Sunday Snog #119: Late Show

Happy Sunday!

I just sent two lesbian short stories to Laura Antoniou, who is editing the next volume of Best Lesbian Erotica. I'm not sure why Cleis tapped an author famous for BDSM as the editor - maybe it's pure name recognition - but I would dearly love to be in this collection.

Anyway, both stories are previously unpublished. I thought I'd give you a kiss today from the more romantic of the two, entitled "Late Show" - a story about opposites attracting and second chances.

When you're done with my snog, head back to Victoria's for more Sunday kisses!

Her scent hadn't changed – tobacco and leather, old-fashioned lavender and good honest sweat. Like a trained dog, I began to salivate, new wetness flowing everywhere. When she leaned in, reaching for me, though, I shrank away. It was too dangerous. If she touched me, I was lost.

“No – Haley, there's no room in here – Mr. Parsons...the customers...”

She paused, her gaze raking over my trembling body before returning to my face. “After ten years, Di, you still gonna shut me out?”

We hung there in silence, mere inches between us. Close up, I could see the past decade in her face: some lines at the corners of her eyes, a hard set to her mouth, a half-inch scar along her right cheekbone. Then she smiled and the years vanished. Once more she was the bad girl, the school rebel, the one who'd cornered me behind the diner and dared me to kiss her.

“Never mind. I can wait till you get off work.”

She strolled back to straddle her bike and lit a cigarette. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and she knew it.

For the next hour, she ignored me, or at least she pretended to. I sat in the ticket booth, squirming in my wet underwear, watching her chain smoke, imagining those blunt, competent fingers molding my flesh.

The show let out. People wandered out of the theater, chattering about the movie, and disappeared into the balmy darkness. Harvey killed the lights on the marquee. “You want me to lock up inside?” he called out through the door.

“No, that's okay. I'll take care of it. You can go home.”

He stepped out into the street. “ Noticing Haley, he gave her a friendly nod. “Good evening, miss. Nice bike.”

“Thanks. I'm here to take Diane for a ride.”

“Lucky lady.” He waved and headed for his VW Beetle. “See you tomorrow, then.”

The grumble of his vehicle died away as he rounded the corner onto Maple. Silence settled over the empty street. Still perched on her motorcycle, Haley watched as I stowed the cash drawer and locked the ticket booth behind me.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and held out my hand. “Come on.”

Her calloused palm felt dry and cool against my fevered skin. I led her through the lobby, lit only by the glowing Coke machine, then through the velvet curtains into the dim auditorium.

I'd been thinking of heading for Mr. Parson's office, behind the screen. Haley didn't give me the chance. She yanked me to a stop, then swung me around to face her. One arm encircled my waist and pulled me into a tight embrace, compressing my full breasts against her smaller ones and striking sparks from my nipples. With her other hand, she fisted my hair and dragged my mouth to hers.

We went from zero to sixty in seconds. She forced her tongue between my lips, savage and hungry. I let her take me, drinking in the mingled flavors of smokes, beer and mint toothpaste. Meanwhile she grabbed my ass and ground her crotch against mine. Fierce bolts of pleasure shot through the heaviness coiling in my cunt.

I clawed at her shirt, desperate for her skin. She released me long enough to pull the garment over her head and toss it aside. She'd never worn a bra as a teenager; she hadn't changed. The girlish swellings still featured coffee-colored areolae the size of silver dollars. I dove for her sweet nipples, sucking hard the way she liked. If you had asked me what turned Haley on, I might not have been able to tell you, but my body remembered how to make her moan.