Best Lesbian Erotica 2005 Page 2

  Here’s how I have sex: with her. With her, not her with me. I work on her ten, twenty, forty minutes, till my hands are soaking, her blond-skinned tits and pink nipples rubbing against mine. I make her say, “Please let me come,” and I make her come. When she screams, that’s it. I hold her head back by the hair and watch. Her clit shakes and she soaks me, her torso convulses. Her face is just gorgeous. I come along with her. “Thanks,” she says. I kiss her whole long body, her hot smooth skin, touch her tits. She swings her legs over the side of the bed, and I straddle her left knee as I once straddled that rocking horse, as I straddle the desk when she’s not there, and she tells me the story of how I first captured and fucked her—a cops-and-robbers, cock-and-pussy story—and I stare at her tits, her wide-open mouth, and the dark hair that peeks out as I pull down her panties; I scissor my legs, rub my butch clit all over her girl knee, and come on her like a fucking dirty old perv, an explosion in ninety seconds flat.

  Two Girls in a Basement

  Cheryl B.

  We were what you would have called mall chicks, typical Jersey girls with painted-on stonewashed jeans, tiny fringed T-shirts stretched tight across our tits, and long hair that invited petting. Our nails were perfectly painted rectangles that extended way past the tips of our fingers, shining like new linoleum.

  The summer of 1989, I graduated from high school and although I didn’t plan on it, I was about to figure out I was a lesbian. That summer I moved out of my tiny childhood bedroom and into my parents’ basement. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life and I couldn’t afford to live on my own. But I couldn’t stand to hear their fighting anymore. So I bought a soundproof door at the Home Center where I worked as a head cashier and had my ex-boyfriend Guido (yes, that was really his name) install it for me. That way I could think, figure things out.

  As he worked, I stood below him on the stairs and inspected my acrylic nails, which in my memory of that day were done in a bright purple with alternating white and gold stripes. Occasionally I handed Guido a tool from a big orange box he’d brought with him or gave him a rag to wipe up the sweat that had gathered on the hairs that poked out from underneath his tank top mingling with his gold chains.

  When he was finished with the door Guido pulled it closed and we were alone on the stairs leading down to my new “apartment.” He had done a good job and I told him so with a hug and a peck on the cheek.

  Guido pulled me toward him and put his hand on my ass. “How’s about a little candy, Lina?” he asked as he squeezed my left buttcheek. Guido was five years older than me and we’d been dating since I was sixteen. My parents wanted me to marry him because he was a plumber and “you always need a plumber.”

  I looked down and saw the bulge in Guido’s pants growing. I could feel his eyes burning hopefully on the top of my head. He wanted a blow job. I can’t say I wasn’t slightly tempted. Guido, for all his Guido-ness, was a good-looking guy and during our relationship he got a blow job every day, sometimes more than one.

  Normally, I would happily get on my knees for him, mouth hungry, eyes wide. Not so much out of lust for Guido. I don’t think I was ever even in love with him, but I just liked doing things with my mouth.

  But that night was different. That night was Girls Night In, something I’d read about in a magazine, probably Cosmo, where as a show of your female independence you’re supposed to hang out with your girlfriends, leaving the guys to themselves… or something like that. Besides, Guido and I had broken up more than a month ago, and rumor had it that he was seeing Christie, who was a total bitch, not to mention a complete slut. He could get her to blow him.

  “I don’t think Christie would appreciate that too much,” I teased him playfully, pushing him away from me. But really I wanted him to leave, because I had to get ready for my guests. Actually it was only one guest, Tammy, since most of the girls I invited already had plans with their boyfriends, and one actually said her boyfriend wouldn’t let her come. So much for female independence.

  “Where’d you hear about Christie?”

  “Oh, you know, around,” I said looking at my watch.

  “You got something better to do tonight?”

  “Yeah, you know I told you I was going to have the girls over.”

  “Oh, yeah, the women’s lib thing.”

  “No. It’s just like a sleepover.”

  “That’s kind of hot, all you girls snuggled in together,” Guido said dreamily.

  “You sicko,” I said. Why wouldn’t he just leave. “Oh you, get out of here,” I said, punching him playfully. I opened the door that led up into the kitchen. My parents were fighting. Dad sat at the table in a dirty T-shirt, his tiny boom box in his hands, trying to find his favorite country music station. Mom was over by the sink, angrily scrubbing a pot.

  “Can’t we listen to normal music for once?” my mother complained, in her North Jersey accent. “Instead of that cowboy shit?” She was actually annoyed at my father’s crush on Naomi Judd.

  “Oh shut up, will ya?” my father retorted. He then looked at me. “You been playing with this radio?”

  I shook my head. “Why would I touch your stupid radio?”

  My mother turned around, ready to either start in again with my father or put me down. Then she noticed Guido and she changed her tone. “Oh hello, Guido,” she cooed, coming over to him. My mother really liked Guido.

  “Hello, Mrs. Gennaro,” he said, leaning in to give my mother a kiss. “Hey, Mr. G.,” he said to my father, who barely looked up from the radio to acknowledge him.

