Rebekah Weatherspoon got sucked into a vortex between dimensions and unfortunately, there’s no wifi there, so she couldn’t get her blog to us. Plus, you know, you guys. This week has been awful and terrible and horrible and we’re all still trying to get our footing as we grieve together and reach out for some luv.
I’m glad you stopped by.
Because below, you will find an excerpt from Rebekah’s story. I personally really dig it when Rebekah writes us a story because I never know what she’s got cooking (see what I did there?). In “Potluck Club,” her sense of humor really comes through.
So without further ado, here’s an excerpt from that story, which appears in the brand new anthology, Order Up: A Menu of Lesbian Romance & Erotica.
I finally get to Reece’s apartment. I’m really late, but it’s okay. I always bring the dessert, so really I can come toward the end of the night, and be greeted like a queen by fifteen drunk femmes craving sweets to go with their booze. There are so many things I hate about social media, but sometimes a Facebook group is so right on the money that you can’t say no.
I joined our city’s FemmeOnFemme group, hoping to meet a few girls and get opinions on new outfits, but then Allison 1 wanted us to get together and Cay suggested we have a potluck, and Reece offered to host it. And then she offered to let us come to her place once a month so we could do it again. Ten months has resulted in some great food, some shitty food, a few new couples, some very sloppy hookups (not me; a few of the other girls), and a group of new friends.
Cay answers the door when I knock and I get a kiss on the cheek, and then a few more, and one-armed hugs and hugs and hugs, and I make my way back to the kitchen. I’ve brought two-part dessert with a little assembly required. Reece is in the kitchen with D and Allison2. I’m happy to see D and Alli2. I give them a squeal and a cheek kiss each.
I can’t even look Reece in the eye. The minute I realize she’s there, standing next to the fridge with a glass of something sparkling in her hand, my whole face gets hot. And my ears. My fucking ears are hot and my hands are tingling. I clutch my plasticware even harder. Even though I can’t really look at her, I see everything she’s wearing: green Bermuda shorts, and a pink V-neck and matching sandals. She has a fresh haircut, a nice fade with crisp lines edged above her temple and she’s finished the look off with diamond studs in her ears and lip gloss that matches her shirt and shoes. All that and I’m looking at the icemaker instead of her blinding smile with the adorable gap.
“You made it,” D says and I move over to greet Reece with a one-armed hug that lasts a little too long.
“It’s so good to see you,” Reece says under breath, and it drives me crazy. She gives the best hugs, so I have to force myself to pull away a little. If I don’t, we’ll be slow dancing or I’ll end up just humping her.
We only see each other once a month. She’s an attorney and I teach fifth grade at a charter school, and tutor test prep two times a week. potluck Club is the only dedicated time we all have to see each other, so I know she means it when she says she misses me. She always means it. She’s my friend, a good friend. We mean a lot to each other, but I think sometimes, in completely different ways.
“Likewise,” I say ’cause it’s safe and “Ohmigod I spent all night thinking about your boobs” might freak her out a little. I extract myself from the embrace I’ve wanted for the last twenty-nine days and turn back to D. “I did make it! Traffic was crazy and then there’s the part where I left my house, like, five minutes ago.” That earns me a few laughs. Reece laughs and I want to die. I still can’t really look at her, so I pick a spot just behind her head, but I can tell she’s actually looking at me and she’s smiling.
When I first saw her picture online, I did a triple take. Reece Farrell is so beautiful, she seems fake. Not fake, stuck up or disingenuous, but fake like there is no way sperm and egg actually come together to make human beings that gorgeous in real life. And I’ve seen her without makeup. When I’m makeup-free, I look like my grandma after a few drinks. Reece looks like she’s advertising one of those makeup cleaners.
“How have you been? I ask Reece. I know she’s still behind me, and I can be normal with her. I’m great at being normal with her, though the looking at her part is hard. And the not drooling part. And the part where I wish she would ask me to marry her so we can adopt matching Pomeranians and start a black lesbian book club.
Well! Will these two manage to start their black lesbian book club? Or is this a case of unrequited love? Hope you want to find out!
After years of meddling in her friends’ love lives, Rebekah Weatherspoon turned to writing romance to get her fix. She’s worked in various positions from library assistant, meter maid, middle school teacher, B movie production assistant, reality show crew chauffeur, D movie producer, and her most fulfilling job to date, lube and harness specialist at an erotic boutique in West Hollywood.
Her interests include Wonder Woman collectibles, cookies, cheesy pop music, football, American muscle cars, large breed dogs, PBS documentaries, cartoons, naps, and the ocean. If given the chance, she will cheat at UNO. She was raised in Southern New Hampshire, Rebekah Weatherspoon now lives in Southern California with her favorite human and their animal babies.
May you find some comfort in the coming days, friends. Reach out to each other and share some luv.