Rating is NC-17/R for sexual situation and some description of a sexual and loving relationship between two (fictional) adult consenting women. If this is not your cup of tea, please go elsewhere. If you are underage to read this according to your country, or locale, you don’t belong here. Please leave. Now. Go find a nice G story. Comments may be sent to: [email protected]
Somewhere on the planet Unstet III, it is threatening to rain.
Stardate 41601.1
“’Tis all a Chequer-board of / Nights and Days / Where Destiny with mankind for / Pieces Plays” -Omar Khayyam
DAY
The sun could not stop moving through the sky, the rain would not cease falling from the sky, the hours would not cease racing through the day. The time to return to the ENTERPRISE would not cease coming closer. The lightning rolled, far away across the bay, above the stunted gums of ancient mountains, kept snapping its fingers in a muted nervousness. A nervousness which I matched.
There was no real reason for my edginess, yet I felt akin to the rumbles, I felt full of dissatisfactions, I felt... What? Was the lightning praising the sun god beyond the clouds? Was it praising the evening star that shone so fiercely last night, the clarity of desire which had engulfed me so fully in the darkness? Maybe it was confusion. The thunder sounded dissatisfied, dissonant, unfinished. It echoed me.
Already much stood out from this short little shore leave. Especially memories of the large, dark, and tender hands of Ensign Abanaku. It might strike some as absurd for a ghost of unfinished lust to reside within me after our passions. Yet one did. Composed of equal parts of what should have been, and was. I had hoped to find the edge of my wants, my anxieties, my doubts, washed out in a sexual satiation, but disfavors remained.
Maybe it was this which had confused Abana. He had been anxious this morning, for my pleasures and feelings. Somehow understanding there was an undercurrent of displeasure and discontent lying within me.
Most men would blame themselves for my unfinished moodiness, or me, often both. Abana was evidently strong enough to disregard his own normal doubts of adequateness, his anxieties and male fears. For he did not seek to take me again, just to hold me. Or not, if such was my wish. Confusions.
His hands were more than a joint larger than mine, and they had searched my short haired head repeatedly in the night. As if mesmerized by its paleness, or softness. As had Geordi five years before marveled over its smoothness and texture.
Abana had talked of his too-quiet life on Camel's Neck. A farm boy's limited horizons, restraints and duties. All of which he had gladly left behind.
Physically strong he was, yet he could be light of touch. Maybe he was afraid to hurt. Maybe he had sensed that such inquiries would not have been welcome. Maybe he had guessed the extent of my defenses, and quailed before triggering them. Or had seen he was not welcome in some secret part of me. Maybe he had seen the alien within. Maybe he had sensed my thoughts were on something else.
Someone else, someone near.
Yet I could easily remember his male strength. Remembrances of playful rubbings, contrasts of my pale skin against his sweating darkness. His male body stiff in the warmth of mine. The pleasant recollections of entry (even if always unexpected, a shock to the system). Pulled hair, bitten nipples still tender today, a new set of scratches on back, neck, buttocks, his willingness to spend hours with his large, sensual lips searching and tasting all of my body. Just crossing my legs rekindled images of flowing heat and insistent tongue. He had been good for and to me. Why then this morning's fuzz of feeling unfulfilled?
I had found a thin necklace of rhenium on top of my small carryall. A unique, a local handicraft probably. Today I could accept such a small gift. Once it would have evoked images bathed in bitter salt. At one time, so green in memory, there had been presents, gifts, toys, returnable items. A whore's price, given in trinkets rather than creds. Allowing some man to maintain within himself the illusion that he had achieved something notable and masculine. Rather than a purchase, a simple transaction between seller and buyer.
It was a small, inexpensive thing, but likely all he could find on short notice. Of more import was the note stuck to the dumper mirror.
"You are a song," it simply said, "and I shall ever sing you." Already stained from rereading, it held his full name, the next probable port of call for the SCOPUS, and two words: "Some day?"
I should be joyous, replete, enjoying the after-glow of complete physical satiation. Such did not occur. The shore leave of my discontent lay within meters of me. Someone aboard the ENTERPRISE whose presence had always prickled my nerve-endings, had always made me cast lingering looks. Had always made my insides churn. Unrequited lust, I could not give it the name of love. A desire for a fellow shipmate, unexpressed, aching.
Unfulfilled. Perhaps forever.
I sat within a protected fold of the stony hillside, unwilling to re-enter my rented space for warmer garments. A fitful sun teased me with its vagrant warmth’s. Ignoring my chill, I remained on this padded bench. At the stray mercies of a few unprogrammed breezes playing arpeggio's on my face, in my hair, watching a number of large...birds...cruising the thermals above the bay.
One such almost-bird, its wings of gray leather streaming behind it, fell onto another. A squeal nearly a hiss reaching me, as the one abruptly moved from life to being meal. Beauty in death, as the victor sailed out over the bay, seeking thermals to once more rise into the overcast sky.
Was that me? Still a predator, feasting on others?
The slight shudder was misinterpreted by someone else, someone who came up behind me, silent as thought. Her voice made me start. It was a measure of the changes in me that I now reacted calmly to her surprise. Once, long ago, I would have seethed with anger.
"Your friend seems to have gone, Natasha," Deanna observed. "Will he return?"
Could I say that I hoped he would not? Why had that thought came to me? Because he might now come between myself and Deanna Troi?
Confusions and ambiguities fled with that, and I know my ears burned at the images before my mind's eye.
How could I say to her I longed to suckle on her sweet warm nipples? That I wished to nuzzle my face in the short dark hairs of her body, to run my fingers across the soft swells of her belly, to watch her open, moisten, and erect? That my dreams included alternating light kisses, with blowing air upon her fevered femaleness, breathing in the heated musk of her arousing body?
As those dreams sped through my consciousness, Deanna leaned forward, to lay her soft hand upon my linened shoulder. Her fingers reinforced a swirl of emotions within me, a storm. Her touch became a spot without sensation, a dead spot upon my shoulder.
Deanna jerked, as if hit by a lightning bolt, albeit a small one. She would have jerked her hand away had I had allowed it. Instead my hand grasped hers, lifting it to my lips, kissing it. My lips found her knuckles, then tracing the lines of her palm with the caress of my tongue, a fever paralyzing my reasoning. For long seconds I was a long-delayed need, nothing more.
Then, I held that hand, staring at it with a sudden sick loss. Expecting to find it snatched away, to hear protest, to see distaste. Instead Deanna gently smiled down at me.
For a wild second I thought I had somehow misjudged Deanna, that she desired me, that she returned some measure of my love. Or lust.
As her hand carefully replaced itself upon my shoulder, this hope fled. To be replaced by the realization I was dealing with the ship's counselor. Not an ordinary woman, and certainly not one who could return my emotions.
She returned my look of appeal with an obvious serenity, an air of repose, peace, self-assurance, caring. There was no disgust, no revulsion, no fear. Neither was there the look of desire and lust of those who shared my desires for other women. Instead, there was Counselor Troi, the compleat mender of fractured souls. I had merely moved in status from friend to subject, to someone needing care.
