Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 1 Read online

  I pray that she won’t follow me, but conversely I’m not disappointed when I hear the door open and close behind me. Celestine and I have been playing these cat-and-mouse games for years. Of course, she isn’t going to let things lie. Her cruelty has always fascinated me—the way she’s able to take from others with no compunction, the way in which she feeds off the inner lives of fellow performers, giving nothing of herself in return. After leaving the conservatoire I avoided her for so long. I had to, to preserve myself and my self worth. Now, I can feel myself being drawn back toward her, mothlike to her aureole, unable to resist the bright flare of her presence.

  I listen but there’s nothing. I reach the pond at the center of the glasshouse and stop by the low stone wall that forms its edge. The huge lily pads are dappled with moonlight and I can just see the dark umber forms of the Japanese carp as they glide silently through the water. I watch two that seem set on a collision path, veering just enough to slide easily past each other on their way to opposite sides of the pool. Will I veer away from Celestine at this moment or will we collide? A collision has been a long time coming.

  She appears on the other side of the pond and we stand, staring at each other.

  “I don’t believe that you never wonder why I took Suzanne.”

  I stare at her for longer. In the half-light she looks exactly as she did all those years ago. It’s like seeing a ghost. My own past, confronting me. It’s not comfortable.

  “Because you hated me.”

  “No, I never hated you,” she replies quickly. “My god, Genevieve, you thought I hated you? Never that.”

  “Your behavior toward me was hardly benign.” “I wanted you to notice me.”

  “To notice you? You loomed large in everything I did. I was obsessed with you.”

  Celestine’s face clouds with anger.

  “With my voice.”

  “You were my rival from the very first day. You snatched every part I ever wanted.”

  “For the same reason.”

  “To get my attention? You had it, Celestine.”

  “My voice had it. But you never saw me, the person to whom the voice was attached.”

  “We were both ambitious.”

  “We could have stayed friends.”

  My bark of laughter echoes against the glass.

  “You and I? Never. In fact, Celestine, have you ever had a real friend?”

  She ploughs through the pond with no thought of the fish or the lily pads. Water floods over the low wall and splashes my feet. I brace myself—it’s her turn to slap me and her arm is already raised as she bears down on me. But as she steps up out of the water, her hand doesn’t make contact with my face as I expect it to. It snakes around the back of my neck and grabs a handful of my hair. Celestine is six inches shorter than me, but standing on the rim of the pond, her eyes are level with mine. They burn with fury and with passion, and I can’t tear myself away from her gaze.

  “I want you.”

  It’s as simple as that. I don’t even know if it comes from my mouth or hers. I don’t know who initiates the kiss—it doesn’t matter. All I’m aware of is her tongue inside my mouth. My tongue inside her mouth. Wrapping together in a frantic, long-awaited duet. Blood roars in my ears and I feel light-headed. I stagger but she holds me firm. I hope she’ll never release me, that our first kiss will last forever.

  “Damn you! This is what it was all about,” she says.

  Her lips move against my teeth and the kiss endures. She’s right. There’s a decade of hate, love, obsession and regret bound up—and now finding release—in our connection.

  I’ve never kissed Celestine before but her mouth is like a homecoming, a place I might have known in some other previous or parallel existence. I’m not given to believing in past lives or alternate universes, but there’s something different about this kiss. Something particular that’s been missing from other kisses. I can’t even remember Mercy’s mouth to compare it. And I’ve long since forgotten Suzanne’s.

  For god’s sake stop analyzing.

  I let myself go. My conscious mind slips away, bowing to the needs of my body. I become aware of the heat of Celestine’s flesh, pressing against mine through summer linen. I run my hands up and down her back, feeling the rough weave under my fingertips. But I want to feel her skin and yielding flesh.

  I break the kiss and step back. She drops down from the wall.

  “Take off your clothes,” I say.

  “And you.”

  We strip and the moonlight makes our skin pale. We stare at each other’s bodies. There’s no rush now. We’ve established where we’re headed, we both know what’s going to happen. And we both know this is a three-act story. The overture is long forgotten. Act One was played out a decade ago. Now we pause, as Act Two nears its climax.

