Catch Her in the Wry

February 14, 2013

Best Lesbian Romance 2013 is hot off the presses!

Selected for inclusion by Radclyffe, my story finds the heart and sole occupant of "Undress You Up in My Love" finding Southern comfort in her new roommate.

And now for a meet and greet...

"Sex-crazed straight girl preys on innocent lesbian. How's that for a headline?"

I'm clinging to her now, like one of those plush Garfields with the suction cups on its paws, the kind you stick on your car window. "I am not a heterosexual," I bristle, alternating between necking and nuzzling.

"You are according to that clock on the wall," Darla replies, pointing to the plastic pussycat with the tick-tock tail. "You're not officially a lesbian until your coming out party."

Darla is referring to my impending debut. In less than an hour, we will be subverting (perverting?) a time-honored Southern tradition: the debutante ball. Darla had a conventional coming out ceremony when she was 18. I did not, so she decided to make up for it. I thought the whole idea was kind of hokey and tried to dissuade her, but once an idea gets into Darla's head, it sticks there like a Post-it Note.

She's spent four months making the preparations. You should see our living room. It resembles the aftermath of a Skittles explosion. I appreciate all her hard work, but still... "We could cancel it," I suggest, jiggling the zipper on her dress. "Once you've been to one ball, you've been to them all." 

Darla's mouth takes the shape of an oval, reminiscent of an Easter egg. "Call off the ball?" she bawls, sounding at once melancholic and melodramatic. She jabs her fists into her pelvis. "Heavens, no!" 

I laugh, savoring the sound of her voice, all sugar and syrup and sass. She tried to ditch her accent once, tried to trade it for the timbre of the East Coast. (This happened shortly after we returned from a trip to the Big Apple. She says coincidence, I say hogwash.) But the North and the South just don't mix, and for all her efforts, she sounded like a cross between a vampire and a Valley Girl, which would have been cute if it hadn't been creepy. (I paid her – in sexual favors, of course – to say, "Like, oh, my gawd, I’m totally going to, like, suck your blood.") 

I love her voice, her voice, in all its Georgian glory. And I love the way her lips move when she speaks, how they stretch and crinkle and smile – she can't seem to talk without smiling. And I love the way the apples of her cheeks puff up when she grins, especially when that grin is followed by a kiss. While we're on the subject of smooching, I love the way her kisses taste like pecan pie. And the way she holds me when she kisses me. And the way her fingers, long and limber, make me ache and quake and crumple. 

Hard as it may be to believe, I didn't always feel this way about Darla. To be perfectly honest, when I first met her, I thought she was a trifle… repulsive.

Assuming you, queer - er, dear - reader, did not find that sample repulsive, trifle or otherwise, the anthology is available here and there.

Best of all... you may be able to get it for zip if you enter Erie Gay News' contest.

Best of luck!

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

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