Made to Beg

November 9th, 2017

Every day, I am to make her cum with my mouth. She expects to wake with her thighs spread and her nether regions being worshiped by my tongue. If the room isn’t awash with the sounds of oral, she will be most displeased.

We repeat this routine in reverse every night, and sometimes she’ll call me on her break at work. I’ll rush to her office, kneel beneath her desk, slip her skirt up her creamy thighs and pull the fabric of her panties to her side. I’ll push her buttons while her fingers grace her keyboard. She sends a memo, answers a call. I kiss the inside of her thighs, nuzzle her clit with my nose and drag my tongue along the inside of her labia.

At home. At work. In the back of a cab. This is what she expects. This is what she allows.

Tonight is no different. She lets me lick her clit. I cannot dance my tongue across her nipples or kiss her neck, but I can delve between her folds and smell her natural aroma. I can grasp her hips and roll her labia between my fingers, but I cannot stroke her hair or face. I bury my face between her legs and bury any wistful thinking about the rest of her body.

But it’s certainly not a bad job. Her taste, as I run the tip of my tongue on either side of her clit, somehow matches her personality. It’s like her soul has become tangible, and I feel more connected to her when I’m tonguing her hole.

I know to start with flat, broad strokes and when to dart my tongue inside her. Her moans are familiar music to my ears, encouraging me to suck her clit and nibble on her lower lips. I recognize the tremor in her thighs — thick from working out more than I would ever do — just before she orgasms, and revel in the pressure on my head when she clamps down, her body tense before the final release.

I breathe in her scent, slow my ministrations and remain silently poised until her legs release their grip on my head. Only then do I come up for air, remembering that I have nearly forgotten to breathe.

To an observer, we might be calling it a night at that point. The pussy worship is done, but the night is still young.

It’s then that my lady turns from a demanding diva — okay, never quite that — into the passionate giver the most people would never suspect.

She gazes deeply into my eyes while penetrating me with her fingers. Like magic, she’s working my G-spot with her thumb on my clit. I can never quite tell what the difference is between someone who is good at this and someone who’s not, but is the best of the best, making me sigh with pleasure and lift my hips closer to her. She’s like a goddess, showing me glimpses of Heaven. She knows how to keep my on that edge longer than should be humanly possible before stroking me to orgasm. My body shudders; waves of ecstasy wash over me.

You might think we would be done, but we’re not.

This woman, this beautiful and capable woman, knows what to do next. She secures her favorite harness around her waist and thighs, carefully chooses a bright silicone dildo for the night’s activities and puts it in place before returning to her place beside me. Lightning quick, her hands are in my hair, tugging and pulling me closer to her. Her tongue invades my mouth as if she owns it. If we’re honest, she really does.

Her kisses are ferocious, the type that take your breath away and leaves your head spinning. But isn’t my head always spinning with her? She’s never been one for long makeout sessions, though. This isn’t the position she wants me in, so she breaks our kiss.

Toned arms flex as she grabs me by the hips and turns my body away from her. On hands and knees, I know exactly what’s coming for me. She coaxes that dildo, slick with lube, between my lips. With one hand wrapped around the base, she rubs it against my clit, which is already swollen with desire. I try to press my body back against her, but her free hand slaps my ass. It’s always her pace, her plot.

I never really mind, of course. I’m moving my hips to grind against the slippery dildo, and my own juices have added to the mess. If I were controlling the pace, I would be fucking myself senseless without a second thought to prolonging orgasm. I’m a greedy slut when it comes down right to it, and she knows my every weakness.

It may feel like forever, but it’s just a few minutes of teasing. She likes seeing me come undone just as much as I love losing myself. She’s the darkness to my light or something cheesy like that. Luckily, I don’t really have long to think about it. Instead, I’m nearly howling when she slams that cock into my pussy. As greedy as I may be, it’s always a shock to have a toy rammed into your cunt without any heads up.

