The counseling room behind the stage was partitioned in two. A door in between opened onto Reverend Goodblood’s dressing room where Cyril was “reborn” each afternoon. Sydney had grown up around carnies and religious snake-oil salesmen, and had watched them carefully, learning their moves, seeing what worked and what didn’t. She was following in her father’s footsteps.
He had been a revival preacher when the occasion called for it, and the rube in the crowd for carnival games when more worldly entertainment was the order of the day. Kegan Blood-good had been the name of his spiritual persona, and Sydney had admired the way he could work a crowd, but it was how he had been able to charm any woman anywhere that had always impressed her. Kegan never took advantage of them; he only brought out in them what they were aching to express, giving them a little spiritual guidance with a touch of sin thrown in. The money was a pleasant bonus.
Reverend Cyril wasn’t quite so cynical, but sometimes, well… the Lord worked in mysterious ways.
Ruby looked in shyly at Sydney sitting before the dressing table as she wiped off the stage makeup that was necessary under the hot lights of the big tent. Sydney smiled and welcomed her in, evaluating her quickly. She looked about twenty-five, petite and bright-eyed, a natural strawberry blonde with a palely freckled cream complexion. A slight discoloration showed beneath her left eye, the sallow shadow of a fading bruise. Some of the small-town good Christian brethren seemed to take St. Paul’s instructions about a wife’s subjugation to her husband a tad too much to heart.
“Come on in, sister,” said Sydney. “Close the door. I was just freshening up.” She waited until Ruby had settled herself on the chair beside her and sat looking down at her hands. “What’s troubling you?” she asked.
“I need a new start, Reverend,” she said, a soft twang in her voice quavering. “I’ve done some bad things and now I’m reaping what I sowed.”
Sydney took her nervous hands and looked Ruby in the eyes, calming her with the famed Reverend Goodblood look. “We all do things we shouldn’t, Ruby. There’s never anybody left standing to cast the first stone.” She rubbed her thumbs gently against the bones in Ruby’s hands. “Or the first punch.” Ruby’s lip was trembling. Sydney had always been a good reader of faces. “Is someone hurting you, Ruby?” she asked quietly. Ruby burst into tears.
Sydney slipped out of her chair and crouched down beside the weeping woman, stroking her arm. “You’re safe here, Ruby. You can tell me anything. It’s between you and me. And God.”
“I try to be a good wife,” said Ruby, wringing her hands. “I try to obey.” She looked up, searching Sydney’s eyes. “But Billy—that’s my husband—he don’t touch me anymore.” Her cheeks burned pinker than the roses on her dress.
Sydney found herself getting angry on Ruby’s behalf. “Unless it’s with his fists, you mean.” Ruby looked down at her lap. “It’s not right for him to do that, Ruby,” she insisted. “God wouldn’t want you to stay with a man like that.”
Ruby looked up at her, her eyes glistening with something like hope. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “But I’m afraid he’ll come after me. Will you pray with me, Reverend Cyril?”
Sydney and Ruby knelt side by side as Sydney took her hand and asked for God’s guidance. She was actually sincere this time, wishing there was something she could do to help the woman. She had completely set aside the possibility of a little “gladdening” of her heart when Ruby let go of her hand and began to slide her own along Sydney’s thigh. Sydney tried to take her hand again, but Ruby was insistent. She nearly managed to grab Sydney between the legs before Sydney grasped her hand and stopped her.
“I’m sorry,” Ruby said, her face red. “It’s just…I’ve been watching you all week, Reverend, and you’re so good and kind. Maybe it’s the joy of the Lord, but you make me feel glad and full of…spirit…and it’s been so long since Billy…” Ruby began to cry into her hands, and Sydney pulled her against her shoulder, patting her back as she wept as if she hadn’t in years, holding it all in, trying to be good.
At last Ruby quieted and leaned against her, and Sydney gave her the handkerchief from her pocket to dry her eyes. Ruby gave the sweet-smelling cloth a curious look as she folded it damp in her hands. She looked up at Sydney, her face anxious and sad.
“Reverend Goodblood,” she whispered. “I’m so alone.”
