The BLTS Archive - Bleib Wie du Bist (Stay As You Are)
thirteenth in the Riding The Tick series
by R.Schultz (cousindream@aol.com)

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Disclaimer: Paramount/ViaBorgCom own all things Trek.  I'm not trying
to infringe and am not depriving youse guys of any money. I'm just
playing with your universe and return good as new.

Story mine under common-law copyright.  Feb. 2000, 15,000 words.

Warning: This story contains depictions of graphic sex between two
consensual (fictional) adult females.  If this bothers you, go away.
If you are underage or live in a country or locale that prohibits
TrekSmut, go away.  Do not read this story.  Leave.


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Somewhere on the planet Unstet III, it is threatening to rain.
Stardate 41601.1

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"The cup of life is never full."
-Anon-

---

The sun could not stop moving through the heavens, 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, 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?  Or 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.

True, much already stood out from this short little shore leave.
Especially memories of the large, dark, and tender hands of Yeoman
Abanaku.  It might strike some as absurd for a ghost of unfinished
lust to reside within me after our passions, but 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
gluttony of sex, but dissatisfactions remained.

Maybe it was this confusion which had confused Abana.  He had been
anxious this morning, for MY pleasures and feelings, somehow
understanding there was an undercurrent of discontent and petulance
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 adequacy, his anxieties and male fears. For he did
not seek to take me again, no.  Just to hold me.  Or not, if such was
my wish.  I am 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 several years
before marvelled over its smoothness and texture.

Abana had talked of his too-regulated life on Camel's Neck.  A farm
boy's limited horizons, unending restraints and duties, all of which
he had gladly left.

Physically strong he was, yet he could be light of touch.  Maybe he
was afraid to hurt, maybe he had sensed that pain 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, the lover of women,
the lesbian beneath.  Maybe he had sensed my thoughts were on
something else.

Someone else, someone near.

Yet I could easily remember his male strength, and smile.  I have
remembrances of playful rubbings, of contrasts of my pale skin against
his sweating darkness.  His male stiffness in the wet warm welcome of
my tight pussy.  The pleasant recollections of first gliding entry
(even if always unexpected, a shock to the system).

This morning I have pulled hair, bitten nipples still tender, a new
set of scratches on back, neck, and buttocks.  I remember his
willingness to spend hours with large, sensual lips, searching and
tasting all of my body.  Just crossing my legs rekindled images of
flowing belly heat and his insistent tongue opening me, pulling and
sucking me deep into his mouth, his teeth chewing on my clit. He had
been good for and to me.  Why then this morning's fuzz of feelings yet
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 me in trinkets, rather than
Creds.  The saleable gift allowing some male to pretend that he had
seduced me, rather than purchased my body for an hour.  It was just
another transaction between seller and buyer.

This was a small, inexpensive thing, but likely all he could find on
short notice, or maybe afford.  A lieutenant's Credits were not that
grand, I knew, being one myself.  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.  Elated that he wished more than a rematch of our
sex.  Such did not occur.

The shore leave of my discontent lay within meters of me.  Someone
from the ENTERPRISE whose presence had always prickled my
nerve-endings, had always made me cast lingering looks.  She had
always made my insides churn with unrequited lust.  I could not give
it the name of love.  A desire for a fellow shipmate, unexpressed,
aching.

Unfulfilled.  Perhaps forever.

I sat now 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 warmths.  I ignored my chill, and remained on this
padded bench.  Feeling the stray mercies of a few unprogrammed breezes
playing arpeggio's on my face, in my hair.  Watching a number of large
near-birds cruising the thermals above the bay.

One, its wings of gray leather streaming behind it, fell onto another,
smaller creature of flight.  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?  Was I still a predator, feasting on others?  My past was
always ready to haunt me.

The 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 reacted calmly to her surprise.
Once, long ago, with my voice loud, I would have boiled with anger.

"Your tall 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 large brown nipples?
I knew they must be brown.  A lovely brown.

I knew I wished to nuzzle my face in the short dark hairs of her
groin, to run my fingers across the soft swell of her belly, to watch
her sex open, moisten, and her clit erect?  That my dreams included
alternating kisses with blowing air upon her puffy labes, and
breathing in the musk of her wet vagina?

As those dreams sped through my conscious mind, Deanna leaned forward,
laying  her soft hand upon my linen-clad shoulder.  Her fingers
reinforced a swirl of emotions in me, no, a storm.  Her touch became a
spot without sensation, a deadness on 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 kissing lips.  My tongue found her
knuckles, then traced the lines of her palm.  To touch her was to be a
fever, blurring 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
in her eyes.  Instead Deanna gently smiled down at me.

For a wild second I hoped I had somehow misjudged Deanna, that she
desired me and returned some measure of my lesbian love.  Or lust.

As her hand carefully replaced itself upon my shoulder, this hope
died.  To be replaced by the realization I was dealing with the ship's
counselor.  Not an ordinary woman, and certainly not one who could
share my foolish desire's.

She returned my look of appeal with obvious serenity, an air of
repose, calm, peace, self-assurance, caring.  There was no disgust, no
revulsion, no fear.  But neither was there the look of fevered hunger
common to us women who take other women to our beds.

Instead, here was COUNSELOR Troi, the mender of fractured souls. My
status had merely changed from friend to patient, to someone needing
care.

