Best of Best Lesbian Erotica 2

by Tristan Taormino

  BEST OF BEST LESBIAN EROTICA 2

  Edited by

  Tristan Taormino

  Copyright © 2005 by Tristan Taormino.

  All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, or television reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or 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.

  Cleis Press Inc., P.O. Box 14697, San Francisco, California 94114.

  Printed in the United States.

  Cover photograph: Siege

  Cover design: Scott Idleman

  Text design: Frank Wiedemann

  Cleis logo art: Juana Alicia

  First Edition.

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  eISBN: 978-1-57344-871-0

  The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2000: “You Know What?” © 1999 by Cara Bruce; “Thermal Stress” © 1999 by María Helena Dolan; “Center of Attention” © by Dawn Dougherty; “Becoming Stone” © by Sandra Lee Golvin, “Descent of the Butch of the Realm” © 1987 by Judy Grahn reprinted from The Queen of Swords, first published by Beacon Press and now available at www.serpentina.com; “Always” © 1999 by Cecilia Tan first appeared in Herotica 6 ed. by Marcy Sheiner (Down There Press, 1999). The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2001: “Grand Jeté” © 2000 by Toni Amato; “Monica and Me” © 2001 by Rachel Kramer Bussel was published in Starf*cker ed. by Shar Rednour (Alyson, 2001); “Blood and Silver” © 2000 by Patrick Califia first appeared in his book No Mercy (Alyson, 2000); “sex hall” © 2000 by MR Daniel; “The Rock Wall” © 2000 by Peggy Munson; “Splitting the Infinitive” © 2000 by Jean Roberta first appeared online in Jane’s Net Sex Guide; “Business Casual” © 2000 by Lauren Sanders first appeared at Nerve.com; “Sometimes She Lets Me” © 2000 by Alison L. Smith. The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2002: “Symphony in Blue” © 2001 by Betty Blue; “Good Old Tyme” © 2001 by Linda A. Boulter; “Anonymous” © 2001 by Amie M. Evans first appeared in Harrington Lesbian Fiction Quarterly (2001); “Etched in the Flesh” © 2001 by Sacchi Green first appeared in Zaftig ed. by Hanne Blank (Cleis Press, 2001); “Redemption” © 2000 by Michael M. Hernandez was first published in The Academy: Tales of the Marketplace ed. by Laura Antoniou (Mystic Rose Books, 2000); “Farewell to Rain Woman” © 2001 by Thea Hutcheson; “The Word Nebraska” © 2001 by Tennessee Jones. The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2003: “LIVE: By Request” © 2002 by Samiya A. Bashir first appeared at www.kuma2.net; “Keeping Up Appearances” © 2002 by Kenya Devoreaux; “Cop-Out” © 2002 by Rosalind Christine Lloyd first appeared in Bedroom Eyes ed. by Leslea Newman (Alyson, 2002); “Gravity Sucks” © 2002 by Skian McGuire; “Boys” © 2002 by Ana Peril; “At Long Last” © 2002 by Madeleine Oh; “Elizabeth” © 2002 by Julie Levin Rosso; “Luck of the Irish” © 2002 by Kyle Walker. The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2004: “Loved It and Set It Free” © 2004 by Lisa Archer was published in Awakening the Virgin 2 ed. by Nicole Foster (Alyson, 2003) and later appeared in Best American Erotica 2004 ed. by Susie Bright (Touchstone, 2004); “Look, but Don’t Touch” © 2002 by Sparky first appeared at www.dykediva.com; “You Can Write a Story about It” © 2003 by Jera Star; “To Fuck or Get Fucked” © 2004 by Rakelle Valencia; “Does She Look Like a Boy?” © 2003 by Tara-Michelle Ziniuk. The following stories are reprinted from Best Lesbian Erotica 2005: “Lessons” © 2004 by S. Bear Bergman; “The Second Hour” © 2004 by L. Shane Conner; “Roulette” © 2004 by Shannon Cummings; “Fee Fie Foe Femme” © 2004 by Elaine Miller; “Envy” © 2004 by Teresa Lamai first appeared online at www.eroticareaders.com (March 2004).

