22 bisexual erotica excerpts from Twice the Pleasure

I just gave an interview to The Advocate about Lindsay Lohan and bisexuality (will post when it's up) and so wanted to take a moment to give you some teasers from Twice the Pleasure: Bisexual Women's Erotica. While one anthology can't encompass every aspect of a topic as huge as bisexuality, I tried hard to create a diverse collection in terms of sexual identity and how that plays out in the erotic aspects of the stories. I didn't want every story to be filled with the word "bisexual." I didn't want every character to identify as bi. As with any anthology, I wanted a range of voices and stories. I hope I've succeeded! Below each story title is a very short snippet of the story.



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Introduction: Hot Bi Babes: A Both/And Approach to Bisexuality

1 Percent Adaptable Nicole Wolfe

Laura hadn’t moved. She couldn’t. Marie’s delicate hand caressed her breasts through her shirt and her little mouth left little lipstick prints across her collarbone. Laura felt an overpowering urge to run, then another to relax and then another to pick up this exotic woman and press her against the nearest wall while they kissed.

The Wife Kay Jaybee

The hand around her bare arm relaxed its grip a little, but Karen didn’t let go. Instead, she began to trail her neatly trimmed, black-painted fingernails up and down a square inch of Jade’s skin, sending electric waves of unexpected desire through Jade’s body. “So, let me look at you properly; let me see exactly what my husband sees in a little girl like you.”

Operetta Jean Roberta

Luke lowered his head to capture one of my nipples between his lips as though it were a ripe raspberry. He sucked it like a connoisseur, gradually increasing the pressure. His hot scalp gave off a scent of male sweat that appealed to me in spite of myself. Just when I thought Luke’s sucking had stretched my nipple to its longest possible size, he flicked the tip with his tongue. I moaned.

Lifeline Emerald

As Chelsea dipped low now, focusing her gaze on the circle of customers surrounding the stage, she felt the blood rushing to her clit—but it wasn’t because of the excitement of the spotlight, the men looking hungrily at her from the front row and back as far as the bar to the side of the stage. It was because of that kiss, the innocent gesture Jocelyn had undoubtedly offered with the same casualness she had her smile but that sent Chelsea’s imagination into places wet with desire. Her mind whirled with images of Jocelyn’s stunning dark hair thrown back as she thrust her bare breasts toward Chelsea’s mouth, of Chelsea’s fingers plunging deep into the hot recesses of her desire, her body—her soul.

A scattering of applause startled her from her reverie as her first song ended. Flushed and out of breath, she found herself in a position she didn’t remember getting into, on her knees with her thighs splayed wide, her hands gripping her breasts. She could feel that her royal blue G-string was almost soaked through.

Goa Dena Hankins

While Thomas and I held our silent conversation, Cybele stirred. Her breasts rubbed against mine and my expression turned wry. Thomas smiled at me and raised one hand to stroke my hair. Then Cybele did the unexpected.

She kissed my collarbone. She nipped at the thin skin there and ran her tongue along the hollow. My eyes widened. Cybele raised her head and I looked down. Before I could say a word, she kissed me.

The Robber Girl Lori Selke

“Your pretty face can be a liability, or it can be a tool,” the robber girl says. “I myself am plain. I have learned to use other tools.” Her hand strays to Gerda’s waist. “Let the men admire you. Let them do you little favors. Do them favors in return. They will be loyal as dogs. But don’t give them everything,” she adds. “Leave them wanting more.”

She leans in to whisper in Gerda’s ear. “Right now, what they want is you. But I won’t let them have what they want. You are my prize.” Her hand pinches Gerda’s butt. Gerda jumps. “But I will let them look. They will drink in your face like a draft from a well. They will know that you please me, and that will please them, too.”