  “I see you put the door up for Lina. She’s so ashamed of her parents, she wants a separation. It’s like the Berlin wall,” my mother said.

  My father found his country station at last. “All right!” he said, “Hey Guido, ever hear of The Judds? They’re having a live concert on the radio tonight.”

  My mother spoke over him. “Are you staying for dinner, Guido?” This could pose a problem. Guido really liked my mother’s cooking. Maybe they should get together.

  Tammy would be over in less than an hour and I needed to get ready. Before Guido could answer I said, “Oh no, he’s on his way out. He’s a very busy guy,” and led him to the front door.

  I turned my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me on his way out.

  He looked at me, pointing his finger. “Don’t be turning into some dyke on me.” And then he added in all seriousness, “Don’t drop the soap.”

  “Have a good night, Guido,” my mother called from the kitchen as I closed the door on him.

  Tammy was a new friend I met a few months ago in aerobics class. Turns out we both pretended to have cramps one day and wound up together in the locker room of Living Well Lady sneaking cigarettes by the window.

  I noticed a gold bracelet she wore around her slender wrist: a cut-out heart covered in tiny diamonds on a thin rope chain. It sparkled in the light coming in from the window and reflected off the tiles in the bathroom.

  “I like your bracelet,” I said.

  “Thanks,” she answered, taking another drag off her cigarette.

  “Can I see?” I held out my hand and she lifted her wrist. I fingered the diamonds, touching the soft skin on either side of the bracelet. “Nice,” I said, and for some reason I didn’t let go of her hand right away. Suddenly I was confused. I wasn’t sure if I was appraising the bracelet or the skin on the underside of her arm.

  “Got it from the boyfriend,” she said, taking her wrist back and inspecting the bracelet herself, “for Valentine’s day.”

  “Cool,” I said, taking a final drag off my cigarette before stubbing it out on the windowsill. As I did this, I snuck a look at her and noticed for the first time that her silver leotard had a cut-out midsection. Her stomach was a combination of firm and curvy. I wanted to touch the skin in the center. It had a beautiful, bronze sheen, the perfect tan. I was filled with a strange combination of jealousy and attraction and I totally lost myself in the gaze. I continued to watch her
. Her lips when closed were a glossy, pink bow. When she opened her mouth to take another drag off her cigarette, her teeth were like perfect white Chiclets, her tongue wet and red.

  “So you got a boyfriend?” she asked. I quickly stopped checking out her tongue and shook my head.

  “No. I mean yes, his name is Guido,” I said, embarrassed although I didn’t know why.

  She smiled. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Sometimes I think it would be good to be single again too.”

  I smiled shyly at her and we became friends. Over the next few weeks we shopped together, modeling clothes for each other in the dressing room of Macy’s. Tried on high heels together at the mall and helped each other into lingerie at Victoria’s Secret. At one point while I was buttoning her into a black lace bustier, her blonde hair brushed against my hands and I had the urge to slip my hands around her waist, push her against the wall, and rub myself all over her. Instead, I dropped my hands to my sides. But I swear there was this bizarre sexual energy flowing between us. I think she felt it too because we could hardly look at each other the rest of the day.

  Now she was due to come over in, like, twenty minutes! And my basement room was a mess! And I barely had my makeup done! And I hated all my clothes! Tammy usually wore short skirts. So I decided to wear tight jeans as a contrast. I put on my push-up bra and pulled a cut-off Bon Jovi T-shirt out of my drawer. I splashed a little perfume on my wrist, smudged some blue eyeliner on my lids, and gave my long, dark hair a once-over with a generous spray of Aqua Net. I turned off the overhead lights and flicked on a few old table lamps. I took my favorite tape out and placed it by the stereo. I poured some Doritos into a bowl. Put out a few Diet Cokes and took a long sip from a bottle of Jack Daniels, then threw it under one of the cushions on the couch. I wasn’t much of a drinker but I thought I could use a little booster. I slipped my feet into a pair of heels I’d bought with Tammy one day. They were her favorites: pointy toed with a four-inch spiked heel in a midnight blue that matched the blue in my T-shirt. Tammy said they made me look like a porn star. And sitting there waiting for her on my parents’ old couch, I felt like the sexiest woman on earth.

  At this point, I have to make a confession: The Girls Night In thing was only a front. I put the invitations out there, knowing the other girls would decline. I just wanted Tammy to myself.

  I heard the doorbell ring upstairs. She was right on time. I’d already instructed my mother to let her in. And I could hear Tammy’s heels on the floor above following my mother down the hall to my basement door. I was so nervous, I was shaking. I stood at the bottom of the steps and could see the doorknob turning, hear my mother’s voice burrowing its way through insulated steel, repeating the “Berlin wall” line. As the door opened the light from the kitchen shone down the stairs, and I could hear The Judds droning from my father’s radio in the background.

  Tammy stood at the top of the stairs in a pink skirt so short I could see her baby-blue panties. Her hair was big and blond and wild. She made her way down the stairs in her fuchsia spiked heels. My mother stayed on in the doorway as I regarded Tammy coming toward me.

  “I’ve never heard of this, two beautiful girls hanging out in a smelly basement when you could be out on dates,” my mother said. “I don’t know where you kids came from.”

