The BLTS Archive - Wigs
by J. Juls (jjuls@tbc.net)

---

Disclaimer:  All Star Trek stuff owned by the great and powerful
Paramount.  Pay no attention to that dude behind the curtain.  Sorry,
Paramount.  Also, sorry, Back To the Future II, for using your idea.

Note 1:  Written for the Doctor Fuh-q Fest.

Note 2:  TOS timeline:  right after Guardian Of Forever (natch) TNG
timeline:  near the beginning of Season 7

4/23/01

---

Ensign Janice Rand straightened her beehive atop her head, smoothed
her red mini-skirt, and hiked up her go-go boots a tad.  It was her
first shift on duty after returning from transporter training school,
and she wanted to make a good impression should anyone walk in.

So far, no one had.

[Relax, Janice.  You've only been standing here for five minutes.]
It seemed like five hours.  [Probably just nerves.  You'll get used to
it.]

:::Boop:::  "Kirk to Transporter Room."

[The Captain!]  The thought of Captain Kirk's roguish smile and
dancing eyes was almost enough to make Janice climax right then and
there.  She imagined where he would be at this time, the middle of
third shift.  An image came to her, unbidden -- Captain Kirk, naked,
reclining on his bunk, the blanket entirely failing to conceal those
wonderful, hard nipples that were sometimes distinctly visible under
his uniform shirt, and a hint of curvaceous buttocks sinking into the
mattress --

"Transporter Room!"

[Whoa!]  "Ensign Rand here, Sir."

"Ah, *Ensign* Rand.  Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir."  Janet blushed, although no one could see.

"Ensign, I believe I may have left my phaser on the planet.  I'll be
there in five minutes to beam down and retrieve it."  There was a
pause, a chuckle, a sigh -- did she hear another man's voice, low and
sultry, in the background?  "On second thought, Ensign, make that one
hour.  Kirk out."

:::Boop:::

"Aye, sir," she said, even though the channel was closed.  Someday,
she knew, the Captain would come to his senses.  He would ravage her
with all of his animal passion -- she'd drop the red panties that hid
under her red mini-skirt and take him all, hard and fast, standing up
in the turbolift; she imagined screaming, "Captain!  Captain-baby!" as
he rammed his meat into her again and again and her juices flowed
copiously on him.  Finally, they would both come -- "Yes, Captain-
baby!"  "Oh, Rand-baby!  Yes!  Yes!" -- and collapse, spent, on the
turbolift floor, where Commander Spock would walk in and see them, and
Kirk would declare his everlasting love for no other than Janice,
Janice, Janice ... .

Suddenly, Janice thought of a wonderful way to impress the Captain!
She'd beam down, pick up the phaser, and beam back before he arrived.
Why should a Captain be running errands like that, anyway?   Who was
his new Yeoman to let him do such things?  She called up Ensign Smep
to stay at her post.  By the time he got there, she was headed for the
pad.  "Be right back!"  she called as she beamed away.

---

Janice materialized at Captain Kirk's beamup coordinates.  Sure
enough, a phaser lay in the dust at her feet.  She bent to pick it up
...

"Many journeys are possible."

Janice jumped about a meter into the air.  She spun, heart pounding.
Who had spoken?

"Let me be your gateway."

The sound had come from that peculiar stone torus!  It must not be as
primitive as it looked.

[I should take the phaser and signal for beamout.  I should take the
phaser and signal for beamout.  I should ... ]  "What *are* you?"

"I am a gateway.  Many journeys are possible."

Swirling mist formed in the center of the torus.  "Perhaps this
journey interests you."

There was Captain Kirk, in the mist, almost exactly as she had
envisioned him earlier -- was the device reading her mind?  She
couldn't look away.  The Captain was apparently naked, reclining on an
old-fashioned bed, the woolen blanket entirely failing to conceal
those wonderful, hard nipples and the edge of a curvaceous buttock ...
.

"Captain."  The speaker was out of view, but she would recognize
Commander Spock's voice anywhere.

"What is it, Spock?"  The Captain's demeanor was casual as he gazed
offscreen, not trying to cover himself.

