Best Lesbian Erotica 2011

PAINTED NAILS AND PUPPY DOG TAILS Giselle Renarde

It’s not like I was stalking her or anything…

I shouldn’t have said that. All it takes is denying something for everyone to think, The dyke doth protest too much, and then you can never convince them otherwise. But seriously, I wasn’t stalking her. She just happened to work in the salon three doors down from my swinging bachelor pad above the deli.

The first time I saw her, she was balancing a tiny plastic pot of soy sauce and disposable chopsticks on top of a little tray of sushi. A pink lily sprouted from her jet-black, rockabilly hair. Her standard-issue black cotton dress gave her the look of a gothic naughty nurse, but it was her shoes that really caught my eye. They looked like ballet slippers, but in hot-pink patent leather. Hot. Pink.

Were I to describe my image of perfection, my ideal woman, I would list every one of her stunning features. Frozen to the sidewalk, in awe of her sheer beauty, I watched her balance lunch, condiments and utensils in one hand. She had the grace and dexterity of a vintage cocktail waitress. Reaching for the salon door, she managed to open it just far enough to slide her foot between the door and jamb.

Even struggling and unbalanced, she was a sight to behold. I stood there, watching, until it occurred to me what an ass-face I was for not helping her out. Weighed down by cleanish, half-dry clothes fresh from the cheap Laundromat, I bounded over to open the door for her.

That’s when she looked up at me. She seemed stunned at first, wide-eyed, probably because I’d come sprinting out of nowhere. When it dawned on her that I was only holding the door, not robbing the joint, she smiled. Not only did she smile, but she also said, “Thanks.”

Sigh.

That breathy utterance made my year. Seriously.

Every time I walked by the salon after that, I tried to peek in to see if she was there. But the windows were all frosted glass at eye level. All I could ever make out were her shoes. There was no mistaking pink patent leather.

On the few occasions I caught sight of her as she walked her lunch back to the salon, I never did manage to pop into her field of vision. Courageous as I seem, I couldn’t seem to work up the nerve to talk to her, not even to say, “Hi.” Every time I saw her, my tongue seemed to swallow itself and my heart hid behind a rock.

I realized one dismal day that, if I stuck my head out the window, I could see the salon’s shop front. It was a pretty swanky place, a steady stream of rich bitches going in silver and coming out copper. Lots of yoga moms, too, who came out looking essentially the same as they’d looked going in.

In watching out the window for her chance appearance, it occurred to me that I’d been thinking of her nonstop since that first brief encounter. At night, I dreamed about her painted nails against my scalp as she washed my hair before she cut it. When I woke up in the morning, it was to the disappointment of being in bed without her. Her absence from my everyday existence was excruciating enough that I’d close my eyes and roll under the pillow. I kissed her pink lips where reality couldn’t find me.

Now, I should probably reiterate that I was not stalking this girl. Seriously. I just happened to notice that she locked up alone on Wednesdays. What harm would there be in showing up at closing time and asking for a quick haircut? I’d reached the point where, nervous as I felt, I couldn’t not meet her.

For a girl like that, my everyday cargo pants weren’t going to cut it. She was so well put-together; her clients too. If I showed up looking like a South American rebel fighter, she’d suspect I wanted more than just a haircut. For her, I shaved my legs and searched my closet for something ritzy to wear. I owned two long-forgotten dresses. One was the royal-blue Girl Guide uniform I filed away at age eight. The other was the simple black dress I’d worn to my high school reunion. Would you believe it still fit? Sort of. I don’t think it was skintight when I bought it, but I must say it was a good look on me.

When I left the apartment wearing a gown Wednesday evening, I felt like a cross-dresser. I’ve always been more snips and snails than painted nails, but if it meant sliding incognito onto the salon girl’s radar, the end certainly justified the means. Right?

She’d just left the salon and was strutting down the street when I arrived. Damn it! But all was not lost: she picked up the price list board that lived at the corner, and my heart leapt in my chest. She was coming back to me!

“Let me help you with that,” I offered, running to the corner in my flip-flops.

She looked up and… wow! I could have spent eternity in that one intense moment of connection. Did I mention she had green eyes? Beautiful, like a cat’s or a snake’s. Her lips were blood red. No flower in her hair that day, but she wore a retro burlesque veil that scarcely covered her bangs.

As she picked up the plywood sandwich board, she shot me a wide smile. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she cooed, her smooth muscles surging as she carried the sign. “You can grab the door if you want.”

When she lifted the board into the salon, the fruity scent of her perfume breezed by me. My knees went so weak I had to cling to the door just to stay upright.

“Going somewhere special?” she asked, leaning the sign against the wall.

