“Woman!” He growled, rolling me on my back. “They show respect to their men and obey without question.”
Yeah, right! I knew his sister, Leyla. She was my age, a journalist, resolutely single, and as self-assured a woman as I’d ever known. But since he now lay on top of me, I chose not to belabor that point, or rather, I belabored his nipples with my fingers. Besides, curiosity got the better of me. “How do your women wax their pubes?”
He raised a dark, beautiful eyebrow. “How should I know? Women know that. I’ll call Leyla.”
That would be a conversation worth overhearing. I’m close to my brother, but discussing pubic hair removal? I think not.
It wasn’t so with Ahmet and Leyla.
He called me the next day at work. “Leyla will expect you Thursday, after lunch.” My day off and he knew it. “She will show you what to do, with her cousin Yildiz.” Yildiz and who else? I’d never though of depilation as a social event, but what the hell—life had certainly been different since I’d taken a Turk to my bed. Ahmet was not your average midwesterner.
“Do I need to bring anything?” Towels? Razor blades? Baby oil? A covered dish?
In the pause, I imagined him raising his head and clicking his tongue, a sexy crease shaping between his eyebrows. “How should I know?” His voiced eased a little. “You will be there? She’s making preparations.”
“I’ll be there.” I hung up, scared. What had I agreed to?
On Thursday Leyla greeted me with a hug and offered mint tea in curved glasses. Cousin Yildiz smiled shyly as she handed me rose-flavored wafers and sesame cookies. I nibbled cookies and sipped the fragrant tea, my cold, nervous hands cupping the warm glass.
“Ahmet…” I began. Someone had to broach the reason for my visit in the middle of the afternoon.
Leyla dismissed her brother with a shrug. “What does he know?” Her dark eyes met mine, a suggestive smile curving her full mouth. I grinned back. So much for respect and obedience.
Leyla refilled my glass as Yildiz slipped out of the room. A few minutes later I heard water running overhead. “Your bath,” Leyla said, “to help you relax and soften your skin. The first time can be worrying.” She put her hand on mine and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, I have done this since I was fifteen.”
I took her word for that as my fingers meshed with hers. “I suppose so. This is very new to me.”
“New can be very, very satisfying.” Leyla stood up; I followed. We were joined at the palm and sort of rose together. “Come on.”
A dark cloth hung over the bathroom window, leaving the room in twilight. Perfumed candles flickered in shallow brass cups, adding warmth to the already steamy bathroom. Scented bubbles came to the rim of the tub.
“Beautiful!” I said, and meant it. I wasn’t sure what to say next. I didn’t need to worry: Leyla was running the show.
“Get in and soak while we prepare.” Leyla wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t look so worried. We will take good care of you.” She kissed me and swept out the door.
My fingers shook as I unbuttoned my blouse and unzipped my skirt. I was nervous as a virgin. Which, I supposed, was exactly what I was. I eased into the too-warm water and leaned back, chin in the bubbles, inhaling the strong scent of lavender and roses and trying to forget what was coming next. I lay there for ages, languid in the heat and the steam, more than content to spend the afternoon in the tub. In fact, the more I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I really wanted a bald pussy, not even for Ahmet—although it was perhaps a small price for the best sex I’d ever had.
Either way, I was too relaxed to do much but stand up when Leyla appeared at the door holding a towel the size of a small sheet. If I’d felt lethargic before, I was positively boneless after Leyla’s warm hands patted every inch of my skin. I barely had energy to pull the terry robe around me. Was it nervousness that made me trip on the rug by the bedroom door? Leyla caught me and helped me lie down on the king-sized bed.
The curtains were drawn, shutting out the afternoon and the world beyond this warm, sequestered room. More scented candles flickered around the room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Yildiz stirring a small pot.
“Almost ready,” she said. “Just let it cool a little.”
“What is it?”
“Honey, beeswax, and lemon,” she replied.
Was I nuts to lie here while a woman I’d never met before spread boiled-up honey on my pussy? Leyla’s hands eased along the soft skin inside my thighs, spreading my legs. I’d never felt this vulnerable, or this relaxed.
