A Ride to Remember

My first collection of my own work is now out from Lethe Press. A Ride to Remember consists of thirteen lesbian erotica stories, two of them brand new, and several published so long ago in such hard-to-find paces that you're not likely to have come across them. At least four of them are arguably science fiction/fantasy, linking me to my speculative fiction roots. Here's a blurb from Catherine Lundoff, Goldie Award-winning author of Night's Kiss and Crave (which you really should check out if you haven't already.)

"Green’s fiction serves up the sensual and hot in this new collection of some of her favorite erotic stories. Unconventional protagonists, unusual locations and beautifully crafted prose make for an unforgettable read that will stay with you long after you finish the book. Amongst my favorites are the linked stories “To Remember You By” and “Alternate Lives” about the truncated relationship between a woman pilot and a nurse who meet during WWII, then again many years later when their lives have taken different turns. I would love to spend more time with these characters, as well as some of Green’s other pairings. A Ride to Remember has earned a place on my favorites shelf."

http://www.amazon.com/Ride-Remember-Other-Erotic-Tales/dp/1590213203/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1303271048&sr=1-2

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/53480

Bonus Lesbian Cop Story

As promised, here's a bonus story about a lesbian cop, published long ago and posted more recently on the Royal Academy of Bards, so many of you may have seen it already.

Don't miss the additional free lesbian cop story posted on 9/25/13.

Healing

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the hemlock branches. An hour ago it had blazed over the water-sculpted granite, and radiant heat still penetrated into places I had thought would never be warm again. My body adjusted to the stone's smooth contours and felt, for a while at least, at peace.

Something moved among the trees on the bank above. I kept my eyes closed, trying to block out everything but the ripple of water and the scent of spruce and balsam. Far below, where the stream leapt downward in the series of falls and slides known as Diana's Baths, there were swarms of vacationers, but they seldom climbed up as far as this gentler sweep of stone and pool. I'd hoped, foolishly, for solitude.

Someone stood there, watching. Move on, damnit, I thought, hating the unfamiliar sense of vulnerability, the suppressed jerk of my hand toward a gun that wasn't there. Maybe the Lieutenant was right. Maybe I really wasn't ready to get back into uniform.

Maybe I was hallucinating being watched.

I sat up abruptly. A hemlock branch twitched, and through its feathery needles a pair of bright eyes met my challenge. A child, I thought, glimpsing tousled russet curls and a face like a mischievous kitten. Then she moved into clearer view, and I got a good look at a body that could have held its own on one of those TV beach shows. So, for that matter, could her bikini.

She looked me over just as frankly. "Hi there," she said throatily. "I think I've got myself lost."

Eye candy or not, I resented the intrusion. "Well, there's upstream, and there's downstream. Take your pick."

"They both sound so good, I can't decide!" Her glance moved deliberately from my face over my body down to the long, semi-healed scar running from mid-thigh up under my cut-off jeans. The scar didn't seem to startle her a bit. I began to suspect a plot.

Annabeth Leong on "A Prayer Before Bed"

The final blog tour post today, and it blows me away. Annabeth Leong nails the way erotica can have depth and complexity and reveal its characters in profound ways. I could never have said it as well. Don't miss this one.
http://www.annabethleong@blogspot.com

[Tomorrow I'll post a previously published cop story of mine that wan't in the book.]

RV Raiment on "Chapel Street Blue"

[For this anthology I expected to get stories inspired by TV cop shows, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to use any, but RV Raiment’s tribute to the women of the classics I recall so vividly really blew me away with its blend of grit and lyricism.]

RV Raiment on "Chapel Street Blue"

This is the first time I’ve had the honour of appearing in one of

Sacchi’s books, and it is a very real pleasure. I find myself

snuggled between the covers with some very interesting and stimulating

writers, and it’s a pretty fine cover too.

So why ‘Lesbian Cops’? And why ‘Chapel Street Blue’?

Sacchi speculates a link with Hill Street Blues and isn’t too far off

the mark. NYPD Blue is in there somewhere, and no doubt other ‘Blue’

named books and series. And NYPD was controversially ‘blue’ in that

other respect too. Naked bodies – or the US TV versions of them –

abounded, and NYPD Blue went so far as to flash, I think, Jimmy Smits’

bottom on one occasion. What a shock it was to discover that not all

American males sleep and have sex in shorts after all.

