Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

BLOOD TIES Alex Tucci

Aunt Rachel was my grandmother’s youngest sister, which makes you my second cousin. She had you late in life, so we were only a few years apart in age. Aunt Rachel gave me the love and acceptance I didn’t get at home. It was that love that allowed me to leave this small town. Her belief that I could become anything I chose to be gave me the courage to walk away from all that I had known, to make something meaningful for myself in the world beyond its borders.

I thought the sun rose and set on her, though I didn’t always understand her. We had long, rambling conversations. She understood, years before I did, that this town would kill my spirit.

And now I’ve come home, to say good-bye and wish her well on her next journey. With her passing, I’ve also come home for you.

When I began to write, Aunt Rachel encouraged me. Not believing people would find anything of value in my words, I was hesitant at first. I showed her my tamer stories and poems, basking in the warmth of her praise for my talent.

I wouldn’t write what I came to think of as my real stories until I went away to college. They began to emerge, gushing forth, in the deep hours of my nights. While others slept, I feverishly put pen to paper, pouring out the tales that struggled to be born. Stories of rage and desire, they reflected emotions I’d kept bottled up, believing that no one would understand, or approve of, the things I buried in the deepest corners of my soul.

From across the crowded assembly hall of the church, I notice you watching me. You make the slightest motion with your head as you turn and walk out. I excuse myself, following you, trying desperately to appear as if my heart isn’t trying to beat right out of my chest.

I tell myself this is about seeking life in the face of death. I accept the possibility this moment may never come again. I want it, nonetheless. I follow you downstairs, hypnotized by your swaying hips. How long have I yearned for this moment, dreaded it, dreamt of it? More than twenty years? Really? For some people, that constitutes a lifetime.

But ours has never been a family that rushes into things, impulsive and daring. Needing to be just that, I chafed under that steadiness. Your mother knew it. She knew it about you as well. But your relationship with her was different than mine. Complicated and often unspoken emotions always churned just beneath the surface.

We’ve known each other our entire lives. I left to find my way in the larger world. You stayed in the familiar cocoon of our hometown. I had dreams and ambitions. I know you had dreams too. Why did you set them aside and remain? There are so many questions I’ve never asked and you’ve never volunteered to answer.

You open the bathroom door and turn on the light as I step in behind you and lock it. We stand there, looking at each other while the tension between us builds to the breaking point. We reach for each other, our mouths coming together for the first time, though I’ve dreamt of kissing you for years. Your lips part under mine as your tongue pushes its way into my mouth. Warm, wet velvety softness makes me groan as I think that your pussy must feel like this too.

My hands fumble with the clasp of your dress. What I really want to do is just push the damn thing up, yank your panties down, and fuck you until you scream. But we’re in the basement of the church—old taboos die hard. So I fumble on, finally getting the clasp undone and pulling down the zipper, careful even in my haste not to tear the fabric. You step out of the dress, and I discover that you aren’t wearing panties anyway—one last act of rebellion. Looking at me, but not really seeing me, desire and some darker emotion cloud your eyes as you reach for my belt.

I try to stay focused on what’s happening in the here and now, but my mind keeps wandering back in time….

“Shawn! Shawn, where the hell are you? Mom says you best get your butt in the car before you get left!”

On that day, I tried to ignore my brother’s voice, bellowing my name and breaking my concentration, as I watched what you, my cousins, were doing near the pool table in Aunt Rachel’s basement.

You didn’t know I was there, or so I thought. If I was discovered, Carl and Tommy, Uncle George’s boys, would probably threaten to beat me into silence. Although I was only twelve, I knew you would be in big trouble if you got caught messing with the boys. And that’s what you were doing. Carl and Tommy had you sandwiched between them, Carl behind, Tommy in front, their hands and mouths all over you. Your hands were pulling Carl’s hips against your ass, while you ground your hips into Tommy’s crotch.

We lived in the country, so I knew what was going on—mating animals took care of that early. I had never seen people go at it like this, however, except in the occasional magazine I sneaked from my brother’s room. I liked to stare at the naked women and imagine they were mine. I got all hot and excited when I looked at those pictures, but watching those boys paw at you just made me sick.