"It's going to rain," she uttered into the pause between us. "Do you wish to go inside, to my room?"
I followed to her room, meters only from my bench, fighting back tears, mourning the loss of a forlorn hope. I felt the loss of something never mine, but still a loss.
We sat, not facing each other, but close. Uncharacteristically I chose the giving space of a large, soft antique. Maybe I wanted something to enfold me, and comfort me, at this moment. I was not looking forward to the questions, pains, revelations, and introspection. There had been too much of such already, first at Mendeleev, at Frunze, and then at San Francisco. Right now I'd welcome nearly anything, or anyone, so long as they'd just let me cry on them. And whisper in my ear the end of the universe was not yet to hand. Screwing up would not be a novelty in my life, but never welcomed.
With a pang of regret I now faced the reality of insanity in desiring this friend. After all this time I should have recalled straight women make lousy lesbians and worst bisexuals.
It was Deanna who broke the silence with a trill, a sibilance of soft notes, her voice always one of her strongest attributes.
"If you could only know how many times I'd wished for some of your strength, your firmness, your resolve," she breathed.
Startled, I sought out her face with my eyes.
"Oh, yes," Deanna smiled. "You have always seemed a paradigm of strength. The truth in the old saying advising us as to how we must ever make decisions based on faulty or incorrect information. Still make the choices, and then live with ourselves afterwards. Regardless of consequences."
Eyes half-lidded, she continued; "It is probably untrue in your case, but in others eyes you have appeared untroubled by doubts. Not even the absolutely indivisible minimum of regrets. You have seemed to have no regrets."
Regrets? No regrets? Me? No regrets? The world fell apart in that instant into a shower of tears, cutting my face and composure into tatters.
No regrets.
At some point in the hours of the day we evolved into a couple, a deposit upon the floor, me lying on my side, my head in Deanna's lap, or at times leaning on her. Periodically lightning would flash demonically, sounds muted, the actinic glare illuminating the scene of my emotional crucifixion within this vacation resort.
No regrets.
How surprised we are to suddenly see ourselves as others view us, how unbelieving we are revealed to ourselves.
No regrets? My life was a series of regrets following on the heels of regrets that were preceded by other regrets. How many ways do I regret thee? Let me count the ways...
Remembrances. Had I only lived some twenty-six years Terran? Impossible, for I possessed four lifetimes worth of regrets, five.
"There's never been any doubt in your mind that you've loved other women?", Deanna asked at some point in the long afternoon.
"Not from that day when I touched Annie and kissed her. Not for a moment, though I really didn't understand then what all this entailed."
"Making love to women?"
"Everything involved in doing this, this to me natural thing. Not just that, the physical aspect, but the baggage I had to carry about because I was doing something thought very nasty by everyone else. Though it took some time to grasp just how horrible it was in everyone's eyes, we had both heard something. All kids did, that feeling this way wasn't quite accepted, approved.
"After all, we had never before seen any other women kissing in what was a great deal more than a friendly smack on the cheek. But each night I went to bed with Annie on my mind. And then with Annie in my bed, yes, also," I finished.
"Have your love affairs with men then been half-hearted?," Deanna asked. Though she must know the answer to that query.
"Hardly!" I had to smile at pleasant memories, bittersweet pasts, thinking of other hands in my dreams and memories. Certainly Data was one to live in my reminisces. Dared I say he was not a mechanical lover? I had insisted to him that our love had never happened. The truth was I could never forget it. It was I who replayed in my mind that spasm of lust that left me gloriously sore for days.
Lightning came again, sharp edges outside. Then I had the opportunity to see Deanna's eyes, the warmth in them, the non-clinical interest.
I had a blanket draped about me by Deanna, her lap a warmth to one side of my head. Her fingers kept lingering, stroking my hair, the touch not of a Counselor, but a loving friend. Almost like lovers we were, satiated lovers, lovers with all the time in the universe, lovers with no time's winged chariot's drawing near.
Part of me knew I was yet being counseled, but the rest of me was basking in the glow of physical and emotional kinship. In the shadows of that room we had drawn closer than lovers.
I began crying again, gently. Seeking truth, finding only words, mere pale definitions for pains still able to spring to the surface. Somehow, in those short hours I managed to continue. Despite some few stuttering’s, and breaks in my voice, I let die some of my pains. Even so I would always remember some things with a terrible clarity.
"He was a Corporal, then a Sergeant in a mercenary Legion, and was not the first man I had fucked. Just the first one I loved. He believed it was right for me to love women, that I had not done anything wrong. For me it was right.
"Yet I might also love men, a man, him, as well. My love was a living entity, a reality, whoever it might be who received my love.
"My own truth encompassed a reality others might reject, but it nonetheless remained truth.
"That didn't confuse me then. But did later, realizing my personal sexual universe was not now an ordered and inevitable thing. Being a Crocodile dyke was not half the struggle as realizing that I could love men also. That henceforth I would have to judge each man on their individual merits, not just reject all of them.
"It was also a betrayal of all the women I had known before, that loving body of sisters who felt towards women as I had. Realizing I could become emotionally tied to a man meant that I had lost my last purity. For how could I tell another woman I would always be her lover, however sincere and well-meant my words, when I knew that next year, next day, some man might come along? That he might caress my hair, touch me with a look, kiss me, and I would follow him? Leaving my woman completely and totally rejected and cast out?
"I had forever betrayed every lesbian in the Galaxy, had sullied our loving in a manner never possible when I had had to sell my body. Knowing of this guilt, yet I could turn my back on some sweet Madchen, let some man dominate me, the rough old hard-bitten Croc, and have not a second's regret at the time."
"Since then?", Deanna coaxed.
"Since then I have always had to fall in love looking over my shoulder. Not knowing what was coming, never sure. I could possibly seduce a hausfrau, and next week move in with the husband. I might sleep one night with a freshman Cadet, and lose my heart to the girlfriend he was cheating on. There were no longer any fixed boundaries, no sureties, no way to order my emotional life."
Deanna never ceased touching me, comforting me. Her fingers searched my hair, always, and I smiled at the touch. Eventually I filled the silence with more thoughts, understandings.
"I wanted to withdraw from the race of the heart then, and succeeded for a time. Eventually my resolve broke down again.
"Oh, my body was gladly given to a few select men, for the physical gratification of the act. Thinking my lesbianism a profound mistake, wishing and hoping for this solution. Hoping I was straight arrow, a lover of men, akin to all other women.
"That lie finally died on a planet called Ballantaire, where the Legion quickly settled some clan dispute. We laagered on a stony hillside, and a few of us bagged in an intact crofter's house. Glad to be free of our vehicles. The spare stone dwelling was minus the tenant, and his two sons. The three had been toasted that afternoon, in something not even worthy of the term battle. The tenant's wife remained, distraught, unsure of her future.
"She was thrice my age, at least, and she crawled into my sleeper in the night. She was fearful of being left out with the men in my fire team. It was mild, and I was conscious of her being a woman. Twice my age at least. Bony of face, all quivers at the least sound. Poverty had always been her role in life.
