Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 by Kathleen Warnock

Author:Kathleen Warnock
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2011-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

VACATION

Ali Oh

This is my vacation. It includes waking up at 5:30 or earlier every morning to Jae’s screaming nieces, sleeping on a couch because I, in my infinite wisdom, forgot to bring my air mattress, and most of all: stress. The lesser stress of worrying that her family doesn’t like me and is judging my every motion, word or thought. (I’m sure they can read minds, right?) And then there’s the greater stress of her family having too many people, too little money and certainly not enough time.

Yet Jae and I want to make this our vacation. We’ve taken time off from work to relax. And we…well…we can make some adult fun happen.

It starts in the car on the way back from Orlando, after dropping off her brother’s computer for repair. We’ve been teasing all day—remarks here and there, subtle touches. Jae slapped my thigh while we were waking up. The tension had been building and all I wanted to do was fuck. I said so. I told her we had to make it happen. And she kept saying, “We’ll see, we’ll see.” Which I understand. How, in a house with so many little monkeys, can adults have their own time-out? I’ve made an executive decision to take it outside the house. Jae is driving and I am so hard that I ache. The blood rushes in and makes me stiff, makes my face flush. I reach my left hand under her seat belt and pull her button loose, slide my hand farther down. There’s a sensory aspect, something about just feeling. I feel things I don’t usually notice, when I’m not staring at what I’m doing. I run one light finger up and down—she opens out, flower-like and just as soft.

“What’re you doing?” Jae always asks this when I’m being especially naughty; especially forward. Harnessing my attraction is not my strong suit, so I hear this phrase often.

“Playing, baby boy.” I keep running my finger over her slit. I watch her. We aren’t naked, so I can’t see her body. I can barely see her eyes for the sunglasses, but I can watch her face. I can feel her tense up every time my finger brushes her clit, like that spot makes electricity just for me. She jolts as I find it again and circle around it with one finger. She grabs the wheel, and I see her knuckles white against the black leather. I slide her between two of my fingers, rubbing on either side. She’s wet for me—judging from how much, I think maybe she’s been wet for a while. When did it start for her? She moves a hand to her face, puts one delicate finger between her parted lips, a silent sigh held back as my slick finger plays. She’s my boy, sure. But there are moments when I see her vulnerability; where I see how much she wants me to top her. This’s one of them.

I keep making her gasp. She’s supposed to be driving seventy, but she’s at sixty-four and falling.

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