Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 7 by Sinclair Sexsmith

Author:Sinclair Sexsmith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year: Volume Seven
ISBN: 9781627785402
Publisher: Cleis Press
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

BLACK-AND-WHITE POLAROIDS

Andra Dill

The bent butter knife mocked her. Bev blinked back tears and twisted the ungiving doorknob again. Why couldn’t Howard leave his doors unlocked like most people? Bev scrubbed at her eyes. She wasn’t cut out for breaking and entering, but she needed those damned Polaroids.

Moonlight winked off the stainless-steel handle. Grasping the knife, she wrestled it out from the jamb. Bev had seen Frankie use one to pop open a door. She’d made it look so easy. There must be a trick to it.

Bev had brought the knife on a lark, fully expecting the doors to be open. Her soon-to-be ex-brother-in-law didn’t even have the courtesy of hiding a spare key under a potted plant. Not that there were any potted plants by the rental’s front door, nor any here on the side entrance’s concrete block stoop.

Anxiety chewed on her already frayed nerves. Should she try kicking the door in? No, too much noise and with her saddle shoes she’d most likely break her toes. How would she get inside now? Her stomach twisted, threatening to revolt. How much time had she wasted already? If she managed to get in, would she even be able to find the salacious photos? What if Howard decided to come home early from the bowling alley? If she’d heard Frankie say it once, she’d heard her say it a hundred times. Time’s crucial: get in, get the prize, get out.

Bev was running out of time.

The sounds of laughter and Lucy Ricardo begging Ethel Mertz for help rolled through the air. With half the neighborhood’s windows open to enjoy the last gasp of Indian summer, she had no trouble following along with tonight’s episode of I Love Lucy.

At the moment, Bev felt an affinity with Lucy: they’d both run into trouble with ill-conceived plans. The image of Frankie as Ethel Mertz flashed through her mind making her snicker. Frankie rarely bothered with a bra let alone a girdle or corset. Maybe not Ethel. No, she was more a female version of Ricky Ricardo.

More laughter spilled through the windows.

Windows.

Would Howard have latched all his? She set down the deformed knife and tried the closest window. It wouldn’t budge. She crept along, making her way to the back of the house.

The next one raised several inches before it ground to a stubborn halt. Gripping the sash, she wiggled it back and forth, but it refused to give any further. The third window’s protesting shriek sounded as loud as the noon whistle. Heart galloping, Bev dropped down into a crouch, sure one of the neighbors would come charging out to investigate.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye. Her head whipsawed toward the weatherworn tool shed.

Please let it be a dog.

Muscle-numbing fear held her in place. A slim, dark figure separated from the shadows. Bev’s breath abandoned her. She didn’t want to go to jail.

“What are you up to?” Frankie whispered the question.

“Mary, mother of God.” Crumpling forward, fingers splayed on the browning grass, Bev landed on her knees.

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