Edited
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Cleis
Press, 2010
When
I was in high school, “fast girl” was a barely polite term for a
slut―a girl who'd do anything with anyone, at any time. Unlike
“slut”, however, the term carried a hint of admiration. Fast
girls didn't worry about their reputations, at least not when that
conflicted with their pleasure. Fast girls were brave and bold. They
went places and did things that the more timid good girls might only
dream about.
Rachel
Kramer Bussel's collection FAST GIRLS pays tribute to this image of
the girl (or woman) who is not afraid to defy convention in the quest
for her own satisfaction. The theme is evocative without being too
constraining. The stories that Ms. Bussel has assembled take a
variety of perspectives on the concept of “fast”. Some authors,
like Jennifer Peters in “Confessions of a Kinky Shopaholic” or
Kayla Perrin in “Temptation”, give us women who are willing to
act on attraction to a stranger. Others―Jacqueline Applebee in
“Five-Minute Porn Star”, Tenille Brown in “Speed Bumps”,
Charlotte Stein in “Married Life”―show that it's possible to be
“fast” in the context of a committed relationship or even a
marriage. Angela Caperton's “Playing the Market” and Rachel
Kramer Bussel's “Whore Complex” explore the forbidden allure of
playing the prostitute. Kristina Wright, on the other hand, creates a
heroine who gets her kicks playing on the right side of the law in
“Chasing Danger”.
The
Table of Contents includes many familiar names, and practically every
story is worth reading. I thought I'd mention my personal favorites.
Tristan
Taormino's “Winter, Summer”, the only lesbian tale in the
anthology, is an exquisite tale of a bar pick-up that turns out to be
much more. The unnamed femme narrator tells us at the start that her
motto is “Get close enough to get off. No closer”. Yet the
dominant butch who claims her manages to break through her frosty
shell.
It was as if she had diligently studied my body and knew all its curves and tender spots by heart, like she knew the pool table: hands gliding, stroking, pressing until my soft flesh relaxed into warmth and wetness underneath her, ready to go into whatever deep pocket she was pushing me. She pulled back from me and stood studying my body with her acute, extreme eyes. Her concentration and the quietness that surrounded us were terrifying. Electric.
Stunningly
beautiful and lewdly intense, this is the story that will stay with
me the longest.
Another
exceptional contribution is D.L. King's femdom fantasy “Let's
Dance”. I have to admit that one reason I loved this tale was the
fact that I know D.L. King personally―and this is a very personal
story. The narrator, an author of erotica, notices a cute guy
dancing, discovers (through some first-hand exploration) that the
boy's genitalia are shaved, and decides (with his enthusiastic
agreement) to take him home, tie him up and flog him. The scene in
Eve's loft is explicit and arousing, but what sets this story apart
is the humorous, natural dialogue and the way it shows off Eve's fast
girl attitude.
Once in the cab, I said, “Hey, Cute Boy, who shaved your boy parts?”A blush began at the top of his ears and traveled to his cheeks. “Uh, I did,” he said.“What made you decide to do something like that?” The blush spread to his forehead and neck simultaneously, and he looked at the floor of the cab. “Aw, c'mon, you can tell me.” I rested my hand on the inside of his thigh and gave him a good-natured squeeze....“Well, see, I was reading this book...and the guy in it―I guess it was a dirty book...” He looked out the window at the Manhattan Bridge. “Where do you live?”“Brooklyn. Go on.”...“Brooklyn?”“Don't worry about it. It's not a foreign country,” I said.
A
third tale that touched me is the breathtaking D/s saga “Lessons,
Slow and Painful” by Tess Danesi. The terrifying sincerity of the
heroine's submissiveness struck a deep chord. Ms. Danesi takes the
“fast” in the anthology title literally. Her master punishes her
for taking shortcuts, doing things too quickly.
“Beg me to cut you, Tess,” he whispers darkly. “Beg me, bitch.”I don't hesitate. I can't pretend I don't want this. “Do it, Dar. Do it. Go on and just do it,” I reply.“And you expect me to do it hurriedly, Tess? I don't think so,” he says, accompanied by a cruel little laugh that chills me.
And
lest you wonder why all my favorite stories
appear to involve BDSM, let me also mention Donna George Storey's
lively and intelligent “Waxing Eloquent”. The narrator, house
sitting at her brother's Manhattan Beach condo and trying to break up
for good with her married professor lover, ends up falling into bed
with the television actor who lives next door. She decides to get
her pussy waxed in order to have the full L.A. experience (“I guess
in L.A. a woman is supposed to look like Barbie with her clothes off,
too.”) and discovers that the reported heightened sensitivity of a
bare pubis is only the beginning.
As I ride him, slowly, then faster, I realize I am much more sensitive down there. It's as if my time on the salon table was a kind of rough foreplay, priming me for his cock. Cody's wiry curls chafe my tender lips, and I feel as if I'm straddling not just him, but a knife's edge―one side is pleasure, the other sweet pain.
Okay,
there's that familiar pleasure/pain dichotomy, but I swear this story
does not involve any bondage or discipline!
Cherry
Bomb's brief but eloquent contribution “That Girl” seems to sum
up the entire collection.
I am a promiscuous girl... only not the way you think. Oh, I know what they say about me. I hear them back home, clamoring in judgment, their whispers. They don't even wait until my back is turned anymore. I know what they think of me, which is why the second that you show any interest in me, any desire to get to know me, they will come to you with the same words on their lips:“Watch out for her. She's dangerous.”And I guess I am. What else would you call someone like me? Someone so emotionally reckless, a dangerous fuck. I am the girl that wants everyone and everything, the girl with the uncontrollable lust and insatiable hunger.
This is what it means, to be a fast girl. But it's not as simple as it sounds, as the authors in this collection demonstrate.
1 comment:
Ah, I remember those days. I got called names I hadn't even heard of...but the meaning was clear enough. I had "hot pants" and no amount of men was enough. I was "vanilla" enough to only do them one at a time, but boy, I did a whole lot of them! I've put some of my anecdotes into some of my books...disguised, of course, to protect the guilty. One book is currently out of print. Let me know when you're back, Lisabet, so we can chat about self-pubbing, which I'm too chicken to do on my own!
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