Small Bella After Dark (BAD) Logo.

Take an erotic journey through some of the greatest bedtime stories never told. Explore the limitless pleasures of lesbian sensuality and experience the sizzling secrets that turn friends into lovers… and straight women into straight-to-bed women.

Imagine what it would be like to…

Ride a big city subway where women get on and get off... Mix business and pleasure with officemates who love working overtime… Learn some new maneuvers from hot soldiers who ask and tell... Whatever you want, FANTASY will give it to you…


Story Excerpt Dedication Introduction Behind the Book

Buy the Book

Story Excerpt

I chose excerpts from my stories for this site so that I don't have to worry about pissing off some other writer or violating copyright. This doesn't mean that my story is necessarily the best, just the only one I can excerpt from.

Metro Heat

by Therese Szymanski


I walked into the empty station, noticing for the first time ever just how cavernous and empty the Woodley Park Metro is this late on a weekday night—especially with the snow that began falling just a few hours before. I should’ve remembered how snow could shut down the nation’s capital.

Even still, I was amazed when I got onto the red line train, and I was the only one in my car.

I was exhausted at the end of a long, hard day as a desk jockey. My head was spinning from the number of reports I had read and all the Excel spreadsheets I had been studying, and so I discovered I actually enjoyed being all by myself in the train car, even though I thought I could practically hear my own breathing echo throughout all the empty space.

I wondered if the snow would affect the movements of the train, even though it was underground through the District, because, after all, to get to Silver Spring, I’d have to stay on it for a while above ground as well.

I sat back and, deciding I was safe because I was alone, and unlike the New York subway, the D.C. Metro didn’t allow you to switch cars while the train was in motion, closed my eyes, enjoying the rest and relaxation after a particularly trying day at the office.

That was when I began to notice that the movement of the train over the rails wasn’t smooth, in fact, sitting on the seat wasn’t too much unlike sitting on top of a washing machine while it churned away. I smiled to myself. If no one else came into my car, this could end up a pleasant ride home.

The train’s next stop was Dupont Circle, and when the doors opened and no one got in, I thought it really might be my lucky night. It appeared that all the Washingtonians were buried under their blankets during what they must’ve considered a blizzard.

But lady luck was not with me tonight for, just as the doors were about to close, two women came flying in.

“Whew! Just made it!” one said, quickly glancing about the car. She was tall, maybe five feet eleven, with short, black hair. She was wearing jeans, a flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath it, a pair of heavy work boots, and a black leather jacket, decidedly ostentatious with its rows of fringe all along the sleeves and in a V down the back.

I said a silent prayer, hoping they would not sit near me, and I’m not sure just how successful it was, because although they didn’t sit next to me, the seats they chose were only three rows in front of me, albeit on the other side of the aisle.

“God! I am so drunk!” the other woman exclaimed, laying her head back against the top of the seat. She was wearing a skirt and pumps, with only a jean jacket covering her over what appeared to be a rather sheer blouse. Her partner wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in. “I think that was the best holiday party ever!”

Just what I needed, yet another reminder that Christmas was upon us, and I’d be spending the long weekend alone in my apartment, with only my tiny turkey, mashed potatoes and veggies to keep me company.

Oh no! I’d forgotten the cranberry sauce again!

“I hope you’re not too drunk for what I have in mind tonight,” the taller woman whispered into her partner’s ear. Or, she said it in what she probably thought was a whisper, but reality to a drunken mind is far different than reality to a sober one.

I wished only that loud-mouthed drunks didn’t always have to disturb my after-work, wind-down period.

“I was thinking ‘bout giving you a little pre-Christmas Eve surprise tonight,” the tall one continued. She unwrapped her arm from the other woman’s shoulders and reached down, as if taking the other woman’s hand and doing something with it. I wondered what exactly was going on.

“Oh, Sandra . . .” the femme moaned, “you know how hot it makes me when you pack. When did you put that on?”

“Just before we left the party, Katie. I didn’t want everybody to know all the details of our lives, after all. But I did want to give you something to fantasize about during our ride home.”

