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Lilith’s Precious Ingredient
by Holly Rennick (address withheld)

***

Any of you catch the Lilith Fair concert tour and loved 
organizer Sarah McLachlan’s audacity? "It doesn't 
exclude men, it simply celebrates women." You got 
topless, too, right? Well this story’s about that 
Lilith. (MF, mast)

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Any of you catch the Lilith Fair concert 
tour and loved organizer Sarah McLachlan's audacity? 
"It doesn't exclude men, it simply celebrates women." 
At $90 a ticket, the concert's only $12/hour. You got 
topless, too, right? Well, this story's about that 
Lilith.

***

AARON

Probably a dozen mid-level males at Fidelity look me 
over fairly frequently, maybe play a few mind games, me 
the mattress. Some might even ask me out if I'd let on 
that I'm aware, but I'm pretty choosy. They play it 
safe, enjoy it if my blouse is thin, or maybe when it 
gets crowded in the elevator. (They always look at the 
door, never over their shoulder at me.) It's normal, 
innocent stuff. Maybe I even generate a little spice 
for their regular partner.

I can't say that for me because I don't have a regular 
partner, but if I did, I'd be there for him as long as 
we were regular. There are some very special partners 
out there. Just not enough to go around.

Aaron is an Associate Financial Vice President, the 
kind of title with whom it's good to be friendly if 
you're a CPA. Actually, we're both CPAs, hired at 
nearly the same time, but Aaron's the one pre-ordained 
for Fidelity's future.

Back then, we had a hopeful affair, just a small one, 
two new-hires bonding as much for mutual assurance as 
for sex. Aaron sweetly begged, but it was about 
testosterone (though he called it "companionship").

When I didn't properly companion, foregoing being the 
wife of a rising executive, degree-certified to balance 
my checkbook, he looked elsewhere, but only as far as 
the front desk. Evelyn was a knockout receptionist, 
directing calls, charming a client while we'd peruse 
his folder, freshening her nails and working her skirt 
up her thigh simultaneously. A companion sort.

And I moved on. Well not really "on", more to the side, 
the side closer to the files of audits and schedules. 
It's fairly challenging, balancing multi-million-dollar 
acquisition/dispositions. I can afford my work attire, 
unlike the front-office girls.

I wouldn't even want to be an Associate Veep (except 
for the bonuses), but the fact is that I'm not on that 
track. Group Manager, if I play by the rules (which in 
accounting are crystal clear at the bottom and shell 
games above). That's OK, except that it's not about my 
ability, my capital gains specialization, that is. 
Fidelity job tracks are a little more related to (shall 
we say?) personality. Aaron's far too professional to 
see it this way, but when tasks get distributed, I'm 
either someone he trusts or just a CPA who never mixes 
up figures. Better to be trustworthy. You can always 
blame the computer for the latter.

Aaron's married still, but really rocky, to hear him 
explain. Evelyn doesn't understand work pressures the 
way I do. (Sure, buddy! I don't take it to my apartment 
at 5:00.)

Fact is, Evelyn and I were friends back then and still 
chat, one of those boundary-fuzzy girl-to-girl "It's 
like I've always known you, Lily" bonds. I truthfully 
advised her not to be "seeing somebody" (Evelynese for 
adultery), but once she kept doing it, passed on a few 
thoughts about risk aversion (CPAese for "don't carry 
condoms in your purse").

Aaron and I still see a lot of each other regarding tax 
management and Aaron still likes to meet me somewhere 
where we can kick back, talk about old times. (Aaron, 
do you think I'm an intern? Our accounting techs are 
past that one.)

Of course, being married he can't just say, "Lily, it's 
better if Evelyn doesn't hear about this," so it's a 
circumspect. "Lily, there's 80 minutes before the 
meeting when I should be working on the forecast, but 
maybe I can get away and we could catch up on what's 
going on." (Like far from HQ, where we'd not be 
recognized, right?)

Aaron, my hard-working predictable manager/colleague 
with whom a dead affair never turned sour. We keep the 
jokes going during the tax strategy roundtables. So 
sure, I'll listen to whatever he needs to get off his 
chest.

But he's not a special guy, or he'd be talking to 
Evelyn, not me.

So I wasn't at all prepared for something so sudden.

"Want to come to the Horizon Meeting in Philly?"

