In Les Spirites, California:
A petite lesbian from the secretary pool of an LGBT Co. Was called up to the top floor of a 50 floor building.
It was plain she was nervous.
Bessy, a hard-working Midwesterner from Illinois, came to LA with only five dollars in her pocket. She came from the Windy City, across the bright plains of IL to the bustling city of Les Spirites: full of dreams and hopes.
Her boss was a red-haired and a task-master who went by Greta. Because lesbians were the minority of minorities within an economy built up on the repeat business of diapers, pampers, and formulas, most companies and governments were primarily concerned with the traditional units of society. The father needs a raise, the mother needs a maternity leave, and the squawling of the baby whips even the most stern members of the Marine Corp to attention.
Thus: it was a minor miracle when a lesbian built her own company on nothing but pure grit. It was harder still to rally lesbians to a uniform community.
The free roaming lesbian wanted nothing more than a a dive into the sea of lesbians within Les Spirites. With good reason: what a dysfunctional Northeastern Puritan society would call their defect, lesbians deems their reason for living. To love, adore, and worship another lesbian was at the bottom of the list for many men and women: near the top for the lesbians.
Bessy pondered these things for the eternity of an uncomfortable minute on the elevator. At the top of the building: she exited the elevator. She pressed her rosy-red lips to relieve stress and enter the boss’ room.
Her boss was a tall green-eyed lesbian with the sight range of a hawk. If there was another lesbian 15 miles away on a mountain, Greta would be the first to see her.
Greta looked at Bessy. “We have a problem”.
Like the ancient West: Greta’s company was formed initially on a series of porn-hub bordellos. The wealth came from somewhere. Greta since prided herself on acquiring legitimate clientele, and more importantly respect. But those bordellos never went anywhere. What’s worst: they were overrun now by strippers, pole dancers, and woman who weren’t really lesbians. They were simply good at faking sexing with other women.
This was no problem for an indiscrimate porn-hub audience. However: it meant one thing for the lesbian society. They were becoming a minority within their own business. Again.
Greta needed a solution.
Since Greta and Bessy were informal partners: they had sex on the couch. Repeatedly.
To rephrase: Greta needed a distraction. Bessy with her copious lips was a decent distraction that covered Greta with kisses and sexed her like the consumate lover she was.
Wiping the sheen of sweat off her face: Greta sighed, as Bessy rolled off her. ‘I needed that’, she said.
Lesbians dealt mostly in subtext: in the subliminal unspoken connection. There wasn’t even a text that led to a solution. They moved as one.
Together: they settled on closing off their porn business, and simply reverting to a simpler lesbian oriented business.
If there was a lesbian, there was a way.
Otherwise: they closed shop and moved on until they struck on a new venture: preferrable with another of their own.
This process bought a new term in business within the lesbian world:
Shake a Lesbian
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From the creative of commons, contributed by lesbian writers, Kelsi Brooks. No copyrights.