The BLTS Archive - Gillie by R.Schultz (cousindream@aol.com) --- Disclaimer: All things Trek belong to Paramount and ViaBorgCom. I am borrowing some of their abject and abandoned children and letting them have a rare smiley day and some good sex. They will be returned sated, happy and spent. This story is mine under Berne International copyright law. January, 2002, 9850 words long. Frankly, the good Captain is questioning Starfleet protocols concerning sex and love with other members of the crew. Our Indiana native is re-considering the mating game. Warning: This is TrekSmut, and no underage American may enter here. Nor may those whose locale or country forbids entry to anything smutty. Your masters know exactly what you should be allowed to read, in order to maintain their control. Big Brother knows best. 2nd WARNING! In this story we explore male-female love. If the idea doesn't appeal to you, hit the OFF switch, and go elsewhere. Posted to the CaptainFF. This will be archived at the CaFF TrekSmut site, and later to the ASCEM. May be achieved elsewhere, but please notify. --- Not moving out into the corridors is, in this instance, part of my control. Not giving in .... until now. Seventeen minutes until O700 Zulu. I instruct the replicator, and I pick up the three pips of command to place them on my tunic collar. I'd like to set my mid-fifties frame down to sit in a chair next to the replicator, for my morning coffee. So I stand. I'd like it with lots of cream and sugar, so I have it near black. I'd like something sweet by Caruso in the background so I have no music. I'd like to linger, so I am in the corridors as soon as I've gulped some caffeine. I'd prefer to linger in conversation with passing friends, but I don't have any friends on VOYAGER. I am the Captain, and by my hand I've stranded us all in the Delta Quadrant. I have probably killed us all by that one action. I have no time for friends or luxuries or romance. I am the Captain. I have to return us to the Alpha Quadrant. Everyone likes me. Everyone thinks I can perform miracles on any given day. I am the Captain. I cannot fail. I often wake up feeling sick. I conquer it. I must show no fear. I must lead my sheep home again. They all love me. I am the Captain and I cannot shake the feeling I have killed us all. I visit Engineering. B'Elanna is already there talking with Carey. It is disquieting being so near people who want to take me to bed and make love to me. I cannot allow either one that privilege. I am the Captain and it would be against Starfleet protocols. They seem to have quietly embraced their rejection, certainly much better than I have. It had felt good to bask in their lust, I realize that now. Even B'Elanna's. How did I get into this mess? What did I ever do to deserve it? Tuvok has been a lot of help. Serenity. Calm. I am in Command. I am in a state of grace. I am in Command. Peace. I will never lose control. I am in Command. I am the Captain. In the Galley, I find two of this month's lovebirds are still in the can't-get-enough-or-you stage. I go over and lay some flesh on each, making meaningless noises at the pair, supporting what will probably be two quarrelsome dove's in half a year. A ship the size of VOYAGER is WAAAAy too small an entity for love to flourish. The edges get frayed. Neelix has learnt to cook in the past few years. Neelix is making somebody's shrimp rolls for dinner, Alpha shift. He confides in me that he's cooked a small amount of Leola root in them. He's made thick crisp pancakes with Leola root as a major part of the recipe. They were popular. Now, today, spicy shrimp finger food, and he has to cook twice as big a batch as he should need, to have enough after all the crew members sneak the odd sample or two. They smell delicious, and I'm not even that much of a fan of seafood. I'd like to take four or six to the bridge with me. I take one. On the Bridge I silently pray for no new spatial anomaly today. With any luck my prayer will be granted. I sit there, in my command chair and realize how lonely I am. Chakotay doesn't dare touch me, or it still might screw up the lines of command. We must all get home somehow. B'Elanna's a woman. Seven of Nine is not yet ready to engage anyone as a lover. And did I just admit I might, in desperation, take a female lover? Paris is .... not acceptable. Tuvok only wants to fuck every seven years. And Harry .... it'd feel like incest. The EMH is .... no. So I guess it's time to buy another handy dandy Risan toy through the replicator. Already I've filled one drawer in my night stand. And riding a unicycle is so .... solitary, as the song goes. But it'll get you where you're going. Will enough unicycle's get us back to the Alpha quadrant? I hate the forward view screen. Even when we're circling a nice habitable M-class planet. So many of them have turned out to be nothing but nest's of snake's. I need a nice R&R planet, and I'm not the only one. I need a nice well-endowed male to wake up beside me some deliciously cold morning, there on a pleasant hillside glade. I want to get well and truly mounted, use my mouth a bit, then get mounted again. And then I want to bathe in a frigid stream where little fish will nuzzle me. All I can see now are cold stars in an eternally black night. --- It's all mine now, and I'm a hell of a lot of points lighter in my ration allowance. Still, just looking at it I'm feeling tingly all over. I quickly rub it in my sex cleft, especially enjoying the feeling I get when I nudge my pussy hole's entrance. So what if I'm beginning to fill my second drawer with these toys? For some reason I want to buy my dildo's with myself naked as hell. It makes me feel very sexy to be able touch it to bits of me when it's new and fresh and it's something to anticipate. I rub it on my nipples again, enjoying the simple vibrations it has in it's preliminary reactions. Oooohhh! Tingly! Almost without thought, I've turned it's vibrations off and stuck it into my welcoming mouth. I suck on it and deep throat it and lick it, leaving it sopping wet. By this time I'm back in my bedroom. I collapse back onto my bed, squirming, ready for my new lover. The Risan manufacturers called this one the "Nervous Snake". It's a beautiful pastel peach. It's scales .... Ah-hah! It's scales curl and flutter up and down and it's patterns of movement seem to be truly randomized. I lick it while it's working .... Ooohhh! This one will .... My legs are spread, getting my clit as stretched as I can