We talked a bit, and eventually I touched her. Softnesses evolving into caresses, then heat. She responded like a fire had been born in her.
"Like many in the marginal economies, the woman's desires were immaterial, and certainly not respected. She was a brood mare, that was all. A wife and mother and nothing outside that.
When we made love that night she discovered her true nature, and with that revelation understood never gave her past another thought. The night was spent in constant and mutual sex, my body glowing with heat after months without a woman.
"She was my camp follower for the next two weeks, and I left her in the planet's biggest port city. There was a lesbian community there, and she was already starting to fit in before we left.
"From that moment on I knew that my life would always be filled with choices, doubts, mistakes.
Yet I knew I had not lost any of my ability to love women. My possibilities were simply enlarged to include a higher proportion of the population, unfortunately. Now I would look upon men with that appraisal I had previously reserved for women. It was terribly unsettling. It was hell."
For a time I could know peace alongside Deanna. She did not judge, she did not condemn. Nor was she a victim, or a Counselor who lived only in others lives. She had her own strength, she could accept disappointments and losses, and surmount them. She was willing to try her limits, to find risks and pains in others arms. She could encourage self-discovery in others.
Maybe I was finally achieving my own sense of peace, acceptance of my fate. Into this relaxing warmth Deanna began to talk of women much like myself.
"Back on Terra, pre-Diaspora, they formulated graphs to explain the bisexual person. Attempting to understand someone who could respond in more than a merely physical manner, not just to lust after both sexes. Rather able to bond emotionally as well with members of either gender.
"At first, bisexuals were considered total moral degenerates, and some were. That was too-simple an answer, and it came to be realized such persons were infinitely more complex than had been once believed. With the use of scales and further study, it became apparent that the bisexual, like any sapient, fit into no easy categorical pattern.
"They used many scales, perhaps the easiest standard to understand one where pure and total heterosexual people (with no trace of same sex attraction), were a zero. Those with absolutely no trace of other-sex attraction (pure homosexuals), were a ten. Zero to ten, simple, yes? Most Terran humans fit into either end of such a scale, grouping about the one or nine."
She paused then, waiting to see if I wanted to volunteer anything. "Maybe I should consider myself a five then. Or a six?"
"Perhaps," Deanna continued. "Your restricted medical records put you in a multitude of categories. Yes, I have accessed you, then waited for you to find your way to my door.
However, remember rarely does anyone ever fit exactly into any testing group. It is not important, in your life, to be one or another. For you understand now what you are, what you feel. However you feel, and towards whom."
At that moment the communicators sounded a tattoo for both of us. Deanna pulled hers out from under her lapel, I brought mine from behind my belt, blanket falling away. For a second I knew some dismay, for whoever was calling could tell Deanna and I were together.
"Troi here," she crisply replied. "Yar here," I followed. It was the Captain, personally contacting his own bridge officers.
"Pleasant afternoon to you both," the Captain chuckled. "Have we enjoyed our little shoreleave? The screen shows quite an atmospheric storm in your neighborhood. Transport sees no difficulty in retrieving you both. Are you eager to leave the lightning bolts? Ready to recommence duties, Counselor, Lieutenant?," he jollied.
Deanna replied, stroking my hand the while. "Requesting another eighteen hours leave, Captain. For both of us."
A very short pause. "Is there a problem, Counselor, Lieutenant?"
"Just a simple request, Captain. We are due to stay in orbit for another twenty-two hours while the rebuild continues in the port nacelle. Unless the schedule is changed." She never even implied she was busy counseling me.
Another very short pause, as the Captain listened somehow to what was not said, as well as to what was.
"Request granted, Commander, Lieutenant," he dryly stated. "I shall expect to see you both on board at the end of that time. Out." We would have more time together, and I firmly repressed thoughts of Deanna's warm skin.
Later, that early evening, lighting glows set on low, we both sat tailor-fashion on her bed. We wore long robes over our clothes, and hot mugs of very diluted Saurian Brandy lay in our hands We were taking slow sips of memories with the liquid.
"She was forever going on diets," Deanna recalled, talking of her childhood. "Insecurities were written all over her, the poor little half-human, half-betazoid girl. Accepted by the betazoid girls and their teachers and parents, but never quite more than a step away from being an outsider. For all the love and attention given her at school and home."
"Much like someone else," I ventured, smiling meaningfully at Deanna. The hot mug felt comforting in my hands, sitting on my thigh, creating a welcome hot spot.
"Compensations. Adjustments. Yes, much like me," she returned. "It was natural that we should spend much time together. Fortunately, though mother would go on about my aristocratic bloodlines, she always felt I should include more good betazoid girls in my inner circle. Never exclude Anna."
My ears pricked up at that. "Anna? She too was named Annie?"
Deanna nodded, she had such a slow and composed smile to her.
"Yes," she said. "I too had an Annie on my mind. She was my absolute best friend. As humans do, betazoids too have best and closest friends.
"That evening she was at my home. My little palace I should term it. We were engaged in one of many rituals purloined from our joint archaic Terran past. Periodically we would spend a night together, sometimes just the two of us, usually with three or four other trusted adolescent females. Perhaps.
We would drink inebriating liquids, maybe tell of our loves, would-be loves, or imaginary lovers. We would ridicule some teachers, lust for others. Make social comments we would never have dared make in less understanding circumstances.
"It never occurred to me Anna was rather vague about some of the teachers or fellow students at the Academy she was enamored of. We were all pretending our way towards our future lives. We knew it was all fantasy, our romances and lusts. We practiced them in lieu of the real thing. We knew all too well our genuine lusts and great romances were approaching our lives with startling rapidity.
"Later we would turn our little cliques into proprietary empires, our little domains into cruel kingdoms where we would deny others entry into our circles. Later I grew cruel, with all the rest, betazoid abilities or not. I have my own regrets about my youth. But let me continue with my story.
"That night I was changing into a set of warm nightsuits, fuzzy and comforting. Anna and myself whispering and chattering in the security of my bedroom. I had never embraced my mother's homilies about the naturalness of nude sleeping. Especially when the ambient temperature dropped past a certain comfort point. Once dropped, my teeth would chatter unendingly until something warm, preferably thick and enfolding, would be draped upon my distressingly pudgy body." Deanna smiled in the reminisces.
"I've since outgrown my love for fuzzy nightclothes for a more, well, feminine mode. Most likely you've noticed how warm my quarters are at night. Fashion must ever give way to a need for non-chattering teeth." Deanna sipped some of her brew, and I lazily drew my fingers through her curly hair.
"To return to Annie," I prompted.
Deanna chuckled, and described circles on her knee, looking down at the bed. "Yes, well, there I stood. Chattering away like a Belabird, quite bereft of any raiment whatsoever. When I felt Anna beside me. She put her hand on my shoulder, and gently, feverishly, began caressing me. There, in my own bedroom, her hands immediately wandering. Making painfully hot contact as she began to find places other hands had never touched since childhood.
"Deanna," she said, "I love you."
