Andrea Dale - Best Lesbian Erotica 2013

We went up and I flipped the switch on the coffee machine. “Let’s take a peek.”

Violet unbuttoned her jeans and turned toward the countertop, placing both hands upon it. Looking over at me, she smiled faintly and raised one of her wonderfully arched eyebrows. I walked to her and, standing behind, eased the zipper down. Her jeans followed and, with the tips of my fingers, I gently pulled back and lowered her panties. Her flowers, vines and initial, kept moist with a thin layer of Tattoo Goo and a patch of plastic wrap, slowly revealed itself.

“Beautiful,” I whispered in her ear. She turned around and, cupping my face in her hands, brought her lips to mine. Long and slow we kissed, and I soon forgot what it was to breathe.

“Come back tonight,” I whispered.

She did.

I have known heat, and the few women I’ve been with have brought me to understand hunger. But like so many things about her, Violet’s lips were different. There was yearning, but also softness and exhilaration, fear and freedom. Fingers touched necks and shoulders, as my kisses moved from her lips to the underside of her chin. One of her hands set gently upon my breast. Her fingernail traced around my nipple, then left it to strain against my T-shirt as she drew me close. Her other hand ran through my hair as I began nibbling the soft skin beneath her ear. She moaned and held me against her even tighter. Struggling through stolen breaths, we soon found our way to the bed.

Since I’m usually the aggressive one, I was surprised to find myself on my back. She crawled atop and kissed me, lightly at first, then with more passion. More urgency. Violet’s tongue danced with my own as I felt her hands moving to the bottom of my T-shirt. She straddled me and, with a smile, pulled it up. As soon as my head came into view, she twisted it around my arms and held them lightly in place. Her eyes drank in my little breasts.

She kissed me once, long and deep, then quickly set upon one of my nipples. Her tongue played over it softly, sending little shivers racing down my spine. After flicking it hard a few times, she pulled it gently upward with her teeth. Without realizing, I was arching my back to keep her mouth on me. I ached to reach out and hold her head exactly where it was, but as soon as she felt movement, her grip on my shirt tightened. Violet shifted from one breast to the other, sweetly tormenting that nipple as well. With the pulsation moving outward from my core, I ground my hips against her stomach.

She released her grip, took off her top and bra, then leaned forward to feed me one of her breasts. Warm and soft in my hands, I played upon her nipples in much the way she had mine. Within moments, she was kissing my forehead and reaching down to rub a hand between my jean-clad legs. The wetness quickly began to move outward.

Moments later, Violet turned herself around and lowered her warm and hairless flesh within easy reach. She planted soft kisses all around my slit, licked the wetness she found there and began to flick at my bud with her tongue.

I pulled her hips slightly downward until her clit pressed against my ready and wanting mouth. We delved into each other with fingers and tongues, the trembling of hips and spasms of pressed bellies telegraphing every new sensation.

Fingers deep within each other, we licked, kissed and nibbled. Time, memories, worry—everything beyond the softness of her flesh seemed to dissolve and float away into the dim light of the room.

I urged Violet onto her back and positioned our legs. We moved and pressed against each other, quickly finding a rhythm to match the flow of desire that rose from within. With her head thrown back, she seized my hips and began to press her clit hard against my own. Several quick gasps escaped her and she pulled me in tightly. All of our lips merged. My orgasm raced to its bursting point just as a long moan escaped her. As she shuddered and shook with release, her voice shifted into a scream muffled against my neck. The grinding became gentle movement, then stillness. I pulled the sheets over us, kisses taking in the sweet sheen from each other’s necks and faces.

A few nights later, we fell into each other again. And again. Daylight became something that kept us from the moon, from our true selves, though we soon conquered that as well. Weeks became three months. Sometimes she stopped in the parlor, dropping off hoagies and soup while I worked on Dylan’s first koi. The semicircles of its many scales became, in my wandering mind, the curves of her body and the arc of her smile. Larry had noticed the change within my face, smiled and said nothing. Dylan picked up on it as well. “She’s good for you,” he whispered.

Back in the present, I turned off the television, splashed water on my face, then went and sat on the edge of the bed. The full-length antique mirror in the corner glanced back at me. It had watched us always, including the night I found myself on the brink of weeping from the melding of our souls. Her breath had fallen softly upon my neck as I held her, close as a person could without disappearing.

“I love you, Carmen.”

I took the few steps toward the mirror and unbuttoned my jeans. Slowly easing down my panties, it came into view. Open and unfolded, it was an exact copy of hers, repositioned so the tendril led to the very top of my folding flesh. I moved a fingertip within myself then brought it higher. The hues of the flower, already quite vivid from daily care, glistened.

I drew a breath as the tears rose up. No longer afraid, I reached for my phone.

I only went down to the bar to watch the show. I was feeling pretty chilled, rolling up there just before I expected the act to come onstage. One of the other regular MCs, Tatiana, a big brash doll of a girl in a ripped, punk T-shirt, was sitting at a table in front of the DJ booth with her manly/womanly girlfriend and cheeky-chappie boyfriend. The entwined group was like an ad for the genderfuck love-in that is our little club.

But when I asked, “Are you compering tonight?” Tatiana said, “No, I think you are.”

I reeled away, wondering if I’d got it wrong… spinning right into the arms of the club promoter, Reno. She held me in a comforting bear hug as she asked, “You wanna host tonight?”

“I just came down to hear the band,” I said.

“The band canceled, Tatiana’s feeling vulnerable, Freddy wants to do tech… I can go on, but I’d love it if you’d do it.”

“Oh, okay.” I regrouped. “So who’s on?”

“An amazing burlesque duo who are over here from Paris. They’re backstage now. Go meet them and see how they want to be introduced and we’ll go on in fifteen.”

“You want me to go backstage and talk to the strippers while they get changed?”

“Yes, why not?”

“Why not indeed?” I laughed, shaking my head at my good fortune.

“Just don’t call them ‘strippers.’”

“I should probably tell you I haven’t got a pen and paper, I’m not dressed to go onstage and I’m mildly stoned. Oh, and I haven’t put wax in my hair.” I ran a few fingers through my gray quiff; it was fluffy instead of stiff.

“Go ask Siggy for what you need,” she said, gesturing toward the DJ booth. “Wait! Lemme see what you’re wearing.”

I unzipped my leather jacket to reveal a hoodie and a well-worn T-shirt from the London Lesbian and Gay Film Festival with a bent signpost on the front. I didn’t know what year it was from, but it wasn’t recent.

“You’ll do. Call it ‘chilled vintage.’” She looked me in the eye. “How stoned are you?”