  Introduction

  Tristan Taormino

  I have learned that you can’t wait for the muse to come to you; you have to go grab her by the hair of her head.

  —ANN BANNON

  Lesbian sex on the page made its mass-market debut during the golden era of lesbian pulp novels in the 1950s. Cheaply produced and widely distributed, these novels featured sapphic story lines with racy covers that promised strange sisters, forbidden love, and unconventional encounters. While many were penned by and for men, it’s well documented that there were a handful of lesbian authors—though plenty of lesbian readers—of these best-selling paperbacks. Unfortunately, dykes didn’t always fare so well in these stories. One reason was that their fates reflected their times, an era when queer women lived literally in the shadows, their bars routinely raided, the closet necessary for survival. In addition, many publishers insisted there be no happy endings because they did not want to be seen as condoning homosexuality. In the end, incest, abuse, alcoholism, and mental illness plagued lesbian characters, and two women rarely rode off into the sunset together.

  Equally disappointing to actual queer readers must have been the oversubtlety of the sex: The juicy details promised by these novels’ tempting covers was rarely delivered with much specificity or authenticity. The illustrations were often hotter than what was found between the covers—images of soft-core sex that either was toned down or focused more on implication and titillation. Explicit—or, for that matter, realistic— explorations of lesbian desire and fucking were few and far between. It’s curious to note that one early novel, Women’s Barracks (written by a lesbian), was singled out by the House Un-American Activities Committee in 1952 as pornographic, though it was no more explicit than others like it. The same year that one book got a triple X rating from the government, Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Price of Salt was published (under her pseudonym Claire Morgan). It sold a million copies, and—even more impressive—it had a positive resolution.

  Last summer, I had the honor of moderating a dialogue at the LGBT Center in New York between two of the leading figures in lesbian pulp, novelists Ann Bannon and Marijane Meaker. Both women talked about how they came to write lesbian novels, how they met, and what dyke life was like in the New York City of the 1950s and 1960s. While Meaker had been in several lesbian relationships that she drew on for her writing (including her two-year partnership with Patricia Highsmith), Bannon was a married suburban mom who’d never met—let alone loved or fucked—a lesbian when she wrote her first sapphic novel. (In interviews, she often refers to this as not having done any “field work.”) She admits that the characters and stories in that first book, Odd Girl Out, were based solely on her imagination. After it was published, and thanks in part to mentoring by Meaker, Bannon found the underground lesbian community and did get to do some hands-on research for the rest of her novels. But with or without it, her tales of Beebo Brinker and friends, like the work of other lesbian novelists, resonated with plenty of lesbians, and the books continue to be enjoyed by new generations.

  As I read through the last six books from the Best Lesbian Erotica series to collect my favorite stories, I was struck by how much the world of written lesbian lust has changed. And not only when it comes to healthier relationships, realistic depictions, and, yes, happy endings. While writing about lesbian desire can require just as much courage now as it did in the 1950s, the authors no longer need to plant subtle references or hint at simmering desires. Erotica writers have gone full balls (and cunts) out, with no sexual act or taboo ignored. Pleasure in lesbian erotica today is not simply a promise, it’s a priority, a pussy-driven narrative, a button-pusher, a political statement. Not only has the level of explicitness dramatically shifted, but writers now enjoy complete freedom to explore themes, characters, and fantasies that challenge convention and knock propriety on its head.


  Whether it’s lesbian sex at work (“Business Casual” by Lauren Sanders) or a lesbian sex worker (Tara-Michelle Ziniuk’s “Does She Look Like a Boy?”), the stories in this collection reflect how far literary lesbian sex has come in half a century. Nearly all the stories would probably have made Ann Bannon blush (back in her day, that is). For example, the title alone of Rakelle Valencia’s “To Fuck or Get Fucked” conjures a post-sex war quandary, nods to the pleasures of penetration, and makes an unapologetic statement about dyke desire.

