With thanks to you for all the years of support and well wishes. I consider myself a very lucky writer to have such loyal and devoted readers who seem willing to take most journeys with me. Your kindness and love of lesbian books means more than I can say.
This short story originally appeared in 1997, and I’m sorry to say nothing has changed. Twenty-plus — wait, make that thirty-plus — years from my first published novel, and many good editors along the way, and I still can’t conjugate the verb “to lay.” So I’ll do almost anything to avoid using it.
How does that work, exactly? Turn the page, dear reader, turn the page…
Lay Lady Lay
Her hair was scented with apricot, and her ivory limbs entwined me. There was no mistaking her intentions as her rose-tinted lips parted, inviting a kiss of sweet promise. My crooning whimper of need made her laugh softly against my mouth, then she laid down on the bed, pulling me on top of her.
Then she lay down on the bed...
Then she lied...
I would never forgive my ex for taking all of the writing guides with her. My at-work library wasn’t up to a finer point of grammar.
My crooning whimper of need made her laugh softly against my mouth, then she pulled me into her arms and we tumbled onto the bed.
With the tips of her fingers on my back, she invited my kiss. I put all my desire for her into my exploration of her mouth. We’d been moving toward this moment for months, and the passion of her response didn’t surprise me. The kiss went on and on, tasting and swimming, and rolling over, and then our hands were slipping under shirts, both of us too eager to wait. The sight of her pale beauty in the soft light made me dizzy. The next thing I knew I was lying my head on her stomach.
The next thing I knew I was laying... I laid...
Dagnabbit. A teacher had once told me it would be helpful to remember the saying “Let sleeping dogs lie.” Except I could never remember if that was an example of incorrect usage and it was supposed to be “Let sleeping dogs lay.”