Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

FROM THE HALLS OF MONTEZUMA R. G. Emanuelle

As much as I knew that my six-year relationship with Lanie was over, and was actually relieved, I was not prepared for the alone-ness. I guess you never really are. My friends did the best they could to cheer me up and drag me out of my reclusion, but I just wasn’t interested.

Then came that time of year I call the Birthday Hump, wherein my friends’ birthdays cluster up in the span of about three months. During that time, a million red circles mottle my calendar. Smack at the beginning of this cycle of birthdays was my own. Tamara, in her passive-aggressive way, somehow managed to convince me to go out with the gang for my special day to the Long Tips. I hadn’t set foot in a club since the early days of my relationship with Lanie—she hated dancing, so we never went.

When we first walked in, the swirling colored lights seemed brighter than I remembered and almost blinded me. The music seemed louder, too. The beat was faster, the lyrics were raunchier, and the melody was… well, nonexistent. It was just a continual annoying stream of thumping, popping noises.

After the first round of drinks, I asked Tamara, “So, what’s going on?”

“You’re gonna like the show tonight. It’s extra special,” she said.

“What?”

“A strip show.”

“What’s so special about that? We’ve seen dozens of strip shows.”

She’d dragged me to a club where they seemed to be letting in twelve-year-olds to see some stale old strip show?

“Not like this one,” she said, smirking. “Annabelle told me about it a couple of weeks ago and I came last week to check it out myself. There’s a very special dancer I think you’ll like.”

She looked right at me as she said this. And with such certainty, too.

Whatever.

If you’ve seen one stripper, you’ve seen them all. Most of them aren’t even gay. They just dance in gay clubs for the money. What was so special about this one? Was she that hot? Was she the most beautiful woman on the green earth? Did she have the body of a goddess?

“What does that mean?” I asked Tamara.

She grinned broadly. “You’ll see.”

By the time midnight rolled around, several rounds had been bought and drunk. The music faded out and the lights went down.

Finally, the supposedly special show was about to begin. A rotund, tightly packed drag queen in a ridiculously overdone blonde wig that made her look like she belonged in a John Waters movie, bellowed into the mike.

“Hello, girls and boys, dykes and fairies of all ages!” she rasped. “I’m Gore-ella. Welcome once again to the Long Tips. That’s ladies’ night at the Long Tails, for you uninitiated. We have a great show for you tonight. All you dykes out there are going to be soaking wet when you see the lovelies we have for you tonight. Get your tongues limbered up because after this show, you’re gonna have some work to do on your girrrrlfrieeeeeends.” Gore-ella stuck out her tongue and wiggled it lewdly, eliciting whoops from the audience.

“So, let’s bring these luscious lesbians out here. Get ready to get hot and bothered, girls! Here’s the treat of the Tips, Melanie!”

Melanie sauntered out to the sounds of a remixed country song and much cheering from the dozens of watchers. She had long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and bronzed skin—a walking dream for some. She had on a cowgirl outfit, complete with a ten-gallon hat, chaps, and a long duster coat. Okay, it was sexy. Tamara knew I had a thing for cowgirls. But I hardly considered this buzz-worthy.

Slowly, the clothing came off and Melanie danced, engaging the audience now and then, bending over here to accept money, spreading her legs there to elicit more. A poor, unsuspecting woman in front became part of the act when Melanie took her glasses and stuck one of the stems down her G-string. The woman seemed like a deer caught in headlights—or, more accurately, a lesbian caught in a spotlight. Melanie slid the stem farther down her panties and when she pulled it out, she held it up to the light, where it glistened. She placed the glasses back onto the woman’s face. The woman’s flush was visible, even in the darkened club. Her friends laughed and slapped her on the back, making what were obviously embarrassing comments to her.

When Melanie left the stage and the clapping and hooting died down, I turned to Tamara. “That was hot,” I said, with only a hint of enthusiasm.

Tamara closed her eyes and opened them up again slowly, as if indulging a slow person. “That wasn’t it,” was all she said.

“Then what?” My curiosity was piqued.

A drumbeat echoed through the club, the start of some dance song. Gore-ella’s voice boomed from the speakers. “And now, please welcome to the stage, Spike!”

Spike? Was she serious? Any dyke who calls herself Spike… wait, strippers weren’t usually…

Instead of a feminine woman sashaying onto the stage in some feathery/lacey/leathery outfit, the form of a soldier appeared from the wings. The drumbeat was a military staccato. The soldier marched to center stage, swiveled around to face the audience, and stood pin-straight. The music changed to the opening beats of a techno-dance version of Pink’s “U and Ur Hand.” The soldier gave the audience a salute, and as the music became more melodic and insistent, she began moving her hips and tugging on the fingers of her gleaming white gloves.