But it’s always a thrill to be filled and stretched, to be taken and to know your value directly corresponds to how well you take it. I always take it like a champ, and she likes that about me. I might worship her pussy, but she respects the lengths I’m willing to go to to please her and how much I respond to negative stimulation.

That’s why she grasps the hair at the back of my head and yanks it back. My scalp tingles and a shiver runs down my spine. She’s fucking me at a steady rhythm now, fast but shallow. My nipples are painfully erect, but she can’t see that from her vantage point. If my hair weren’t in her hand, I would lower my body to sway my breasts against the bed beneath me, but I cannot.

I’m at her whim, so when she picks up her pace and sinks the nails of one hand into my hip for better purchase, all I can do is gasp. It’s not unwanted, though. Any attention she lavishes on me is welcomed. I cannot believe that this woman is with me, marking my body with her own, working so feverishly to bring me to orgasm and so generous with her cunt. I don’t know how I get so lucky.

And I continue to get lucky. Her thrusting isn’t effortless. Sweat causes the backs of my thighs to stick to the front of hers. She pushes her knees further under mine, pulling my hair so that I am nearly upright in her lap. Instead of in-and-out, she moves her hips in circles, blissfully stroking my G-spot.

She’s leaning so hard against my back that I rest my head on the headboard. My cheek squishes against the cool wood. My mouth gapes open awkwardly; a bit of saliva drips out. I don’t care, either way. If I did, I would care even less because she tells me to rub my clit. This is the sign that she wants me to orgasm — and soon.

I reach my hand beneath my legs and work my clit as if my life depends on it. Sometimes that feels true when we’re in the throes of passion. Nothing can be more important than fucking this woman or letting her fuck me. How could it?

I block out the rest of the world, focusing on the way my fingers feel on my clit. I try to match the pace of her cock deep inside me. We find our perfect rhythm. Yin and yang, right?


Could she sound any more perfect?

And I do. I furiously rub my clit until my muscles are spasming. She listens to my body’s response and pulls the dildo free of my pussy after milking my G-spot to a squirting orgasm. I ejaculate onto her thighs, my legs, the bed beneath me. My body has never felt so much pleasure. I moan, jerk my hips, and throw my head back. I’m not sure I’m even still human. Something, not primal but more natural, takes over. I’m more fully myself and experiencing such clarity that the world seems full of limitless possibilities.

As soon as my orgasm subsides, my muscles go slack. I sag against her body and the bed. I try to calm my ragged breathing, but I’m not quite sure that I’ll ever be able to get enough air. Still, there’s a stupid grin on my face. It never gets old, the way she fucks me, the way my orgasms feel. She sits patiently as we both wait for my heartbeat and breathing to return to normal. She lightly caresses my arms, and I feel grounded.

I smell our sex. My arousal. Hers. By this time, I am practically begging to kneel between her legs. I may be covered in sweat and fighting exhaustion, but still I do her bidding.

It might seem like prison from an outsider’s perspective, but we both know this is my home. It’s where I belong.



September 25th, 2015

I guess I didn’t know what I expected when I kiss her for the first time. Her lips were soft, breath warm on my own mouth. But that wasn’t any different from any of them men I’d kissed before; although, I wouldn’t complain about the lack of stubble. But what was really different was the taste. Her lipstick had just a hint of sweetness mixed with the waxy base. It was what I imagined kissing my own self would be like, and I liked it.

Still, she felt so much more than me. While I had felt like a new woman when I’d walked out of the house in my dress, a bright blue-with-polka-dots pinup number, the flared skirt and petticoat beneath it were like a princess, almost juvenile. In comparison, her curve-hugging dress and bold red lips reminded me of Audrey Hepburn. She was every bit a woman. She owned it.

And I couldn’t have been more aware of it. I was spellbound as she reached to a zipper hidden in the center of her dress, pulling it up to the waistband. The materially suddenly loosened around her hips. Somehow she still looked elegant as fuck.

