Tales of New York

By Guy New York

Dive into a New York that might be. 

Drunk fairies, chain smoking mermaids, and wise bartenders are just some of the characters you'll find in this collection of strange tales of New York City. 

Time stops, windows open into other worlds, and on occasion, people transform in marvelous ways. The collection is sometimes gritty, often funny, and occasionally scandalous. 

But most importantly each story will draw you into a secret world most of us never see. Seductive and hilarious, Guy's vision of his beloved city is a heartwarming as it is raw.

With more than 30 very short stories, Tales of New York will transport you into a mythical New York City that might be more real than it first appears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: QNY
• Release date: Feb 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781508062424

Guy New York

Guy New York is a bestselling erotica author, designer, and degenerate who spends most of his time either writing about sex or having it. Sometimes he does both at the same time, much to the chagrin of his partners. With more than 75 titles to his name — including four full-length novels, ten novellas, and numerous short stories — his books have been widely read and often burned. Visit his author site at www.guynewyork.com.

Book preview

York

INTRODUCTION

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THE FOLLOWING STORIES ARE ALL snapshots of New York as I sometimes see it, often wish it to be, and on occasion long for. They are in no special order, and you should feel free to skip about until you find a title that is appealing. A few are sweet, some are rather risque, and a couple of them might even be disturbing.

Thank you for buying the book, and I hope you enjoy seeing the city through my eyes, even if just for a few moments.

Guy New York

September, 2015

The Lower East Side

THE WILD GIRLS

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THEY COME DOWN FROM THE roof at night, the Wild Girls, chasing each other through the open doorway of my building, down the stairs, and out onto the street for their brief visit to the ground.

I hear them most often in the early morning, waking from a dream to the sounds of laughter, and I open my eyes wide as I jump to the window hoping to get a glimpse of one. Their feet make almost no sound, their bodies used to the wide open spaces above. In the late hours it can look like they’re flying, leaping from building to building, the water towers and hidden gardens more their homes than any place else. Even as they pass by my door, their colored skirts trailing behind them as the glide through the inside, I can only guess at their nature. I can only guess at where they come from and why my building is the one they use to reach the ground.

Just before sunrise one morning, I awoke to the sound of nothing. I rubbed my eyes, listening to the noises in the night, before I saw a glimmer of color in the window. Without turning I trained my eyes towards the fire escape, and for just a moment I saw her face. Young and old at the same time, her eyes glowed with a brightness I had never seen. Her hair was silver and blue, trailing down her back around her crimson rags. With a smile she pressed her small hand against the window before leaping up into the darkness.

It was just a dream, I told myself. This Wild Girl, pausing for just a moment to see how we live. To see who we are with as much curiosity as we hold for them. And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe some mysteries are better left unseen and better let unknown. There are reasons some people choose not live on the ground.

But in the morning, coffee bringing back the memory in a flash, I looked closely at the glass, only to see fingerprints pressed into the pane. I smiled, wondering what truth it held. It would be a month before their return, but there’s no harm in trying.

Weeks later, I tied the small bag to the rusted iron outside of the fire escape. It was a weak offering, gathered from guessing more than any real understanding, but I closed the shade before I slept, knowing I had already seen enough.

In the morning when I opened the blinds to the bright sun, there was nothing left at all.

LUKE’S, HEROIN, AND OLD 45S

~

The fairies in Central Park are not inclined to give out favors.

In other parts of the city it’s easier to know what to offer, and I’m always quick with a lobster roll from Luke’s, a bag of heroin, or old 45s of the New York Dolls. But in the park it’s a different story.

Auntie Baba says it’s because they haven’t been urbanized. She says they have enough earth and trees to act like real fairies, while the rest of them may as well have moved into coops and started paying for cable. Auntie Baba says the fairies in Central Park are wild.

The list of traditional offerings don’t work for me: mince pies cut from children’s thighs, the tear of a virgin on her deathbed, and the first born child of one royal born. All are hard to come by and somewhat awkward to