manage. The first touch of the toy makes my belly tight and my thighs strained and my clit hard. I feel like all my blood is rushing to my sex, my pussy hole. I feel tight and wet already. I stir my groin with it, teasing my cuntmouth with the vibrating tip. I lay it directly on my clit and I roll to my side, forcing that toy against my clit while I shock up to a quick come and avalanche down the far side to a shuddering too hard too quick come. I pull it away from my sex, gasping for breath, letting my fire trails ease down to the occasional spark, until I can roll onto my beck again. Until I can use my free hand to caress my sex, my cunt, to let it stop shivering and shuddering. I kissed and sucked my toy for some minutes, letting me relax and it get sopping wet. Then I rolled my legs open, letting the vibrating toy caress my inner thighs and make them jerk, softly, wallowing in the tickles of my groin. I trekked the tip up and down my cleft, knowing my lips were puffy and my pussy must be tight. It was. One second I was teasing, the other I had tilted my toy out and I was letting it slide inside me. It was such an undesired shock, for something that cold and stiff to penetrate me. It still slid inside me and it slid inside me and GOD did it fill me! My mouth stayed open as I keened with pleasure and shock. It was vibrating and it was cold and almighty how I loved being filled up. I WAS tight and it went inside me anyways and I loved so much to have something inside me. I guess all women had that .... they might talk different, but we loved to have something filling us up and sexing us. We love a new lover. Mine right now was a Risan dildo, but as I came up and over for my second come on this toy, I knew it was still a good fuck I was getting. If my man was a compolodial and plastic construct, my pussy couldn't tell the difference. Five or six minutes later I lay in a light sheen of sweat and anticipation, cocking my head to look at the bit of peach dildo sticking out of my cuntmouth. It looked so beautiful, so desirable. I mauled my pussy with it for a few minutes, getting it nice and wet. I took my hands away. Then I turned the "Nervous Snake" setting on, on the control box. My ankles were in the air, I shoved it's full length inside me, I felt it nudge my cervix, I rolled onto my side again, and while keeping it's wriggling teasing, moving, nudging, twisting, thrusting length inside me, I felt all those wonderful wonderful flapping scales beat at the insides of my tight pussy until I came. It eased almost all out of me and so I shoved it back inside and I came and came again. And again. I squirted which I didn't do that often. I went to sleep after licking the quiet dildo clean. I tasted delicious. Looking out at the stars and StarBows I mentally threw them a fuck you finger. I drowsed off to a comforting major sleep with me still licking it's tip. Planning the dozens of times more where I'd use it. As Morpheus twinned his long arms about me, I thought how much fun my new toy would be if .... If he'd slop my pussy like an old- fashioned butter churn with my toy. Up end me and take my peach- colored dildo and use it on me, push it in me until it hit my throat. Only now it was three times longer than it had been a few minutes ago. I was taking every millimeter of it and loving it. I know I was smiling in my sleep. I think I was obsessing about sex. All because it'd been so long since I had any. Good enough reason. --- It was after a veggie supper in galley. Mess hall, if you wish. In any event, I was on the bicycle in the gym. Thirty minutes. Another eighteen to go. I was to the point where it felt good to sweat, get the burn. I raised my head, idly looking about. Gauging my fellow crewmates, enjoying the pull and movement of flesh. Visualizing a person nude as hell. Erect for me. I'm a pig, and I know it. I like the movement of buns on someone like that lanky Noah, one of the refugees from EQUINOX. Coffee, two creams, handsome fellow. Nice lean flanks. It's pretty obvious he's got a long, nice schlong. He'd look nice lounging nude in my bed. There's Bledik, he's nice and slender. He finally got those two big scars on his face fixed. It was a hard life sometimes, being Maquis. He smiles more since he finally had the EMH remove them. Maybe he'd smile in my bed. I've never had any Bajoran's before. What can they REALLY do with those nose ridges? I try to remember Carey. There was that one time he was down to a pair of bikini bathing trunks, that time when everyone was doing the dive-into-the-pool thing on one of our rare R&R planets. Very hairy arms and legs. He probably had a pubic bush the size of an ewe. I could get very serious with a hairy man. Maybe I had been a tad hasty in turning Mr. Carey down, those years ago. Him and a few others. Mr. Kim entered, accompanied by B'Elanna Torres. I had to admit if I did women, Lt. Torres would have been a prime specimen, hard to resist. That crimson unitard didn't leave a lot to the imagination. For one thing her sex cleft was obviously outlined. Lt. Torres must be trolling for a new lover. She let a leer escape her, staring at me, telling me she'd caught me looking. Harry Kim was bent over the treadmill, when I got to him. I was getting hooked on male buttcheeks. Harry had a nice pair. Wait a minute! Was I buying a new sex toy here? Or thinking of getting up close and personal with another living humanoid? I wasn't looking for a husband, no. Or a wife, thinking of B'Elanna again. No, I was contemplating a lover. Someone who would be and could stand to be much, much more than a sex partner. More than a periodic stud. Someone I could allow to be my steady boyfriend. Someone for me to lean on, in the privacy of my, our, cabin. Someone to touch me when I need reassurance, someone to hold me when I cry. Someone I would like to smile at me across a pillow. Someone I could stand to let use my shower, and someone who'd grin when I cooked something he bit into that tasted like an Irish shoe. I had to be more passive about this, patient. All those years I've automatically rebuffed anyone who tried to come close. Let those who wanted my body make their intent known to me, and let my emotions go on from there. Keep an open mind. Damn! In the end we've still got to wait for the male to take the first important step. All these years I've set my heel on their instep. How do you get back in the game? Too bad I shouldn't be the aggressor. I'd like to base my choice on how they