This week, Ladylit Publishing ( sees the release of First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings edited by Cheyenne Blue. (



The theme for First may seem obvious—you’re probably thinking this is another anthology of first lesbian sexual experiences.  Well, yes… and very definitely no.

There are some very fine stories of first time lesbian sex in this erotic collection, however the majority of stories have taken a different first time experience and woven the erotic around this.  First times can exhilarating, mind-blowing, breath-taking and make memories that last forever.  Or they can be shot through with anxiety, fear, redemption, or anger. All of these emotions are found in the fifteen stories that make up First.

To celebrate the release of First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings, Cheyenne asked the contributors to tell her about a first time of their own.

Vanessa de Sade’s ( story in First, That Summer is a coming out story set in 1970s Scotland.  Over the course of a lazy summer, the protagonist comes to understand her sexuality, and she also falls in love.

Here, Vanessa talks about a first time that is close to her heart.

People find this hard to believe, having read my erotic fiction, but sex and me were slow to get together and I was almost twenty before I had my first encounter with another person.  (Though my fingers and nether regions had been bosom buddies for many years before that!)  And I really was not interested in men in those days, or, to be more specific, their bodies were fine but they were such untrustworthy morons that there was no way I was going to share any intimate encounter with one of them – and especially not my first one.  So it was no surprise that my personal First Time was with another women, the daughter of my father’s best friend.

Let’s call her Tracey, which was not her real name, but as I’m kissing and telling it’s only fair to respect her privacy.  I was just shy of my twentieth birthday at the time, she was twenty-two and very timid, currently at university and on the way to achieving vast numbers of qualifications which – I know with hindsight – she would never use.  I was plump and brunette, she was petite and sandy-blonde.  I dressed in hippyish cheesecloths and denims, she favoured heather-coloured skirt suits that she ordered from a mail-order company in Edinburgh and wore demurely with dark old-lady-style tan tights.

We really should have been opposites, and yet we got on.  In fact, her father often commented that his studious daughter became more alive in my company than with anyone else, and so he went out of his way to encourage us to spend time together.  And thus it came about that both families decided to go on vacation together and we booked a holiday cabin in the north of Scotland for a month.  It was a big spacious place, with a huge lounge with panoramic windows overlooking the spectacular loch outside, and two large double bedrooms so both our sets of parents were comfortably catered for at nights. But for Tracey and me there was only one small room with two narrow beds intended for children.  But, other than sleeping in the living room there was nothing else for it and so we had to share.

Personally, I wasn’t all that bothered about being in close proximity with Tracey and, if I’m being honest, I’d fantasised about what she’d look like under those schoolmarm suits on more than one occasion. I was more worried about how I was going to survive sexually for a month in a tiny room with very little opportunity for satisfying myself before I fell asleep – as I was in the habit of doing.  Still, that’s what the situation was so I resolved to make the best of it, and we passed a happy first few days together, going swimming and getting waterskiing lessons from a muscular guy in a wetsuit. I found I wasn’t interested in the tantalising bulge in his crotch and spent all my time staring at Tracey.

Dressed, she possessed shy good looks with her quiet expression and pale honey-coloured hair in its neat pageboy cut, but in a swimsuit she suddenly became sex on a stick.  I was straight out of a Renaissance painting: long dark curls everywhere and my plump white body boldly Rubenesque in my skimpy black bikini that just about contained me and showed acres of cleavage and a little too much bum. Tracey was resplendent in a pale blue one-piece the colour of her eyes, her long slim legs going on forever and her pert little breasts firm and pointy, the nipples rock hard as she came out of the water’s chill.  And I realised with a start that I was in love.

I took to linking arms with her and sitting close when we went with our parents to the pub at night. I was encouraged when she took my hand in the dark returning to the cabin the first Thursday night and our cheeks brushed briefly as I held her close against the cool of the summer evening breeze.  Our parents had walked on ahead and the road was darker than pitch, with only a tiny sliver of moon and the phosphorescence of the loch to light our way on that deserted county lane – and I knew that I had to make my move now or regret it for the rest of my life.

She smelt of cigarette smoke from the bar and the remnants of the cologne that she had dabbed behind her ears before we set out.  Four-seven-eleven it was called.  But I could feel her tremble as I held her close, so close that there was no mistaking my meaning.

