Skin to Skin:
Erotic Lesbian Love Stories, 1998, New Victoria
Publishers: Norwich Vermont, soft cover, ISBN 0-934678-86-3, is Martha
Miller's first book. It is a collection of nineteen short stories. The
book is filled with real everyday women. No fancy clothes, no fancy cars,
and no fancy degrees.
Some of the
stories were previously published in Common Lives/Lesbian Lives,
Lesbian Bedtime Stories, On Our Backs, The Evergreen
Chronicles, Herotica 2, 3 & 4, Ex-Lover Weird Shit,
Bad Attitude, and
Penthouse.
Rose pushed a strand of hair
off her damp forehead. "When I was a kid, the neighbor girl and I played in a
wading pool in the back yard. We swam naked on hot days. I guess our mothers
thought we were too young for that to matter. We'd play out there for hours. Get
sunburned all over. I was always a fat, healthy looking kid."
Alexis tried to imagine
the wading pool. Hot summer days. The cool water. Two naked children.
"We'd touch ourselves,"
Rose went on. "It was great. By the time I was nine I was coming. I think that's
early. But we had that pool."
Alexis leaned her head
back, and let her body float slightly off the bubbling, marble bench.
"When I was twelve I was
coming with the shower massage in my mother's bathroom. Spraying it at my cunt."
"Didn't you run out of hot
water a lot?" Alexis asked thinking of her own teenage kid's long showers. Her
youngest would stay in there as long as the hot water lasted.
"Oh no," said Rose. "It
didn't take long."
Alexis laughed.
"Sometimes, even now, I
like to position myself under the running water in the bathtub," Rose said. "Of
course, I'm older. Fatter. I must look a sight with my legs in the air like
that. But what the hell."
Alexis closed her eyes.
Tried to imagine Rose in the bathtub. "Sex was always easy for me." Alexis
sighed. "These last few years have been hard. A big break up. Menopause. I feel
like I lost my place. Like I have to start all over again."
From a long way off, just
over the sounds of bubbling water, Alexis heard Rose say, "We could touch
ourselves here. We could use these jet streams."
excerpt from "Hormones"
"I almost didn't finish this
collection, because the third story contains what may be the most cruel sentence
I've ever read. Explaining to the narrator just why she cheated on her, Danielle
says bluntly: 'I just wanted to be with someone pretty.' It took my breath away,
that calculated bit of meanness, but after a few days of shuddering at the
thought, I was able to go back and finish both "Pretty" and the rest of the
these remarkable tales.
"Martha Miller is an artist with
words. Using not one more than absolutely necessary, she sculpts small
universes, peoples them with real and individual characters, then shows the way
love hurts or heals or entertains. Filled with honest laughs and painful tears,
Skin to Skin is a brilliant collection. I only hope Miller writes much
more, and soon."
- Deborah Peifer
Bay Area Reporter, April 30, 1998
"Can I drop you at home?" Trudy had asked as they breathlessly
clung together covered with sweat in the chilly front seat.
"You are in no shape to
drive," the naked cowgirl had insisted.
"I'm okay."
"Give me the keys," the
cowgirl had pushed her hat in place and snuggled beneath Trudy's down-filled
winter coat.
The next thing Trudy
remembered, she was in her own kitchen. The cowgirl was phoning for a taxi.
"It will be awhile," Trudy
told her. "They're short handed on Christmas Eve."
The cowgirl smiled. "A long
time?"
"Probably an hour or more,"
Trudy said opening the last bottle of beer. "I know. I work there, remember?"
The cowgirl walked toward
her. "Okay sexy, take off your pants."
Trudy looked at the chrome
kitchen chair and blushed. Right there. The cowgirl had gotten down on her
knees, and pressed her tongue deep into Trudy's cunt - right there. How long had
it been since a woman had made love to her? Even Georgia had stopped toward the
end. Sex with two women since Georgia, one during a drunken weekend in the
restroom at the Crone's Nest, and the second, several months later at the end of
an awkward blind-date, had been one-sided. Trudy hadn't even unzipped her jeans.
Through the haze of the Jack
Daniel's Trudy remembered coming sinfully. Was it three times? Four? She
remembered the headlights of the Red-White and Blue in the driveway. Saying good
night to the cowgirl who was still buttoning her own pants. A long wet kiss that
tasted of beer and pussy.
excerpt
from "Trudy's Taxi"
"These are warm
generous sexy stories about women you will recognize."
- Tee A. Corinne
author of the Cunt Coloring Book
I lit candles in the bedroom. I looked at the bed. K.C.
and I had bought together - made promises in - made love in - had our final
fight in. The knot of pain tightened.
'Get on
with it,' the voice in my head said. 'It will be good for you.'
I turned
and saw Elli silhouetted in the bedroom door.