“Lift up your hips.” Leyla slid a pillow under the small of my back, tilting my hips upward. Before I quite came to terms with that, her hands closed over my ankles and set my feet flat on the bed. My legs spread, my pussy exposed, a tremor of apprehension skittered through me. What next?
“It’s okay,” Leyla soothed, her hand still lightly holding my ankle. “You’re fine.”
I wasn’t. I was scared. I shut my eyes and wondered if it would hurt as much as leg waxing. It had to, and I was nuts—no matter how much confidence Ahmet had in women knowing what to do.
Leyla sensed my growing fear. “Don’t worry.” She settled behind me on the bed. “Yildiz does this for me. She is experienced.” Leyla moved nearer, propping my head and shoulders against her chest. Reassured by her words and her closeness, I relaxed and looked straight down between my spread legs as Yildiz pulled up a small table and set the white enamel pan on a tiled trivet.
I watched, dry-mouthed and fascinated, as she clipped my curls with a small pair of scissors. Her fingers were cool and confident and I shivered. I’d been touched before, by lovers, doctors, nurses, but never with such gentleness and ease. I relaxed against Leyla’s breasts and watched the younger woman between my legs. As she trimmed, Yildiz caught the clippings until her cupped hand was full of golden-brown curls.
“Your hair is the color of orange blossom honey,” she said, admiring the heap of curls in her cupped hand before dropping them in a wastebasket.
I was halfway there—or was I? So far it had been easy, if embarrassing. It couldn’t all be this painless. I tried to focus on the perfume of candles and beeswax as Yildiz smoothed rose-scented talc on my cropped pussy. Her touch soothed. It wasn’t exactly a caress, more an encouragement.
“Now this will feel warm.” She was right. Warm, pleasant, almost relaxing. It took only seconds for her to spread the golden paste on the left side of my pussy, and not much longer to take a strip of cotton fabric, gently press the heel of her hand into my crotch, and with a deft twist of her wrist, pull.
I let out a yowl like a crazed animal. My body arched off the bed in pain. I’d have been airborne if Leyla hadn’t held my shoulders as Yildiz pressed her warm palm hard into my crotch.
I shivered, shuddered, and muttered a few choice epithets.
“That bit’s over. It’ll ease quickly,” Leyla promised. Even as she spoke, the pain eased. Yildiz continued the pressure, now rocking her hand back and forth. Somehow the movement did ease the pain to a dull sting.
“You might have warned me,” I said, relaxing as the sting slackened into an ache.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” Yildiz asked, her hand still pulsing my gently throbbing skin.
“Not now,” I admitted. A minute ago it hurt; now, under the ache, a strange pleasure stirred.
“It’s just a few seconds,” Yildiz said. She eased the pressure of her hand and gently rubbed her fingertips over my tingling skin. “That came away beautifully. Your skin is so fine and soft.” She looked up and smiled, her dark eyes gleaming. “Rest a minute and I’ll get the other side.”
“I don’t mind waiting.” Heck, I wouldn’t mind quitting now. Maybe Ahmet would like the halfway look.
“Not too long”—Leyla’s hands rested over my collarbones like a warm caress—“or the mixture will cool. Then it sticks and hurts.”
As if that first bit hadn’t! “Let’s get it done then.” What ha
d I said?
Yildiz repeated the spread, press, yank. This time I was ready and didn’t yell to scare the pigeons off the roof. I managed with just a stifled groan and a slow shudder that set my breasts wobbling and my stomach quivering. I was more than ready for Yildiz to press hard on my throbbing flesh, and welcomed Leyla’s soothing massage, kneading and stroking my shoulders and chest, her fingers stopping just short of my breasts.
“Let me see,” I said as Yildiz slowed her rubbing and the pain eased. I’d had my eyes squeezed shut most of the time, but now a strange fascination had me wanting to look. I was almost bare. Reddened, still tender skin showed on both sides of my slit. A swatch of hair still decorated the top of my pussy and I felt rather than saw the thinner hair between my buttcheeks. “Are you taking it all off?”
“Oh, yes!” Leyla said, her breath warm in my ear. “We do everything.”
I leaned back against her, her breasts flattening against my back as Yildiz spread gook across the top of my pussy.