looked naked. Like men do. Maybe I SHOULD be the aggressor? I got back to serious pedaling. After years of rebuffing every soul who rubbed on me, how do I announce my change? --- The next morning I was a bit blasé, wishing I'd loosened up enough to get a fresh juicy raspberry strudel for breakfast. Just one. I was twenty meters from my cabin when I turned around. I got a strawberry latte for my coffee, and a soft raspberry strudel to eat at my station. Starfleet regulations said no food on the bridge. In my Captain's command chair, I carefully ate the strudel. Licking every crumb off the WxPr wrapping. Then I had a steaming mug out of my thermos. Everyone else could smell it, I'm sure. Tomorrow this bridge crew is going to bring a goodie in for breakfast. Chakotay will have his Baklava. B'Elanna will have Klingon Pizza for breakfast. Tom will have a juice/soda pop. Harry will have two crisp egg rolls. Tomas will have a fried chicken peta pocket. Every once in a while I signal to everyone, like that. Tomorrow the rules get bent a bit. Actually more than that happened. I was already whirling round and round at my ready desk, in my bridge office, doing some of the unending PADD work. I looked up and saw it. It being a small bud vase and a single exquisite Orange rose in it. For a while I stared at it like it was a poisonous snake. It was short-stemmed, and it had some uninviting thorns on it. I stood up and walked around it. Then I blushed. And smiled. Just when I was debating my courses of action about getting a boyfriend, someone was getting (back?) into the courting game. It could be B'Elanna, of course. It could be someone I disliked, as a lover. Though I think only Neelix would fit into that category. Touching the petals with my fingertips, I kept putting off that moment when I would drink in the scent. Orange meant fascination, I must check that with Computer. Fascination. Intriguing word. Of course it could all be done by someone who had not a notion of the meaning of a rose's colors. Oh, such a lovely scent! No note .... this is fun! Who could it be? Someone who hid the vase and flower in the folds of his jacket as he quickly stepped into my office. That night I put them into stasis. I had a feeling. --- The next day I found two taper candles on my desk. Marked one regular flame, the other a bright red flame. --- The day after that I found a vase with a Red rose and a White rose in it. Both just rousing from being a bud. Lovely smell. Indicating passion and innocent friendship, if he knew roses. I was now coming in late so as not to catch my admirer. My secret lover. I hadn't felt this romantic for twenty years. Certainly not with Mark and his too logical range of varied options in life. --- For a week afterward we attempted to find a nice diplomatic answer to the problem of passing through a group of stars claimed by a Republic of finicky nervous hotheads. God, I hated these self-important bastard air heads with inflated and unnecessary notions of their own self importance. In the end we took off at an angle, attempting to outrun the news of our renegade status. Not quite. We began repairing the structural damage immediately. All because, like most bureaucrats, those officials needed to throw their ridiculous weight around. Prime, secondary or tertiary directives be damned, sometimes you just wanted to nudge an asteroid at their capital city, then sit back and enjoy their attempt at fireworks. --- Two days after I termed us officially free and clear, two more roses appeared on my desk. They were Yellow, for friendship and joy, and a Coral, for desire. I admit to being quite intrigued, not to mention my belly was feeling tingly. You show me a woman who doesn't enjoy being paid secret court to and I'll show you a dead one. I could have asked the Computer to run scenes in my office, but I had decided to play this game to the end. I was enjoying it, and enjoying not knowing who did it. The next step came next morning. Two white cards were set upright on my ready desk. On one side were a print of two taper candles burning, one bright red, the other ordinary flame. On the back of each one was a reproduction of a wine label. One a white Chablis from New Melbourne, the other a dark Picard burgundy from France, Terra. Starfleet personnel always have a tendency to overrate the Picard's, but it was indeed a beautiful example of the Burgundy type. Something was tickling at the back of my mind for quite some time, until it struck me. This was a menu. My male courtier was building an elegant dinner for two. Hell, even if it was B'Elanna I'd get a damned good meal out of it. And I'd damned well get doggie bags, the hell with image. It struck me there were ways to input this dinner. Computer made me up a few of the white cards, with the candles on one side. I left two cards of my own. One was the label of a Chateau Neuf de Pape, a sweet liqueur wine. The other was for thin-sliced smoked and wine marinated beef brisket in wine sauce. Course #1. Then came two more candles, same as before, and a orange and Wyess Hair sherbet addition. I replied with Indiana German Potato Salad. He brought in Syrian Eggplant Salad with spinach and lentils, with a fruit compote. I replied with a brown trout plank broiled with a lot of white onion butter and Dijon mustard sauce, and carrot and spinach shredded on top. The next day he added sieved lamb spread thickly on thin phyllo sheets, cut, and made into rolls. Accompanied by white grapes. I was beginning to drool about this meal for the food alone. He began adding poetry to the cards, with the black bean soup with Cumberland honey mustard; "Blue-eyed gleaming, is your face With dark-ridged eyes over it. Far branching is your hand. I owe a poem that does not lie. Let us toast to your shapely figure - Swift, mighty - side by side. Accept my best poems and songs Bright, - languid, noble precious one." -Irish, 13rh Century- From me; thin sliced double smoked Sopot pork loin, peas, hard boiled eggs, mushrooms and pre-sautéed onion bits in an open-topped meat pie. With his egg rolls and won ton soup with straw mushrooms, was this: "As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I; And I shall love thee still, my dear, ‘Till a' the seas gang dry. And fare thee well, my only love And fare thee well, awhile! And I will come again, my love. Though it were ten thousand mile." -Robert Burns- Napa's Loewens Pinot Gras Creton Blanc des Collinges Rouges white from me. His Golden Tiger Dumpling