"It's going to rain," she spoke into the pause between us.  "Do you
wish to go inside, to my room?"

I followed her to her room, only meters 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.

Inside 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. I was
not looking forward to the questions, pains, revelations, and
introspections of what must now come.  There had been too much of such
already.

First at Saint Peter the Great school in Moscow, 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 at hand.  Screwing up would not be a novelty
in my life, but was never welcomed.

With a pang of regret I now faced the reality of my 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 said.

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. Yet
still make the choices, and live with ourselves afterwards. Regardless
of consequences."

Eyes half-lidded, she continued; "It is probably untrue in your case,
but 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 leaning on her.  We women can lean upon each other and draw
strength from the other.

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-eight years Terran?
Impossible, for I possessed four lifetimes worth of regrets, no, 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.
We were both child whores, but I felt filled with electricity when we
touched.  We knew nothing of the problems involved."

"Of 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 of loving 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 the 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?

Lightning came again, sharp edges outside.  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 was just
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
stutterings, and breaks in my voice, I let die some of my pains.  Even
so I would always remember some things with a terrible clarity.

"My first ..... he was a Corporal, then a Sergeant in my mercenary
Legion, and was not the first man I had fucked.  Just the first one I
loved.  He HONORED me, he BELIEVED it was right for me to love women,
that I had not done anything WRONG.  That for me it was right.  He
listened to me, he was patient, he stayed by my side, where others are
grown bored and left.

"Yet now I understood I might also love other men, he was my first
male loveing.  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.  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 hardbitten 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 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 died on a planet called Ballantaire, where the Legion
quickly settled a 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.  We talked a bit, I touched her, she responded like a fire had
been started in her.

"Like many in marginal economies, women's desires were immaterial. She
was a brood mare, that was all.  When we made love that night she
found her true nature.  With that revelation 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 fitting in.

"From that moment on I knew that my life would always be choices,
doubts, mistakes.  Yet I knew I had not lost any of my ability to love
women.  My possibilities simply enlarged to include men.  Now I would
have to look on men with that appraisal I had previously reserved for
women.  It was terribly unsettling.  It was hell."

For a time I knew 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, losses, and surmount them.  She was willing to try
her limits, to find risks and pains in other arms.

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 explaining the
bisexual.  They were attempting to understand those who could respond
in more than a merely physical manner, not just to lust. Able to bond
emotionally as well with members of either gender.

"At first, bisexuals were considered moral degenerates, and some were.
That was too simple an answer, and it came to be realized such persons
were infinitely more complex than once believed. With the use of
scales and study, it became apparent that the bisexual, like any
sapient, fit into no easy categorical pattern.

"The most easily understood scale was 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 Terrans fit
into either end, 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.  However, remember rarely does anyone
ever fit exactly into any testing group.  It is not important, in your
life.  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 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 shore leave?  The screen shows quite an atmospheric
storm in your neighborhood.  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 hours while the rebuild continues in the port nacelle.
Unless the schedule is changed?"

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 drily 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 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
bestest 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 the many rituals purloined from our mutual
archaic Terran past.  Periodically we would spend a night together,
the two of us, or with three or four additional trusted adolescent
females.  So long ago.  Those nights together, our little peer group,
it was another adventure to us.

"We would drink inebriating liquids liberated from mother's easily
unlocked cabinet.  Giggle and 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 enamoured of. We
were all pretending our way towards our future lives.  We knew what we
talked of was all fantasy, our make-believe 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.  Hesitantly, we learned of life.

"Later we would turn our little cliques into predatory empires, our
little domains into cruel kingdoms where we would deny entry into our
circles.  Later I grew cruel, just like all the rest, Betazoid
abilities or not.  I have my own regrets.  But let me continue with my
story.

"That night I was momentarily nude, changing into a warm night suit,
fuzzy and comforting.  Anna and myself whispering and chattering in
the security of my bedroom.   I had never embraced my mother's
homilies about 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, could be draped upon my distressingly pudgy body."  Deanna
smiled in her 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 Bela
Bird, 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 over my young fat femininity.  Making painfully hot contact as
she began to find places other hands had never touched since babyhood.
My breasts and other places.

"Deanna," she said, "I love you."

"There wasn't much possibility of misunderstanding her, with her hands
and lips, bridging that gap between certainty and wild surmise in my
mind.  I retreated, looked her straight in the eyes, with each of my
own eyes probably spanning thirty meters 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, passions and her
eternal and very, very physical undying love.  In short she wanted to
throw my pudgy little quivering self down on my bed, and propel my
moist and overheated body into the achievement of forty major
revelation-grade passionate orgasms over the next hour or so.

"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 ready 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, and 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 bestest friend,
at least I knew SOMEONE lusted after my near-melted down, insecure,
and virginal body.  Anna established a benchmark.  Never again could I
doubt that I possessed a rudimentary type of basic sexual 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 that she was a lesbian, and she was quite correct. She
was also sure this single fact would make her a pariah, an outcast, 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.  An unintended byproduct
of maturation.  This sad development occurs even on Terra."  Deanna
rose back up to finish her cup.

"Yet at the time I meant it with all my heart.

"At any rate, myself as the object, the focii of her sexual desires,
did not mean the loss of my affection or trust.  It did not mean we
couldn't share lunch, secrets, gripes, or school lessons, or moanings
about swollen ankles one week a month.  Like any aspect of reality,
things may alter, but altering does not always signal endings or
finality."