"There wasn't much possibility of misunderstanding her, with her hands, then lips, bridging that gap between wild surmise and certainty in my mind. I retreated, looked her straight in the eyes, and each of my own eyes were probably spanning thirty centimeters across. It didn't take much betazoid ability to tell Anna had moved far beyond the vague and unformed concepts stage to knowing just exactly what she wanted to do. To me, my body, and how to do it.
"She wanted to love me, to give me her devotion, her passions and her eternal and quite physical undying love. In short she wanted to throw my pudgy little quivering self down on that bed, and propel my moist and overheated body into achievement of at least forty major revelation-grade passionate orgasms.
"I think the phrase that came to mind at the time was that she wished to fuck me to within a millimeter of my life.
"It was all rather overpowering, and my system was not in any way, means, or form able to cope with that much misdirected female lust and passion. Not at that point in my young life. I went into immediate overload," she chuckled.
"And?," I prompted.
"And I managed to get something thrown upon myself, then spent the next forty minutes holding Anna. Rocking her, comforting her, soothing her, until the panic had managed to subside. Then we could begin talking about what had just happened." Deanna gave a me such a sweet leer then, memories warming her.
"Actually it was rather flattering. Even if it was my best friend, at least I knew someone lusted after my insecure and virginal body. Sort of established a benchmark. Never again could I doubt that I possessed a rudimentary type of basic appeal, however unintended it was."
Deanna lay back on the bed, her eyes on the ceiling, her hands weaving in counterpoint to her tale.
"Anna was sure at that point that she was a lesbian, and in this she was correct. She was also sure that this single fact would make her a pariah, a diseased person, in my circle. Someone to be rejected, and driven forth. Which estimate was quite incorrect.
"I told her she would always be my friend, which wasn't completely accurate. For in growing up we grew apart as well, often an unintended byproduct of maturation. This sad development occurs even back on Terra." Deanna rose back up to finish her cup.
"At the time I meant my pledge with all my heart. Myself as the object, or one of the foci of her sexual desires, did not mean the withdrawal of my affection, trust, or love. It did not mean we wouldn't share lunch or secrets, school lessons or gripes, or moanings about swollen ankles one week a month. Like any aspect of reality, things may alter, but altering does not always signal schism, ending, a finality."
Black curls masking one side of her head, Deanna lay back on the bed. Her empty mug lay aside her, and I placed both our cups on the floor, laying myself alongside her. Propped on elbow, I had the chance to closely observe her full lips, her ear partially hidden behind dark tresses. Hands across her stomach, Deanna smiled at me, her eyes almost closed.
"It took some doing to convince Anna of my enduring regard and love. To prove to her this love would be unchanged by her lesbian nature, her lesbian sexuality."
I smiled at Deanna, relishing the continuance of her story.
"How did you manage to accomplish that?", I asked.
"I made love to her," Deanna lightly returned.
For a minute my heart stopped dead in its tracks as the full import of her statement penetrated. My mouth was partly open, and I stared directly at her beaming visage. She was so composed, relaxed. Somehow she had remained serene whilst I had abruptly crashed into an unexpected barrier.
"Loving should be something very natural and fulfilling, Tasha, something done only with someone you feel an immense affinity for. Not just for a coupling of bodies, though that is a large part of it. You should do it only with those you can count as friends, all lovers should be friends to each other as well as lovers.
"Of all the people on the ENTERPRISE, Natasha, you should recall there are other numbers between zero and ten besides five or six." She was talking of herself, I realized with a start. What number went through her head? Two? Three?
Deanna continued to mesmerize me with the peace pooling inside her dark eyes. She made no move, none, nothing.
"I love you, Tasha, and I think I am not unique in that regard. Certainly not amongst our little family on the bridge of the ENTERPRISE. Many of us love you, and not a few lust after you as well. "I love you very much, and I love you as a friend. Yet to love a friend as a betazoid is, I think, immensely more profound than humans even begin to comprehend.
"I love you very deeply, and I also love you as a friend. I love you as more than a friend.
"If you are able to respect my own limitations, Tasha, we might be able to achieve something very beautiful together. If you can accept my realities, the nature of my other emotional commitments. Can you?
"Can you accept me as I am? When I am with Bill or some other man? For I will be. Someday. Soon, or not.
My heart pounded, my throat was dry, her lips beckoned me, her very serenity challenged me. My body ached to do damage to that calm, that assurance. To show her something of the fire and inevitability and scalding flame that was now warming me, must be moistening me. I ached to possess her, to reveal to her something of my heart, to give her my own brand of loving.
Also, in passing, to fuck her within a millimetre of her life.
Deanna kept her eyes open until, almost touching with our lips, she finally closed them. Almost inaudibly, a single moan, almost a sigh, escaped her lips. Before we finally kissed.
NIGHT
Lightning was nervously flashing in random patterns outside, reflecting my own nervousness.
Should I, or shouldn't I?
Finally, dancing about, biting my knuckle, I decided to abandon the long nightshirt. I skinned it over my head, and it landed upon my few items of luggage. Though it was warm, perhaps too much so, I was shivering. Goosebumps showed on my thighs, butt and arms, and I quickly laid my nude body under the sheets. I felt my groin, and spiked to find how moist my lips were. Buddha, I was wet! My heart was beating a kilometre a minute, my body could not lie still, oh hurry, please, Deanna, please!
Suddenly I realized the room was still lit, and I ordered the glows extinguished. Could she find the bed in the dark? All she needed to do was to follow the scent of my lust!
Then, with a start, I jumped out of bed, ordering the lights back on so I could rummage through my carryall.
There they were! One bottle and two tubes of lubricant. Makes you all slippery inside, and I loved the subtle taste of the lime. I quickly returned to the bed, suddenly aware there was no place to lay my little treasures.
Don't panic, Natasha, don't panic, you don't have to appear totally cool, calm, collected, always in control.
Stop. Take three deep breaths. There, isn't that much better? Now, look around the room, carefully. Find a nightstand or something to use as one. That chair! Up against the wall with it now, out of the way, no arms to it, lay the love lubricant on the seat. Should I cover them with a scarf or something, won't she think me clinical and cold-blooded if she comes in and there's a chair full of material guaranteed to make her insides soft and slippery? Or would she be pleased at my forethought?
I sat on the edge of the chair, thinking, or trying to. Maybe I should wear the nightshirt anywise. Quickly I picked it off the floor, and pulled it over my head. What about the lube on the chair...?
Ah, to hell with it! Wait, maybe she'd like a nice warm dildo. Representational or functional? Does she use one? Doesn't everyone? How does she keep sane otherwise? I don't have one with me. Probably Deanna wouldn't. Should I ask?
This place is a vacation resort, it probably has a good harness and dildo in the replication menu. And wouldn't THAT catch her eye when she came in! Certainly. Yeah, real romantic. She might either burst out laughing, or run screaming into the night. Definitely no dildo.
I realized I was biting my nails, short as they were. Definitely. Just what I need. Fingernails with jagged edges when Deanna Troi is about to crawl into my bed. Well, her bed, actually.
I got under the sheets again, biting my lip. At least that puts a little color in them. Should I have tried to put on a little make-up?
Out of the bed, into my carryall again. There it is! Musk? No, we should be able to create some of our own. At that second I went dizzy with thoughts of my face against her body.