Watching you didn’t make me sick. I got all sweaty and tongue-tied around you. And you seemed to know it. You’d mess up my already messy, short brown hair and tease me until I blushed furiously. Then you’d laugh and saunter off to tease the older boys, lush hips swaying as I swallowed the dry lump in my throat. The guys never seemed to get tongue-tied around you, but I somehow couldn’t be as cool as they were.

I didn’t know what to do with how you made me feel: hot and cold, sweating, heart pounding, burning wetness between my clenched thighs. I only knew that it was somehow going to go hard for me if anyone ever found out. So I kept my thoughts to myself and watched you from a distance, wanting, yet fearful that you would notice how I could never seem to tear my eyes away from you.

I heard Connor’s voice getting closer. The basement door flew open as feet pounded down the stairs. “Shawn, are you down here?” Connor hollered as he ran down the stairs.

I peeked from my hiding place under the stairs, watching Carl and Tommy frantically pulling it together as they grabbed pool cues. You combed your fingers through your hair, trying to act as if you’d all just been playing a game.

“Hey guys, have you seen Shawn?” Connor asked. “Mom’s pitching a fit. She got into it with Aunt Rachel again. I just love these family get-togethers, don’t you? Praise the Lord, and pass the potato salad—and don’t forget your boxing gloves.”

The three of you laughed with Connor, Tommy telling him, “I was just showing Mindy how easy it is to wipe the floor with Carl’s ass at pool.” You all followed him up out of the basement while my heart pounded with fear under the stairs, praying you wouldn’t find me. Connor and my male cousins could get downright mean at times. Not that I didn’t give as good as I got, but three to one wasn’t great odds.

I waited until your voices faded before daring to step out from under the stairs. As I ran up the steps and reached for the doorknob, the door swung open. You were standing on the other side. You looked at me for a moment, anger, defiance and amusement warring across your face. Finally, you reached out and ran one fingernail down the inside of my arm, raising goose bumps as you went. You looked at me in a way I had never seen you look at me before, and the bottom dropped out of my stomach.

“Connor’s looking for you. Our mothers got into it again, but I suppose you already know that. If you don’t want to walk home, you’d better hurry up.” With that, you walked away, glancing over your shoulder as I stood rooted to the floor. “Are you walking or riding, Shawn?” you asked.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. “I think I’ll walk. I can’t stand listening to Mom rant about Aunt Rachel,” I said as I walked through the door you were holding open for me.

As I passed you and stepped onto the porch, you grabbed my shoulder. Leaning into my back hard enough for me to feel your breasts pressing into my shoulder blades, to smell the clean Ivory soap scent of your skin, you whispered in my ear, “Someday you might understand what you saw down there, Shawn. When you do, if you want to, come talk to me.”

I stood stock-still for a moment, brain trying to digest what you said. Then I wrenched myself away from you in one long stride. I hurried away from you, being very careful not to fall going down the porch steps. Suddenly I felt as though the earth might split open and swallow me whole if I didn’t walk very softly. I didn’t look back, fearing what I might foolishly do if I looked at you again.

I walked home, kicking at the dust and gravel along the shoulder of the road, seeing you in my mind’s eye: honey brown hair, warm topaz eyes, all curves and soft girl skin, tanned from the summer sun. Across your lightly freckled face spread a slow, lazy smile, as if you knew things that no one your age could or should. Your eyes turned almost yellow whenever the sun shone directly in them. Cats have eyes that color, and they suited you well—you had the same grace and sensuality cats possess. And just under the surface, I’d always sensed the wildness in you, though it would be years before I understood that and everything else I felt around you.

I discovered, later that night in the dark privacy of my room, that I could make the burning ache inside me go away for a while, even if it was a sin. Guilty, trembling, impatient fingers rubbed the wetness between my legs, your face behind my tightly closed eyes, taunting me and pushing me until I exploded and fell, shattered and bereft, back onto my soaked sheets.

Our lives went on, but there was something new and dangerous hovering beneath the surface when we were together. We never spoke of that day. As I became a teen and a young adult, you started treating me as a peer, rather than a younger cousin. I told you my dreams and you told me yours. We whispered secrets to each other, but never spoke of the emotions that stood between us, perhaps believing if we refused to acknowledge them, they would go away. But they never went away; we just buried them deeper.

