A Wonderland Winter

December 23, 2015

"Soar Spot" first burst onto the lesfic scene in Ladylit's collection First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings.

The characters experience their second coming, if you will, in the new Coming Together collection Keeping Warm, edited by that altruistic marvel Alessia Brio.

This anthology serves as my seventh act of phil-antho-py for Coming Together, and for this particular - not to mention particularly prodigious - project, proceeds that come in will go to Operation Warm, an organization that offers children sartorial sustenance in the form of cozy coats.

Not only will this charit-ebook keep kids bundled up; it won't cost a bundle either.

I'd say that makes Keeping Warm the ultimate book jacket.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Pink Ladylit

November 10, 2015

When I am out - of doors, that is - I'll either play miniature golf, go paddle boating, or pick apples.

Or, like the ladies in my new story for Ladylit's latest, Al Fresco: Five Outdoorsy Tales of Lesbian Lust, I'll attend a carnival.

My favorite ride is the swings, but I'm also fond of the fun slide, the merry-go-round, and the scrambler.

And that's where my story starts: with two best friends riding that ride with the Skip-It style whip action and - consequently - hip action. Best pals Liz and Jody love the eighties and especially the Pink Ladies, and they've got something else in common as well: they're both gay.

Jody doesn't find this grody, but Liz does, and she's loath to admit it - and even loather to admit that she's developing feelings for her friend. Remember in Grease when Coach Calhoun instructed students at the dance-off that "all couples must be boy-girl"?

Well, it looks like Liz was listening - a little too closely.

Will Liz unscramble her thoughts and start thinking Pink so that she can stop spending her gays - er, days - mooning so sad and blue?

You better shape up when you don't need a man, 'cause why have tears on your pillow when you can have queers on them instead?

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

First Lives Club

October 13, 2015

When you're single and looking, you have to hope for the best and prepare for the first.

Grade, that is. 

The first grade for "Soar Spot," my contribution to First, came from editor Cheyenne Blue, who deemed the piece A-okay and opined:

I love this story. It's wonderful...truly marvelous. I'm in awe of how you can take a serious subject and lighten it and make it erotic all without trivializing the subject.

Coming in second is fellow author Victoria Blisse, who writes of the work:

[Allison's] story of two women meeting in a shelter for victims of domestic abuse sounds like a somber tale. But add in Allison's wry humor and trademark puns, and her story, "Soar Spot," takes a very different twist.

In honor of the anthology's release, Cheyenne asked each contributor to share a personal first. You can click queer to read about one of mine: in this case, a date. It was great - she not only treated me like a princess; she played Pretty Pretty Princess with me.

Of course, when someone doesn't make you feel like a princess, as the protagonists in my story discover, the first, best, and only thing to do is to kick them to the curb.

Without resorting to violence yourself.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

So put on some purple and raise awareness.

Just don't raise a hand to someone.

Better to be a purple people eater than a people beater who turns their shoved ones purple.

Together, we can beat this thing.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

First-Rate First-Aid

September 13, 2015

Cheyenne Blue has released another outstanding collection of concupiscence, this one entitled First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings.

My contribution, "Soar Spot," tells the story of two women at a Safe House for survivors of domestic violence. Sick of spouses whose anthem is "Keep on Shoving You," the freshly-free femmes are committed to beating the odds their first time out. 

Here's a first look at the story: 
"The first time leaving may be the hardest, but so is the first blow," Lois remarks, browsing the new donations of old board games. "So if I even think about going back to him, you just slap me silly, you hear? And I'll do the same for you and--Ha! Here's one. This one's perfect for us: Stay Alive, 'The Ultimate Survival Game.' We'd better follow those instructions to the letter. What else do we have? Trouble, Aggravation, Pac-Man. There was a Pac-Man board game, really? There ought to be a Pack-Your-Bags-And-Leave-Your-Man game. Where every girl's a winner."