‘Hill Street Blues’ had Robin, Belcher’s petite, dark girlfriend. Oh

how I lusted those many years ago. And the tall blonde sergeant,

Lucy. Those long, long legs…

Then ‘Homicide, Life on the Street’ and another blonde sergeant, but a

detective, played by Melissa Leo, only seen in uniform on too-rare

ceremonial occasions, and NYPD’s delightful selection of nubile and

delicious officers and detectives.

Nubile and delicious? And I’m talking about cops? Yes, but entirely

without disrespect.

I admire cops. I admire anyone who has the guts to do, day in and day

out, the stuff that most of us would never dare to do. And female

cops demonstrate the equality that has always been fundamental to my

perception of women – they are at the very least as strong, as clever,

as courageous and simply as fine as any man could ever be. Such are

the women I choose to write about.

Even my cop’s lover, former denizen of the underworld, is a creation I

respect and a woman I would respect in real life. Few of us make

truly ‘free’ choices, and the choices of some of those society affects

to despise often require no little courage.

I love the paradox of the woman in uniform – police or military. Dressed in symbols of power and authority which also mark

them out as placing themselves consciously and conscientiously in

danger, the bodies beneath seem almost engineered for just the

opposite. The female body speaks, somehow, in every curve and line,

of qualities of nurturing, gentleness and beauty. It is there at

every age and in every conformation of the female body, yet the female

mind and spirit outweighs it.

Several times while writing this I have been drawn to a conclusion I

have sought, on some level, to avoid, and yet I think I cannot. It

really is as if female courage is somehow more overwhelming, more

inspiring, than that of men, whilst it is that of men which gains the

most attention.

So I love and admire my women in uniform, and I salute them, here, in

the only way I know how.

R V Raiment

Excerpt from one of the grittier bits, and I do mean grittier:

“I hate Chapel Street.” Sally’s voice is sibilant with a darker passion than our own.

“I know.”

“Just routine stuff, of course. Caspar and Weiner were there from Homicide. Izzy Morgenstein and di Matteo called it in.”

“And the vic?”

“Some kid called Kassie. Short for Kassandra, spelled with a K.”

“Black?” “Yeah.” “Kassie who?” “Whitney.”

I try to remember, but the name means nothing to me.

Lynn Mixon Maps the Writing of Healing Hands

The semi-penultimate day of the blog tour! Lynn Mixon describes the process of building the story of a U.S. Marshall and a card sharp under the Witness Protection program.
lynnmixon.com

Teresa Noelle Roberts on Respecting the "Dress Uniform"

[In today's blog Teresa Noelle Roberts talks about her story, in which you discover (when you read the whole thing) how to have your kink and eat it too, while still respecting the uniform.]

Teresa Noelle Roberts here, and I’m thrilled to have a story in Lesbian Cops. It’s always a pleasure to work with Sacchi, and it’s doubly a pleasure to find my own work snuggling up to the brave and incredibly hot women in uniform (and friends) depicted by my fellow contributors. But I almost didn’t come up with a story for this anthology.

Usually when Sacchi wants me to submit something to her, I jump. (Yes, that’s supposed to sound both silly and suggestive. If you expect me to play this all vanilla and prim, you’ve got me confused with some other author.) I hesitated a bit over Lesbian Cops¸ though, because the first few stories that came to mind involved uniform fetishes. For one, I figured a lot of people would take that approach and unless I had a really clever twist, it would be hard to stand out. For another, I don’t find police uniforms sexy.

I’m married to someone in law enforcement. It would certainly be handy if I were kinky for uniforms. But my beloved is a humane officer, like the “animal cops” from that Animal Planet series. His uniforms are utilitarian and rather ugly—but at least they’re highly washable. That’s key in his line of work. Every time I do laundry, I do an entire load of uniforms that smell like dog and worse—unless he’s come home bloody and/or skunked, in which case he’s kind enough to deal with the mess himself.

Can you say “not sexy”?

I started a piece involving a cop and a dog trainer, the cop’s profession being only a tiny piece of the story, then discovered that my frequent co-author Dayle Dermatis/Andrea Dale was working on a story in which a dog played a key role. Quite a different story than what I’d had in mind, as it turns out, but since I knew there was already one dog-related piece in progress for Lesbian Cops, one that I was (correctly) confident would be wonderful, I decided to table the slightly kinky dog trainer. (I’m sure she’ll be back, though perhaps not with a lesbian cop as her partner in mischief.)

But that left me without a story idea and I was starting to get frantic.