soup included; "When I think of you Fireflies in the marsh rise Like the soul's jewels Lost to eternal longing Abandoning my body." -Chinese- I threw in simple spaghetti with butter sauce. Back came Chinese hot oil spicy spinach soup including this: "Then to my soul an awakening came, And there again your face appeared, Like a vision, fleeting, momentary, Like a spirit of the fleetest beauty And my heart beat with a rapture new, And for it's sake arose again A godlike face, in inspiration And life, and tears, and love, and you." -Pushkin- True, Computer could set up a program to supply the poems. Somehow I thought this secret courtier was not unacquainted with poetry. --- "Well, hello," the EMH smiled; "Time for another massage, Captain?" "Set up the privacy seal, Doctor," I asked. "I want to do something radical about the state of my body. I want you to fix something about it. A couple of ‘it's'. "You do include cosmetic surgery in your skills, don't you" --- Okay, so it was cheating. I was fifty-four years old, and I figured it was time I had the ol' bod overhauled. It's just coincidence that I'm doing this when I've got to be counting down to a romantic dinner. Like hell it is. The arms were first, according to the Doc. This version of the EMH was so different from his usual self, for these pinch and tuck sessions. This EMH was more a slick item, full of diverting chatter, sharpster dialogue. He would have made a good magician for children's birthdays. He was always seeking to distract with one hand and pull something off with the other. I realized I was viewing a whole new facet of the EMH's original matrix. I wondered how many other crew members had met this aspect of the Doc? At any rate, he worked on the upper arms first. I wasn't flabby, or wattled, but he tightened me there. It hurt for hours, but afterwards I thrilled to look at them and see my arms flex. Then he hit on my lower belly. A definite trio of pre-sag's there. At the end of twenty minutes my bit of flab above my pubic hair was history. I didn't have steel abs, but I also looked .... well .... firm there. I LIKED running my hands over the sore steady flesh now. I was masturbating for some minutes in admiration before I realized the EMH was pointedly looking over his drawers of tools. That made me wet and tingly. Granted he was just our Doc, same as before. It made me feel sluttish to have jilled off in front of the EMH. I wanted to come while he watched. I definitely had the horny's. It took four days of work done in small sessions. Hips, but not ass. Taking it as an artist's opinion, he left most of my ass alone. The new aspect of the EMH thought a few centimeters right off my hips and upper thighs would do the most good with the least surgical or otherwise work. Afterwards I was amazed how much more slender my body looked. With holographic mirrors I could see me clearly. A little off the backs of my upper thighs, and I would wind up with an absolute assassin's ass. More belly work. He said I looked different with body work, and afterwards he could look on my body and decide where little cuts and nips made my body look more natural. Finishing-up work. Inner thighs were done, mostly for tightening up. Finish-level general thighs. A small tuck on my eyelids and a tiny chin tuck. Then my breasts. I loved that most of all. I didn't reduce them, or give myself teenager's tight perky breasts. But MOST of the natural sag went away. The slick feather-merchant cosmetic surgeon EMH convinced me no sag would be unbelievable. A little sag would be believed. They looked absolutely gorgeous. I saw myself in the holo mirror, an all-around view for over-all effect. I grabbed the EMH and kissed him devotedly and heatedly for about eight minutes. He pretended he didn't know I was masturbating while I did that. Then I did nothing but work my breasts in the SickBay holo mirror. I was going down to a breast orgasm before I pulled myself back in embarrassment. Then I thought there was just me and the Doc here. But the magic moment had been lost. My nipples were chips-of-stone spiking, though. I did idly wonder how far the Doc could go the next time I was naked and face down on his massage table. I was turning into a complete slut. --- Naked, that night, I was again sexually enthralled by my new body. I felt younger, I looked younger, my hands kept finding this new body and exciting it. I looked into my mirrors, fondling my sides and belly and pubic hair. And especially my breasts. I couldn't stop masturbating me as I looked on the new me. In the end, I trundled one mirror over to where it was opposite me on the bed. Watching me lay on my side and churn my groin. Even my body hair felt and looked more sexy than I could remember. I loved me, playing with myself, in the long mirror. I was on fire. My hand in my sex, my mind gone white in what I was feeling. I found one of my old toys in the drawer. Risan, of course. I always was a snob about so many things, for all the good it ever did me. Wine and men and vibrators. It was vibrating in my hands, my pussy was ready, wet, for it. I seated it in me, it went all the way inside me, it filled me, it made my clit hard, to be in me. I had one of the universal remote's to hand. I pressed the seat, and thousands of compolodial plastic threads shot out, seating itself in my sex. A thumb kept my clit from being covered. That way it and some of my sex cleft was not covered by the seating rush when it spread over my groin. My body sat in a heels squat like some Chin peasant, my mind boggling to see a few centimeters of dildo pointing downwards out of my pussy. I loved the sight of it there, bussing my vagina happy as it tried to clamp down on the plastic intruder. Then I turned it on full. It pulsed in and out of me, it fucked me so good and hard, it pulled at my entire groin as it pulled out of me and forced itself into me. My breasts were full of hardness behind my flinty nipples. My hands worked them, roughed them up, pinched my nipples, made my large soft firm breasts be full of heat and tenderness and pain. The dildo visibly fucked me in and out and I came. oh so hot my belly was full of fire and so tight I could see so clearly my pussy being filled as I came. Once I collapsed, I quickly retrieved my dildo. I turned it off, and pulled it out with a loud sucking pop. It was so good. I tasted beautiful. I loved the new me so much. I went through my next bridge shift in a high degree of tension, sitting constantly with my legs