by Radclyffe
Though Kitty wanted to get to the bed, at the moment there was no reason to move from the wall just inside the door. She leaned into Wahine as their kisses explored and deepened. When Wahine’s hands moved to her hips, pulling them closer together, Kitty felt the heat flowing into her pelvis, through her skin and her bones. Firm, gentle hands, the fingers long and purposeful—a woman’s touch.
“It’s been way too long since I’ve done this,” Wahine murmured. “Can we take our time?”
“I was hoping to take all night.”
They kissed again to seal the agreement. Kitty ran her fingers the length of Wahine’s hair, anticipating the heavy silk of it on her stomach, against her thighs.
Each button undone on the blouse displayed new skin to be licked, and at last she tasted the faint hint of salt as her nose appreciated the cologne Wahine wore, with its faint notes of sandalwood, oak, and rose.
What had begun as an evening watching a competition of nerves had turned into a deeply welcome exploration of different nerves, nerves that sent shivers of delight, shocked awake memories and created fantasies. Her imagination painted lusciously evocative pictures of Wahine in a hundred poses, and composed a symphony of cries and moans as Kitty explored the inside and outside of her.
Wahine rolled her onto the bed, removing clothes in between languid kisses. They were both naked now, and Kitty relearned the difference between the muscles of forearms and the melting softness of breasts. The bumps of ribs under her fingers made her mouth water with the desire to count them with her tongue. She pushed Wahine onto her back to brush her nose against a gloriously full nipple, and marvel at how the tender underside of a breast could yield to tightly puckered skin that begged for her teeth to tease, her tongue to lick, her mouth to close down and lightly suck.
The crass frat boys, the rude woman—dealing with people was an everyday trial, sometimes, and the irritations of daily life had conspired with the stress of living to blot out how wonderful, how natural it was to pause in reverent anticipation just before dipping her tongue into a wet, full cunt. She inhaled the sensual smell, and drank in the sight of gleaming, wet folds, red and ready. Men tried to wound with the word, but their opinion of her, and her cunt, was of no importance. She knew its beauty, though sometimes she forgot. She was reminded of it now, gazing at the tight, sleek folds of Wahine’s cunt. She kissed it wetly, rubbed her lips along the beckoning, opening slit until the inner folds were revealed, and then she used her tongue.
Wahine’s groan of welcome was exactly what Kitty wanted to hear, and she tasted, savored, licked up the wetness that was only found in the beauty of a woman’s cunt. She rolled it around on her tongue, savored the sweetness, the hint of salt, and went back for more.
She sank fully to the bed, pulling Wahine’s legs over her shoulders, slipping her hands under Wahine’s ass to tip her up. The more she feasted the more there was to enjoy until Wahine’s cries peaked. Less direct attentions, wet kisses on the still pulsing clit, appreciative noises—Kitty didn’t stop her adoration until fingers brushed her hair.
After a long minute of ragged breathing, Wahine said, “I think you really wanted to do that.”
“I did.” She gave Wahine a philosophical smile. She remembered the first woman she’d ever touched, the last woman she’d been with, and kneaded those memories together to unveil her fantasy of a future where time and mutual inclination brought her nightly to the same bed, with the same woman. “This is the food of my life and I forget that I’m hungry.”
Wahine pulled Kitty up to feather her fingers over her face. “Then I think you’ll be pleased to know that I’m starving.”
Insurance
by Karin Kallmaker
“Excuse me, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but can I ask you a question?” Pepper paused for breath and hoped she didn’t sound like an insane person. She didn’t often walk across a hotel lobby to approach a beautiful woman standing at a bar.
The cool, elegant redhead gave Pepper an exaggeratedly patient look. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Are you doing anything tonight?”
“What?” She began to turn her back, but paused when Pepper tried to explain.