The Horizon Meeting? That wasn't for worker bees like 
me. Maybe we'd prepare a PowerPoint to suggest that 
somebody knew what he (yes, "he") was talking about, 
but we'd not actually go. If the questions got tough, 
we'd get a call from a cell phone in some Philly 
washroom.

Give me a break! Aaron was getting bored with Evelyn 
and my breasts haven't sagged because I've not had 
kids. Even a CPA can figure that one out. In case I had 
any doubts, he brightly amplified, "Maybe go a day 
early so we can do a little sightseeing." I could hear 
it now, "Lily, you must be tired after the Liberty 
Bell. Let's go back to the hotel and see what's on TV. 
I paid to get the special channels, you know." 
Actually, I'm just making the last line up. He wouldn't 
watch that stuff with me around.

I was gracious but firm in dodging the invitation. When 
he upped the ante by mentioning the nice restaurants, 
maybe he read me. "Damn," he conceded affably. "Just 
too used to brokering deals. Should have let this one 
take its course, you remembering that I knew what you 
liked."

I agreed. "It's nice to be asked, though." We'd still 
be friends.

Story of my life! We'd have had cream-cheese 
intercourse, enjoyed the company credit card, probably 
even gone to the Mint. But there would be the lies to 
Evelyn. Or worse, the ponderings about moving out.

Sex is lovely, as true-blue as double entry for a 
single proprietorship, but I'm tired of being on the 
bottom.

LILITH

I liked to shop at Sister Song, but never joined. I'd 
save fifteen percent on hardbacks, eight on paper, but 
there's the consensus business/issue meetings and 
volunteering a half-day per month. I'd not mind 
volunteering, but an hour of my time is worth more than 
Sister Song's daily net. Better I just forego the 
discount. They know me and don't mind that I wear hose.

What caught my eye, there on the Sisters Unite! 
Shareboard was the flier -- "UPpity women. With Lilith 
we rise! Study Circle"

Capitalized "UP"?

Rosie, the girl (I mean "woman," though she was 
probably 17) manning (???) the counter, noticed my 
perplexity. "It's about the Goddess Lilith and having 
sex on top," she revealed, woman-to-woman. (When I was 
Rosie's age, I went to regular church and had only 
hopeful opinion on the second subject.) "I'll tell 
Trish you're interested." You can't just tell a 
feminist bookstore employee you're not interested. I 
dutifully surrendered a business card when she asked if 
I had a phone. "Way to go!" she offered, noting my 
credential.

Trish (last name apparently superfluous) called me next 
day, and after enthusiasing about the Goddess, 
mentioned that they were also learning to knit and she 
had a ton of dark maroon, if that were my color. And 
actually I do tend toward an olive complexion and 
maroon looks great on me. Plus I was getting sick of 
watching Friends and Seinfeld reruns. If they burned 
incense or anything, I'd bug out.

But to make a long story a little shorter, I went and 
Trish is an actuary 9 to 5, and they all agreed about 
me and maroon and Tanya (an Astrological Consultant, in 
case I want to know my future) showed me how to keep my 
stitches even. ("Don't need no stars for my future," I 
didn't respond.)

Thursday evenings are fun part of my week now.

But back to why we faithfully get together. I won't 
even begin to explain the significance of arch-femme 
Lilith (who's no Goddess, in my humble opinion, just a 
poignant reminder) to post-patriarchal womanhood.

Maybe CPAs are less into myths, other than those 
relating book value to actual worth, but here are a few 
highlights.

 1) Lilith was born out of the same pure dust as was 
Adam.

 2) Lilith objected to being laid upon during 
intercourse, protesting that she's man's equal. When 
Adam raped her, she escaped by uttering the ineffable 
true name of God and soared out of the Garden to a cave 
by the Red Sea. She wouldn't have known God by name 
(Adam didn't) if she weren't a Goddess herself, her 
devotees confidently note.

 3) Adam complained about his loneliness, so God 
created Eve from Adam's rib. Some think that Lilith was 
also the snake who deceived Eve. According to 13th-
century Jewish mysticism, Adam blamed Eve for the Fall, 
for a time reunited with Lilith who bore him demon 
children, but finally returned to the woman upon whom 
he could belly-flop.

 4) Without misogynist Adam, Lilith continued to bear 
demons, 100 per day, whom three Godly angels tried to 
dispatch. (We didn't discuss if these offspring were 
vampires, as some claim. It's all speculation.)

