Best Lesbian Erotica 2005 by Tristan Taormino

Author:Tristan Taormino
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2012-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Fee Fie Foe Femme

Elaine Miller

All night long she wouldn’t let me kiss her because—she said—our lipstick colors clashed.

Checking the address she’d written on a piece of paper, I’d picked her up at her house earlier. Rosalie, the paper said, then her phone number and address. No last name. Dykes don’t need last names when we have attributes and ex-lovers to be known by. As a dyke I’m Jez the Goth, or Sharen’s-ex Jez, never Jessie Tate. And Rosalie…could be New-in-Town Rosalie, or Rosalie the Beautiful. Maybe if I was into U–Haul rental she could be Jez’s Rosalie by the second date.

My heart skipped a beat as she’d appeared in the doorway dressed like an old-time movie starlet, her loose curls bouncing around her sparkling brown eyes. She’d taken my hand, and I’d leaned in for a kiss, which she dodged, laughing impishly. And explained. I was annoyed that she was right about the lipstick clashing. I was wearing my usual vampiric matte blood-red, and hers was something a worker bee would die trying to collect for her queen. Raspberry pink, glittery under the new-car deep gloss, her lips were startling and perfect jewels against her brown skin.

I took Rosalie the Beautiful to LICK, the only full-time lezzie bar in town. Once there and seated at a table beside the dance floor, we lost no time in flirting. She pretended to lose one of her gold earrings in my cleavage, necessitating that she trail her fingers around my breasts, trolling for it, while I protested that she had to find it, quick, because I wear only silver with black clothing. And of course, I only wear black clothing.

But she still wouldn’t kiss me. She would dance so close to me that the lines of her face blurred in our body heat, oh yes. She would let the slick material of her skirt smooth the way as she rode my thigh to the beat of the house music. Later in the evening, she’d let me hold her tight in the dark corners of the bar, one hand cupping her full breast, my thumb strumming across her nipple as she squirmed, my other hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. But every time I tried to kiss her, throughout the evening, she just laughed and twirled away, leaving a cloud of girl-scent, a flare of her skirt, and the teasing word Lipstick.

By the end of the night, I was cross-eyed with frustration. When Rosalie the Beautiful whispered a lewd invitation in my ear, I simply answered, “Yeah. Let’s go to my house,” took her hand, and pulled her out of LICK, past the approving smirks of my friends. And on the way home she wouldn’t kiss me. She teasingly said that it was all about preserving her shiny, glossy pink lipstick. Besides, she wouldn’t want to distract me from my driving.

We tumbled in my door as one body with eight limbs, panting and pulling at each other’s clothes all the way to the bedroom.

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