The Final Buzzer

I don’t know how I kept this tour going. Oh yes I do — barely.

My life is Diana Ross upside down. After being grounded nuclear family-style for the past several years, all my stuff has been sold, given away or is in storage, and I am utterly mobile. I’m working on my small press, a documentary that will screen in a few months, several works of fiction, still contributing nonfiction to a couple of publications, and getting ready to travel half of Florida promoting my book — and it’s a big fucking state. I need a low-maintenance lifestyle right now and a 4-bedroom house in the country wasn’t providing that.

If it weren’t for the extremely-fucking-brilliant writers who make up Girls Who Score, I would not have set up a blog tour. But exactly because I was blessed enough, not only to have some of the most prolific, intelligent, well-known, admired, and respected erotica authors in the world, but all the authors that I personally admire in a geeky, fan-girlish way, contribute a story, I would have been remiss if I hadn’t. Each of the writers in this book has made me come…very far in my admiration for them. I would like to thank them for making my first foray into the hallowed halls of editordomshipness a very easy process. You will always be my starting lineup. Continue reading

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Elle Shows School Spirit

[“Game Over” my story in Girls Who Score is about two cheerleaders and based on real life events]

Give me an…

I never much liked cheerleaders. Too peppy for my taste. But, as all rules have exceptions, so does my ‘Cheerleaders Suck’ rule.

I met them in high school. We were all juniors and I had Jaysa for first period Honors English. The fact that she was in an advanced class should’ve told me that she was a different breed of cheerleader immediately, but it took me a couple of weeks to find out that not all cheerleaders were vapid, jock-fucking, tits on legs.

She hung around with Maria, like, all the time. They made a stunning pair. Brown, lithe, Latin Jaysa and blonde, fair, curvy Maria. And soon, I was hanging out with them too.

Please note that although I attended high school in a ‘metropolitan’ area, and even though I went to high school during a pretty ‘progressive’ time, androgynous punk rock dykes with shaved heads did not hang out with cheerleaders. But hey, it was the nineties, Bill Clinton was president, and miracles happened. I went with it.

As it turned out, both of them had advanced classes in every subject. They were bright. And funny. And insightful. Sometimes sweet, sometimes caustic. And both gorgeous. They were awesome.

I’m not sure what attracted them to me; their other friends fit the mold that I had broken, stomped on with steel-toed Doc Marten boots, and tagged up with red spray paint. But I guess that was the attraction. As much as they appeared like their friends on the outside, they were more like me on the inside.

The allure for me (besides the fact that they were sexy and funny, whimsical and mischievous) was the subversive nature of our friendship. My parents couldn’t rag on me about hanging out with the ‘wrong crowd’ — I was the wrong crowd. But my alternative, Gen X-y, slacker-y, flannel-clad, Birkenstock-wearing, rainbow-haired friends, could nag me about hanging out with cheerleaders. And it felt good to shrug and say, “Whatever. They’re cool. You just don’t know them.”

I never had sex with them, but looking back on it later (as I did after high school and then again when I came across the call for submissions to Girls Who Score) I realized that I could have. They would sneak into my house and surprise me while I was in the shower. They asked me pointed questions about how it felt to kiss a girl and suggested that I show them. One day, Maria told me that she’d had a dream in which her and Jaysa were on all fours in a white-tiled steam room and that I came in sporting an impressive strap-on and proceeded to take turns fucking each one of them. I jokingly asked her about my performance and she told me that I made them come like crazy, but that she imagined it would be the same in real life. “Do you think we could do that?” she asked. “What?” I replied, nervously. “Make that dream a reality.”

Like I said, I never fucked them, but I could have. I was completely overwhelmed. Maybe if it had been just one cheerleader and not a tag team, I would have gone for it, but two? Two smart, sassy, stunning cheerleaders? It was two much.

I regret it though. Even to this day. They were fucking cheerleaders! And I was an androgynous punk rock dyke with a shaved head. Doesn’t that sound like a story? Maybe my next one. This one is based on them:

“Game Over” Excerpt: Continue reading