Best Lesbian Erotica 2015 Read online

  BEST

  LESBIAN EROTICA

  2015

  BEST

  LESBIAN

  EROTICA

  2015

  Edited by

  LAURA ANTONIOU

  Copyright © 2015 by Laura Antoniou.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published in the United States by Cleis Press,

  an imprint of Start Midnight, LLC, 609 Greenwich Street, Sixth Floor,

  New York, New York 10014.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink

  Cover photograph: iStockphoto

  Text design: Frank Wiedemann

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-091-9

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-106-0

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  A Knock at the Door • LEE ANN KEPLE AND KATIE KING

  Andro Angel • DEBORAH JANNERSON

  Lovely Lady Liberty • NICOLE WOLFE

  Kristie’s Game • ALEXANDRA DELANCEY

  Learning to Cook • NAN ANDREWS

  Wet Dirt • TINA HORN

  The Bullwhip and the Bull Rider • SACCHI GREEN

  Arachne • CATHERINE LUNDOFF

  Behrouz Gets Lucky • AVERY CASSELL

  Second Date • MIEL ROSE

  Late Show • LISABET SARAI

  Naming It • JEAN ROBERTA

  My Visit to Sue Anne • ANNA WATSON

  Girlz in the Mist • CAMMY MAY HUNNICUTT

  Kiss of the Rain Queen • FIONA ZEDDE

  Murcielago • THEDA HUDSON

  In My Skin • BETH WYLDE

  Still Flying • ANDREA DALE

  Strong • XAN WEST

  The Last Last Time • BD SWAIN

  About the Authors

  About the Editor

  INTRODUCTION

  Over twenty years ago, I decided the world needed more collections of erotica. Erotica written with women in mind, with sexy, demanding, lusty, beguiling, furious, volatile, seductive, sensuous women as the featured characters. Women who were neither passive objects of desire nor fetishized simulacrums moving and acting according to a limited menu of activities and roles.

  Twenty years ago, I put out a call for submissions, sending a carefully worded ad to three magazines, about a dozen newspapers and newsletters and a mailing list of my friends who I thought might know other writers, and waited for the typewritten manuscripts to fill my P.O. box….

  Wait, wait, what now?

  Things sure have changed.

  For one, there are so many wonderful collections of erotica. The sheer wealth of delicious stories available for tantalizing enjoyment of every kind is nothing short of amazing. And of course, the Internet and e-books have revolutionized how we find these stories, whether we’re readers (as I am), writers (that, too) or even editors.

  Guilty. With pleasure.

  And then there’s the reach. I had trouble getting twenty submissions to some of my older anthologies, and often had to resort to begging fellow writers to please, please dash off something I could use—or writing things under one of my many pseudonyms. But now? One hundred and fifty stories came flooding in. Drenching me.

  I know. I have your pity. And when you enter this steamy collection of stories, from the sultry to the sordid, I believe they will capture your attention.

  Because some things have not changed. The thrill of a bar pickup, and the enticement of the new, will always be exciting. That’s why you’ll start this little erotic adventure with stories celebrating flirtation and spontaneous sexual combustion. With a nod to the cyber-age, it’s only right that the first story, “A Knock at the Door,” by Lee Ann Keple and Katie King, uses text messages to convey the courtship dance of getting-to-know-you and sexual negotiation. The instant ability to share thoughts and fantasies without even looking into someone’s eyes is one of the wonderful and frightening things I couldn’t have even imagined twenty years ago.

  You will want to get to the eyes-meeting-eyes part though, even when we aren’t sure what that hot woman’s name is. Or… those hot women’s. Picking up couples or finding lust backstage at a USO show; nasty sex in the ladies’ room or the tempered and simmered heat of a meal designed to steam up more than the farm-fresh vegetables all await your traipsing. And if you’re really ready to get down and dirty, “Wet Dirt,” by Tina Horn, will serve a up potent concoction of humor and bodily fluids and “The Bullwhip and the Bull Rider,” by Sacchi Green, will leave you with a taste of leather in your mouth.

  And that’s just the first section of this collection.

  One of the things I love in a sexy tale is an unmooring from reality. Erotica has the ability to show us things that don’t happen, can’t happen, shouldn’t happen, never happened. This is part of the attraction. So I am delighted to include in this collection two stories of magic and fantasy: one from pure Greek mythology and one from the quasi-mystical history of the Rain Queens of Balobedu. They serve as wisps of fancy between the three thematic regions of the collection.

  The middle segment celebrates and explores existing relationships, because not all passion resides in first-times. Older lovers, established couples, recaptured memories and the urging of a friend to go for more and more—all these show up, starting with the wonderfully sensuous “Behrouz Gets Lucky,” by Avery Cassell. Discovery beyond what we think we already know is just as intoxicating as any flirtation, and reawakening desire is like finding an old love we’d forgotten. So while “My Visit to Sue Anne,” by Anna Watson, might seem like a first-time story—read it slowly.