 5) In retribution, Lilith still kills boy children in 
the eight days before circumcision, or 20 days for 
girls. Semitic mothers protect their newborn with an 
amulet naming the three angels.

But apart from Study Circle regular Zoe who sports the 
amulet and Celtic earrings, and Sondra who prefers to 
whisper, none of us probably gives Lilith all that 
credit. Women have equal intercourse rights concerning 
the up position. But a gal who has a baby every 15 
minutes and inspires Gothic websites is a hard arch-
type to relate to while watching your microwave.

It was sort of interesting hearing Carrie's report on 
Lilith in mythologies other than Hebrew. And it was fun 
exchanging ideas on Lilith as a lesbian. (She's not, 
but who's to deny the Sister Song board a deity.)

Author Holly Rennick ("Pedantic and frequently misled," 
the review in Sister's Monthly, our newsletter) has two 
Lilith pictures at 
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Lilith
.jpg. One shows Lilith with a snake; the other with the 
talons of a nighthawk.

But practically, Study Circle was more interested in 
one little sliver of her accomplishments -- how she 
keeps getting pregnant.

I was the one who read "Lilith" by Dante Gabriel 
Rossetti, 1828-1882. (This is as close as we ever got 
to a ceremony. We turned out the lights, burned a 
candle and I used a flashlight.) It starts,

 Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told

 (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve)

 That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive,

 And her enchanted hair was the first gold.

 And still she sits, young while the earth is old,

 And, subtly of herself contemplative,

 Draws men to watch the bright net she can weave,

 Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

Lilith purloins semen produced by masturbation, 
"Lilith's Precious Ingredient," we called it. The name 
Lilith relates to the Hebrew "laylah", night, because 
that's the time of her transgression. Orthodox donors 
needn't worry, though, because Judaism considers the 
offspring illegitimate and a prayer orders the little 
devil to not impede their father's ascent into heaven.

Study Circle vocabulary word -- "Succubus", a 
lascivious female demon who descends upon and has 
sexual intercourse with a sleeping man. The opposite is 
"Incubus", an evil spirit who descends upon and has 
sexual intercourse with a sleeping woman.

We all had sperm stories, of course, usually related to 
high-school dating. Who's not had to sponge clean her 
prom dress? But stealing it?

STUDY CIRCLE CHALLENGE

Some of us maybe weren't that great of knitters yet, 
but we backcrossed and cabled and purled and twisted 
with Lilith-inspired determination. But (sorry, Trish), 
some of us were tiring of sedentary feminist 
apologetics linked to vampires. Ruth suggested we 
switch to Anais Nin who wrote erotic stories for $1 per 
page. Or how 'bout The Red Tent?

But we needed something less heady.

Let's have a project! Maybe oppose Asian sex 
trafficking! Too late -- Zoe already signed a petition 
at Sister Song. Picket for partial birth abortions! 
Come on, Tanya! Some us would like to adopt a kid who 
needed a mom.

Let's just have a little fun, OK?

"So let's do like Lilith." It was Sondra, who we'd 
encouraged to be more assertive. "I mean," reverting to 
her normal barely-audible, "us make a collection of 
guys' sperm."

We looked at each other. For a sperm bank?

Then, almost as one, we saw it for what it was, non-
linear brilliance! A fun-as-hell challenge for no 
purpose other than to do it.

"Maybe we could use the stuff for some sort of 
awareness at Sister Song," suggested Trish, but none of 
the rest of us seconded the motion. That would make it 
too theoretical.

"So what do we do?" asked Ruth, answering herself with 
a giggle.

"We have to save it still wet, otherwise it's just like 
at the drive-in, too easy," judged Carrie.

"What if...?" objected Judi, her freedom-to-love 
concern.

"We'll need impartial judges, anybody who doesn't 
choose to compete," assured Trish.

"Judgess," suggested Judi, validated.

"Who said compete?" Sondra, again empowered. "We're 
sisters together."

"You're right," conceded our leader. "We won't count."

So that's how it started.

And next week, Zoe showed up with a Ziploc. "It's the 
real stuff, women," she guaranteed.

"How?"

"Russ is totally obedient, despite his shaved head. I 
just milked him."

"Into a plastic bag?"

"I told him we'd freeze it in case he had a motorcycle 
accident or anything."