“This may be harder,” Yildiz said, setting down the thin brass spatula she used for spreading the warm paste. Harder? I almost croaked. The other two procedures hadn’t exactly been fun. ”Here.” She took my hands, placing one on each side of the cooling paste. “Pull the skin tight.”
I pulled for all I was worth and held my breath for luck. A rip, a flash of pain, and my fingers relaxed as Yildiz eased the throbbing with her hands. I exhaled; the worst had to be over. I closed my eyes and breathed in as Leyla and Yildiz soothed my discomfort with knowing hands.
Leyla’s hands now were on my breasts. Her gentle touch on my hard nipples had me wanting more. I blinked a minute. Was I nuts? Wanting a woman, even if she was a good friend, caressing my breasts? I gave up. Why not? Leyla was my friend, and a woman I hardly knew had her hands and fingers all over my pussy.
Yildiz plumped up the pillow I’d flattened with my shifting around before her hands spread my legs wider, smoothing my now bare pussy as if admiring her handiwork—or was it my body? I looked down, amazed at the sight of naked pink skin where I’d worn curls since puberty, mesmerized at the sight of golden brown fingers stroking my flushed skin.
Leyla eased back on the bed until I was almost lying flat, my head in her lap, my hips tilted above my head. Talk about exposed! But I was getting accustomed to soft female fingers on private parts. I even welcomed Yildiz’s gentle stroking.
Her hands moved away and I braced, ready for the soft touch of her warm concoction and the sudden rip of pain. “Oh, dear.” Yildiz tutted her tongue and I heard the pan clink down on the stove. “It’s too cold. Let me warm it at little. You don’t want it sticking to your skin.”
She was right about that! Not that I minded lying there, my cheek against the soft fabric of Leyla’s skirt, her hands on my shoulders, fingertips skimming my breasts. I felt groggy, inhaling the warm air redolent of roses and women. Was this what it had been like in the harems? Heady scents, heated rooms, and women preparing their bodies for sex?
“Steady now.” Leyla’s hands closed over the tops of my breasts and held me as I felt the warmth of Yildiz’s concoction between my thighs and waited for the tug. Was I getting used to it, or was this part of me less sensitive? I still welcomed Yildiz’s touch as her hand pressed away the ache, her fingers close to my slit and her breath warm on my thigh. The other side she took care of with equal efficiency, her fingers lingering. I realized I was getting wet. Had to be all the skin contact or…I no longer cared.
They had me on my belly now, lying diagonally across the bed, my head in Leyla’s lap. I could smell her through her skirt. Or was that me? Or both of us? Was I getting turned on despite the pain and awkwardness? Was she? And what of it? I didn’t do sex with women—or hadn’t. I hadn’t had my pussy denuded before, either.
I had that and plenty more to think about, but Leyla was placing my hands in position to spread my buttcheeks. Talk about embarrassing! “Is this necessary?” I asked. “Pussy” didn’t include this part of me, in my opinion. Seemed it was vital, though, I held myself open. Waiting. I knew what to expect by now. Why was I getting my knickers in a twist? Especially since I wasn’t wearing any. Wearing anything, for that matter. I was naked, prone and holding my bottom open for Yildiz to slather me up. Which she did with confidence and efficiency.
This time it hurt more than before. Why? Embarrassment? Shame at having another woman see my most private place? I’ll never know what sent the hot tears running and soaking Leyla’s skirt. I sobbed and sniffed. “I‘m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Leyla wiped away my tears with the pad of her finger. “I understand,” she said, and kissed me.
What was so special about that? We were friends. She’d kissed me scores of times. But not like this. A gentle brush of her lips and I felt whole, renewed—and horny as hell. My pussy still hummed, my ass throbbed, my breasts ached, and my cunt was wet and wanting. Leyla smiled as she lifted her mouth from mine. I smiled back.
Without a word, Leyla rolled me on my back and stretched out beside me, a hand on my breast, her lips in my hair. This was nutty, crazy, and absolutely wonderful. As Leyla’s lips met mine, I sighed and opened my mouth. Her fingers strummed my nipples, rippling arousal right through me. I quit thinking, abandoned myself over to sensation, and kissed her back. I forgot there was another woman in the room, until I felt Yildiz’s fingers, spreading sweet oil on my pussy and between my thighs. It seemed only natural that those same fingers entered me, stretching and filling me as I groaned and raised my hips to bring her deeper. A mouth closed on one breast, fingers on another, and my entire body began the slow spiral climb. Between Leyla’s teasing and Yildiz’s touch, I was sighing and whimpering.