"Lovely,"
she said.
I looked
down at myself and blushed. Shit, I thought. This feels like high school! I
said, "Please take your clothes off."
She stepped
into the room and started to unbutton her shirt.
'Don't just
stand there,' said the voice. 'Help her.' I stepped toward her.
"I need to
know," she said as the shirt fell off her shoulders, "if you usually come one
time or several?"
"Once," I
said, thinking that probably on the first night with her even that would be a
miracle.
"I'm
multiple orgasmic," she said evenly.
My knees
felt weak. I sat on the edge of the bed.
excerpt
from "Seductions"
If you've given up hope of finding imperfect, realistic
characters with sexual exploits you can relate to, try reading Skin to
Skin. This collection of fine writing dips into the familiar with hot
tales of blue-collar sensibilities, aging fuck-buddies and horny law
students... The plot lines are so enticing you'll actually be surprised when
the fucking starts... I'd be lying if I said I'm not satisfied. yh
Call U-Haul - this one's a
keeper.
On Our Backs Feb/Mar 1999
Colleen leapt between the covers and
Bertha followed. The narrow mattress forced them to lie close. Colleen ran her
fingers across Bertha's shoulder and said, "Your skin is beautiful. The copper
color matches your eyes."
Bertha didn't
want to talk about skin right then. She'd never made love to a white woman,
never even thought of one as attractive. Colleen's skin was so pale that Bertha
could see the veins in her breasts, as if her flesh were transparent. Bertha
covered Colleen's pink nipple with her mouth, flicking her tongue in wet
circles.
Colleen
arched her back and thrust her breast forward. She took Bertha's head in her
hands and guided it to the other nipple.
excerpt
from "Two Girls"
I sit on the landing between the second and third floor
for a long time, smoking. Lois isn't expecting me home for a while. I can hear
the floor creak as she walks around up there. She's got music on, and she's
humming with it. I can't remember what the fight was about. Another one of my
black moods brought on by generic cigarettes, cockroaches in the kitchen and
day-time television. I can smell fried onions and potatoes from the supper she's
cooking. Lois is a big girl. Likes her food. It don't matter to me. We all have
our paths to oblivion.
Then the door up
there opens and yellow light from our living room falls across the top steps.
Lois is saying, "Jesus Christ! I thought the building was on fire. Get your bony
ass up here, girl, and give me one of those cigarettes!"
Lois talks like
southern white trash. Her mama was originally from some little town in the hills
of Arkansas. Lois' step-daddy had his way with her, just like mine did me. Side
of the tracks we come from, that's what step-daddies do.
Having just lit
up, I give her the smoke, and scoot past her into the warm apartment. Lois has
covered the windows with plastic and keeps the gas oven going most of the time.
She's good at some things. The TV is on and the table is set for one.
"Want a plate?"
she asks.
"I'm not hungry."
"Come on,
Peaches, you got to eat once in a while."
I see a thick
hamburger dripping with grease and half a plate of brown potatoes. She's got two
cans of Coke open. None of it looks good.
"Had a big
lunch," I say.
She says, "Liar,"
but that's as far as it goes.
She brings me a
beer and I stare in the direction of the television while she smacks her lips
behind me. Today's paper is spread across the floor. She's been looking for a
job again. My disability and her welfare checks barely keep us going. Lois'
parole officer got her into one of those training programs where she learned
typing and computers. She had hopes for a while. But, prospective employers see
her last stint of employment was in the kitchen at Dwight Correctional Center,
and they aren't impressed.
I turn. Her fork
stops midair. "I'm sorry," I say.
She smiles.
"About time."
Later, in bed, I
roll close to her, slide my hand down her round belly and work my fingers
between her folds. She's hot and slippery. I move my fingers in a circular
motion, pressing slowly. She spreads her knees beneath the blankets, and her
arms envelop me. I straddle her and slide down. I love the taste of her cunt. In
the old days I could come just thinking about it. Her taste was the only thing
that turned me on. My cheeks are wet as I suck her clit and hear her moan. When
I sense she is close, I change the motion, teasing her. I slide three fingers
inside, fucking her vigorously. She is pleading with me by the time I finish.
I lie next to
her, holding her while she trembles. Her back is to me, spoon fashion.
"Let me do you,"
she says without turning.
"I already got
it, babe," I tell her.
"Liar," she says.
excerpt from "Skin to Skin"
"But there's no adolescent
embarrassment in this book, unless the reader brings it herself. There are no
apologies, no pleas for understanding. It's just a collection of women being
themselves, going to work, feeding fruitcake to their dogs, searching for love
and often settling for sex, never forgetting that, to quote one of the
characters in Skin to Skin, 'being touched is a powerful thing.'"
watercolor by Jim Allen, 1991
excerpt from "Hormones"