We called her Zoe Ziploc. They think she can just put 
an ice-cube in her vagina?

The next week, Tanya displayed a stoppered test-tube 
she'd stashed in her bathroom to scoop her significant-
other's production off her abdomen. She'd pulled away 
halfway through to keep it accessible. "He thought I'd 
popped loose in thoughtless abandon," she grinned.

And Trish, inadvertently revealing that her "current 
partner" was also her husband, passed around a plastic 
bag containing black panties. She'd started him orally 
and moped up. Judi ruled that the panties were 
"legally" wet.

My opinion (but I didn't say it to Study Circle) was 
that all three had pushed the rules. Lilith doesn't do 
hand-jobs or coitus interruptus or fellatio. The male 
does the work. If I were to get a sample, that's how 
I'd want to do it.

AARON AGAIN

Probably I could have picked my target with a better 
long-range plan, but our Study Circle challenge was 
just short-term. Aaron was more-or-less already in the 
bag. (Not so intended, but a Ziploc joke, maybe?) The 
sex would be good, even on the bottom. I could hardly 
expect to steal his seed (Lilith-type terminology) and 
deny him, could I?

But no, Lilith never screws them. No payoff but the 
babies. I'd be Lilith if I could. Study Circle would 
want me to exert myself to my empowered potential.

Evelyn? Well, she's Aaron's problem, not mine. She'd 
probably be explaining to some physical fitness trainer 
about her husband the way he explains about her to me. 
I'll bet if I steered his lamentation, I'd find out 
what health club. "You're Jacque?" I'd ask at my no-
charge body-fat-assessment session, while he evaluated 
(pleasantly high) the tone of my thighs (which is 
good). "You're seeing Evelyn and we wouldn't want Aaron 
to know, would we? He's an Associate Vice President. So 
how about a complimentary membership, and don't ever 
show your slimy biceps in the weight room when I'm 
there." Actually, CPAs never do that sort of thing, but 
we think about it some.

How to steal some of Aaron's semen? Missed Philly, but 
Burbank's coming up.

*****

It only took a bra strap, a skinny black one too high 
on my left shoulder. I'd have worn my sweater for the 
maroon, but it ended up being a bit narrow. Maybe a 
gift for Rosie at Sister Song. She makes minimum wage, 
but gets to read everything.

Aaron hardly eyed the strap, but that's because he's 
smooth. And the next time I went without (yes I still 
can, thank you) under my totally-professional 
broadcloth twill under serge jacket, he guided me 
through the conference-room entry, hand lightly on the 
small of back. (No tell-tell ridge, right, Aaron?)

So when he mentioned his Burbank presentation, the 
Corporate Directives meeting I long saw scheduled, all 
I had to say was, "Burbank? Isn't that where Jay Leno 
is? The Tonight Show and everything?"

"Still must be," he agreed. "Been there?" I could the 
clicks in his brain, remembering earlier times.

"Is it far from the beach?" having done my homework.

"Half hour. Santa Monica Pier," now deciding that he'd 
need someone to do last-minute tweaks to his 
PowerPoint. That it would be smart to get there a day 
ahead to get optimized (his term). It took no more than 
my sigh about "those horrid red-eye flights back" for 
him to decide that it made sense to stay till the day 
after. Get the summary recorded while it's fresh, he 
suggested.

My challenge wasn't optimizing the spreadsheets. At a 
12.3 percent return, who cares about how we 
depreciated? My job was theft.

"OK, Aaron, we shoot straight, right? I know that you 
and Evelyn are trying to work things out, that you, at 
least, are making a real effort. The trip's just 
business, right? No rooms with adjoining doors, if you 
read me." Translate: I'm already thinking about sex and 
who minds walking down a hall?

And, "And don't bull-shit me, Aaron. You want me to 
make our office look good. It's my job. So if I dress 
to look good, it's still business, OK? Translate: 
Remember the beige silk that shows my nipples?"

And, "And I know how touchy Evelyn can get about 
nothing. Don't lie, but she doesn't have to know who's 
helping you out." Translation unnecessary.

A thief has to invite herself to the scene of the 
crime.

*****

Graciela Burbank is easy driving distance to Warner 
Brothers, NBC, Disney and everything! Predictably, we 
were on the same floor. He'd booked the best, but why'd 
I need three phones?