crossed. Working one leg or another. Aware of what I knew was a wet and excited groin, of what I was sitting on. My beautiful pussy. I remembered, back in school, how I had been terminally nervous and wet whenever I sat next to a boy I wanted to love and dance with and be ravished by. Great word, ravished. Back then I had started wearing colored satin panties rather than white cotton. Lace edges, too. --- On the bridge we had to cope with another damned aggressive star race thinking they could bully and then destroy the lone intruder. Fortunately we could again out-race the bastards. If Prime Directive had allowed I could have K'ed five or six of their ships, leaving them to contemplate the wisdom of tackling unknown quantities. Does most of the Delta Quadrant live in a perpetual cloud of testosterone, or what? --- Two days later I woke up distracted, not even interested in enjoying my new body with an old Risan friend or two. I was even in a good mood, for a change. I had some sweet double chocolate coffee latte in my thermos and a crumb or two of Currantberry Danish was still on my lips. I was early to the Bridge. I was humming when I met Lt. Harry Kim coming out of my Captain's office. I stepped aside to let him by, then thunder struck. A white card sat upon my ready office desk. "Mr. Kim," I barely croaked. He stopped and looked to me, quite ashen faced. He'd been caught out, and he didn't know what I was going to do about his secret courtship. I didn't either. It was great fun and sexually exciting while it was a game, while he was my secret admirer. Now was the moment of truth. "Could you come by my office later today?" I asked. "No hurry. Whenever you can find some free time," I added. Nothing for anyone to look up at. Just another item in a long day. Yeah. He had offered Romanian Anticuchos apple & orange slices over pork chop casserole, over brown crisp rice bed. I had a card in my hand for little blueberry tart pies. I stood and wandered to my windows, ignoring the cold far stars. What the hell do I do? He's half my age. Nice buns, but what comes down when we've worn out our stock of small talk and sex play? He's half my age. I'm more than old enough to be his mother. He's a sweet person, I don't think he has a mean bone in his body. Is that enough? He's half my age. About the sex .... I know the crew uses creams like "Hard" and "Tempt". It makes the old male problems a thing of history. Some call them cheats, but I don't think any female declines their use by their boyfriend. Still. Half my age. Half my age. Admit it, Kathryn Janeway, Katie-me-darling, it's a little bit exciting, isn't it? Half your age. Half my age in Tom Paris is irritating. Half my age in Harry Kim is a titillating thought. The muscles of youth, the attitudes of youth, the adventure life is when you're young. Games. Fun. Spirit. Half my age. So what do I do when young Harry comes back? Strip him and mount him on the couch? Have him poke me bent over the ready desk? A little wild sex on the rug? No, it just wouldn't be me. Admittedly I've been letting my libido carry me away, lately. But deep inside I wanted more of what I've been getting. A courtship. Romance. It's damned exciting. Having a Secret Admirer fulfills something so basic and so needed, in me, that there is no denying that need. Maybe later we could have that wild time, that gay time, those adventures, the open-air marathons of sex, the day-long periods of doing nothing but enjoy our nudity's without sex or passion. Just relaxation's. The sunny days on holodeck Risa. Standing in a pool on an R&R planet and letting the fish nibble at us. But; Important questions to broach sometime. Did he want children? How intense and close could I dare to let him come into me? Would he stand for us getting together periodically rather than constantly? Would it better that way? Half my age. What did he want out of me? I must know before I dared to let him come closer. I would be disappointed if all he wanted from me was sex. A courtship should result in more than that. I wanted more. But I don't think I wanted a husband. I wanted a Gillie. Somebody more follower than servant. Someone less slave than bonded friend. Someone to follow my lead or command on the bridge without reservation. Yet someone to be a lover in the privacy of our cabin. He's so innocent. Or is he? Lack of experience doesn't need to mean lack of knowledge, lack of adulthood. The door chimed, and it was Harry. I was still carrying his Romanian casserole card. I fished out my blueberry tart pies and held it out to him. He glanced at it, then with a very tentative little smile, he looked in my eyes. Evidently jets of flame were not issuing from them, so he came closer. I did not move to my desk. Instead I sat on my couch and patted a space beside me. He was smiling now. I was accepting his courtship. Even he realized that, and men usually don't realize anything unless they're hit across the head with it. Maybe understanding was something to expect from him. I thanked him for the proposal of a date, and such an elaborate one. I told him it tickled my fancy. I didn't mention the whole concept made me hot. We on VOYAGER didn't have the option of going to a show or a presentation, a new live Drama or ballet. All we had was what was already here. What we had in our disc or filche rod collections. Harry offered two items for us to view, if I wished it. One was a flat black and white film called: "The Postman Always Rings Twice", and a once famous New Melbourne team of comedians in "Twins". Some little thing for us to enjoy if I wished something like that. A show never seen by me to center the evening. Harry attempted to kiss me, and I let him give me a very proper peck on the cheek. I fondled his chin, enjoying the feel of barely felt stubble. He had a soft sweet lemon after-shave. I inhaled deeply, determined to know it in the future. I almost raped him while adoring the smell and feel of civilized man. I wanted to lick his face. I wanted to tear off his clothes. I wanted to bite the small hard nipples I knew he had. I wanted to kiss him until our tongues were work-welded together. I was so afraid. My palms were sweaty. We agreed to have our dinner date next Thursday, six days, in his cabin. Maintenance had already made a knock-down real wood table to hold the entire feast. Harry had paid ration points for all that food, plus stasis bags for afterwards. Under questioning he stated he had lessons on the holodeck to improve his