Best Lesbian Romance 2010

by Radclyffe

  I moaned against her mouth, a pleading sound, needing more.

  “Spread your legs,” she whispered against my jaw, her mouth trailing kisses along its length, her tongue teasing my ear, her teeth nipping the tender skin beneath.

  I did as she asked and felt, more than heard, her low sound of approval. Her fingers traced lightly over my heated flesh, dipped teasingly into the moisture they found. She did this again, and then once more, her mouth all the while continuing to wreak havoc on the sensitive column of my neck. I couldn’t keep still, even had I wanted to. My hands roamed restlessly across her shoulders and through her hair, my hips rose off her lap of their own accord, trying desperately to follow the movement of her hand.

  “Sam, please,” I begged, “I need you.”

  She pressed her forehead against my shoulder, a helpless shudder running through her at my words. Her mouth reached blindly for mine, this kiss harder and more aggressive than the ones before. Her tongue stroked deeply into my mouth as her fingers thrust into me. My body was on fire, a fine sheen of perspiration coating my skin as she loved me like that. Her thumb stroked my clit each time she thrust, her mouth kissing me everywhere she could reach. I shuddered as I came, crying out against her shoulder, feeling her heart beating beneath my cheek every bit as fast as my own. She rocked me for a while, until my skin cooled and our breathing slowed, then she urged me beneath the covers, removing her clothes to join me.

  We never did make it to the restaurant that night—we had too much lost time to make up for. We still shake our heads about all the parallels in our lives, about all the times we almost but didn’t quite meet. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what our lives would have been like if we’d met all those years ago, and I feel a twinge of sadness thinking about the time we’ve missed. But who knows? We were different people back then. Maybe we’d have met and then gone our separate ways, never recognizing in each other the very thing we were searching for. We couldn’t have met back then. We couldn’t have met until we did. Until we were ready for forever.

  COMING OUT PARTY

  Anna Meadows

  The first trouble came with deciding the name they would announce when I took my St. James’s bow.

  “Jacqueline” is a big name on my dad’s side of the family, so my mom never loved the fact that I shortened it. But it wasn’t my fault. In the first grade, we Jacquelines realized there were four of us running around, each coming to answer our shared name whenever a TA called it. The four of us doesn’t even include Jacqueline Jane Hulburd, who had been calling herself JJ since preschool and wouldn’t answer to anything else.

  Jacqueline Melody Morris volunteered to go by her middle name in exchange for first pick from the jump rope bucket at recess. That left the rest of us to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who was gonna be called what. Jacqueline Aarons got the first pick, so she got “Jackie.” Jacqueline Young won the next game, and went with the full thing. That left me.

  Jackie and Jacqueline would have just skipped off to get in line for the tetherball court, but they knew my new brother was in the hospital. So they dragged the toes of their jellies over the blacktop and suggested “Quelly” or “Lin,” but I didn’t like either, so I became plain old Jack, and I’ve been plain old Jack ever since.

  “I can assure you, none of the other debutantes will be announced by a nickname!”

  Whenever my mother said a sentence with the word debutante in it, I imagined her jaw loosening to a Southern drawl, her hair lightening and growing larger as she spoke.

  I always thought I’d have a sweet sixteen at the Acapulco Restaurant. I had never heard of a teenage girl in a big white dress for any other reason than a shotgun wedding. But it all made my mom so happy, and I couldn’t think of a good reason to turn down shopping for the prettiest, puffiest ball gown we could find.

  Puffy, because Angela Aarons, president of the League of Mother-Daughter Philanthropists, told our mothers that if each of us didn’t look like a frosted cupcake the moment we bowed, they had failed. So my mom helped me on and off with a half-dozen dresses at the Bridal Barn while old ladies clucked about how young I was and looked over the edges of their glasses to see if my stomach was rounded under the bodice of the dress.

  On the seventh my mother stood back and pressed her hands together. “Oh.”

  This was never a good sign. She only ever put her hands together without closing her eyes when she was about to cry or yell.

  I swished the skirt. “You like it?”

  “You are a vision. A vision.”

  I twirled in the mirror. “Can we afford it?”

  “Hush, Jacqueline.” She looked around the store. “Let me worry about that. And you’ll take Alexander to get measured for his tux tomorrow?”

  “Of course. I told you I would.” I lifted my elbows away from the bodice of the dress so the fabric rosettes would stop rubbing the undersides of my upper arms. “Why isn’t he here now?”

  “He’s working on a school project at Tommy’s house. They’re doing a presentation on…” She snapped her fingers as she thought. “Nuclear fission?”

  “What’s that?”

  She billowed the skirt from the hem. “I don’t know. I leave it to him.”

  Al stood in front of the junior high with a huge Styrofoam ball tucked under his arm, the surface spray-painted as teal as Mom’s car.

  “What the hell is that?” I asked.

  He set it on his lap and slammed the door. “It’s going to be a model of a boron atom. I just need to carve out a spot for a nucleus in the electron cloud.”

  “If that thing gets little bits of foam all over Mom’s car, I’m not cleaning it up.” I pulled onto the highway. “What are you smirking about? Nuclear fission?”