Black tresses were masking one side of her head, as Deanna lay on the
bed.  Her empty mug lay aside her, and I placed both our cups on the
floor, then laid myself alongside her.  Propped on an elbow, I had the
chance to 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 that
this would be unchanged by her lesbian nature or 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 both natural and fulfilling, Tasha, done only with
someone you feel an immense affinity for.  Not just for the sex,
though that is important.  You should do it only with those you know
as friends.  Lovers should be friends 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.  What number went through her head?
Two?  Three?  Four?

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 am not unique in that regard. Certainly not
amongst our little family on the bridge of the ENTERPRISE.

"I love you very much, but to love a friend as a Betazoid is immensely
more profound than humans even begin to comprehend.

"If you are able to respect my limitations, we might achieve something
very beautiful together.  If you can accept my other emotional
commitments.  Can you accept me as I am?  When I am with Bill or some
other man?  For I will be.  Someday.

My heart pounded, my throat was dry, her lips beckoned, her serenity
challenged me.  I ached to damage that calm, that assurance.  To show
her fire, inevitability, and the sparks warming me, moistening me.  I
ached to possess her, to reveal my heart, to give her my own brand of
loving.

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.

---

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, 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 I was. 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 cunt!

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 quick
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 better?  Look around the room, carefully.
Find a nightstand, or something to use as one. That chair!  Up against
the wall with it, out of the way, lay the lube 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 stuff
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 anyways.  Quickly I picked it off the
floor, and pulled it over my head.  What about the lube on the
chair...?

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, sure, 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 our own.  I went dizzy with thoughts of my
face caressing her body.  "CONSCIENTE", that's the ticket. Spicy,
mild, a touch of sweetness.  Quickly, Deanna's going to come through
that dumper door any second.  Ear, neck, under my breasts.  A touch
behind each knee.

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, dog collar with big spikes on it around my neck, a whip in my
hand.  Nope.  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
chemise.  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,
darkness, and mystery.  Her hair was 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 for tonight.

She came to me, her breasts shifting with their dark 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.

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 to tease mine, it was a warm snake sneaking from
its den, just the tip probing my mouth, so strong and warm. Deanna's
eyes were open, then closed, as she pressed her body tight against
mine.  Moans escaped 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.  Her's feverish
against mine.

The friction heated me, and she began to grind her sex up and down 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 wet sex to the other's.

"Natasha," she whispered, "do you well and truly love me?  Speak it,
tell me in words, let me hear it in more than words.  Please, 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 at the yellow chemise,
throwing it to 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,
bending 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.

"Tvoi ruki - klyetka, v kotoruyu ya s udovostviem leechuu," and my
hand dipped down her belly to find where her groin rode my thigh. 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 pussy,
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.  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 searching fingers found me, opened me,
penetrated me, felt my own wetness a heat against her own thigh, our
musks perfuming the air.

"Ich liebe DU, " she gave, 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 born out of our lusts, not entirely generated by her loving
fingers moving inside 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, and 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 taste of milk as
I bit down hard.  Deanna gave me a taste of virgin's milk, could
anything be so sweet in my mouth?

"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 come together.

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 tell her the depth
of my feelings.  It would speak of my sincerity, as well as my lust.
How fully she could read me, she could match the truth in my heart to
my quivering words.  With a pang I understood how fragmented was my
own understanding of Deanna, in comparison to hers of mine.  With the
greatest insight possible, I could never understand her as she
understood me.  I would never know the level of truths she believed
with pure 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, and we would both remember this night.  Much more
than a friend, never 'just' a friend again.

If she could not speak of promises or commitments, still there was
hopes for the future.  True, Deanna would always have space in her
heart for that special male, whenever she found him.  Yet we might
repeat this night, she knew now she enjoyed my touches and kisses.

I felt a terrible loneliness in the fear 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.  It was sad, but Deanna and I
might never reach the totality of complete love.  I held her tight at
that thought, trying not to shake with 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 achieve, a new purpose in
life.  I wanted her with me always.

Beside me, Deanna twisted and drew one heavy breast 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 the first.  She bit with more than a hint of pain,
drawing most of me into her mouth.

She raised herself on one elbow, 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 labes opened to her groping
hand, her finger entering me, her hand rubbing my clit. She lifted her
head to watch as I came on her intrusive loving finger.  Deanna
enjoyed the novelties of an open woman's body, cooing as I twisted and
spasmed in response to her speeding fucking.  I held her hand still,
and 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
fucking onto her curved finger.

"I'm not accustomed to touching a woman's body," she said.  "You must
guide and help me."  Help?  Her?  I had to smile, for already my body
was cranking into another cum.  Instead of talking, I wished her to
kiss my clit, lick my cleft, 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 laid on 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.  My eyes asked questions,
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 Holo Program."

She smiled as she closed her eyes, and sought out my face for her
kisses.  My fingers found her wet tunnel as two of her shaking fingers
entered me.  In minutes two sets of cries began to fill the twilight
inside our room.

---

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 to spoil,
progeny, issue, continence of her line.

She stood in her natural state, all artifice and cloaking fled. Black
curls were a coronet, a benediction, tumbling about her splendid and
beautiful face.  She stood, elegance backlighted in the middle of her
room.