Katie turned to Sandra and gave her her mouth and the two kissed. Deeply.

I nonchalantly moved across the aisle for a better view.

“Do you know what I’m gonna do to you when we get home?” Sandra asked. When Katie didn’t reply, she continued, “I’m gonna take off this jacket of yours . . . then I’m gonna peel off your skirt and panties . . .”

“Oh, baby . . .”

“What else are you wearing?”

“Blouse and bra.”

“You know what I mean.”

Katie gulped. “Stockings with a garter belt. I had been hoping we might have a chance for a little adventure during the party.”

“Hm. So then I’ll take off your blouse and bra, leave you wearing only those incredible stockings, garter belt and heels, and you’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Baby, you know I’m yours.”

“You like being naked when I’m still clothed, don’t you? You like showing me your pussy and tits, especially if I make you show them to me. You like teasing me, but most of all, it makes you feel naughty—it makes you feel so bad, it’s good.”

I suddenly realized I was just about caught up in the middle of an episode of phone sex. Sandra was turning Katie on with her words as a sort of foreplay.

I wondered what such a careful and creative lover would be like in bed. After all, if she was willing to play like this just to get her partner good and wet, what else might she do? What else might she be planning?

“Then, if you’ve been very good . . .”

“Oh baby, please, you know I’m always good . . .”

“If you’re very good, I’m gonna let you get down on your knees and open my zipper.”

“Oh yes, please baby, let me suck it, let me show you just how good I can be.”

“I knew you’d want to blow me, want to suck my cock.”

What? I had been sure these were two women—what was going on?

“Baby, let me do it now, let me suck you, right here, right now.”

“Katie, we’re in the Metro!”

“We’re alone!”

“No we’re not,” Sandra looked over her shoulder at me, and I pretended to be deeply engrossed in something I was reading.

“She’s busy,” Katie countered.

Hold on, Katie had said Sandra was packing something she had just put on. Sandra must be wearing a strap-on dildo!

Sandra again looked back at me, but even though I was thoroughly into my pretense of reading something I wasn’t actually holding, I realized she knew I was hanging on to their every word and action. The only thing she didn’t know was how much I was also enjoying the movement of the train.

We stopped at Farragut North. I prayed even harder than before that no one would join us. I really, really wanted to see Katie suck Sandra’s dildo. I wanted to hear Sandra’s zipper being lowered, I wanted to see Katie drop to her knees . . .

Suddenly some little guy with short brown hair, dressed in a dark blue suit, with a red and blue paisley tie and dark green trench coat sat down right in front of me.

I almost cried. They’d never do it now, with this boy watching!

But then I heard Sandra’s voice again, as if she were deliberately taunting us, “Baby, I’m gonna give it to you so good tonight, I’m gonna spread you out on the table like Christmas dinner and then I’m gonna fuck your brains out. I’m gonna ride you like a cheap whore, like your pussy’s only there for my cock to sink into, and I’m gonna make you come like there’s no tomorrow.”

All of my sensibilities were on fire—I wanted to scream at them about how rude and crude this all was, and how I couldn’t believe she was saying such things to the woman she loved, let alone planning on doing any of them, except that, well, I didn’t think my legs would hold my weight, and I didn’t want to help anyone notice what I was sure was an increasingly wet spot on the back of my skirt.

I couldn’t believe it, but I wanted to experience such penetration. I wanted to be taken and ridden and used.

Just my luck that some guy had gotten on the train and spoiled my personal, private little show. He turned his head ever so slightly, as if aware of my presence, as if aware of what was being shown to us, and I realized he wasn’t bad looking for a male: His features were rather well-defined, and his chin and cheeks were incredibly soft looking and clean shaven. His eye- brows were neatly divided into two.

He raised an arm to rest along the back of his seat in one of the male ways of marking territory that I so detested. I could imagine him doing such a thing regardless of how crowded the train was. He probably sat with his legs splayed wide apart, taking up as much room as possible. No one would dare try to fit in next to him during rush hour, but yet he wouldn’t mind sitting next to someone like me and taking up all of my room, squishing me, with his desire for space.