“See, there’s this fancy awards thing tonight, downstairs. It’s like the Year of the Lesbian or something. I mean, I just found out who’s getting the Lamplight Award and who’s giving it away, and I want to get published. It won’t hurt for people to see me with a gorgeous date, you know?”
The redhead blinked at her.
“I really am a lesbian.”
Leaning slightly closer, the redhead asked, “Are you drunk?”
“No! Seriously, I want to out myself. Tonight.”
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“I need an escort. Or to be with someone I’m escorting. Your name badge says you’re with ESI. That’s the escort service people, right? How does that work exactly?”
With a narrowed gaze, the redhead said carefully, “I charge for my time according to what kind of escorting you want. Strictly legal—I’ll even give you a receipt.”
“Well,” Pepper explained, “you’d need to look gorgeous and lesbian and maybe act like we were the hottest couple ever.”
The woman was going to laugh at her and tell her to get lost; Pepper could see it in her eyes. She didn’t know why she was having this conversation except, well, Carly Vincent was the one, the one who’d set them all free, and she hoped by the end of the night that she’d be able to say she’d shaken Carly Vincent’s hand. And if Amelia Wainwright was presenting the Lamplight Award like it said in the copy of the program she’d pinched from the boxes being carried into the ballroom, well, that was incredible. Amelia Wainwright and Bryce Ambrose were an item, and everyone was buzzing about it. Not to mention that incredibly sexy Barrett Lancey and her terminally hot girlfriend Racie Racine. The lesbians were freakin’ taking over and Pepper wanted to stand up and be counted.
“I’ll pay you; I mean, I don’t know what you charge. But even if all I could afford is to have you mingle at the cocktail party before you get called away—maybe we could say you were a doctor or something. What do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
“That’s okay,” Pepper assured her. “I get that a lot.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“So what do you think?”
The woman shook her head in disbelief. “Well, I’m already dressing for the night, so I suppose we could do the cocktail party thing. An hour of glamorous lesbian flirtation for fifty bucks.”
“It’s a deal. Just the insurance I needed. Thank you.” Pepper hurried away, really embarrassed and all, and not really believing she’d just hired an escort, then she turned right around and went back to where the redhead was still standing, all long legs accentuated by linen crop pants, and a sexy wrap shirt that really, Sophia Loren would envy. “What’s your name?”
“Cara.”
“I’m Pepper. You should probably call me that so people will figure we’re on a date.”
“What time and where should I meet you, Pepper?”
“Oh yeah, hey, can you tell I don’t do this very often? It’s a good thing you’ve got experience.” Pepper gulped. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry, how about over there, next to the reader board?”
“Time?”
“Oh, make it seven.”
“I’ll be there.” With that, Cara turned on her lovely sandal heels and walked away.
Pepper stuffed the purloined program into her goodie bag. Crisis handled. Imitating Cara’s elegant departure, Pepper spun around. There was a thud on her head and a shock of bright lights.
“Ow!” Pepper tried to pick herself up off the floor because nobody looked good knocked flat like that, but her head smarted too much to get back on her feet quite yet.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be. I’m sorry; I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No, I’m sorry. I w
as reading while I walked, and that has gotten me in trouble from the time I was eight.”
Pepper looked up at her victim. Short, curly brown hair was the first thing she noticed, but then the brown-yellow eyes—was that topaz or amber, she wondered—had all her attention. Nice eyes, really warm. “What were you reading?”
“Bryce Ambrose’s latest.” The woman showed Pepper the cover.
“Oh, so you’re a romance fan here for the book signings?”
“No, actually, I’m a librarian, but when I saw who was there, I got in line. There’s a lot of overlap between librarian and reader. Do you need help getting up?”
“I got it.” Pepper hoped she looked more graceful than she felt. “I really am sorry.”
“It’s okay. You got the worst of it, I think.”
