Best Lesbian Romance 2010

by Radclyffe

  Bailey opened her cardboard portfolio, selected a drawing, and put it on the drawing board. She grabbed one of the artists’ pencils that were scattered on the floor.

  “Your feet are small,” she said, “like mine.”

  I looked down at them and wondered when I’d last cut my toenails.

  I don’t know how long it took for her to complete the sketch, but when she was finished, she showed me the result. I didn’t recognize the face in the portrait. I wouldn’t have recognized my own feet if I hadn’t watched her sketch them. They weren’t perfect, but the drawing was better than what I could have done. And it was endowed with the magic of having been touched by Bailey’s hands.

  “Do you like it?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said. “You’ll get an A.”

  And then it happened. Quick as a flash, Bailey’s hands darted out and took mine. She pulled me to her, so that we stood in front of the futon, and she kissed me. Her soft lips were as warm and sweet as three shots of honey liqueur. I shivered.

  “I knew I’d be wet the first time I kissed you,” I said as I caught my breath. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  I NEVER THOUGHT OF LOVE

  Jacqueline Applebee

  My girlfriend, Caitlin, once told me about the difference between British and American people. Apparently Americans think a hundred years is a long time, while the British think that a hundred miles is a long way. I’m very British. I live in London—Caitlin lives far away to the north. I see her once a month if I’m lucky. It isn’t nearly enough, but I hope that one day my luck will change.

  I wanted to tell Caitlin that I loved her when we lay together in bed on the first night of my visit. We’d been together for a while, but I’d never seen her home until then. Caitlin’s mouth was open as I licked along her thighs. I was sure that if I kissed her lips, I would be able to breathe the words right inside her. Caitlin’s eyes were open and staring at me as I swept my tongue over her, her hazel irises almost dilated to black. She looked more beautiful than anyone I had ever known. The words wouldn’t come then, though I felt them against the back of my throat. They lay in wait, unwilling to rise. I kissed lower, licked her ankles and tickled her toes. She made a beautiful sound as she giggled for mercy.

  I never thought I’d have feelings for a woman like Caitlin. She’s smart, real book-smart, not like me at all. She’s pale, she wears glasses, and even though she doesn’t own any nerdy T-shirts, I know she’d look good in one. Her long wavy hair frames a beautiful serious face. I’d felt that hair wrapped around my brown fingers as I held her the next morning. I’d tugged on it as she came writhing about on the bed, twisting the sheets as she moved. The first orgasm of the day was always a big one.

  I’ve been in love before, but falling for Caitlin was different. Love soaked into my skin, flooding me. I never knew that I was drowning until my breath faltered whenever I lay in her arms.

  Caitlin has five young kids. When she told me about them, my mind just boggled. I didn’t know how I was going to deal with it. At first I made jokes and hid behind a pathetic shield to protect myself. I guess even back then I knew I would come to adore her and everyone she loved. Over time, I’ve found it impossible to picture Caitlin without a clutch of little, happy, pink faces surrounding her. It’s not easy to say that I’m scared of that image. But I am. I’m terrified.

  If you really want to know why, I’ll tell you. There was once a time when there were children around me too. My nieces and nephews were a positive part of my life. I may not have given birth to them, but I raised those children as if they were my own. Unfortunately, my home was not a happy one. I lived in a place where threats and humiliation because of my sexuality were a part of everyday life. I used to be told that I was copying white people and their funny ways, that proper blacks are never queer and something must be wrong with me. My family caused me so much pain, it became unbearable. So I packed up and escaped without a word. I had to leave my children behind when I ran. I left a part of myself behind too—the part that would make chocolate cupcakes on a whim, the part that would leave extra gooey mixture in the bowl, just so my kids could stick their little fingers in and wipe the bowl clean.

  I was resigned that there would never be any other children in my life so I closed the hatch on possibilities. But life has a way of making impossible things real, in your face, and screaming for cartoons at six o’clock in the morning.

