Best Lesbian Romance 2012 Read online

  I noticed as we walked that even with my fuck-me heels, she was still taller than me by a head.

  We filled the drive downtown with inanities, tidbits about work, thoughts about dinner.

  I just kept thinking about what would happen when she took me home. I’d laid out my favorite toys and several lengths of rope suitable for my four-poster bed.

  She put me on her arm, and when we walked into the theater, our strides matched. I felt beautiful and proud to be by her side. We garnered our share of looks and she leaned over to whisper in my ear.

  “Every man here wishes he was in my place.”

  Her breath warmed my neck and I felt the flush spread down my neck and across my back and chest. I smiled hugely.

  The play was okay. I got the gist of it and laughed at most of the right places. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, but all I wanted was to get her home.

  When it was over and we were in the lobby, she asked, “Where would you like to have dinner? We can leave the car here and take a cab. I can’t imagine you walking very far in those heels.”

  It was true. I had worn them because I know my calves look terrific in them. And the line when I bend over is stupendous, which is really where I wanted to be.

  “Why don’t we skip dinner and go back to my place?”

  Her face froze for a moment and then became regretful. I had said the wrong thing. But why?

  “I’d prefer not to.”

  Irritation rose up.

  “Why not? The connection is there. We both felt it, didn’t we?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yes. It’s there.”

  “Then why? Do you just want an arm toy?” A sneaking suspicion rose up. She watched, she teased, and watched some more.

  “Are you some kind of pervert? Do you get off watching because you can’t do anything else?” I realized I was getting loud and lowered my voice.

  Her face froze again and she just stared at me.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No, Lucy, I’m as red-blooded as you.”

  “Then what is it? You want me, I want you, what is stopping you?”

  She smiled sadly. “Yes, I want you. But everyone wants you. Everyone has you.”

  Everyone has me? I’d never felt ashamed of my popularity or my desire or my reputation as a play slut before. But that comment made me feel dirty, like a whore. I flushed, humiliated and ashamed.

  “Now, I’ve done it. I didn’t mean to insult you. I meant that I want what no one else has.”

  “And what’s that?” I growled, tears of anger and shame filling my eyes.

  “Your heart. I want to woo you,” she said softly.

  Oh. Now I was really embarrassed. Here she was courting me, and I had been stupid. Really stupid. Ruined everything.

  “No one ever did that before.”

  She smiled sadly. “No,” she said softly. “But you deserve it. Perhaps I should take you home.”

  I blushed again and tears dripped down my cheeks, streaking my mascara. She handed me a handkerchief. A handkerchief!

  I took it and blotted my eyes, unwilling, unable to look at her.

  She took my arm and we walked silently to the car. I got in when she opened it and sat, smelling her cologne as she walked around to the driver’s side and let herself in.

  We said nothing all the way home.

  When she pulled up in front of my house, she got out and opened the door. I got out, taking her hand, but not feeling any of the electricity we’d shared before. Because I broke the connection. Because I was a dumb broad who couldn’t recognize class and gallantry when it took my arm.

  “Here,” she said, offering me a card. “Call me if you feel like it.”

  I tucked the card in my purse as a fresh wave of hot tears flowed down my cheeks. I couldn’t look at her as I walked up the steps to my door.

  She waited until I was in before driving away.

  Once in, I threw my purse down on the side table and kicked off my shoes.

  “Stupid, stupid, Lucy,” I shouted, tugging off the jacket and unlacing the corset. My toys were all spread out on their towel on the bed and I flipped the corner, sending them flying hard into the wall.

  I sat on the bed, weeping from anger at myself, shame at what I’d thought and said, and regret over what I had lost.

  I got into the shower and ran it until it was cold and my tears ran dry. Then I dried off and crawled into bed, miserable.

  It was a week before I could think about what she’d said. Then I remembered she’d given me her card. I found it and stared at it. I couldn’t possibly call her. I was too humiliated.

