Vintage Lesbians Novels & Stories

Eh, a seasoned lesbian knows her own squad. "...All I'm saying is we're young, dude. Now's the time to get shitfaced so we'll have glory days to look back on. Who wants to be boring old people fighting over bingo cards!?" The tall, masculine platinum blonde smirked to her exasperated dark haired friend, who started walking backwards so she could face her head on. Like just about everyone else here, they were barefoot and showing off their alluring forms. Blondie was sporting a pair of dark grey board shorts and a thin turquoise tank top, and literally the tiniest white bikini I've seen in a hot minute adorned her more feminine counterpart.

Hilda, a voluptuous 34-year-old woman, had always been drawn to the darker, more taboo aspects of sexuality. She had spent years exploring her desires, pushing boundaries and indulging in the forbidden. Her two closest friends, Beatrice and Clarissa, were kindred spirits – both equally curvaceous and adventurous.

Nothing. The priestess nodded and her Farrah Fawcett hair didn’t move at all. I’ve seen helmets with more give. “We are the virgins of the One True God. No man shall touch us, all shall bow to the One True God.” I leaned towards Maurice. “I think it’s okay. I think they’re lesbians.” “You can’t say that,” said Maurice, his eyes darting around guiltily. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but virgins, no man touching, giant dildo on a stick...”

My dating debacles seemed to bring all the women in my life together. Somehow, through no fault of my own, Veronica, Trish, Beck, Stella, and Roxie had all formed an alliance against my sexuality. One would think lesbians would welcome other women into their tribe, encourage them to explore the nether lips, embrace the love of estrogen-not my friends. The more time I spent with them, the closer we all became, which was great, except they'd united in a plight to return me to the heterosexual dating pool. I felt cheated, unwanted. I threatened to call the LGBTQ Human Alliance about their discrimination, to which they all found great humor.

“My best friend is my bro, but if she disrespected Charlotte like Liza did your girl...I don’t know man, I’d have some shit to think about. The way you defended Vasha that night was like something out of a movie. I feel like it’s not so black and white in the real world. I’ve never seen love like yours before. The way you two look at each other, it’s beautiful. Hold onto those memories until you can be together again.” I choked back tears and ducked my head down to wake Vasha, who was dead set on remaining in my lap. I tucked a tuft of black hair behind her ear, and she stirred. “Detka? It’s time to go...” ******************** When I was in middle school, I loved reading romance novels. I’d

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.

"Why not?" "Because it's not your kind of place." "What do you mean?" There was a very long three or four second silence. "It's a lesbian club," Valerie finally said. "Really?" Bree said in surprise. Valerie nodded her head. "That makes it sound even more interesting," Bree said. As she did, she recalled how her cousin used to go to gay clubs all the time, just to dance, and loved being able to party and not get hit on. Since Valerie was very much married, Bree simply assumed she did pretty much the same thing.

A pillow under my ass, any thoughts of Cecil banished as Sarah gave me a long and exquisite tongue fuck. Inviting me to meet some of her girlfriends on Tuesday afternoon. Just as l had guessed they were all incredibly attractive lipstick lesbian, bi-sex women, beautifully groomed in designer clothing, three around my age, a fourth one Marie much younger in her mid-twenties. One of the women I recognized as an important politician with a husband on numerous business boards.

over every fucking thing. That’s why I said yes when my friend Marisol texted me about this rooftop thing in Bushwick, it wasn’t some random bar night. It was one of those invite-only lesbian parties the girls in the know whisper about, the ones with the password at the door and the guest list that gets passed around in DMs. They call it “Siren” and it happens like twice a summer. Everyone’s hot, everyone’s queer, and nobody’s pretending they’re there to network.

In chaste bands, the matrons of Elysium honored their new queen with songs before the newlywed goddesses went to their secluded room. Through the open windows, the breeze from the five rivers carried the sound of hissing waves dashed against the thirsty black shore. Inside the chamber, a bronze brazier burned away with its brilliant flames. The flower-scented space was finely lit like a dream. Their marriage bed was neatly made for them with red petals of roses laid beautifully. With genial and kindly fashion, Hades induced her young wife to sit on a soft cushioned seat beside herself.