When I was tearing my hair out, I remembered a firefighter friend telling me how a would-be girlfriend got pouty because my friend wouldn’t wear her dress uniform to a fetish event and couldn’t understand that it was, from my friend’s point of view, both a risky career move and fetishizing something she took seriously.

I don’t think that real-life relationship got too far.

But what if I gave that story a happy ending? I could incorporate my friend’s seriousness, my own feelings about uniforms being work clothes, conflict, tenderness, and good old-fashioned ingenuity, all mixed together as facets of a healthy, growing relationship. And I could weave in plenty of kinky while I was at it, because it’s just not a Teresa Noelle Roberts story if no one gets spanked or tied up.

But no dogs. Because dogs and kink don’t mix (and if they do in your world, please keep it to yourself. Like I said, I’m married to a humane officer and I’m pretty sure that would be illegal.)

And thus “Dress Uniform” was born.

Here’s a taste—slightly suggestive, but also showing something of the characters:

“Are you kidding? I can’t wear my uniform to the Fetish Fair!” I smiled as I said it, though, because Lisette was wheedling like a kid who wanted candy, and it was pretty damn adorable. Lisette looks like an anime girl, all big eyes, big smile and big breasts, and she was using all three of those attributes to good effect. Usually when she makes her eyes wide, smiles eagerly and poses so I can’t help but look at her cleavage, I’ll give in to just about anything she wants, especially if she’s also wearing a short schoolgirl skirt or cat ears at the time.

This time I couldn’t afford to give in. “I’d get in serious trouble if the Chief found out. Besides, they’ll have officers doing security detail. I don’t want any confusion, especially if God forbid there actually is a problem.” Not that I expected problems. The kink community may lead edgy sex lives, but we tend to be well-behaved in public, if only to avoid anyone asking if dressing your lover up in a pony harness violates some obscure local ordinance. Whenever you get a few thousand people together, though, there’s a potential for weirdness. Especially at a downtown convention center, where someone who thinks they’re on a mission from God to get rid of pervs could pay their $20 and walk right in to cause trouble.

“How about your dress uniform? No one would get confused then.”

I winced.

I’d just met Lisette the last time I had to haul out the dress uniform. I hadn’t known the officer who’d been killed. He’d been from a different precinct and we’d never run into each other on a detail or a Police Benevolent Association benefit. But that doesn’t matter when one of your own buys it. You go to the funeral in your dress uniform and you’re part of a strong wall of blue for the poor bastard’s family and you hope you don’t have to put on that uniform again for a long, long time—and that no one ever has to put it on for you until you die of old age.

Joe Morrissey had died less than four months ago. It was way too soon to put that uniform on for anything less than the president coming to our town and needing a police escort. Certainly not to gratify the whim of a lover. A uniform that still had a mass card in the pocket from a fellow officer’s funeral wasn’t sexy.

I didn’t say a word, but I’m not as tough as I like to pretend I am, because my eyes got misty at the memory. Within a second, Lisette dropped her cutesy face and was holding me. “Sorry, Barb. I wasn’t thinking. That was a bad idea.”

Elizabeth Coldwell's Lesbian Cops Blog, with Angie!

Don't miss todays Lesbian Cops blog from Elizabeth Coldwell. Steamy goodness on the dominant side of policewomen, with extra bonus Angie Dickinson pic!

elizabethcoldwell.wordpress.com

J.N. Gallagher on "Officer Birch"

Why is erotica so dirty? No, wait – that’s not exactly what I’m trying to ask. Of course erotica is going to be dirty. Reading or writing erotica means reading or writing about sex, and sex is always dirty or, at the very least, messy. Messy encounters, messy clothes crumpled on the floor, messy emotions. Even when it's trying to be, sex is rarely clean and pure.

Maybe what I'm really trying to ask is – why do we treat erotica like it’s dirty? Why do we keep it hidden? Hidden on back-of-the-store shelves, hidden in our drawers, hidden on our e-readers? Graphic novelist Alan Moore has wondered why there are, comparatively, so few books about sex when there are infinite books about aliens and wizards and hard-boiled detectives and talking animals. Most human beings have sex at some point in their lives, so why do we read and write so much about the unreal when the real is staring us in the face and saying, “Write about me. Write about what you love, what you lust for, what you burn for in the pit of your stomach and the valves pumping in your heart.”