  On the other hand, she hadn’t said she didn’t want to see me again. I would have. I’d have thought I was too dumb to woo. Not worthy of such affection.

  Those thoughts haunted me for another week.

  Then I saw Man of La Mancha was coming to the Arvada Center. I loved that movie.

  I handled the card so much the edges got worn and I finally decided that I’d better call before there were no more tickets or I couldn’t read the card anymore.

  She picked up on the first ring. “This is Micky.”

  “This is Lucy,” I said, my voice cracking.

  “Lucy,” she said, real warmth coloring my name. “How are you?”

  She never said, it took you long enough, I thought you’d never call. No, she was going to make this easy.

  If only I could make the most of it without being a twit.

  “I, I’ve thought a lot about what you said. I owe you an apology. I, no one’s ever courted me before.” I swallowed. I had to be honest here. “It’s embarrassing, but all I thought about was getting you alone and playing.”

  She laughed, a throaty chuckle. “I admit I’ve thought about it a lot, too.”

  She had?

  “But then why...”

  “Because, Lucy, like I said, I want your heart. Everything else will follow after that.”

  It would?

  I could hardly breathe. She wanted my heart. She still wanted it, even after what I did.

  “Uh. Well, I called to say that Man of La Mancha is playing at the Arvada Center.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment.

  “You know that I chose Midsummer Night’s Dream for a reason, don’t you?”

  She had? I thought frantically. A romantic comedy, star-crossed love, mix-ups. How did that relate?

  “Uh, no.”

  “So then you aren’t trying to say something to me?”

  Don Quixote tilting at windmills, chasing dreams that could never be realized.

  “Gawd, I am such a doofus.” If my face was any redder, it would spontaneously combust. I was glad she couldn’t see it.

  She laughed again, that same throaty chuckle. It sent shivers down my back and lodged in my pussy.

  “Well, I could have given a clue, I guess.”

  Maybe a couple. On the other hand, I was in a groove all my own.

  “No, I just loved the movie and thought it would be fun to see it in the flesh.”

  “Good enough,” she said. “When do you want to go?”

  Now, right now. Wait. I’d need a new outfit.

  “Saturday night?” I asked.

  “Dinner first?”

  Be decisive.

  “At the Palomino Club?”

  “Great,” Micky said. “I’ll pick you up at five.”

  I hoped my voice didn’t show how my hands were shaking.

  “Until five, then.”

  Well, it quavered a little.

  “Good-bye, Lucy,” she said.

  “Good-bye, Micky,” I said.

  My dress for Saturday was a purple floral satin brocade sheath with matching pumps and a black pashmina scarf.

  Her eyes lit up like Christmas lights when I opened the door. She wore a dark blue suit with a cream button-down shirt and a narrow navy and cream tie.

  She had another corsage, a wristlet this time.

  How did she k
now which to bring? I don’t know, but I didn’t doubt she could do it again and again.

  I had my little perk, too. When we sat down to dinner, I pulled a slim lavender envelope out of my purse.

  She held it up and inspected it. I’d made the paper a year ago, but never knew what to do with it. I made the lacy edging with a pair of fancy scissors. She held it to her nose and closed her eyes as she inhaled.

  “Poison,” she said. “I love what it does for you.”

  She noticed what the perfume did for me? I flushed. I was such a fool. But a lucky one.

  She opened it carefully and withdrew another small piece of handmade paper that I’d spent all of yesterday making. It took three tries to get the color and the consistency the way I wanted it.

  Her eyes grew shiny as she held up the dainty blood-red heart with “Lucy” written in my most ornate hand across the center.

  “Not to hurry things along or anything.”

  “Liar,” she said.

  “Okay, maybe a little, but I mean it.”

  She stared at me, her face serious, her eyes wondering, seriously wondering.

  “Oh, Micky,” I said. “I don’t deserve you, not yet, but I will, I swear I will.”

  “Thank you, Lucy.” Her eyes were the tiniest bit shiny as she brought the heart to her lips and kissed it before tucking it gently into her inside breast pocket.

