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On Loss and Anger and Being Unafraid: “Fearless” in Best Lesbian Erotica, Vol 3

I am so excited to contribute to Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Vol 3, and to contribute to the anthology’s blog tour today with some behind-the-scenes information about how and why I wrote “Fearless.”

Tessa loved how she made love to her, Jenny knew, because Jenny was the one person willing to treat her as if she were unbreakable. Even though everyone was breakable. They’d never forget that. Yet here Tessa stood—swaying a bit on her feet, but holding her ground—open and unafraid.

I don’t think it will surprise my longtime readers, and I hope it doesn’t alarm anyone, when I say I wrote “Fearless” out of grief and rage.

Grief because it’s one of many stories I’ve written about living after loss. I realize that’s not the most usual topic of choice for an erotica writer! But I’ve found it a natural fit: what’s lost and what’s left both inform our relationships to ourselves, to others, and to our bodies and experiences.

I’m interested in writing in the gaps, and around gaps, and in filling gaps with my writing.

Which brings me to rage. Not just because it belongs in the cycle of grief, though that too. In this case, I was reading a comments section somewhere—yes, I should have known  better—and stumbled on a predictable but no less tired comment about dating, or rather not dating, women who have had mastectomies and breast reconstruction. As if surviving breast cancer rendered someone’s body unsexy because of what treatment survival might involve. This prize opinion struck me as one more example of an infuriatingly narrow standard for beauty and sexiness that requires people, especially women, to be “flawless”–which in practice means showing no sign of ever having experienced anything. Life does not leave us unmarked! And how could anyone claim this means life leaves us less beautiful or worthy and capable of pleasure and eroticism?

So, I decided to write a story showing otherwise (not the last such story either, I expect). I always have a number of different works in progress, and when deciding which to complete next, I knew one of the heroines would have had a mastectomy. I usually build short stories by combining details and images that have caught my imagination or attention, and I already had some: first, a beautiful dark-auburn-haired woman walking toward my city’s farmer’s market in a deep red sundress that left her shoulders bare. And, thinking of that farmer’s market, I remembered the people who sometimes gather in this public space to push certain religious and political views. Views and people which I try to cross the street to avoid. And I thought of how rage is not only a response to loss, but to fear.

Fear and rage are difficult emotions to handle. But I’ve found writing—even/especially erotic writing—isn’t an unproductive use of them*.

So there I had my two heroines, Tessa and Jenny. I had vivid encounter to open the story, one that showed their personal histories and emotions conflicting without imploding. And then another item on my to-write list: fisting. In fact, I’ll just quote my notes for this story from my backup files:

>“You have no fucking concept of fear!” (Yeah, that can get kinky in other circumstances.)

>By which I mean this is also a fisting story. 

Then came research, and decisions about my heroines’ specific experiences, and more research. Shout-out to all the helpful educators online offering advice for fisting and for having sex in remission from breast cancer that show how  these experiences—when preparation, communication, and patience are involved—can be anything but frightening! (Oh, except for the story about the top getting sent to the emergency room with a sprained wrist after her gf’s orgasm. That was a little unsettling, I admit, but also fascinating and hilariously told. I wish I could link to it but I’m having trouble finding the right search string that produces the clip on YouTube and not porn, alas!)

From the storage bin under the mattress, Jenny pulled out a vial of massage oil, then a pump jar of lube. Tessa lay back, resting on her elbows.

“I want you so much,” she said.

Jenny wasn’t eloquent at moments like these, struck speechless by the gorgeous body spread naked on their bed, words drying in her mouth with emotion. “Me too,” she said at last. “I mean, you too. I want you. Here.”

So, maybe it seems odd that grief and rage and fear can make something erotic, or maybe it makes perfect sense to you. They are intense emotions, after all, and they can arise in response to love and desire. And it’s also important that, just as they don’t crowd out the erotic, neither do they crowd out hope. What’s lost and what’s left aren’t all there is: there’s also what comes after, and that can include triumph and joy.

“I’m green for this,” Tessa said, but slowly, reverently, as if she couldn’t fully believe it herself.

“You’re doing awesome,” Jenny said, her own voice hushed in awe. “Let me know if you want to try something different.”

She moved into her. Reached into her. Slid into her, a key into a lock. Not easily—nothing so overwhelming could be easy—but fearlessly.

Find Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year, Volume 3:

Sparking off the blog tour: Introduction by editor Sacchi Green
Cleis Press Bookstore
Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk
iBooks
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
Google Play Store
Powells
Booktopia
Foyles
Overdrive
IndieBound
Goodreads

*Indeed, the unpleasant signs and speakers in my downtown have also contributed a plot point in my story in Cleis’ Erotic Teasers anthology, coming out in January. Though I’m unlikely to do it, for various reasons, the thought of going up to them and saying “Thank you for helping me find the plot points to finish two queer erotic short stories!”  warms my heart often. While my experiences differ from Jenny’s, I’ve also written about my own religious background, Roman Catholicism, in my stories in the Sacrilege anthology from Mofo Publications.