Monday, March 12, 2012

Sapphic Planet excerpt, from an anthology edited by Beth Wylde

Welcome to Sapphic Planet, a literary realm where women are free to love one another without fear of prejudice or reprisal. Inside these pages you’ll discover nineteen stories written specifically to tease and titillate your senses.

From a frolic in the rain with a Bathing Beauty, to a concerned sibling showing his sister some Brotherly Love, and everything in between. Whether you’re in the mood for steamy romance or unrequited lust, we’ve got a story guaranteed to satisfy your cravings.

This anthology showcases just a fraction of the talent from the writers of Sapphic Planet, a group specifically created for authors and aspiring authors of quality lesbian literature.

Sapphic Planet
CreateSpace (February 26, 2012)
ISBN-10: 1466479086
ISBN-13: 978-1466479081

Excerpt from Licked by Jodi Payne

I'm the first to admit that I'm jaded. I've been around the block a few times and I'm hard to please. When I scan a dance floor I'm looking for a real woman. Her body is a factor, but it's not everything. I like a decent rack. I like to see something that makes my mouth water, who doesn't? I love a good ass. In fact, her ass is even more important than her tits. But if I have to pick a deciding factor, one particular thing that must be perfect regardless of the packaging, it's her eyes. Her eyes will tell me what I'm really in for. I look for experience, for someone whose mind is on my body, whose hands can read my goose-bumps like Braille. Someone who looks as if she can play me like a concert pianist masters Rachmaninoff. I want a woman who isn't going to rush. I willingly give a lover all night long and I expect her to use it.

So yeah, of course I laugh at the baby boi who suddenly slips her hand into mine and tugs me into a space between the gyrating bodies that's just big enough for two. Not at all the overture I'd been expecting. I mean, look at her. She's adorable, sure, with her neon-blue-tipped faux-hawk and her black sneakers. Her fresh face is set with dark almond-shaped eyes that I find alluring, and harder for me to get a read on than most. Boi, you might have that hard, hot look and you're definitely into me, but you can't be a day over twenty. Show me your fake ID.

She's quick to smile, another common curse of the young. Gutsy little thing though, I'll give her that. Her body is telling me she wants me to dance, and she moves closer.

I find it difficult to get into at first, rubbing hips with this little top-dyke in the making. She even has a harness on underneath her button-flys. She threads graceful fingers through her belt loops, grinding that dildo strapped across her bush into my hip. Say, little boi, does your mother know that you bind your chest? Does she know you suck clit? Does she know you pack cock under your tight blue jeans?

Will mommy let you stay out past ten?

She's a smooth dancer. She moves easily, freely, and though we're all moving to the same unrelenting beat, it seems as if she is creating one all her own. I let my eyes and hands travel over her slender body. She hasn't given me her name yet, or said anything at all for that matter; she just dances, and once in a while she gives me a knowing look that seems far beyond her years. I'm intrigued and I return her wily smile, giving her permission to make her move.

You think you can teach this old dog a new trick, dyke boi? Bring it on, sweetheart. Show me what you can do.

Her hands slip around my waist and up my back. No, not just up my back, but under my shirt and against my bare skin. She flattens her fingers over my spine. They're cool, and seem to mock the slowly building heat of the moment. It's a clever move, suitably forward. It speaks of intention, and I'm pleased but surprised to discover that she's not fooling around. Chalk another one up for the kid.

I'm suddenly aware of scrutinizing eyes on my back and I turn around, spotting several trend-addicted young women congregating at the bar; mostly high femmes and fag dykes. The mystery resolves itself before my eyes. My desire-induced fog lifts and I find myself the unwitting object of a school-boi dare.

“Are those your friends at the bar?” I ask, lowering my lips to the boi's ear to be heard over the music.

She nods.

“I see. They put you up to this?” I pull away and grin knowingly at her. I played this game once too and I remember how to win.

“No!” she protests, vehemently enough that I want to believe her. “No. I want you. I put myself up to this.”

“And they...?”

“They said they didn't believe you'd do it.”

Well, well. Break my unbreakable heart. She wanted me, from way over there at the bar, and her catty little girlfriends told her she wasn't worthy of me. It takes a lot of moxie to risk humiliation in front of one's friends. This little top's got courage. She deserves to win this one.

“Let's give the ladies something to chew on,” I suggest.

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Roy Chaudoir said...

Intriguing! My young lesbian contacts who are "still young" diminish as the years go by, but I see that you have magically captured their spirit, mischief, Pan-like quality, and one should remember Pan carries a dagger! You held my interest throughout, and I learned how tight a spot on the dance floor gets...but most of all, you evoked a sense of joy from within. Evocative! Your writing is emotionally evokative, and in a seriously complex schema. I admire your style!

Victor J Banis said...

Wow, Beth, that is a great "voice" - I'll have to look for more of her writings - thanks for sharing this - I almost felt as if I were out there on that packed dance floor...with that darling boi. Brought out my inner lesbian.

Mykola ( Mick) Dementiuk said...

Yum, yum, remember when I get hard and not give a fxxk? Well, this story would certainly do it. Great job ;)