Sydney tucked her soft curls behind one ear and touched her cheek. Perhaps this one really did need Cyril Goodblood’s ministrations. Perhaps it was Sydney’s mission, maybe even a true gift from God. She swore she didn’t seek these women out. She kissed Ruby lightly and Ruby responded, running her fingers through Sydney’s slick hair to hold her closer as she explored her mouth with a kind of desperate, pleading whimper.
Ruby put her hand once more on Sydney’s thigh, and Sydney took her hand and began to press her slowly back onto the ground. “Let me minister to you, Ruby,” she whispered. Ruby pulled her dress over her head and tossed it aside, shivering as Sydney kissed her throat and the warm hollow of her collarbone. She kept grabbing for Sydney, and so Sydney took both her wrists in her left hand and held her arms over her head.
She pushed Ruby’s bra up over her small teacup breasts and straddled her, leaning down to taste them. Ruby’s chest rose, her breath quickening, and she closed her eyes.
“Your skin is so soft,” Sydney murmured against her, wriggling her free hand into Ruby’s panties. Ruby arched beneath her fingers, sighing deeply as if it had truly been forever since she’d been touched, and thrust herself up to meet Sydney’s long fingers as she entered her. She was rocking against Sydney frantically, and Sydney obliged her need, pumping her fingers inside her pussy as Ruby grew rapidly wetter. Ruby groaned appreciatively, bucking against her strokes.
“Oh, yes, Reverend,” she breathed. “Yes. Right there. Oh, God.”
Ruby bent her knees, drawing Sydney deeper as she lifted her pelvis, and began to moan in sharp, short bursts with the rhythm of Sydney’s fingers.
“Oh, yes! Oh, God!” she cried, and she was jerking and arching beneath Sydney, her thighs shaking with a thunderous swell. A gush of liquid covered Sydney’s hand as Ruby cried out, spurting like a warm, sweet fountain with the contractions of her hot cunt. Sydney let go of her wrists and wriggled down along the carpet to get her mouth against that fountain of power. Ruby came again: “Yes! Yes! Oh, God! Oh, God!”
Sydney slipped her left hand into her slacks and fucked herself with it as she fucked Ruby with her right, never wavering in her attention to Ruby’s glistening, rose-pink flesh, and she came with a shout and a groan as Ruby ejaculated once more, moaning beneath her. Sydney ran her tongue against Ruby’s exhausted pussy as she drew her fingers out of both of them, drinking the fluid that trickled off of her. Ruby moaned softly, her whole body collapsed in utter relaxation against the carpet, and her freckled cheeks pleasantly flushed.
“Oh, Reverend,” she breathed with her eyes closed as if in prayer. “God has truly sent you.”
When Ruby was dressed and her spirit collected, she seemed to slip back into a bittersweet sadness once more as if remembering what she’d come for.
“I don’t know how I can leave him,” she said. “I have nothing. He owns everything. I don’t even have a checking account.” She sighed. “Maybe this is God’s will. A test that I’m supposed to endure to prove that I won’t deny him when things are dark.”
Sydney glanced over at the bag from the week’s donations, tucked beneath the dressing table. If there was ever a time when she could truly bring some joy to someone’s life who so desperately deserved it, it was now. She nudged the bag out with her foot and looked at Ruby.
“Sweetheart,” said Sydney. “I want you to take this. It’s God’s money and I think he wants you to have it. You take it, and get out of this place, get away from Billy. He’s bad news and you deserve better.”
Ruby gasped as Sydney opened the satchel stuffed with bills. “Oh, I couldn’t, Revere
nd Goodblood!”
“Yes you can, Ruby. I won’t take no for answer.” She zipped it up and pushed it into Ruby’s hands.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Reverend Goodblood,” said Ruby with tears in her eyes. “You’ve saved my life. Bless you.” She kissed Sydney on the cheek and shook her hand. “I won’t forget this.”
Sydney was sure she wouldn’t either. It was worth the whole week of performing just to see the gratefulness and happiness in Ruby’s eyes. She saw her out and then packed up to leave and move on to the next town. She’d be starting from scratch, and would have to do a longer tour than she’d anticipated, but this was right. She’d actually saved someone for the first time in her “ministry.”