  While butch/femme was the archetypal lesbian relationship in the 1950s, its changing dynamics and passionate complexities continue to inspire many of us. Witness femmes getting what they want in stories like “Center of Attention” by Dawn Dougherty, “LIVE: By Request” by Samiya A. Bashir, and “Roulette” by Shannon Cummings, or tag along with butches on the prowl in “Becoming Stone,” “Thermal Stress,” and “Cop-Out.” In fact, the importance of gender identity, and how it affects our bodies and our sex lives, is a major theme in this collection in stories by Alison L. Smith, Tennessee Jones, Ana Peril, S. Bear Bergman, and Jera Star.

  By 2005 the lesbian erotic imagination has evolved to explore nearly every genre of fiction; happily, most of them are represented here. Consider the historical fiction of Julie Levin Russo, whose heroine courts Queen Elizabeth; a dirty fairy tale by Patrick Califia; and a futuristic sci-fi adventure from Linda A. Boulter. Some writers have even succeeded in inventing their own genres (see Skian McGuire’s techno-porn and Rachel Kramer Bussel’s star-fucking smut).

  In addition to sexing up the form of fiction, other erotic stories in this volume illustrate just how the world of lesbian courtship, dating, and sex have expanded. “Anonymous” by Amie M. Evans, “sex hall” by MR Daniel, “Look, but Don’t Touch” by Sparky, and “You Know What?” by Cara Bruce read as hot examples of dykes taking advantage of anonymous and public sex. At the heart of S/M erotica lies power, and I believe that power dynamics fuel much of the best erotic writing, whether it contains the specificity of sadomasochism (like Michael M. Hernandez’s “Redemption”) or not (Jean Roberta’s “Splitting the Infinitive”). Power can be expressed in myriad ways: a crush on an older woman (Kenya Devoreaux’s “Keeping Up Appearances”), a pair of cuffs (Elaine Miller’s “Fee Fie Foe Femme”), or an elaborate scene (L. Shane Conner’s story “The Second Hour”).

  Some of my favorite sex stories are those that explore intense relationships and timeless emotions. The writing of Kyle Walker, Sacchi Green, Peggy Munson, and Betty Blue features complex pairings fueled by yearning, secrets, and memories. The power of self-discovery and growth at dif- ferent stages of life drive “Farewell to Rainwoman” by Thea Hutcheson, “Loved It and Set It Free” by Lisa Archer, and “Always” by Cecilia Tan. Darker feelings, those of heartbreak, longing, and jealousy, are at the center of “Grand Jeté,” “At Long Last,” and “Envy.”

  The stories in Best of Best Lesbian Erotica 2 track some of the crucial changes in lesbian sex—how we do it and how we represent it. They map just how wide-ranging our desire and our imaginations can be. And they continue what Beebo Brinker and her pals started. Ann Bannon and all our writing foremothers have given us a gift: the confidence to grab that muse by the hair, drag her to a dark corner, have our way with her, then write about it later.

  Tristan Taormino

  December 2004

  New York City

  Center of Attention

  Dawn Dougherty

  There was something about being out with her family that made me want to fuck her.

  Maybe it was how better looking she was than the rest of her family. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t have her that made me want her so bad. All I know is that when we all sat down to dinner at the restaurant I could barely look at my menu from wanting to slip underneath the table and unzip her pants.

  Her parents had just gotten back from an extended vacation when they called to invite us to dinner.

  “Please don’t make me look at pictures,” I pleaded as we got dressed. I twirled my hair around my fingers and knotted it up on top of my head.

  “You don’t have to look at pictures,” she said as she pulled her shirt over her head. “But you do have to keep up with the conversation.”

  I let out an exasperated sigh as I sprayed my curls in place and slipped my earrings on. “I’m ordering a very expensive meal.”

  “Yes, honey.”

  “And if your brother makes one comment about church I’ll let him have it.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Are you even listening?”

  She came over and gave me a kiss on top of the head. “I’ll be downstairs.”

  The minute we got to the restaurant and she hugged her parents I was wet. By the time the waitress took our order I had my hand on her thigh. As her brother droned on about the new secretary at work I wrapped one of my black leather boots around her pant leg and started to inch it up toward her knee.

  She smiled and nodded her head at her brother and gave a little smirk I knew was meant for me.

  “You okay?” she asked quietly as the waitress dropped a bowl of steaming pasta in front of her.

  “I could be better.”

  After we ate she got up to go to the bathroom, and I stared at her ass as she walked away.