  “I know a secret.”

  “Yeah. I bet you know all kinds of secrets about the periodic table, Galileo.”

  “He was an astronomer.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He kept grinning.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “I really don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Sure.”

  I pulled one of Mom’s Camels out of the ashtray, her lipstick still printed around the filter, and lit the end. She always put out cigarettes when they were at least half an inch from being done.

  “That’s gross,” said Al.

  “It’s economical.” I took a drag and tucked the cigarette between my third and fourth fingers as I drove. “All right, fine. What is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  “Your secret.”

  “I thought you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t. But I’m bored.”

  He hugged the boron atom against his chest and didn’t talk until we got off the highway and approached the mall. “You have someone who likes you.”

  “Oh, big deal. Everyone has someone who likes them. Even you.” I reached over and ruffled his hair. “Who is it?”

  “Why should I tell you? You don’t even care.”

  “All right, I care. You happy?”

  He beamed. “Yes. Very.”

  “Now who is it?”

  He leaned over the middle seat and snatched Mom’s cigarette out of my hand.

  “Hey!”

  He threw it out the window. “He thinks it’s gross when you smoke.”

  As we were walking through the Bridal Barn parking lot, Al stopped and looked at me. “You’re really not gonna grow anymore, are you?”

  “Gee, thanks.” I walked toward the door.

  He followed me. “I didn’t mean it in a mean way. I’m just saying. You haven’t had to get a bigger shoe size in two years. Orthopedically speaking, that pretty much means you’re done.”

  I rolled my eyes and opened the shop door. “I appreciate the diagnosis, Dr. Montgomery.”

  “Don’t sweat it.” He set his elbow on my shoulder, something he had loved doing ever since he passed me on the kitchen door height chart. “Beside
s, he likes that you’re short.”

  I groaned.

  “He also knows you’re not a natural blonde.”

  “Yeah, who doesn’t?” I stopped in front of the glass-topped desk. “Hi.” I squinted to see the name tag gleaming against the woman’s cream blazer. “I need a tux for my little brother.” I elbowed him. “The appointment’s under Montgomery.”

  The woman scanned the calendar with her finger. “Ah. Here you are. Alexander Montgomery.”

  He grimaced. “It’s Al.”

  “He’s only Alexander on his report card.”

  “I see.” The woman smiled. “Right this way, sir. Go ahead and take a seat, Miss Montgomery. We’ll have him measured in just a few minutes.”

  I flopped down in one of the chairs in the waiting area, the burnt-out velvet worn darker and thin. I was pretty sure they had been there since the Bridal Barn opened. I had rubbed my palms over the fuzzed fabric when my mother was picking up my flower-girl dress for Aunt Julie’s wedding.

  Bobbie crossed the lobby toward the door, the hanger of her rental tux hooked onto her fingers. I sunk down farther in the chair and wondered if I could duck behind the veil display without her noticing.

  She stopped in front of me. “Hiding?”

  I sat up straight. “I’m surrounded by miles of silk chiffon. You gotta be ready for anything.”

  She smiled. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Your mom isn’t getting you into a dress for this one?”

  “What do you think?”

  I smoothed my skirt. “Good thing you’re tall. Or else you’d look like a ring bearer with that thing.”

  “Watch it. I was a ring bearer once.”

  I bit my lip, my teeth pulling off flecks of dry skin. Every fall, when the winds kicked up, my lips got so chapped I could hear it when I rubbed them together. I looked down at the floral rug that spanned the width of the lobby.

  Bobbie nodded. “Take care, Jack.”

  I pulled my knees up onto the chair and looked out through the white script lettering on the plate glass storefront. Bobbie crossed the parking lot, the garment bag slung over her shoulder, her shoes kicking up dust from the ground that lightened the bottoms of her jeans. She had cut her hair again, a couple of weeks earlier. It didn’t fall in her eyes or brush the tops of her ears anymore.

  “Earth to sister?”

  I jumped and turned around. “God.”

  “Yes, my child?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You done?”

  Al nodded. “They now know every measurement I have.”

  I pushed on the arms of the chair to get up. “Come on.”

  Al sat the atom model in the back seat and buckled the shoulder belt over it.

  “You’re kidding right?”

  He slid into the passenger seat. “You drive like Grandma.”

  “I do not.”

  “Then why’d it take you five tries to get your license?”

  “Four, smart-ass.” I pulled his seat belt out of the socket and put the buckle in his hand.

  “That was him by the way.”

  “Who was who?”

  He clicked the buckle. “The guy you were talking to.”

  “Which guy?”

  “Bobbie Slezak. That’s the guy who likes you.”

  “That’s a girl, genius.”

  “Then why is he renting a tux?”

  “She dresses like a guy.”

  “Well, if it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck…”

  “More like a dyke.”

  “I’m gonna tell Dad you said that word.”

  “Go ahead.” I started the engine and backed out of the parking space. “Mom and her charity buddies use it all the time. Who told you she liked me anyway?”

  “Libby Williams. She heard from her big sister that Bobbie’s been staring at you in class all the time.”