"Consciente", that's the ticket. Spicy, mild, a touch of sweetness. Quickly now, Deanna's going to come through that dumper door any second now. Ear, neck, under my breasts. A touch behind each knee, also.
Put the nightshirt back on.
Back in bed, I wonder whether or not she'll like my scent, would she think it a bit too feminine? Does she want me, or expect me, to be the gold-plated boss crocodile? Domineering, forceful, rough? Dressed in fetish clothing? That might be a sight! Black leather cincher on, dog collar with big spikes on it around my neck, a whip in my hand. Doesn't feel like what Deanna wanted. Faint dead away, most likely.
Did she like her nips sucked and fondled? What woman doesn't? Easy question. Does she... Hell, I'll just ask her, anything, anything at all. Do not abandon all your self-control, Natasha, stay calm, take three deep breaths, she's just a woman....Deanna Troi! Her name is music.
Maybe I should take the nightshirt off. The room lights!
So it was, with the nightshirt half-way off my body, Deanna came through the dumper door, all the lights still on. My lower body displayed for all the world, big hips and rear and all. I stared at Deanna over the collar of my nightshirt, trying not to blush. Me? Blush? The very thought of doing so ensured a burning sensation in my ears.
My heart made thumping noises when she leaned against the door frame and looked me in my eyes. Then my heart stopped completely, my breath froze inside, my brain ceased functioning.
She smiled at me, her hands caressing the door frame, a triangle of darkness prominent, mesmerizing, inviting, barely hazed beneath her nightdress. Her eyes carefully observed my body, returning to my eyes. I hoped she found me desirable, she must find me so!
Her yellow silken chemise made her appear to be all shining light, and darkness and mystery. Her hair disarrayed about her head, one eye peeking through curls of darkness. Her half-wild look an attempt, I knew, to lose her stiff shipboard counselor-image for this night. At least. She came to me, her breasts shifting with their light tips moving yellow cloth, all poetry and grace, all beauty and lace.
She came to me, bare feet silent on hardwood floor, to help me remove the nightshirt. She fit her body to mine, breasts underneath breasts, her belly hot against mine, her clothing prickling my pubic hairs. Her arms fit about my waist as I threw the nightshirt somewhere on the floor. Her lips lifted for mine, finding them slightly parted when we touched.
It was the most natural thing in the universe to put my arms on her shoulders, then press her against me. We kissed, oh, Buddha, there was joy in that kiss, so soft, then so hard. Her tongue came out, a warm snake from its den, just the tip probing my mouth. It fit between my lips, so strong and warm. Deanna's eyes were open, then closed, as she pressed her lips, her tongue, her body tight against mine. A moan escaped each of us, and she giggled at the sensation on our lips.
She leaned back, hands about my neck now, searching the contours of my body with her own. Rubbing herself slowly and sensuously against me. I lifted one leg slightly, lowering my hips, and parted her legs with it, thrusting forward, my groin against her thigh. Hers feverish against mine. The friction heated me, and she began to grind her sex up and down on my leg.
We each left smears of moisture on the other's thigh. We both leaned back, my arms about her waist, hers about my hips, as we carefully fitted our bodies to the other's.
"Natasha," she whispered, "Natasha, do you well and truly love me? Tell me, speak it, tell me in words, and it will be told me in more than words. Please, oh, sweet Natasha, are you in love with me? Say it, mean it, please."
"Ich liebe du," and I kissed her shoulder, trembling hands pulling the whispering cloth away. "Meine Seele du stichst!"
"Te amo, Te quiero, Te deseo," my lips found her cheek, the lines of her ear. "Eres la renacida, Elena de Troya," my tongue found her dark eyes. She lifted her arms as I pulled the yellow chemisse over her head, to join the nightshirt upon the floor.
"Deine Bruste sien weich Obstes," and she groaned in stutters as I lifted her full breasts and gently suckled each nipple in turn.
"Ya lyouolyou teebyah," and flicked each nip with a fingernail, then bent to sooth them with deep draws in my mouth. "Te tarluyu tvoi soski," I added, and her nails bit into my shoulders as she felt my teeth close hard on her nipples. That true rarity, virgin's milk, the milk of one not a mother, enriching the joys of my mouth.
"Ya lyouoblyou teebyah," my hands kneading the gelid swells of her buttocks, fingers digging in hard, my tongue in the vee of her neck.
"Troi ruki - klyetka, v kotoruyu ya s udovostviem leechuu," and my hand dipped down her belly to find where her groin rode my thigh. As I found her wet, clit erect and lips opened, she lifted a leg, mounting my fingers, and tried to take my searching hand into her body. Clutching my body to hers with wriggling fierceness.
"Ich liebe du," her twitching hips rocked on my loving fingers, forcing them against the resistance of straining thigh, moistness easing her masturbatory patterns. "Du rettest meine Seele!"
We kissed, painfully, for long minutes, her hands all over my back and hips. As I dipped once more to take a soft breast into my mouth, Deanna surprised me by saying words to me in return, words also in the old languages.
"Ya khochy tselovat teebyah po vsemu telu, lizayat teebyah, zaschech teebya!" She looked me in my eyes, her own warm darkness as she continued to grind her body against mine, against my hand.
"Tu piel es una vestidura de seda que quisera acariciar esta nocha," she breathed in my ear as her own searching fingers finally found me, opened me, penetrated me. Feeling my own wetness a heat against her own thigh, our musk’s perfuming the air.
"Ich liebe du," she gave, her eyes fixed to mine. "Deine Beruhung verwandaet mein Blut zu Feuer!"
Would there be no end to the revelations of this night? I smiled in an ecstasy only partially born out of our lusts, not entirely generated by her loving fingers moving in me, or the rub of her breasts beneath mine. This night was an eternity of surprises!
"Ti amo," I breathed as we finally lay down upon the soft and inviting bed. I lay on top, and her legs came open, as she readied to accept whatever we might do, we might have, this time of love.
"Tu sei la fiamma ed io sono la farfalla!" Deanna began to moan non-stop as I raised my body. Then began to lick my way down her body. For long minutes I delayed in my journey down her body to pay homage to the stiffening crowns of her breasts, again drawing a meagre taste of milk as I bit down hard.
"Tu sei la mia vita!"
"Tu es la nuit...," I began. "...Et tu es le jour," Deanna hoarsely replied.
"Tu es mon avenir," I finished. She began to spasm on my demanding hand, and I quickly bent double to find her beauty with my mouth, to lick and kiss her as she came for me. I basked in her wetness, knowing it would be but our first together.
As I licked and kissed my way back up her body, pausing to suckle a breast, I prayed her betazoid abilities would prove my love. If my words or actions failed, her empathic talents would hint to her of the depth of my feelings. It would speak of my sincerity, as well as my lust. How fully she would read me, she could match the truth in my heart to my quivering words.
With a pang I understood how imperfect, fragmented, and compromised was my own understanding of Deanna, in comparison to hers of mine. With the greatest comprehension and insight possible, I could never understand her as she understood me. I would never know the level of truths she believed with sure conviction.