How gracefully she flowed across the floor, how trim and lean she was
in reality.  Her naked body speaking the lie to the image I had held
of her as simply "lush".  She should destroy those hideous outfits she
wears on the bridge.

Actually, she should sit next to the Captain without a stitch of
clothes on her body.  She has the balanced type of an look that could
carry off an exhibitionist display like that.

I wondered why Doctor Beverly Crusher has never tried to bed Troi?

Or has she?  Either tried or succeeded?  Because Beverly said she had
not tried lesbian sex for many years, did not mean she hadn't.

Enough.  I'll just lay back and caress Deanna's body with my eyes.

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.
Probably experiencing something she was unaccustomed to dealing with.
She was gazing on my naked woman's 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 when
we returned?    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 showing my emotions?  Could we be in
the same turbolift without me needing to touch her?  She would be
sitting next to Jean-Luc, her thick hair a dark diadem, always drawing
my eyes, her neck and shoulders ever begging for kisses?

She should certainly do away with that ridiculous stiff hairdo, no
matter the outdated fashions on Betazed.

Her curls were such a beautiful sight, so soft in my hand.  Would it
be possible to pass her without wanting to touch her pale cheek with
it's hint of olive?  I would wish to kiss her throat, to lick the
lines of her ear.  For MY sake, I would wish to shout our love
throughout Starfleet, to brag, to shout; "I love Deanna Troi!".

Barring which I must enjoy this night, with no restraints whatever.  I
must bury my fears of a tomorrow without the electric caress of her
lips, the feel of her smaller hand in mine.

I stretched my long legs, accidentally kicking a tube of lubricant to
the floor.  I ignored it, delighting in Deanna's intent gaze. I
stretched my arms, rumpling the bed, wallowing happily in Deanna's
warm examination.  Even if for one night only, she looked on my
sleekness, she MUST lust for my naked body as only a lover might.
Tonight she was my lesbian bitch.

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.  She liked to feel my muscles flex.  Yet I felt so
much a woman with her, 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 love it!  Deanna thinks I've got a GREAT ass!  I want her to kiss
and lick it again.

I emitted a most convincing purr.

Enjoy me, it said, possess me, lavish kisses on me.  Smell me as I
opened, put pinching fingers on my stiffening nipples, my breasts.
Fondle them, lift them, twist them gently and painfully.  Use me,
taste me, force my body into arcs of tensed muscles as fire pulsed
from my groin.  I loved the sound of her eating me.

Capture every essence, drive reason from my mind.  Take me, own me,
drive me crazy.  Turn me into a growling animal, Deanna, please.  Open
my cunt with your soft tongue, your strong tongue, the tongue you
force come from me with.  God, you're a great pussy eater!

"Make love to me, Deanna, please.  Do you enjoy making love to me? All
our nights could be like this, as long as you wished," I said. "I
love you."  How rich the words felt in my mouth, how compleat.

"Meeooouuw," she returned.

"Heeouwessssssss!," I spat back, fingers pinching my nipples, making
them hurt and spike.  How heavy and full they felt!  So tender that
with only a little effort lines of pain would shoot up my spine.  How
exciting they felt, as if forever aroused.

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 labes with an audible smick.  I could smell my wet pussy, my musk,
my arousal, and mentally attempted to will Deanna to come to me.  To
lay fingers, hands, and lips on me, to inhale my scent, then to taste
it.  To thrust that loving tongue inside me, to suck my clit into her
mouth.  To bite me, to feel her tongue inside me.  Then to clamp down
on that worm forcing my tight pussy open.  With one hand I felt my
groin getting wetter, I wanted her so bad.

Was I not beautiful, sensuous, aroused?  Could she not understand how
my need was building, my need to be loved by her?  To be opened by
her, to enjoy the filling pleasure of her fingers, her tongue?  Fill
me, Deanna, darling, lush beauty, fill me, use my body, my cunt, 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
barrel mouth of my cunt.  Tensing the skin, the deeper and tauter
flesh about my clit, sensitizing my lust button.

"Please, Deanna, come to me," I crooned.  "Can't you see how I want
you, how I need you?,"

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 little white
pearl.  I knew what I looked like, down there, I had seen a hundred
hundred clits in my lifetime.  Pulsing with a with a need to be
touched, kissed, sucked, bit, licked, tongued, rubbed, pinched, even
spit upon.

I pushed a spit-wettened finger into the warm tightness of my tube,
stroking myself for Deanna, readying myself for her. Enjoying the
spasms as my body tried to cinch down on my single finger.  I brought
the finger out, sucking it to savor the taste of me.  My other middle
finger maintaining the pressure, the stretching of my clit-bead, a
pleasure-pain whiteness of need until I rubbed a spit-wet finger on
it.

Oh, how rich I tasted!  How delightfully my own flavors made me smile,
and prompted my ass to squirm.

Deanna watched, and still did not move, even as I stuck one, then two
fingers inside myself.  As I rolled my hips with the beginning rhythms
of my masturbation, at first slow, then faster, then slow again with
deep strokes as I inserted three fingers inside.  My hips rose and
fall in counterstroke, letting me enjoy the whorish picture I must
present to her.

My nipples felt heavy, ready to be sore.  My clit pulsed like an
infected tooth, each heartbeat building tension.  I was ready, more
than ready to be loved by Deanna's fingers, lips, and tongue.