The Adulterers Penelope Friday

He is silent, and you smile, all feminine confidence. You rest a hand on his thigh and look up at him from your new position. He looks a little guilty, a touch ashamed…and so he should. He has a wife waiting for him at home, someone who loves him, someone he professes to love. But he’s here with you, like this. You lean forward, and his lips are slightly apart, his eyes glazed, as he shuffles forward on his seat, allowing you to take the zip of his jeans between your teeth and pull it down. His underwear is concealing his flesh—more or less—but it does nothing to hide the bulge, the erect cock waiting to be unleashed. You give him one last chance to say no, to pull away. He doesn’t take it.

Sunset Logan Belle

“Give it to her,” he whispered in her ear. No, she couldn’t.

But then the woman stood in front of Meg. She smiled at her and then stretched out on her back in front of her, her hair fanning over the edge of the stage and brushing Meg’s thighs. From that prone position, the girl kicked her legs, then quickly turned around so her breasts were in Meg’s face.

Break Cheryl B.

I opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand, where she kept the supplies, and felt around for her riding crop. It was at the bottom. Did this mean she hadn’t used it in a while? Was blondie not into spanking? I spread her knees farther apart and fastened each ankle in its restraint.

“Don’t move,” I told her and smacked her ass hard with my hand just to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

In the Mirror Valerie Alexander

They’d met last summer when I started dating her, but they hadn’t spent any real time together before she returned to art school. But now we were in her city, and she had picked us up today at the airport. She’d given a brief tour along the way to the hotel and Will had watched her face with a suspicious, slightly amazed expression, like he’d never seen her before. We always got to know each other’s lovers; it was part of our agreement and a way of signaling to them that there would be no shifting priorities or betrayals. Just like when he started sleeping with Toby two months ago, and we had him over for dinner. What wasn’t part of our official agreement was that we only slept with our own gender, but somehow it had worked out that way. None of the men who hit on me ever compared to my perfect husband. Or maybe it was that I enjoyed a chase, and women were always so much more elusive and therefore all the more alluring for the chance to experience that aching, tantalizing arc from falling for a woman to the first time I held her naked in my arms.

Hanna, of course, was the sweetest ache of all, my doe-eyed little art student who looked so serious and dedicated while painting yet fucked with a feverish, half-sobbing passion that amazed and besotted me every time. People thought she was pretty but they rarely twigged to her carnal potential; watching my husband in the mirror now, I suspected he had.

Glitter in the Gutter Giselle Renarde

All I could think to do in that moment, the only thing that might make him feel better, was to open up his shirt and suckle those funny little breasts that swept upward like cones and peaked in silky nipples. I licked that soft pink flesh up and down with the tip of my tongue. When I felt his hand in my hair, I knew everything would be all right. A dainty moan escaped his lips when my licks turned to sucks, and I pressed his fleshy tits together to alternate between them.

“Dotschy,” he whispered, his voice light as meringue, “please don’t stop.”

I didn’t even pause to say, “I won’t.” I let my words vibrate against his nipples as I teased that precious flesh.

Seduction Dance Dorothy Freed

Leon grinned and smacked me hard on the ass. “Go for it, baby. Take her. Bring her back here to me.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, and, eyes on the prize, I began my seduction dance.

Madonna again—”Burning Up”—an insistent, aggressive beat that resonated with my excitement level. Moving with abandon, I kept time to the music, grinding my hips suggestively, thigh, ass and belly muscles engaged; shoulders, arms and breasts swaying. My long auburn curls tumbled over my shoulders as I danced. My green predator eyes were fixed on the woman’s innocent blue ones. I had her full attention now. She was moving in sync with me.

I couldn’t stop smiling as I danced ten feet and eight feet and six feet from her. People picked up on the heat level between us and turned to watch. Tuning them out, I continued, high on excitement, until I’d danced my way across the room and stood before her—so up close and personal, I could feel her body heat.

A Little Fun Rachel Kramer Bussel

“Are you trying to flirt with me?” The words burst out of Dee’s mouth before she realized quite how harsh they sounded. They weren’t a girl/woman’s words; there was no uptick at the end of the question, no accompanying flirtatious smile or toss of long, glossy hair—Dee didn’t have any of the latter, but if she did, it would be worn down her back in one long braid, like she had in junior high, when her mother insisted she keep it well past her shoulders.