"My device, when construction is complete, will be too large to fit on
this table.  Placement on the floor would be illogical, as we shall be
forced to step around it on numerous occasions and may damage it; this
placement, however, seems to be the only option."

"Well, Spock ... " the corners of the Captain's mouth turned upward.
"I don't ... think ... we'll be needing this ... other bed.   Do you?"

Suddenly the view expanded, and she could now see Commander Spock.
He raised one eyebrow and turned to face the Captain, deliberately
placing his hands behind his back.  He looked directly at the Captain,
quirking an eyebrow.  "Indeed.  I admit that I don't understand your
reasoning in this case.  It seems logical for two beings to sleep on
two beds."

"Come closer, Spock.  Maybe a ... mind meld ... would help us to ...
communicate."

"A mind meld?"  Was Commander Spock *smiling* for a moment?
Naaahhhh.  "I do not mind meld unless there is a reason.  Perhaps some
... other type of meld would be more appropos."

"What are you suggesting, Mister?"  The Captain was acting just like a
little tart!

Then ... oh!  Commander Spock ran over and *jumped* on the Captain!
[*My* Captain!]  He grabbed him and kissed him, right on the lips, and
Captain Kirk kissed back and growled, and they were wrestling on the
bed, and ...

"Stop it!  Stop!"  Tears sprang to Janice's eyes as the playback
halted -- she had always thought Captain Kirk and Commander Spock ...
but to know, to *know* ... .  "He's *my* Captain!  He likes *me*!  I
mean, :::sob:::, I thought ... I thought he liked ... me."

Janice couldn't think clearly now, as she could only sob and wipe her
face with her bare hand; she almost didn't hear the stupid device
yapping again.  "Many such journeys are possible.  Let me be your
gateway."

Then a terrifying thought hit Janice, causing her to drop her
communicator in shock.  Did Captain Kirk *know*?  Did he know she
liked him?  That would be too much humiliation to bear -- to go back
there, the Captain laughing behind her back, nightly mocking her love
in gossipy pillow talk with Spock, and daily looking down at her with
patronizing tolerance.  Ah, to end it all now and be done with
everything ....

The swirling mist had appeared again in the torus.  Janice felt
drowned in angst.  "Just show me anywhere.  I'll go anywhere!"  The
enigmatic portal didn't say anything more but continued to swirl its
mist.  How did this thing work?  Did you just dive in?  Ohhhhh, the
unfairness of it all ... .

---

"Why, thank you, Mr. Mott!  This is truly ... wonderful!"  Beverly
hoped her face wouldn't break under the tension of her forced smile.

"Ahhh, no need to thank me, Madam.  Simply being allowed to gaze upon
your beauty is reward enough."

"Ummm, yes, well, thank you again."  Beverly dashed out of the barber
shop as fast as the laws of courtesy would allow, inwardly seething.
Well, what had she been thinking, anyway?  Buying a wig from a bald
barber was probably not the smartest move she could have made.  Her
head was spinning so fast that she bumped right into Deanna in the
corridor.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Deanna; are you all ... "  Beverly couldn't help
staring at the Counselor's head; she focused on Deanna's face, and
then her eyes moved up, and up ... .  She started to cry.

"Beverly?  Are you all right?"

"Ohhhh, Deanna!  How did you *do* it?  Where did you *get* it?"
Beverly peered at Deanna through her tears.  "It looks exactly as if
... as if a ... a Urodelean poodle died on top of your head!  I'm so
*envious*!"

An ensign walked past, glancing curiously at them.  Deanna put her arm
around Bev's shoulders and guided her into a nearby conference room.

"I ... I didn't go to Mr. Mott this year," she confided to Bev.  Bev
looked at her in shock.

"Then where ... ?"

"After my mother saw that crappy excuse for a wig he made me last
year, she finally gave in and told me about her private wigmaker."

"Who ... ?"

"I'm sorry, Beverly.  I can't give you her name.  She's sacred on
Betazed:  Wigmaker to the Fifth House, Hairstylist to the Holy Rings
of Betazed, Manicurist to the Sacred Chalice of Riix, Leg-waxer to the
Golden Dildo of Clametran, Earwax-Cleaner to the Silk Tampon of
Mugales, Plantar-Wart Freezer to the Ermine ... "

"Okay, I get the point, Deanna.  I get the point."