"You want me?," she teased.  Oh, the fucking bitch!  She could see my
need, see the way I pried open my lips, see the way I stroked myself,
jerking my slippery finger on my clit.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes," I babbled, subtlety gone in the face of growing
heat, the weight of my labes, the throbbing of my clit, "Please take
me, Deanna, darling, take me, love me. FUCK me hard!

"Then stop what you're doing.  RIGHT NOW!," she commanded.

Whaa?! Deanna just commanded me to do something?

She did not budge, she did nothing.  Only asked, "Didn't you HEAR me,
you damned bitch?"

Bitch?!?  DEANNA???

I stopped in mid-stroke, even though I was so hot.  I could hear the
moist sucking sounds from my finger-fucking, I could almost see
distorting waves of heat rising from my cunt.

I stopped in shock and surprise, goggling at her command.  She had
ORDERED me to stop.  The ring of muscles in the mouth of my hole was
still milking my fingers.  Every nerve was crying for me to continue
self-fucking, self-loving, reach a come.

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???

With hands still locked to my groin, a new rush gripped me, a dizzy
loss of an anchor I had been holding tight to.  It quickly flowed into
a chilling sense of anticipation.  Anticipation of what was to be.  It
was that empty feeling of being controlled, of being led by someone
else, the loss of my pose.  My pose of always being in charge, being
in control, being the boss Croc.

Without thinking deeply, I knew I could deny Deanna the privilege, the
POWER of being the dominator, the authority figure.  I could deny her
the right to flip me, to make me her bottom, and her the Dom.  My
dark-haired lover was no Croc, never a bitch-goddess.

That was MY usual facade.  For a second I toyed with the words to
re-establish who was the big bad Tin-Lizzie here.  But I knew the
multiple natures of myself.  I was always the Croc, but I ANTICIPATED,
I RELISHED my occasional role as bottom.  Dual natures, opposing
wants, conflicting needs.  The story of my life. And, of course, I had
bottomed before.

Deanna was now in charge, period, for I wished it.  I surrendered as
soon as she asked.  For a time, she held the reins of control. 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 not been responsible for our Lesbian
loving.  She had taken on herself, perhaps in cold logic,
responsibility for this.  She could never claim, not even in her own
mind, that she was an unwilling) partner.

She had taken control, had declared a period of this night in which
she was completely in charge, and completely admitting her complicity
in our lesbianism.  She had declared herself partly responsible for
the passions and lusts yet to occur.  I could never blame myself
totally, I was not the evil seducer,

Deanna and I co-jointly accepted it was OUR decision to be lesbians
for tonight.  She was admitting, beyond any doubt, how this night was
a mutual lust, the one with the other.

And best of all, without preamble, I could no longer 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, breasty,
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, I must be wetter,
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.

In minutes she had me on my hands and knees, Deanna standing alongside
the bed, whispering in my ear as she tied my hands together with a
satin scarf.

"I'll take care of you, baby, yes I will, but you'll have to do
whatever I say, do you understand?"  Before I could answer, she put a
finger to my lips.

"Just nod your head, baby, just nod your head."  I did so, with both
doubt and assurance, fear and comfort, anxiety and sureness. I trust
my Deanna.  My.  What a beautiful word.

Perhaps Deanna had not planned this, but she seemed to know
(instinctively?) what to do and how, now that the moment had arrived.
Who had she listened to, what had she read or heard how to Croc a
woman?

Experience?!??  How damned little I knew of Deanna...  And how much I
wished to know, ah!

However, she had me feeling vulnerable, bare ass in the air, open to
anything she might do.  She had another scarf, and I bit my lip as she
tied it about my head, covering my eyes.  I voiced no opposition,
though my chest was tight.  My sex was open to her, vulnerable, and
yet I wanted to spread myself, mentally urged Deanna to do SOMETHING,
ANYTHING, if it would make me come.

Hurry!, my mind said, do it now!  I squirmed in slow circles, rotating
my ass, squeezing my lips together with my legs, shifting, seeming
almost to  hear my labia wetly rubbing, parting when my legs spread
again. I was leaking fluid down both thighs. Oh, hurry, baby!

"Stop that!," Deanna barked.

I was sweating, my needs had me on a knife edge, but with a conscious
effort I became motionless, quivering from the tension of being about
to be loved, mastered...how?

"Doll, lover, I...," I began.

She smacked my ass!  My mouth dropped in shock, and she gave me a hard
slap to the other cheek!  No love pats here, they felt red-hot!

"Quiet, slot!," she bit.  "I'll tell you when you can speak!"

Tears wet my blindfold as she slapped my ass again.  Oh, the pain, the
helplessness, the jagged fear of yet another blow, unable to
anticipate it before it occurred!  How hot I was!

She grabbed my thighs to open my legs.  With my sex exposed, she
slapped me hard, dead center on my clit!  The slot!  Oh, the pain, my
whole body was a hurting groin!

I screamed, a half-drowned rat squeal, unable to concentrate beyond
the reality of the pain in my sex, my clit.  I tried to close my legs,
tuck my ass, protect my cunt.  Deanna reached in, grabbing one leg,
keeping me open, her other hand roughly massaging each cunt-lip in
turn, I must be pure red in color, hotter than Hades!

"Shut up, bitch!  Close your mouth, or I'll REALLY hurt you!"

She  slowly massaged my sex, my lips, bringing me back down, fear
still racing through my quivering body, hoping for gentleness,
softness, loving, relief.  Instead she smacked my asscheeks again!