It was nice to have the afternoon to see where Jay 
broadcasts and to check out the hotel's health 
facility. Oh my! I must have forgotten my sports bra. I 
guess this thin one will have to do, to Aaron's poorly-
disguised glances when we treadmilled side-by-side.

Jacuzzi afterwards, my swimsuit was nothing like what 
we'd probably see on the beach, but revealed more than 
Aaron had recently seen. I let him catch me looking at 
the bulge in his trunks. Tried to blush, even. 
Snuggling against a Jacuzzi nozzle, I turned Aaron red 
with a blithe, "Wow!" It's good to remind Associate 
Veeps that not everything's business.

We went over the presentation, me fiddling a little 
with the fonts and then had a great Indonesian dinner. 
(Why not? I hadn't a clue what they eat.)

We drove along the Pacific, absolutely beautiful in the 
remaining twilight. When we took off our shores and 
walked ankle deep, he took my arm. I joshed about it 
being dark enough to swim to the breakers, giggling 
because our swimsuits were still back at the hotel. 
Aaron wouldn't pursue the adventure, I knew, the 
thought of apprehension too intimidating. (LA actually 
has beach police to discourage hold-ups and spontaneous 
copulation.)

I let him steer me through the Graciela lobby door, 
hand on my back. No bump again, just smooth me, but 
he'd figured that one out when I'd tripped in the sand 
and let his elbow nudge for a few steps.

"Lily?" in the elevator.

(Here it comes.) "Yeah?"

"Thanks for being a good listener. I guess you know me 
better than I know myself, sometimes."

(Right on that point, buddy.) "Well, we can be friends 
on top of being on the Fidelity team, right?" my 
encouragement plagiarizing a recent call to corporate 
unity.

"That's what I mean -- friends." He paused, trying to 
optimize the next step. "I just think of back when, 
sometimes," an effort unworthy of an Associate Veep, 
but maybe he thought sounded romantic.

"At least you've got Evelyn," I tried to sound helpful, 
watching him crumble. "Me..."

"We're friends, Lily, and sometimes friends need each 
other." (More Veep-like, I conceded.) "Want me to call 
room service for some ice cream or something?" (Back to 
Aaron at his best. Ice cream to lubricate the deadlock! 
An asshole boss would try champagne.)

"That would be fun," walking past him into his room. 
"Think they'll have peppermint?"

I helped undo his tie, admonishing, "There's Evelyn to 
think of," before he could mass-flick all the switches 
on the wall consol. He killed some of the lights OK, 
but on came the TV with (You guessed it!) Leno. I could 
have brought a CD, as there was a player.

Girls get raped in hotel rooms all the time and rarely 
have the nerve to complain. (Sister Song has a Study 
Circle about it.) But, as I noted early on, Aaron's 
pretty decent. It wasn't like I was unbuttoning 
anything.

Aaron tipped room service a dollar, which seemed high 
for two $2.49 single scoops plus two wafer items, but 
Fidelity of course got the $4.98 portion. "Brushing up 
for tomorrow," he'll explain if the Graciela trip is 
audited.

I did want things to go well tomorrow, so I kicked off 
my shoes, curled up on a chair and made him perform the 
bar graphs. Smooth, knowledgeable, confident. He missed 
just a comma's worth of command when I smiled big, 
right in the middle of a timeline.

"How about staying, Lily?" forthrightly asked as we 
brief-cased our documents. "The part of you that wants 
to is the real you," the well-proven divide-and-conquer 
technique.

"Come on, Aaron." I tried to sound exasperated. "It's 
not about me. You know exactly what makes me tick, knew 
it our first time. I think about back then, too." I 
paused for effect. "You can't do it to Evelyn." I 
continued, more deliberately. "But you know I like you 
a lot, would if we could." A thought seemed to sway me. 
"Maybe you'd just hug me for old time's sake?"

I didn't bother waiting, wrapping my arms around 
(appropriately cautious at first), then thrusting my 
chest fully against him, as if I were remembering anew. 
I didn't want to get into a kissing thing, though. Same 
for the breasts, just one hand on the outside. Where I 
relented was lower, letting him press his growing 
erection, then pressing back in acknowledgement, the 
first steps in what can become engagingly slow 
lovemaking.