As we lay side by side, questions came to me unrequested. Did Deanna love me? Much more than as a friend, she was now my lover, and we would always share a special set of memories. On the bridge I might look into her eyes. She might touch my hand in a turbolift. We would both remember this night. Much more than a friend, never 'just' a friend again.
If she could not speak promises, commitments, eternity’s, still there was always the hope of the future. Some night we might repeat this interlude. She knew now she enjoyed my touches and kisses.
I felt a terrible loneliness in the realization that night might never come. She might find her man, her lifemate, at any moment. Even I might discover a man I wanted for myself. Between Deanna and I there might never be the totality of complete love. I held her tight at that thought, trying not to shake with the anticipated loss.
No matter. From this day forward I must always seek to make her mine forever and a day. Her caress was a goal to always attempt to achieve, a new purpose in life. I wanted her with me always.
Beside me, Deanna twisted and drew one breast warm with need into her mouth. My nipple spiking hard and turgid against her sucking and teething. Eyes closed, I moaned, giving Deanna the other breast to treat as gently and harshly as she did the first. She bit with more than a hint of pain, drawing most of me into her mouth. She raised herself on one elbow then, looking me in the eye. One hand stole down my belly; and seeking, found me.
Her head returned to a nipple, pulling on it with her teeth. My lips opened to her groping hand, her finger entering me, her hand cupping my groin and moving inside it. She lifted her head again to watch as I came on her intrusive loving. Deanna was enjoying the novelties of a woman's body open to herself. Cooing with eagerness as I twisted and spasmed in response to her speeding fingers. As I held her hand still with my own, she licked my poking nipples, biting and teasing the one until it must have glowed.
"Deine Haut ist wie reiche Sahne, deine Bruste sind goldene Frude...," she spoke in tones of love.
"You're so beautiful, Natasha, you're lovely, you really are," she spoke to my eyes. "You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and it's a bit heady to realize how much you love me. It's terribly flattering, yes it is."
Her fingers sought the light textures of my hair, simply enjoying the touching, the caressing of another woman, of me. "I know you enjoy the sight of my body. And I am amazed at how much I enjoy the sight of yours. Nicely surprised," she added. "Yet is it necessary to have all the lights on? I feel like a pornographic holodeck routine with all those glows on!"
My ears turned red again, as I stammered into a command the computer could follow.
To impede me Deanna began to tongue me, starting with my ear and tracing down to a stiffening breast. She smiled widely as one hand found me again, her hand racing to open me once more. The room darkened as she probed me, making me lift a leg in involuntary invitation. Her tongue licked under my breast, my hips already tucking onto her curved finger.
"I'm not accustomed to touching a woman's body," she noted. "You must guide me and help me." Help? Her? Deanna needing help or guidance? I had to smile, for already my body was cranking itself into another cum. Instead of talking I wished her to kiss me, lick me, love me into another cum. I could barely mumble nonsense in reply.
Face serious Deanna asked me; "You would never hurt me, would you, Tasha? You'll be good to me, for me?" Knowing the answer, she bent and laid herself to my open body, her lips to my open mouth, her hand still working between us. I loved the silken flesh she laid upon mine, and wished to glue her to me forever.
"I want to love you, Deanna," I pleaded, twisting to lay my feverish body upon hers. "Please."
"Yes, yes," she groaned, "take me, take me!" Then she giggled, one of her legs pressing her hand against my steaming groin. I reached for her, finding her as wet and open as I hoped she would be. My eyes asked questions of her, so she replied.
"Take me, take me!", she groaned, partly in amusement. "I sound like a very cheap novel, the sort few will admit to owning,or a porno program."
She smiled as she closed her eyes, and sought out my face for her kisses. In minutes two sets of cries began to fill the twilight inside our room.
AFTER MIDNIGHT
There was just the one glow left now. More than enough light to watch my new love, sweet Deanna, return to the bed.
My. Lover.
How comforting to know, however short might be the length of our... affair. Already I could feel pangs of withdrawal, knowing she would leave me, had stated already she would marry someday, and have her man's children. She would continue her illustrious betazoid lineage, and give her mother a son-in-law to fuss over. Children, progeny, issue, continuance of her line.
She stood in her natural state, all artifice and cloaking fled. Black curls a coronet, a benediction, tumbling about her splendid and beautiful face, backlighted in the middle of the room. How gracefully she flowed across a room, how trim and smooth she was in truth, speaking the lie to the image I had held of her as simply "lush". How many hundreds of hours of her youth had been spent in practicing this grace, until it was a "natural" part of her? I envied her. I knew my own grace was that of a fire-team leader in an assault. Head forward, fists half-cocked, eyes roaming, no grace to my movements beyond those imposed by deadly purpose.
Deanna put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to gaze on me, experiencing something she was unaccustomed to dealing with. She was gazing on my naked body, and looking on me as a lover. For this night. At least. Longer, if I could have my way.
Would our shipmates discern the differences in our...relationship? I hoped not, for Deanna's sake. Yet how could I avoid touching her? Casting long looks on her, catching a casual, oh, so casual glance from her? Returning a gaze with open stares?
Could I stand behind her without making apparent my emotions? Could we even be in the same turbolift together without needing to touch her?
She would be perpetually sitting next to Jean-Luc, her thick hair a dark diadem, always attracting my eyes, her neck and shoulders ever begging for kisses? She should do away with that stiff hairdo, her curls were such a beautiful sight, so soft in my hand.
Was it possible to pass her without wanting to reach out to her tanned cheek, to kiss her throat, to lick the lines of her ear? For my sake, I would wish to proclaim our love via Starfleet communications, to brag, to shout; "I love Deanna Troi!". Barring which I chose to enjoy this night with no restraints whatever, to bury my fears of a celibate tomorrow, sans the electric caress of her lips, the feel of her smaller hand in mine.
I stretched my long legs, accidentally kicking one of the tubes of lubricant to the floor, ignoring it, delighting in Deanna's earnest gaze. I stretched my arms over my head, further rumpling the bed, wallowing happily in Deanna's intent examination. Even if for one night only, she looked upon my sleekness, she must lust for my naked body as only a lover might..
Oh, the denials at mealtimes, the extra hours in the exercise programs on Holodeck, the pains of stretched muscles, how I reveled in their existence now. I felt so much a woman with her, I felt wanted and desired. Deanna looked at my thighs, my soft groin, my young breasts, my seamless belly. (Seamless that is, unless you looked closely, and could divine the remnants of old wounds). I brought one long, ah, so (deliciously!) long leg up, and tucked the heel against my (wonderfully!) firm ass. I admit it! I've got a great ass!
I emitted a most convincing purr.
Enjoy me, it said, possess me, lavish kisses upon my flesh. Smell me as I opened. Place strong hands upon my stiffening nipples, my breasts. Fondle them, use me, taste me, force my body into arcs of tensed muscles as fire pulsed from my groin. Capture every essence, drive reason from my mind. Take me, even if only for the night, own me, drive me beyond insanity. Turn me into an unthinking animal, Deanna, please, open my body with your soft tongue, your strong tongue, drink me!