billiards and pool game. Tom Paris, B'Elanna and T'Chell contributed a major portion of the cost. I gave him a few, and he was gracious enough and non-chauvinistic enough to accept my help. We both stood for his leave-taking, and we bantered meaninglessly as we neared the door. It was at the stairs, when he stood beneath me, that I caressed his head, turning it to me. He looked surprised when I bent to him, but he closed his eyes as I brought our lips together. I gently let my tongue lick his lower lip, taking in the taste of him. He touched my tongue, licking my upper lip, holding my chin as he pressed our lips together. His eyes came open, his hand found the contours of the back of my neck, the fragile form of my ear, the first hairs in front of my ear, and the dark arch of my eyebrows. I pulled back, it felt like that one hand was the grip of Hercules, I could just barely force my head back from his. "Thank you, Harry," I tried to smile. "I'm already anxiously waiting for next Thursday." He kissed the knuckles of my hand. They turned to fire. He actually kissed my knuckles, as smoothly as a Hungarian count in one of my bodice-rippers. He kissed my knuckles. He said something incredibly soft in French. I loved that moment, it was one of the great moments in my life. Then he half-turned and went through my door. I suddenly worried about my lip gloss being on his lips, then remembered I'd worn nothing this morning. I collapsed on the couch. I was in shock for the longest time, but I wasn't afraid. My palms were REALLY sweaty, though. The real fear came later. What Ifs went through my mind like a string of pearls. I had to hide in my dumper for a while. --- In the end, on Thursday night, I called for a site-to-site transport. I brought the candles, the Roses still fresh in stasis, and the last dishes as a courtesy. Also a Turkish red lentil soup and a green lentil soup, both with hot Italian oil and squares of toasty French bread. I'd thought about a fancier hair-do than my French braid, but then I thought it might make me look funny or old. Mark used to like it built up, and maybe that's a good enough reason to like something simpler. Harry was in black tux and tie with white boiled shirt, being at that moment one of the most elegant men I had ever known. I felt like asking him if he was sailing the TITANIC for pleasure or business. At which point he was supposed to reply that on this night it had turned to pure pleasure. I was in teal-blue evening dress with a lot of my new breasts proudly displayed for Harry's enjoyment. Plus an evening drape which he graciously hung up alongside the door. I had half heels, and underneath it all, hi-thigh white ornamental cinnamon hose, clinging tightly to my legs. Two white half-slips to add body to the swirl skirt of my dress. No panties. As sister Phoebe would say, I was loaded for bear. I had my mind firmly committed to the notion of a modicum of decorum on a first date. Still .... My libido kept giving me visions of me spilling out of my bra and delightfully impaling myself on a prone and groaning Harry Kim. Me and my libido were going to have a serious talk, one of these days. Soon. My libido was needing some discipline. Harry lit eight candles in all, half red flame, half regular flame. As an Admiral's brat, I knew that the secret of enjoying multi- course feast's is to have just a little of each. Take our starters: black bean soup with diced flank beef and toasted Italian bread cubes, with lettuce salad, with crouton and tomato. A few samples, then the item is replaced by the next. You had time to concentrate on the individual flavor, and we had one of six wines to drink with it. All the while Harry would point out the musical selection riding the background softly. Brahms, Artie Shaw and Mendelson, Handel and Leonid Protoprokof and Ty Vingh. Harry loved his music. Harry had me sniff the cork before he poured, he carefully slid segments of meats onto my plates, cups of exotic soups into my bowls and half-flutes of Brut New York champagnes so cold that I could still feel its chill as I slowly sipped its icy flavor. I realized he had spent enormous numbers of ration points for the white blue-rimmed dinnerware set and the silver plated cutlery. Unless he brought it on the ship with him, and I doubted that. The food itself might be the smallest part of his probable cost. In my time I'd played the quadrangle game. To myself I admitted I'd made a few wrong choices in my youth. Boy spends a lot for girl. Girl spreads her legs for guy. Simple. Too simple for me anymore, and VOYAGER is too small a ship for the game. Boy and girl might spend the next decade in same small space. Bad vibes. In my time, in my younger years, all the males wanted to roll on the cute dainty-looking new cadet with the nice chest rack. I'd been offered some really nice incentives, some costing many Cred's. But nothing had impressed me more than this dinner date. So many of these dishes had to be hand-made by the host himself. Harry Kim had devoted many hours to this culinary creation. No man would have done this just for sex. He was proud beyond mere words over this masterpiece. I was honored beyond easy words. Half my age. He was fascinated, enamored and lustful, yes. Harry Kim also was as close to being in love with me as to make no difference. It's very hard to be aloof from someone else's love. Especially if you feel something in return. A totally romantic approach like this is bound to tug at the heart strings of someone who reads far too many bodice-rippers for her own good. I felt like the Merchant's Daughter being seduced by the Crown Prince. He showed me his Akshobhya Buddha, complete with an incense bowl and a drawer of prayer ceramic wristlets. It was a shock to me. We were all so secular on the VOYAGER, it never struck me some of us still valued our old religions. He showed me his Chinese scroll with a simple coral colored ball delicately drawn at the bottom. It was a poem to a ball. I had already noted his Georges Seurat "Port en Bessin" print. All pointillist earth tones. Half my age. We dance, and once we had settled into the rhythm's of ancient courtly quadrilles and fox-trots, we learned to do it without conscious volition. We women train to dance with fantasies like this in mind. As we swirled to Russian masters, I felt like asking him was it true the Bolsheviks were gathering in the streets in revolt? To which he should reply that nothing mattered except being with a Princess of