  Caitlin’s fourth child, Alan, hugged me at breakfast the next day. He clambered up onto a chair by the table to stretch his little arms around my waist. I pulled down a telephone directory and placed him on it, boosting him so he could see over the tabletop. He sang a nursery rhyme as he ate his cereal—I recognized it as one that I had sung to my nieces and nephews when they were toddlers. I stopped humming abruptly and sipped my strong black coffee instead.

  Caitlin’s youngest, Hazel, reached for a pair of scissors. I put them out of reach, hiding them on top of a tall bookcase.

  “I hate you, Jenny!” she said with a pout. “Go away!”

  I only smiled and said, “That’s too bad, because I happen to think you’re great.” Hazel scowled at me, stuck out her tongue, and continued drawing with crayons. I cared for Hazel because I loved her mother. Plus Caitlin would go berserk if I let her little girl play with sharp objects.

  Caitlin came down to breakfast dressed in her schoolteacher clothes, which for her meant lots of black, with a long skirt and a severe dark blouse. Her eldest child, Finbar, spilt milk over his school tie. Caitlin calmly rinsed out the cloth as he sat on the steps, helping Hazel to put on her shoes. From the corner of my eye I could see Kevin, the second eldest, as he dragged my big overnight bag into the kitchen. He rummaged around inside until he found the bar of dark, single-estate chocolate that I’d been saving for later. He grimaced as he took a bite.

  “That’s yucky!” he screeched, frantically scrubbing at his mouth. I laughed until my stomach hurt. Who knew that the shield I had created for myself would be dismantled by a beautiful teacher nerd and her crazy family? I should have been able to tell Caitlin that I loved her, because it truly was the way I felt.

  “You know we don’t have to do anything,” Caitlin whispered later that evening, as if she could somehow sense my unease, my fear.

  “It’s just nice spending time with you,” I replied like the liar I was. I wanted to stroke all over her skin, to feel everything she had. Her scent made me want to submerge myself in her. “We don’t have to do anything,” I continued nervously. Caitlin kissed me when I said that. Every ounce of my strength just fled once her lips touched mine. We made love for two hours straight.

  I wanted to tell her that I loved her that night when her mouth was open in a soft circle. She was coming for the fourth or maybe fifth time. My fingers were deep inside her, touching, stroking. But her kids were asleep upstairs, so she kept the volume down as much as she could.

  “Yes,” she sighed as her muscles unclenched. I loved this strong, wonderful woman. Her head flopped back, and she released me from her clinch. My fingers stayed buried inside her heat. I never wanted to leave her. I wanted to make her scream into my shoulder. I wanted to hear her yell. My own mouth was shut tight. I didn’t trust myself to utter anything, just in case I said too much. I knew what I wanted to say. I knew what I was feeling. But the words wouldn’t come, not then. They were just waiting for me to exhale, to breathe out and give them life. I was a coward of the highest order.

  Caitlin held me tightly as I fell asleep. I was scared, and my fear did not lessen as my eyes closed. I never thought of love, but now it was the only thing on my mind.

  I sat in a London pub two weeks later. Caitlin’s best friend, Penny, sat across a table from me. She kept on smiling at me, because she’s a very perceptive woman. She could see that I was head over heels in love with Caitlin. Penny was getting over a cold that had made her lose much of her voice. She had told me croakily how it made her appreciate what cam
e out of her mouth. She had been silent for most of the evening, but as the night wore on, her cheeks flushed red with wine. In the busy, noisy pub, I thought about all the things that I could say to Caitlin. I thought about telling her that I loved her, but without using any of those loaded words. Penny was ever the mind reader—she wriggled her eyebrows at me and then she picked up her bag and moved to leave. I walked her to the train station, quite unaware of anything but the memory of Caitlin’s soft voice when she came, urgently panting against me.

  Penny grinned as I hugged her. “Give Caitlin a call,” she said with a rough voice, and then she ran for the waiting train. I opened and closed my mouth several times. I must have looked like a crazy goldfish, floundering on the station platform.