Girls get raped a lot more often, once they start 
grinding, and I wasn't too sure of Aaron's tolerance. 
Dissuading his rapture by stilling my hips, I 
whispered, "We've got a really big day tomorrow and 
then we'll want to celebrate." What could be better?

I left him to satisfy himself face up, not face down, 
I'd think. Too bad I wasn't there with a Ziploc.

*****

Our part of the Corporate Directives meeting went by 
the numbers, Aaron the Associate Veep charting a sound 
future, me the CPA adjusting the projector. He never 
called me "Lily" and tactically deferred a few 
technical questions to me, demonstrating that this 
one's not front-office. I wore my professionally-
tailored form-revealing black linen suit and smiled at 
everybody. The honcho for Corporate Relations tried to 
peek where my blouse gaps under the middle button.

We snarfed a catered lunch, totally Californian, and a 
few of the higher-ups judged my butt while passed out 
fruit juices. I had the afternoon off, probably to my 
fans' (my fanny's fans'?) disappointment.

Beach ho!

Suits on both sexes seemed to be spray-painted. 
Californians average about seven square inches of non-
bronzed skin, though of course a weekday afternoon at 
the beach biases the sample. (Lots of business audits 
these days use random sampling.)

Couples ventured into the surf, girls perched on their 
dates' laps where if the water level wasn't always 
changing, they'd have done it. (I'd think that doing it 
in salt water would (1) kill the sperm and (2) leave 
you irritated, but don't really know.)

The surfer dudes (their term for themselves) scope the 
sand endlessly for women alone. Some dudes were pretty 
old and I could have gone for a woody ride so easily, 
even if none of them really drove a restored classic. I 
just said that I worked in an office, not that I dealt 
in millions. I could chat like Evelyn where it seemed 
advantageous.

I let one cute shaggy permed "Surf's up!" type help me 
where maybe I'd missed lotioning under my strap. He 
more or less suggested doing around my cups as well, 
but I didn't bite. As I implied, dudes aren't too 
sophisticated, other than about wave names, maybe.

I'd have gone in the water with him, but I was meeting 
Aaron for dinner and CPAs can assess benefit/cost 
involving a dude, waves that may retreat too quickly, 
and beach police. It was fun flirting, though, and he 
saw my nipple for his friendly banter.

When he left, I gave him a "Surf still up?" and he 
laughed, knowing that this barely-tanned surfer chick 
knew the meaning.

I timed it about right, returning sandy-shoed and 
salty-haired. "Really exciting, those Corporate 
Directives, right Aaron?" knocking on his door and 
elbowing him a little too playfully. "Should have come 
with me, kept me from getting burned. Time for a shower 
before dinner?"

"How about a salty kiss to start our celebration," him 
on cue, saving me the work.

"How 'bout washing my salty back first?" too fine a 
coquettishness to forego.

I'd have thought my friend died and went to heaven when 
I stood as if that's how we end a business day, arms 
raised for him to pull up my top. I'd put my bra back 
on so he'd have to do a little work. He had me buck 
naked in hardly 60 seconds, probably all the time 
assessing what looked the same, what looked different 
from how he remembered. I knew exactly: 8 more pounds 
but nothing lengthened in my shoulder straps; no longer 
shaved to the bikini lines of those "Does she?" years; 
probably stronger legs because I'm more serious about 
jogging.

I didn't twirl or anything, though.

"Doing my back in your $400 suit?" kept him moving. 
(Maybe it cost even more.) Aaron's erection wasn't as 
long as I'd remembered, but things exaggerate over the 
years. His was entirely suitable for one in leadership, 
though. The way his stomach hair transitioned to his 
pubic seemed unchanged.

"Same old Aaron," I laughed, flicking him and darting 
shower-ward, him in pursuit. I killed the bathroom 
light, but left the door ajar for a little 
illumination.

Then I hit him with the condition. "It's a washing 
ritual, washing away all the numbers and make-believe 
projections." (CPAs don't count cash not yet banked. 
We're more like comptrollers than wizards.) "You can 
fuck our competition, but you don't get to fuck me 
standing with shampoo in my eyes."

I guess not rushing our celebration made sense to 
Aaron. Males like foreplay too. He basically stood 
behind me, washing my hair for real, my back, around to 
my breasts, concentrating his lower sudsing to my pubic 
hair. His penis kept slapping my backside, but I didn't 
handle it (except accidentally). Sliding against each 
other was sexy, much more fun than just getting 
plastered against the stall wall.

