by Sacchi Green
BEST LESBIAN EROTICA
20TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION
BEST LESBIAN EROTICA
20TH ANNIVERSARY EDITION
Edited by
SACCHI GREEN
Copyright © 2016 by Sacchi Green.
All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television or online reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by 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 by Cleis Press, an imprint of Start Midnight LLC, 101 Hudson Street, 37th Floor, Suite 3705, Jersey City, New Jersey 07302.
Printed in the United States.
Cover design: Scott Idleman/Blink
Cover photograph: iStockphoto
Text design: Frank Wiedemann
First Edition.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Trade paper ISBN: 978-1-62778-154-1
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62778-106-0
“The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet” by Emily L. Byrne was first published in Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire, edited by Cheyenne Blue (Ladylit Publishing, September 2014); “Hot Blood,” by D. L. King, was first published in Appetites: Tales of Lesbian Lust, edited by Ily Goyanes (The Liz McMullen Show Publications, February 2015); “Reunion Tour,” by Harper Bliss, was first published in Cougars: Five Mature Tales of Lesbian Lust, edited by Harper Bliss (Ladylit Publishing, November 2014); “Smorgasbord,” by R. G. Emanuelle, was first published in All You Can Eat: A Buffet of Lesbian Erotica and Romance, edited by R. G. Emanuelle and Andi Marquette (Ylva Publishing, August 2014); “Tears from Heaven,” by Jean Roberta, was first published in She Who Must Be Obeyed: Femme Dominant Lesbian Erotica, edited by D. L. King (Lethe Press, July 2014).
CONTENTS
Introduction
Dust
Ascension
Tomato Bondage
The Royalty Underground
Reunion Tour
Hot Blood
Make Them Shine
Tears from Heaven
Luscious and Wild
Smorgasbord
A Professional
Easy
Grindhouse
Give and Take
Mirror, Mirror
The Road to Hell
The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet
About the Authors
About the Editor
INTRODUCTION
The Best Lesbian Erotica series has a special place in my heart. Twenty years ago, in 1996, Tristan Taormino and Cleis Press published the first volume of Best Lesbian Erotica, and in 1999, to my amazement, my own very first erotica story made it into that anthology. When Tristan Taormino called and said that she loved my piece because it was so different I was hooked on the series and the entire genre for good. (Tristan also very kindly pointed out the many improvements I needed to make, of course; I had a lot to learn.) Seven more of my stories made it into further editions of Best Lesbian Erotica, although I got a bit distracted in recent years with editing ten themed anthologies of lesbian erotica myself, eight of them for Cleis Press. Editing this one feels like the greatest honor of all.
Back in 1996 there were far fewer markets for well-written lesbian erotica than there are now, but there were many majorly talented writers with the courage and the burning desire to tell the stories demanding to be told, stories that can still stir your senses and linger in your mind. There have been some changes in erotica over the years, largely in how far we dare to go and how much we think we can get away with, but I still remember stories from those earlier years as challenging as any written today.
The main difference these days is in the quantity of lesbian erotica available, and the numbers of people writing it well. For this 2016 edition there was a superabundance of excellent work, and choosing was a harrowing as well as stimulating experience. Tastes differ, of course, especially when it comes to erotic preferences, so not every story will push every reader’s buttons, but for me the writers here make this edition outstandingly worthy of Best Lesbian Erotica’s long tradition of sexy excellence.
In the limited space of a single anthology, “best” has to take into account factors beyond any single measurement of quality. An apples and oranges comparison just won’t cut it; envision instead, say, peaches…smooth, rosy, rounded peaches…and pears…and maybe the occasional heavy melon. But don’t worry. No actual fruit metaphors are abused in this book.
Like Tristan way back then, the idea of “best” for me includes “different,” whether it’s a brand-new treatment of a familiar theme, a way with language that makes the words dance to an inspired beat, or a plot I’ve never seen before. Beyond those, each story has to contribute to a balance in the work as a whole, which should include a variety of themes, settings, voices, tone, and diversity of ages, ethnicities and physical attributes. Above all, “best” should mean original ideas, vividly drawn settings, creative imagery, fully developed, believable characters (even if occasionally that requires readers to suspend disbelief for the sake of arousal), and, of course, plenty of steamy sex, with intensely erotic scenes that flow naturally from the story as a whole, ranging from vanilla to BDSM to edgy frontiers that defy classification.
Originality takes many forms. D. L. King melds the familiar tropes of werewolves and lesbian auto mechanics into a character as likable as she is sexy. Megan McFerren’s characters take refuge in a London bomb shelter during WWII. Emily L. Byrne’s brilliant incarnation of Miss Scarlet seduces a police detective in the NYC subway system. Louise Blaydon’s “nice girl” and “bad girl” strike sparks together forming a band on the gritty side of Liverpool in 1961. There are stories with touches of humor, or moments of tenderness, or immersions in the no-holds-barred depths of bondage and the keen pleasures of pain—and now and then all three at once.