  She lifted my hand and turned it over to kiss my palm. A thrill shot up my arm, straight to my heart.

  Dinner was wonderful, the musical a treat I will never forget, tons better live than the movie ever was, and, yes, Micky pulled me inside when I opened the door to my house, took me in her arms, and kissed me full on the mouth.

  We never even opened the toy bag, but now that we know each other so well, I bet that she’ll use them.

  A lot.

  But just on me.

  A PROM STORY IN THREE PARTS

  Sheree L. Greer

  I.

  I had walked in on my mother and father. They were just talking, but the fact that I had never met Ray, my absentee father of seventeen years, made the moment as salacious as me walking in on something else. Of course I stormed out. I went to Daryan’s. Tentative and tender, she sat on the floor of her room and held my hand while I slept in her bed. A friend was what I needed, and that is what Daryan gave me, friendship. I went through the weeks leading up to prom terse and tense, unsure how to proceed. My mother had apologized and hugged me. I had kept my arms at my side. We didn’t see each other much with her working overtime, and it was just as well. I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to talk to her. All of that changed the night of prom.

  “Zaire, come in my room a minute.”

  I left the bathroom, where I was finishing my eye makeup, and went into my mother’s room. I sat down on the bed. I wore a silver gown that complemented my gray eyes. I scratched the back of my neck nervously, my hair done up in an elegant French roll, and watched as my mother went into one of her jewelry boxes. She took out a small black box lined with silver. She held it out to me.

  “What is it?” I asked with a sigh.

  “I know you’re still upset with me, but you need to let me explain.” She jutted the box toward me. “Here. Take it. I want you to wear these tonight.”

  I opened the small velveteen box. Inside, resting regally on a small hump of black satin, was a pair of diamond earrings. I held them up, astounded. The light hit the pea-sized stones and came exploding out in twinkles of purple, blue, pink, yellow, and white.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said.

  “So are you,” my mother said.

  I closed the box and held it, biting the inside of my jaw.

  “Zaire, I should’ve handled the situation with Ray better. He’d been calling me, saying he was moving back to Milwaukee and wanted to know if I’d forgiven him. He asked about you and Sierra. And the other night, I let him stop by. It was only supposed to be for a minute. He said he’s changed. He’s ready to be a family, wants to be a father to you and Sierra, to his ‘baby girls,’ he said.”

  “Does he even know how old we are? Baby girls? I’m graduating from high school in a few weeks. Sierra’s in eighth grade. He’s awfully damn late.”

  “Watch your mouth, Zaire.” My mother rubbed her hands. “I know. I know. That’s what we were arguing about. He’s said these things before, about changing. And in the end, I always end up hurt and disappointed. I don’t want that for you and Sierra. I don’t want you hurt or disappointed by Ray the way I’ve been.”

  Protecting us. She was trying to protect us. My eyes watered.

  “You should’ve said something,” I said.

  “I know. But I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. I’m sorry. It wasn’t a good secret to keep. Talking it out might’ve even helped.” My mother sighed.

  I instantly thought of my dreams. I did my best to ignore them, shamefully shutting them out of my everyday life, trying to forget them the second I woke up. The dreams were more vivid each time. What had started as a soft presence, a closeness warming behind me, faceless and gentle, breath against my neck, skin like silk at my back, had become something infinitely more detailed, more telling.

  Daryan, a transfer student new to Adams High, had invaded my dreams the moment I met her. In the dream, we are both naked. Daryan is behind me. I feel her nipples grazing my shoulder blades as she inhales, and when she exhales, a sweet sigh escaping her throat. I feel her breath, hot and urgent, against the back of my neck. When I turn to face her, she smiles a smile I’ve given a thousand meanings—amusement, compassion, intrigue, invitation. I smile, too, and feel weightless. Daryan places her warm, soft hands on my shoulders and her touch becomes the only thing that keeps me from floating away.