In the church basement, you tug on my belt, your hands shaking as badly as mine. I take your hands away and tell you to wait. I start to unbuckle my belt, and you say, “I can’t believe you had the guts to show up here packing.” I laugh and tell you, “I can’t believe you even know what that means.” You toss your hair back and look me in the eye. “Just because I live in the boonies doesn’t mean I’m stupid or clueless, Shawn,” you say, as your fingertips graze my ribcage, raising goose bumps on my skin and making my nipples painfully hard beneath my shirt.

As I pull my belt free, you impatiently push my hands out of your way, and yank my zipper open. Slipping one hand inside my fly, your other pushes my pants toward the floor. As they slide down my legs, I bend forward to pick them up and fold them so they won’t wrinkle. But you have other ideas, and won’t be denied. As your hands grasp my shoulders and push me upright, you slide down to your knees, tugging down my briefs as you descend. Before I have time to think about it, you have me in your mouth.

My knees go weak, and I lean back against the counter, trying not to fall over as I watch your lips sliding up and down the shaft of my cock. Apparently it makes no difference to you that it’s not made of real flesh and blood. It certainly feels real as you work your mouth up and down its length, making slurping and sucking sounds that are driving me crazy with desire. If I didn’t know better, I’d think sucking dyke cock is something you do all the time.

The base is pounding against my engorged clit as you slide my cock in and out of your mouth, and I know if I don’t stop you soon, I’m going to explode. As much as I would enjoy coming in your mouth, it’s not what I’m after at the moment. I pull your face away from my crotch as gently as I can, refraining from yanking you up by your hair. My world and yours are very different, and I don’t want to frighten you away before I’ve gotten what I came here to get from you. Or so I tell myself.

I’m bouncing up and down in front of your face, while trying to get you to wait. “Mindy, damn it, just hold on a second, okay?” I say. I grab you under the armpits and haul you upright, turning so you’re the one leaning against the counter. Holding you at arms’ length, I kick off my trousers. Pushing into you with my shoulder, I scoop them off the floor, folding them and laying them across the toilet seat.

I turn back to you, and your hands come up to my shoulders, sliding down to my chest. Your fingers start to unbutton my shirt as we try to get our breathing under control. Looking into my eyes, you work your way down the front of my shirt, while I reach behind you to unhook your bra. You pull my shirt off my shoulders as I draw the straps of your bra down and off your arms. I take my shirt from you and fold it across my pants. I drop your bra on top of it. I’m still wearing my undershirt, and you reach for the bottom to pull it up, but I stop you. “This stays on,” I say to you. You look at me as if to say something, and then seem to think better of it.

Pulling you against me, I kiss your lips, soft and swollen from giving me head. My hand glides across your belly, seeking the heat I can feel boring into my skin. I taste myself on your lips as I push into you, wanting you to feel me, hard and ready, against the now sopping-wet lips of your cunt. My fingers reach between your thighs, squishing and slipping across your inner landscape as I stroke you open. I trap your clit between thumb and forefinger, milking it like a tiny penis. With one hand you push against my chest as the other slides between our bodies, searching for me. I feel your fingers wrap around my shaft. Reluctantly, I pull my fingers from you as I take hold of your hips, lifting you up as you guide me to your entrance.

Whimpering in the back of your throat as the tip of my cock makes contact with your throbbing clit, you thrust your hips forward to meet me. I ease back, not yet ready to give you what you want. “Damn it, Shawn, fuck me,” you growl, your voice raw with need. My legs almost give way, hearing those words from you, of all women. As much as I want this to last, to savor the moment, I know we will be missed soon. I can’t wait any longer.

“Guide me in, Mindy,” I pant against your ear. Your hand still wrapped around my cock, you pull me toward your soaking-wet pussy as I ease my hips forward. You gasp as the tip pushes inside you, rocking your hips to meet me. My hands grab your ass and pull you onto my shaft, slow and steady, until I am all the way inside you, the heat of our bodies colliding as I pull you tighter to me.

I look up from watching my cock slide into you to see your head thrown back, your eyes closed in concentration. Your bare throat, looking so exposed and defenseless in this moment, trusting me with this, is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen.

