Best Lesbian Erotica 2005 Read online

  “Lou there?”

  “No.”

  “She leave you all alone?”

  “Yeah, she’s out. I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

  “No, I mean, if you’re alone, why don’t I just come on over. We can wait for her together.”

  “I don’t think that’s the best idea. She’ll be home soon.”

  “She says you’re real pretty. Why don’t I come over so I can tell her what I think of you.”

  “Maybe…some other time. I’ll tell her you called.”

  “Ah, come on, she’s been talking about how you’re a wild one, that you can’t ever get enough. You’re probably rubbing your clit raw right now. I’ll just come over and help you out. Why don’t I just come over there and introduce myself to your….”

  “Ummm…. I should really go. Bye.”

  We hadn’t met but I had replayed her words in my head enough to recognize her voice anywhere. The best sex is always in your head, and Nanc had a knack for climbing into mine.

  Lou parks the truck near the bar’s entrance and comes around to open my door and look me over. “Who do you love?” she asks, brushing my hair back.

  This well-rehearsed mantra to sooth her fragile ego spills forth: “I love you, Lou, you know that. Only you. You know you are the only one who can keep me happy.”

  “Is that right?” She smiles a bit and pushes me against the side of the truck to kiss me and then she pulls back, seems to be waiting for more. It is not the cock but the compliment that is the way to a butch’s heart.

  So I continue. “You know you are my love. You turn me on more than anyone else ever could. How many times have I told you so? I’m not going anywhere. Don’t you worry, baby.”

  Lou looks me square in the eyes and says, “No matter what happens tonight, you just remember that.”

  With her arm around my waist, we head down the damp back street. I can see the bikes in silhouette and the shape of a crowd of burly women hanging in the doorway of the bar. There is a whistle or two as we approach, then smiles and nods to Lou as she ushers me inside. The room is dim but everywhere I can see the dark huskiness of the most handsome women. There are squeaks of leather as people turn and a hand brushes my leg now and then in an almost accidental way. Now I fully understand why femmes need a chaperone here.

  I like my women tough. The rougher edged and bigger, the better. I like to watch them get restless, their tough exteriors trembling under thick denim when they talk to me. I regularly call them sir to make them think they are passing. I admire those who don’t correct me—it is a compliment. All a good butch really needs is a femme to appreciate her.

  I have taken to making myself the most appreciative femme in the city. I can appreciate the fuck out of just about any butch I come across. And it is the fucking that I am really after. The trick is to find the soft spot in the hard women and tickle it until they hike my skirt up to see if my pussy is as sweet as my words. Their little way of thanking me.

  Shy butches on their barstools want to be told that I can tell they are thinking deep thoughts. One drink later we are in their cars and they are thanking me as deeply as their broad-fingered hands can in such close confines.

  A cropped-haired mechanic who has been tinkering on a bike that has been parked, unusable, for months on the lawn wants me to tell her what a fine ride it’s going to be. Wants to hear me ask if I can sit on it for a minute, have me hitch my skirt up and place my oops-I-forgot-to-wear-panties-cunt down on the seat, lean forward so my clit slides along the leather to reach the handle bars. “I bet you can make her purr,” I say, feigning revving the engine. A minute later, the shop table has been cleared off and she paws me with grease-stained fingernails while her buddies go out for lunch.

  Lou had been hard and secretive and didn’t fall for any of my usual ploys. Her soft spot was hard to find. Two weeks after moving in with her, I discovered a hidden stash of books. A few worn-out trashy straight novels, an instructional manual called The Erotic Woman, and a thoroughly uninteresting not-very-well-illustrated version of the Kama Sutra. To stay with Lou I would need to find a spot I could tease her with that could last months. Ordaining her as the best lover I have ever had was a way to keep my side of the bed vacant and to prevent her from changing the locks. She was good, so it wasn’t a matter of faking it with her, as much as playing down every other encounter I had ever had. She knew I played around, but all seemed to be forgiven when I whined about how frustrated I was and how I couldn’t wait to come home to be with her. She let the indiscretions go and grew increasingly interested in the fumbling details of lovers I auditioned. Lately we’d been arguing almost every day, and my stories had gone up a notch to counter her complaints. Now, not only was no one even close to her in bed, but no one else could even make me wet. Lou, who had been jamming my things into a duffle bag, stopped what she was doing when I revealed this to her. With almost a sense of pity she seemed to feel obliged to let me stay. I always carried clean panties in my pocket, which I could slip on before I came home to convince her of the lie she so wanted to believe.