I chuckle, still in mouse-mode. But Lois is a chatterbox. Now that she no longer has to keep her lips zipped like a change purse, she loves putting in her two cents' worth. I for one hope that zipper stays unzipped for good. After all, better to have a busted zipper than a busted lip. Besides, I love listening to her. She's that perfect combination of soft-spoken and outspoken, a cross between Clair Huxtable and Mulan. Maybe one day I'll take my voice back from the villain too.

Lois joins me on the rectangular rug of squares in the children's playroom. We don't have kids, but we do have two other roommates, so when we can't sleep, which is often, we come to the safest room in the Safe House.

Another square appears on the carpet. "Remember Pretty Pretty Princess?" Lois asks.

I remember it well: a pastel hell of junky jewelry with a leper in the loot: the black ring. If you got stuck with it, you lost the game―and, apparently, your looks.

"Personally, I think the black ring should have been the crown jewel," Lois comments. "What's so bad about a black ring? I mean, as long as it's around your finger and not your eye. But if it is around your eye, you can always cover it, 'til he whacks the other one--"

"--and you don't dare die!"

Mangled lyrics lead to tangled limbs, and I live for these moments, where everything's child's play and I can just liberate my laughter and sigh into her softness. All the sore spots are gone now, although it does hurt emotionally, because she's too pretty and too smart and too straight for me, not to mention too close for comfort, especially now that she's humming into my hair. The instant I identify the melody, I pretend she's serenading me. I remember the first time I heard her sing this song, five years ago, when she was onstage and I was backstage and the only thing to strike was the set.

In her arms, I'm reminded of the way Snoopy hugs Woodstock, except I don't feel small at all, just hugely important. Even so, I let go, so that I won't let on that I have feelings for her. We may have met in a past life, but we've really only known each other a couple of months, and in another month we won't even be living here together anymore, so why keep in touch when we probably won't even stay in contact? And of course I'm falling for her only because she's the first woman to give me shelter from the norm. Being with Lois is completely painless. It doesn't hurt that she always has a sweet heart and a kind word and a heroic smile.

I love it when she shares that smile with me, and she probably still would be if I hadn't pulled away so quickly, like The Artful Dodger fleeing the scene after picking a pocket. Flicking the game's plastic spinner, I watch as the little gray arrow goes into a graceless pirouette. It looks as dizzy as I feel. 
When the spinner stops, it points to Lois. Or to number three.

"I'd do anything to do that show," Lois murmurs, her fingers tightening around the wooden leg of the child-size chair next to her. "I know the plot is very…funereal, but hey, so was my marriage. Right after we tied the knot, he tightened the reins, telling me I had to retire from the stage. I wasn't even professional. I was doing community theatre--for kicks. Well, those came later, but anyway…"

She flicks the spinner with a combination of force and remorse, and I watch as it revolves in revolt.

"The first time he told me I had to give up my passion, I thought he was joking. So I laughed and launched into the Lucy Ricardo act, begging and pleading with him to let me perform, and he…well, he cut me off. Clearly, he wasn't pulling my leg; he was taking a page from the stage and threatening to break it. And that is one cast I did not want to be in. Speaking of one…" She points to the arrow, which points at the aforementioned number. "Figures," she scoffs. "He always pronounced my name funny, put a T at the end of it, so that it sounded like Lowest." She shakes her head, smiles in that woeful way that really isn't a smile at all―a wordless oxymoron. "You got a three," she says. "You go first."

Now that you know the first thing about my story, please take a second to peruse the pieces of others--ladies first, then this, which will bliss you out, and finally Women and Words has the last word on First.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

It's a Sunshine Gay

July 27, 2015

Ladylit's beachy keen book, Summer Love: Stories of Lesbian Holiday Romance, is awash with women and words.

It's no surprise, then, that the anthology's editors, Caroline Manchoulas and Harper Bliss, as well as two of the collection's contributors, Cheyenne Blue and you-know-who, recently visited Women and Words. There, we share our personal experiences with summer romance, a season (or holiday) that don't mean a thing if it ain't got that fling.