  “Well, Libby Williams only said that because she probably likes you. She didn’t even know Bobbie’s a girl. I think we call that uninformed scientific data.”

  “Why don’t you have her be your escort instead of me?” asked Al.

  “Because she’s a girl, stupid. Girls can’t escort girls.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “They just can’t.”

  “Isn’t there someone else you want to be your escort more than me?”

  I bit my lip and thought of the boys in my class, their complexions reddened from the alcohol of aftershave and drinking too much sugary soda. “Nope. Sorry. You’re the handsomest this town has to offer.”

  “God help the future of the race.”

  “Hey. Don’t put down the Montgomery gene pool.”

  “Don’t use the word dyke.”

  I groaned.

  “You shouldn’t say shit either.” He sat up straight and put his hand to his chest. “It’s unbecoming of a debutante.”

  I shoved his shoulder. “Fuck you.” I stopped the car when we caught up with Bobbie. I rolled down the window. “Get in, Slezak.”

  She shrugged and opened the back door. “Thanks.” She stared across the seat at the model. “And who’s this?”

  “A future Boron model,” said Al.

  Bobbie nodded. “Cool.”

  Al looked back at her. “It’s not finished.”

  “What’s missing?”

  “Um, a nucleus,” said Al.

  “Gotcha,” said Bobbie.

  I pulled off the highway into town. “Al, where am I taking you?”

  “Library. I’m meeting someone there.”

  “Who, Libby Williams?”

  Al glared at me.

  I stopped in front of the library. “Mom wants to know if you’ll be gracing us with your presence at dinner.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t forget your baby,” I said.

  Al unbuckled the atom model. “Yeah, what did you ever build? A human pyramid?”

  I looked back at Bobbie. “Hiding?”

  She laughed and got in the front seat.

  “So your mom roped you into going?”

  “Yes.”

  I reached back and touched the rental bag. “She know you’re wearing a tux?”

  “Yep. That was part of the deal. The offspring of the decorating committee chair can’t be a no-show.”

  “Who’re you taking?”

  “I think I’m going stag,” she said. “Who’s taking you?”

  “Oh, he’s a real charmer.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Good looking. Brainy. And probably at the reference desk as we speak.”

  She smiled. “Brotherly love?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “No. But doesn’t he?”

  “There’s a reason he doesn’t have curfew this week. You’re not the only one making deals.”

  She nodded. “Nice. Nice.”

  “You taking Lauren in…” I counted on my fingers. “Five years?”

  “I don’t think they’d let me.”

  “True. Your cummerbund alone will be a scandal.”

  I pulled back onto the highway and parked across from the gas station. The trees on the sides of the road had shed leaves onto the pavement, cars kicking up the burnt orange whenever they sped past.

  Bobbie looked out into the trees. “This definitely isn’t my neighborhood.”

  I swallowed.

  “Jack?”

  I grabbed her shirt collar and kissed her, her Chapstick gliding over my mouth. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me into the passenger seat. I picked up the clean, cotton scent on her skin and clothes, the smell I used to think was the soap she used.

  She pulled away enough to look at me. “So.” She squinted. She was farsighted. “We on again?”

  I buried my hands in her hair. “Do we have to talk about that right now?”

  “I think it’s a good idea. Considering what happened last time.”

  I kissed her neck. “Why does that matter?”

  She breathe
d in. “Well, I’m not really looking forward to getting dumped again.”

  “I didn’t dump you.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “You were talking to me. At school.”

  “Right. We were just talking. Not doing this. On the quad. It’s not like anyone could have figured it out.”

  “Yeah, but everyone knows.” I slipped my fingers between her belt and her jeans. “About you.”

  “You were talking to a dyke.” She put her hand on mine and held my fingers still. “Big deal. It’s not contagious, you know.”

  “Guilt by association.” I kissed her cheek.

  “It’s not a crime either. At least not in this state.”

  I pulled the end of her belt out of the belt loop with my other hand. “You gonna talk through this whole thing, Slezak?”

  She looked down at my fingers. “No.” She slid her hand onto the back of my neck and pulled me closer to her.

  I guided her palm to the front of my thigh and closed my eyes, to the leaves like cabbage moths, to the evergreens and the darkening blue of the sky, until there was nothing but the scent of fabric softener and the heat of Bobbie’s fingertips on the fullest point of my hips.

  I finger-combed my hair and opened the back door.

  Al sat at the kitchen table and flipped the page of his Scientific American. “Looks good on you.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  “The walk of shame.”

  “Screw you.” I poured a glass from the carton of skim milk.

  Al looked across the kitchen. “I refuse to drink that stuff.”

  “Yeah, well Mom’s not gonna buy two-percent again until after the ball, so get used to it.”

  “I guess I could reduce it on the stove….” He stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Why must we all suffer just because she’s dieting?”

  “It’s not just her.” I put the blue carton back in the door. “She says I look like I’ve put on a little weight.” I looked down at my stomach. “You know, just around the waist and thighs.”

  “Even if you had, your dress is thicker than a Mylar vest. Nobody’s gonna see anything except your head and arms.”

  “Mom says I have good arms.”