“So what if I am?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t laughing at her—he was challenging her. Dee’s face flushed—she had her tells, as well—and she was annoyed that she was, somewhere, somehow, getting just a little turned on. Had a male stranger who wasn’t overtly gay ever flirted with her like this? She’d have to ponder that one later. She was so used to being the one to make the first move, flirting with women, mostly femmes, the occasional androgynous type, a few trans guys who always made Dee feel old. She looked every bit of her forty years, and she didn’t mind; her body was strong and she’d packed a lot into her life so far.

“Look, I really appreciate this”—Dee held up the cold, frosty glass—“but I’m gay. Into girls. Women. Queer. In case you couldn’t tell.” She gestured down at her outfit and willed herself not to blush when she saw that her nipples were hard beneath her white tank top and T-shirt. It was summer, and she hated wearing a bra and tried to avoid it whenever she could.

Trinity Jordana Winters

Carmen had seen her before. Her body was a picture of perfection. To say she was toned would be an understatement—she was ripped from head to toe. She always wore short shorts and a sports bra that showcased her ridiculously cut abs.

Carmen watched her walk through the gym with a feline grace. She observed that both men’s and women’s eyes followed the other woman wherever she went and seemed to scrutinize her every move. She commanded attention with her confidence and self-assurance. She clearly knew she was hot, yet she pulled it off without being cocky, just proud. If they could tear their eyes off her body they’d realize she was also very pretty. She had a Bettie Page haircut, only shorter, which suited her deliciously. Her skin was pale and appeared flawless. To be sure—she was a looker.

Meeting at the Hole in the Wall Aimee Pearl

I like rough sex with a certain flavor that’s hard to come by. A friend of mine who’s also a masochist is always talking about how hard it is to find a good sadist. How rare they are. How masochists vastly outnumber sadists, and how sadists can have their pick of whomever they want and we masochists just have to be happy with what we get. I think I’ve started to believe her…

I tend to see myself, for better or worse, through the eyes of my lovers. One guy I’m with makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet. Another woman, a friend of mine “with benefits,” makes me feel smart and fun to be around. But this guy makes me feel like I’m lucky to even get his time. It’s wreaking havoc with my self-esteem. What’s wrong with me? Have I internalized the sadist/masochist dynamic to the point where I actually put him above me in real life? And why do I crave even the slightest attention from this man?

The State Tahira Iqbal

“I thought you were Antonio.”

She smiles warmly as I try to settle my charging heart, but it doesn’t work. Her hair is damp; small dark pools of water pepper her navy-blue T-shirt.

I close my eyes. “I want this to be over, to know who did this, to not feel this scared.”

Her arms go around my frame and I sink into the embrace, propelled by the furious feelings in my pelvis that feel so different from being intimate with Antonio but utterly familiar as I recall a female lover from my past who’d been my first everything.

Strange Status Quo Salome Wilde

Sooner than she thought, she wanted more. Jake had reached inside and up the back of her blouse, then withdrew his hands to unbutton it and stroke gentle fingers over her belly and under her bra. Her nipples grew hard, sending shivers through her. She pulled Jake in close to squeeze his lovely tight buns, and felt the hardness waiting for her in those dress slacks. She took his hand and led him into her room, aiming for the bed in the darkness while her eyes were on the closet. When she saw the door was no longer fully closed, she thrilled, and felt her panties moisten. Amazing how just the tiniest crack, barely visible in the light trickling in from the front room, could make so much difference.

And that difference drove her through one incredible fuck. Once a shy, nearly asexual being, with her delicious little voyeur watching, she was a wild hedonist.

Walking the Walk Shanna Germain

“No,” I said. “I can’t…” Going out in public in next to nothing was panic-inducing enough; participating in a SlutWalk in little more than a bra and a bit of fabric around my ass was making my heart palpitate so hard I could feel it in my throat.