  And in the final part of this romp through the wicked worlds of wild women…go just a little crazy. Fancy getting sexed up while getting some new ink? Or maybe grasp a different kind of bull dyke and confront the challenge of saying “Fuck you!” to a debilitating condition while savoring every moment of actual fucking you can get. You’ll be glad to have this collection discreetly on your reading device so your seatmate doesn’t spy you enjoying the oh-so-public in-flight entertainment depicted in Andrea Dale’s “Still Flying.” But don’t think you’ve landed safely; you’ll still have a stunning swing through gender and what it means to be strong, and finally, that special sort of furious sex that can only happen in the presence of a lot of bad history.

  It’s been more than twenty years since I sat down to read the fantasies and myths and desires of hot femmes and butches, tops and bottoms and switches. I’m surrounded by married lesbians, polyamorous bi-dykes, and genderqueers with neutral pronouns, and the kinky sex that used to be way in the back is so mainstream the best-seller lists are packed with billionaires putting their girlfriends in bondage.

  But some things never change. This shit is hot. And there’s always more to come. I certainly hope you do.

  Laissez les bons temps rouler.

  Laura Antoniou

  Queens, New York

  A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

  Lee Ann Keple and Katie King

  I sit cross-legged on my ratty old couch, shaking my head at yesterday’s encounter. Get out and meet new women writers, my friend said. Come for sushi with us—it’ll be fun, she said. Might as well, I thought. I wasn’t getting anything productive done with the one-two punch of a vicious case of writer’s block and the worst dry spell of my life anyhow.

  I went reluctantly, ate raw fish, engaged in chitchat and was a
bout to bolt out the door when I saw the little cutie with the hazel eyes. Our eyes met as she popped a piece of spicy tuna sashimi into her mouth.

  An hour later and the table is cleared of everyone but us, talking and laughing about everything and nothing in the way only total strangers can. She pauses, tilts her head and asks me if I’m up for a little experiment. A stupid smile takes my face hostage, and I find myself nodding agreement before I can think of all the excuses to say no. She asks for my email address and says watch for her message, subject line Knock at the Door, then saunters out. I’m watching her posterior geography in a bit of a daze when I realize—I didn’t even catch her name. Idiot.

  I fire up my laptop and check my inbox, just in case…

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 1 March 2014, 8:32 pm

  Subject: There is a knock at your door…

  You’re sitting in your living room trying to write when suddenly there is a knock at your door. You cross the room, open the door and see:

  A) an appliance repair technician

  B) a pizza delivery gal

  C) a police officer

  Welcome to my new series: Choose Your Own Erotic Adventure. Make your choice—then write what comes next;)

  Shit-eating only begins to describe the smile on my face. I hit REPLY and start to type.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 1 March 2014 9:38 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  Fantastic! OK—I’ll play along. Decisions, decisions.

  C) police officer

  My eyes travel upward from the spit-and-polish black oxfords, up the sharply creased pants, pausing slightly at the crotch line before appraising the fitted uniform shirt and the navy-blue peaked cap, and you say, “We’ve had another noise complaint coming from this location. Mind if I come in and take a look around?”

  Me: (said loudly) “Of course, Officer. C’mon in—anything I can do to help Vancouver’s finest.” (Closes door and leans in.) “Tell me you have more than 20 minutes this time!”

  You say:

  A) “We can spend all the time I have talking about what I’m going to do to you,” or

  B) “You can shut that cute mouth and loosen my tie.”

  I read over what I’ve written and hesitate. My mind is racing with possibilities, but I barely know this woman. I decide to play it cool, and see where she takes it. I hit SEND.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 2 March 2014, 8:33 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  B.

  I let you loosen my tie. You slip it up over my head, unknot it and offer it back to me saying, “You may want to restrain me, Officer. I’m having the nastiest thoughts right now and could be a threat to public safety.” I shove the tie in my pocket, grab your hands and walk you into the kitchen, eying you the whole way.

  I shoulder you up against the refrigerator and grab my nightstick. I stroke the smooth tip along your jawline, across your neck and down your shoulder. It feels warm—almost alive—in contrast to the cold stainless steel of the fridge against your back. You can feel my hot breath against your cheek as the rod rolls down along your arm over your chenille robe, making a detour under the curve of your left breast. My belt buckle presses into your right hip as the oak stick describes the curve of your waist, left hip and outer thigh. Lifting the hem of the pink robe and rolling my nightstick toward your inner thigh, I say, “I’m hungry, babe—what’s for breakfast?”

  You:

  A) cook me breakfast

  B) push me away, throw off the robe, and drop to your knees

  C) grab a ball whisk from the stoneware jar on the granite counter and get creative

  Holy shit. She doesn’t waste any time. I would never wear a pink robe, but damn. Game on!