  We stop to get drinks before heading to the table that Lou’s friends have staked out. Nanc speaks to Lou but keeps her eyes on mine, watching me scan the crowd. “Ah, so you finally let her out of the house.” They laugh, giving each other a one-shoulder butch hug/pat.

  The floor is already sticky with spilled beer. Lou’s friends make room for us at the table and I listen to the group discuss work. How the assholes at the plant are reducing overtime, how so-and-so at the cycle shop has some thingy and such part doodad. I can’t follow the conversation and don’t care. I sip my beer, bouncing my ankle, trying to catch eye contact in a crowd used to avoiding it. Conversations in the room grow louder and women set their beers down so hard in anger or humor that the tables are slick from the sloshing over.

  Lou gets up to go fetch more drinks and Nanc slides into her chair. “So, what d’ya think of our little bar?” She moves my hair off my shoulder, giving it a little tug. She leans in to me, one hand on my knee. In her familiar voice, she whispers the gossip of those sitting around the table. “Jess—been single for over a year, a pity she can’t find a nice femme like Lou obviously has.” I lean into her slightly so her mouth grazes my ear as she speaks. “And see Ron there? She passes at work. Takes shots too, when she can get her hands on a dose. Did you know testosterone raises sex drive?” She laughs alcohol-moist breath into my neck, saying she’d bet I already knew that.

  Lou interrupts us, shoves Nanc back to her own seat, and pulls me out of mine.

  “C’mon, let’s go.”

  “Lou, man, we’re just talking. Geez, half the time you want her to find a new man. I was just testing the waters.” Nanc punctuates this with a sizzle sound.

  “We’re just going outside for a smoke. We’ll be back.”

  She leads me out of the bar, squeezing the pinkies on both my hands in her fist as she pushes our way through the crowd.

  Lou ignores me when we get outside even when I kiss her throat and try to jam my hands into her pockets. She has rolled us a joint she didn’t want to share with her friends and we lean against the wall in silence trying to hang in the shadows. She feeds me drags between her long puffs.

  Three women leaving the bar pause as they catch the scent and come over to ask directions to some other bar in an obvious ploy to get offered a hit. Lou vaguely gives them the information they want, and when they linger, she hands them the tight-rolled cig and they chat as they pass it around.

  Lou introduces herself. Then she introduces me as the insatiable curse who couldn’t be left alone for a minute without trying to make a pass at her best friend. Lou laughs it off and says that even if her friend had taken me into some back corner and tried to rustle up some lust, I would just have come crawling back to her.

  Lou tells them that last week I went to the bathroom between pool-shots and convinced someone to feel me up. How after the woman was unsuccessful at usin
g her fingers to arouse anything more in me than a need to pee, I came storming out, saying I’d have to use a pool cue if I wanted to get off. She tells them how she caught me crawling back into her bed with chalky hands and a blue smudge on my nose.

  She complains that I am always picking up girls and going home with them, just to end up horny and frustrated and then have to steal cab money or hop a late-night bus back to her place. Like an alley cat who keeps wandering back in the window whenever you shut him out. With this, she let out a meow-moan and they laugh as if they know what it’s like. It is the first time I have heard her retell these tall tales and I can see her eyes sparkle with butch pride. I see how much of herself is tied to this reality I’ve been weaving for her.

  “Baby, tell them how no one can turn you on like I can.”

  I raise my eyebrows a bit and nod.

  “Shit, if you can do it, you can have her.” Lou says seriously as she sends the tiny butt around for one last pull from each of them.

  The three step back. They look at my boots, the sheer black stockings of my thigh, the skirt that has been inching its way up as I shift from one foot to the other. “I bet I can make the bitch wet,” one mumbles to another, meaning for Lou to overhear.