  My fingers shook as I pressed the digits on my phone. The room closed in on me as the ring tone echoed through my ears. And then Caitlin picked up. Every single lightbulb in my home switched itself on. I squinted at the brightness of her voice.

  “There’s something I meant to say when I last saw you.”

  “Umm?” Caitlin sounded sleepy. I could hear Edward, the middle child, shouting in the background. It was after eight. He should have been in bed.

  “I love you,” I said quietly.

  There were three seconds of silence, before my ears rang with the sound of high-pitched squeals and giggles.

  “I love you,” I repeated. “I love you, I love you.” I took a breath. “I love you, Caitlin.” My mouth would not be still. I started laughing like a crazy woman.

  “I love you too, honey,” she replied breathlessly after she stopped squealing. “Edward wants to talk to you.”

  I listened to Edward’s excited voice as he told me that he had been given a gold star at school that day. Eventually he handed the phone back to his mother. I closed my eyes and pictured my nieces and nephews all smiling up at me, happy brown faces with wide toothy grins. A wave of sadness battled with the burst of joy, but I grinned into the telephone handset as I embraced the future. I loved Caitlin. This was something I never expected, but I could sense her love clear across the country. I stroked the handset, kissed the mouthpiece.

  “I love you.”

  “When are you next coming up?” I could hear her voice suddenly close on the phone.

  “Soon, honey.” The miles between us melted as I spoke. “I’ll come up next weekend. I love you.” I suddenly felt very American—the weekend seemed so far away.

  GIRLS AND THEIR CARS

  Renée Strider

  It started out as a joke—until things got a little out of control.

  Carole and Janis each owned a Lexus. They were extremely proud of their cars and kept them in tip-top shape, always clean and shiny, motors purring, every bell and whistle working.

  Carole was into old luxury cars. Her previous car had been a twenty-year-old Caddy. Her Lexus, which she’d had for about four years, was a shimmering, silver gray sedan. A very big sedan, one of the first from the early ’90s, with a very big V-8 engine.

  Janis preferred newer, more sporty cars. She was driving a Porsche when she decided she needed something “more practical.” So, about a year ago, she’d bought an almost-new, gleaming black Lexus. A high-performance SUV that looked a little dangerous, at least in comparison with Carole’s—let’s face it—more sedate car.

  Did Janis get her Lexus as a nyah, nyah to Carole? Their friends wondered. The two certainly competed in other areas and had done so from almost the day—well, night, at the lesbian bar—that Janis moved into town a couple of years back. Moved into Carole’s territory, really, because Carole was the number one player in town and suddenly had to make room for another dyke who went after the ladies—the femmes—with just as much charm and enthusiasm, and with just as much success.

  On the surface, the competition between the two was friendly, whether it was over women, pool, or cars. At the bar they would often discuss cars, especially their “Lexi,” offering advice to each other and comparing specs till their friends would roll their eyes from boredom. But sometimes there was an edge to it—a sarcastic comment from Janis, a pointed joke from Carole—and those around them would widen their eyes or smirk knowingly.

  That’s how it went one midsummer Saturday night at Red Emma’s. The whole crowd was there, including most of our heroes’ past conquests. Nobody was completely sober, but nobody was really drunk, either. Both Carole and Janis were between girlfriends. That happened a lot—though not necessarily at the same time—a reluctance to commit being the sine qua non of playerhood.

  It was close to midnight, and Carole was standing comfortably with her back against the bar, one knee bent, boot heel hooked over the brass rail near the floor. Her pelvis was tilted forward both for balance and for effect. In her right hand she hefted a bottle of beer while the thumb of the other hand stuck through a belt loop of her black jeans. She turned her head slightly and nodded as Abby, her companion at the bar, spoke to her, but her dark eyes were fixed on Janis.

  Janis was sitting more or less across from her on a table with one thigh balanced on its edge, one black-and-white high-topped foot dangling and the other flat on the floor. She wore tight, faded blue denims and a loose white tank top that showed off her broad shoulders and tanned arms. Patty, one of the women sitting at the same table, said something to her and Janis bent her head to listen. She grinned and sat up, tipping her glass for a couple of big swallows. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked up and noticed Carole watching her.