“Don’t make us come in there and get you!” I could hear giggles from the other side of the door. Jason and Sammie both. Just waiting for me to come out. Vultures.

“Fuck you both,” I said. Just because they were all about showing their bodies off all the time, making their views public. I was the quiet, shy door mouse of the three of us, content to stay at home while they went off gallivanting and doing their thing. As long as they came back to me, told me about their exploits and then fucked me into oblivion, I was completely content. I had no need to make myself seen.

ReGretable Circumstances Lane

With a little cry of delight, Marlene swept to the bedside where Tallulah was sitting with her fingers nestled between her thighs. I pressed back against the wood as Marlene fell to her knees before her, pushed her hand aside and buried her face into her sex. Using only her mouth, Marlene elicited one powerful climax after the other and kept licking till Tallulah’s hips surged forward in a final spasm and she was all but pleading for mercy.

“My god!” she gasped. “You haven’t changed, my darling. Just like old times!”

I raised my eyebrow, though as friends and fellow hedonists, it made sense that they’d been sexually involved. Marlene grinned, climbed onto the bed, and propped her back against the stack of pillows.

“Take off the rest of your clothes and come here, liebe.”

Right-Red Flagging Sinclair Sexsmith

Every Tuesday night the local boy bar is transformed into a leather cruising night, and I go every chance I get. It’s no stretch for my queer identity, not even a stretch for my dyke one—these days, fucking a cis guy is the queerest act there is. Me, I prefer the gay boys, the leather daddies, the twinks, the trans fags; so much more no-nonsense than the straight guys, though I’ll admit to the occasional foray into swinging. The straight picket-fence husband and his SUV-driving wife think they get to do a little girl-swap for my sweetie, but in fact we go homo and put the girls together, leaving me with him. He’s eager to bend over for my cock after we watch them go at it for a while, and inevitably all too eager to follow up with me after. They don’t have to wonder if they’re gay this way, though I make certain to assure them that they are, just to fuck with ’em.

The leather fags are different. No identity crisis, no curiosity or treating me like a circus sideshow act, no awkward gender questions or homophobia couched in ignorance. Especially when I’m in drag.

Page of Wands Cheyenne Blue

Deliberately, I pick one from the bottom and skate it out, flipping several of the cards to the sea breeze.

She glares at me, retrieves them, and studies the card I’ve picked. “The Page of Wands—someone young, ambiguous of gender. Know anyone who fits that description?” she asks offhandedly.

I have no idea what the Page of Wands is supposed to look like, and I wonder if her comment is deliberate—is it me she’s describing? “No,” I say, rather too forcefully.

“Then you’ll probably get laid tonight.” She winks.

What I Want, What I Need Jacqueline Applebee

Zanna kept on talking. “Why don’t we go out tonight? You might get lucky and meet the babe of your dreams.”

“I don’t think so.” I gripped the memories of Abigail in a clenched fist. I didn’t want another woman to dull my senses. My pillows still smelled of her perfume. My cunt still faintly tingled from her fingertips. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. An orange smear lay over my pale skin. Zanna was a good cook, but Abigail was better. Sure, it had all been veggie, but when a dish was made with love, I could eat it all day long.

Introduction: Hot Bi Babes: A Both/And Approach to Bisexuality

Woody Allen once famously said, “Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night.” As a bisexual woman, I can attest that this is not necessarily true. Bisexuality is more than just a math equation and cannot be so easily categorized or summarized. Identifying as bi, or being attracted to or engaging in sex with a variety of genders, or whatever version of something approximating those states of being , is the theme of this anthology, and in many ways, the term is actually a lot broader than that dual opportunity. This is not a book about choosing either/or, male or female, or simply one of each. It’s not about narrowing gender down to one size fits all, but about expanding our options, to a both/and approach to how we view and cultivate our sexuality. It’s a welcoming, inclusive definition that welcomes all comers—pun fully intended.

