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