Sweet fancy Moses. My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. I turned to Tamara, who was smiling wickedly at me. I loved a hot cowgirl, but nothing—nothing—turned me on more than a woman in uniform and she knew that. She raised her glass and mouthed, “Happy Birthday.”

Standing up there was not just a woman in a soldier’s uniform—this was a genuine, true-blue butch, very rare in the realm of dancers. In fact, I could only recall one other time when I’d seen a butch stripper, in a club that catered to a mixture of “lifestyles.” In one room, trendy cocktail sippers relaxed on divans while in another, one could pay twenty dollars for a ride on a leather-clad man as a whip-wielding dominatrix kept him in line. That place had closed long ago.

The uniform was distinctly Marine—and it fit her perfectly. A midnight blue jacket, trimmed with red piping and adorned with gold buttons, fell just below her ass. It was cinched at the waist by a wide, white belt and the sleeves were decorated with stripes near the shoulders and gold buttons at the wrists. Dark hair peeked out from the sides of a white hat with a black rim. The rim was pulled down low, so I couldn’t see her eyes but her face was beautiful: strong cheekbones, a firm chin, and full, red lips.

Captured, I moved to the front of the stage, pushing past everyone. One glove off, she’d moved on to the other one, and that one was now flying to stage right. As if removing her uniform was stripping away her military identity and propriety, she moved more rhythmically to the music and smiled. Her naked hands slid down her chest, over her breasts, and down to her belt. Tugging on the belt, she unlatched it and pulled it from around her waist, holding on to both ends to prolong the effect. Women were whistling and rushing the stage. I didn’t budge. A rhino couldn’t have moved me from that spot.

Spike was unbuttoning the jacket so slowly it was agonizing. My breathing became shallow and my skin was moist with expectant sweat. When she had undone the last button, she turned her back to the audience and lowered her jacket just enough to bare her shoulders. The audience cheered her on. The jacket lowered more, revealing un-fucking-real buff shoulders. A tattoo of a Celtic starburst covered her left shoulder while a tribal band wrapped around her right bicep. My god, those biceps. The skin was so tight around her muscles, I could see the curves shifting as she moved. She swerved around again, tossing the jacket to the side.

Holy fucking Christ. Her beautifully fit torso was covered by a white tank top, tight fitting to show the swell of her medium-sized breasts, dog tags dangling between them. B-cup. Perfect.

Gore-ella was right. I was soaking wet. And Spike hadn’t even revealed any body parts yet.

Free of her jacket, Spike began a dance routine that was reserved in a modest, butch sort of way, but seductively feminine at the same time. Her eyes were still hidden, but her smile had widened. Small dimples creased her smooth cheeks and her lips flashed white teeth every time she spun around. She knew she was hot. She knew she had all the femmes in the audience creaming for her. And she knew she was going to make more than one of them come right there on the dance floor.

My nipples were hard and I could feel them rubbing against my blouse, right through my bra. Standing still was not easy. I squirmed as my clit began pulsating.

Spike unbuckled her trouser belt and let it dangle as she unbuttoned her sky blue pants and slowly lowered the zipper. The howling and whistling filled the room as more and more women crowded around me, aching to see this hot woman reveal herself. Speechless and mesmerized, I said nothing and did nothing. Somewhere along the line, I lost my drink. I had no clue where it was. I didn’t care. I didn’t care where my friends were either. As far as I was concerned, the only two people in that club were me and Spike.

Spike bent over to give the bottoms of her trouser legs a tug, spreading them into bell bottoms. Then she began lowering her pants, turning around to show her luscious ass. Holding the pants just below her cheeks, she rotated her ass to the squealing delight of her onlookers. Various women shouted, “Yeah, baby, take it off!”

Spike’s pants pooled around her feet. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Impressed with the ingenuity, I wondered what other tricks Spike used to make her undressing easier.

In contrast to her dress uniform, she wore black combat boots instead of shiny dress shoes. I supposed that taking off her pants and standing there in shoes and black socks would not have looked so great. So, there she was, G.I. Jane, in a tank top, boy-cut khaki briefs, and combat boots. And the hat. That fucking hat. It took all the will I had to not jump onto the stage and pounce on her.

Her hands grabbed fistfuls of the tank and with a good yank, it ripped off her body, revealing a flat stomach sparkling with a subtle application of glitter. Underneath that tank, Spike had on a black leather bra. The statement was obvious: She was a butch but she was still a woman. Don’t ever forget it.