the Royal Family on a night of romance. Half my age. I'd be a cradle robber. Yeah! DOWN, libido! Harry is taller than I am, and his smoothness states he went to the trouble of learning these steps in some holodeck tutorial. His arms had strength, and his legs an innate grace. For some time he suffered an erection, but I pretended innocence, and it ceased to bother us and it went away. But my face warmed to feel him like this. I absolutely positively flamed with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude to feel his sexual desire against my belly. Such a response from Tom Paris would have angered me. Probably Noah too. Though maybe not from Carey. From Harry Kim I felt like I had been blessed. I wanted to get him off by fondling him through his pants. I had it bad. Down, libido! I pretended a need to go to the dumper, and from my purse I slipped on my teal satin panties with the Unicorn face on them. I was backing away from thoughts of letting this be a sexual date. This was just too damned fulfilling as a romantic interlude. I felt like the Governor-General's daughter dancing with a gorgeous pirate. I felt like the landowner's wife, dancing with the Coldstream Guardsman while the Irish rebel hid in my cellar. I have to stop reading those damned books! I came out and Harry (such a chest he seemed to have now that he was my date!) asked if I did the Tango. I was a piece of fluff buffeted by circumstance. He was a bit clumsy, but I didn't mind. This was a romantic odyssey. He carried me, I was in ecstasy, he moved me, he twirled me in his arms. I felt the complete adored female where a few hours of abandoned sex would have simply left me wanton and sated He bent me to the floor, I was his Gillie, his slave, he was my master at that moment, not his captain. Harry paused, I stared up into his transfixed dark eyes. I knew he was going to bend his head, force open his lips, and kiss me. He did. I kissed him back. He licked my lips, he touched my teeth with his tongue-tip, he pressed his strong lips against mine. My libido gave me a vision of us coupling like mad dogs on the floor. My libido gave me a vision of him ripping off my clothes and dragging my twisting eager body to bed. My libido gave me a vision of me draped over his tiny couch, my skirt up around my armpits. Harry having me from the rear, his murmuring interrupted by growls as he bit me about my shoulders. I was no longer his Captain, I was his Gillie. I was his bondservant. He was my master and friend for life. I've got to stop reading those bodice-rippers. He straightened me up on my feet and we finished the dance. Graceful, smiling, composed. Afterwards I kept my hands from shaking by holding them to my stomach. They were still sweaty. Harry was erect again and we ignored my blushes. I said I had to go, and he protested enough for me to know he meant it. I stuttered a little. He got my wrap and I got my purse. I felt too hot and presumed I was wet. He asked if I'd come back tomorrow to help finish the dinner. He forced me to take something with me when I went, and I chose the white grapes. We exchanged small talk, me half-hoping he'd come up with a plausible excuse for me to spend the night. If he'd asked he could have had me, first date be damned. When I started to call up a site-to-site, he leaned forward (his tie was crooked now!) and pulled me closer for a true kiss. One of those kisses where he bends your head back and lightly licks your lips before you give him a little tongue. Harry's shoulders were broad, for his size, and his neck felt full of corded muscles and his arms were twice or thrice as strong as my own. My eyes were closed when the kiss ended, and they stayed closed as I finished calling for a site-to-site. I opened them facing the large clock I'd come to hate years ago. I had to sit. It's difficult to know how many times I got myself off with a variety of my toys, but I was sore when I woke up. The EMH had a hundred questions when I dropped by to get that problem fixed, but after one look at my clouded face he wisely asked none of them. I reflected on how intimately the Doc knew each and every female on this ship. The secrets he could tell! --- We had the Chicken, and we leaned into knowing each other. I gave him a light kiss at the door. Maybe we lingered a tad too long on that. He was dressed in plum silk shirt and loose black pants, I was still in my Captain's service uniform. Though I did take off my tunic. My service shirt and bra was quite modest enough, I thought. Harry was glad of the opportunity to tell a new face of himself. Quirks, loves, so much that never comes over in a dry report. The things I'd never noticed despite daily contact. To his credit, Harry quickly ended his own self-display and began worming information and habits from me. It was invigorating being the center of attention. He asked about Grandma Gretchen and the animals I loved back on Terra. I mourned the loss of my Irish Setter, and swore to have another some day. I talked of Phoebe and my jealousy, her statues and paintings and how I had hated them for so long. Especially I talked about my Admiral father and the tapestries of conflicting emotions he was in my heart. How I worshipped him and made him my guide through life. And how I hated him because he never gave me the unrestrained approval that Phoebe got. I did not say it to Harry but inside me I admitted how I wished my Father would have taken me for his mistress. Old dogs lying unstill. A few bitter-humorous stories from the Academy, my achievements there, a carefully selected few of my losses there. Some losses are too embarrassing to share. Especially with someone who might become someone very special. My first horse, and how I was taught to carefully train it first. Not to break it, but train it to one rider and one rider only. Me. There existed a horse named Tony who would only let me ride him. I had one of the Ipagio saddles and it was like riding barebacked so far as Tony was concerned. Few things are so important to a pubescent as her horse. I had my hair right down to my ass that thirteen-year-old summer. I've never worn it that long since Tony's death. Harry told me of the lease he had on a section of sunken seamount in the southeastern Los Angeles islands. His dream, one of them, was to DeepSuit the Pico or Olympia digs, be part of the Museum team. In his spare time he would excavate his section of the sunken city. Old oil well machinery rusted there. He also talked about sailing