Best Lesbian Erotica 2013 (2 page)

 

 

 

 

 

(You've been on my mind since last month when we spoke briefly at that carnival. At the time you had a small child asleep on your shoulder and I introduced myself while that worn calliope recording was crackling away in the background—told you I was sure we both lived here on the second floor at 151 Lincoln, me in Number 9. You smiled, said we'd passed each other on the stairs a few times, that you were in Number 7. That's when I saw it…

I caught that split second when your shiny, green eyes swept from my lips to my flat chest, brushed down over my thighs, then flicked back to my face. That glance was like hearing the first few words of a tantalizing secret—whispered once, then locked away—and was so exciting that ever since then I've
fantasized about feeling your amazing body surrender to my hungry hands and mouth. I think about you and get this long, slow pulse in my temples. It slides down my spine like a warm tongue, then moves to my belly and continues to grow until desire collides with opportunity—and my impatient fingers carry out an orgasmic exorcism.)

(I saw you yesterday from my kitchen window, chatting with neighbors down in the leafy courtyard. You looked pretty in that sky-blue satin blouse and denim skirt. I noticed the careful way you folded your washing as you talked, meeting corners neatly together, flicking and smoothing everything down with your slender, pointy fingers. I also noticed how the lean tendons in your arms flexed when you gathered that overflowing cane basket against your streamlined body.)

(I also saw you last Saturday afternoon, when I took a shortcut home through Brayford Park after work. You were sitting on a wooden bench watching your son play, and I must confess to resting awhile in the shade of a nearby fig tree. After a few minutes you wandered down to join him. I saw your cheeks color and your eyes flash when you ran fast and low to the ground. You guys were having so much fun tumbling and rolling about together, in fact, just hearing all the squealing and laughter made me feel happy. By the time the chasing games were over and you headed home, there were a few wild, red curls fused to your damp forehead.

I want to play too, Ella. I want to take you by the wrists, swing you around and around and watch your aerodynamic body skim and soar. I want to see your skin blush pink as your excitement grows. I want to make you squeal.

After you'd disappeared from view I sat on the same park bench and imagined you next to me, radiating your own brand of pure sunburst energy, your smooth, bare legs
so
wide apart…
so
open to experiment. I swear I felt the warmth of your afterglow.)

(I could drive you to the coast; take you up to my favorite lookout. We could hold hands and lean way out above the windy cliff face; breathe in the salt air while the sea breaks over the pebbled beach way below. If you wanted to, you could follow me along the overgrown track to this special place I know—a secluded, flat-roofed Spanish bungalow with lime-washed walls and two metal sunrays sitting like eyebrows over the small front windows.

In my favorite fantasy I lock the door behind us, tenderly kiss your mouth and begin to slowly undress you. After undoing the tiny buttons on your blue satin blouse, I slip my palms beneath the fabric and slide it off your strong shoulders. I gently bite your neck, stroke the rippling curve of your ribs, draw out your dark nipples and suck four of your fingers into my mouth. Eventually, I drag your skirt and panties to the floor.

After leading you to the low bed, I ease you down onto fresh cotton sheets, and use my tongue to wash your salty body. I shuck your oyster and hold your pearl between my lips until I hear you growl with pleasure, then turn my hand into a snake and wriggle inside you 'til the veins in your long neck protrude and your eyes roll back. Frantic by now, I scissor my legs and slide back and forth against your heat until we both arch and jerk and scream with ecstasy.

We fall asleep like that, with our warm, pivoted sex pressed together, our glistening fur tangled into one perfectly woven female fabric.)

(Tonight, after you've retreated to the privacy of your bedroom, know that I'll be nearby in Number 9 imagining those tapered fingers drawing circles between your wet thighs as you consider my invitation. And if my hunch is right and you find my invitation appealing, please withdraw those sweet-tasting fingers and write me your reply. Then, if you should find sleep eludes you, just take that note and tiptoe along our dim, quiet corridor and push it underneath my door—straight into my eager, wet fingers.)

 

 

 

 

 

I dabbed the blood from his left shoulder blade, checked for gaps and light spots, then started switching out the three point for a single. “Gonna start the fines now. You doing all right, Dylan?”

“Uh-huh, I'm good.”

