My pulse slams heavy in my head – never has a choice seemed so obvious yet so *scary*. I watch her turn on the water and rinse her hair, and when she finishes I take a deep breath and walk across the room towards her stall.

Her face lights up as she sees me coming. She turns her body to face me, and as soon as I get close her hands catch my arms and she pulls me to her. She brings her mouth to my ear and speaks softly.

“Do you really think I haven’t noticed how you look at me?” She’s got her body all folded into mine, somehow, with her leg pressed firmly between mine.

“You’re hungry for me. I can see it all over you.” I moan – her tone is stern and scolding, but with a playful edge. Her breath is heavy on my ear and now her lips are grazing along the nape of my neck, kissing tenderly.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” She whispers, making me jump as I am startled out of the blissful state in which I had been floating. I move my lips, but nothing really comes out – perhaps a squeak or a small sigh. She stops her kisses and slowly, deliberately sinks her teeth into that spot where my neck curves to meet my shoulder. I groan, long and low.

“You’re not talking, but your body is. It’s telling me you like what I’m doing.” Her leg is pressing up into me now, applying pressure on my sex, lifting me up slightly on my tip toes. I am off balance just enough to sway slightly, grinding onto her leg as I do. Her lips kiss up my neck and then meet mine. On my lips, she is hard and forceful, and I feel like I am melting in her wake; like my own lips are made of wax, softening and accommodating her strong, warm and passionate kiss. I’m locked in-between the force of her thigh pressing me upwards and the force of her lips pressing down on me…

She breaks our lip embrace suddenly, and releases the tension in her leg. I am dropped from her trap and I immediately miss it. I lean in to try and find her lips again with mine, but she’s on my neck again, nibbling and biting the nape, following my moans of ecstasy as they guided her towards the back of my neck. She turns me around with her hands, and instructs me to lean against the wall for support.

I place my hands on the shower wall and look up into the spray that is cascading down upon us. I feel Tammy at my back, caressing up and down my back with her soft hands. I try – once, twice – to turn around and touch her, but she keeps pushing me back into this position – facing the shower. Finally, she comes in close, wrapping my body with hers and returns to the kisses on my neck. This time, however, she’s discovered that bites at the base of my neck/top of my back make me quiver, so she’s sinking her teeth into me as well – oh so gently, but with ever increasing force. I moan appreciatively and mumble that I love it, and she bites harder.

Her hands start to roam again – one ends up tangled in my hair, the other trails down my back and towards my inner thigh. She bites again as she pulls at my hair, drawing a moan from me as my face is pulled into the shower stream. I feel the spattering of the lukewarm water hitting my cheeks and eyelids as her other hand finally find its way into the folds between my legs, slicing in deeper and deeper till she’s buried into my sex, making me drip as her fingers dance inside of me…

Red is a sex blogger that’s been at it since early 2004. Her work can be found at http://www.redsneakerdiaries.com, where she writes flash fiction about kink and all things sexy, reviews sex products, answers questions, and attempts to uncover the science behind sex. Her work has been featured on Playboy Radio and numerous sex blog and/or information websites. Red can be reached at redsneakerdiary@hotmail.com.

It was a lonely morning in the pool. Most mornings were these days - the summer was wrapping up and people were spending more time outdoors, less time indoors. That suited me fine; I liked to swim without distractions. So did Tammy. It had been her and I doing the morning swim for weeks, with rare random others. We’d never spoke and I never saw her in the change room, but I always saw her in the pool.

Today when I finished my swim, she was still going. I went to the locker room and grabbed my shampoo and headed for the shower. This pool has just a one room shower facility (women only of course!), but with a few semi-private stalls. I pulled off my suit, hung it over the bar by my shower head and turned on the stream to a lukewarm temperature. As I worked some shampoo though my hair, I closed my eyes and sigh. The water feels great; I imagine it rinsing the pool off of me as I rinse my hair clean.

I open my eyes and looked out from under the stream of water. I am not alone in this pool shower room anymore – Tammy is standing across from me. She’s naked, her blue bathing suit draped over the railing beside her shower’s spot. The water streams down her body; she melts into it as it runs in rivulets across her curves. Her skin shimmers bronze in the steam of the shower, and she sparkles as she releases the tight binding holding back her chestnut hair. Her nipples look like marshmallows.

Realizing I’m staring, I sheepishly smile at her, and she smiles back. She doesn’t seem phased so I just assume she didn’t see me ogling – perhaps I’d been subtle in my absentminded way, or perhaps she hadn’t been paying attention. I force my attention back onto the ritual of cleaning post swim – it’s so not appropriate to start leering at fellow shower mates, no matter how hot they are…

I open my eyes and she’s looking at me. She smiles as I meet her eyes and she takes the opportunity to call for my attention

“Can I bother you for some shampoo?”

