Undercover with Lesbian Cops

It’s got to be a good sign when reading your galley proof gets you tingly all over again at what terrific work your writers have done. Lesbian Cops will be available in April, but I can’t wait that long to give you some hints of what’s in it, so I’m sharing my introduction below.

Stay tuned, too, for a chance to not only win a copy, but to share your own deepest thoughts and fantasies on the subject of lesbian cops. I know I’ve missed some great ones, in spite of the wide range in the book. I’m still pondering the details of this caper, so for now, you’ll have to make do with my intro.

Lesbian Cops
What is it about lesbian cops that pushes all the right buttons (and some of the deliciously transgressive wrong ones)? It’s not just the uniform, with handcuffs and weapons, or the confidence, authority and sense of danger. The intrinsic appeal of women taking on roles that have traditionally been seen as hypermasculine is part of it, of course. To hold their own they need to be hyper-strong, in body, mind and strength of will. That’s intensely sexy, for me, at least, and if you’ve read this far I suspect it is for you, too.

But there’s something more as well, an irresistible force that these writers have channeled into fiercely erotic stories of policewomen in or out of uniform, on patrol or undercover, in charge or in need of healing, on the case or under the sheets.
The action can be gut-level tough, as in Jove Belle’s “Hollis,” where anti-terrorism boot camp surges over the edge into BDSM; or heart-wrenching, as in Evan Mora’s “A Cop’s Wife,” when death threats give a keen edge to the need for life-affirming sex; or quirky as well as steamy when Teresa Noelle Roberts’s cop finds a way to maintain respect for her own “Dress Uniform” while indulging her anime-girl lover’s cos-play kink.
The settings vary as well, affecting the mood and feel of each piece. Delilah Devlin’s cops play their “Only Game in Town” in a southern city that’s small without being entirely small-minded. Kenzie Mathews’s Alaskan village is a natural place for the mythic “Raven Brings the Light.” JL Merrow heats up a British town during one “Blazing June,” and Cheyenne Blue goes down under to an Australian rain forest for “How Does Your Garden Grow.”
J. N. Gallagher’s “Officer Birch” inspires undying passion in a midwestern high school; Lynn Mixon’s witness protection marshal finds (and gives) a “Healing Hand” in an unidentified (of course) mountain location; Andrea Dale’s “Charity and Splendor” merge in a nice family neighborhood; and Elizabeth Coldwell’s handcuffed stripper in “Torn Off a Strip” meets her match on a suburban porch. And in my own story, a state-trooper-turned-bodyguard just keeps “Riding the Rails” from Vermont to D.C., with special attention to the roomy handicapped restroom.
Urban scenes range from R. G. Emanuelle’s sweet and spicy “Cop At My Door” and Ily Goyanes’s “Undercover” hooker who’s in way over her head in Miami, to RV Raiment’s gritty (and lyrical) “Chapel Street Blue” and Annabeth Leong’s searing, stirring and ultimately redeeming “A Prayer Before Bed.”
The characters, of course, are the real heart and strength of any story. I’m not easily impressed, but these writers did the trick; they walked the fine line between fantasy and believability, without ever slipping into caricature, and gave us fully rounded people, explicit, uncompromising eroticism and their own sizzling visions of the complexity and depth, the strength and vulnerability, and above all the commanding, overwhelming sex appeal of lesbian cops.
They’ve definitely made me resolve to support my local policewomen.