Sanctuaries of Love

By Anna Watson and Alicia Wag

Anna just devoured Devil’s Wake and Domino Falls by wife/husband team Tananarive Due and Steven Barnes, YA zombie lovefests where ok, there are one or two white characters, but most of the movers and shakers are Black, American Indian or Latina (and BONUS: the Latina character is a femme! she will fuck you up with her Glock, too).

Alicia goes back for comfort to Mary Stewart’s Merlin trilogy, over and over.

People, can we agree that there’s just something about genre?

Anna’s mother-in-law swears that there are certain stories we need to hear again and again. For her butch daughter, Anna’s spouse, those stories really should contain dragons and fierce battles against the forces of evil. Alicia dives into magic and fate and, hell yes, bring on some dragons and fierce battles against the forces of evil. For Anna, an apocolypse, zombie or otherwise, is just the thing, or maybe some vampires or werewolves or deep space drama.

So much of the time, however, the only stories getting told, even in these genres, are those of the straight, white majority, so we have to contort ourselves to find ourselves while we’re just trying to get a little comfort from the ur-stories that speak to us directly where we are. That’s asking a lot when you just want to plop down in your favorite reading spot and whooooosh yourself away for a few moments!

Due and Barnes have taken matters into their own hands, not only putting out their fantastic triology (waiting on that third book, you two!!) but finding a way to produce a Domino Falls movie, directed by a Black woman and starring Black actors. Take that, World War Z!

Currently, Black Girl Dangerous is doing a Privilege Bucket Challenge to bring attention to and counteract the way white voices drown out all others in the mainstream media. It’s not just the news outlets, of course, where white voices blah blah blah incessently, it’s everywhere. Up close and personal in the places we go seeking comfort, like graphic novels, science fiction sagas, door stopper fantasy tomes and yes, erotica. The pause that should refresh, unfortunately, can be more of an ass kicker for those of us who aren’t straight and white and male. And even those of us who are straight or white or male benefit from hearing another take on things.

We all need sanctuaries of love.

A genetically modified vampire of color here, a brave girl on an adventure into the mysterious everything there, and a female, feminist, warrior who runs into queers now and again even – we gather around us the stories that support and refresh us. Remind of us of who we are, who we would like to be, and, most importantly, reassure us that the world is, after all, filled with wonder and it is good to be here. We raise our sleepy, satiated eyes from the last paragraph, somehow ready again to dive into the trenches and do what needs to be done.

Which at last, brings us to Laz-E-Femme Press and our first publication, a Lust Double of sex/y stories. Sacchi speaks eloquently about this much-maligned genre in her earlier post and we would like to continue by pointing out that to provide the comfort, the sanctuary of good genre, erotica or other, is as radical an act as any fiery expose or news story. Not better, not worse – we need all of those voices, and we need all of those different kinds of stories. And we all need to rest. Really rest. Not “if-I-squinch-my-eyes-and-look-sideways-maybe-I-can-get-through” kind of resting, but real relaxation. We all need to see rich possibility, know worlds where the dominant paradigm has been resoundingly denied. We need to be able to find places we can trust to provide that necessary gift.

Alicia and Anna hope Laz-E-Femme Press will be one of those places. Slaphappy and Mrs. M put a few more erotica stories out there that aren’t misogynistic or poorly written, that aren’t so damn straight they boot you out the door (good erotica should cast a wide net) and that, despite being written by a couple of white ladies, allow room for different ages, identities, non-white and non-upper/middle class characters.

Hot, too. We should mention that the stories are hot!

Coming soon from Laz-E-Femme Press are novels, Tasty by Anna and At Your Service by Alicia. Talk to us on facebook, tell us who you are and what you’re looking for, send us links and suggestions, and most importantly: kick off your pumps and read!

Consuela by Alicia Wag

That warm day in May, Consuela led me to the ice cream shop, where she ordered a chocolate cone for herself and a cherry vanilla one for me. She carried both to a table and nodded at the chair I was to use. I parked my hot ass down, and watched Consuela take the seat across from me. When she handed me the cone, I was salivating.

I held it, waiting for her to tell me what to do. I was already with the program, without even knowing what the hell the program was. Consuela told me later I was a natural, whispered it wet into my ear, biting vigorously on my earlobe, after fucking my brains out with the biggest dildo she could find.

She rolled out her tongue first, showing it to me. It was long and pink, and curled at the tip. She brought the cold, wet ice cream to bear on the length of it, licking over and over, never taking her eyes off me.

Once she had the cone good and licked, she reached across the table and shoved it in my mouth, hard, so that I had to bite it to keep it from choking me. I laughed into the ice cream. I was loving it, even the shock of cold in my mouth and the pain in my teeth.

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September Song by Anna Watson

After supper, Ruthie went to the freezer and got dessert.

“I love ice cream,” said Sol as he spooned it up.

Ruthie smiled. “I know.” She leaned over and licked some from his lips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since Toscanini’s,” she said. He sat very still. She left her chair, knelt beside him on the floor, and put her head on his lap. At once, she felt his big hand on her hair and he stroked and stroked. She moved between his legs and pressed her body against his chest and belly and crotch. She reached up under his sweater and felt his nipples through his thin undershirt—they were sagging some, but so what. We all sag eventually. She put her hand on his belly and felt the hair around his belly button. She moved her hand and Sol sighed.

“It feels good when you rub,” he said softly, so she rubbed there, and then she rubbed lower. “You’d better stop. I don’t know what will happen.”

She looked up at his face. He was an old man. His cheeks were red, covered with tiny broken capillaries, and his eyes watered.

“I’m an old man,” he said, and Ruthie said, “But can you still get it up?”

Anna and Alicia Do It: Self-Publishing in Our Fuck-You Fifties

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?

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