a one-man rig across the Pacific. Being part of the Jupiter Mantle Survey. Helping rebuild Africa with Kenya‘s Resurrection Project, or Project Leo in the Botswana. Harry told of his parents, and their deliberate choice to break away from the all-pervasive Old China society of the emigre's. His father had a blond American mistress, when Harry was a teenager. The scroll on his wall was one of his mother's that he had secretly bought at auction before he sailed. He did not want to embarrass her. In a sign of how contrary humanity is, his folks were together building a retirement home west of Schwezuan, in the mountains. The days went by. Temporal anamolies. B'Elanna came together with Paris again. She must see something I didn't. Another batch of obnoxious Delta natives appeared in our way. On a away mission there Harry almost lost his life. Again. In another one of these useless pissing contest encounters. I wished to kill them all. For hours after I sat on my desk, my feet on my chair, looking out at the stars in near-grief. They'd gotten so fiercely cold again. Full of ice flint and greed and hate and war and implacability. I had forgotten how much I hated them. Chakotay had come in to hold me a while. We both wanted to destroy these hateful people. We both feared one day we, individually or collectively, would rain destruction on their planet. Five, six dozen asteroids from out their Ooort cloud, and orbital fortresses and spacial navies could be utterly and totally overwhelmed. Their home people would achieve the fate of the dinosaurs. Later B'Elanna sat next to me, curled on the couch, and told me jokes and lies and slander and gossip. Things for me to think about instead of Harry Kim. She gave me a sweet warm little lover's kiss when she left. Telling me Paris could be replaced. The EMH had gave me bi-hourly reports on the rebuilding of Harry's legs. Harry repaired uniformly well, but I still hated the stars. The thought of him never dancing again filled me with ice water and loss. I hated the Prime Directive, I hated me for following it. Everyone knew Harry and I were an item, by then. I didn't much care. I brought him home to his cabin, and tucked him in. I fed him real Pennsylvania cherry cheesecake and talked to him of the happenings on the ship. We listened to Benny Goodman and Chrissie Hynd. He told me of his ex-fiancee, the one who had gotten a new boyfriend in half the time it took Mark to dump me. I learned how to make Grandma Gretchen chicken noodle soup and made a pot for him. When I gave him his first bowl, he said he recalled it as a North Chinese soup and could I leave the recipe? For weeks I didn't feel the need to masturbate, or fondle his wrecked body. But I had changed. I cried a lot when I went to sleep, because we were all at risk, on this ship. What if I committed him to a mission of death and Harry died? How in Buddha's name could I cope? A new love, a new set of spices added to my life and then dismissed like a bad memory thrown away? What if he died before I'd made up my mind? That hurt most of all, and I had to hide my head under my sheet when I cried, away from the cold hating stars. My breakfast's were spare again, and I did more gym after work. I wore a hi-thigh one-ply skin tight green unitard that showed off my new body like it was sprayed on. I worked sixty minutes a day minimum to keep this body. I wanted to prove something. Harry Kim might be half my age, but he wasn't after some decrepit desk jockey back in Starfleet HQ. My unitard didn't leave anything to the imagination, no it didn't. Nipples, clit and sex cleft, belly button over strong abs, an exquisite small woman's ass, it was all out there on display for anyone on VOYAGER to drool over. Harry Kim was after one of the best bodies in Starfleet, and I had to prove it to them. Look, I said, Harry Kim wanted a body every male, and some of the females, must lust after. I developed good bi's and delta's, and I drove myself in my cabin as well. Yet I was afraid to make the decision. Making decisions was something I did on a daily basis. This one was easy. I didn't know what my heart wanted, so I should be able to make a decision based on physical needs only. Why then did I think of Harry Kim in terms of watching him shower in my ensuite, the smell of his lemony cologne lingering on my hands and the textures of the lean muscles in his shoulders? We now had our dates in my cabin, pleasant low-key ones. We danced and I told him of my fantasies. He set up a date on HoloDeck Two, where we were passengers on the TITANIC. We danced in period costume and pretended our voyages must end in New York where my husband must claim me and his wife him. My dress was all cream and pink ribbons, his was his tux with a new shirt and tie. It was so incredibly romantic, his dancing was flawless, the band was superb, his words bespoke romance, the French Champagne made me a little bit woozy. How cold the Brut was. We threw snowballs at each other, made from the ice on the foredeck. We watched the flares burn overhead and went home through the holodeck bulkhead door, leaving the doomed people of the TITANIC behind us. Slowly we walked back to my cabin in costume and a cloud of romance, sweet perfume and leather men's cologne. Passing crew nodded and envied me this golden moment. My arm was hot where it curled in his. My gloves hid sweaty palms, my bosom was blushing and my heart beat much too fast. My groin felt wet and Harry had erected twice for me. I was having trouble breathing. How patient Harry was in courtship, how close he moved alongside me this night. Harry begged off a nightcap, even though it was cheesecake and more champagne. He bent to kiss my knuckles and my hand was on fire again. He murmured his apologies. Tomorrow he might be dead. I laughed and told him we should do the Jovian Moons shuttle some night. Drink blue brandy and not notice the main engines failing. Tomorrow I might be dead. He started to turn to go. Tomorrow we might all be dead. I wanted to kiss the back of his romantic-souled neck. He might find a new love tomorrow. Or I might. Or we might find the way home tomorrow night. He walked away, his new legs carrying with a grace few men attain. He was walking away from me. Maybe forever. "Harry?" I barely spoke. He stopped and his head turned to mine. "Please?" I continued. His whole body pivoted to mine. Don't go, I thought. Not tonight. Carpe Diem. My libido cheered. "Please stay." --- continued in 'Gillie: Epilog'