  I awake to the sound of my own gasp, wrapped in the darkness of my bedroom. The quiet black is my only solitude and it gives me a solace the slickness between my legs won’t allow. I place my hand there, across the lips that thankfully never speak, and stifle feelings I pray are the kind that remain hidden and not the ones that cannot be denied. Afraid and trembling with shame, I clench my eyes tight and pray myself back to sleep.

  “Say something,” my mother said. She put her hand on my thigh.

  “I guess I can understand that.”

  My mother slid the jewelry box from my hands and opened it. “Ray bought these for me. Right before I got pregnant with Sierra.” She took one of the impressive studs out of the box and twirled it between her thumb and forefinger. “Come here.”

  I sniffled and leaned toward her. She put the earring in my ear and rubbed my lobe.

  “Then, a week later, he came over to Mama Iris’s, where we staying, and asked me to give them back to him.”

  “What? Why?” I turned so she could put the other earring on. She placed it just so, then held my face in her hands.

  “He had lost a pool game. Bet more than he had, owed some man a few hundred dollars more. I refused. He clenched his fist like he was going to hit me. I clenched mine, too. You came running up to the door. He looked at you, then looked at me, cursed, and left. It was the last time I had seen him. Last time you seen him, too.”

  “Until the other night.” I didn’t remember ever seeing Ray at all. I imagined myself, at four years old, running up to the door to kick him in the shins.

  “Yeah.” My mother kissed my forehead. “You sure are beautiful, Zaire. You’re beautiful and caring. And good. You’re really good. I don’t want anyone to spoil that, especially not your father.”

  She took me in her arms. I lifted my arms around her, clinging to her while fighting tears. The moment made me feel sad and a little guilty. There I was condemning her for not telling me the whole story, all the while clutching secrets of my own.

  My boyfriend Sheldon arrived at 7:30 sharp, looking like a male model in a black tuxedo with crisp white shirt and perfectly matched gray vest and bow tie. He wore black square-toe shoes and had a diamon
d stud of his own shining in his right ear.

  He smiled broadly when he saw me, his dimples deeper than I had seen them in a while.

  “You look absolutely amazing,” he said. He held out my corsage, a delicate white lily with baby’s breath and pink miniature roses.

  “Thank you,” I said. “You look nice, too.”

  He adjusted the flowers on my wrist and put an arm around me. He seemed tense, his body a little stiff and awkward.

  “I don’t know why I’m nervous,” he whispered to me as my mother scurried around trying to find the best place for us to pose for pictures.

  She took several shots of us in front of the fireplace and a few more when we got outside. My younger sister Sierra squealed and Mama Iris, my grandmother, grinned with each new picture while my mother kept wiping her eyes and shaking her head in awe and pride.

  “Y’all look fantastic together,” my mother said. “Let me get one more.”

  She took five more.

  Sheldon looked at his watch.

  “We gotta go, Mama,” I said.

  “All right, all right,” my mother said. “One more.” She snapped another picture, then motioned for Sheldon to go on ahead to the car.

  “I want you to be happy. Above all else. You know that, don’t you?” my mother said.

  I nodded, and my mother kissed my cheeks. We hugged. I blew Sierra, Mama Iris, and my mother kisses as Sheldon backed out of the driveway.

  II.

  Prom, “This Night Forever,” was at the Winchester Hotel downtown. I had never been there, but from the looks of the tall glass building with gold-detailed doors and elegant spotlights, I knew it was going to be something special inside.

  Limos pulled up and drove off after dropping off beaming teenagers in a wide array of backless, strapless, and flowing gowns paired with sharp, tailored tuxes and fine suits. A few people came in with Sheldon and me, having left borrowed and rented luxury sedans in the care of the valet.

  Once inside, it wasn’t hard to find the ballroom. Though a placard on an easel welcomed the John Adams High School Senior Prom in an elegant script of embossed gold letters, you could hear the music spilling into the spacious lobby.