  Celestine sighs. “You’re identical to the you in my imagination.”

  “You’re better,” I say.

  Our bodies collide. I grasp her by the shoulders and drop my mouth to the peak of one of her heavy breasts. Her breath whispers softly as the areola tightens. How did I not know I wanted this? Her?

  “Come with me,” she says, her torso twisting, pulling her nipple from my mouth.

  I look up to her face as I straighten up, but she’s turned away. She leads me by the hand along a raised path, climbing until we’ve reached a higher level of the glasshouse.

  “Here,” she says.

  On either side of the walkway, velvet beds of dark moss look like black upholstery in the watery light. I push her and she falls willingly onto the puffy surface. I drop to my knees beside her. The moss is cool and damp against my skin and I want to feel it along the length of my body. I lie down next to her, rolling onto my side to face her, aware of a faint scratching and prickling underneath me.

  Celestine cups one of her breasts in her hand, offering it to me, so I suck it back into my mouth. I can’t process the words she murmurs in my ear. Sweet words, nothing words. My world is centered on the feel of her skin beneath my fingers and the taste of it in my mouth. Her flesh is soft and smooth. I let my hand sweep down the curve from her rib cage to her tiny waist and back out with the flare of her hips. She responds with a soft moan, her body pushing itself against my hand. Freeing her nipple from my mouth, I roll her onto her back and straddle her. I gaze down into her face but my own shadow makes it difficult to read her expression.

  “Is this how it was meant to go? What you wanted?” I say.

  “Yes.”

  She rears up and catches my lower lip between her teeth, biting down on it. Pain flares and that’s fine with me. Our breasts brush against one another and she digs firm fingers into my hips. I wrap my arms around her back and grind my hips into hers. She places a palm flat against my clit, her fingers lightly pressing their way between my lips. I spread my thighs wider to make it easier for her to fuck me with her hand. I’m ready for this now. I want it badly. Small thrills are sparking up and down my core, the muscles of my cunt searching for something to clench around.

  She pushes two fingers up inside me, and I let go of her so I can lean back supported by my arms. This opens me up to her completely and she starts to fuck me hard, ramming into me and pulling out, sweeping her thumb across my clit momentarily, then slapping my cunt before shoving back into me harder than before. I gasp and arch my back.

  The moonlight paints a checkerboard grid on my torso and turns Celestine’s skin to pewter. She uses her free hand to hold me steady and underneath me, I can feel her hips flexing and pushing up. She planes my clit mercilessly with the ball of her thumb, circling it and rubbing it until my movements become frenzied and my breath ragged.

  A climax bubbles up inside me, then bursts, washing through me, hot and cold, sharp and soft, so sweet, intensifying as Celes-tine keeps doing what she’s doing. Sweat breaks out on my skin and my heart thunders in my chest. I collapse onto one side and she wraps me in an embrace, still fucking me, curling her fingers inside to find my G
-spot and drawing out my pleasure until I have to push her away.

  Act Two is over. The curtain falls. And in the interval, as I catch my breath for a moment, I must decide whether this will be a love story or a tragedy.

  FUCKIN’ NICE

  Deb Jannerson

  It all happened because some has-been rapper decided that Tyler Lite and I hate each other.

  Apparently, I was in a blood feud with America’s Most Oscar-Hopeful Sweetheart. I didn’t even know about the lines until the press started calling:

  When I find you in the corner, won’t be fuckin’ nice

  Bitch each other out like Tyler Lite and April Vice.

  God only knows where he gets this stuff. I’ve got to wonder if he just makes a collage out of words in teen magazines, like a chain-letter master. I’d never even met Tyler. As for the obnoxious yet somehow popular hip-hopper, he and I had spoken exactly once before. He had tried to pick me up, and failed. I had to wonder if this was supposed to be revenge.

  My manager said I should have been thankful. Finally, a rumor about me that didn’t involve girls in my bed! Oh, joy!

  I found it both hilarious and sad that the sapphic speculation about me made him so nervous. He wouldn’t let me actually say so, not yet, but I did have girls in my bed, and playing coy about it was starting to get silly. What year was this, 1950? At least he didn’t make me outright lie. After all, sexual ambiguity was good for my tough chick, tomboy-by-Hollywood-standards image.