I catch my voice in my throat – I croak out a “Sure, no problem” as I hold the green squeeze bottle out towards her. She floats towards me – like and angel gliding through the mist. Her hand snakes out and reaches for the bottle – he fingers collide with mine. Electricity sparks through the air – we both feel it, there’s no denying that. Yet I pretend I don’t know that she felt what I felt, and she pretends something similar. Our eyes meet but I break the eye contact very quickly. I sigh and lean back as she pops the shampoo bottle top and squeezes some into her hand. She smiles again and leans into me, presumably to place the bottle on a small shelf just off to my side. As her body comes close to mine, everything seems to slow down. I’m standing so still, afraid that if I move or if I even breathe, I might break the spell. She’s so close to me, I just want to press my body onto hers, to let our curves fit together in a soapy mess…

And then she pulls back, raising her hand to run the shampoo into her hair. She smiles as she walks – not back to her shower, but to one of the semi private stalls.

This is a big moment for me, I am paralyzed with indecision. Sure the stall is pretty private, and well shielded from the entry to the room, but it’s still a public shower room!

She turns to look at me, her eyes asking the obvious – care to take this further?

Red is a sex blogger that’s been at it since early 2004. Her work can be found at http://www.redsneakerdiaries.com, where she writes flash fiction about kink and all things sexy, reviews sex products, answers questions, and attempts to uncover the science behind sex. Her work has been featured on Playboy Radio and numerous sex blog and/or information websites. Red can be reached at redsneakerdiary@hotmail.com.

The other night I was watching an episode of South Park, the particular episode was titled “D-Yikes”. If you are not familiar with the episode, it is the one where Mr. Garrison decides to label himself as a lesbian after a hot night of “scissor-sex” with a lesbian.

I have to say that episode was HILARIOUS, and yes it might have been stereotypical but Rosie O’Donnell I am not. I can take jokes with a grain of salt.

Now if you are not aware of what “scissoring” is, the textbook definition is female to female genital sex. Also referred to as, frottage or tribadism, some colloquialisms “bumping fur”, “prawn wrestling” (This one is hysterical!), “clit-clating”, etc. There are so many more I could go on for hours, I will spare you everyone. Just this once! =)

The term “scissoring” is much more of a colloquialism that it is a formal name. The formal name “tribadism” was originally conceived as lesbian penetration either with an enlarged clitoris or a strap-on dildo.

Though the term “Tribadism” refers to a specific sex act between women today. It was also commonly used to describe female-female sexual love in general in the past, and women who had sex with woman were referred to as “Tribads” or “Tribades”.

As author Rictor Norton explains:

“The tribas, lesbian, from Greek tribein, to rub (i.e. rubbing the pudenda together, or clitoris upon the pubic bone, etc.), appears in Greek and Latin satires from the late first century. The tribade was the most common (vulgar) lesbian in European texts for many centuries.”

Fricatrice, a synonym for tribade that also refers to rubbing but has Latin rather than a Greek root, appeared in English as early as 1605 (in Ben Johnson’s Volpone).

Tribadism is also used in pop culture today, as the glam pop band, Scissor Sisters, derive their name from the scissoring position. As well as other bands such as, Scissorfight and the lesbian punk band Tribe 8.

So here goes …….

Hey guys, I should start by saying that my name is Tatiana. Having just started with the company at the end of March, I’d like to say that I have caught up fast and truly enjoy my job. Not sure of what my co-workers write on their “blogs” or “profiles”, but I’d like to state – for the record - that I am a 25 year old butch lesbian. It’s something I am very proud of, and I am extremely lucky to have a job in which my performance is judged not by my sexual orientation but by my ability to do the job and my candor.

Even after a week of racking my brain with ideas, I still have no idea what to write about. I’ve concluded that I should just write about my experiences as a butch lesbian in NYC.

Now you would think that living in NYC and being a lesbian would not be that big of a deal. My experience has shown me that just the opposite is the case. I can see how much my appearance affects people from suits to everyday hipsters. It’s actually pretty unreal to see how much things have NOT changed in this society. I am very articulate, detail oriented, professional and personable. However, when seeking a corporate job I am expected to dress in high heels and mini skirt? I was unaware that wearing high heels and a mini skirt was the best way to get the job done. I guess it depends on what the “job” is, doesn’t it? Are they looking for a cute corporate accessory, or being an effective employee. In my experience, even in New York, it’s often the former.

Now don’t get me wrong I respect corporate America. I just think there needs to be a change. Take for example, Google - a multimillion dollar company who lets their employees bring their dogs to work and play pool during lunch. I’m not saying that corporate “big-wigs” should break out a game of darts during their weekly staff meetings. What I am saying is that maybe focusing on the employees efforts’ and work ethic as opposed to how much money they can make for you would make things not only run smoother but their “employees” work so much harder – resulting eventually in the desired profit.

To continue…I am rather sick of both men and woman looking me as if I am threat. To the woman, “No I do not want to have sex with you” and to the men, don’t get it twisted -this is not a Freudian slip of any sorts, “I do not have penis envy”. Why should it matter, who I sleep with or hold hands with? Why is so much cooler for two women to be sloppily drunk and kissing each other than it is to see two men walking down the street holding hands walking with their child/ren? If people in the gay community wish to get married – hell, why not? Can’t we be given the chance to be as miserable as straight people are in their marriages?

For the religious skeptics … Well first of all if you are even reading this or hell for that matter on this site, are you really even religious as you claim to be? More or less I don’t care about the religious skeptics; religion is just a type of media - blocking our view of reality.

With love and pride

Tatiana aka Clitalicious