Best Lesbian Romance 2014 (12 page)

“Yeah. Chelmsford has a high pigeon turnover.”

She chuckled, which made me chuckle. “It's something to be very proud of,” she said, nodding earnestly.

I stretched and lay back on the grass, letting the warm sun cradle me. Dylan followed suit and swung her arm around my waist.

“So, am I making a good impression?”

I turned to look into her eyes. “I'm not regretting showing up anymore.”

“Good. I like you too. And I kinda want to do something.”

“What do you want to do?”

Before I knew it, Dylan grabbed me and kissed me squarely on the lips. It lasted three full seconds, but I could have gone on forever. My breath caught in my throat again, and I could feel my cunt trembling.

“Test the waters.”

She grinned like a little minx.

We made plans for dinner the next week. As we said good-bye, Dylan leaned in and whispered, “You're a sexy girl, you know.”

I watched her walk away. No, scratch that, I watched her skip away, giggling.

The next few days were spent compulsively checking my phone. Every text made my heart leap into my throat. Every word turned me on. I didn't want to fuck it up. I wanted her.

I discussed it with Mel, over coffee.

“So. I set you up on a date…and it worked?” she said, eating carrot cake.

“Yes, Mel, I've told you three times now.”

“I know. It's just so surprising. Anyway, what are you worrying about? She likes you and you clearly like her, seeing as you've been fiddling with your phone for the last half hour.”

“I don't know!” I said, guiltily putting my phone away. “I just want this to go right. I don't want to be all…googly moogly.”

Mel peered at me. “Define googly moogly?”

“Never mind. I just don't want to fuck this up. I rarely get a second chance.”

“Sara, you have nothing to worry about. Dylan likes you. Trust me.”

I didn't trust Mel for a mile. Standing outside the restaurant, I checked my phone, eager for a message. Nothing.

* * *

I knew this would happen. I knew she'd back out and leave me here like a wally. Sighing, I tucked my phone away and turned to leave, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“What are you doing outside, silly?”

There she was: Dylan, all smiles. My stomach burst into a flutter of butterflies. She came. She came!

“You didn't think I'd stand you up, right?” she said.

“I actually did. Sad, isn't it?”

“Well, I'm here. Let's get food.”

The restaurant was busy, as usual.

“Now that I'm here, I have no idea what to eat,” I said, secretly thinking that there was one thing I would love to devour….

“We should order everything on the menu, really.”

“I'm not that rich, love.”

“Neither am I. But imagine doing that, though. You'd be full for weeks.”

“I wouldn't be able to walk. Or function in general.”

She grinned, taking my hand in hers. I relaxed into my seat and a happy sigh escaped me.

Eventually, the waiter came to take our order. Over pizza, we shared bits and bobs of our lives.

“My sister was supportive of me coming out,” I said. “Parents, bit weird about it. Turned out all right in the end, though.”

“My parents were iffy too. They came around, though. Guess we were the lucky ones.”

I nodded, trying to concentrate on my food. All I could focus on was her. I didn't want this night to end.

On the way back home, I kept asking myself questions. All of them reverted to the same answer.
Yes, I want her!
My heart
pounded out a hard-assed beat and my pussy seemed made out of liquid longing. Dylan obviously sensed something was up, because as we arrived at my front door, she turned to me and gave me a peck on the cheek.

“Well, I'll be going, then.”

Fuck. She'd sensed wrongly. She pulled herself away and was about to walk off when I grabbed her arm and pulled her close, crushing my lips against hers and taking possession of her mouth. She gave in and kissed me back, pressing her body into mine. I could feel something hard pressing against my leg and deduced that she had come prepared.

“Take me upstairs. Now.”

The tension that had been building all night came to a rushing high as I dragged Dylan into the bedroom and threw her onto the bed. All I wanted was to fuck her, to be fucked by her, to completely lose my head in the throes of pleasure.

Dylan's lipstick smeared all over my face as she kissed and undressed me at the same time. The blood rushed everywhere, and I could feel my clit pulsing a frantic beat. The summer heat blazed through the room and the smell of sex and sweat made my nostrils tingle.

The sight of her nearly naked body drove me insane. Clad in a harness with a shiny pink dildo perched on the front, she took control.

“Lube?”

“Bedside table.”

I watched as she rummaged through my drawer and pulled out a half-empty bottle of Liquid Silk. She giggled as I blushed.

“Been fiddling much lately?”

“Well, I've not been having sex lately, so a fiddle or two is a must, I think.”

“Clever girl.” Dylan straddled me and grabbed my hips,
slowly brushing the tip of her pink menace against my wet slit. “Spread for me, just a little more.”

I did as told, and the head of the dildo rested temptingly against my entrance. When she entered me, I gasped.

“Gosh, that's a big thing,” I managed to utter.

She giggled. “I thought you might like it.”

She began to move, resting her hands on my hips. My eyes closed with pleasure as I rubbed my clit against the base of the dildo. She threw her head back and moaned.

“Bloody hell!”

Her thrusting sped up, intermixed with kisses and caresses. I clawed my fingers into her back as her breasts pressed against mine. I wrapped my legs around her waist, letting her in deeper, thrusting back and making her moan even harder.

“Christ, you're going to give me friction burn,” she said with a throaty chuckle. But then words escaped her as she moaned again, in time with me. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and rested my head against them. My hand snaked toward her beautiful breasts. I could feel her heartbeat quickening.

“God, don't stop,” I cried out.

Her cock pressed against me, against her. She went faster and faster and sweat dripped over our bodies and moans filled the air.