Here, I'll share a beach blanket-sized sample of my story:

"Fallon, my love," Bernadette purrs, amorous and glamorous and unquestionably sincere, "each minute away from you is a drag king, each hour a satirical eternity. I can't stop thinking about the color of your dykes on bikes or the way you wear your books on tape. When I look at you, my tailbone skips a beat, my bellybutton leaps into my throat, and my freak flag trembles so much I can hardly exfoliate. You set my fanny pack on fire. I love you from the bottom of my spleen."

Having said all that, she flips the tablet of Mad Libs closed and clips the pen to the cover, then drops the pad onto the empty swing beside her. If I'd been listening, I'd be laughing. But instead of paying attention to what she was reading, I was too busy reading by flashlight. Her lips, I mean. I loved watching her mouth move and groove to the words. Bernadette has that wax lip look. Not size-wise, of course - that would make her stranger than fiction - but she's definitely sporting a deluxe, cherry confection of corpulent opulence.

On impulse, I spring from my swing and kiss her. It lasts about as long as it takes a librarian to stamp the due date into a book, and then I'm right back where I started. Good grief, I'm like the poky little puppy on tranquilizers.

Bernadette says nothing, but there's a cryptic crimp in her smile.

"Cat got your tongue?" I tease, pocketing the little flashlight. There may be no Adam for this Eve, but if I'm going to attempt original sin, I might want to try being more original.

"No, the cat has not got my tongue." Bernadette looks toward my lap. "I should be so lucky."

She doesn't add: It's a good thing I work at a record store or I'd never enjoy a summer of sixty-nine. But I can read her thoughts.

If you're like the reader of the Women and Words blog who commented that she is "ready to go down the rabbit hole to see the Queen of Hearts," then get this book before it's time to heatwave good-bye to another Sapphic summer.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

To the Write House

June 3, 2015

If you're like The Go-Go's, you have to get away on vacation.

But where to?

How about Virginia?

It is, after all, for lovers, says the boi who cried Woolf.

There, you can dive into a beach read with a time-honored plot: girl meets boi, girl gets boi, girl gets boi off.

That's the way the story comes.

Er, goes.

Then again, you've probably read enough lesbian literature to know that happy endings are not all alike.

Ladylit's anthology will experience its release on June 8 (ebook) and again on June 10 (paperback).

Will the boi's release date remain forever TBD?

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Sophisticated Ladylit

April 15, 2015

Although spring has only just begun, where will you end up this summer?

The Rubyfruit Jungle?

The Whistle Stop Café?

In deep waters where you can hear the mermaids singing?

If you're undecided, imagine how Bernadette, a gal who puts the "boi" in boisterous, feels when her homebody girlfriend Fallon suggests they go anywhere and everywhere - by reading the rainbow of literature at the library.

But, as Bernadette points out in my short story "The Boi Who Cried Woolf," books are transportable in more ways than one. For example, the anthology in which said story will appear, Summer Love: Stories of Lesbian Holiday Romance, will be available in e-book as well as paperback.

The same goes for Forbidden Fruit: Stories of Unwise Lesbian Desire, which, like Summer Love, is published by the desirably dykey Ladylit. Wisely, Forbidden Fruit has been nominated for a Lambda Literary Award for Lesbian Erotica and is also a Golden Crown Literary Society Goldie Finalist. It is a privilege to be a blueberry in that peach of a fruit salad, just as it is a privilege to be a boi-senberry on that newly-planted bush.

I'll keep you abreast of the summer plans of Fallon and Bernadette, those lazy-hazy-crazy gays of summer. Perhaps they'll take a page from the Sex book of Madonna: "If we take a holiday, everything will be okay..."

Right idea, girl, but next time, write to please and get the gender right too, please.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland

Viv a Little

February 13, 2015

Vivian Vance once presented Lucille Ball with this box...

If you're in a tight spot this Valentine's Day, why not make it an appetite spot?

Chic hostess pants may have gone out of style, but this ladylike anthology comes out in style, in the altogether:

My story in the anthology is called "Be a Gal Pal," and it's about a gal who keeps her eye on the ballthe Lucille Ball, that is; actually, more accurately: the Lucille Ball impersonatorall the while hoping to stop moping about her lack of appeal to the wannabe Lucille.

