I stumbled upon the Best Lesbian Erotica series back in 2009... believe it or not, at a library sale. Sitting in the 75c section, from whence I liberated it with only a quick sidelong glance at the other browsers around me. And I am glad I did. There are so many lesbian collections around these days, and all of them have their highlights. But, if you will pardon a truly excruciating pun, Best Lesbian Erotica seems to have a lot less ups and downs than most of them, and a lot less ins and outs as well.

An interesting discussion arises in editor Kathleen Warnock's introduction: what truly constitutes lesbian erotica? "For some, anything with a cock, whether real or purchased at the toy store, is not lesbian; for others, anything with BDSM is beyond the pale; and still others consider anything 'trans' to be 'not lesbian'." And I will admit here and now that, while I have no issue with any of those themes in themselves, I kind of agree with the complainants. At the same time as I happily read (and merrily write) stories that feature all three. Sometimes simultaneously.

For me, a good lesbian story is less about its content than its intent... criteria, incidentally, which I apply to most things I read, erotica and otherwise. And this is where the Best Lesbian Erotica series has never let me down. The stories here tend to be on the shorter side, and they are rarely less than scorching; nor, when they need to be, mildly discomforting. Amy Butcher's opening "Touched" sets that scene, two convent girls trying to isolate whether the feelings one is experiencing are, as the nuns would say, their acceptance of the Holy Spirit? Or if she is just feeling horny? Later, Treasure Sapphire's "Hush" blurs sexuality altogether, two women playing as though they were two guys... or Giselle Renard's "Blood Lust," with its vampire games that seem so real that the passion play itself becomes a tale within a tale. "You'd be surprised how many backs are out there, just waiting to be scratched," concludes the story, and Renard is right. You would be.

Michelle Brennan's "The Produce Queen," with the mechanics of masturbation spelled out in terms we have probably all felt queasy over ("I dared not let go of [the avocado's] base, as I would not have any assistance in retrieving it were it to move past my pelvic bone"); Dani M's "The Last Time," poised on the erotic heartbreak of a post-break-up move out; Evan Mora's "My Femme," incendiary oral in a '78 Corvette.

What each of them have in common, all twenty-two of the stories here, is they show but they do not tell. And that is a good thing, because it allows your own imagination to feed on the stories, to create the backdraft of information that puts flesh on the characters. There are no simple cyphers here; nobody claims that the tales here were written from life, but they largely feel as though they could have been. Or at least, want to be.

No fantastical gymnastics, no everlasting orgasms, none of the cliches and no fakery, either. And no limits. Cocks, BDSM and trans-gender all play their part in these stories and regardless of how you feel about those themes in the cold light of "do I like it" day, embraced by each story, they are there because they need to be. Because they ought to be.

Every year, I agree that the contents of Best Lesbian Erotica are the best yet. This year might well be the best ever.