I felt a twinge of self-consciousness as her svelte leg pushed between mine, her hands pushing aside layers of tulle. It all seemed so silly now. Why had I worn a petticoat, anyway? Her lean frame seemed to dwarf my own, short and with a few extra pounds. I instinctively leaned back as she bent down to kiss me, wedging her thigh firmly between mine.

The grill of the van I found myself leaning on for support dug into my back, and I could feel the metal, cold against the bare of my arms and even through the back of my dress. It wasn’t unwelcome, however. It felt so real. It grounded me.

Nothing about this felt real. I hadn’t had a single drink, yet I couldn’t seem to get my bearings. I had lost complete control. It was all surreal.

It was all amazing. Her lips continued to press against mine, her tongue, as lithe and long as her body, probing my mouth. I did the best I could to respond with as little awkwardness as possible, but I was positive kissing wasn’t my strong suit.

The only part of my body I wasn’t second guessing? My hips. I rocked them forward and back, grinding my vulva against her leg, trying to shift my panties to the side so I could feel her skin, porcelain and softer than her lips, I was sure.

This movement elicited soft moans from my lips, against hers. She laughed. Oh, her laugh! The epitome of femininity. I’d been with many people who were silent and rigid during sex. She managed to be amused, a twinkle in her eye, rigid and soft all at once. I was, for that moment in time, in love like I’d never been before.

In a moment of boldness, I slid my hands up her sides, feeling the satin of her dress beneath my fingertips. My hands reached the swell of her breasts, and I found myself nearly clawing through the dress and the bra she wore beneath it to feel the weight, the softness of her flesh. I slipped one hand beneath her bra, a barely-there lace cup indicating her breasts were as close to perfect as nature allowed, to graze her breasts.

It this was a woman felt like? My god, why hadn’t I been doing this all along?

She chuckled. That laugh again. It was like a drug in my veins. It sent a shiver down my spine as if my nipples could get any tighter.

“So you’re finally brave enough to taste what’s been thrown at you?” she taunted in response to my wandering hands. I blushed. She removed her thigh from between my legs, and my hips gyrated around nothing until I had time to process. We had intertwined so perfectly. My clit nearly ached at the sudden loss. All I wanted was to ride her leg until I came.

Just as quickly, she pulled my hand from her bra. I worried, for a brief moment, that my heavenly experience was over nearly as quickly as it began. But she pulled me toward the side of the van, opening the passenger and crawling over the seat to the back. I knew I was to follow. I clambered behind her, a sight to see in my many layers, I’m sure.

Once inside, she pushed me back against the driver’s side wall. The front door remained open, providing a shaft of light that allowed us to see, but she paid it no mind. Instead, she reached beneath my skirt and yanked down the petticoat that had been separating us all day. My panties followed, being flung on the floor of some stranger’s van. It didn’t even cross my mind that we might get in trouble for what we were doing.

She traced invisible lines down my thigh with her nails, but these weren’t the fake, manicured tips you see in porn. They were nearly shaped and painted to a shine, but no longer than the tips of her fingers. This was a woman, I surmised, who was frequently wrist-deep in other women.

Perfectly polished and thin, those fingers snaked their way between my legs, parting my folds of skin and penetrating my cunt with and expert touch that every man I’d ever been with had lacked. Her fingers curled around my pubic bone, targeting my G-spot like a missile while her hand bent at the wrist.

Free of my frilly bonds, I wrapped my legs around her waist and her hand between my cunt and her thigh, so I could return to my grinding. A matter of minutes had passed since we’d moved into the back of the van, but it felt as though time had slowed.

She caressed and cajoled, curling her fingers back and forth, and pressing them against my G-spot. She seemed to know when I needed more pressure. None of my male partners had picked up on that before, and it took me far longer to realize than I’d like to admit.

I seemed to melt with the heat of her body. I wasn’t sure where the upholstery beneath me began. My dress splayed out around me like I had become liquid.

