About Working Girls
Edited by SA Clements
138 pages / 58000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-579-0, 1-60370-579-1
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, paperback
Hot, sweaty, hard-working women. Girls who do a man's job. That's what Working Girls is all about. Six stories by some of the best lesbian romance and erotica authors out there feature cowgirls and farmer's daughter, steel workers and coal miners, who work hard and play hard, loving each other with everything they have in them.
Rakelle Valencia's horse whisperer finds out she's not as old as she thinks she is in Age and Experience. Rusted Hearts, by Anah Crow, has a girl losing her car, but gaining a lot more at the salvage yard. An uptown girl meets her match in a laborer when she goes home again in Steel-Toed Boots and the Uptown Girl, by Tracy Shellito.
The farmer's daughter teaches a wanderer that appearances don't matter as much as she thinks in the Biker and the Farmer's Daughter, by Stella Sandberg. Elizabeth St. John presents a coal miner and her working class girl, trying to get by in Black Cap. A bullrider finds out that a cowboy savior might be her salvation in the Double O Rodeo by Crystal Barela. Finally, in Jump, by CB Potts, a contractor and a cop find out that they might need a little comfort, from each other. Hot and fierce, the women of Working Girls will make blue-collars sexy again!
Sample
Age and Experience
Rakelle Valencia
Three hundred and sixty-five days a year, twenty-four/seven, I work for a living. And lately I feel old. I’m hardly near my fifties yet, but I’m no longer eighteen. I feel like the legend I’m supposed to be when I creak and snap and crack as I roll from my bunk, which never gets softer with age and use. Then again, neither do I.
Morning coffee always seems to need to be stronger and thicker, and a mug of the hot, bewitching sludge is always welcome in the late afternoon; that is, if I’m near enough to the big house at the time to talk them out of some.
Usually I get sent where the cattle are ‘til early summer. Age and experience; that’s me. But like I said, I’m not even that old. We’ll call it seasoned. I like that. Because when a cowboy is seasoned, no one tells them where to go or what needs doing. A seasoned cowboy knows, and they’ll get it done.
Come spring, the snow is struggling to continue its torture, and we’re calving in close to the ranch. Then fences need to be ridden to check for winter damage before another year of grazing. Good fences make for good neighbors. Good, strong, rugged fences keep the cattle where they belong. With mended fences, the cows get sent out with their bawling babes, until we sort and brand them. When grazing season’s over, we collect those calves and sell to market. Meanwhile, over the grueling summer months, the ranch hands are putting up hay or breaking horses.
That’s where experience and age come in. I don’t have to huck bales around. I’m over at the breaking pen when the sun is high and hot. Youngsters, they want to prove their mettle with the rank horses. But the ranch hasn’t got any need of training ‘em to buck. They need the horses broke out steady and quiet, like those legendary vaqueros used to do. They call them ‘horse whisperers’ now. Horse whisperers, what a dang, dumb notion. Must have been invented by some city slicker who didn’t have enough time to really understand what goes on in communicating with the most sensitive, feely, intelligent working partner anyone would be proud to throw gear at.
Horse whisperer, a legend, yup, that’s me, but not old. I’m kept on all year round. Not like most of the cowboy drifters. I even have my own lodgings on a small rise in the pasture that the broke working horses are turned out to at night. Come winter, though, I sneak down and take an empty bunk in the seasonally-abandoned wing off of the big house, maybe because it's warmer, or maybe because there’s more going on people-wise.
I’m no socialite. Couldn’t carry a conversation if it had those proverbial handles. Doesn’t mean I don’t like to be around folks. Engaging any of them isn’t for me, though, unless it’s for… well… you know. And they usually engage me first. That’s how I know.