Nikki, The Great

It was such a cold night at the hotel. Steve always got the sense of sincere loneliness when he was at the hotel. Where else would he write his novels though? His wife was always bugging him to fuck her, and do other non-civil things to the point where he wanted to throw her out the window. Writing in hotels gave him a great sense of peace and clear-headedness, but always had the reclusive, depression following. He did his best to suffer through it.

He had been writing his new book Boy, What a Life for weeks. He worked diligently through the morning, sometimes skipping lunch and working until dinner. He felt that it was 'decent', that's the adjective he attached to it. He had successful books in the past that he was proud enough to call 'glorious' or some such word. This book just didn't deserve such a title, it wasn't anything people hadn't read before, and he realized this, but he didn't have enough inspiration to come up with any new, dazzling ideas. That's all he needed was a little inspiration.

He laid on the bed, staring blankly at the T.V. He didn't have a clue what the show was about but it numbed his mind pleasingly. He sipped at some whiskey on the nightstand next to him. What to do, what to do, He thought, maybe I should head down to the pool. He dismissed the idea quickly. There was a frantic knock at the door. He rushed to it quickly, getting light-headed on the way. He turned the knob and was greeted by a cute little lady.

"Hey!" She exclaimed, as if they knew each other prior.

"Um, hello" he said unenthusiastically.

"Can I come in?"

Something made him want to let her in. Her beauty consumed him automatically. She had thin, naturally blonde hair that complimented her small, precious face. Her body was thin, and her breasts were large. She wore a tight-fit plaid shirt and a small skirt that went well above her knees. It made her thighs appear curvaceous. Steve admired her tight, smooth skin that seemed perfect in the exaggerated moonlight.

"Well, I....suppose you can come in. What's your name again?"

She told him that her name was Nikki as she entered the threshold. Immediately, she walked to the bathroom. He sat on the side of the bed and lit himself a cigarette. He noticed that there was no sound from the bathroom door shutting. He stood up and walked a bit closer to the door to listen. He heard a fast, machine-like rubbing sound. He walked closer. The rubbing was fast and harsh. Curiosity kicked in and he peaked around the corner. Nikki was sitting on the toilet with her skirt at her knees, rubbing ferociously at her crotch.

In an interval between moaning, she said with no breath left, "Oooo, yeah?"

She let out a screech and pulled her skirt up.

"That was great!"

Steve was in complete awe of the situation, he hadn't ever met such an absurd, spontaneous woman. He realized automatically that she was crazy, but he had liked her style.

Nikki ran to the bed and hopped on, bouncing on her knees.

"Wanna' watch T.V?" She had a bright smile plastered on her face.

"Um, Sure...I guess."

He sat on the bed, arched his legs, and grabbed his glass of whiskey. Nikki grabbed it from him and downed it (it was freshly poured.) Steve smiled despite his sadness over his glorious drink being wasted.

Steve was starting to warm up to the little lady. She mildly scared him though; there wasn't any telling what she would or would not do next. It was intimidating, but she was just what he needed for a little inspiration.

Nikki held the glass while watching T.V, after a minute or so of fiddling with it, she threw the glass across the room. It smashed on the piss-yellow wall and the shards sprinkled down. Steve didn't think much of it and continued watching the T.V. Without warning, she began masturbating again. She rubbed quickly, with a confident look of intent on her face. She looked as if she were handling a science project and was about to finish mixing the last ingredient to cure cancer. Steve looked over and enjoyed the show, ignoring the strangeness of the entire situation. This is a woman, he thought.

Nikki let out her usual screech and moan, and then she finished.

"Aren't you gonna' clap for me?"

Steve clapped and she hugged him. He struggled to push her off. Her hand that was used for self-pleasure continually touched his face.

“So, Whatta’ ya’ want ta’ do?” She asked.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of…busy.”

“Doing what?” She’s always so happy, he thought.

“I’m a writer, and I’m, kinda’, ya’ know, writing a book.”

“Can I see it?”

He reached over to the nightstand and pulled over a stack of crumpled papers with his name on it. She began reading it, scanning every page. Suddenly, she got up and walked over to the nightstand. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and threw it against the wall, next to the T.V. She walked over to the shattered glass and gently set the manuscript on the liquid. The whiskey seeped through the paper from the bottom and made a river across the front page. Steve made no attempt to stop her; he hated the story anyways but didn’t have any good reason to scrap it before she came. She pulled a lighter out of her shirt, most likely from her bra, and lit the heap of papers on fire. For an unknown reason, Steve laughed heartily; Nikki joined in.

They lazed around for a while. She frequently poked and prodded him with her dangerously sharp heels. He was too drunk to get annoyed. She seemed like a sexual deviant but not once that night did she make any advance towards. He didn’t mind the whole platonic thing but he thought it was moderately absurd that she didn’t say anything about sex nor try to force him to perform oral sex on her, which seemed like the exact behavior she would attempt.

They slept back- to- back that night on the bed. Steve sweated out the toxins from his alcohol; she wiped it up with the sheets. During the night he heard a rustling around on the bed, he figured she was pleasing herself again. He woke up and felt the loneliness like the night before, he looked over to her side of the bed and she was absent, just the creases and depressions in the bed left from her petite, magnificent body.

Although it was nice to have someone to talk to, he didn’t mind that she left. She left him physically, but mentally she was permanently stamped into his brain. Such an enigmatic person doesn’t leave the brain (especially when they get their rocks off in your bathroom.)

Without thinking much about the night before, he picked up an extra pile of papers from the nightstand drawer and began writing a new book called Nikki. He whipped out his last cigarette, lit it with his Zippo, and began working on it. The words flowed quickly and he had plenty of ideas. He looked outside the window, it was a nice day maybe he would go for a walk, or see his wife. What a night, he thought.