Again!  And again!  Oh, sweet Buddha, I couldn't breathe, white arcs
were visible before my eyes, nothing existed except the white waves of
saw-toothed pain.  I turned dead, then found wavefronts of pain and
confusion shredding my mind.  My knees rose up off the bed, and I was
cruching.  Hugging my cunt with my thighs in an attempt to save it
from further hurt.

Twice more, this time gently, she smacked the cheeks of my ass, and
pried my thighs apart, the knuckle of her thumb nudging my clit.  At
first the pressure felt like pain, then my mind re-translated it into
sheer pleasurable sensation as life was massaged back into it.

My bead must be the size of my thumb, stiff and super-sensitive. I had
to squirm away, it felt too sharp, it could make me come, but it would
hurt so!

Her thumb followed, to be replaced by Deanna's tongue, licking sweetly
on the lips of my cunt, her hands drawing my hips backwards into the
soothing pains of her mouth and  tongue.

She crouched low behind me, her lovely face in my bottom, my sex,
soothing the tender parts of me with her soft tongue.  She inserted
her thumb into my cuntmouth, then withdrew it.  She rose to kiss my
ass again, wetness on each cheek in turn.  Myself hoping her tongue
would caress other parts of me.

Tonight, as I enjoyed the swells of my hips and ass.  Deanna made me
think of them as perfect, rather than too big, myself as beautiful,
rather than ungainly, clumsy, a large horse of a woman.

Tonight she brought satisfaction to me, she enjoyed me, she could love
me.

I felt the coldness of the fresh lube gel on my labes, I could imagine
Deanna coating her fingers with it.  Having wet both cunt and hand,
there was no resistance as two fingers stroked into me. She very
slowly and very gently searched and fucked me with her wonderfully
hard fingers.  I gingerly brought my knees back to the bed, leaving my
thighs widespread for Deanna.  I had become a come waiting to happen.
A need expressed by my openness.  My eagerness to cinch down on her
moving fingers, to flex my long, soft cunt as they stroked in, out,
then in again.  How can any woman not glory in being a female when she
is being well and truly fucked?

Then she smacked me twice more, not hard, surprise still making me
buck my hips sharply downwards.  She rubbed my lips again, wet fingers
opening me easily.

"You want to come, baby?," Deanna asked in my ear, one hand rubbing a
nipple.

"I'll tell you when you can come.  Not now.  Not just yet.  You're not
going to come for yourself, baby, you're going to come for me. I'll
decide when you're going to come, and you're going to come for me, not
for yourself."

She put her thumb back inside me, then a finger, replacing her thumb,
and began to fuck me noisily, wet smecking sounds excited me as she
put two fingers inside, speeding up her fucking.  Her middle finger
banged me on my clit with each instroke.  She prompted me to move by
pulling on my shoulder, and she paused in her, ah, wonderful!,
fucking.

One hand snaked under my chest, and she tweaked, hurt, rubbed,
caressed, fondled both my breasts, hefting them with her hand. Then
squeezing softly, grabbing harshly, pinching, caressing. Every time
she would pull on a nipple, my ass tucked down with the sensation,
half pain, half orgasmic.  And through it all she steadily fed two,
ah, no!  Now three fingers, oh, how wonderfully filled, used, fucked I
felt!

The waves began to build, the barrel of my cunt was squeezing down in
progressing rhythms on her fingers.

Yes, yes. I was fucked, my lover was fucking me.  She was fucking me
so good.  All I was was a cunt being fucked.  Sweating, relishing the
deliciously dirty sounds her fingers made in the wet mouth of my cunt.

Every time she pinched a nipple, every time a finger joint landed on
my clit, or the tight surface around it, my ass would tuck, my body
would wind the spring a little tighter.

Smack!  Smack!  Dear Buddha, the surprise of new pain!  It stung so!

"Not until I say so, baby," she reminded me, her voice husky in my
ear.  She gently rubbed her wet hand on my smarting asscheeks. "In
just a little bit, baby, hold on, I"ll tell you when."

Her thumb rubbed me, rolled my lips, my clit.  She crouched low behind
me, her hands on my thighs, I anticipated, I WANTED her to suck me,
bite me gently, I wanted her tongue on my puffed-out labes.  She put
her face again into my bottom, her soft lips on mine, sucking my
labia, kissing them, licking between them, tasting me.  Her tongue
probed the entrance to my barrel, she drank me, she wet me with her
mouth, lips to labes.

Deanna straightened, a hand trailing along the length of my body until
she could massage my breasts as they slowly swung back and forth.  Her
hand weighed my breasts, lifted them, swung them, her palms cool and
lovely against my nipples.  They stiffened in her hand, so full of
stiff desire.

One finger, two, three opened me, making me feel full, letting me feel
so fully fucked, making me feel loved!  I sweated, trying to hold back
my come, my need, my main spring.  Those fingers!  The fucking!  Ah,
Saints Sigmund and Albert, ah, the beard of the Prophet, oh, the
incredible SOUND of our fucking!  How filthy and obscene and wonderful
the foot-in-mud smecking was to my ears!

Now I could smell my sweat and my cunt, it MUST overpower the scent of
Deanna's cunt as well, no woman could be as randy as I was.  Ah, the
musk in the air, the wet running down my thighs!

