Lesbian Aesthetics Novels & Stories

"Women don't like being vilified for their appearance. They hate being called ugly or being insulted, whether it's directly or indirectly!" "Well, Lycans don't like being insulted either," Drex noted. "I’m not finished! Women hate being called old, fat, thin, or wrinkled. And don't even mention body parts—like calling someone’s chest 'balloons' or their backside 'a pot.' Those are insults!" "Are you sure? I’m just finding this out now. How strange." "You're the strange one!" "Me?" "Yes! And another thing: women don't like to be seen when they’re at their worst—unbathed, messy, or smelling 'sour.' We need time to put on makeup so we feel confident in front of you!"

Emily might be on to another woman crush by next week, who knows? Jane brushed a strand of hair from Lucy's face, which never failed to make Lucy blushed. They smiled at each other again. "Sorry we're late!" Emily burst out into the room. Heather had a load of books in her arms. "What do you have with you?" Jane asked. "And please don't tell me it's one of the lesbian pulp fictions again." "But Odd Girl Out was so good!" Emily protested. Lately, the former president of Loser Club had been digging into the genre a bit too deep.

I was greedy enough to bask in it. “There’s no way he said that!” I exclaimed, shaking my head at the audacity of some boys. “Oh, he definitely did,” Bianca snickered. “And he was serious. He wanted me and my ex-girlfriend to make out for his entertainment. As far as he was concerned, lesbians exist to turn men on. He reduced an entire sexuality into a fetish, and he was too tone-deaf to even realize it.” “This world is filled with guys who gouge themselves on lesbian porn, yet those same guys would swear up and down that girls loving girls is not a real thing.”

Masculine in its restraint, yet unmistakably lived in. Elizabeth slipped off her heels at the entry, bare feet silent on the cool floor. Her eyes drifted to the art, several pieces caught her immediately. Framed photographs and paintings of women entwined: soft curves pressed together, mouths open in ecstasy, hands gripping thighs, backs arched. Lesbian erotica rendered with reverence, beautiful, unapologetic, sensual. One in particular: two women on silk sheets, one straddling the other, heads thrown back, fingers buried deep. The composition was raw yet tender.

Some were like you before I initiated them- proud of myself. She smiled. Karen wondered she was supposed to do. Smile too? A awkward smile appeared on her face. “Yesterday was great,” she repeated. “I mean…I kept thinking about it all through the night. It was this morning I realized it was just the sex but the person.” Was this how lesbians toast? Karen wondered. “You have a beautiful soul.” She placed her hand on Karen’s. “I’m not a lesbian, Lorna.” “But we made sparks yesterday. I enjoyed it as much as you did and I’ll be lying if I said I don’t want to do it again.”

Leo asked while checking her out. I watched as she walked around the room with Gabe. I couldn’t deny that she was a vision. Her dark, radiant skin glowed, enhanced by a light touch of makeup. Her high cheekbones were accentuated by a soft blush, and her lips shimmered with a subtle gloss. Her kinky hair was styled in a way that framed her face beautifully, curls falling down her shoulders in a natural elegance. How the hell could she afford professional styling like this? I wondered as I watched her walk over to the photo area with Gabe.

“Under those corporate parameters, are there specific stylistic vectors your tongue wants my hand to steer his choices toward?” I seized the tactical opening instantly. “Yes. Absolute confirmation. Nothing that translates to a low-tier mate trap. Zero threads that imply a brainless bimbo aesthetic. My image requires an architecture that registers as highly intelligent, yet entirely sharp. Dominant. Historic. Symmetrical cleavage represents a viable asset, but nothing that evokes the visual data of a primitive breeding den pin-up.” “The metrics are logged. My hands will manipulate what we can behind the veil.”

In my pursuit of excitement, I lay on the bed with my legs open, frantically pleasuring myself in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Through the dark glass, I could see a strong man on the balcony opposite staring at my body intently. This extreme taboo made my scalp numb, and I grew increasingly depraved. I tried my best to arch my back as I became a shameless, irrational, and thrill-seeking tart. My name was Layla Terra, and I was a dance student.

I wanted to be simple but stylish, like every well favored older lesbian I found online and brazenly idolized. I can still call to mind the defining moment Motina finally acknowledged my chosen boyish hairstyle and androgynous threads with an understanding smile, as she declared our apparent plans for a ‘much needed makeover’. I should have realized something was different, because she hadn’t brought anything back for me on her last trip preceding the conversation.

Until next time you stay girly and I'll stay in the closet awaiting my best opportunity to finally escape. Love, Teagan The Closeted Lesbian