Reaching Out from a Mind as Dirty as All Outdoors
If you get lucky enough, I might post adult-only material from time to time, so be 18 or over, or please be elsewhere.
I'll be discussing erotica here, the writing of it and the people who write it, as well as what we've written. I find all these aspects stimulating, but if any of them bore you, feel free to skim. You never know what you might miss, though.
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Best Lesbian Erotica Blog Tour: Megan McFerren
Megan McFerren is temporarily without computer access, so today I get to post about her piece “The Royalty Underground,” a story I love to revisit.
First, a bit about Megan herself. Megan McFerren was born in West Texas, where she grew up riding horses across cotton fields and trying to outrun dust-storms. She always lost those races, and one can only wash caked red dirt out of their hair so many times before calling it quits. A week after receiving a rather whimsical degree in Victorian literature, she moved to Queens, where she's lived for the last decade. She's worked as a financier, a funeral director, and now has a happy home at a start-up. But she's always carried a bit of Wilde with her, and after a few obligatory New York City years attempting navel-gazing literary fiction, she's found a love that now dares speak its name in exploring queer history through erotic romance.
“The Royalty Underground” takes place In a WWII London bomb shelter, where two chance-met young women have staked out a bit of room in the off-limits maintenance passage of a London Tube station. In circumstances like these, getting-to-know-you and mutual support under stress can progress very rapidly indeed, while humor remains a major defense against fear. Here’s an excerpt from the middle of the story:
The roar becomes deafening when Catherine sets cool fingers against her cheek, and Elizabeth lets break another inappropriate laugh.
“I’m not easy,” she whispers, never mind that no one can hear them, never mind that her proclamation is weak and meaningless, rendered childish in the circumstances.
“No,” Elizabeth says. She licks her bottom lip between her teeth and presses them against the tender inner skin. She isn’t easy. But the ground has been uprooted from beneath them by the endless anticipation of an end that has yet to come but could at any moment. A direct hit from overhead would see them gone in a flash, and what good was living if done in dread? What good does reputation matter then?
“No,” she says again, inching her shoulders closer across the cold floor. “And I’m not going to kiss you lying on the platform of a Tube station.”
She does anyway. Just a touch, lips curling together, whiskey- warm. Catherine’s hand spreads against her cheek and she tucks a curl of hair behind her ear. No more than that. Only a kiss.
Their noses brush together when they part.
“We shouldn’t do that again,” Catherine considers. She’s scarcely able to keep the smile away, teasing a fine fan of lines beside her eyes. “It would be too easy.”
They do anyway. Through the stiff wool of their dresses, their breasts cushion together. They seek the other’s hand blindly to press their palms and twine their fingers so tight that the squeeze of bones brings a kind distraction from the dizzying gathering of their kiss. Whatever moves them, moves them deeply, opens each to allow the other within, tongues tracing teeth and breath whispering loud against flushed cheeks. Like kissing for practice in secondary school, like kissing for intent in secret pubs, Elizabeth unfurls with familiarity, if not with Catherine than with the idea of her.
Damn the war and damn the blitz. Haven’t girls like them always survived?
Parting just for air, just for a laugh passed between their mouths, it is Catherine now who watches with surprise from the sudden intensity and Elizabeth who narrows her eyes in amusement. They heat quickly beneath the coat above them, breath heavy as hands softly work down the slopes and rises of the other’s breasts, hips, legs. Catherine curls short nails sharp against the outside of Elizabeth’s thigh, no tights to keep skin from skin, and a shiver ricochets up Elizabeth’s spine.
“I’m not going to keep touching you,” Catherine warns.
“I hope you won’t,” answers Elizabeth. “I intend on keeping my hands entirely to myself.”
“It would be a very questionable choice if they were to stray,” Catherine adds.
“Where might they stray? I’ll keep them to myself.”
“You know how idle hands wander. My blouse, perhaps,” she whispers, dark eyes flashing bright in dim light dispersed through the fibers of her coat.
“You could lose a button that way,” notes Elizabeth, as carefully she pushes one free of its mooring. And then another. And then another. “If you lost a button down here, you’d never find it.”
“It’s good you’ll restrain, then.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth says, as she fills her hand with the weight of Catherine’s breast.
I wish you could have heard Megan read this at the event we did in NYC in December, but we’ll be doing another in New York on February 26th at Bluestockings Books, so you might get another chance. Meanwhile, here’s a picture of her in mid-read:
Don't forget that commenting on any blog in this tour gives you a chance to win a copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition. Wouldn't this look lovely on your bedside table?
And don't forget to check out all the other blogs on the tour, with their tantalizing excerpts and personal insights on their writers.
Blog Tour Links
Rose de Fer-“Dust”
MeganMc Ferren-“The Royalty Underground”
Harper Bliss-“Reunion Tour”
D.L. King-“Hot Blood”
Jean Roberta-“Tears from Heaven”
Sinclair Sexsmith-“Luscious and Wild”
Rose P. Lethe-“A Professional”
Valerie Alexander-“Grind House”
Annabeth Leong-“Give and Take”
Frankie Grayson-“Mirror Mirror”
Cheyenne Blue-“The Road to Hell”
Emily L. Byrne-“The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet”
Sossity Chiricuzio-“Make them Shine”
Teresa Noelle Roberts-“Tomato Bondage”