"Make love to me, Deanna, please. Would you enjoy making love to me? All our nights could be like this, so long as you wished," I breathed. "I love you." How rich the words felt in my mouth, how compleat.
"Meeooouuw," she returned.
"Heeouwessssssss!," I spat back, fingers tweaking my nipples, making them hurt and spike. How heavy they felt! How full! So tender now that only a little effort was necessary for lines of pain to shoot up my spine. How exciting these nubs felt, as if forever in a state of arousal. I squirmed my ass around on the bed in slow circles, still pulling my nipples outward, rubbing them between finger and thumb. How desirable I felt, waiting, vulnerable, anticipating, seeing myself in her gaze as a heated object.
My legs fell wide, and I could feel the movement opening me, spreading my lips with an inaudible (but very exquisitely and sensually felt) smick.
Again I could smell myself, my musk, my arousal, and mentally attempted to will Deanna to come to me, to lay fingers, hands, and lips upon me. To inhale my scent, to taste it, to lick my sex. To thrust that loving tongue inside my barrel, to suck my lips, my tiny stiffness into her mouth. To bite me fiercely and lovingly, to feel my bodies entrance attempt to capture that squirming invader, her tongue. To try to clamp down on that conqueror of my sanity. I anticipated this. Was I not beautiful, sensuous, aroused? Could she not understand how my need was building, my need to be taken, to be loved by her? To be opened by her, to enjoy the filling satisfactions of her fingers, her tongue? Fill me, Deanna, darling, lush beauty, fill me, use my body, my nipples, my mouth, all of me...
Instead she just stood there, a smile upon her lips.
Tease! Flirt! I began to voice my needs with my hands, my body. Relishing the way my lips were swelling, pushing out, tightening the mouth of my barrel. Tensing the skin, the deeper and tauter flesh about my femininity, sensitizing my button.
"Please, Deanna, come to me," I crooned. "Can't you see how I want you, how I need you, how much I want your love?,"
Lust thickened my voice, passions colored my words, pushing them into a lower octave. I rubbed my hands between my open thighs, my middle finger automatically finding and stroking my exposed white bead. (I knew it was white and stiff at this stage, I had seen a hundred such. Pulsing with a heartbeat, pulsing out with a need to be touched, kissed, suckled, bit, licked, tongued, rubbed, pinched, spit upon.)
I was slightly dry, and I pushed a spit-wetted finger into my entrance, stroking myself for Deanna, readying myself for her love. Enjoying the building sensitivities as my body tried to cinch down on my single finger. I brought the finger out, sucking it into my mouth to savor the taste of me, my other middle finger maintaining the pressure, the stretching of my love-bead creating a pleasure-pain whiteness of sensation until I brought a wettened finger to it.
Oh, how rich I tasted! How delightfully my own flavors made me smile, prompted my ass to squirm into the bedsheets.
Deanna simply watched, still did not move, even as I stuck one, then two fingers back inside. I rolled my hips with the beginning rhythms of my needs, first slow, then faster. Again slow, with deep strokes, as I inserted two fingers as far as possible. My hips began to rise and fall in counterstroke, enjoying the whorish picture I must present to her.
My nipples felt heavy, ready to be sore. My love-bead pulsed like an infected tooth. Each heartbeat bringing tension and excitement to it. I was ready, more than ready to be loved by Deanna, her fingers, her lips, her tongue.
"You want me?," she teased. Oh, the bitch! She could see my need, see the way I pried open my lips, the way I stroked inside myself, jerking my slippery finger on myself.
"Yes, yes, yes, yes," I babbled, all subtlety gone in the face of growing heat, the weight of my lips, my throbbing tiny stiffness. "Please take me, Deanna, love, darling, take me, love me!
"Then stop what you're doing. RIGHT NOW!," she commanded.
Whaa?! Deanna just commanded me? About anything?
Yet she did not budge, she did nothing. Only asked, "Didn't you hear me, bitch?"
Bitch?!? Deanna!!?
I stopped in mid-stroke, even though I could feel my heat, feel and hear the moist and sucking sounds from my self-loving. I could almost imagine seeing distorting waves of heat rising from my groin. Stopping as much in shock and surprise as in response to her command, and only then understanding Deanna had ordered me to do so. The ring of muscles continued trying to milk my fingers, all needs crying for me to continue, reach a climax.
Bitch?!?!
"That's better," she commented. "Now Tasha, you're going to do what I say. Do you understand? You are going to obey me. Without question. Do you understand?"
Obey???
Suddenly, with my hands still locked to my groin, a new rush of sensation gripped me, an almost vertiginous loss of some anchor to which I had previously held tight to. It quickly flowed into an almost chilling sense of anticipation. Anticipation of what was to come. It was that empty feeling of being controlled, of being led by someone else, the abandonment-for a time-of my pose. My pose of always being in charge, being in control, being the boss.
Without thinking too deeply of what had happened, I knew I could not deny Deanna the privilege, the POWER of being the dominator, the authority figure, the controller. I could not deny her the right to flip me, to make me her bottom, and her the top. But I could. It would be easy, if I did.
My dark-haired lover was no Croc, in no way a bossy bitch-goddess. That was my usual territory. For a second I toyed with the words to re-establish who was the big bad Tin-Lizzie in the scenario being acted out on our love-bed.
But, as always, I knew, could grasp, the multiple natures of myself. Always the controller, the Croc, I anticipated, I relished, I wanted to be dominated, owned. To lose control, to no longer be responsible for my actions. Dual natures, opposing wants, conflicting needs. The story of my life. Of course, I had bottomed before. I was no stranger to those possibilities inherent in having someone else the top.
Deanna was in charge, period. And I wished it so. I surrendered to her, as soon as this sweet woman asked it of me. For a time, she now held the reins of control. Deep in my heart I had already realized an even more monumental truth.
From this hour forward neither one of us could ever embrace the lie which claimed Deanna Troi had been responsible for little or none of our lesbian lovemaking.
She had taken on herself, perhaps in cold logic, part of the responsibility for this. She was no longer a passive (and maybe unwilling) partner.
She had taken control, had declared a period of this night in which she was completely in charge. Also completely noting her complicity in our lesbianism. She had declared herself responsible for the lusts, love, passions, comes, orgasms, perversions, kinkiness, everything which was yet to occur. I could never blame myself totally, I was not the evil seducer,
Deanna and I co-jointly accepted that it was our decision to love each other this splendid night. She was giving me something precious. She was admitting to both of us, beyond any misunderstanding, how this night was a mutuality. Our lust, a mutual lovemaking, the one with the other.
And best of all, without preamble, instantly, I could not be sure, I could not know what was about to occur. Not a clue. It was no longer in my hands.
Anticipation. Of the unknown.
Games.
Daddy games, Croc games, games with me as the bottom, with Deanna as the top. Exciting games.
Would she hurt me? Would she make me grovel, beg, whine? Dual natures, multiple natures. Would she, my soft, muscular, busty, lean, and totally feminine lover, would she make me do things for her, to her, with her?
