partial list of published stories:
Needle & Bones anthology: 'Dead Love' in  (Drollerie Press, now out of business)
Mammoth Book of Erotic Confessions: 'Top of the Charts'
ERWA: 'L.A. Dick: Stella'
Got a Minute anthology: 'His First' 
Fetish Quickies Anthology: 'Show Off'

Short Story
Mirrored Doors by Nick Santa Rosa

She was nearly naked, the first time I saw her, undressing in front of the closet doors.  She watched herself, more than paid attention to what she was doing.  Her thumbs slipped under the waist of her panties.  She bent over while pushing them down to her knees, then let them drop as she straightened.
From my vantage, I could see the front of her only in the mirror.
She rubbed open hands over her small breasts and flat stomach.  Her body swayed, as though there was music.  She held her left nipple between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.  The other she slid over her abdomen and thigh.  She closed her eyes.  Her head rocked back.  Her mouth opened.
I stroked myself in the dark.
After a few minutes, she dropped to her knees.  Both hands reached between her legs.  Her shoulders stooped; breasts pinched by her slender biceps.  She alternately leaned forward, then back on her heels.
I knelt.
She finally lurched forward and put one hand on the floor.  The one still between her legs moved vigorously, two fingers probing to the last knuckle.  Her back arched and relaxed.  Her head hung down.  Her mouth opened wider.
My orgasm came as I watched her stiffen, and imagined a gasp drifting across the street and through our closed windows.
It wasn’t a nightly occurrence.  There was no pattern I could tell, watching from across the walkway between our buildings.  Sometimes she just dressed for bed and turned out the lights.  I never saw her with anyone else.  She always slept alone in her corner apartment.

“Excuse me, um, Miss . . . um, Miss.”
“Can I help you, er, would you like some help with that?”
“Thanks, but it’s not heavy.”
“You sure?  Because, I can help.  I’d be happy to help.”
“I’m good.  Thanks.”
“Oh.  If you’re sure.”
“Something I can do for you?”
“This is gonna sound . . . I’ve seen you a few times and was wondering, would you maybe be interested in having dinner with me sometime?
“Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry.  I live at 1375, across the way.  My name’s Jack.”
“What do you mean you’ve seen me?”
“Well, I . . . I’ve just seen you, you know, around.”
“Yeah.  I think you’re fairly pretty and –”
“Fairly pretty?  What the fuck does that mean?”
“I didn’t . . . wait – what I meant was –”
“I don’t bark at the moon?”
“I’m sorry.  That didn’t come out exactly, I mean, I was just wondering if you might, I’ve been wanting to ask you out and, well, I guess I finally, you know, worked up the nerve –”
“Did you think I’d bite, or something?”
“No.  No, that’s not – look, I just thought –”
“I was some homely chick just dying for you to rescue her?”
“No!  That’s not, what I mean is, I wasn’t –”
“Look, I don’t need some guy to take pity on me.  Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I wasn’t –”
“I said no, dude.  Get it?  I don’t know why you’re asking me in the first place.”
“I told you.  I saw you, I mean, I’ve seen you around and –”
“Wait a minute!  I know what this is.  You and your buddies decided to bet one of you could fuck me.  That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Well, you can go back to your little frat boy friends and tell them to screw off.  Okay?  You lose!”
She stood before the closet doors, wiping her face.  She put her palms on either cheek and rubbed along her jaw.  Her hands went to her neck, then her throat.  She continued to massage her cheek with her right hand, while her left grasped the top button of the blouse.
I opened my pants.
One by one, the buttons separated.  Both hands pulled the material aside and off her shoulders.  Her body shook briefly, as though with a sharp intake of breath.  The blouse fell to the floor.
I pulled my pants and underwear off.
She unzipped her skirt and let it drop.  She reached behind herself, unfastened her bra, held it in place for a second or two, then pulled it away and cast it on the bed.  She pushed her panties down and stepped out of them.
My cock twitched in my hand.
She stroked her buttocks and thighs.  She rubbed her breasts and stomach, down to her pubic hair.  She stepped back, sat on the edge of the bed and spread her legs wide.
I came in a towel.
For another ten minutes, at least, she drove the fingers of her hand deep inside herself; fast and slow, hard and gentle.  She stopped abruptly and put both hands to her face.  Her shoulders shook.  She laid on her side and pulled her feet up.
I pulled a chair by my window and watched, I don’t know how long, before I fell asleep.

“Hey, wait up!”
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Jack.  Remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“Listen, I’m sorry if I came across like a, like a, well, like I did.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.  There was no bet.  I don’t have any frat brother-buddy-whatevers.  It’s not like that.”
“No?  What’s it like, then?”
“Like I said –”
“Oh, right.  You’ve seen me around.  And what?  You’re just hanging out, waiting for me?”
“Look –”
“No, I remember.  Something about working up your courage, or some shit like that.”
“Hey, that’s not fair.”
“Well, somebody lied to you, Jackie.  Life ain’t fair.”
“What is wrong with you?”
“You wanna know what’s wrong with me?”
“You really wanna know.”
“By all means, enlighten me.”
“I don’t buy into all the bullshit.  Okay?”
“What bullshit?”
“’I’ve seen you around.’  ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you out.’  ‘Would you be interested in dinner.’  That bullshit.  Spare me, please.”
“What the –”
“Just be honest about it.  You wanna fuck and you thought I’d be available.”
“Don’t –”
“Flatter myself?  Oh, grow up.”
“You want honesty?”
“For once.”
“Fine.  I was . . . I . . .”
“Next time I see you . . .”
“Next time, huh?  What’s wrong with now?”
“Just . . . next time.”

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