Scipio S right Erotica by Nick Scipio

Jazz Club Stories

Exclamation Point

The first Jazz Club Story.

When she shifted in her seat and spread her legs slightly, I glimpsed a healthy expanse of her taut thighs. She rubbed her palms along the material of her skirt and the hem climbed deliciously higher…

Author’s Note: I almost titled this story “Bang”. But I figured only the Unix-heads would get the title. If you’re not a Unix-head, and you still understand the title (before or after reading the story), then you probably hang around with too many Unix people. I love ’em, but they’re a breed apart.


The second Jazz Club Story.

“There’s a line for the women’s room,” she said to me as she shut the door behind her. She grinned mischievously at the sound of the click when she pressed the lock. “I didn’t feel like waiting.”

Author’s Note: I woke up the morning after I wrote Exclamation Point, and wrote three more stories in my head, based on the same characters.

Let It Snow

The third Jazz Club Story.

I walked her to her car, a Christmas tune competing with thoughts of how her breast pressed against my arm. Then she kissed me, long and deep and hard, and I felt her hands at my zipper…

Author’s Note: This story didn’t start out as a Christmas story, but that’s the direction it decided to go… I originally intended to use only the first stanza of “Let It Snow”, but when I looked at the entire lyrics, they just seemed to fit what I’d already written, so I wove them into the story. I’ve been having fun with the Jazz Club Stories. So much fun, in fact, that I’ve added a fifth story.

Anticipation Like a Drug

The fourth Jazz Club Story.

Her eyes flicked towards the restrooms and she grinned mischievously. When she hooked her fingers in the waistband of my jeans, I became instantly erect. She gave me a tug, and I followed her lead.

Author’s Note: I’m still having fun with Kate and Ethan. This story should be completely different, in tenor, than the previous three. At least, I hope it is. Have you ever had one of those days where work is slow, and there’s something later in the day that you’re really looking forward to? A day where you look at your watch every five minutes, and wonder why the day is progressing like a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter? Poor Ethan is having one of those days.

The Politics of Control

The fifth Jazz Club Story.

With her back to the door, her eyes sparkled as she slowly unfastened each brass button. She stopped as the soft inner curves of her breasts were revealed, and laughed richly when she saw my expression.

Author’s Note: I use a convention late in the story, to show that the characters are speaking a foreign language: dialog in italics is Russian. I have translated the conversation idiomatically, except where it should be obvious what the characters are saying. In addition, I would like to thank a friend of mine for her help with this story. She asked me not to mention her name, and she tried to downplay her importance, but the story simply wouldn’t have been the same without her involvement. Thank you very much, D. You’re my favorite nurse.


The sixth Jazz Club Story.

Ethan and Kate plan to spend Sunday together. From breakfast in bed to after-dinner cognac, it's a day filled with surprises and sex.

Author’s Note: This story originally appeared at Ruthie’s Club.