At last, she grasped the hat and flung it off. Her close-cropped hair was damp with perspiration and she ran a hand through it, Joe Cool-style. She was gorgeous. Handsome. Well, that was why she was up there. Probably no one was interested in her dancing skills, although her moves were as smooth and subtle as coffee ice cream. Her body moved in perfect unison with the upbeats and downbeats of the music. As Pink sang, “Keep your drink, just give me the money,” Spike went to the foot of the stage and danced for a few moments there, squatting and spreading her knees in front of various women, encouraging them to stick money in her briefs. Women were eager to do just that, and she rewarded each one with a big, sexy smile.

Spike was in front of the woman next to me. I quickly fumbled in my pocket for a bill. Any denomination, I didn’t care. I would have gladly given her a hundred dollars for a glance. A thousand for a kiss. My kingdom to have Spike go down on me.

Still squatting, she pulled herself over until she was right in front of me. Hazel eyes burned right through me. Momentarily frozen, I thought the world could see the wetness gushing between my legs. Her smile was completely undoing me.

“Well, go ahead.” An elbow pushed me and I turned to see Tamara standing there, egging me on. “You gonna pay her crotch, or what?”

I turned back to Spike, who had not moved her gaze from me. The triangle of her crotch was less than a foot away—I couldn’t look or I would plunge my face right in. Reaching for her briefs, I licked my lips, aware that I was probably making a fool of myself. But then, Spike was probably used to rendering grown women into useless, blathering piles of melted marshmallow. Pulling on the waistband of the briefs with one hand, I slipped the green bill—whatever it was—down the front.

But there was more.

As I shifted my gaze to her center, I noticed something. There was a bulge there that shouldn’t have been. Shocked, I stopped with my hand down her briefs. I looked up again, whereupon Spike grinned like the Devil and cocked her eyebrow at me.

Holy Mother of God, she’s packing!

How had I not noticed before? Spike stood up to move away from me and the waistband snapped from my fingers.

Another figure appeared on stage. It was Melanie. This time she was dressed in camouflage fatigue pants, a camouflage bra, and combat boots, and she began dancing on the opposite side of the stage. The two dancers continued their own routines for a minute, then moved closer and began a dance that told the story of two women falling for each other. Perhaps the handsome soldier had met her on furlough.

Melanie’s fatigues came off and she wore only the bra and a camouflage thong. Someone backstage pushed a settee out onto the stage. After the soldier seduced her girl, Melanie turned and leaned on the settee with her hands, her ass facing Spike. Spike reached down between Melanie’s legs and ran two fingers along her crotch. Turning to the audience, she smiled wickedly as she licked the full length of her fingers. Turning back to the woman spread out before her, Spike reached into her briefs and pulled out the dildo. The briefs had shifted down just enough that I could see the leather harness that was holding the phallus in place.

The whooping and whistling was deafening. The music slowed to a rhythmic pulse as Spike held her extended member and began thrusting in the direction of Melanie’s ass, mimicking the sex act. From somewhere behind me came, “Fuck her!”

My eyes did not move from the scantily clad soldier. Her thrusting was in perfect timing with the music. It was so sensual and erotic, yet raw and dirty at the same time. My limbs trembled.

Suddenly, Melanie stood up, turned to face Spike, and shoved her. Spike fell to her knees as Melanie pushed her down. Spike leaned back until she was lying down. Melanie stood over her, with one foot on either side, and danced her way up until her crotch was directly above Spike’s face. She began moving her hips backward and forward as Spike moved her head up and down in mock, exaggerated cunnilingus. As the music picked up its beat again, gaining in speed and intensity, Melanie followed suit. Hips bucking, head thrown back, she writhed in orgasm, cheers and whistles encouraging her performance, and as the song launched back into a chorus, she stepped back. Spike jumped up and wiped the fantasy cum from her chin, shooting a devastating grin to the audience. To the echo of more cheers and whistles, she continued dancing, tucking the dildo back inside her briefs.

The story had changed to one of a relationship gone wrong. Sure, the sex was hot but the girl was no good and the soldier wanted nothing more to do with her. The soldier continued interacting with her audience, ignoring the pleas for attention from Melanie. But Melanie would not be ignored. She finally caught her soldier from behind and caressed her body. At first, Spike tried pushing her away, but eventually she gave in to Melanie’s ministrations. Melanie ran her hands up Spike’s waist and clutched her breasts, making Spike close her eyes with pleasure.

I almost closed mine with pleasure, for by now, my hand had made its way between my legs. There were people all around me, including Tamara, but I couldn’t help it. My pussy had begun to throb painfully and I had to stop it.