  “Hey, Janis. Car okay?” Carole drawled, lifting her bottle in Janis’s direction. “I thought maybe she was stalled when I passed you today.”

  “Carole.” Janis raised her beer, too, and straightened up, half-sitting, half-standing, with both feet now planted on the floor. “Was that you in your grandmother’s car?”

  Their friends snickered and they both smiled, if a little thinly.

  “You guys should have a race,” Abby said.

  Carole snorted. “Wanna shoot some pool?” she asked Janis. “The table’s free.” Janis had beaten her two out of three games a few nights back, and Carole wanted payback.

  They moved to the pool table at the back of the room, set their beers on a nearby table, and took a couple of cues off the wall, examining them carefully. Some of the other women gathered around to watch. Janis shoved a few coins in the tray, pushed, and the balls came rumbling out into the slot under the end of the table. Carole loved that sound and always imagined a network of dark tunnels under the tabletop through which the colorful balls raced at breakneck speed. She racked them up, solid and striped, into the triangle for eight-ball.

  The lamp above the table turned Janis’s short feathered hair to copper as she bent forward, sighting down her cue to break. Her top gapped open, partially revealing the swell of her breasts to Carole at the other end of the table. Carole quickly shifted her eyes away, but not soon enough to prevent her stomach from clenching and her face from reddening, to her total and utter consternation.

  After the balls finished breaking, sinking one, Janis pocketed one more. Carole was still rattled, her cheeks hot, when Janis winked and stared at her pointedly, waiting for her to shoot. She failed to make a ball, but finally did get it together, and the score was four games to three for her by the time the bartender announced, “Time, ladies,” and they called it a night.

  Carole lived nearby, so she walked home as she usually did after an evening of drinking. What the fuck was that! Her reaction to seeing Janis’s cleavage—pulse quickening, guts buzzing, and blushing for god’s sake!—had been a shock. She’d never been attracted to another butch, yet she’d actually been aroused. She must really need to get laid. That’s all it was, she decided. But what was that wink? She shrugged it off.

  As she turned into her driveway, she admired the massive old Lexus glowing softly silver in the dim light of the streetlamp. Seeing it reminded her of Abby’s tongue-in-cheek suggestion and the reactions in the bar. The rumors had flown.r />
  “Hey, Abby said you’re gonna have a race. When?” Jude had asked, as if it were a fait accompli.

  And, as Carole was racking the balls up once more, this from Cindy who was very cute and one of Janis’s exes: “Janis, can I drop the flag, pulleeze?”

  Carole and Janis had mostly just grinned and brushed off the comments and questions and concentrated on their game. Their friends wouldn’t let it go, though.

  As Carole lay in bed going back over the evening, her thoughts lingered on the peculiar incident at the pool table. She drifted off in an erotic haze, her hand in Janis’s shirt, reaching for a nipple. No! She came to with a start and sat up, heart racing. She breathed deeply to calm herself, then lay back down on her stomach and thrust her hand down, under her body, touching herself. She was so wet. She willed herself to think about somebody else, one of her current fantasies. She climbed on top of the gorgeous—and ultrafeminine—woman she’d been admiring at the gym, and took her hard, on a mat, pushing her fingers into her. Then she was licking her, all wet and hot, and the woman was writhing and moaning. In her imagination, even though Carole was going down on her, she was able to see the woman’s face while she was coming. But as she jerked herself to a shuddering climax, the face dissolved into Janis’s, and it was Janis arching against her and moaning with pleasure.

  On Wednesdays—Hump Day—Red Emma’s was usually pretty full right after work, as the women took advantage of the pub food served only on that day and on the weekend. That Wednesday was no exception. Carole and Abby were both sitting on bar stools eating and talking, occasionally glancing up at the mirror behind the bar to check out the room, when Abby said, “So what about that race, eh? C’mon, how about it? I’m serious. What a gas.”