I cast a quick look around. Larry was in his groove, buzzing away on a walk-in I hadn't seen before. The high school kid was somewhere up front, rearranging the flash, cleaning up or just plain goofing off. I leaned a little closer. “Sweetie, you look like you lost more weight. Sure you're okay?”

Dylan shifted his head just enough for me to glimpse the curve of an eye. He swallowed. “I'm okay.” A slight pull came to the corner of his mouth. “They say I've still got some sand in the glass, so don't you worry!” I kissed the gold and yellow koi that perpetually swam down his other shoulder, then turned back to my gun. “Are you hitting on me again?”

“Yea, right! You just keep dreaming, Bucko!”

“Tell me something, CJ? Have you joined the club yet?”

Everyone called me CJ—even the sign out front said so, leaving many to approach the door before realizing the nature of my little business. Some would wander in then later come back as customers. The first months in my two-story house and business had been slow, but word soon got around. Things picked up and I hired Larry, who, good in his own right, brought even more business. I was one of only a few female ink-slingers in the state who ran her own shop. Some said I was the best. That always struck me as kind of funny, since I thought I was just meticulous—perhaps obsessively so.

“Which club is that? You're gonna have to be a little more specific.”

“The ‘More Than One Tat' club,” Dylan said with a smile.

“The one I have is just fine.”

“Oh, come on! What kind of inker only has one tattoo?”

“My kind,” I answered. “I'm the artist, not the canvas.” I loaded the needle and buzzed off the excess.

“Uh-huh. So, when are you gonna let me see it?”

“Fuck you,” I said, pushing him forward a little. “How many times you gonna ask me that? Now get comfy, and quit moving.” He snickered. I started on the whiskers of his second koi—this one to be a wealth of dazzling blues to offset the other. I wondered if, perhaps, he were entrusting them to carry him downstream—that part of him they were able to move—to a pond somewhere beyond the fear that had become his life.

Joey, the high school kid on work release, popped his head in. “CJ? There's someone out front who wants a tat. He's asking for you.”

“Did you tell him I'm booked solid for two months?”

“Yea, but he seems kinda particular about it.”

I blinked a few times. “How you doing, Dylan? Can you hang?”

“I'm good either way.”

“I'll be out in ten minutes.” Joey moved off and I went back to the design on Dylan's shoulder, soon losing myself in the fine lines of the scales. Pause, dab, reload and resume—the gentle curves, one after another, upon another, over and over. During one such pause, I heard Dylan whisper back to me.

“Have you talked to Vi?”

My world shifted, insides trembling upon that solitary word.

Vi…

Violet.

 

“Very,” she said in a whisper. Knowing what that meant, I cut Larry loose, promising to pay him for the extra hour and a half. “Damn,” he whispered, shaking his head and smiling as he walked past me. I locked the door and flipped the sign to CLOSED. She waited patiently as I made a copy of her drawing—a beautiful
V
in Edwardian script with some sort of flower on either side.

“Could you bring a little vine near the sides of the
V,
kind of curling around a little, with a violet on each end? Sorry I didn‘t draw mine very well.”

“That's okay. Well, let's see what I can find.” I pulled up
some good pictures on my laptop. She watched as I worked it up on paper. “You know, I could fill in the
V
in light blue, and graduate the color through different shades of violet as I go down, finishing in the deepest?” I sketched it out in colored pastel pencils, blended some of them and showed her.

“I can sit. I mean, you know
—
kinda straddle the chair.”

I sensed her green eyes following me to the copy machine, her sweet perfume teasing my senses.
Shake it off, CJ
, I told myself.
She's not like that, and besides, she's a customer. She's putting her trust in you, so knock it off
. I went back with the working stencil and found her sitting in just her little top, panties and socks, jeans folded on the corner chair, sneakers beneath. I pulled my eyes away long enough to glance at the release and her driver's license.

“Can you go lower?” I fought against the trembling of my fingertips and moved it down, then down again. She opened her legs slightly and I lowered it farther, the bottom tip of the
V
sitting just at the crack of her buttocks. “There,” she whispered. “Right there. Is that okay, or is it too low?”

“I'm going to start the other side now, then fill in the colors on the flowers and tendrils. We'll do the
V
last, okay?”