Bianca James surprised the hell out of me by appearing at my Andrea Dworkin memorial this past weekend... it's not often I meet Best American Erotica authors at these wear-all-black occasions. She told me how much she liked my "homage de overalls," and I got to tell her how much I loved reading and squirming to her new story in BAE 2006, "Paradise City":
...Narcotics Anonymous beat the crap out of the regular lesbian support groups [I'd been to]: tales of blow jobs for heroin, cocaine binges, marriages torn asunder by perversity. The scruffy and dejected women of NA exuded a raw, predatory sexuality I found oddly appealing.
Karla was the token butch in the group, clad in parachute pants, combat boots, and a camouflage crop-top muscle shirt that exposed a tasty pair of brown biceps. She had a shaggy black rock star mullet that hung down over searing blue eyes and a hard, mannish face.
I got wet listening to tales of dishonorable discharge from the military for lesbian sex and methamphetamine possession, stories recounted in a voice like a rusty razor blade. She had been clean and sober for two years now, and drove a forklift in the receiving department of Home Depot. Karla wasn't anything like the other girls I'd dated, but I knew I wanted her from the moment I saw her.
It took me three meetings to work up the courage to ask her to be my sponsor. I went to Karla's apartment the next night. I wore my white trash finest in the hopes of a tawdry hook-up: mounds of cleavage courtesy of a push-up bra, gaudy crucifix jewelry bobbing on aforementioned cleavage, and fishnet tights under a little black dress.
Karla served me dinner from Burger King. The savory animal grease wiped the taste of [my last p.c. lover's] latex-covered cunt clean from my memory.
Karla insisted we listen to a Metallica tape while we talked about our recovery: I fabricated a story about being a divorcee three months clean from a Valium addiction.
Once we had exorcised our personal demons, Karla had slipped off my fuck-me pumps and tied me to her bed with my own fishnet stockings. She was very particular that I leave my dress on while we fucked, but removed my panties, and pushed my bra down to expose my nipples.
I suppressed a giggle as Karla began squirting K-Y jelly all over a huge strap-on cock she'd been hiding under her baggy pants. The whole scene seemed absurd, but I stopped laughing once she eased the slippery dildo deep into my cunt and proceeded to fuck me.
I moaned and growled as I felt months of sexual frustration released every time Karla’s thick cock pushed against my G-spot. I slammed my hips against hers, starved for dyke cock, my wrists straining against their fishnet bonds as Karla rubbed her wet thumb on my clit while pinching and twisting my nipples above their dainty little bra-shelves. The sensation was so intense that I came within a few minutes— I couldn’t control it, the orgasm that ripped through my body left me feeling completely drained.
Karla wasn’t content to finish so quickly— she fucked me deep and slow for an hour straight until my pussy was swollen and sore. She had positioned her cock so it bumped against her clit with every in thrust, and I felt her come against me time and time again as she fucked me.
This sort of behavior is known colloquially amongst friends of Bill W. as "The Thirteenth Step," as in, "Step Thirteen: Fuck Another Twelve Stepper."
Karla pulled her drenched cock out of my cunt, untied my wrists, and gave me a quick kiss before reaching for her cigarettes. I collapsed on the bed, utterly ravaged but good. We didn’t talk; Karla just lay beside me smoking cigarettes and absentmindedly flexing her abs, finally drifting into a deep sleep punctuated by loud snoring. I rested my head on Karla’s buffed arm and pulled the covers over us before falling asleep...
SB: It's very titillating to "live a lie"... to have a great sex life while keeping a dangerous secret from your lover.
BJ: I'm actually terrible at this sort of thing in real life. I'm more likely to destroy my relationships with too much honesty rather than deceit.
But it works well for dramatic effect. I'm a big fan of R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet" saga:
Here I am quickly trying to put on my clothes,
Searching for my car keys trying to get on up out the door.
Then she stretched her hands in front of me,
Said, “You can’t go this way—”
Looked at her like she was crazy,
Said, “Woman move out my way.”
I Said, “I got a wife at home,”
She said “Please don’t go out there.”
“Lady, I’ve got to get home.”
She said her husband was coming up the stairs—
“Quiet, hurry up and get in the closet.”
She said, “Don’t you make a sound or some shit is going down."
I Said, “Why don’t I just go out the window?”
“Yes, except for one thing, we’re on the 5th floor.”
Think, think… “Quick, put me in the closet.”
And now I'm in this darkest closet trying to figure out,
Just how I'm gonna get my crazy ass out this house.
And he walks in and yells, “I’m home!”
She says, “Honey, I'm in the room.”
He walks in there with a smile on his face saying, “Honey, I've been missing you”
She hops all over him and says “I've cooked and ran your bathwater.”
I'm telling you now this girl is so good she deserves an Oscar.
The girl’s in the bed he starts snatching her clothes off,
I'm in the closet like man, what the fuck is going on?
You’re not going to believe it but things get deeper as the story goes on—
Next thing you know a call comes through on my cell phone.
I tried my best to quickly put it on vibrate,
But from the way he acted I could tell it was too late.
He hopped up and said “There’s a mystery going on and I'm going to solve it.”
And I'm like, “God, please don’t let this man open his closet.”
He walks in the bathroom and looks behind the door,
She says, “Baby, come back to bed...”
He says, “Say no more.”
He pulls back the shower curtain while she’s biting her nails,
Then he walks back to the room— Right now I'm sweating like hell.
Checks under the bed,
then under the dresser,
He looks at the closet,
I pull out my Berretta.
He walks up to the closet,
He’s close up to the closet,
Now he’s at the closet,
Now he’s opening the closet—
SB: Your story pokes a lot of fun at AA-style meetings. How do
you see the whole clean and sober scene affecting lesbian's love lives?
BJ: I was dragged to these meetings all the time as a kid, so I have a bit of a cynical eye towards them.
I once had a girlfriend who would use her meetings as an excuse to
avoid problems in our relationship, and it seemed like a new kind of
addictive behavior. I'm sure the benefits outweigh the costs for most
SB: The butch in your story,"Karla," is the steadfast good soldier; the femme is a dangerous minx. What is it about the masculine character who's a mensch, yet who is lied to every step of the way?
BJ: A few months ago I started performing as a drag king after being high femme for several years. And all of the sudden I was getting these femmes who wanted me to carry their bags, or do their dirty work. I was, like, "Don't try and pull that shit with me, I used to be a femme!"
Femmes sometimes manipulate butches through sex appeal, and the same
pattern exists in hetero relationships as well. The femme in my story
exploits class differences to take advantage of Karla.
SB: Your sex scenes are cathartic... tell me about writing them.
BJ: If I'm not turned on by the end of my own sex scene, I haven't done my job. I write characters that I would want to fuck in real life, and draw on my own sexual experiences. I could very well end up being the femme in that story if I met a dyke like Karla.