Suddenly she stopped.  Just like that.  Her fingers left me, open,
unfilled, unfulfilled, teetering on the edge of a come.  I felt the
bed droop as she sat down on the edge, by me.  ?????

I could hear her softly panting, and she shifted her weight from side
to side.  I could feel her movement on the bed.

??????

"Deanna?," I asked.  No reaction, no commands to shut up, nothing.
Still blind, I looked towards where she sat, and continued with; "Are
you okay, Baby?  Deanna?"

"Whaaaoooo," she said.  "Ah, oh my, Tasha," she rambled.  "I have to
sit for a moment.  Please forgive me, just give me a moment."

She breathed deeply, until her breathing calmed.  She moved, and I
felt a gentle kiss on my shoulder, a caressing of my head.

"I had to sit down for a second, Tasha," she explained.  "It had never
struck me before, how overpowering the sensation could be of utterly
controlling someone else!

"No wonder men are so reluctant to give any of it up!  It made me a
touch dizzy, this power.  Do you feel so great, so wonderful when YOU
get in control?"

The mood was feeling brittle right then, and all I could do was remind
Deanna of my needs.

"Lover, Deanna, please...  Later.  I"ll tell you all about it. Later.
Right now, honey, I want, I need, please don't leave me hanging free
like this...," I begged, tears distorting my voice.

She rose, her hands flowing over my butt, her fingers finding my
breasts, a hand caressing my groin.

Ah, she did it so slow, so firmly, her thumb caressing my clit,
bringing me back towards the edge.  She kissed my side, my hips, my
butt, her tongue leaving a cold trail, a warm trail, on my skin.  In
seconds her fingers were again going in and out of me, my cunt
tightening on the insistent movements of her fingers.

Ah, I loved the filthy sounds my body made, the obscene sucking,
slurping, smacking rhythm!  I loved it!  And the reawakening smell of
musk, the sweat moistening my breasts, my hips, my legs, the way my
hips bucked and tucked for her fingers without any thought. Ah, I
could - again - feel my groin winding itself up, tightening for a
come.

"Baby," Deanna whispered in my ear.  "Are you ready for me?  Are you
well and truly opening for me?  Are you almost there?"

My head nodded yes, biting my lip with the want heating me.

"Relax, baby, just relax, loosen up and relax, baby, I'm going to give
you your come, you've been a good girl, I'll take care of you, baby,
just relax a little for me," she cooed.

She slowed her fucking rhythm, pausing as she almost withdrew.  I
calmed my breathing, and consciously tried to relax, something hard to
do with my belly and groin as tight as they felt.

I felt the glorious coldness as another layer of lube worked into my
wet puffy cunt.  She slowly fitted four delicious fingers inside, her
other hand kneading my tight and heavy breasts.

At first it was too much, but my muscles gave way, shocking me with
the increased weight and size entering me.  I gave way, and she began
to fuck me faster and faster.  Her thumb beating my asshole with each
smeck-sounding instroke.  In seconds my cunt had adapted as if always
open that far.  I fit like a glove over her fingers, wetting them,
bringing me closer and closer.

She paused again on the outstroke, and I felt her thumb working at the
entrance to my cunt.  This wasn't going to work, I thought. We had to
gradually work into this, it was too soon, it was too early, her hand
was too big, it felt huge as I felt the nudgings in my barrel.  I
tensed for a second, Deanna felt it, and leaned to my ear again.

"Just a little bit more, baby, just relax, loosen, breathe deeply, we
can do it, you know we can, all you have to do is relax, just a little
bit more," she begged, her voice soothing, prompting trust.

My cunt-mouth jerked as her palm and fingers quickly laved another
cold layer of lube gel into my slot.  Her other hand lay on my ass,
bracing herself as she continued crooning to me.  She began squirming
her hand, her thumb already within the mouth of my cunt.

I trust her!  I trust her!  She wouldn't hurt me!  She's my baby! I
voiced those words of love to her, and she kissed my side, my butt,
the small of my back.  She began, ah, so gently and firmly, to enter
me, to force her way deep inside me, all of her, her whole fist, I
could feel the thumb knuckle as it squirmed inside.

There was no pain, nothing, her fingers simply continuing to wriggle.
I shook to feel the easy entering, the seeming immensity of her hand,
her fist, as it made room for itself inside  my cunt.

She.  Was.  In.

The interior pressure made her hand curl over, her finger tips against
her palm.  Inside.  Me.

My whole body was my vagina.  My vagina was my whole body.

I could not breathe, looking for and not finding pain.  I looked for
sign of hurt, and did not find it, no tearing, no breaking,

How long had it been since I'd been fisted last?  Only months?

For seconds I did not breathe, nothing, da nada, she held her hand,
her fist, twisting, flexing, within me.  It had been so unexpected,
now, tonight, from my marvellous Deanna!

She.  Moved.  Her.  Hand.  She outstroked it, then in.....

Slowly, gently, always twisting, she began to really fuck me, her fist
stroking centimeters inside me, no room inside me, she fucked me with
her large glorious moving flexing her thumb and her fingers and her
wrist in the mouth of my pussy and I

came.  and came again  and came  again   and .....

I had become a wet sloppy tight convulsing pussy that didn't want to
stop coming ....

I could feel her knuckles against the mouth of my womb, pushing my
body out of the way.  Ahhah!  The pain when she nudged my cervix. I
jerked, "Don't!  Not too deep, please, baby!"

