Remember a trans lesbian novelette I wrote called Friday Night Lipstick?
No?
Good!
Friday Night Lipstick was previously published by loveyoudivine Alterotica and then by Excessica Publishing, and now it's back again. If you didn't read it the first times around, here's your chance. And, trust me: don't pass this one up. A lesbian erotic romance about transgender women in the 50+ age bracket is pretty darn rare.
I don't write a lot of achingly sweet HEA romance, but this story makes me cry every time I read it. Honestly: I have NEVER made it through the final chapter without shedding a few tears. I root like hell for these characters. They deserve all the happiness in the world.
When Layla and Bernice first met, they'd never heard
the word "transgender." Back then, they thought of themselves as
cross-dressers and frequented gay clubs together.
Twenty years later, Layla is a glamorous and successful real estate
agent living as a woman full-time. Repressed Bernice is still married to
a woman who won't let go of the husband Bernice used to be. She spends
her lonely nights dreaming of a life with lovely Layla.
While Bernice is trapped in a hopeless relationship, Layla seems
perfectly content hopping from bed to bed. On Friday night, when their
facades break down, will these long-time friends finally admit their
love for one another?
And even if they do, how will married Bernice and swinging single Layla build a future together?
EXCERPT:
There was nothing to say.
There was only the kiss.
For the first time in their twenty-year friendship, Bernice pressed her
lips against Layla’s. Layla went one step further, parting Bernice’s
teeth. Beyond its sheer strength, that tongue was warm and wet and soft
as velvet.
Layla’s kisses matched the vivacity of her character, but there was a
delicacy to every moment that Bernice hadn’t anticipated. Really, she
never thought this day would come. She’d hoped to kiss Layla, dreamed of
it, and now it was happening. Her unnamed wants all sprung to the
surface, though she’d cast them aside in her hopeless hours. In the
passion and tenderness of this kiss, Bernice saw her future. And it was
beautiful.
As they stumbled to Rosanna’s sofa, Bernice peeled the straps from
Layla’s shoulders, letting her skimpy dress fall to her waist. Without
waiting, without asking permission, Bernice latched on to Layla’s
beckoning breasts.
Layla gasped when Bernice pressing both tits together. She’d spent so
many lonely nights dreaming of this in bed, dreaming of the woman she
loved. She loved. She switched nipples and Layla writhed against her
face, moaning, “Yes Bebe, yes doll.”
Bernice pressed her face to those beautiful breasts. Oh, they were so
much softer than she’d imagined. She couldn’t control herself, running
her tongue from nipple to nipple, licking, sucking, biting, making Layla
squeal.
Hiking up her skirt, Layla hooked her thumbs around her black gaff.
Bernice’s breath caught in her lungs. She backed off, giving the woman
room to wriggle out of those tight-fitting undergarments. Her heart
hammered as they slid down Layla’s thighs.
“What’s wrong, doll?” Layla’s copper dress hung over her crotch as she
kicked off her underwear. Bernice looked into her eyes and found them
full of concern. “If it’s too fast, or if you don’t want to…”
“No.” At her age, Bernice felt embarrassed admitting to her
inexperience. “I’m nervous, if you can believe it. I’ve just… I’ve never
done this before.”
With a loving chuckle, Layla leaned forward to plant a kiss on Bernice’s cheek. “You sound like a teenager.”
“I know.” Bernice smirked. “I guess that makes you a cradle-robber.”
Layla rolled her eyes.
“Cougar?”
“Hardly.” Laughing, she said, “You’re older than I am.”
“Don’t remind me.” Bernice gazed into the valley of Layla’s thighs, and
the darkness beyond. God, why was she so afraid? Maybe because Layla had
been with so many men, women, people, who probably had university
degrees in cocksucking. What did Bernice know about giving a blow job?
But Layla hadn’t loved those other people. And she loved Bernice. That was the difference.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
Editorial Reviews
Bending the Bookshelf
- Sally:
There is a very real emotional
connection there that adds significance to the physical coupling [...] I
will refrain from saying anything further, for fear of spoiling the
magic, but you know with Giselle that there is a happily ever after in
the offering. The way in which she wraps up all the threads of the story
is quite beautiful, and if you don't shed a tear or two of happiness
before the end, it's likely only because you're exhausted from sharing
in their pleasure.
