Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 1
Has Been Released!
That's right, this book is available right now! You can find it at your brick and mortar book store, as well as on Amazon and other online booksellers--like Powells and Barnes and Noble, etc.
We kicked off the release with a reading at the famous KGB Bar in New York City on December 15 at Kathleen Warnock's reading series, Drunken! Careening! Writers! She's been hosting the Best Lesbian Erotica reading every December for the past twelve years and I've had the privilege of reading there many times, but this was the first time I attended as the editor of the iconic book!
Two of the authors read their stories, Annabeth Leong and Megan McFerren, Kathleen read an excerpt from her new work in process, a play about lesbian erotica(!) and I followed up with a paragraph from each of the stories not read. I'm going to post that here for you, with the additions of Megan's and Annabeth's stories because I think you'll like it. Anyway, it will give you a taste of what you'll find in the book--although kind of a weird one due to the way it's arranged.
These paragraphs are in the order of the table of contents. The first is the first paragraph in story #1 the 2nd is the 2nd paragraph in story #2, the third is paragraph #3 in the 3rd story, etc. Fun, right? And fun to read, too!
I push the girl back roughly until she's pinned against the ancient stonemasonry. I've got one forearm across her chest. She can't move, but neither does she want to. We're deep in the shadows of a secluded archway, but even out in the open piazza, she willingly licked ice cream from my fingers, with a tongue that held the promise of other, sweeter explorations.
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
I can't trust myself either. Her text comes through after ten, but my phone is turned up loud and the ping gets me out of bed. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't waiting for it. Even while I think about how I'm not going to put up with this forever, I'm finding her favorite skirt and buttoning it on, stuffing my bag with lube and toys she likes, crumpling up my pride and shoving it into a corner of my mind well hidden by my lust and our history.
A fender bender in rush hour traffic had brought us together. I was fuming. I had the right of way. I was on my way home after a long day. All I wanted was a glass of wine and some mindless reality TV to make me forget the mountains of papers threatening to bury me at the office. Instead I was stuck on the side of the road. My tire flat, the driver's side rear door sunken in about a foot, and a man in his eighties, who drove a tank disguised as a Buick, sitting across from me, looking sad and apologetic. The bumper of his car had only a minor dent. Luckily, we were both traveling solo and neither one of us was injured.
"Rina is an unusual name. Is it short for anything?" We were seated at one of our tiny tables during a quiet spell. Papa was outside the shop, smoking and joking with the other business owners on our street. Mama was upstairs in bed with a migraine.
She kissed me again, gently, sweetly. "You're my best friend, and I bet if we had sex, it would be amazing. I'm pretty sure I'm bi for you, but the rest of the time, not so much, and you know--I kind of like the wanting part best."
Once indoors, she wordlessly pulled the neck of her shirt aside just far enough to show me the shrapnel studding her upper arm and the musket ball hole in her shoulder. I winced, remembering too many ailing soldiers i the camps. The wounds still bled sluggishly and her breathing was faster than it should be. To my dismay, there was no matching injury on her back.
Georgia patted the California king bed. "Sit," she said, and Catherine sat obediently, stretching out along the mattress, letting her robe fall temptingly askew. She watched Georgia from teh corner of one eye, as she rifled through her suitcase, clearly looking for something in particular. She sat it on the bed, and Catherine cocked a brow--
"Trudy, Trudy, look at you in your power suit and heels. What happened to you?"
Soccer practice had always meant a few things to me: the hard crack of cleat kicking ball; the robin's egg blue of the sky and the smell of grass; sweat trickling down my shirt and the hard breathing of girls around me while a coach lectured or cajoled or guided us. Walking home in autumn twilights with sore calves and blood still flowing with adrenalin. It didn't mean stealing glances across the field. Team romances were for summer leagues, not Division I athletes with their eye on NCAA tournaments.
"There was no displeasure, madam."
"I'm the boss tonight. Technically, the assistant manager." Which didn't guarantee that I'd get away with it. Audrey could be bribed, but there were six other waitresses, already intensely interested in what I was up to. Tough. It wouldn't be easy to replace an assistant manager who also did the accounting. Not this late in the season. "And as the boss, I happen to know that the duck in beach plum-Cabernet sauce is especially good tonight. I'll go for the oysters, but duck instead of bouillabaisse." Raf already knew that I'm far from the submissive type, but the emphasis on choosing my own meal wouldn't hurt.
It's a brash song, every note woven through with sex, with the glitter and sweat of the thousand strip clubs where it's played since it hit the radio a decade ago. Stella, though, as she throws the lyrics over the crowded bar, has made it into a command: you will listen to her. And you will want her--not because she's shimmying as she sings, and not becuase your mouth has gone dry as you follow her eyes as they slide down to her swaying cleavage for a second before she turns them, glowing, back on the crowd, but because she's telling you that yeah, tonight she wants you to want her. And you do. You want Stella right now, want that voice in your cunt, want its slickness in yours, rich sound fucking you, filling you.
Odile's lips parted slightly and she put a hand lightly to her throat. Smiling, pulling her leather gloves back on, Brandy turned towards the car door.
At her station, Anna is passing the time by synchronizing her wrist watch with the clock on her phone. She does those kinds of things. A keeper of times. Her ticket says 9:46. Close enough.
Midway through the show, my Lady reached over and used her fingers to widen the slit on the side of my gown. She exposed my upper thigh, the lacy top of my stockings. My cheeks reddened at the thought of the man on my left seeing what she had done, but I didn't dare complain. I bit my lip and looked toward the front of the room. She had been taking notes on each item, but she moved the pen and pressed the tip against my thigh. The first letter was large and made of two smooth curves that ended with an upward tick. It was followed by a curvy, upright.
The third time, I'm bleeding. Another safe house, in South London this time, and we have done something necessary but incredibly illegal. Our country would disavow us if we were caught, and the memory of what I've done is carefully tucked away in the place in my mind where I put these things.
She shrugs lightly. "I was, for the first year. But it pushed me to get myself together, and I'd be lying to myself if I pretended like I'm not grateful to you. You were the little voice in my ear."
Here's the Table of Contents. You can use it as your cheat sheet:
Act Two by Tamsin Flowers
Fuckin' Nice by Deb Jannerson
The Last Time by Annabeth Leong
You Have the Right to Remain Naked by Samantha Luce
Mother Tongue by Camille Duvall
Pledge Night by Radclyffe
Coyote Girl by Evey Brett
Spa Day by Taylor C. Dunne
Revenant by Vanessa de Sade
Off Season by Valerie Alexander
Taming May by Megan McFerren
Crème Brûlée by Sacchi Green
Bush Garden by J. Belle Lamb
A Cooking Egg by Roxy Katt
Two Women Having Sex by Elna Holst
Ink and Canvas by Geonn Cannon
Covert Affairs by V. Florian
A Sense of Coming Home by P. A. Nox
You need a copy of this book, not to mention it makes a great Christmas or Hanukkah gift--just sayin'...
Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 1