I was too enthralled with her motions to enjoy her body further, but she wasn’t done with mine. With her free hand, she reached back to untie the bow that secured my halter and pulled it down in front. I assisted by pushing the cups of my strapless bra down so my breasts spilled out above them. She tweaked and pinched my nipple, maneuvering her body so she could lean down.

Her tongue danced across my skin, sending a jolt like lightning through my body. The hand buried inside my worked diligently, and I felt the pressure building. Orgasm was imminent, even though her tactics were so different from my own.

I ground my clit against her hand, having found the heel of her palm, while she tugged at my nipple with her teeth. The combination of pain and pleasure sent me over the edge, my muscles contracting around her fingers and breath coming in short, rapid bursts. She knew, too, to withdraw from my over-sensitive clit as my orgasm subsided. She was a professional.

I assumed she was done, but I was wrong. With a surprising show of force, she grasped my thighs and pulled me down the seat so I was laying flat. With grace I couldn’t have mustered had I had all the space in the world, she lifted the bottom of her dress to her hips and shimmied from her underwear – a lacy thong that most certainly would match the bra.

The seat shifted beneath me as she joined me on it, positioning her knees to either side of my head. There was barely light to see to begin with, but my world was engulfed in black as she lowered her cunt to my lips.

My other senses immediately took over. Her musky scent, similar but not identical to mine, filled my nostrils. I could feel the heat from between her legs against my face, and a short tuft of hair tickled my nose.

I had never performed cunnilingus before; although, I had thought about it on many occasions. My first react was to taste every bit of her. I traced my tongue from her perineum along the length of one of her lips to the vertex, and back down again. I lapped the flat of my tongue over her vulva, passing the entrance to her vagina and barely grazing her clit, as hard as mine had been just moments ago.

Then, I curled my tongue to a point, swirling it around her clit, causing her to produce a delicious gasp. It was the first time she sounded not entirely in control. I quickly darted my tongue as far into her cunt as I could reach – not far due to its limited length – and traced the opening.

I savored the smell. The smoothness and folds of flesh. The slickness. The hard nub of her clit. The softness of her pubic hair. I wanted to experience her so fully that I would use her up. So I wrapped my arms around her thighs and buried my face as deeply into her as I could.

My mouth kissed and suckled at any part of her flesh it could reach, my tongue running up and down and side to side over her clit. There wasn’t a single area between her legs left untouched by my saliva. And went I felt sated enough to focus on her needs, I listened acutely for gasps and moans, repeating the motions that had her grinding against my own face and moving closer to a loss of control.

The way it felt as her thighs and cunt began to tense mirrored my own pre-orgasm, but it was never something I’d had the chance to experience before. It felt rewarding to my very core to experience such feedback. I pressed on, licking and lapping. My own moans were muffled by the body straddling my face.

I stretched my tongue as far as it would go, straining to penetrate her deeper, to lick her further, to have her in my mouth in a way that I knew to be impossible, but it felt inevitable if I would simply refuse to surrender.

My jaw hurt as her thighs squeezed inward, and my scalp tingled as she tugged a handful of hair sharply. She was going to cum. I was making her cum.

And there it was. Beautiful. Majestic. Uninhibited. Her muscles spasming the way mine always did when I was at the point of no return. Her cries of pleasure absorbed by the plush lining of the van’s walls. The passenger door still stood open. I thought I heard mumbled voices passing by. It didn’t matter.

All that matter was this beautiful woman, a picture of grace, was sitting on my face. And I had just given her an orgasm. I breathed heavily and let the back of my head drop to the seat beneath me. I hadn’t even realized I had lifted myself so far up. My arms felt sore with the intensity that I had held her thighs.

My mind, assured that the end of our rendez-vous was soon over, began processing what had happened rather than what was happening. This beautiful woman, who just so happened to be attending the same pinup fundraiser that I had so boldly decided to dress up for, had approached me. My stomach had tightened anxiously the way it does when I meet strangers. And she was so perfect.