I felt her swallow and then she spoke.  So softly that it was less than a whisper, more like the gossamer caress of a butterfly wing in a dream.  “I won’t stop you if you want to kiss me.  In fact, I was rather hoping that you would…”

I might have said something back.  I really don’t remember.  I do remember the pulsating excitement that was racing through my body, the fear that our parents might turn round at any moment and see us, the overwhelming rush of love I felt for her and, most of all, the softness of her lips and the trembling heat of her body as she leaned into me and the two of us joined as one, lips melding and tongues performing an intricate dance as she pressed her breasts into mine and ground her hips hard against me, leaving me in no doubt that we would spend the night together in one of those narrow beds, exploring each other’s bodies in the dark and peeling away our clothing until we could lie breast to breast, cunt to cunt.

“I only know how to do it with my fingers,” I whispered awkwardly later, as I traced the contours of her body, desperate to kiss her breasts and suck on her stiff little nipples but not yet daring.  “But I’ve read that you can do it with your tongue as well…”

She laughed and then kissed my nose as her Bri-Nylon nightdress slipped from the bed and onto the floor.  “I’ve only ever done it with a pillow,” she confessed, running a cautious hand down my flank and then across my thigh.  “So you’ll have to show me how to do it with fingers before we can progress to tongues.”

“Gladly,” I whispered, kissing her again, and at some point during that enchanted night we overcame our shyness and touched and stroked where we had only dreamed of ever touching another person, our mouths constantly hungry for each other and our orgasms, when they finally came, deep and satisfying, washing over us in wave after wave of pleasure, foretelling of the joys still to come, not just on that holiday but for many, many more wonderful years together.

Alison Wonderland ( has contributed a unique tale of first experience to the anthology.  Her story of two women meeting in a shelter for victims of domestic abuse sounds like a somber tale.  But add in Allison’s wry humor and trademark puns, and her story, Soar Spot, takes a very different twist.


Here, Allison joins us to share a first experience of her own:

When you’re single and looking, you have to hope for the best and prepare for the first.

Date, that is.

My last first date consisted of gay-zing into each other’s eyes, kissing, and reminiscing. It isn’t often I meet someone as preoccupied with the past as I am.

Thinking there’s a future in there somewhere, I invite her back to my place for playtime.

“Sorry,” she says, and I feel my hopes deflate like a punctured punching clown.

Smiling apologetically, she selects the game of the same name from my horde of board games and shows it to me.

Oh. That’s great, date, but I’d much rather feel delight than contrite.

“Pretty Pretty Princess?” I suggest, lovingly lifting the lid off the box. When she hesitates, I plead, in a seductive, sovereign-timate tone, “Pretty pretty please?”

The next thing I know, my great date is handing me a pink pawn that resembles the spawn of a bowling pin and a party hat.
With each flick of the spinner, we get more and more glamorous (not to mention amorous).

And while our ardor may have been adorned with artificial accessories, it was also decked out in genuine affection and mutual appreciation.

After all, not even the primmest of princesses can resist a girl clad in gaudy yellow garnish, perky purple plastic, and the libertine look of Boi George Michael.

How did the date end, you ask?

I’m afraid those details are kept under lock and key in the princess’s diary.

You just got to have faith in your karma chameleon.

Be sure to check out Cheyenne Blue’s anthology First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings.



Dive into these fifteen sizzling tales of lesbian love and romance and experience the wonder, the joy, and the magic of new beginnings.

A woman sees her lover for the first time after years of blindness. For the first time in her life, a top trusts her girlfriend enough to let her take control. A connection forged in a bar in New Mexico encourages a breast cancer survivor to take a lover. Stories of new love and first lesbian encounters intermingle with other emotional and physical firsts, and the excitement of new experiences: an around the world flight, the thrill of a carnival, and even the first time to see the sea.

With fantastic stories by favorite writers such as Sacchi Green, Harper Bliss, Annabeth Leong, Allison Wonderland, and Jeremy Edwards, the variety in this anthology means there is something for everyone.

Table of contents
Roses and Thorns by Annabeth Leong
The Opposite of Darkness by Harper Bliss
The Talkies by Jeremy Edwards
Before the Bus Comes by Tamsin Flowers
Whole Again by Brenda Murphy
Pulling by Sacchi Green
The First Peonies by Ivy Newman
Repossession by Emily L. Byrne
That Summer by Vanessa de Sade
Amelia by Cheyenne Blue
The Ghost of She by Jillian Boyd
The Sum of Our Parts by Andi Marquette
Soar Spot by Allison Wonderland
Sea by Rosie Bower
Dissolving by Cela Winter


First: Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginnings is available direct from Ladylit Publishing (

And it’s available from
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Amazon DE
Amazon CA
Amazon AU