Maybe that's just my Catholic upbringing. Maybe you didn't have to fear getting caught thumbing through erotica anthologies in your local bookstore. Maybe you didn't have to hide your collection of On Our Backs magazines for fear of your parents or your partner finding them and asking, “Wait, you like this?” If so, I envy you. If you buy a copy of Lesbian Cops: Erotic Investigations and read my story, “Officer Birch,” then maybe you’re someone who will keep the book on your bookshelf, unashamed of what you enjoy reading.

Or, if you’re more like me, I invite you to join me in taking a small step. Leave a review on Amazon.com. Talk about it with an online pal or someone you trust in your real life. At least let the world know I like this. For some of us, this is a hard thing to do. But, it’s time – for this writer especially – to stand up and be proud of who we are and what we like reading and writing about. I hope you enjoy the story. Yes, it’s about sex, but it’s also about love and shame and fear and a bunch of other stuff, too. This story is a part of me and my life, and I want the world to know that.

Excerpt from “Officer Birch”

“Why does she bully you?” you said. “From what I’ve gathered, she doesn't act violently toward anyone else.”

“I don't know,” I said. “Does there have to be a reason? Sometimes people here just get singled out, and we have to deal with it.”

You were silent until I lifted my head and looked at you. Did you know that I fell in love with you right then, Officer Birch? Could you tell?

It might have been your uniform, immaculate and wrinkle-free. It might have been the necktie and cap, which no cops in town wore until you showed up and made them look like slobs.

It might have been your face. You looked so young, almost my age. Let's be honest—you weren’t pretty. You weren’t cute, either, not like the few girls I had managed to fool around with. They had long hair, beautiful breasts, curves to their figures. You had sharp angles, small breasts, a strong jaw. I didn't know if you had hair on your head. I couldn't see any peeking out from under your cap.

I had seen butch women before. Our Midwestern county was closeted back then but not totally straight. The difference was that none of them were anything like you. So handsome, so powerful in your uniform, even while sitting down and doing nothing. Masculine in every way yet nothing like a man. I got moist right there, and I didn't even know I was attracted to butches.

You rambled on about handling bullies. I wasn't listening; I was thinking. What would it be like to kiss your lips? What was underneath your cap? How would you teach me about hardcore dyke sex shit?

Blog Tour: Evan Mora, "A Cop's Wife"

About A Cop’s Wife…

When I first saw Sacchi’s call for Lesbian Cops, my mind filled with a hundred hot and dirty imaginings. When I sat down to begin writing, I was certain what would emerge would be kinky and sexy. I mean hey – who hasn’t had a fantasy about a smokin’ hot woman in uniform? But when I tried to assemble all the parts in my head, it just wouldn’t come together. There was another voice in there, telling me very pointedly that I had another story to write.

Sometimes the things that we write are fiction through and through. Sometimes there’s something – a mannerism of a lover, a turn of phrase, a kernel of truth – around which we craft fiction. And sometimes, entire stories are based on our experiences. I’m not married to a cop, but my story A Cop’s Wife is probably the most personal story I’ve ever written.

Two things were at work for me, and they blended their way into a fiction that nevertheless feels very real to me. Once upon a time, I had a long relationship with a firefighter, and I have endless respect and admiration for all emergency responders – police, firefighters and EMTs – and for the partners and spouses that support them at home. I drew on my own history to craft my character Amie, and to describe how she feels about being married to a cop:

There is an understanding that, on any given day, the likelihood that bad things could happen to your spouse is much greater than if they were say, an accountant, or a school teacher. You imagine what it would feel like to get the phone call, or the knock on the door, that tells you that they’ve been injured, or worse, that they’ve been killed.

People say I don’t know how you do it, but the fact of the matter is, that despite this understanding, the fear remains mostly abstract because by and large, nothing does happen. And at the end of the day, you trust in the training and the instincts and the support that enable these men and women to do their jobs and protect the public.

Much more fresh in my mind though, was the subject material of the story: how do you deal with someone threatening your life? My partner (a very different kind of hero) spends much of her time helping people who suffered terrible abuse as children. Sometimes these people grow up to be very damaged adults, with a lot of misguided rage. And sometimes, though rarely, it winds up directed at her. We found ourselves in a situation similar to the one in my story in the spring of last year. How do you deal with that? What do you do when someone says I will kill you, with every bit of conviction they have? Let me tell you, it’s the stuff of nightmares.

And then I wondered, how would a cop, someone trained to deal with all manner of violent situations, handle something like that? How could they –how does anyone – fight something as intangible as words?