Melanie pushed Spike face down onto the settee so that she was in the same position Melanie had been in only moments before. Melanie leaned right up against Spike and made fucking motions. Spike thrust her ass upward repeatedly, mimicking getting fucked.

Forcing myself to look away for just a moment, I scanned the room. The butches in the audience looked stricken, their eyes either incredulously watching Spike or fixed on their drinks, horrified, as if Spike were ripping a window into their souls that everyone could see into.

Femmes, on the other hand, were practically swooning. A hot, gorgeous, aggressive butch who was not afraid to flip: it was irresistible.

When Melanie pulled away, Spike stood up, grinning lewdly at the audience—there was no shame in enjoying a good fuck. She pushed Melanie back. No, no matter how hot you are, I deserve better than you, she was saying.

Melanie disappeared off the stage. Spike stepped into her pants and slid them up, slowly, deliciously pulling up the zipper. One by one, she donned the items of clothing. Who knew that a woman getting dressed could be just as hot and erotic and a woman undressing?

As the song approached its last notes, Spike picked up her hat and walked to center stage. Standing tall, she ran a hand through her hair and used both hands to place the hat on her head. Then, bolting her body to full attention, she saluted the audience, spun on her heels, and marched off the stage.

Oh, my little soldier girl. Don’t go.

Many in the audience saluted back, in awe of her amazing performance. The clapping and cheering made me realize I was not alone in the room and I was dragged back down to earth.

“Well?” Tamara asked, amusement covering her face.

My cheeks heated at the thought of facing her. My arousal was so strong, I was afraid to move, afraid that the slightest brush of my thighs would rip an orgasm from me right where I stood in front of my friend. Swallowing hard, I squeaked, “That was hot.”

The evening had turned into something unexpected. But now that I had been exposed to the highlight, the night seemed empty, void of anything meaningful or pleasurable. I drank a Long Island iced tea, hoping the mixture of alcohol would bring back a semblance of something alive. My senses were so heightened, every movement from the people around me; every aroma of sweat, beer, and perfume; every flash of light energized me. Yet, my disappointment was profound. I wanted to feel that raw animal passion I’d experienced just a short while ago.

The music had changed over to more radio-style stuff and I closed my eyes, swaying to it against the wall, remembering how I’d loved dancing once. It seemed so long ago.

“Would you like to dance?” a low voice murmured in my ear.

Startled, I turned to see Spike right next to me. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me. Not wanting to look like an idiot character in a movie, I shifted my eyes to look around me. She was most definitely speaking to me.

Instead of a uniform, she had on a black bowling shirt, hung loosely around black jeans. She still wore the combat boots. A comb had gone through her shiny black hair and the sweat had been patted off her still-flushed face. Her eyes sparkled with adrenaline and her breath smelled faintly of toothpaste.

“Uh… okay.” Oh, that was smooth. Had it been so long since someone had come on to me that I didn’t know how to respond? But this wasn’t just someone. This was the hot, handsome butch who had shown exactly what she was capable of up on that stage. My soldier girl. Taking my hand, she led me to the dance floor.

All eyes were on us as people craned their heads to see who Spike had chosen to dance with. Cinderella I ain’t, but for a song or two, I would enjoy being the envy of all the femmes at the dyke ball.

Spike took me to the center of the dance floor, turned, and put her hands on my hips. She might as well have stuck them down my panties for the way they set me on fire. The music was pulsating, and so was I. We danced like that for a moment as I shyly ran my hands up her arms and rested them on her shoulders. Little by little, she pulled me closer until our bodies were right up against each other. This has to be a dream.

She managed to get one hard thigh between my legs. My hands moved down her shoulder blades and her hands had moved to my ass. My breathing was quick and the feel of her lips on my neck was like having a branding iron applied to my skin.

I wasn’t quite sure how it was all happening but I wasn’t going to fight it. I didn’t care who was watching or what anyone thought. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before but inside, I felt as if it was meant to be.

Then, she was kissing me. It was soft at first, but it quickly turned hot, deep, and furious. I was so open for her that I could have swallowed her tongue and her right along with it in one swift slurp. My hand slipped down her front. It took all my frustrated will to avoid her breasts but I knew that some butches would not tolerate their breasts being fondled in public and I didn’t want to piss her off. My hand went down to her pants and I rubbed the bulge in her front. I could feel the smile on her lips.

When her lips left mine, I found that I was breathless. I didn’t realize that I had stopped breathing until that moment.

“Come with me,” she said in my ear in a heavy whisper that made me weak.

With my hand in hers, Spike took me to a staircase that led to an upper floor. At the landing was a room. It was small, with a cot in one corner, a dressing table in another, and a chair. A dimly lit lamp sat on the table.