---

Wesley came all over himself again.

He struggled to open his eyes and to see in the darkness of the tent.
Great, just what he needed -- another pair of underwear that he'd have
to sneak into the recycler when no one was looking.  Oh, yeah, a
romantic camping trip to the holodeck -- just the ticket, right?  Too
bad Ensign Horton had insisted on separate tents.

"Why did I even visit the Enterprise today?" he asked the darkness.
"Sure wasn't to see Mom."  His mom had been totally preoccupied with
herself all day, from the time she'd gone to Mr. Mott's to pick up her
new wig.  When she'd come home, all she'd done was stare at herself in
the mirror and mutter under her breath, "Not high enough.  Not poufy
enough.  Have to rat it.  Rat it and spray it.  Maybe some curlers
here and here -- that Deanna has all the luck."

He'd never understand females, any females.  Wes peeled off his soiled
briefs, rolled them into a tight ball, and opened the secret pocket of
his duffel bag.  "I wish ... " he mused ... "I wish I could have a
super-hot babe, all to myself."

Thunder cracked across the fake holodeck sky; a gale-force wind blew
his and Horton's tents away and sent them crashing into the wall.
Light burst forth from a rip in space-time.  A hot, blonde babe
catapulted forth from the rupture and fell headfirst into Wesley's
naked, sticky lap.  Horton blinked the sleep out of her eyes and
stared at Wesley.  "Oh, so I'm not *exciting* enough for you, huh,
genius-boy?  I wouldn't fuck you at first sight, so you whipped
yourself up a little holo-slut, is that it?  Well, have a good time
with her, you sniveling whiner!"  Both storms died down as Horton
stalked from the holodeck.

---

"No, Computer!  I want a *bigger* wig!  Bigger, higher, and poufier!
I want long, long hair, and I want it all standing up in big waves on
the top of my head.  Is that too much to ask??"

"Yes," the damned computer responded.  "I have analyzed your facial
shape, bodily measurements, and bone structure, and have concluded
that your current wig is the best fit.  Tampering with wig design is
forbidden."

"Forbidden??  Override, Crusher beta zeta theta eta eighty-eight,
hike!"

"Access denied.  Override requires Priority One clearance."

"But only the Captain has Priority One clearance."

"That is correct.  Appearance of all female crewmembers is keyed
directly to file Captain.babealiciousness.603."

Ooooooo, that Captain.  She'd give him a piece of her mind.  And not
of anything else anymore, even if he decided to want it!  That's for
sure.  But back to the important stuff.  Maybe she could make *two*
wigs ... .

---

Janice Rand, late Starfleet officer and now curious anachronism, sat
on her bunk and surveyed her new domain.  Guest quarters aboard this
odd new ship were so lavish, she was almost embarrassed for her hosts.
Didn't they know how over-the-top it was?  Then again, maybe everyone
in the era lived this way.  She sighed; actually, she should be happy.
This kind of luxury wouldn't take much getting used to!   Maybe that
big, stone doughnut had taken a liking to her, to deposit her in such
a posh place (although those first few minutes were a doozy, wow!)  It
could have sucked her into vacuum, the surface of a star, or, even
worse, a Romulan ship.

She had to admit, she empathized with the skinny boy that she had
first "met" on this ship.  Janice would never tell anyone *exactly*
where she had landed -- hadn't even in the extensive debriefing that
the Captain had given her -- although she couldn't speak for Ensign
Whatserbeak.  Anyway, the poor, geeky boy had hurried off to the
Academy, where he was apparently a cadet.  Hopefully he wouldn't get
another leave for a long while.

Janice had spent all day wearing the form-fitting blue jumpsuit that
seemed to be standard issue for all non-crewmembers.  But when she had
been assigned quarters, she had asked the kindly, cute First Officer
how to synthesize a new red mini-skirt exactly like her old one.
Turned out it was still in their databanks.  She couldn't find any
makeup, but at least she still had her go-go boots.  Now freshly
showered, she finished donning her familiar apparel, as she had been
told to expect the Ship's Counselor this evening.  Not too bad...now
for the final touch.  She removed the hairnet from her wig.