Suddenly, I heard a zipper being drawn down, accompanied by a peal of girlish giggling. I looked forward and saw Sandra sitting with her back against the outside wall of the train, her body apparently strewn on the seat in front of her.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah baby,” Sandra began moaning. “Take it all, all of it.”

The man in front of me looked over his arm at me, taking in all of my body, as if assessing how it would feel under his hands, as if wondering what I would look like naked, and how my mouth would feel on his dick.

I have never given a blow job in my life, and at the tender age of twenty-eight, I had no intention of starting. I couldn’t understand why a woman would want to suck another’s dildo, or what joy having one’s dildo sucked could give to the wearer of such apparel.

But I did know that thinking of Sandra with her pants unzipped on the Metro, with Katie’s mouth taking it in and sucking on it, really sent a flush running through me.

“You enjoying the floor show?” the guy in front of me asked. His voice wasn’t as deep as I expected.

I looked away, pulling my palm pilot out of my briefcase, as if I had important notes to review and agenda items to plan.

“Oh, God, Katie, Katie!”

I knew my face was flushed.

“So it does turn on the ice goddess, huh?” he asked, his voice a low purr as he obviously referred to the antics of our fellow passengers.

I made incomprehensible notes on my palm pilot.

I didn’t know where we were, and I wasn’t sure where we had stopped. All I knew was that we were cruising through a long, dark tunnel when the light flickered and the engine’s roar ceased. We were coasting to a stop, and then all the lights went out.

The conductor’s voice, in its garbled Metro-speak, seemed to advise us to stay calm, everything would be okay.

I didn’t believe a garbled word of it. But still I rearranged myself, trusting the darkness to keep safe the secret of just how turned on I was.

It had been eight long months since another woman had touched me, since I had made love to another woman. Eight months without sex or affection. And even longer than that if you considered how long Amy and I were breaking up before we finally broke up. She claimed that I thought my career was more important than she was, and for once in our so-called relationship, she was right.

I knew she couldn’t deal with a long-term partnership, and I was just starting out. When things began to fall apart, I knew the only sensible place for a Capricorn to focus her energies was on work. I might as well succeed in at least one of my endeavors.

Still, my bed and apartment were awfully lonely each night now. As a congressional aide, many offers were made each day to fill such places, but by males. At this rate, I would eventually take one of them up on it, because nothing better was looming on the horizon, and I would go nuts if I had to keep going on waking up by myself, if I never had anyone to hold and be close with.

“Oh, Sandra, Sandra . . .”

“Are you as cold as I am?” the man’s voice floated back to me, as if from over an abyss. It held none of the cockiness or abrasiveness I had become accustomed to hearing from males, but maybe that was because of the faint drawl that coated his words.

“It’s cold,” I replied. My good Midwestern upbringing had taught me that this was nothing, although the heat in the train had obviously stopped along with the lighting, but still, I had been a Washingtonian for several years now, and was unaccustomed to such coldness, especially when I was sitting still. I was shivering.

“I wonder how long this will last,” he said, apparently referring to the train’s stoppage. I sensed him moving back a row and into my seat, but fortunately, he wasn’t the space hog I had assumed him to be. He kept neatly on his side while I stayed on my side. “I don’t think we’ll get much company from them,” he said, referring to Sandra and Katie, “although they are a good bit of entertainment.”

I merely grunted my reply. I would’ve preferred to be left alone in the car, or maybe alone with the other two women, so I could fantasize, but now he was not only in the car, he was encroaching upon my space.

“By the way, my name’s Cyndi,” he said.


“Yeah, Cyndi. You have a problem with that?”

I was speechless. I had long ago learned that it was better to hold your words than to stick your foot in your mouth.

“Oh, shit.”


“Did you think I was a guy?” I could almost see his mouth turning up in a wicked grin. He had me figured out and was playing me.

I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a response.

“You still think I’m a guy.” I thought about his fine features, his soft-looking, clean-shaven skin, and how delicate his hands looked . . .

I didn’t reply.