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 2 March 2014, 10:30 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  C.

  “Are you ordering on or off the menu today, Officer?” I ask innocently. I push off the fridge hips-first, and without losing contact with your belt line, grind and turn slowly until my body has rotated around and my ass is warming the metal on your buckle. Your right hand instinctively comes around my waist, traveling up my belly to rest flat just under my left breast, index finger tracing a line over and above the black lace of my bra.

  I apply the whisk to a bowl of half-whipped heavy cream sitting on the nearby counter until peaks start to form. I flick the whisk back and forth, fast enough that there is the occasional whirring sound in the air to punctuate the tapping of the whisk hitting the sides, faster and faster. You watch raptly while rocking ever so slightly from side to side against my back.

  “I think it’s ready now.” I dip two fingers into the stiff peaks and scoop out a bit of the sweet cream. I reach my hand back over my left shoulder and offer you the first taste.

  You…

  Your choice!

  I fall asleep thinking of inappropriate uses for dairy products, hoping that stirstick sends the next installment right away. I’ve been checking my email more and more during the day, as if this will induce the next paragraphs to arrive faster.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 5 March 2014, 8:20 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  I lick the cream, then push my tongue into the web between your forefingers, sucking both fingers into my mouth. I turn you around so I can feel your breasts against mine as I push you against the counter and thrust against your belly with my pelvis. My left hand falls against a spice rack as my right reaches into your robe to encircle your waist and caress the small of your back. “A little spice with your cream?” I ask.

  Your choice of spice?

  A) cinnamon sugar

  B) red pepper flakes

  C) chocolate sprinkles

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 5 March 2014, 8:25 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  A.

  You sprinkle some cinnamon sugar onto my upper chest and breastbone so that some falls into my lacy black push-up bra, your eyes twinkling the whole time. You drop your head and start butterfly-tonguing the spice, slowly moving over the warm skin on my lower neck and down the center, to the even warmer area between my breasts, darting from side to side, licking the top of each breast and allowing your tongue to roll over the top edge of the bra, then underneath. You are teasing me, and you know it. A small groan starts to build in my throat. As your attention is focused on my left breast and the taste of my skin mingled with the spice, I undo your starched shirt, one button at a time, from the bottom up. When I reach the top button, I pull the shirt open and off your shoulders. The shirt falls to the floor, revealing magnificent breasts straining against lingerie I am damn sure isn’t department issue.

  At this stage, you remember:

  A) the bowl of whipped cream

  B) your tie

  C) your nightstick

  Your move…

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 6 March 2014, 8:07 pm

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  C.

  The robe has slipped off your shoulders now, and as my gaze falls on the creamy perfection of your skin, I can feel the fire building in my belly, my knees beginning to wobble. I have to do something to regain control. With my left hand I loosen your robe and reach around to stroke upward along the curve of your spine. With my right, I grip my nightstick, probing gently between your knees until your thighs start to fall open. In and out, up and down, the smooth dowel explores that soft warmth of
your flesh. I press the other end of the nightstick against my crotch, feeling the sexual energy flow between us.

  “It’s time for a change of venue,” I say. Let’s continue the party:

  A) on the stairs with the nightstick

  B) by the fireplace with the whipped cream

  C) upstairs with the tie

  Ohh—I can totally see her on the staircase. I retrieve the nightstick, look at it, look at her, and balance one end vertically on the stair just in front of me, nesting the side of the smooth, hard rod against her very wet lips. Carefully, I squeeze my upper thighs and legs together, reach down and cup her asscheeks, urging her forward so that she is pressed against the top end of the rod, which has now become our own private and personal sized stripper pole.

  She moves slowly against it at first, exploring the give and take between the stiffness of the rod and its slight soft pivot from the small undulations of my back and hips moving in response to her grinding. The rising sweet musk of her scent and mine—

  Wait a minute. That would never work. The nightstick would have to be four feet long. Scrap that.

  Could we just be straddling each other on the stairs with the nightstick between us? Oh crap. My back hurts just thinking about that. What was I thinking? Fucking on stairs is uncomfortable.

  Start again.

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Date: 7 March 2014, 12:39 am

  Subject: RE: There is a knock at your door…

  C. Upstairs with the tie

  I reach into your right pocket to find your tie. It’s not there, but I take my time anyway poking around and rubbing your thigh through the cloth. I search all the pockets on the front and back of your pants and on your shirt before I eventually find it—taking your sighs and groans as signals in the best game of “You’re Getting Warmer” ever. Taking one end of the tie in each hand, I toss it gently over your neck, pulling it back and forth lightly across your hairline and upper back. I realize we’ll never get up the stairs at this rate. I fold the tie over itself and snap it against my hands. “Up the stairs, missy!” I say, and crack it once on your left shoulder and once on your haunch. “You know the way to my bedroom.”