My left arm circles your waist, as the right travels up your spine, wrapping your glorious hair around my fist as I pull you toward me. My lips graze the side of your neck; my tongue lightly traces the path of your pounding pulse as my teeth nip at your skin. You groan and push your hips into me, demanding and urgent in your extremity. I slide my hand back down to your ass and guide your hips as I begin to move in and out of your cunt.

Your hands push up my undershirt, circling my breasts, warming them in your palms. You take my aching nipples between your fingers, scraping your nails across their hardened tips, suddenly squeezing and twisting them savagely. Groaning from the pleasure and pain, my lips and teeth make a fiery path down your neck, and lower, as I take one of your nipples into my mouth, drawing hard and biting down. My tongue makes a wet trail across to the other, sucking and biting it as well. Releasing my nipples, you shudder against me, your hands sliding around to grip my back as we continue to move together.

My legs are shaking as I widen my stance to drive harder into your depths. Your fingernails dig into my back as you grip me tighter, meeting my thrusts with your own. Sweat pours off me and drips down your chest, like rainfall soaking parched earth. I lift you onto the counter. You wrap your legs around my waist, trying to pull me deeper still into the hungry core of your body.

I have waited so long for this, but I know that it will be over much too soon. I can feel how close you are, squeezing and releasing me with the slick, grasping walls of your pussy. My face is buried in the wet hair at the nape of your neck, as I grunt and pant, working us closer to the edge. Your need pushes me, and I am lost, falling into an abyss, dark, warm, sightless, soundless, as I drive frantically into you.

Stars explode inside my head as we blast over the edge together. You bite down on my shoulder, muffling the cries that tear themselves from your throat as you come, clamping down on me. I can vaguely feel your fingernails gouging my back, your orgasm washing over you, sweeping you away as you grab for any anchor. Your legs are trying to squeeze the breath from me, as I lift you clear off the counter, driving my cock as deeply as I can into your clenching pussy, grunting and groaning as my own pleasure courses through me.

Suddenly, you stiffen in my arms and push against my chest. I raise my head, blinking sweat from my eyes, as my ears register the knocking on the bathroom door. I freeze as I hear my brother’s voice.

“Shawn, are you in there?” comes quietly through the door, muffled both by the barrier between us, and the strain I can hear in Connor’s voice.

“Yes, Connor, I’m here. What do you want?” I say, struggling to make my voice sound normal.

“Have you seen Mindy? Roger’s looking for her,” he says, referring to your son. “He wants to go back to the house, but he drove her over for the funeral.”

I look at you. You nod and close your eyes, leaning your forehead against my chest.

“She’s in here with me, Connor. Tell Roger I’ll bring her along with me shortly.”

There is silence on the other side of the door, but I know my brother is still there. I can feel his anger and disapproval; I can feel him trying to master himself before he speaks. “Damn you, Shawn,” is all he says, then his steps retreat, back up the stairs to the main floor of the church.

I’m still buried deep inside you, but your legs have fallen from around my waist, and you gently push against my chest. I slip from you, squelching sounds audible as our bodies separate.

Awkward now, we run water in the sink and reach for paper towels, cleaning ourselves up as best we can. I help you into your dress, zipping you in as you turn, holding your hair up.

My hands pause for a moment when I reach the top, sliding across your shoulders as I bend my head to softly kiss your exposed neck. You shiver against me, one hand sliding down my thigh and gently squeezing. You drop your hair and turn to pick up my clothes, handing me my pants and briefs as you hold my shirt.

You lean against the counter, watching me as I step into my pants, pulling them up and reaching for my shirt.

I begin to tuck myself in, but your hands stop me. Stepping into me, you look into my eyes as your hands arrange my cock inside my briefs, lingering before you slowly let it go. Moving up to button my shirt for me, you never break eye contact and I am powerless to look away.

As your fingers lightly brush my neck while straightening my collar, your eyes smolder, a promise that we are not finished, a silent demand for the fulfillment of what we have begun. My stomach churns with the unspent desire that still rages through my veins. I can’t imagine, seeing the way you look at me, that you are faring any better.

Allowing me to tuck my shirt in and zip up, you turn to the mirror to repair what can be repaired, to hide the evidence of our tryst.

