Naughty but Nice J.P. Bowie

When I was a kid and my parents would drag me on holiday to one seaside town or another my strongest memories of that time were the souvenir shops that lined the pier. Mostly they sold tatty stuff that these days I wouldn't give a second glance to, but back then I was fascinated by the postcards displayed under a banner that read NAUGHTY BUT NICE.

"What does naughty mean?" I asked my dad.

"It means things you shouldn't be looking at," he told me, dragging me by the arm away from the colorful display of pretty ladies with their legs in the air wearing nothing by frilly bras and lacy panties.

I've often wondered if he'd let me stay and gaze at all those amazing pictures of the opposite sex in various 'naughty' positions, perhaps I might have turned out straight!

Later, my fascination for postcards like that was replaced by the covers of Physique Pictorial. I would stare at them with ever widening eyes  through the grimy plate glass windows of  bookshops that catered to a clientele I was only vaguely aware of - and yet to be discovered.

In my early teens I would bang away on my old Remington typewriter and write some short stories that totally plagiarized Edgar Rice Burroughs' epics, except almost all the characters were male. On reading one of these my sister looked at me somewhat scandalized and said, "Jim, this is very naughty!"

Needless to say I did not offer said stories to my parents for their opinion.

However the 'naughty' aspect of life definitely intrigued me, and while still young I was open to experiences that I could file away and perhaps use later in my writing. Even then I was never happier than when I was creating characters that crossed the boundaries of what was considered the 'norm'. Unfortunately it took me several more years before I could find a readership for my flights of fancy where my main characters were doing naughty things all over the pages.

Here's an example - PG rated - of my first attempt at crossing boundaries

Strange, isn’t it? One minute you’re surrounded by all your friends, yakking up a storm, then suddenly, as if by magic, everyone drifts off, and you’re left to sip your drink alone and stare vacantly around the room. Later, I discovered it was a kind of magic. Because, it was then that I saw him, standing outside on the patio, his eyes fixed on me, unwavering, unapologetic. Hot! He was my age or maybe just a couple of years older. Tall, dark—and gorgeous.

 Why’s he out there? I wondered. Oh, maybe he’s a smoker… yuck. No sign of a cigarette though. As if propelled by some unseen force, almost as if someone had given me a good shove, I started walking towards him.  He was dressed in black, as befits a vampire.

It really was a very good costume—not at all cheap. Excellent cut on the tux—and the cape looked like heavy silk, fastened at his throat by a gold chain. The face above the chain was to die for—pale and interesting, I think my grandmother used to say.

Thick, black curly hair framed a face that was a lot more than merely interesting. If I said his skin was incandescent, it wouldn’t be enough. If I told you his eyes were like dark green emeralds, I wouldn’t be lying, just not saying enough. As for his mouth—wide, generous, full—it was all of those, yet to say that isn’t enough either. Even now, I can’t find the words to describe his beauty. His very real, dark beauty.

 For what seemed an eternity, we stared at one another, neither of us moving—just staring at one another, still and silent.

Then he smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Good eeevening,” he said, his pearly whites almost glowing in the darkened patio.

Oh, he’s good, I thought—a great Lugosi impersonation.

“Hey…” I returned his smile with one I hoped was as enticing as his. “Why don’t you come on in… join the party?”

And, in an instant, he was by my side. I blinked into his green cat-like eyes, dizzied by his presence and intoxicated by the faintly exotic scent he exuded.

“How… how did you do that?” I stammered.

“Do what?” he purred, his voice low and husky.

“You… you didn’t walk in. You just were here. First you were out there. Then you were standing here, next to me…”

“Next to you. Where I belong.” He raised his glass, one I hadn’t seen until then, and clinked it gently against mine. “Happy Birthday, Roger. May I give you a kiss for your birthday?”

“Huh? A kiss…?” I was acting like some dumb, stage-struck queen. I looked up into his eyes. I had to look up—he was a good six two to my more modest, but compact, five ten. “Jeez, I’m sorry. You must think I’m some kind of hick.”

“Was that a yes?”

“Y… yes.”

He leaned forward and took my lips with his own. It was a gentle kiss at first. Just the meeting of flesh on flesh; soft, warm, full flesh, taking control of all my senses.

Oh my God, stop, please stop! I screamed in my mind as the make believe vampire kissed me. Stop, or I’ll make a fool of myself right here in the middle of this room. I’ll toss this glass away, the one I’m practically crushing to pieces in my hand right now. I’ll just throw it away, hold you in my arms, press my body to yours, rip that Armani tux of your hot body and let you fuck me right here in front of all these people. Yes, I will… yes I…”

He stepped back, his lips forming that perfect smile again.

“What happened?” I gasped.

“I kissed you.”

“I know… but it felt like so much more.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Would you care to step outside? It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

Whatever and wherever, I thought, letting him steer me towards the patio door. Anywhere you want to go is just fine with me.

Let the naughtiness begin!