As she walked out into the parking lot, she saw a cop car circling slowly, shining a bright light on the tent and the fairgrounds.
“Can I help you fellows?” she asked as they pulled up beside her.
“Only if you’ve seen this woman,” said the cop in the passenger seat. He held out a printout of a mug shot and Sydney bit the inside of her cheek. It was Ruby. Only her name wasn’t Ruby, it was Lisa Swanson, aka Laurie Swanson, aka Lilly Swift and she was wanted for swindling unsuspecting older men out of their life savings. Sydney shook her head.
“Sorry, officer. I’ve seen a lot of people at the Jubilee this week. Don’t recognize her.”
Sydney watched them drive away and then lifted her head to the humid summer night sky. She put her hands on her knees and swore long and loud at the clouds that had refused to release their bounty all through the long, sweaty week. She looked down at the wanted flier she still held in her hand, “Ruby” smiling up at her.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another,” she murmured.
The clouds burst suddenly, pouring down on her and on Ruby’s crooked smile on the paper as the monsoons finally came to the mountains. Sydney was instantly soaked to the skin.
She sighed and dropped the soggy flier into the water swelling at her feet. “Well, dammit,” she said. “Jesus H. Christ.”
SWEET TOOTH
Sophia Valenti
The purple-pink sky was beginning to show the first hint of sunrise as I slammed the taxi door shut behind me. I was on my way home from an all-night party in the city, having spent the past five hours in a dimly lit warehouse, surrounded by thumping music and sweaty, gyrating women. It was perfect foreplay—or it would have been, had I actually been able to score. But after spending more than an hour dancing up against a handsome baby dyke, I came up empty. Her ex suddenly showed up, turning what I thought was a tough little piece of work into a lovesick fool right before my eyes. As soon as she bit her lip and said, “Excuse me for a minute,” I knew I’d be going home alone.
A minute turned into fifteen as they huddled in a distant corner and no doubt professed their undying love for each other, while I was left at the bar with my cunt empty and throbbing. With a resigned sigh, I downed my drink, picked up my leather jacket and headed out into the cool predawn air to hail a cab.
Fortunately, the city was on the verge of awakening, which made my trip home a fraction easier than it would have been an hour earlier. See—chatting up that girl wasn’t a total waste of time, I told myself as I slid onto the pleather backseat of a beat-up Yellow Cab.
The driver ignored me after taking note of my destination, which was fine with me. I was in no mood to chat. He was a young guy who stank of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, seeming as if he’d just pulled an all-nighter himself. He sang along brightly to some horrible ’80s dance-music station that served as the soundtrack to my entire trip home. I tried to tune out the Nu Shooz duet going on in the front seat as I stared at the city lights streaking by outside the window. The slashes of color looked otherworldly up against the backdrop of the slowly brightening sky, a visual echo of the flashing lights of the club I’d just deserted.
I don’t know what I was thinking, heading out to a party when I had a morning meeting with a client. No, that’s wrong. I knew exactly what I was thinking. I was as horny as hell and hoping to pick up. It had been weeks since I’d gotten laid, and I was hoping for a little no-strings-attached action—which isn’t as easy to find these days as it used to be.
I glanced at my watch and figured I had time for a catnap and a cup of coffee before I had to present my best businesslike face to my prospective customer. I design websites for a living, which gives me a flexible schedule, but I still do my best to maintain a professional demeanor when dealing with clients.
The taxi slowed as it headed down my street and pulled up in front of my building. The block was dark, except for a lone, brightly lit storefront that assaulted my tired eyes. I shoved some cash into the cabbie’s hand and stepped out onto the street. The store was directly across from my front door. It had been a grungy tire-repair shop for years before the rent became too high and Mugsy packed it up. It had been closed for months, but I’d noticed that in the past few weeks, the windows had been cleaned and covered inside with brown paper. When the old wooden window sashes were painted a tooth-aching shade of pink, I assumed it was going to be some kind of kids’ clothing store to serve all of the hipster families that were beginning to pour into the neighborhood. But now, as I squinted against the light and stared into the bare windows, I saw that it was yet another cupcake bakery. I rolled my eyes as I thought, Great, that’s what we need. A bakery. What the hell is wrong with a liquor store?