Now that they were eye to eye, Pepper could see that they were, well, eye to eye. That made the librarian the same height as she, around five-three. Wait—she was wearing two-inch heels and the librarian had on sensible shoes. So the librarian was taller. Not that it mattered. If this meeting was something she used in her writing she could make up anything she liked. She could make the librarian into the six-foot raven-haired beauty so popular of late. But she hadn’t a clue what it would be like to kiss someone that tall.
Would finding out come under the topic of research?
It was a matter she was struggling with. How could she write a love scene when she hadn’t actually done most of the things she’d write about?
“I’m Sally.” The librarian held out her hand.
“Oh, sorry. I’m Pepper. Pepper St. Laurent. I think.”
“How hard was that bump on the head?”
“No, it’s a pen name. My first name really is Pepper, but I can’t decide on the rest.”
“Ah. Are you going to a session right now?”
“I don’t think so. I think there’s nothing happening because it’s lunch time.” Pepper squinted at the schedule.
To her surprise, Sally reached over to pluck Pepper’s glasses from her face. She produced a small squirt bottle of cleaning solution from one pocket, then a soft cleaning tissue from another. A minute later she put the glasses back.
“Wow. Thank you.” Amber, Pepper thought. Sally’s eyes were amber.
“If you don’t have a session, would you like to have lunch with me?” Sally gestured at the escalators that lead down a flight to the concourse that connected several of the hotels on this side of the Strip.
“I’d love to,” Pepper said.
The world’s best cheeseburger was followed by the world’s best frozen custard, as proclaimed on the storefronts.
“That’s just it,” Pepper explained. “I think lesbians know a woman’s heart better than anyone. She has to understand her own, first of all, and then if she falls in love, she has to understand a second one, and that’s twice as many.”
Sally nodded solemnly. “How long have you wanted to be a writer?”
“Since forever. Evidently, I was telling stories when I was just a toddler.” Pepper paused in the act of licking another dollop off her scoop of vanilla bean custard. “I’m really excited to be here. I’m not usually quite so scattered.”
Sally’s eyes said she wasn’t convinced, but Pepper decided to ignore that for now. The important thing was that Sally looked really quite engaging with a dollop of custard on the end of her nose. Pepper used her napkin to dab it off.
Somehow, they forgot to go to their afternoon session. A stroll through the main art gallery had led to a discussion of art history and Sally had explained how cataloging non-fiction worked.
“We’ve got a baseball theme party in about an hour,” Sally explained as they reached the Palace conference area again. “What are you up to?”
“Oh, it’s the big awards night. Everybody who’s anybody. I have two tickets, I bought a spare in case I had a date, and I guess I do.”
“You have a date?”
“Yes, her name is Cara, but it’s not like that. Would you like to join me? I’m sure she’ll understand. Especially if I still pay her the fifty bucks.”
There are situations, Pepper reflected later, that were out of control before they were even begun, but there was no way to know it.
First off, who would think that Bryce Ambrose would remember Sally from that afternoon, and stop to speak to her as they waited near the reader board for Cara to show up? Sally quickly introduced Pepper, who stammered out her own nervous praise as they shook hands and, really, Bryce Ambrose had very warm, strong hands. She and Amelia Wainwright were most certainly an item—the tender, melting looks would inspire an entire chapter for Pepper.
And that was all fine, all good, more than Pepper had hoped for the evening, really, and she’d waited contentedly next to the reader board with Sally, talking about everything. It was the place to be, because Barrett Lancey and Racie Racine stopped right next to them to adjust the straps on Racie’s Grecian-inspired sandals.
While she and Sally watched Barrett’s amazingly articulated hands move up and down Racie’s calves—which was really a treat—Cara arrived.
“Sweetie,” Cara cooed, and she wrapped her emerald-sheathed body around Pepper. “I finally woke up. You left me so exhausted.”
“Um.” Not the best start, Pepper could admit that, but before she could say anything else, Cara looked at Sally, very nicely turned out in black dress slacks and a brocade vest, and asked, “Who’s this?”