  Lou warns them that many women have tried, even a couple of men, with no effect. But if they are willing to give it a shot, they would be doing her a favor. She drops the roach to the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the heel of her boot, saying she would be glad to get rid of me so she could get some sleep for a change. She tells them that I’ve jacked up her phone bill and owe her money. So, for $50 they can have three minutes to get a chance to make me wet. Three minutes of kissing. Lou tells them that she doesn’t give a shit, throw in some tit- and ass-grabbing too if they want. She lays out the terms: They can’t touch my pussy and I have to keep my hands behind my back. But most importantly, if they make me wet, they have to promise to keep me away from her.

  The thought of her handing me over to these women, these biker chicks with their huge hands and rough talk and their cocky attitudes, has me on the verge of coming already. I am not sure if Lou is setting this up to be rid of me once and for all or if she wants me to prove my devotion to her in some grand Russian roulette gamble based on a lie I’ve been tickling her with for months. I am still wondering this when the most boisterous one of the group steps up to the bet. She watches Lou as if she is afraid it might end up being a joke worth fighting over and pulls her wallet out of her back pocket. Fifty dollars, surely an entire day’s pay if she is one of those lucky enough to have a full-time job. She holds it out, as if daring Lou to take it.

  Lou tells her that we need to make sure I am dry, to judge fairly. She reaches up under my skirt and with the sleeve of her shirt wipes my pussy off with a rough stroke. She turns back to the three, takes the money, and announces, “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I can feel Lou’s presence behind me. My pussy is already pulsing. I clamp down in an attempt to keep any moisture inside.

  Bulldagger number one steps toward me. She chooses the direct route, kissing me confidently, open-mouthed, with her tongue darting deep into my throat. Her hands are on my shoulders, pulling me in, bending my neck back. This eager suitor smells of leather, whiskey, and motorcycle grease—a scent so bewitching I could be Pied Piper down the street with it. I hold my breath as she strangles me with her mouth. I just let her go at it, barely kissing back, resisting the urge to correct her faulty style with a few quick nips of my teeth to her tongue. I try to force my mind to wander from the situation. I try to think dry thoughts. I will win the bet for Lou and make her proud.

  The three minutes are up and I have not so much as sighed. No groan. No pelvis seeking hers. No melting into her.

  Lou turns to me. “Anything, honey?” she asks.

  I shake my head “no” and lick the taste of whiskey off my lips.

  Lou sighs and says that it’s never as easy as it looks.

  Number one steps back, tries to laugh it off, saying I am an uptight, frigid bitch, a fucking ice queen. She starts to walk off but her friends stop her.

  The second dyke fumbles with her wallet and hands over the cash for her chance at the challenge. She apparently thinks that if the hard teeth-clanking kiss didn’t work, perhaps I am a soft femme who needs seduction. She has three minutes. She kneels at my boots, and I avert my gaze to avoid the pull of her green eyes staring up at me. She licks the rim where the leather meets my calves, runs her tongue on the underside of my knee, and slides her hands slowly up my inner thighs. Lou stops her just as her fingers disappear under my skirt. She is stopped just before I make the decision that calloused hands and warm breath are worth bending my knees for, moving myself down to cease the agonizingly slow pace. She is stopped just before I drop my cunt down to meet her palm. Temptation number two moves her hands to softly cup each breast. I stand still, knees braced so as not to lose my balance. My hands search behind me for Lou—she takes both of my pinkies into her fist and gives them an encouraging squeeze. If I can pull this off, I know it will be the best compliment I have ever paid her.

  Lou tells her that her time is up. I shrug, act unimpressed.

  The two who have tried, chide the third into an attempt, telling her it was a good three minutes whether they won me or not. Razz her about how all night she’s been lookin’ for a femmey girl and here is one standing on the street just waiting.

  The third bulldagger wants to know how we are measuring. She wants to see for herself if I am wet, wants proof. Lou reaches under my skirt and runs her fingers under the elastic of my underwear—quick, unceremonious, careful not to rub my clit. Her fingers barely skim the surface, but I gulp a breath of air at the long-awaited touch and they seem sure that she’s penetrated me. She takes her hand out from under my skirt, grabs number three’s hand, and rubs the definitely dry fingers along her thick wrist.

