Many lesbians banded up in Los Spirites, California. Across varied buildings and apartment, dozens if not hundreds of lip clashed together in a one-night throe of the most tempestuous passion. By morning, they faded into the sunrise, off to work.
Their social structure being a multitude of women that joined for a night. Like the Mayfly, 6 hours later, their passionate unions fades away, replaced by the rhythms of life.
One lesbian student wrote an essay on the beauty of lesbianism. How they lived and waned like the beautiful moon from month to month.
It went on as this:
As nations chewed out a constitution, lesbians chew on the lustrous flesh of another comely lesbian. As early societies licked their foes in combat, lesbians were licking and adoring the proverbial mountains of their partners.
As their neighbors stored up a treasure grove of wealth, assets, and money, the lesbian was a perennial member of the pack driven for the conquest of pleasure.
As explorers laid open and bare the wealth of the territories, its trees and ores, a mistress was clandestinely baring her breasts to a lady servant in waiting. As men dug out the oil and the silver, lesbians unearthed one cry of ecstasy after the other from their partners.
Fast-forward to 21st century California: women sprawled on couches, a very tempestuous and beautiful arrangement of limbs, flesh, and rosy-color lesbians. It was difficult to recoup from their orgasm, and harder to muscle up and marshal the social wits of everyone in the room, either to a project, or a cause. All destined to watch the machines of industry sprew out products and siphon from the country all wealth and cash.
Lesbians like libertines dreamt of women and pleasure. They lived and loved, until sunrise, then faded into the crowd.
The essay ended, plaintive, expressing disappointed her partners were so loose as to fade so fast so quick by sunrise.
Another lesbian reported in a newspaper for LGBT:
Only a few shrewd lesbian business women parcelled out their beautiful selves for favors. Gone were their days of free looseness, simply to gratify their own appetites. Others subsisted as a ghost in society, a cult of rosy-red lips and swollen loins, glutted on the wheat of the most cardinal desires.
They grew stronger on the cusp of gain. When they put a price to their wits, a cost to their shapely forms, plumbed the depths of all their worth. Their skills invested in some self-employ: some sold goods, others offered services. In entrepreneurship, laziness was infamously possessive of the lesbian. When in a commune together, they were more likely to muscle their forms together, as many minds were better than one (in their case).
They apparel their thighs with lace or a light belt, they put a value to every square inch of every lesbian cohort, and made a veritable offering of their comely selves. Gathered in rooms, tall, and ranked by the color of their belts, or the number of their thigh belts, or by a ring, a bracelet, any combination of all 4 items. There was in their rank, some form of society, a cult, or rather a sub-cult, always striving to reconcile lesbianism to a social art form, a striving for some tempestuous art that was in function a grace rooted in words and a loose constitution: all lesbians were beyond the sum of their parts, and in so coming together, their own cult.
To illustrate this reality: a group of lesbians known as the ‘divas’ tossed off free sex. And only ever applied a hand to each other in some design, a conquest. So winning, they added a cut to their belt, or additional lace or belt to their thigh or arms. This dissipated so fast except in places where some owner, a cult leader, conditioned their stay and their low rent to some form of cultic expression. No harm, much less discomfortable found here: just brief glimpsing pleasures and some delicate displays of affections. Others were simply merchants, instructors in art, yoga, martial arts, or some fashionable form of education.
This report ended as many had. Society on the cusp of a new tomorrow. And this was an LGBT newspaper not a regular one that printed doom and gloom in every release. It was hope-filled and driven by positivism.
In summary:
Many lesbians banded up in Los Spirites. Some faded, and others on the bedrock of their wits, cult, or imagination, thrived, as either educators, or merchants. In this portion of California, there were no end to their many varied dreams.
***
Not copyrighted or licensed, under the creative of commons, by anonymous LBGT writers. Not for sales purposes. Any coincidence to people real or imagined is just that: a coincidence. Free to use or modify. Written and submitted for free-to-read-and-reuse under the pen name, Kathy McNelson.