Her door signal chirped.  "Come in."  The door slid aside to reveal a
short, voluptuous, dark-haired woman, wearing a maroon catsuit.

"Hello, Janice.  I'm Deanna Troi, ship's counselor.  I understand
you've had a ... "  Her eyes goggled as she got a load of Janice's
beehive, sitting on the wig stand.  "Holy Riix!  *Where* did you get
that *exquisite* hairpiece?!"

"Umm, I ... ."  The Troi woman was over to it in a blink, studying it
closely, but not touching.

"Oh, may I ... may I touch it?"

Hmmm, maybe they *weren't* so advanced in the future.  "Sure, go
ahead."

The woman's sienna-nailed hands traced out every lock; reverently she
stroked the woven patchwork of flaxen glory and the curls that trailed
out below.  Janice was justifiably proud of her wig; it had been her
own creation, occupying several years of her time and much of her
credit supply to make.  She had bought the hair on Afghan IV and
painstakingly sewed each strand, one by one, making sure the weave
stayed in place ...

"I made it myself," Janice volunteered.  Troi looked at her with a
start, and then it was back to the wig, lost.

"Oh, my stars, my stars ... "  Troi seemed not to know that Janice was
in the room as she cradled the hairpiece gently, dipping down to bury
her face in it and sniffing deeply.  "Ohhhhhh, my stars, my *stars*!
Oh!  Oh!  :::sob:::  Ohhhhh, holy Riix ... "  The counselor began to
sweat profusely and breathe in ragged gasps.  Her eyes rolled up into
her head, and Janice saw her abdominal muscles tense repeatedly under
the tight catsuit as she moaned.  This was a gal after her own heart,
one who could *really* appreciate a good wig!   Janice thought that if
she never got to go home, it would be just dandy here.

Finally, Troi got her breath back.  She looked at Janice, swallowing
dryly a few times in order to find her voice.  "Janice, I think you'll
do just *fine* here.  Would you mind terribly if I introduced you to
someone ... ?"

---

Bev had cut all the hair off wig #2, and now she was trying to glue
the strands to wig #1.  "It's not working; it's not working!" she
muttered, even as her surgeon's hands failed at their task.  "Why me?
Bastard Jean-Luc.  Even that bitch Shelby got a decent wig.   Shelby
... that bitch ... what did *she* do to deserve her bun?   Bitch ...
."

[Was somebody pounding on something?  That damned Riker, living next
door, who knew what he did with those bimbos of his, probably fucking
one of them up against the wall again ... no, on second thought, I
hear Deanna's voice!  Oh!  She's knocking on the door!]

"(Beverly, Beverly?  Are you all right?  It's Deanna; please let me
in.)"

"Computer, open door," she sighed.  Deanna almost fell through the
doorway after her pounding fist.  She stumbled into the room, followed
by ... followed by ... (!)

In her lifetime, Beverly had never seen such a wig as this.  Almost as
tall as the nubile beauty who stood under it, it shone blondely in the
ugly Starfleet lighting, its opalescent strands creating lovely
nuances of amber, pink, and lavender.  Most stunning was the
checkerboard effect of painstakingly-woven locks which adorned the
front, making Beverly almost weep in envy.

Deanna was saying something.  "Beverly ... ?  Beverly, I was saying,
this is Janice Rand.  She's traveled through time from the 23rd
Century."  The words didn't register on Beverly's consciousness at
all.  "And she made her own wig."

---

The next thing Beverly knew, she was lying on the couch with Deanna
fanning her face.  "Breathe, Beverly, please.  Do you want me to call
Sickbay?"

[What, and have someone else *see* this girl?  Maybe monopolize her
talents?  No, she's *my* best friend now.]  "Ahhh, no, no, I'll be
fine, Deanna, thank you."

"Well, if you're sure."  Deanna got up.  "I'll leave you two alone;
I'm certain you'll have plenty to discuss."

---

Several hours and many hot toddies later, Beverly thought that she was
all discussed out.  She had already admitted to Janice that she wanted
a wig just like the beautiful platinum creation that Janice wore, but
she knew Captain Picard would never go for it.  The minute he saw it
on her, he would make her get rid of it.  It wasn't in the computer's
file, and it wasn't in the cards for her.