What was I doing? Feeling wonderful! Climbing! Wanting! Yildiz bent between my legs. The soft, damp touch of her tongue on my wet clit wrung a moan from me. I shuddered. My jaw wobbled. My stomach quivered. My knees shook. Yildiz touched me again, a soft, impudent dart of her tongue. I felt it through to my core. I groaned louder, my whole body arching off the bed. That soft tongue stabbed me once more. That was all I needed. I took off, yelling in the quiet room, leaping over the moon, soaring into the heavens, and landing like a boneless mass in the middle of the big bed.
Panting, gasping with satisfaction, I opened my eyes and met Yildiz’s grin. “Incredible!” I managed to gasp out.
“Worth it?” Leyla asked in my ear.
Was she kidding! “Ahmet said you knew what to do.”
They both laughed, high, lighthearted peals of female joy. “My brother,” Leyla said with a slow, secretive smile, “doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does.”
She was right, but so was Ahmet. These women did know what to do.
Roulette
Shannon Cummings
Women got there earlier than the crowds at the nearby South of Market bars. Straight from work, proudly displaying the sweat of a day’s work on their clothes. Tidying up would have been a sign of vanity, of femininity. A glob of pomade to grease the hair back was all the eveningwear they needed.
There was an unspoken rule that you couldn’t park your bike in front of the club if it was smaller than someone’s who had already arrived. Think your ride is better than someone else’s, you better be prepared to defend it. The only exception was of course if you had a high femme riding bitch.
If you arrived late, you had to park your bike a few blocks away and hope you could get to the club without being roughed up by the neighborhood crew. A few trucks lined the alley out front. No one messed with you if you had a truck. It was assumed it was for work and was therefore off limits. Jobs were scarce, so if you could earn a living without losing your edge you were never ridiculed.
Lou had gone there on many occasions, sometimes returning home via the emergency room after bottles had been broken or blades pulled. Fights often started over motorcycles or the call of a pool shot. Or someone talking about how some stone had cracked.
The worst figh
t had happened after one girl had underestimated the locker room talk and bravado of both her lovers. While trading tales over whiskey, they realized just how much they had in common and ended up in a brawl. The next day they both called her to say they had defended her honor. But it was their own they were fighting for. One got a cut just above her eye; nearly blinded her, the doctor had said. The other’s hand was sliced along the life-line, or was is it the love-line?, when she grabbed the blade swinging at her. She lost the use of her thumb and earned three months’ disability leave from her machinists union. Women practiced their swaggers and rubbed their imaginary beards during pauses in conversation. It was a club for women with a rule of “no girls allowed.” I was dying to go.
For six months, I had been crashing at Lou’s place. I had run out on my last lover and showed up on her doorstep. I had taken over closet space and control of the tape deck, had started four kitchen fires, and had run up a long distance phone bill to my sister out east. Lou regularly threatened to kick me out but I would always coo to her until she got into bed so she could get to work on forgiving me. She was a good fuck and I was determined to stay. Sometimes when she was at work I would hustle some money at the pool hall to get by, pay a phone bill, or buy something sexy to wear so she wouldn’t notice I had trashed her apartment. And her life. She was the first lover I ever had who knew a compliment should be taken as a request for more. I steadily stroked her ego and she let me stay.
“Dress sexy,” Lou tells me. “We are going out.”
I dress hurriedly and return for her approval. She looks me over, undoes another button on my blouse, and leans in to trace her tongue over the now exposed lace of my bra. “Tonight I’m taking you to the bar.” She grabs her cigarettes, sighs into her nearly empty wallet, and slides both of them into her pockets.
“Who’s going to be there?” I ask her, trying not to sound overtly curious.
“It will be crowded. Nanc will be there too. Just be on your best behavior.”
Nanc, Lou’s best friend and sometimes enemy. We had spoken on the phone a few times.
Best Lesbian Erotica 2005 Page 3