I wanted this book, while fictional and focused on the erotic aspects of bisexual women’s lives, to explore as wide a swatch of “bisexual” as possible. That means that some of the best stories here don’t mention the word bisexual at all; they don’t have to, because their bi angle, their queerness, is embedded—and bedded—in the story. The characters are living it, rather than identifying with it; the sexual exploration and attraction, the experience and movement, are more important than what anyone wants to call it.

The large majority of the submissions I received for this book were about women having sex with women, which makes sense in the context of a culture that still privileges heterosexual identity over any other kind. Even in an era of so-called lesbian and bisexual chic, there’s still plenty of discomfort with the fluidity with which many women view their sexuality. Shifting away from a purely heterosexual mindset forces women to grapple with the ways we differ from mainstream society, even one that is becoming much more open and knowledgeable about the varieties of queer life. The first time we dare to dip our toes—or other body parts—into the world of sex with other women is often momentous. Many of us will find the character of Laura, in Nicole Wolfe’s opening story, “1 Percent Adaptable,” familiar. Laura at first protests Marie’s advances, warning her that she’s not gay, not bi, until she listens to her body and follows its yearnings. “Laura was shocked that the kiss had surprised her, considering what had just happened between her legs. She let her lips caress Marie’s. She dared to let her tongue out to play. She risked letting her hands tickle Marie’s hips and backside,” Wolfe writes.

But I didn’t want this to simply be a first-time bi-curious tentative collection, but a robust one exploring the intimacy of life as a woman interested in men and women. That’s why I wanted stories that asked questions like the ones in Jacqueline Applebee’s closing tale, “What I Want, What I Need:” “I’d been out as a lesbian since I was twenty-three. Why was I suddenly spending time with a straight man? Why was I enjoying it so much? Had I really been a lesbian at all, or had I been lying to myself for the past twenty years?”

There are girlfriends and wives, husbands and boyfriends, first dates, threesomes and much more here. There’s daring and adventure, women taking risks by stepping outside their comfort zones, whether it’s by surrendering to a bodyguard in “The State,” by Tahira Iqbal, or confronting “The Wife” of a male lover in Kay Jaybee’s story, only to be confronted right back. The women you’ll read about are attracted to strong women like “The Robber Girl” in Lori Selke’s story, and men who surprise them with their sensitivity, as in my story, “A Little Fun.”

There’s also kink, if that’s what you’re looking for. In Cheryl B.’s “The Break,” spanking becomes a way for two exes to reconnect and revive the passion between them, while Sinclair Sexsmith takes us inside a gay bar and then home with a boy her protagonist has met there, one who may or may not know her true gender, in “Right-Red Flagging.” The protagonist of “Seduction Dance” is under the watchful eye of her master when she finds a new female plaything for her to command and seduce. Gender is played with, fucked with, and grappled with as well in Giselle Renarde’s “Glitter in the Gutter,” in which the female partner of a male cross-dresser encourages his interest when he fears he’s crossed a line and doesn’t want to live in the new, judgmental world he’s stepped into. Aimee Pearl writes in “Meeting at the Hole in the Wall, “Chivalry is dead, and I want to writhe naked on its grave.”

These are celebratory, sexy stories, but, all apologies to Mr. Allen, they are more complex than a view of bisexuality simply as “twice as much” to offer. I like to think of them as both/and stories that, collectively, offer a look at the ways bisexuality, queerness and lesbianism affect us while recognizing that there’s no monolithic typical bisexual. We are multifaceted, full of desires that can’t be contained in a single, simplistic category. We are hungry, horny, mischievous, naughty, provocative and, yes, curious. We may think we know what we want, only to keep on surprising ourselves just when we think we have it all figured out. We are open to a wide range of sexual possibilities, whether they exist in our heads or beyond.

I hope you’ll enjoy the twenty-two stories presented here, and that they serve as erotic catalysts, no matter how you identify.

Rachel Kramer Bussel

New York City