He'd have climaxed if I'd used my butt on him, but you 
can't steal sperm under a stream of water.

Sand- and salt-free, I tossed him a towel and grabbed 
another for myself. Otherwise, he'd probably blot me 
backwards onto the bed. The bed did look pretty comfy, 
I'll admit. Maybe four couples could fit. At least that 
many flow to Burbank for Corporate Directives, the 
other females with nails and faces that required daily 
refinement. I could have had High Tea (a ceremony in 
which our hotel strived for European superiority) with 
some of them that afternoon, but I'd gone to the beach. 
I supposed Fidelity was paying for a few unused rooms, 
but maybe somebody we own owns this hotel, so it 
doesn't matter. I could almost hear the, "Oh, Lexi. I'm 
sure you remember our Corporate Directive about wearing 
leather and chaining me to the bedposts. Oh, please, 
not that! I'll do anything!"

Casual nudity isn't casual, as we know. We don't sit 
down to pull on our panties, for example. We try to be 
adeptly nonchalant. Aaron's penis was back to its 
stubbiness, probably due to me not toweling it, but 
maybe, I wondered, he'd climaxed behind me. You can't 
tell the difference from water and suds. It was OK if 
he had, I decided, as we'd all evening for recovery.

Dinner (Japanese, minute servings, less fun than 
Indonesian, a bigger hit on Fidelity's MasterCard) was 
almost romantic if we'd been younger. We sat on the 
floor and I worked my limbs to fold one leg under and 
extend the other, half Oriental, I'd call it. My 
forward foot (not at all accidentally, I confess) found 
its way between Aaron's who'd wedged his back with 
cushions to maintain vertical posture. It only took an 
onward wiggle while we were inspecting what may have 
been water chestnuts to toe his crotch. I giggled, he 
blushed and we decided that maybe we were consuming 
something more nautical while I made him as hard as the 
single-stem vase on our table. "Maybe a Yokohama sea 
slug?" goosing him a good one. Must have been the sake.

In the car he said, "You're so naughty," and I said, 
"Geisha Lily wear her velly special kimono?"

We went wading at the beach again and I picked up a 
piece of slimy seaweed, tossed it and hit him, all with 
my toes. "Sometimes my toes don't mind their manners," 
I explained. "Now we'll have to take another shower."

Finally home to the Graciela Burbank, I steered him 
toward my room. Same in poshness as his, but I'd 
something stashed by the bed.

Showering was even more of a come-on, a bit more 
leaning backwards on my part. I could have hung a pool 
towel on him when we exited, so I knew he'd contained 
himself.

And now the greatest challenge, far beyond anything 
required by Study Circle, but no less than what Lilith 
asked.

"Aaron?"

"I'm ready for you, Lily."

"Oh, I'm ready, too, but I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Evelyn."

"Well don't. It's just this once because we're 
friends."

"It's not right," in my grownup voice.

"Not right? We showered together, for Chrisake! It 
slithered all over you."

"Yea, but we didn't do it."

"Lily, feel this," pressing both my hands to emphasize 
its magnitude. "You've been feeling it all evening."

"Yea, it shouldn't be in me, not even in my hands," 
letting go. "Maybe it's OK to fool around, shower naked 
even. But not to have sex."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm serious."

"So what about me?" tying to reengage my grasp.

"It would be more sexy to do it side-by-side, maybe?" 
trying to sound like Lilith.

"Side-by-side?" letting the back of his hand brush 
himself since I was giving only superficial attention.

"I'll show you. You show me. We won't really have 
intercourse."

"You mean masturbate each other?"

"Not each other. Ourselves. That way you won't have to 
lie if Evelyn asks if we had sex."

"Why'd she ask?"

"She said she'd call me on Tuesday night, yesterday, 
about health clubs. And I'm pretty sure I put something 
on my answering machine about being in California for 
business. She'll figure it out."

"Oh shit!"

"But you never said I wasn't coming and I did need to 
be here for some answers and we don't even have 
adjacent rooms. You're a good presenter if you don't 
have to lie."

"Well, shit still! I haven't been this ready in years! 
Fuck Evelyn!"

"That's the point," an inopportune wisecrack, 
fortunately missed. "So side-by-side, just with me." My 
reflective moment. "I've not been this ready, either." 
True, true, true!

