LILITH'S PRECIOUS INGREDIENT

by Holly Rennick

AUTHOR'S NOTES

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