…[E]ven like this, held tight in the circle of her arms in the privacy of our bedroom, he was there. He was everywhere. His taint was like a mist curling in through a crack in the window, seeping under the doorframe, spilling through the keyhole. It was insidious, filling the inside the room until I felt like I couldn’t breathe again, until I felt like I was suffocating in fear and anger and despair.

Patrice was vibrating, struggling with emotions of her own. I knew I should say something about how everything would be o.k., and about how I knew she would catch this filthy coward, but the words couldn’t make it past the lump in my throat. I was determined not to cry – she didn’t need that from me right now, but when she said, “I put a copy of my will in the lock box…” the tears fell of their own volition, and she rocked me in the dark, and nothing more was said.

Fortunately for me, and the characters in my story, things work out in the end. And the relief when it’s over? Indescribable.

After all these weeks of vacillating between belief and disbelief; strength and weakness; between calm assurances and horrible despair, I needed her – the indisputable, solid proof that she was real, beneath my hands, against my flesh – more than I needed air to breathe.

Sacchi has put together a tremendously diverse collection of stories which manages to capture both the fiery-hot fantasy that women in uniform can inspire, and the sometimes more serious reality of a cop’s life. It’s a great read, and I’m honored to be in the company of such fine authors. If you haven’t read it yet – pick it up already! You won’t be disappointed.

Blog Tour: Kenzie Mathews, "Raven Brings the Light"

When I talk about variety in Lesbian Cops, I really mean it. Today's perspective is from Kenzie Mathews, taking you to the Alaska she knows in ways outsiders seldom glimpse.

Blog for “Raven Brings the Light” by Kenzie Mathews

My inspiration for “Raven” comes from 1. I’m Alaskan, and 2. I was very upset by the girl’s murder represented in my story. You can Google her story: Alaska, the girl in the box murder. In the real story, no axes or machetes were thrown. I borrowed THAT part from my misspent youth (and I won’t tell that story now ‘cos I’d like to use that little bit of personal history for something else.) Of all my stories, this one tends to deal with darker themes. I let the love and the lust in it keep it light, but I can’t help thinking of crime stories/cop stories as being something that works in darker places.

I think the case really bothers me ‘cos I could identify with her. I grew up in rural Alaska, and despite the wonderful Disney versions of Alaskan kids with dog-sleds sharing hot chocolate over bonfires, a lot of the kids here run into trouble. It’s cold, it’s dark, and hitch-hiking for miles to drink, smoke, take drugs and hang with your friends might be your only social outing. We all have done stupid things and trusted the wring people. I love Alaska, but the kids here have it rough. There’s a strict conformity that aids in social survival but also stirs up rebellion. Sadly enough, a lot of the teens drinking and drugging with their friends out in the dark cold are escaping something worse waiting at home.

I created the characters Thomasane and Chris with Alaskan personality and temperament in mind. Alaskans tend to merge vulnerability with toughness. We’re survivors here but we all need each other to make it through. Thomasane represents for me a typical mixed race Alaskan. She’s both proud and ashamed of her mixed heritage. She carries both fierce tradition and cultural shame and pain. Because of wide-spread alcohol and drug abuse, some villages work really hard to remain dry. For many years, the the only businesses we had open for 24 hours were bars, liquor stores, and video shops. Every Spring the news gives the increasing number of homeless Alaskans, mostly Native, who died in the winter.

Chris is Thomasane’s perfect foil, and she’s not going anywhere. I wanted the love and heat to be obvious between them. This story comes from a longer version that I hope to eventually make into a novel. I did take some liberty with the small town being accepting of a lesbian cop and her lover, though. Alaska can be judgmental and conservative, but it’s my story and I wanted an accepting environment.

All the Raven stories are true Raven stories. They are perfectly gruesome and gleefully funny. Alaskans tend to crack jokes like that. Alaska, it’s big enough to hide all the bodies. How do you tell the difference between a tourist and an Alaskan? Tourist only has one dog in his car.

Here’s a brief taste of the story:

The only thing Alaska promises for sure is a beautiful death.

Thomasane and her partner Brady were the first Troopers on scene. And I know that not because Thomasane is some super trooper, even though she is….it’s just that it’s all small town out here. We’re such a small collection of communities, we only have four pairs of Troopers. But the territory they cover is vast.

So, now when Thomasane said instead, “Chris, did I ever tell you about Raven and the Hunters?” I said no even though I’m pretty sure I told her that story first.