“My date,” Pepper said and that was quite possibly the stupidest thing she’d said all day, even if it was true.
Barrett Lancey looked up from Racie’s legs, and Pepper hadn’t really ever aspired to be outrageous to the point where she could distract Barrett from something so lovely.
“Your date?” Cara blinked, and she seemed to be trying to play along, but how could she know, Pepper had to allow her that. “Since when are you into butch?”
“I’m a librarian,” Sally said.
Cara spread her hands. “I don’t have a clue. I’m sorry.”
“Here.” Pepper reached for one of the flailing hands, did the two-hand clasp shake, leaving the folded bills in Cara’s palm. “I’m really sorry it has to be this way.”
“Women, women, women,” Cara said. “You writers are all alike.” Her dramatic sniff was somewhat undercut by her puzzled expression as she walked away.
Sally, looking highly amused said, “Since when are you into high femme?”
Barrett Lancey got up off her knee and smooched Racie. “Does that work better?”
“Yes, darling, thank you.”
Pepper tried to think of something smart to say, something that would supplant Barrett Lancey’s impression of her as a womanizer. “I’m not into butch or femme, I’m into brains.”
“Oh.” Sally looked very pleased.
“It’s true,” Pepper added, and she realized it really was.
Barrett Lancey tucked Racie’s hand into the crook of her arm, but before they walked away, she leaned over to Pepper and said, “This is when you kiss her.” And she winked.
Sally liked the kiss, or Pepper guessed she did because she kissed back, blushing.
By the time the awards program started, they’d dispensed with what Sally termed poulet du rubber and two glasses of wine. The expected people won the expected awards, but the big moment for Pepper was Amelia Wainwright’s tearful speech about Carly Vincent’s brave decision to come out more than fifteen years ago.
So Pepper had only a drawer full of rejections for her first novel, and maybe she’d never publish one, but she was a lesbian, and she was proud to join in the thunderous applause. She made mental notes in case she should ever, like in her wildest dreams, be in the same position, and she hoped she was as gracious and kind as Carly was. Thank your partner, Pepper made especial note of that.
Sally liked to dance, that was also noteworthy. Sally liked to make out in the restroom stall; that was also something Pepper would never forget. By the time she was i
n Sally’s room, naked and halfway to the Land of Happy, several of Sally’s distinct likes were indelibly written on Pepper’s brain.
Sally liked fingers, right there, and when Pepper added her tongue, it was clear Sally liked that, too. The inside of her was hot silk on Pepper’s fingers, and when Pepper asked if Sally was okay with three fingers or should she go back to two, Sally said, “Don’t you dare stop.”
“I don’t want you to think I believe big is better or anything like that.”
Sally wound her fingers in Pepper’s hair and said, “Shut up and fuck me.”
Clearly, when you get that kind of direct instruction, it’s wise to do as you’re told. Pepper kept herself from talking by kissing Sally so hard there was no breath left in either of them.
“I’m really kind of surprised,” Sally said later.
“By what?”
“I thought I was in the seventy percent of women who don’t orgasm from penetration. But evidently not.”
Pepper smiled, pleased. “How do you know stuff like that?”
“That I don’t usually enjoy what you just did quite that much?”
“No, silly.” She smooched Sally on the tip of her adorable nose. “The seventy percent stuff.”
Sally blinked. “I’m a librarian.”
“Are you going to say that every time you want to win an argument?”
Sally just smiled.
On The House
by Radclyffe
When I noticed the little redhead check me out in the mirror for the third time, I grabbed my beer and slid off the bar stool. After four days of a predominately male-populated medical meeting, I was ready for a little female companionship. As I traversed a path between the sofas and chairs to where she sat alone in the lounge with her drink, she gave me a surprised look and then quickly glanced away. Hmm, mixed signals it would seem.
“Hi, I’m Tristan,” I said as I dropped into a plush wingback chair across the small dark wood coffee table from her. “Are you here for one of the conferences?”