  Lou holds out her hand for the money and bulldagger number three hesitates slightly before lifting her wrist to her nose. Just the faintest scent of pussy assures her that she wasn’t tricked. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out some crumpled bills.

  Lou resumes her position behind me, taking hold of my pinkies. I take a deep breath, trying to figure number three out so I can prepare myself. She is slow, strong, suspicious. Lou clicks her tongue, worried. We are so close to winning this cruel game that I couldn’t bear to lose now. Couldn’t bear to disappoint her. I imagine the ways she will thank me for this public gesture of appreciation.

  Number three steps forward, trying to read my face for clues as she considers the best approach. She leans heavily into my body, wrapping her arms around me. Pushes her bulk into me. Our legs are interwoven and she pulls my hips into her thigh. She starts in on a brain-fucking whisper. “Oh you smell like sex just like I knew you would. I’ve been looking for a hot little woman like you. I want you so fuckin’ bad right now. I can feel your cunt heat on my leg, burnin’ a hole right through my jeans. I can practically feel it swelling. It’s making me so fucking horny just thinking about how slick and sweet you’re getting for me. I already know how I am gonna fuck you.” She hugs me into her and presses me harder down onto her thigh. I struggle to tilt my hips up so as not to catch the fullness of her leg rubbing my cunt. Lou’s fist closes down harder around my pinkies, tugging me back enough to relieve the pressure building on my clit.

  The bulldagger pulls me hard against her chest, breathing on my neck. “That round sexy ass of yours has been drivin’ me crazy since I first saw you. I am getting so worked up I don’t think I could stop even if you wanted me too.” She clamps a hand down on my asscheek and pulls my cunt up to meet the slow swivel of her hips.

  Lou puts her fingertips lightly on my back to steady me and I rest back into her hand. Allow her to ease me back and rescue me from this impending arousal. “When I get you home,” she goes on, “I’ll give you the fuck you’ve been looking for. I’m gonna work your hard little clit—just pull it right i
nto my mouth and lick your sweet juices. Then I’ll open you up with my fingers, just slide in and out. Swirl my hand into you until you beg me to fuck you harder. Beg me to fuck you deeper until you come.”

  I think of throwing the bet and wrapping my legs around her, opening my mouth to hers. My cunt is tired from being clamped down for so long and I have lost track of my inhales and exhales, my breath starting to sound like whimpering.

  “I know how to satisfy a cat-in-heat femme like you. You won’t be stumbling home at night. You’ll be flat-out exhausted from all our fucking.”

  I wonder what Lou would do, wonder what proof would be requested after this test, wonder what I could get away with. My pinkies are locked in Lou’s fist and she twists them, bending them back into a stinging stretch, clearing my head.

  The three minutes is up and Lou makes sure contestant number three has backed away before she pushes me back up to hold my own weight. I am lightheaded and keep hold of Lou’s hand, looking down.

  “Sorry,” Lou says. “Like I told you, she isn’t as easy as she looks.” Lou takes my waist and turns to escort me inside, but number three grabs her arm and yanks her back so she can look straight at me. I know this look, the look of having found the soft spot and waiting for the tickle to take hold.

  The bulldaggers start throwing insults and accusations at us. Number three in particular thinks she’s won. She continues to talk to me, starting in the now-familiar whisper ringing in my ears, but each phrase rising in pitch of anger. “I know I made you wet. I know you’re just dying to grind that sweet cunt into me. Let’s finish this up and get out of here. Tell them how wet I made you. Didn’t I make you wet? Huh, bitch?”

  I try to ignore her voice, her words.

  Lou tells her to shut up for a minute and we can prove it to her.

  In a gesture too quick for me to stop, Lou pushes me back against the brick wall and yanks my skirt up. I take a deep breath and keep my pussy lips clamped together as tightly as I can. Lou pulls my panties down to mid thigh in front of these three bulldaggers whose wallets have just been emptied. Three bulldaggers with wounded machismo can see that I am not glistening.