“I think I'm coming,” she whispered.

I grabbed her arse and pushed her into me, feeling my own climax in time with hers. A shiver ran down my spine as she relaxed on top of me.

“You look beautiful when you come.” Dylan pressed a kiss to my forehead. I could only sigh. She held me and whispered sweet nothings in my ear until we were both too tired to do anything else but sleep.

In the morning, I woke up before her. I watched the morning sun illuminate her pale skin, a smile playing on her face. And just like that, I felt the first stirrings of love.

A bit early, but who could blame me? I'd found my Aussie girl.

PINK LADY FRIENDS

Allison Wonderland

“Duck…duck…goose!”

I make good on my word, directing my pointer finger toward the unsuspecting posterior in front of me.

“Ow! Leslie!” Ramona yelps. “What is the matter with you, you little stinker?” she demands, hands on hips. The hips are hers, but the hands belong to me.

“So typical,” I comment, smiling until she does. “I cop a feel and you cop an attitude. Don't be afraid to take frisks. You know what they say: no frisk, no reward. Isn't that right, Ramones?”

Ramona rolls her eyes. She's not exactly a fan of that band, although you'd think a musical theater junkie would have at least a marginal appreciation for
Rock 'n' Roll High School.

Anyway, “Don't you dare downsize your derriere, got it? I like your cushy tushy. Plus, it works for Jan.”

“My character is pretty fant
ass
tic, isn't she?” Ramona concurs, ushering a bevy of bobby pins into her palm.

“The fantasstic-ist. We should have a rump roast during
lunch on Monday. We'll go around the cafeteria and all your closest friends can say stuff about your duff. Good stuff, of course. Heaven forbid you become the next booty school dropout.”

“You are always like this after a show,” Ramona remarks, sounding at once fazed and amazed. “You're also only like this after a show. You're so bizarre, you know that?”

“Help,” I shriek, clutching Ramona's arms through her satin jacket. “I've fallen off my rocker and can't get up!”

Okay, obviously she's right about me—I am bizarre. I'm a totally different person onstage than off. And not just for obvious reasons. Onstage, no matter what kind of character I'm playing, I've got nerve and verve and unquenchable confidence. But when the curtain closes and the lights come up, my shell goes right back on.

Well, not immediately. There's a brief bracket of time when the show is over but I'm not over the show—that's when I'm at my silliest and my sassiest. I love it when I'm like that, so I try to stay out-of-character for as long as possible.

“Do you think my…bizarreness is nifty or shifty?” I inquire, adjusting the flipped fluff that is my Frenchy wig. It's a cute pink color, like the nose on a stuffed bunny. Or the nipples under a stuffed bra.

Not that Ramona stuffs her bra. Anymore. She and the socks had a bit of a falling-out in the seventh grade and after that, she—

“I think it's nifty,” Ramona is saying as she holds my wig stand steady. She fondles my fingers a little and I look up, then down when her brassiere comes into view in all its unstuffed glory. “Now your eyes, on the other hand—those are kind of shifty. Are you going to stand there gawking like a fangirl while I get changed?”

”I thought you liked it when all eyes are on you.”

“I do, especially when they're all yours.”

When she gets gushy, I get mushy, and right now, my insides are gooier than s'mores.

Ramona reaches for my hand. I let her take it. If there was anyone else in here, even one of our nearest and dearest, I'd follow the first rule of kindergarten: hands to selves, please. But in their haste to get to the cast party, the other girls did a quick change into their street clothes after the performance. This is the advantage of being a slowpoke—we have the dressing room all to ourselves. And Ramona takes just as much time as I do transforming from starlet to your everyday gay.

“I like holding your hand,” I muse, enjoying the cozy cushion of Ramona's palm and the gentle pressure of her lavender-frosted fingers.

“Me, too,” Ramona says, and smiles her picture-day smile.

“I always knew you could hold your own. I just didn't think you'd want to.”

Ramona giggles and rubs her nose against mine and in that brief bit of friction, I feel our signature spark. “The only thing I don't want to do is strike the set tomorrow,” the diva laments. “I hate saying good-bye to Rydell High.” Ramona frowns then, her brow pleating like a paper fan.

“What?”

She drops my hand. “You made me rhyme,” she flouts, and pouts. “This is the end of the beginning. We've officially entered that stage of coupledom where we become adorably and disgustingly interchangeable.” She pauses, looking at me like…I don't know, like she's looking for something. I just hope she finds what she's looking for.

Now she's looking for something else—inside her shoulder bag. “Now may or may not be a good time to give you this,” she
says, and hands me a folded tee as square as Sandra Dee. “But it's as good a time as any.”

I unfold the garment and hold it out in front of me. It's a black T-shirt with hot pink text traveling across the front.

I'm not a lesbian,
says the shirt,
but my girlfriend is.

“I'm a lesbian,” I insist, in a decidedly dull roar.

Well, I am. And I'm out and proud—to myself, my parents, my…well, I guess the only other person currently on that list is my girlfriend, and I know she'd like it if I were…outer. I'm not really sure why I've been so reluctant to reveal our relationship to our peers. Maybe it's my aversion to aspersion, a rational fear of bullying. Maybe it's because I prefer to fade into the background when I'm not in the spotlight.

Maybe it's the fact that theater is a gay man's world. If a guy's into drama, people just assume he's gay, right? Not that that's a good thing, but what about those thespians who are lesbians, like Ramona and me? If anyone's looking for us, we'll be in the Dyke Drama Department, established…well, not yet established.