I hadn’t realized then that her entire story was a facade. She’d not forgotten her lipstick in her car. She didn’t need company to the parking lot to retrieve it. She had simply wanted to get me alone, so she could push me up against some stranger’s van and be the first woman who had ever kissed me with an open mouth.

Just like I hadn’t seen that coming, I wasn’t anticipating her to bark a command.

“On your hands and knees!” Her voice and tone were clear as she removed her body from above mine, kneeling half on the floor on the seat behind me. I sat up, awkwardly getting on hands and knees, facing the open door, light cascading against my skin.

The top of my dress hung below me, breasts bouncing free of my bra. From behind me, she pushed the bottom up around my back, willing the fabric into place. Her hands pushed my knees as far apart as they could go on the narrow seat. It seems she was about to return the favor.

I felt her fingers part my nether lips with skill, her tongue lapped at my clit. I wasn’t normally a fan of receiving oral from this angle, but I wasn’t about to complain. She nipped at my lips with her teeth. I suddenly felt relieved to have shaved them clean. But her lips and tongue soon returned to my clit. I was almost giddy with anticipation.

It took me by surprise when she began playing with my ass. The pad of her finger traced my puckered asshole, pressed against it. Immediately, I felt enveloped in sensation, as if it were coming from every angle. I groaned. Oh! How had she known?

Anal play had always done it for me. Just a little felt so good. I’d had an ex lover who always pressed just the tip of his thumb into my asshole as I rode him. It drove me wild, fucking him faster and harder until we both came.

I wasn’t far from that point, already with an orgasm under my belt. I leaned back as much as I could, her finger slipping further inside me. I craved to make contact and to grind myself against her pretty face, but she wouldn’t let me.

She stayed just far enough away to drive me crazy. My moans had never been delicate, but they turned low and guttural. I was going to cum again.

“Ho-ly shit.” A man’s voice broke through my thoughts. I froze and looked up. My body was tense, my mouth frozen open as a moan silently escaped my lips. A stranger imitating James Dean watched us through the open door. His slicked-back hair was falling forward across his forehead, and his attire seemed cheap and modern in contrast to the classic hunk. I suddenly remembered where we were, who I was and that we weren’t supposed to be doing what we were doing.

My pussy didn’t seem to get the message, though. It betrayed me as it shuddered against her mouth. Breath hissed from my mouth and I retained enough control not to make a sound, but my arms collapsed beneath me and I felt onto the velvety-seat below me as the last waves of my orgasm rippled through my body.

If she was surprised by the man who was watching us, she made no move or comment to indicate as such. Instead, she reached for her shoes and bag to return them to their rightful place on her body. She opened the opposite door in the back of the van to exit so she wouldn’t have to walk past the man who had become our audience.

She stepped out of the van, one long leg bending at the knee to reach the ground. After both feet rested on the ground, she reached to effortlessly zip her dress once more. I watched the fabric hug the curves of her swaying hips as she walked back toward the party, nary a hair out of place. There was no sign of what we had just done. I was yet again scrambling after this picture of perfection.


Pink Lips and Other Stories for Girls Only

February 12th, 2014

I’ve reviewed quite a few erotica anthologies in the past, but I’ve taken a break because I don’t always like them. The nice thing about anthologies is the idea that there are plenty of themes and styles to choose from. However, this isn’t really the case for Pink Lips and Other Stories for Girls Only, which might be why this isn’t the book for me.

My issue is that every story in this anthology is by the same author so they all have similar themes and word usages — and I just don’t like them.

Each story tends to go like this. A young/college-aged woman who is interested in other women and has little to no experience with them. She tends to have a sport appearance with a “tight” ass and breasts that are small-but-proportionate for her size.  Her partners tend to take control and every story seems to use the term “hot bitch.” I tried to give this book a fair shake, but it’s just too hard when I don’t like the way the author writes.