And as an afterthought, "Anyway, we've done it the 
regular way lots of times. Let's make it new and 
pretend that we're just discovering things. I was maybe 
11. How old were you?"

I lowered him onto his back and wrapped his fingers 
around his member. I'd never watched a male do it 
manually. For Lilith's sake, it had to be just him, but 
I could still rest my hand on his wrist to feel the 
sinews.

"We can hear the ocean," Lilith, the seductress, not 
violator. As the poem says, she "draws men to watch the 
bright net she can weave, till heart and body and life 
are in its hold." (Actually, we were excessively far 
from the ocean, but we could pretend.)

The Vice Presidential drained from Aaron's brow as he 
drew lightly up and stroked more firmly down. I tried 
to envision my vagina in his hand's place, fluid around 
his firmness. (In Study Circle, we envision 
envisioning.) It was too dim to discern, but I knew 
that he'd be leaking the early wetness that could have 
slickened me.

I wanted to reach my hand around his, to weave our 
fingers so there would be ten digits helping. But 
instead I watched. I could tell he was concentrating, 
eyes now closed. His toes were rigidly upward. His neck 
didn't flex. It was as if his entire mobility centered 
at his groin. Pushing up with his hips as much as down 
with his fist, orgasm was at hand.

A few faster strokes and he was spraying Lilith's 
precious ingredient excitedly into the air.

"Let me catch it. Rub some on my breasts."

He let me trap his continuation between my palms, one 
hand indeed sliming my breasts, the other's contents 
scooped into the waiting film canister.

I felt bad about thieving so mechanically, the event 
having much more of a spontaneous feel. Maybe Lilith 
doesn't care how her victim ejaculates, but I did. As 
soon as I'd snapped the lid, I snuggled where I could 
kiss Aaron the way he merited.

"Aaron, I'm not going to shower and tomorrow on the 
plane when nobody is looking I'm going to unbutton a 
button and there will still be cum right where you're 
looking."

"Promise?"

"Guaranteed," with another smooch. "But if you undo 
your fly to show me where it's still on you, the FBI 
will meet you at the airport. Also guaranteed."

I'd not be what Aaron demands, though. As much as he 
laments Evelyn, she's the one he needs to screw, 
someone he can roll off, put on his tie and sell 
Fidelity.

*****

Me? I'm pregnant! Aaron doesn't know, and best not. He 
doesn't even think we did anything serious, just 
masturbated. Sure enough, Evelyn met him at the door 
with her big question and sure enough, he could answer 
truthfully. And sure enough, girl-to-girl, I assured 
her that as sexy as he still is, the man who chose her 
over me is faithful.

"You know, Evelyn? If he'd done his Aaron thing, maybe 
he'd have laid me and I'd feel terrible forever. 
Sometimes a girl can't get away. But he didn't, that 
husband of yours."

My Ob-Gyn dates it to whenI was in Burbank and says my 
story isn't unique in medical literature. Semen on your 
finger, masturbate your vagina, a crafty upstream-
swimming sperm. She assumes I'll choose to abort. 
Sister Song is divided on that one, but the loud ones 
vote more.

Evelyn, who'd do the calendar bit as well, if she 
knows, wouldn't care a nickel about the medical 
uniqueness. Here would come Aaron to my apartment, his 
suitcase of ties, forever assuming double-decker.

A CPA can move about anywhere and even set her own 
hours, so I'll be able to nurse. And truth be told, 
there are probably more decent men in the Pacific 
Northwest who'll look beyond me being a single mom. 
Like maybe see me as a dimensional person, not just 
something to lie on. Sister Song has a list of women-
owned bookstores up there, so I'll have some friends 
right off.

Thanks Lilith. No incense or anything, just a girl-to-
girl thank you from me and the one inside.

END

HOLLY ON THE WEB

Wherever you found this story on the web, thank you to 
the server. My problem is that I've no systematic way 
to update the various servers. As literary errors (or 
just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll 
repair that which is salvageable on 
http://www.asstr.org/~Holly_Rennick/. My website's not 
much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native 
language.

You can contact me via the site's message form, that 
HTML code by the smart people at ASSTR.

I won't be changing the story significantly, so if you 
didn't like it before, that much will remain the same. 
But if you did like it, an update may read a bit more 
cleanly.

Holly
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Kristen's collection - Directory 29