Grab your tasting spoon and enjoy this sample:

I love Lucy and she loves me not.

She doesn't know I think she's the bee's knees, the cat's pajamas, the living end.

She doesn't know my heart bangs out "Babalu" every time I see her.

She doesn't know I want to hug her and kiss her and wrestle her in a vat of grapes.

She doesn't know.

What she doesn't know can hurt me.

I guess I've got some 'splainin' to do, huh? Yeah, I figured as much. Well, for starters, Lucy isn't really Lucy—she's an incredible simulation. Lucy is actually Roberta and Roberta is a celebrity impersonator. I am too, in a way, because I'm the Ethel in Ethelu, Roberta's entertainment company. It's a fledgling little enterprise, but we've already booked some pretty good gigs: birthday parties, fundraisers, retirement homes.

We premiere next week at Cone Heads, the ice cream parlor that Roberta owns. (No copyright infringement intended, by the way.) Six months ago, the head cone posted a sign in the shop's window. It said Help Wanted. I thought she was looking for someone to sweep or scoop or make shakes. I thought wrong, as you'll see in this transcript of the job interview:

She: Do you have any acting experience?

Me: I have enough trouble just being myself.

She: Can you carry a tune?

Me: How heavy is it?

She: Congratulations. The part's yours.

I felt my insides start to crumble like an ice cream cone. But I put on a happy face, bobbing my head in a nod and stretching my lips into a smile the shape of a banana. In all honesty, even though I really do love Lucy, I never would have auditioned in the first place or accepted in the second place if my leading lady weren't such a looker.

Roberta is hardly a dead ringer for Lucille Ball. Well, they're both natural brunettes, but Roberta looks more like a cross between Jo from The Facts of Life and Belle from Beauty and the Beast. She is slender but not skinny, with skin the color of French vanilla and eyes the color of a root beer float. Her beauty is just so… appallingly authentic.

I'd never even eaten at Cone Heads until Roberta took over the place. Then I became a regular. I started working my way through the menu, all the while hoping to work my way into her heart, her head, her bed.

I haven't succeeded. See, the trouble is I'm terrible at sending out signals and even worse at picking them up.

Roberta and I rehearse after hours. When we're finished, we unwind, and that's when the shenanigans begin. Roberta will flip on the jukebox and we'll sing into scoopers, belting out sock hop tunes like "It's My Party" and "The Loco-Motion."

One time, we were sharing a sundae, and I got chocolate sauce on my face—Roberta leaned over and licked it off my cheek. She said she saw a picture of Desi doing that to Lucy right after they filmed the chocolate factory scene in "Job Switching" and wouldn't it be cute to copycat.

Well, what do you think? Is she dropping hints? Is this desire in disguise?

Is this desire in its birthday suit?

No wonder I got the part. I am Ethel Mertz. If I were Lucy, I wouldn't be interested in me either. What's so appealing about a gal who is dutiful and diffident? Who shadows you like Mary's little lamb in a never-ending game of Follow the Leader? Ethel is the patsy, the underdog, the bottom to Lucy's top (so to speak). She's the sidekick, plain and simple, and nobody ever gets a kick out of the sidekick. I mean, with Lucy, you think: What's not to love? With Ethel, it's: What's the point? 

I guess the point is that the situation doesn't have to be hopeless. I don't have to settle for a relationship where the intimacy is purely platonic. I don't have to be the second banana first, last, and always. I don't have to—

"Our costumes are almost finished!"

I don't have to go on.

Neither do I.


My excerpts go by the book.

Go buy the book.

Or... wait and try your hand at winning a copy of the collection tomorrow, when Lizzie McMullen's Bedtime Stories presents the Valentine's Special, a no-het fete of Sapphic storytelling.

In conclusion, I suggest that this Valentine's Day, you take a Vance on romance and get the Ball rolling.

In the hay.

Curiouser and curiouser,
Allison Wonderland