But there’s something else going on there. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it’s that it just seems not.. genuine. It’s like watching “lesbian” porn full of inch-long French manicures and scissoring. It’s not really about women who like women; it’s like a man who has never witness real, enjoyable sex between two women is writing erotica about lesbian encounters.

And I can’t say this is true, but this is the sense that I get. The author has been quoted as saying that these stories mix fantasy with some real experiences, but this just isn’t the gist I get. And if it is, perhaps the author should have used more fantasy elements because the anthology comes off a bit too Mary Sue.

Another issue I ran into was simply poor writing. Things like “she  was real wet.” It demonstrates a weak grasp on language, on poetry. If I am paying for something, this should not be a case. An editor somewhere should have caught this and sent it back for revision.

All of these things are so very.. distracting. This makes “Pink Lips” the type of read that I couldn’t finish let alone recommend or pick up again.

I feel bad writing this, but people on Twitter have assured me that I shouldn’t. After all, you open yourself up to criticism. Perhaps other people will like this book more, but it just isn’t my thing.


Yes [Saw This on Tumblr]

January 16th, 2013


Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

July 30th, 2010

It took me forever to finish Best Lesbian Erotica 2010. I am now 100% positive that I can never be 100% satisfied with lesbian erotica. Or full length erotica, at that. I wish it hadn’t taken two full anthologies to realize that, however.

I would describe this collection much the same way I described last year’s. There’s lesbian sex. Group sex. Oral, anal, penetration. Gender bending. Roleplaying. Fantasies. BDSM and more. Many of the stories included omitted relationships, or at least that is what I assumed from the way they were written. There were some no-strings-attached encounters and one story even included a first-time lesbian experience as in “In the Sauna” by Stella Watts Kelley. For the most part, the characters have established their gender and sexual identities. As a mostly straight chick who doesn’t not-identify with her anatomy, it can be a little difficult to empathize with the characters or situations. I think that detracts from my enjoyment a bit.

It would definitely balance the collection to have a few more first-timer or novice type stories. I could better related to those and that would allow me to get lost in the story. As it is, I really had to force myself to finish this book, especially because some of the pieces were ridiculously long and included multiple parts. I was discussing this book with someone else and it struck me that others may not read erotica to get off but I do. Thus, the erotica that I find most effective keeps moving, has more overt sex than covert and isn’t so long that it works against my orgasm. Shorter stories also work better to get me in the mood sooner.

Although I’ve started this fairly negatively, it’s not a horrible collection. The stories are unique, well written and well edited. There’s a lot of creativity. I personally had not heard of any of the authors but, like any anthology, you can find additional information about them at the back of the book.

There were a couple memorable stories. Holly Farris wrote a piece entitled “Lives of the Saints” in which two amorous saints visit a woman who experiences doubts about her relationship. Additionally, I was entertained by Kelsy Chauvin’s “Sexting: One Side of a Two-Way.” In this story, we see a number of sexual texts from one woman to another with whom she had an encounter. The time line stretches over a two week period, during which the women chat back and forth and have several more encounters. The format is extremely unique and easy to read. I also especially enjoyed “Shameless” by Kimberly Reed and Anais Morten. This two part pieces follows a lesbian couple as they perform in front of a pair of strangers who are men. Each character gets the chance to tell her side of the story as she performs for her lover.

Some stories were simply not my style because they weren’t direct enough or were perhaps too creative for me. I have no idea what actually happened in “Uppercasing” by Charlie Anders. I guess I need my sex and erotica to be a little more straight forward.

Some folks might think that this series may be suffering from a new editor or the fact that a bunch of musicians (Sorry, I’ve never heard of BETTY) chose the stories. Maybe it’s related but I didn’t love last year’s edition, either. I know that erotica is really subjective. You win some, you lose some sort of thing but I also know that really intriguing erotica stays with me permanently. I can name a handful of stories from other collections that have really stuck with me over the past year to eighteen months. I just don’t think this will cut it.