What you get, in this anthology, is a seemingly infinite variety of lesbian erotic desires, in all the heat, beauty and power of both our darkness and our light. I’m immeasurably grateful to all these writers who crafted their stories as only each one of them could, and offered them to be included here.
From me, from the writers, and, I hope, from many of you readers, happy twentieth birthday, Best Lesbian Erotica! Birthday spankings may be in order, but be gentle with your paperbacks. With e-books—well, maybe you’d better find a surrogate spankee. Just read a few of these stories with her to warm things up.
Sacchi Green
Amherst, MA
DUST
Rose de Fer
Alice saw her again just outside of Death Valley. The girl’s long, tanned legs were disappearing into the cab of an eighteen-wheeler with Louisiana plates. Dust swirled in the air where the beast had come to a stop and a hairy tattooed arm held the door open while the girl scrambled inside. Alice’s heart sank. As she pressed her foot down on the accelerator and sent the gleaming yellow Mustang past the truck, she couldn’t help but turn and glance back. But all she could make out was a slender silhouette, like a ghost sitting beside the burly driver.
The radio emitted a burst of static, as though emphasizing the fact that she was getting farther and farther from home. She’d forgotten to charge her iPod and her choices on the FM band ranged from the comical (farm reports and rural phone-in shows) to the frightening (blood-and-thunder preachers).
Signs displayed the distances to cities she never imagined she’d see. Las Vegas. Phoenix. El Paso. Places that seemed so exotic until you were actually on the long desert roads that led to them. Heat made the road shimmer in the distance and the sky was hazy with sand. She had wa
nted the trip to be exciting, an adventure despite the destination and the reason for it. But hour after hour on the lonely American highways had only served to make her feel small and insignificant. It was a terrifying place, the open road, sprinkled with ghost towns that only underscored the loneliness.
She’d called her sister from the last rest stop. Pauline had been delighted to hear her voice, gushing—again—over how much Alice would love New Mexico, and especially the baby. Alice could hear it howling in the background and the sound made her skin prickle. She resented it already, and Pauline as well for being careless enough to get knocked up by a man who’d abandoned her as soon as the kid was born.
It was nothing new or surprising. Last year Alice had flown out to help her get back into rehab. And the year before that it was some other crisis. Pauline was the older one, for god’s sake. Why couldn’t she fix her own mistakes? Why did Alice always have to come to her rescue?
But hey, maybe Las Cruces wouldn’t be so bad. After all, what did Alice have going for her back in Portland? An office job she hated, in which her days were numbered anyway with the impending restructure. That and an apartment with neighbors who pursed their lips and frowned when she brought girls home, however infrequently that had been of late. Maybe a change of scenery was just what she needed.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
She shifted gears with more force than was necessary as she pushed the Mustang harder along the dusty highway. There was no point in taking it slow now that she knew the girl had found a ride. But even with the top down and the desert wind in her hair, the majestic countryside only filled her with a sense of gloom.
She’d first spotted the girl back in Oregon, standing on the side of the road, her jet black hair waving and her slender thumb out. It had only taken a second to drink in the beautiful sight of her—her burnished skin, her almond eyes, her elfin features. But Alice hadn’t reacted quickly enough, and anyway, she’d been going too fast to stop. For mile after mile afterward, she’d consoled herself with the thought that the hitchhiker probably had a boyfriend stashed in the trees.
But that was then. Now that she’d seen her again, she knew the girl was on her own. Alice wondered where she was going. She didn’t look like a wannabe showgirl trying to reach Vegas. In the two glimpses she’d had, the girl had struck her as someone with grander hopes and dreams than that. Someone with intelligence to match her fey grace. Like a ballerina with a degree in physics. Her eyes had flashed in the sunshine and Alice couldn’t help but think that they’d made eye contact in the split second it took to pass each other. A connection. But perhaps Alice had just imagined it. Perhaps the girl had just been admiring the car.
Oh, if only she’d hit the brakes! Just screeched to a halt on the side of the road. They could be sitting side by side now, sharing stories to pass the time, getting to know each other. And when it got dark they’d find a motel. The proprietor would only have one room available, and that with a double bed. He would never even suspect what they might get up to. They could claim they were sisters. Although what naughty sisters they would prove to be! They would lie there in the dark, laughing shyly as they explored each other’s bodies. Whispering, murmuring, kissing, touching…
Alice stopped the fantasy in its tracks. Dream on, she told herself.
She turned the radio on and searched for music, but all she could find was a country and western station. Good old boys crying in their beer over the women who left them for other good old boys, never for someone else’s wife or girlfriend. She switched it off and listened instead to the purr of the engine.
The sun was sinking behind her in the hazy sky, but the land was still suffused with warmth. And dust. It was probably time to put the top back up or before long she’d be covered in it. There was a terrifying beauty to the desert. All around her, Joshua trees and cacti spread their prickly arms, like wizards summoning the spirits of the earth.
For a moment she was even sure she’d seen a ghost. Far off in the distance, something was moving, a coiling auger of sand. It was a dust devil, winding its sinuous way across the plain. It moved like a dancer, writhing and undulating. Alice slowed to a stop on the side of the road to watch it, mesmerized by its twisting motion.