The walls of the store had been painted the same Technicolor pink as the outside trim, in contrast to the white tables, chairs and molding. The chrome-and-glass showcases lining one side of the store were filled with a rainbow-hued selection of tiny cakes. As I stared, I caught a brief glimpse of a blonde rushing across the store with a coffeepot in her hand, and that’s the exact second I remembered I didn’t have any coffee of my own in the apartment. Looking to ward off the inevitable headache, I decided to see if I could score a cup from my new neighbor.
I crossed the street and pushed the door, which—thank god—opened. As I crossed the threshold, I was hit with the sickly sweet scent of sugar and it nearly took my breath away. As I inhaled a second time, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Underneath the room’s cloying perfume, I discerned the soothing scent of brewing coffee. My eyes scanned the counter, and I spotted a slowly filling pot.
“Good morning!” said a bright voice behind me. I jumped at the cheerful words and turned quickly to see someone who appeared to be straight out of central casting for an MGM musical. It was the petite blonde I’d seen seconds earlier, but this time I was able to get a better look at her. The waves of her honey-blonde hair shone like a supermodel’s and her wide eyes were a bright blue. Either she’d had a good night’s sleep or she was riding a permanent sugar high. Her chipper voice was nearly as much of an assault on my senses as the scents and sights before me. She wore a white dress with short, poufy sleeves and a skirt that looked as if it were supported by layers of frilly crinolines. Over it, a pink-gingham apron protected her pristine frock. Her shapely legs were encased in nude-colored stockings that led down to pink shoes with sensible heels. Standing there in my black leather jacket and ratty jeans, I felt like I was in a time warp—a 1950s greaser who had stepped into her pretty pink parlor.
I was speechless as I took in the sight of her, and I was suddenly shy about my appearance. It was almost as if I expected her to tsk at me like a disapproving mother. But that was my own crazy head talking because she did no such thing.
“Welcome to Cupcake Heaven. I’m Aimee!” she said, extending her hand toward me. Acting on autopilot, I took her delicate hand in mine and shook it, checking myself at the last minute and lightening my touch before I crushed her with my stronger grip.
“Cupcake Heaven?” I asked, barely hiding my smirk.
“Yes,” she said, batting her long lashes and glancing toward the parade of little cakes marching across a rectangular paper doily. “A little piece of heaven you can hold in your hand,” sh
e added slyly as she returned her gaze to me, her look all of a sudden seeming much less innocent. Her eyes roamed up and down my figure, taking in every inch of me. And in an instant, I felt myself switch from hunter to hunted. It still seemed like a dream, but the aching hunger in my sex that hadn’t yet been satisfied urged me to keep my options open.
“Today’s the Grand Opening,” she said, her voice a little lower in pitch but still maintaining its singsong quality, “although I wasn’t quite ready to open yet. But I can make an exception for secial customers.”
I stared back at Aimee, communicating my interest with an unblinking stare. “Well, then,” I said as I considered the living, breathing confection in front of me, “this must be my lucky day.”
“Looks that way,” she said, her eyes still locked on mine. It was odd. In the few minutes I’d been in that store, I’d formed more of an electric connection with this intriguing stranger than I had in the hour I’d spent chatting with my former quarry at the club.
Aimee offered me a wicked smile as she passed me by, locked the front door and turned back to me. Things are definitely looking up, I thought to myself.
“How about a private tour?” she asked, raising one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
“Lead the way,” I answered. Her high heels clicked sharply against the pink and white tiled floor as she sashayed toward the back of the bakery. The seams on her stockings were as straight as an arrow. Fortunately, I couldn’t say the same thing about her.
Aimee disappeared through a doorway in the back, and I was quick to follow. Seconds later I stepped into a huge, spotless kitchen which was lined with sparkling stainless-steel counters and filled with brand-new kitchen equipment. She was on me in a flash, pushing me up against the tiled wall and pressing her lips against mine with a strength that surprised me. Her pink-lipsticked lips slid across mine as we frantically kissed. While our tongues tangled, she grabbed my wrists and slammed my hands up against the wall over my head, grinding against me with her crinolines rustling noisily.
Best Lesbian Erotica 2010 Page 4