This week’s guest is Tanith Davenport, who’s here to talk about her love of F/F. Welcome, Tanith!
The Female Dynamic
I’ve often wondered why I like writing f/f stories. It’s not, after all, something I have much experience with. I know what women like, of course – that’s the advantage of being one – but applying that to someone else? Less my area of expertise. But there’s nothing to say a writer has to only write what she knows, and let’s face it, it would probably be a boring world for readers if that were true (although possibly more interesting for writers, not to mention their partners).
But there are disadvantages to writing f/f, I’ve found. Too many female pronouns, for one thing. “She put her hand on her breast” – whose breast? Hers or hers? And there is a certain rhythm to m/f sex which makes scenes easy to pace. With women, I find reciprocity difficult. Unless you use a toy or do a 69, I find it hard to choreograph whose fingers go where in a mutual scene, so I often end up taking it in turns.
However, you know what I really like? The dynamic.
With m/f sex, I find myself fighting to push gender roles out of my head. Either they’re following tradition or they’re going against it. With two women (or indeed two men) there’s no tradition to worry about. Their roles are identical. They can adopt power roles, switch them round or ignore them completely. And that’s what makes it so much fun to write.
Plus it means that I can write sorority-based erotica without finding an excuse to sneak a frat boy in. Hell, they can even be roommates. It solves so many problems.
Excerpt from Tanith’s Assume the Position, from the anthology Campus Sexploits 3:
“And then five seconds of downward dog.” Keeping her palms flat on the floor, Elyse pushed her body upwards, lowering her head, legs close together and ass pointing straight at the ceiling.
Elyse’s jeans were impossibly tight, the red lace of Elyse’s thong underwear exposed above the waistband, and Tamar gripped the edge of the bed as desire flooded through her body. Barely aware of what she was doing, she slid to the edge of the bed, staring greedily at Elyse’s denim-clad ass as she held the pose, three seconds, four seconds, five –
And then, unable to resist, she leaned forward and smacked one cheek.
Elyse let out an outraged squeal and dropped to her knees. She looked back over her shoulder at Tamar, dark tendrils of hair falling over her eyes, which had narrowed wickedly.
“Okay. Let’s see you do it then.”
A small part of Tamar’s alcohol-fogged brain suggested this was a bad idea in a short skirt, but Tamar found herself rolling off the bed join Elyse on the floor. Remembering what Elyse had done, she laid herself flat as Elyse sat up alongside her and watched, her skin tingling under her friend’s intent stare.
Elyse’s hand slid under her stomach, and Tamar suppressed a gasp.
Tamar pushed down with her hands and lifted, guided by Elyse’s hand, until her bottom was as high as it could go.
“Now hold. Five seconds.”
Tamar closed her eyes.
There was motion beside her, and she sensed that Elyse had stood up. A thrill ran over her skin as footsteps slowly moved to pause behind her.
Elyse was right behind her, and Tamar was suddenly conscious of her position; ass in the air, covered only by a short skirt and panties which were growing increasingly moist.
Her gut clenched at the picture she must be making. Elyse hadn’t moved, and she could hear short, staccato breaths behind her, which must mean that Elyse was –
Without warning, hands abruptly jerked to her bottom, pushing her skirt up over her hips, and before she could speak they had hooked into her panties and yanked them down to her knees.