  All of which made it even weirder that Mr. Middle-Aged Badass was putting us together in his shitty song. If you’re going to make up a feud, shouldn’t you do it between people of similar reputation? Tyler Lite was anything but a tomboy, despite the androgynous first name. She was sweet, quiet, safe. She had the look of a thousand other white women who are popular actors. Perfectly pleasant and bland. Even the tabloids couldn’t seem to spin any scandalous stories about Tyler, or maybe they just couldn’t be bothered.

  Okay, I wasn’t exactly a fan, but it’s not like I had anything against Tyler. Nothing that would make me likely to “bitch her out” or whatever. That sexist pig.

  Of course, now Tyler and I would have to meet. At least, we’d have to “meet,” as in, smile and say hi and act nice for a minute with cameras around. If either of us let concern cross our faces, the press would catch it and make this bullshit even bigger. We had to be perfect, unflappable young stars, the pop-rocker and the actor ingénue, just tickled that this silly old guy thought we didn’t get along.

  “April! Over here!”

  I hooked my thumbs into my ironic suspenders and gave a small, untroubled smile at the ring of cameras as I stepped out of the limo. I had no idea which of the paparazzo was screaming at me and, ultimately, it didn’t matter. I was to give them all the fake, 50 percent smile, the one that didn’t crease my face in any way supposedly unseemly to the media. I sure hoped they appreciated it, because that teeth-bleaching treatment the week before had been agony. I tried to ignore what the camera folk were yelling, but I’ve never been good at that.

  “April! Is it true you’re dating Jack McGruff?” What? Gross.

  “Ms. Vice! Is your song, ‘Torn Apart,’ about a girl?” The word is “woman,” thanks.

  “April Vice, are you gonna fight with Tyler?” Theeeeere it is.

  I glanced around, nonchalant, until my eyes landed on Tyler Lite. With perfect posture, she stood in a gauzy lavender dress, silver heels, and that slightly curled hair that no one has naturally. She was smiling at me demurely, pretending to make conversation with another starlet but no doubt waiting for our big media moment. I’m sure her manager had prepped her well. Tonight’s awards show was only for musicians, and she’s more into acting these days, so I might even have been the reason she was there.

  Showtime. “Tyler!” I squealed, stepping toward her slowly. I noticed flashbulbs pointed at my boots and groaned inwardly. I already knew I’d be accused of dressing “inappropriately” in the press, even though my footwear was probably just as expensive as everyone else’s. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally!”

  She held out her hand like a princess. “It sure is! I’m a big fan.” We shook limply and grinned at each other—not at the cameras, never at the cameras. Mission accomplished. Now I could focus on the important stuff, like how good my odds were for Best New Artist.

  I snuck into the posh bathroom just before showtime. I was supposedly touching up my dark makeup, but actually I just needed a break from all the hangers-on and attitude. You’ve never seen such a fancy lavatory, I promise. Apart from the section of the room taken by stalls, the walls were covered in those super-Hollywood mirrors with the circular lights all around them. An enormous wraparound couch spanned the perimeter beneath them, like a big version of those seats in picture windows. I stared into one of the lit-up mirrors, feeling like Marlene Dietrich.

  “Good work out there.” I started, and in the mirror, my eyes met Tyler Lite’s. She had just stepped in and was smirking at my reflection from inside the door.

  “Yeah.” I chuckled and rolled my eyes. She had flustered me, bursting in when I probably looked like I was checking myself out, but I played it cool. “I think we put that feud rumor to rest.”

  “All in a day’s work.” Tyler’s eyes went to the ground, giving me a good view of her super-shiny eye shadow. “I wasn’t kidding, though. About being a fan. I love your music. It’s so… empowering.”

  “Oh.” I knew she was probably just being polite, but I felt awkward. “Thanks. You were great in Ambivalent Sunrise.” I totally hadn’t seen it. Who’s the actor now? Everyone said Tyler had done well, and I didn’t doubt it, but flicks about straight people being sad are not my thing.

