Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Free Book - Votes for Vixens by Tara Chevrestt

Votes for Vixens
Tara Chevrestt
Historical Lesbian Novella/Sensual, not Explicit

Elizabeth is a small-town Kansas girl who has grown up under her domineering father's shadow. When she finds out that her father has denied her hand in marriage to the town's most eligible bachelor--a man she's long secretly desired--she snaps. Her father punches her for the last time. She realizes she has no future and with stories of suffragettes, women's rights, and voting in her head, vows to be free. 

She escapes to New York City where she meets Margaret. Margaret believes in the right to vote for women and engages Elizabeth to join in the National Women's Party activities.

Operation: Opera House is underway. In a month's time, President Wilson is due at the Metropolitan Opera House to give a speech. The NWP hopes that a peaceful protest will convince the president to gather congress in order to ratify the 19th Amendment.

As they prepare and plan, Margaret shows Elizabeth how to live and love. Under Margaret's sensual touch, Elizabeth begins to heal from numerous emotional wounds. But on March 4th, 1919, their "peaceful protest" becomes a riot on the streets of New York.
A riot ensues in Elizabeth's heart as well when her former flame shows up in the city…
"Let me show you how to do your makeup."
I sat obediently as she began to dab rouge on my cheeks and something else, something dark on my eyes. A cylinder tube was the last thing she grabbed. She messed with a little lever at the base of it, causing color to rise to the top. I had a hard time not smiling as she ran it over my lips. In a matter of minutes, I looked like a new person, but upon closer inspection, something seemed wrong. Margaret sat back and perused me thoughtfully while I blinked at myself in the mirror. "The lipstick is too dark, too harsh for me, don't you think? I don't have the coloring you do."
"You need to blot it." She reached for her cigarette holder and seemed to be looking for something as she began moving containers around. "Damn. I'm out of paper."
I sat there mutely, staring at myself, still in awe over my appearance. I was almost as pretty as Margaret. The rouge covered the last of my bruise, my lips appeared to be shaped like a heart though a bit dark, and my eyes were doubly enhanced by whatever she'd put on them. I looked almost like those flapper girls, and I didn't think that was a bad thing. Pa's teachings were going by the wayside, right quick.
Finished with all her fumbling and searching, Margaret took a drag of her joint and set it down. Then she did the most shocking and wonderful thing. Until then, I hadn't been aware of it, but there'd been a wall between us, a wall of discomfort despite the fact we were living like sisters, aware of each other's every breath, sigh, frown, grunt of displeasure. We knew each other's likes, dislikes, what kind of fellas the other favored—in my case, none, and what kind of bloomers each preferred—her lace, me plain.
She banished that barrier when she grasped my face in her cool hands and leaned forward and slowly placed her lips on mine. Her lips were luscious, full, and engulfed my own. My mouth slightly parted, almost of its own accord, and my eyes closed. I felt an intense heat in that brief moment, and it wasn't from the smoke leaving her mouth and entering my own, some of it rising between our faces. I know because it took over my entire body, from my heated face to my tingling toes, not bypassing my private place, either.
I didn't want her lips to leave mine, but all too soon, they puckered in a kiss and departed, leaving cold air and a smoky taste in their wake. It took me a moment to open my eyes as I had to get my bearings, and think. My thoughts were going everywhere at once. I wanted her lips on mine again, but wasn't that wrong? I wanted to feel more than her lips against mine, but wasn't that a sin? Did these thoughts make me the vixen my pa had always accused me of being? Was I spurning God by thinking this way? Oh, I wanted to try it again. Had I disappointed her? Was I a horrid kisser? She hadn't given me much time to react.


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