The road was empty as far as she could see in either direction and she was alone with the dust devil for several minutes. It was a thing of such strange allure, like a creature from another world. So magical, yet so ephemeral. Even now it was fading, growing thinner. Soon it was nothing but a wisp and then, just like that, it was gone. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she wiped them away, feeling privileged to have seen it.
She started the engine again and adjusted her sunglasses, wondering if she could push on for another couple of hours before looking for a motel. She liked the idea of driving beneath the stars. And if she couldn’t find anywhere to stay, she could just sleep in the car. Before she could turn the car back onto the road, a cloud of dust billowed across the highway. And when it had cleared, Alice gasped. The girl was standing there.
At first Alice thought she must be imagining it. All she could do was sit and stare, waiting for the vision to fade. But if the girl was a hallucination, she was a very convincing one. She made her way toward the car, her lithe body swaying gracefully. Then she leaned down on the passenger door, smiling.
“Hello.”
Alice could hardly believe the girl had spoken. But she managed to reply. “Hi.”
For a moment there was nothing but silence between them. Alice stared in disbelief while the girl merely smiled. It was a sly, lopsided smile, as though she knew something Alice didn’t.
“Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she said at last.
Alice shook herself out of her daze with an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, of course! Get in, please. I’m sorry.”
The girl opened the door and Alice drank in the sight of her. She wore cutoffs that showed off her beautiful legs, and a flimsy linen blouse tied at her midriff revealed both her flat stomach and the pleasing swell of her breasts. She had wound her black hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and Alice imagined plunging her hands into it. But it was her eyes that transfixed her most. They were the same shade of blue as the turquoise pendant that nestled between her breasts. It looked like a crescent moon, the points almost touching at the bottom.
“I’m Nina,” she said. Then she pulled the door closed and leaned her head back, gazing up into the sky as though she had just dropped from there. Alice could almost believe she had.
“Alice.” She didn’t know what else to say. It was like being in the presence of royalty.
“Nice to meet you, Alice,” Nina said, smiling sidelong at her. After a while she cleared her throat softly. “Well, Alice, are we going anywhere?”
“Oh! Of course!” Flustered, Alice threw the Mustang in gear and winced as the engine protested the rough handling. She got herself under control again once they were on the road. “So—where are you headed?” It was the most banal question, but the only thing she could think of to say. Not that it mattered. If the girl said she was going to Canada or New York, even China, Alice would be tempted to drive her there.
Nina didn’t answer. She closed her eyes as the wind blew her long hair out behind her. It moved like a raven’s wing. “I saw you before,” she said at last.
“You did? Where?”
She turned to look at Alice, her expression unreadable. Her turquoise eyes gleamed with mischief and delight. “Oh, come now.”
Alice nodded, feeling as if she’d been caught spying. “Okay, yes I did. A couple of times.” Then she laughed. “That truck driver must have really put his foot down for you to get so far ahead of me.”
“I like to go fast,” Nina said, her voice silky and insinuating. She kicked off her shoes and raised her legs, putting her feet up on the dashboard.
Alice felt her skin flush with warmth and desire. She stole a glance at her passenger’s shapely thighs, letting her gaze travel the l
ength of her legs, down to her bare feet. The toenails had been painted a vivid blue that matched her eyes. There was a tiny jeweled ring on the second toe of her right foot and Alice couldn’t help but picture slipping it off with her teeth. Her sex pulsed in response.
Nina still wore a cryptic smile and her eyes seemed to be daring Alice to believe her wildest dreams had come true.
“I like your car,” she said, stroking the leather upholstery. Her hand trailed over the seat until it reached Alice’s shoulder. Then it moved lightly across her arm.
Alice shivered as gooseflesh rose on her skin. Nina continued her exploration, her touch as delicate as a butterfly’s as she stroked Alice’s arm, her shoulder, then down her side. When Nina reached her thigh, Alice couldn’t suppress a little gasp. The teasing fingers danced for a moment on her jeans, then slipped down between Alice’s legs. The car wobbled on the road and Nina laughed, a soft, musical sound. But she didn’t stop. She pressed her hand deep into the warm hollow, pushing the hard denim seam right up against Alice’s sex.
Alice closed her eyes for a moment, then forced them open, forced herself to concentrate on driving. It was impossible to focus with Nina’s hand tormenting her so sweetly. “Please,” she moaned, not wanting her to stop. Ever.
Nina leaned over, her lips tantalizingly close. She smelled of dust and honey. “Alice,” she whispered, “pull over.”
Alice immediately slowed the car and guided it off the road. It crunched to a stop in a rocky patch of scrub between two sprawling Joshua trees. She switched off the engine and closed her eyes, listening to the pounding of her heart in her ears. She was afraid that when she looked again, the girl would be gone, vanished into the sky like the dust devil.
But she didn’t need to see to know that she hadn’t been abandoned. Nina’s fingers were working at the buttons of her shirt.
Alice opened her eyes, taking in the sight of Nina’s face, tribal-scarred by the shadows of the desert trees above them.