  Tyler’s face turned pink. She actually blushed. It was so precious that I should have wanted to puke, but…she just seemed so earnest. Most performers look less perfect in person, but that wasn’t quite true for Tyler. She looked more real but, somehow, just as flawless and alluring.

  I couldn’t help it; I was charmed. Her shyness reminded me of someone I had gone to high school with before dropping out to do music full-time. Not to put too fine a point on it, let’s just say she was a cheerleader and it didn’t end well for me. If you’ve listened to my album, you can probably figure out the rest.

  “Can I ask you something?” Tyler breathed, still not meeting my eyes.

  I started to get nervous. “My boobs aren’t fake,” I joked. Not my strongest moment, but whatever.

  Tyler’s eyes came back to me. Actually, they went right to my chest, and then darted away again. I felt a tingling in my finger tips. Suddenly, I had some idea of where this was going. “Is it true?” Tyler whispered, stepping toward me. “That you’re… That you like—”

  “Women?” I stepped closer and, with some difficulty, made eye contact. Tyler looked scared but determined.

  “Yeah.”

  I put my hands in my pockets and shrugged, taking another step. “Some of them. Why?” I smiled coquettishly. “Got someone in mind?”

  Tyler surprised me by making the first move. She put an arm around my shoulder and kissed me hard. I backed her up against the wall and opened my mouth to her, playing with her just-brushed, minty tongue. She made a soft, yearning sound against my lips, and I felt it like a lightning bolt to the cunt.

  “Fuck,” I moaned as our mouths got wetter. Tyler wrapped both arms around me tight, pulling my body flush against hers. I could feel her nipples through her dress. Who knew America’s Sweetheart goes braless? She licked my neck from collarbone to ear, and I shivered.

  When she tried to put a leg around me, though, it snapped back down almost immediately. Tyler’s cute little dress had not been made for situations like this. Well, the good thing about clothes is that they come off. I pulled my head back and nodded toward the nearest, and roomiest, stall, raising an eyebrow.

  “What are we, at prom?” She rolled her eyes, looking, just for a minute, like the prissy cliché I had im
agined. “Let’s get out of here.”

  That, I didn’t expect. “You’d leave the show? It’s only just starting. What about the photo ops?”

  “Screw it.” Tyler shrugged. Her attitude was a nice surprise; then again, she wasn’t the one up for awards. But I could hardly say that without sounding like an epic tool, not to mention a hypocrite.

  “Wait.” I fished my felt-tip eyeliner out of my bag and yanked a paper towel out of the dispenser. Leaning the sheet against the wall, I scrawled OUT OF ORDER. I wouldn’t be able to use the eyeliner again, but talk about small sacrifices. I pulled open the bathroom door, makeshift sign in hand, then realized I had no way to stick it to the outside.

  “I got you.” Snapping open her ridiculous clutch, Tyler pulled out an intensely sparkly pink vial. She unscrewed the top, which turned out to be a sponge tip to a lip gloss, marked the back of my towel in a neat line, and patted it onto the door almost daintily.

  I waited for it to fall down, but apparently her lip goo was sticky enough to make this work. “I’m impressed,” I admitted, swinging the door closed again to seal us inside. “But you’re not wearing that, are you?” I ran a finger over my mouth, which was thankfully adhesive-free.

  “Nah.” She smacked her own lips at me and grinned. “This is a long-wear lipstick night.”

  I lunged toward her again.

  We tumbled down onto the wraparound couch, which was even softer than it had looked. Tyler sank into the red velvet, looking right at home as I straddled her and undid her zipper. She wriggled her top half out of the dress, revealing perfect, medium-sized breasts with the most erect nipples I had seen this side of winter. I ran my face down her smooth skin, working my mouth over one of Tyler’s nipples while I played with the other with my fingers. I used my lips and tongue while my hand circled and lightly pinched.

  “April,” she sighed, tugging at my suspenders and tight black jeans. Her hands danced around and found my fly. As she pushed me onto my back on the velvet, Tyler leaned into my ear. Her breath tickled as she huskily whispered, “I’ve been fucking myself to your picture for months.”