Then I felt his hand on my shoulder, his hand working its way down my arm to my hand. I wanted to pull back, repelled, but I was stunned. He took my hand in his own, incredibly soft, one, and placed it between his legs.

“Do you still think I’m a guy?”

I was appalled and scared out of my mind. Someone on the Metro had just put my hand on her crotch!

“Do you?”

I yanked my hand away, but not before I realized that whoever this person was, s/he didn’t have a penis.

Book Dedication

To all lovers—past, present and future.

Book Introduction

As it appeared in the book.


The realm of vivid imagination, reverie, depiction illusion, and the like

In our never-ending quest to please you, dear reader, we challenged writers from around the world to share their steamiest stories of Sapphic sensuality. After exhaustive and exhilarating nights of one-handed reading, we handpicked the hottest of the hot to create Fantasy: Untrue Stories of Lesbian Passion.

What is it that makes untrue stories so enticing? Simple: truth has consequences, fantasy does not. Case in point . . . In reality, sex in the workplace can lead to office gossip, lowered productivity and termination. In fantasy, you can get away with a lot more on the Xerox machine than just copying your ass.

In fantasy, you can make love on the beach for hours and the water won’t turn you into a prune, the sand won’t irritate your pink bits, and you won’t be accosted by the shore patrol or lifexi guards (unless, of course, you want to be).

In fantasy, one-night stands never show up at your door with a U-Haul or a meat cleaver. And mind-blowing sex doesn’t lead to restraining orders or a visit from the EMTs (unless you want them to join you).

By letting you play your way, fantasies can push boundaries that you may not be ready, willing or able to cross in real life. You can cheat without cheating. Be who you are or who you want to be. Do what you want, but are afraid to ask for. And don’t be surprised if your mind takes you farther than the words on the pages of this book, because that’s exactly what we’re hoping will happen!

So, lie back, relax and take an erotic journey with us through the greatest bedtime stories never told.

Behind the Book

I look at all these books in a few days' time and wonder when I, as typesetter, decided to start dropping in signatures—real, scanned-in sigs, at the ends of intros.

I also have to think about the genesis of books, and how they all relate to each other and derive from each other, and grow and…

Then, with this book, I say, “Nice cover,” again.

I will say that, once Barbara and I decided to co-edit again, and started discussing the parameters of the project, I wrote the call for submissions so I could use my story, Metro Heat, for this book. Metro Heat was a story I got the idea for one night and then started it and had to keep writing until I finished it, because I was afraid I’d lose the heat, the momentum, the idea the spark and everything else that makes it what it is. Either that night or the next morning I sent it to a few friends and asked if it sucked.

The answer was unanimous: It didn’t. In fact, it deeply disturbed every single person who read it. And not in an “Omigod, I have to go bleach my brain RIGHT NOW!” sort of way, but in a “I need an icy cold shower RIGHT NOW!” sort of way.

So for like five years, I searched for the place for this story. Couldn’t find one because it was so long (I guess maybe I could’ve pitched it as an exception, but I’m not that sort of a person). So I created a place for it myself.

I have other unpublished stories, but this was the one I believed in so strongly that I really wanted to find a home for it. If you look through my anthologies, you’ll see that I don’t promote myself in them much by putting myself first or making myself really stand out. I bury myself in the middle.

Buy the Book

UnTrue Stories of Lesbian Passion

© 2007
ISBN-10: 1594931011
ISBN-13: 978-1594931017

And you can buy the book from your local independent/feminist/LGBT or rockin' lesbian bookstore, or any really cool store that might sell books like mine.

Oh, and of course, you can buy it/find out about its availability and such from my terrific publisher, Bella Books.

Bella Logo that links to Bella's Web site.

My books are also available on a veritable plethora of online booksellers, including

libertas uk logo and link

all the Amazons in the world:

Amazon Logo with LInks

U.S. Canada United Kingdom Germany

France Japan China

And a whole lot of other places.

Check out all the incredible
anthologies on this site:
Cover of Back to BasicsFront cover of The Perfect ValentineFront cover of Call of the DarkFront cover of Wild NightsFront cover of Fantasy