First off, my
thanks to Giselle for hosting me today! I think it’s especially fitting
because, you know, she’s
Canadian and I’m Canadian,
and the Butch Femme Salon that’s the setting for my story Speakeasy is right here in my backyard (so to
speak) in downtown Toronto.
When I saw D.L’s
call for submissions, it didn’t take me long to figure out what I wanted to
write. As far as inspiration goes, the awesome folks who organize the Salon and
the equally awesome folks who attend the events provide it in spades. They’ve
had themes ranging from Film Noir to Nerds & Jocks, from Leather & Lace
to Fit for Duty (they’re on facebook – you should look ‘em up). And while my
story is a work of
fiction, I remember walking through the doors of the roaring ‘20’s edition of
the Salon, and this much, at least, is true:
It feels illicit, even though it’s not. It feels like
secret passwords and shady alleys, like I’m crossing the threshold into a
throwback blending of a prohibition era speakeasy and a lesbian bar from the
‘50s. But even that doesn’t begin to describe the deliciousness of a scene
where every masculine-of-centre flavor imaginable – butches, Daddies, papis,
studs, aggressives, trans-folk and bois – are all dressed to the nines in their
suits and ties, their wingtips shined and their fedoras creased just so. It’s
enough to make a femme heart flutter.
It did,
it does, and all of the stories in The Harder She Comes: Butch/Femme Erotica, will make your hearts (or other parts
of your anatomy) flutter too. I’ve got my favourites, and in an anthology that
showcases so many tremendous writers, you’ll no doubt have yours. So pick up a
copy – you really, really should.
Here’s
another excerpt from my story:
There’s a
single unoccupied black leather armchair tucked deep into the shadows in the
corner of the room, and Jay leads us unerringly toward it. Somehow I’m not
surprised; although every other space is occupied, she strikes me as the kind
of person who is used to having whatever she wants, whenever she wants it, and
I thrill at the thought that right now, she wants me.
Jay sinks into the soft leather, looking up at me with an
enigmatic smile. I dither a little bit, because I’m not entirely sure how I’m
supposed to arrange myself across her lap. No matter what she may think, this
isn’t something I do every day, let alone in front of an audience.
“Why don’t
you straddle my lap, babydoll?” She says, and a blush steals into my cheeks,
though I know she can’t see it in the low crimson light. I cast a glance around
the room; there are three or four other couples kissing and petting on the
sofas, and no one’s paying us the slightest attention.
“Don’t you
worry about them baby,” she says, “they’re not worried about us.”
She’s
right, and I know it, and she looks so goddamned sexy sprawled in that chair in
that moment that I don’t think it would matter even if every eye in the room
was on us, I’d still do exactly what she wanted me to do.
My knees
sink into the warm leather on either side of her hips and I lower myself
delicately onto her, all too aware of the heat emanating from between my thighs
and the substantial bulge tucked into her well-tailored pants. This Daddy has
come to the party packed and ready to play, and I stifle a moan against her
shoulder when her hands settle on my hips and guide me more firmly on to her
just as she rocks her hips upward beneath me.
“You see
what you do to me, babydoll?” Jay whispers in my ear, her tongue swirling
around the sensitive shell and then retreating, sending shivers down my spine.
“You made your Daddy all hard.”
Jay’s hands
are on the move, rounding the curve of my ass, squeezing tightly, venturing
lower, to where my ass meets the tops of my thighs, and where the hem of my
short flapper dress has come to rest. There’s an inch of creamy skin exposed
above the tops of my garters, and Jay groans as she discovers both the flesh
and the stockings.
“You’re a
dirty little girl, aren’t you Evie?” Jay’s mouth is just beneath mine, and I
have an almost obsessive need to kiss her, but I wait, like a good girl, while
she strokes me with her hands and her words.
“Dressed up
all nice and pretty on the outside, but underneath…” Oh fuck, I want to kiss
her so badly… “Underneath, you’re just a little slut, aren’t you?”
My pussy
feels heavy and swollen, engorged with blood and slick with the need to be
filled.
“Hmm?”
She’s prompting me.
“Yes…”
Oh God, yes, I feel like a slut.
“Yes
what?” She’s going to make me say it.
“I’m a
slut, Daddy.” Why does it feel so much dirtier to say it out loud? “ I’m your slut,
Daddy.”
Buy the
book! Follow the tour! Here’s where it’s going next:
May
4 River Light http://sapphicplanet.com/index.php
May
5 Sinclair Sexsmith http://www.sugarbutch.net/
May
6 Crystal Barela http://kathleenbradean.blogspot.com/
May
7 CS Clark http://bethwylde.wordpress.com/
May
8 Valerie Alexander http://pomofreakshow.com/
May
9 Andrea Dale
http://lulalisbon.wordpress.com/
May
10 Beth Wylde http://adrianakraft.com/blog/
May
11 Kathleen Bradean http://cyvarwydd.blogspot.com/
May
12 Teresa Noelle Roberts http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/
May
13 Shanna Germain http://lantoniou.blogspot.com/
May
14 Charlotte Dare http://madeofwords.com/posts/
May 15 Rachel Kramer Bussel http://lustylady.blogspot.com/
And don’t forget where it’s been:
May
1 D. L. King http://sacchi-green.blogspot.com/
May 2 Anna Watson http://dlkingerotica.blogspot.com
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