  Tammy reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “You look great,” I said.

  “So do you, Lina,” she replied. I could tell by the way she looked at me that we were there for the same reason.

  “I swear, if I had your figure I’d be out playing the field. I wouldn’t be sitting in some basement full of my parents’ old furniture,” my mother continued from the top of the steps.

  “Thanks, Ma,” I said as I made my way up the stairs to lock the door.

  “Remember, you’re only young once,” she continued as I closed the door and locked it.

  By the time I got down the stairs, Tammy was already sitting on the couch, one long leg tucked under her while the other stretched out across the couch. She was taking a sip from a Diet Coke and fingering the dingy material on the couch.

  “Sorry about the furniture. It’s kind of crappy,” I apologized.

  “I think it’s so cool you did this. It’s like you have your own little place. I’m still sleeping in my little room in my parents’ house. There are still unicorns stenciled on the walls!”

  I crossed the room and stood in front of her sprawled leg on the couch. I expected her to move the leg for me to sit down but when she didn’t, I sort of slid in underneath it, placing her fuchsia heel on my lap. Suddenly I felt like a guy, or like I was the guy or was playing the guy’s role or something. I needed a drink. I reached under the couch cushion where I’d stashed the Jack Daniels and pulled out the bottle, taking a long sip. I offered the bottle to Tammy even though she doesn’t really drink much either. She took a bigger sip than me.

  I tried to make small talk. “So, have you seen the new clothes at The Limited?”

  I realized I’d begun running my hand up her leg. Her skin was unbelievably smooth. I wondered what she used—whether she shaved or waxed or….

  Tammy reached forward, pushing me back on the couch. She straddled me, grinding her hips into me, and kissed me in a way that I could only describe as “with abandon” as if she wanted to swallow me whole. It really knocked my socks off. But I was not to be outdone. I pushed her off me and got her flat on the couch. I reached my hand up her shirt, felt the lace of her bra, and I swear—I soaked my panties right there on the spot. I could feel the wetness in the confines of my tight jeans.

  “Ohhhh,” I moaned. I reached down and kissed Tammy, mashing my mouth into hers. I worked my hands around her back to unsnap her bra and to my amazement did it on my first try! Tammy quickly pulled off her tiny shirt, which I noticed was airbrushed “Jersey Girls Best in the World!” We both looked at the shirt and began giggling.

  “I guess I picked the right shirt,” Tammy laughed.

  She had picked the right shirt and the right skirt and the right panties, which to my surprise I quickly pulled off so I could feel between her legs. Tammy pulled her skirt up farther—at this point it was practically a belt—and spread her legs for me. I don’t know if there is such a thing as a moment in which you “turn gay” but if there is, it was that moment looking down at Tammy. It sounds cheesy, like something from a bad porn film, but the thought of my hands, with their long, purple nails, grazing her neatly shaved pussy is something that to this day still turns me on. I can still feel her heat and the wetness and the uncontrollable excitement let loose in my body. I was a baby femme-top and I didn’t even know it.

  We kissed and rubbed some more, got my pants off, sucked each other’s nipples, then she fingered me, her hot pink nails making a circle around my clit. Somehow I wound up kneeling in front of her on the floor. And I buried my face in her, at first poking around with my tongue, trying to figure out what to do. She ran her hands through my hair and moaned, spreading her legs farther apart, moving her pussy closer and closer to me. And I just went for it, licking her in tiny circles, then long laps, then little flickerings on her clit until I felt her stiffen, then shake and moan. And I swear, as she came I felt the earth move, the room spin. She pushed my head away from her.

  “Please stop, I’m gonna fall apart,” she laughed, falling back on the couch and closing her legs.

  I sat down next to her and we both began giggling.

  “It’s a good thing I got the soundproof door,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, was I loud? My boyfriend says I’m loud.”

  I could feel myself frowning. “Let’s not talk about him now.”

  We sat there, my head on her shoulder, and, amazingly, I began to drift off.

  “Hold on there,” Tammy said, touching my face. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh, really?” I said.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, getting down on her knees.

  “Wait,” I said. “I forgot the music.
”

  I got up and crossed the room to the stereo, and in true Jersey Girl form picked up my Led Zeppelin 4 tape, popped it in the player, and pressed repeat.

  Our Women Know What to Do

  Madeleine Oh

  “Is it too much to ask?”

  Lying warm and replete after lovemaking, my body still weak from climaxing, I couldn’t refuse Ahmet. “No. It’s just….”

  “Just what?” Ahmet asked, his breath warm against my face.

  I couldn’t say, “Too weird, too kinky.” To a Turk, to a Muslim, it was a reasonable request. A cultural requirement, if I had any hope of fitting into his world. “I’m just not sure I can go to the beauty parlor and ask if they’ll do my pussy when they wax my legs.”

  “Of course not!” His chest fluttered under my hand as he chuckled, a low and sexy sound that had the power to make me wet even when I still ached from the last time. “That is not how our women do it.”

  “How do your women do it?” I leaned up on one elbow, my fingers smoothing the soft pelt on his chest, and grinned.