As you step away from the mirror, you square your shoulders and set your jaw. Taking a deep breath you turn to me. “Shall we?” you ask, and I unlock the door, holding it open for you to precede me. As you come abreast of me you pause, reaching to smooth the hair that has fallen into my eyes. Your fingers brush my cheek. You give me that slow lazy smile I so well remember as you turn from me.

We drive to your house, silence gathering between us. When we arrive, we sit in the car, listening to the ticking engine as it cools. You reach for the door handle. I grab your wrist, pulling you back. You turn and place your fingers over my lips, preventing me from speaking. You step out of the car. I follow you into the house where our family is gathered, mourning your mother and waiting for us.

The rest of the day is a blur of family conversations, casseroles and cakes, the accoutrements of death, birth, tragedy and triumph. I watch you move in this world you know so well. I have become a stranger here, by choice and circumstance, but you move with fluid ease through it.

I wait, stealing glimpses of you while you are busy with mundane things. Occasionally I catch you stealing glances at me, and smile, biding my time.

At last, the house is empty. I’m staying with Connor and his family but linger to help you clean up. You have been distant all these hours. I have no idea what you are thinking; I’ve never seen you like this before. I tell you I should be going, let you get some rest, and you turn to me.

“Mom left something for you, Shawn. You should look at it before you go. Let me go get it.”

I move into the living room, wandering around as I wait for you, touching family photographs and other familiar objects.

You return carrying a box. Placing it on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to you. I sit down and look at the box. My name is written across the top in your mother’s hand. You have brought a pair of scissors with you. Handing them to me, you lean back and watch me open the box.

I am stunned as I begin to remove the contents. Every book I’ve written, every article I’ve published, seems to be nestled in there. There is also a sealed envelope with my name on it.

I stare at you, uncomprehending. “How did she get these, Mindy?” I ask.

“She knew there was more, Shawn. Did you really think she was that naïve?” you replied. “She wanted all of you, Shawn, not just the parts you thought she would approve of. Sometimes I think she loved you more than she loved me,” you add with a wry grin, taking the sting out your words.

I pick up the envelope. It’s a letter, of course, written in my aunt’s fine, bold hand, addressed to me:

My Dearest Shawn,

Please forgive an old woman her subterfuge. Although I know you are not ashamed of the life you have made for yourself, or the literature you have written, I am wise enough to know that you wouldn’t want to present all of it to me.

But I wanted it all, my dear. I needed to see the world through your eyes if I were ever to truly know you. I can’t say that I wasn’t shocked at times.

But more than anything, I was moved by your words. I never knew the things you thought and felt, growing up in this very small world. You hid them from me well. Oh, I could see how you burned to be away, how the slow passing of days and years here chafed at your soul. You were always too impatient for the steady march of time in this place.

When you came home, bringing the gift of words that you would have me see, I always felt your restlessness. And as much as you came home for me, I knew that you came home for someone else, though you tried to hide it from everyone, including yourself.

I selfishly kept you from the one thing your heart needed, more than anything else, to make you whole. She is my only child, Shawn. I couldn’t bear to see her follow you away from here. I struggled with the morality of your close kinship, though the law of the land states there is nothing wrong with that. And I struggled with the morality of two people of the same sex loving each other.

Of all the people I have treasured in my life, there are none as dear to my heart as you and Mindy. I would never say or do anything to hurt you. Yet I hurt you with my silence.

Please find it in your heart to forgive me, Shawn. You always gave me the best parts of yourself, and I’ve always wished the best for you. Now take the best I have to offer you in return.

Take care of each other now. Find whatever happiness you can. Know that I loved you both with every fiber of my being, though my words on this page may make you doubt that.

Your loving aunt,

Rachel

Tears streaming down my face, I hand you the letter.

Hunched forward, face buried in my hands, I feel you shift beside me, feel your arms encircle me. Gently you pull me with you as you lean back into the cushions of the sofa.

We cling tightly to each other, whispering and crying.

“Have you read all the stories she kept in that box, Mindy?” I ask you.

“Who do you think found them for her, Shawn?” you reply, breaking into gales of laughter at the shocked expression on my face.

Yes, I’ll be taking you with me.