By Anna Watson and Alicia Wag (Guest Bloggers)
At one point when I was flagging, feeling overwhelmed with the new-to-us juggling of logistics inherent in starting from scratch to self-publish, Alicia wrote me a bracing email, telling me that “we need to get our post-menopausal who-gives-a-flying-fuck-what-you-think-of-me attitude on!”
How right she was! I rallied, and since then, we’ve been cookin’ with lube, working our menopausal (yet still extremely fetching) tushies off on the creation of Laz-E-Femme Press and its first book, a 69, one side hers, one side mine.
We met over 20 years ago in a writing workshop – a straight-ahead writing workshop, back when we were both writing literary stories and working on novels. Alicia already had 2 kids, and as the years passed, would have 2 more; I was about to embark on parenthood, as well, and now have 2 teenagers. Somewhere along the line, both of us started writing a lot more smut, challenging each other to submit a manuscript to Black Lace (we neither of us made the cut, alas) and enjoying the freedom to write creatively about all manner of human sexual behavior.
Many years down the smut-writing road, we agree that, for us, kindness and joy must be at the heart of every one of our stories, even the ones that contain a hint of melancholy. Stories with mean streaks, tales of ugly revenge or humiliation don’t strike either one of us as sexy. Above all, we hope our stories will make people feel good about their own unique sexualities and sexiness, and perhaps give them an idea or two about something new and fun to try in or out of bed.
And the Fuck-You Fifties? That would be “fuck you” to naysayers, to the narrow view that the only kind of fucking that’s interesting is that of very young folks or that joyful, loving fucking isn’t the birthright of all of us, from sexual maturity right through middle and old age. We start our adventure in self-publishing with a book of collected smut, enjoying the chance to work together as writers and publishers, friends and sisters in porn.
We jumped at the chance to be guests here at Lisabet’s blog, thinking it would be a great deadline for us and that we would have the book all set up and ready to go by then…yeah, right! Many a slip twixt tit and lip, and all that, and currently we are slated to have a complete product for you avid smutters sometime in late March or early April. In the meantime, like us on Facebook, where you’ll hear all about Laz-E-Femme Press and our first release. And our slight publishing delay won’t stop us from bringing you off with a couple of excerpts. Kick off your pumps and read! And Lisabet, thanks so much for inviting us to stop by!
From "Mrs. M.: A Case of Female Hysteria" by Alicia Wag, Mrs. M: Stories by Alicia Wag (6) Laz-E-Femme Press
Dr. Fleisher found Mrs. Manning sitting on the edge of the table. She had taken off the long skirt of her dress, but left the bodice with the high, lacy collar. Her graceful, curved arms rested at each side of her like wings. Her bare hands sat unmoving in her lap. They looked soft and comfortable, the nails trimmed and neat.
She had neglected to unfold the blanket. The square it made barely covered her ample hips, and ended mid-thigh, so he could see her legs dangling lazily, and her pampered looking feet. Before he could stop the thought, he found himself thinking that she looked lovely. It horrified him. He had certainly found other hysterics attractive, but it was always an objective observation. “Mrs. Manning,” he whispered hoarsely, “Unfold the blanket and lie down.” He turned his head, listening to the sounds of Mrs. Manning shifting her body and the blanket into place. When silence fell, he said, “Ready?”
“Yes,” she answered.
Her eyes were closed as if in rapture, the lids fluttering almost imperceptibly, her lips parted, pink and moist. Dr. Fleisher walked to the foot of the table and seated himself in the chair there, unfolded the stirrups so they jutted out of each corner of the table like arms. “Move down,” he said. Mrs. Manning scooted her body closer, opening her eyes so she could see. “Put your feet here,” said Dr. Fleisher, pointing to the stirrups.
One foot, then the other peeked out from the edge of the blanket, landing perfectly in the wooden containers. Dr. Fleisher’s head was right between them, and up close, he saw that they were the smoothest, most perfect feet he had ever laid eyes on.
He pushed the blanket backwards, so that it draped over Mrs. Manning’s knees, between her legs, shrouding every part of her but those pretty feet. Even though technological improvements had enhanced pelvic massage treatments considerably, shortening their duration and providing greater relief for the patient, Dr. Fleisher found himself reaching for a jar. Mrs. Manning’s legs twitched erratically as he dipped his fingers into the warm, slick, scented oil. He put his other hand on the blanket, finding her knee and squeezing it. “Relax, now, Mrs. Manning.”
from “House of L” by Anna Watson, Slaphappy (9), Laz-E-Femme Press
When Sewer Rat first saw Hazard, she gave me a quizzical look, like, “This is what I’m supposed to work with?” I knew that she’d been dying to get her paws on him since she’d been allowed to watch me do some training with him. She confessed that he was so much her type that she’d spent her whole time behind the one-way mirror stroking her very cute little pussy. You wouldn’t know it from her ‘tude now, though, as she grumbled under her breath about the poor quality of clients these days, putting up her gloves and starting to circle her prey. She and Hazard were wearing the same thing – headgear, gloves, knee and elbow pads and spandex shorts, and they looked as pretty a matched pair as you could imagine.
“What happened to you, loser?” growled Sewer Rat. “Someone throw up on you?”
Hazard looked desperately at his impeccable outfit, searching for the problem, as Sewer Rat let out a loud, rasping laugh. She’s a cutie, that Rat, and I loved to see how much fear she was able to throw in Hazards direction. Now she was flowing through a cute little routine, dancing around the off-balance Hazard, sending out little experimental jabs. He parried, as instructed, but I could tell he was holding back, and so could she, so she unleashed a flurry of punches. Then, giving him no time to recover, she came around with a series of nicely executed kicks to his chest and belly. He went down nice and polite, moaning just a little bit. I picked up my bullhorn (nice touch, don’t you think?) and commanded him to get up again. Everyone in the room but him was grinning big. He managed to get upright relatively quickly. I expected Sewer Rat to get right back into Hazard’s drubbing, but she seemed to be kind of high on her mad little dance routines, feinting and skipping all over the mats. I reminded myself that she was still pretty inexperienced.
“Sewer Rat, concentrate!” I shouted. “Slap the little turd into next week!”
Alicia Wag has been published in The Mammoth Book of Erotica, Cleis Press's Best Women's Erotica series, "Just Watch Me: Erotica for Women," Clean Sheets, Hustler Fantasies, and Penthouse Variations
Anna Watson is usually found writing femme/butch smut in titles such as Best Lesbian Erotica, The Harder She Comes, Take Me There, Girl Crazy and Girls Who Score. In Slaphappy she takes a turn writing about girl/boy lovin’, but that doesn’t mean the characters and situations are 100% straight or anything, ‘kay?
Visit Laz E Femme on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/laz.e.femme?ref=hl