My hands quivered with fresh and exciting anxiety, glowing with heat, heaviness, my nipples spiking again. And with it all there was an almost supernatural calm within me. For I could never do anything but trust Deanna. Never. I groaned with lust, with expectations, with kinky visions.
I must trust her.
DARKNESS EVOLVING INTO MORNING
Deanna was sucking my nipples into her mouth as a loving child might, pulling on them as it to draw milk. She crawled further up my body, and kissed me on my lips, but I could not respond. Except one short sentence.
"I love you," and the whole universe lay in those words.
She was my universe. If only she could always be... If she were not such a man's... I loved her. With all my heart. Already I missed her, regretted our parting. I might be confused, but not about loving her.
Eventually I would ask her where, when, and how she had learned of topping, bossing, blindfold games, or fisting. When I could again think. When I could talk. And think at the same time. Not now. Much later.
Then we would play all these games and more, do them all again. Then I would watch her convulse with MY hand in her belly. And then... Then we would get to it, whatever it was, in its own sweet time.
Deanna. Troi.
What a lovely name!
MORNING BECOMES DAY
The dawn was beginning to break, that pre-dawn period when refracted light scattering began to change the charcoal of night into orange promise. A single glow reflected light into the adjoining room from the dumper. It had been a revelation to discover that Deanna preferred to sleep with some light left on. Some leftover of childhood she had never felt the necessity to analyze and banish, a comfort.
With hands a bare few millimeters above her soft skin, I carefully traversed her sleeping body. Enjoying using her marginal body heat to detect, to judge, how close I might put the palm of my hand without actually touching her, awakening her. It was also a joy, a pleasure, to see the more-than-vague reality of her naked body next to mine.
This morning she was sleeping on her stomach, her soft cuppable breasts hidden from immediate view. Memory served to retell me how they looked, how they felt in my hands or mouth. The curves of her buttocks pleased me, the mellow swells inviting me to place my lips upon them. To lick the small of her back, the back of her neck, her ears, her elbows, her toes. Was there ever such a Madchen before? So capable of wrenching the heart of an old Croc like me? Never.
Deanna was a unique, a one-of-a-kind, a prototype for what all women should be.
Was I in love with her?
Certainly! I had been in love with Deanna before this night, however little I might have been able to express it to myself. But most definitely in love.
Did she love me back? No, not in that way peculiar to us women who lust after other women. Yet it was love.
Today I could accept half-way love as preferable, far preferable, to no love whatsoever.
We were friends, and tonight we were also lovers. If we could not remain lovers tomorrow, if this was a totally unique and unrepeatable experience, still this night existed. The memory of it would always exist. Sad to think it, but my heart would always tug at the sight of her. Always I would wish to glide to her, to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her tight.
Without having stirred, Deanna had opened one eye and gazed at me as I traced the outline of her body. She stared, I returned her gaze, there was a smile attached to the partially seen mouth. Together perhaps spelling an invitation.
I leaned to her smooth leg, and lightly licked my way up her flank. Over a buttock I traced my tonguetip, to the two tiny indentations at the small of her back. She giggled as my tongue worked at those dents, one of my hands finding the warmth of her inner thighs.
Leaning back on my haunches, I thought her smile more pronounced now, her eye twinkling, no mistake. Well, maybe her invitations were a delusion spawned by my own insistent and re-awakening lusts. Or maybe she did want me again.
She filled my life with love, with passions, with visions of lusts fulfillment, fingers, lips, groanings, demands. I knew I was already wet with need, wishes, desires, dreams of her body against mine, visualizing her eyes meeting mine as she licked at me.
It might break me, someday in the future, to see her love directed to someone else. To some man, male. Maybe to see her belly swell with the product of their love. No, it WOULD break me. I would face that day when it came.
Until then... Until then I would be there for her. The strong hand she might need, comfort in her distress, maybe the kiss, the loving she might someday want again.
Until then I had this soft and resilient woman to hold close. Memories of her to treasure, hidden glances, a secret smile we might share some time in 10-Forward, a touch in the turbolift or corridor.
This one, she was not just someone to kill for. She was that paradigm, a lover to die for.
Idly I turned the phrase over in my mind. If in the future, her life lay in the balance, would I be capable of restraint? Could I stand by and watch her in distress, pain, danger? Maybe not. An abstract query most likely, one that would probably never occur in reality.
I'd survived Turkana, two dozen wars, dying, and Starfleet Academy. Be confident, I told myself, be sure of yourself. I will survive. Hadn't that old clairvoyant said I would die four times? I had two more deaths to experience.
Thoughts of Deanna's womb large and fruitful prompted me to think again of having a child of my own. To see my breasts swell, my belly grow immense and painfully stretch. The father? The ENTERPRISE swarmed with capable males I might deem worthy of fathering my child.
One woman, a fellow lesbian, in Engineering, had talked of two women carrying babies at the same time, from the same father, forever bonded, sharing, experiencing together as lovers and mothers. It was a provocative thought, one to remember if Deanna bore her own children. We could have yet something else to share. Maybe she could let me use the man she chose. Possibilities.
When my hand reached under Deanna, she began to stir, to respond. She rolled on her side and my head bent to her breasts. Her hand slid down my thigh, found me, and we began once more another dance of this night's loving.
THE END
- - - - -- - - - - - -for those who HAVE to have translations-
German: "Ich liebe du" = I love thee. "Liebchen" = little loved one. "Meine Selle du stichst" = Thou steal my soul. "Deine Bruste sind weich Pbst" = Your breasts are rich fruits. "De rettest meine Seele" = You save my soul/You are my salvation "Deine Beruhung verwandset mein Blut zu Feuer!" = Your touch turns my blood to fire. "Deine Haut ist wie reiche Sahne, deine Bruste sind goldene Freude..." = Your skin is a rich cream, your breasts are golden joys.
Spanish: "Te amo, Te quiero, Te deseo" = I love you. Trust the Spanish to have three different ways to say the same lovely phrase! "Eres la renacida, Elena de Troya" = You are the reincarnation of Helen Of Troy. "Tu piel es una vestidura deseda que quisera acariciar esta nocha" = Your skin is a silken garment I wish to wear this night.
Italian: "Ti amo" = I love thee. "Tu sei la fiamma ed io sono la farfalla!" = You are the (candle) flame and I am the moth. "Tu sei la mia vita" = You are my cup of life.
French: "Je t'aime" = I love you "Tu es la nuit..." = You are the night... "...Et tu es le jour" = ..And you are the day. "Tu es mon avenir" = Thou art my future.
Russian: (All of which is in a simplified phoenetic spelling pattrn. Pronouncing it as written should give you words a St. Petersburger can understand without insurmountable difficulties. Enjoy!) "Ya lyouoblyou tebyah" = I love you. "Te tarluyu tvoi spski" = I kiss your nipples (lovingly). "Tvoi ruki - klyetka v kotoruyu ya s udovolstviem lechu" = Your arms are the cage into which I gladly fly. "Ya knochy tselovat teebyah povseumtellu, lizat teebya, zaschech teebya!" = I long/wish to kiss you all over, to lick/taste you, to make you burn! -R.Schultz-