I couldn’t fathom what she meant, and my mind wasn’t working fast enough to utter anything but, “Huh?”

Brushing her hands against the front of her black cotton uniform, she explained, “I see you around the neighborhood. You’re usually wearing… well, not a little black dress.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true,” I replied, trying to stick to the script. “Just thought I’d stop in and see if maybe you could do me quick.”

Her jaw dropped. Obviously, I hadn’t learned my lines very well. I could feel my palms sweating as I stammered, “Haircut. I stopped in for a quick haircut, that’s all.”

“That’s too bad,” she said, drawing out each word. I hung on her cherry lips as she spoke. When she strutted past me, I nearly jumped out of my clothes. She flipped through the appointment book. “Looks like we’ve got a couple slots in the morning. Want to come back for ten-thirty?”

“But you’re here now. Couldn’t you do it?” I pushed. Was that too forceful? I wasn’t thinking anymore, just begging.

“Sorry, hon,” she replied with a dramatic frown. Showing me her nails painted with purple shooting stars trailing rainbows against a black backdrop, she clarified, “I don’t do hair, just nails.”

Thinking on my feet, I thought of my feet. “A pedicure! Yes, I definitely need one of those.” Sticking them in the air, I urged, “Look how nasty my toes are. Aren’t they gross?”

Way to seduce the girl, Claire. Brilliant powers of flirtation!

Luckily, the nail girl was amused. “You haven’t seen gross until you’ve seen athlete’s foot. Eww. Or a nasty case of contact dermatitis—even worse!” With a shudder, she picked up the small clock at the reception booth. Pen in hand, she flipped back to the current date in the sign-in book. “I guess I’ve got a few minutes. What’s your name?”

“Me?” I asked, as if she could possibly be talking to anyone else. “My name’s Claire.”

She put the pen down without writing my name in the book, then reached over to the door and flipped the deadbolt. “Billie,” she introduced herself, extending her hand in such a way I felt half inclined to kiss it.

I almost didn’t. I told myself to shake her hand like a normal person would, but my lips did not obey. I kissed it. She inhaled so sharply, I could hear her breath enter through her nose. My heart pounded as I looked up. For whatever good deeds I’d done, God smiled on me, and so did Billie.

“Over here,” she chuckled, leading me past styling stations to what looked like a very comfy dentist’s chair with a miniwhirlpool at its base.

“Wow. Fancy,” I gushed. Christ, how much was this going to cost me? I should have checked the price list. “So, what’s the process here? I’ve never done this before.”

“Yeah, you don’t look like the mani/pedi type,” she giggled. “No offence, but I like you better in cargo pants. You look a lot less… awkward.”

“I feel a lot less awkward,” I agreed, trying to get into position without betraying my dainty façade. As I settled into the big chair, resting my flip-flopped feet on the side of the footbath, she switched the contraption on and its motor purred to life.

Seating herself on the stool across the way, Billie tugged on my worn-down shoes and tossed them on the floor. “Come on, get your feet wet,” she bid, tapping the water with her fingertips. “What, are you afraid? Trust me, it feels incredible.”

She wasn’t joking! As I eased my feet into the bubbling warmth, all my anxieties just melted away. The footbath was so deep I could have kneeled down in it and gotten busy with any of its three water jets. I wondered if Billie had ever thought of that.

Folding a pristine white towel across her lap, she suggested, “Sometimes it’s nice to just close your eyes and relax.”

She was right about that too. The jets caressed my feet and legs almost as high up as my knees, and I let my lids come together. I don’t think I fell asleep, but anything’s possible. It seemed like only seconds later that Billie’s fingers swept down my calves and pried my feet from the warm water. Time for polish, I supposed.

It was my first time; what did I know? Not much, as it turned out, because I hadn’t anticipated Billie running her fingers down my soles. I didn’t know she would press the pads of her hands to the pads of my feet and rub, drawing a measured path down to my heels.

No wonder you always hear such good things about a foot rub! When she pressed her thumbs in circles around the center of my feet, I thought I would come on the spot. If I hadn’t kept my lips zipped, I would have exploded with a steady stream of explicit ejaculations. Verbal ejaculations, of course.

Billie cocked her eyebrows, then her head. Her red lips formed a keen smirk as she lifted my right foot up from her lap. I watched in disbelief as she kissed my big toe. Extending her soft pink tongue, she set my toe in her mouth and closed her lips around it.

When she sucked, I lost it. In fewer than five seconds, Billie had me screaming, “God almighty, that feels incredible!”