I’m still interested in erotica but I am definitely going to focus on unique situational erotica and shorter stories from this point on.


Best Lesbian Erotica 2009

July 15th, 2009

As my collection of erotic and “mature education” books grows, I’ve grown, too. I’ve become more aware of my preferences and, hopefully, this will help me determine what items are best for me to buy or review. Unfortunately, despite the fact that I know I like lesbian erotica, I was still disappointed in Best Lesbian Erotica 2009: because it’s not all encompassing lesbian erotica, it is narrowly focused butch/femme erotica.

Let me back up, though. This colourfully bound book called for me ever since I first laid eyes on it. It’s feminine and modern in purple and green (a la Joker, perhaps?) shades which don’t quite match the hair and fingernails of the scantily clad ladies on the cover but that’s okay because it’s still pretty. Really, the colour combination is one which I have always loved so it easily won me over.

It’s also the last edition Tristan Taormino will edit and begins with her foreword which both gives us a glimpse of what is to come in the book and what has come in her life because of her involvement with the series. It’s erotic in its own way, touching and appropriate. Following, is an introduction by Joan Larkin, the one who selected the stories (and as such, the object of my scorn). Following Tristan’s words, the introduction really pales in comparison.

The majority of this book is, of course, 2 dozen tales of girl on girl (and sometimes another girl) action brought to you by names lesser known and names instantly recognizable (such as Rachel Kramer Bussel). They are, undoubtedly, well written and edited; however, they do not necessarily provide “in your face” action. The settings and interactions are both profound and arousing: sometimes profound because they are arousing and sometimes the other way around. I particularly enjoyed, Shanna Germain’s “On Snow-White Wings”, a beach-side tale of how love can surprise a soul to the point of obscuring recognition.

However, the majority of these stories do little to veer from the theme of butch and femme interactions. Although some stories only implied as much, others were laden with stereotypes and pretenses to the point that I would read less than the first page of a story and skip past it thinking “Not another one”. You see, I don’t mind these stories. Many of them were extremely hot. I more than thoroughly enjoyed “Lipstick on Her Collar” by Sachhi Green and expect to enjoy it repeatedly in the future but it was the unique setting of the story: a butch woman serving in the Woman’s Army Corps during Vietnam, who enjoys a roll in the hay with a femme reporter, amidst the war around them (and perhaps, slightly because of it). No, I do not deny that these stories can be great.

I also cannot deny that several stories, in fact, fight those stereotypes. Teresa Noelle Roberts’ “Tough Enough to Wear a Dress” tell a story of a dyke man enough to shed the stereotypes and step out in a burgundy, velvet evening gown. As her femme counterpart explains, people will think she is

a dyke in a costume.. A fabulous, flattering costume–but one that enhances who you are instead of hiding it

What I argue is that they are not the entirety of the lesbian world, as this edition would have us believe. As I am not familiar with previous versions, I cannot say if it is simply this one which reflects upon lesbians so narrowly or if the whole series is at fault but there is a distinct lack of “vanilla lesbian” (I fretted long and hard about the most PC way to illustrate this concept, please forgive if it offends).


Not all lesbians subscribe to those lifestyles. The lesbian population is not evenly divided in to butch or femme. Some are a little of both. Some are none. Both parties in a lesbian couple can wear lipstick. Silicone does not have to be an extension of ones self, it can simply be a sex toy. And those lesbians aren’t hiding, either. Neither are they any less significant part of the population. So why is it that this book seems to overlook them so?

It’s a shame because some of the specifics within these stories (S&M, shoe fetishes, stranger sex and escorts – just to name a few) are spectacular but I found it impossible to ignore the overwhelming presences of rigid butch/femme stereotypes. Maybe what I want would be considered boring; maybe I’m not “hardcore” enough to appreciate Best Lesbian Erotica 2009. Maybe I want a man’s lesbianism and need to look elsewhere. Maybe, just maybe, I’m right