No, instead she could only make small talk, couldn't tell Janice any
important facts about her time in case the young woman ever had to go
back.  But still she did not want to let this young Janice Rand out of
her sight.  She felt warm and relaxed as she and Janice shared a
comfortable silence.  It was just like they were old friends, even
though they had just met.  With the drinks helping the ambience,
Beverly felt that she could tell Janice anything, anything, and she
would understand.  "In a couple of hours, Jean-Luc will be here for
breakfast.  The twit."

Janice's eyes widened.  "You mean your Captain?  You call him Jean-
Luc?  You speak of him in those terms?"

Beverly felt casual.  "Oh, we go way back, Jean-Luc and I.  Way too
far back."  When next she looked at Janice, she noticed tears in her
eyes.

"I can't believe you talk about your captain that way!  Why, if I ever
... if I ever got to ... um.  I worship my captain."  The last
admission was whispered.

Beverly sidled over to Janice, sat beside her on the couch, put an arm
around her for comfort.  "You'll learn, Janice.  When you get older,
you'll learn."  She sighed, world-weary.  "Computer.  Two more hot
toddies."  Beverly reached to get them.  "Men are all alike."

"I ... did you, did you and your captain used to ... "

"Oh, I used to be soooo hot for his bod.  And really, his bod is
unparalleled.  Built like a brick shithouse, hung like a Sehlat ...
any more cliches I could use?  Yeah, I remember one time I just about
tackled him onto his desk.  But after a while, I got to noticing how
uptight he was.  I don't think he's had a good fuck in years, except
... never mind.  Classified and all that, you know."  Beverly had
remembered just in time not to tell Janice about the Q.  They paused,
sipping their drinks for a long moment.  "So, tell me about *your*
captain."

"He's ... :::sniff::: ... he's nothing like your captain."

"Yes, the famous Captain Kirk.  I always wondered about him."

"Well, he ... he ... fucks everything in sight."  Beverly could tell
that alcohol had washed those words out of Janice; she never would
have said anything like that when sober.  "Everything in sight."
Janice rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "Except me.  In fact, I'm
only here because of him, and because of the way he ... well, I can't
say.  Classified and all, you know."

Beverly understood that she couldn't ask Janice exactly how she had
arrived in this century, although she gathered Wes had been around to
see the time phenomenon.  Too bad she'd been so preoccupied all day.
She'd have to ask him about the details later.

Janice downed the rest of her drink, looked like she was gathering
courage for something.  "But I still love my captain, even if he
doesn't know I exist.  And I still want him, I want him all the time,
and I want him to see ... I want him to see something special I made
just for him."  She leaped up, throwing her empty glass to the floor.
"I want him to see *this*!"

And she unsealed her red panties.

And they dropped to the floor.

And what unfurled in their wake was something the like of which
Beverly had seen only in the turbid depths of almost-forgotten wet
dreams.

A long, flaxen braid unrolled, seemingly in slow motion, until it
reached Janice's knees.  Then it reached her ankles.  Then it stopped,
swinging back and forth, sinuous, sensuous.

Beverly saw her hot toddy fall to the floor, in slow motion, not
knowing how her hand had released it.  She fell off the couch, onto
her knees in worship.  A French-braided crotch wig it was, attached to
Janice with one strap around her waist and one around each thigh.
Beverly thrust her head forward and explored the golden rope with her
tongue, probing under, under, until she got through to bare, shaved
skin.  More and more she opened the weave until her whole mouth could
fit, and she began to suck.

Sucked until she found Janice's young, tender clit, and sucked harder,
running her tongue around the base of it, deep down inside the labia.
Her fingers found the shaft of the long braid and played with it,
running her fingers over its bumpy length, sucking harder on Janice.
Janice sighed, moaned, wailed, came gently on Bev's tender touch.
Still Bev sucked, still she played with the braid, whipping herself
into a wig frenzy.  Presently Janice screamed Beverly's name, coming
harder, thrusting herself over and over into Beverly's mouth, finally
collapsing onto her knees on the carpet.