  “So how is your family?” her mother asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Oh, they’re fine.” I managed to keep them entertained until she came back.

  We kissed them good-bye after cappuccino and tiramisu and drove out of the parking lot.

  “Why is it that when we go out with my parents you can’t control yourself?”

  I wiggled my way over to her side of the car and stroked the outline of her breast. “I don’t know. It’s the same way at parties. You look so good when you’re talking to other people.”

  “It’s because I ignore you, and you know it,” she looked down at me. “You can’t stand not being the center of attention. Admit it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as I kissed the side of her neck. I was thinking about how good she smelled when she pulled the car over to a rest area.

  “What are you doing?”

  She stopped the car and turned off the ignition.

  “Do you have to pee?” I asked. “I don’t think they have a bathroom here.”

  “Do me a favor and get out of the car.”

  Two men had just raped a sixteen-year-old boy at a rest stop a few months before, so I was a little apprehensive. I got out and she met me around on my side. It was dark, and there was only one other car parked almost half a mile away.

  “Honey, this isn’t exactly safe.”

  She ignored me and grabbed both my arms and pulled them around my back and kissed me hard on the lips. She snaked her tongue inside my mouth, pulled my wrists back hard, and held on to them both with one hand. She continued to kiss me as she grabbed the hem of my skirt with her free hand and pulled it up just under my ass and squeezed.

  Several cars whizzed by, and I looked up to see if anyone was pulling in.

  “Pay attention, babe,” she said. With a smooth motion, she let go of my skirt, grabbed the top of my underwear, and pulled it down to my knees.

  “It’s really too busy here,” I said. She wasn’t listening. I wondered how many people were about to see my ass hanging out.

  She put her entire mouth over mine and gave me a hot kiss, pulling back only to bite down hard on my neck, collarbone, and shoulders. I was sure she was leaving marks. She pushed me up against the passenger door, and I yelped as the handle dug into my hip. I’d be bruised from head to toe before the night was over.

  She unbuttoned the first three buttons on my sweater and unsnapped the front of my bra. Then she pulled up the hem of my skirt and tucked it into the waistband leaving my ass and pussy fully exposed. I felt like a fool with my underwear still around my ankles, but she didn’t seem to notice as she stepped back and checked me out. I
was glad I wore my black boots. They looked great.

  She opened the back door and told me to sit on the edge of the seat. When I did, she knelt outside the car, pulled my underwear off, and spread my legs. The wetness between my legs kept my lips from parting. She took my left ankle and placed my foot on the armrest. My right leg stayed planted on the ground. My lips spread wide and the air on my cunt felt cool.

  She leaned back on her heels and took a slow, even breath. As she did I saw someone’s headlights flash across the car. I sat up halfway, startled and nervous.

  “Shit!” I said.

  She didn’t move. “Wait,” she whispered. “They may just drive by.”

  The car stopped about thirty feet behind us.

  We both sat frozen waiting for something to happen. They had to be able to see us. The car stayed there for almost a minute, then slowly backed up to about fifty feet away and turned their lights off.

  Through the rear window I could see it was a man and a woman. They watched us for a minute, and then they turned to each other to kiss. In a minute her head disappeared into his lap.

  We both looked at each other.

  “I don’t mind if they don’t mind,” she said. “Besides, they’ll never even see your face, honey.” She leaned forward and pushed me back down on the seat.

  I lay back tensely, and she had to press my knees apart until they rested in an open position. I wondered how much of my legs they could see. I wondered what the women at work would think if they knew my girlfriend fucked me at a rest stop while some guy got his dick sucked and watched.

  Then with total precision the very tip of her tongue grazed just the edge of my clit. I forgot about the voyeurs as she shot her tongue out and hit me again. I moaned and pulled my thighs in toward her head. She pushed them away and kept her hands planted on the inside of my legs.

  “Do you like them watching?” and her tongue was at my clit again. She flicked her tongue over my clit four or five more times then stopped and pulled my hips a little farther out the door. This time she slowed down and used her tongue in small, tight circles. My pussy was arched up off the seat to meet her. My tits lay open across my shirt and bounced to the rhythm of her tongue.