And yet, as she rotated her hand about, around and around, again and
again, altering the angle of entry, as she worked inside me, the pain
went away.

I came again

In a spray of prickling waves, I could feel the pliable skin of my
groin, it glowed sparkling I expected to see her thumb outlined
underneath my crotch hair.

My clit, so tight it felt, so taut, surely it stood on the bulge
Deanna's fist must make in me.

With each wave of new/old/continuing come, I could feel the insides of
my body loosening, the long internal muscles giving way to that
incredibly beautiful fist inside me.  I'd fisted a thousand times, but
this was DEANNA'S hand in me.

It got better.  The muscles of my cunt tightened rhythmically on her
fist, rippling in waves, utterly beyond my conscious control.

Deanna understood.  "That's okay, baby," she soothed.  "Come for me.
Go ahead and come and come and come, just for me.  Just go ahead and
do it, go ahead and keep coming for me," she kissed my ass, my hip,
the small of my back.

I must have been falling in love with Deanna for years.  She was never
the ugly duckling in those ridiculous Betazed clothes and hair-do's,
not to me, never to me.  Even when I was so in love with Beverly
Crusher, I knew Deanna for a beauty.

That wonderful, blessed, anointed hand kept working inside me, the wet
fucking sound obscene and glorious.  My pussy was dirtier and louder
as I loosened and lubricated.  The foot-in-mud sound I made, we made
together, oh, it sent spasms up and down my spine. My gut quivered, I
loved the sound!  The sound matched me as I came again.

Yes, yes, she was actually fucking me with her fist, my body was open,
her fist moved back and forth inside me.  The filthy plunger sound
coming everytime my hips bucked.  I realized I was making incoherent
animal cries, grunts, squeals, squeaks.  My body bent, twisted, my
head on the bed.  I rolled my blindfold off, bent almost double, then
fell to my side, still double, my thighs aching without spreading.  My
thighs were iron bands of tension. I shook in spasms, pig noises
coming from my nose.  Ah, my legs, the pain of my rigid tendons!  Her
fist was a piston in my cunt.

It had been....  I couldn't recall anyone fisting me this good.  I had
forgotten how much it could stretch and open, and let my insides melt
on a woman's fist.

Suddenly, falling on my other side, head snapping forward, back
curving almost double, my face close to my groin, almost without
breath.  I think she kissed me, but my world consisted of seeing her
forearm terminate in my cunt, feeling her hand inside me. Totally
concentrating on watching.  Myself.  Come.  Again.  And. Again.  And.
Again.

I am going to die.  With her. Fist in me.

I didn't pass out, my back arched, I almost bucked Deanna's hand out.
I made tight pained sounds, and the waves kept flowing over and over
and over me, my cunt rhythmically milking Deanna's fist. Could I make
it shoot cum into me?  I felt as though I could.

Eventually my body stiffened, my hands on my belly.  Inside me I could
feel that stiff hand, I could see my groin bulge with it, I could, I
must!.

Ah, I could feel the contours with my bound hands, the thumb, the
fingers, the shape of it!   Surely I must ....

Her hand had long since ceased motion, and I cinched my muscles down
on her wrist one more time, hard, hard, so hard as to surprise me when
it was not snapped off.  Was it me making pig noises through my nose?

She worked her hand after another minute, after my spasms, my jerkings
had ceased to close and loosen on her hand.  It hurt now, my cunt was
so too much wondrously sore, the itchy pain made me tighten, cinch
down.  Then cum a small cum in a quick series of ripplings, my body
flexing according to its own independent needs.

Breathing shallowly, I deliberately loosened my vaginal muscles so she
could withdraw.  Moments had slipped into the past.  Deanna twisted
her hand slowly within and I could feel the immense relaxing as she
began to take her hand from inside me.

I came again, my eyes turning white for long seconds from the inside
out.  My body arced from the bed until only heels and shoulders and
head, were still touching the bed.  Then I collapsed, jerking almost a
dozen times, body rolling in spasms from side to side.  Thighs
jerking, lifting my knees to my face.

Then, my legs drew tightly together, my bound hands welded hard to my
protesting sex.  Maybe I came again.  Eventually I could lie still,
quivering, panting, sweating, waves of release giving me an unreal
rhythm.  I was enjoying the non-feeling of non-fucking.

Deanna gently parted my legs, kissing wet thighs and working her way
up to the center of my body.  She stuck her tongue into my cunt,
breathing upon my hidden clit, soothing its tenseness with kisses,
lightly licking my puffy labes.

Her eyes bored into mine as her mouth soothed my sparking cunt lips.
Deanna's tongue and lips laved my groin, my slot, my clit, my heaving
belly.  Licking under my breasts.  Unreal they felt, tight and now
dull, so rigid my nipples, so sore, so very sore,

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, 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!

---

the false dawn was beginning to break, that pre-dawn when light
scattering began to change the obsidian of night into dark charcoal.
A glow reflected light 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-love as better than no love whatsoever. We
were friends, and tonight we were lovers.  If we could not remain
lovers tomorrow, it 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.

"More," she murmured, making me leer.

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.  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 three 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, one 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 the dance of our
night's loving.   Deanna giggled to find me already wet again.

---

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!

---

continued in the fourteenth story in the Riding The Tick series 'The Wake'