“What is this room?” I asked.

“The performers come up here to lie down, take a nap…” She paused and looked at me. “Fuck.”

The memory of the way she had thrust her hips with such fluidity, such natural skill, was making me dizzy and too wet for comfort. Her move was quick and she was on me like lightning. With my back against the wall, she kissed me again. I wanted her like I’d never wanted anyone, but now with the prospect of actual sex with her looming, I got nervous. What was making me nervous? Sex with a stranger? My reputation? Really, it was about my own skills. Lanie and I had been together so long that we had come to know each other perfectly. No worries about what the other liked and whether “it” was right. This person was new and unknown territory. Would I be good enough?

I tensed up and Spike pulled away. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, I… um…” I had no words. None that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete asshole. So, I took the self-deprecating route. “I just was wondering… why me? You could have anyone out there.”

Her left hand rested on the wall next to my head. “I saw you when I was dancing. You’re beautiful. And hot.” The words stunned me and I could only stare back into the hazel eyes that were making me squirm. Her other hand went up to the wall and I was enclosed inside her arms. Slowly, she leaned in to kiss me and I was floating in a pool of flames. Running my hand through her hair made her moan and it shifted her into high gear. Her arms wrapped around me, her tongue probed me, and her legs moved me to the cot.

She laid me down with such smoothness, I couldn’t help but smile. My blouse came unbuttoned and my pants were off in seconds. Her fingers dove between my legs and Spike groaned when she felt my wetness. Two fingers slipped inside me and I was in ecstasy as I felt them slide in and out.

Wasting no time, she pulled the dildo from her pants and began fucking me with it, slowly at first, then fast and hard until my head was in danger of smashing into the plaster wall. I tried slipping my hand down her pants but she pushed it away. What was it with these butches? Let me touch you, goddammit!

As she plunged in and out of me, I began undressing her. Spike was in a trancelike state, so immersed in her mission, I don’t think she even realized what I was doing. Her shirt and bra were off and I ran my hands over the vivid tattoos. She moved off me then, slipping the double-headed dildo out of the harness and leaving it inside me. Like a panther, she moved stealthily down my body and began licking me. Watching her head bob between my thighs, I was lost in a place I’d never visited before.

The long, rubber cock started sliding in and out again. The sensation of being fucked and eaten simultaneously took me completely out of my body and I became some raw, primal animal. I came long and hard, practically ripping Spike’s hair out of her head.

It was time to flip my butch over, which was surprisingly easy, considering her well-defined, muscular body. As I struggled to get her pants over her boots, I almost yanked her right off the bed. But I finally managed to rip them off. A small look of surprise crossed her face but quickly disappeared when I began sucking on a nipple. To my own surprise, I deftly slipped off her briefs and unhooked her harness, the business end of which was shiny with wetness.

Spike’s breathing quickened and she seemed taken aback by my intensity. But she didn’t understand—she’d been working me up, pushing me to the pinnacle of lust since the moment she’d walked out on that stage in that dashing uniform. Even though I’d already had an orgasm, I still wasn’t satisfied and wouldn’t be until I heard a cry of pleasure from her lips.

I slipped two fingers inside her and she didn’t resist like I expected her to. Her eyes did flash me a warning though: be careful.

Had I been in my right mind, I would’ve heeded it. But I was in such a frenzy that I lost all control over my own actions. I reached down between my legs and pulled out the cock that still hung from my pussy, and in one swift movement, I slid it inside her. A look of shock in her eyes subsided as I thrust it, slowly, deliberately. I bent my head down and started licking her swollen clit. Any objections she was going to make evaporated as she melted into my caresses.

The tremors under my tongue told me she was about to come. I didn’t want to lose my grip on her so I curled one arm under her leg to hold her in place while I kept fucking her. Bucking ferociously, she gripped my shoulders, and the cry I’d longed to hear escaped her flushed red lips. When her shuddering had stopped, I pulled the dildo out, placed it at the foot of the bed, and crawled up beside her. Spike sighed.

“Damn,” she said. “Are you really a butch in femme’s clothing?”

“Uh-uh,” I chuckled. “I just know what I like.”

At the bar, Tamara stared at me, dumbfounded. I’d been gone a good two hours and it was nearly four A.M. The others had all gone home.

“What the hell have you been doing?” Tamara asked, patting down my bed-tousled hair. She wasn’t really looking for an answer, so I just smiled and said, “Getting my groove back.”

Tamara grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

“This was a great birthday. Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

No, mine.

Looking back at the darkened stage, I said, “I think I’ll see the show again some time.” I took the beer Tamara handed me and saluted the stage with it. The Marines would come again.