I can’t even really describe how great it felt. It was like the pleasure in my toes shot electrical impulses up to my pussy, then to my brain, enlivening every cell of my body in between. It was like having ten little clits, or ten little cocks, each one getting off on the velvet tongue of a gorgeous girl.

She sucked toe after toe after toe. Ten in total. Each time she took a fresh one in her mouth, I lost it all over again. Ten little orgasms. No, not little. In fact, if my chair hadn’t had handles to sink my claws into, I would have kicked and screamed my way into the footbath before she was done. She was very lucky I managed to restrain myself from booting her in the nose! Not deliberately, of course.

Tickling between my toes with her hot tongue, she massaged my feet with beautifully adorned fingers. She took two toes in her mouth at once, licking them, licking between them. Three toes. I nearly died in that chair, it felt so amazing.

“Oh, my god, that was amazing,” I panted as Billie set my feet down in her lap. My toes had more lipstick on them than her lips now, but her smile was nonetheless charming. “You have a very talented tongue,” I applauded.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she assured me. I believed her.

“Time for polish?” I asked, like I was just another customer to her.

Chuckling deep in her throat, she slipped out of her hot-pink patent leather ballet slippers. “Is that what you really want? Painted nails?”

“Why?” I teased, barely able to sit still. God, she was gorgeous. Even her silky-smooth voice gave me chills. “Do you have something better in mind?”

Setting my calves on either side of the footbath, she stepped into the water. Starting from the top, she unbuttoned her clinical cotton dress. Her bra was pink with red cherries and a lace ruffle trim. That settled it: I’d died and gone to heaven. And if this wasn’t heaven, I’d rather set my sights on this moment of bliss with a rockabilly goddess in cherries and… oh, yes, red rumba-ruffle panties.

Tossing her dress on the floor, Billie sank into the jets of the footbath and her countenance turned blissful. So she did have the same idea! She ran her satin fingers up my thighs, and I placed my hands on hers to make a connection.

“Come here. Move closer,” she instructed me, writhing in the warm pool. I could only imagine what those jets felt like against her thighs, her ass, her pussy…

As I slid forward in the chair, my dress rode up until my sexiest panties—see-through black nylon—were amply visible. I didn’t pull my dress back down. Why would I? That’s not what Billie wanted. She wanted to lick my pussy; I knew it. I knew because she wrapped her hands around my ass and pressed her nose against my clit.

She bounced in the jets, splashing water against my legs and over the sides as she licked the crotch of my panties. First lick, I felt only the pleasure of pressure on my lips and my clit. Second pass was slow and sumptuous. Thank god for thin fabric, because I could feel the warmth of her tongue on my flesh. Third time’s a charm. The hot wetness of her mouth swept through the nylon, mingling with the heat and the moisture of my aroused pussy.

“Get these off,” she growled, and not a moment too soon, because I needed—and I mean needed—to feel her tongue on my clit without the barrier of panties. She tore them off me and ate me like you would not believe. She devoured my pussy like she’d been dreaming of it as long as I had. Truth be told, I’d dreamed of eating her, but this was just as good. No, it was better. Her gluttonous tongue ravaged me, even after that snack of ten toes.

She took my clit between her lips and sucked it like a cock. She was incredible. She made me sweat. She made me whimper. I could barely breathe as I looked down at her veiled head attacking my body. I could feel her arousal as she pressed her ass against the far side of the footbath. Swinging her head side to side between my thighs, she cried out at the pleasure of the jets. Unable to contain my jouissance, I joined her in shrieking, calling out her name paired with God’s until she removed her face from my legs and herself from the pool.

Climbing on top of me in her wet ruffled panties, she kissed my lips. Whatever I’d taken for heaven earlier was obviously just a mirage. No, that couldn’t have been heaven because this moment was paradise: Bliss. Perfect ecstasy. Kissing Billie for the first time felt divine. As she touched her fingertips to my cheeks, I purred like a contented kitten. She slid her hand along my arm and up my side. I thought I’d come all over again. She pressed her lingerie-adorned breasts against mine and I nearly passed out. The kissing was wonderful. It was nearly as arousing as everything she’d just done to me.

We must have kissed for hours. For one hour, at least. Or maybe it was just five minutes. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that it happened. It happened then, and it’s happened since, and it’ll happen again and again, because there’s a connection now.

Billie is more that just a crush. She’s more than the girl I swear I’m not stalking. Now I don’t have to stick my head out the window in hopes of seeing her—though, admittedly, I still do that from time to time. Now she’s my girl, my lover, my baby doll. I would never have envisioned a beauty like her taking an interest in someone like me, but she has and I thank God every day for it. Now, instead of trawling the streets for sushi at lunchtime, she comes up to my apartment where there’s always something hot to eat.