As Janice recovered, Beverly disposed of her uniform with alacrity.
Grabbing the braid, she started to shove it inside herself, moaning
with desire as each blonde bump caressed her entrance, letting it
bunch up inside her until the whole length filled her and she knelt
body-to-body with Janice.  She began to undulate her hips, relishing
the feel of the long rope, shoved inside her, writhing around.  At the
same time, she wound her fingers through Janice's other wig, kissing
Janice's face and neck with abandon.  She ran her hands down the
long-hanging curls, feeling them rebound when her fingers neared the
end of the strands, then raised her hands to do it again.  She rubbed
her clit hard against Janice's, gasping as they touched and as the
braid filled her.  "Oh, Beverly, I never knew it could be like this,"
Janice breathed, her fingers running through Beverly's own paltry
excuse for a wig.  "I don't need the Captain; I don't need him; I
don't ... :::gasp::: ... need ... Ooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"  Then they
were both wailing and coming like warp drive, pounding all thoughts
away.

When at last she could think, Beverly found that she was clutching
Janice's wig in a clawlike grasp.  Janice's fingers were likewise
clamped around Beverly's own wig.  They dropped the wigs, hugged, and
fell down, laughing, the braid gradually withdrawing from Beverly's
cunt.

"Beverly ... I don't know how to thank you.  You've shown me that I
don't need Captain Kirk.  I can get along without him, just like you
get along without ... Jean-Luc."  She kissed Beverly tenderly on the
lips.

"No trouble at all, Janice."  Beverly sighed, content.

Suddenly, Janice looked up.  "What's wrong, Janice?"

"I ... I don't know.  I feel like I'm ... being called, somehow.  I
think it wants me to go back."

"What?"

"The ... way I got here.  I think it's going to take me."  Hastily,
she rolled up her crotch braid.  Beverly grabbed the red panties and
gave them back to her.  She started to put them on, pulled them up.
"Oh, my wig!"  But Beverly was already installing it atop her head,
deftly bobby-pinning it in place.

Janice straightened her beehive atop her head, smoothed her red mini-
skirt, and hiked up her go-go boots a tad.  Wherever and whenever she
ended up, Beverly saw, she must want to make a good first impression.
"Good-bye, Beverly.  I'll always remember you.  And I'll find a way to
thank you for all your help, too, honest I will."

"You don't need to thank me, Janice.  It was my pleasure."

There was no light, no thunder, no sound, no transporter beam, not
even a Q-flash.  Janice was simply ... gone.

---

She was standing, just as before, in the fine dust of the long-dead
planet where she had started her journey.  She didn't turn to look at
the torus; she only picked up the phaser and communicator and signaled
for beam-out.  Soon she was in the Transporter Room with Smep.

"What in heck did you do, Rand?  You were only gone about three
minutes."

Somehow Janice knew it would be so.  "I just had to pick up Captain
Kirk's phaser," she said.  "The twit," she mumbled under her breath.

"What'd ya say?"

"Nothing, Smep, nothing."

---

:::deekeedook:::  "Federation Express for Beverly Crusher!"

Beverly looked up from her tea, a questioning glance at Deanna.
Federation Express for her?  What could it be?  Deanna shrugged.

"Come in."

"Well, whattaya know, you're real!"  the Federation Express guy
exclaimed.  "This package was sent in 2265 from Vulcan -- good ol'
Snark still works there.  He said to deliver it, so we did.  Never
expected to find you, though.  Huh!"  He handed over the package, then
hung around like he was waiting for Bev to open it.

"Thank you, sir; that will be all."

"Oh, ummm ... yeah."  He got the hint and left.

"2265?!"  Deanna was jumping with excitement.  "What could it be?
Who could have sent it?"

"I know who sent it."  Beverly gingerly unwrapped the aged paper and
opened the box inside.

The red hair hung in meter-long, satiny waves from the three waist and
thigh straps.  Beverly sobbed in ecstasy; she had never even imagined
actually owning such a masterpiece.  She noticed Deanna, whose lust
was not well concealed in her brimming eyes.

"Would you like me to try it on, Deanna?"

---

The End