The BLTS Archive - Out second in the Aide Memorie series by R. Schultz (cousindream@aol.com) --- Note: This story is a sequel to "Aide Memorie: Naomi." Disclaimer: All Trek belongs to Paramount and ViaBorgCom, who have abandoned their vulnerable series characters. Do not sue as I'm near broke. Story mine under Berne Copyright Laws. 6,000 words long. September, 2002, for the CaFF. Warning: The lesbian sex gets explicit. Underage folk must leave, as must those residing in a country or locale that prohibits TrekSmut. Your masters know best, and you must not read further. May be archived, but please notify. --- All the windows were open, and there was a good early morning cross-breeze over the bed. It lifted the hairs of the woman to my left, blowing a few of them onto my nose and face. That was what woke me. Being tickled. It was going to be a hot day, one of the first of spring. I stared at the ceiling for minutes, enjoying my day beginning. I was eighty-six years old, felt like a twenty-year-old, looked like a thirty year old, and had a cute little blond in my bed. Could life get much better? I rolled onto my side, raising up on one elbow to contemplate Betty. Slightly taller than myself, young, golden hair, wonderfully soft skin. Probably she had more than one surgical procedure in her short life to correct some perceived fault. That was okay. Most of the human race did that these days. Then denied being "corrected". She looked totally edible, there in my golden morning light. I relished the tangy briny taste followed by soft butter that would soon be on my tongue. Me? I ran my strong lean fingers over my trim muscular body. I looked over to the mirror on my wardrobe. I thought I looked pretty edible myself. I snuggled against Betty's soft backside, adoring the body heat, the tactile sensations of female skin against female skin. The scent of sweat, and a little perfume lingering on her ear points. I scooted down to kiss the Labrys tattoo on her one butt, and the lipstick lips on the other cheek. I have a big Labrys on my upper right arm and the center of my right breast has been transformed into a large red rose with the nipple at the heart of the flower. Everyone who sees it wants to do lovely things with it. Apart from saying it's beautiful. And it isn't as if it need be permanent. Tattoos are, after all, easily removable. A large Tinker Bell covers the back of my left shoulder. And I'm debating having Naomi's face added to my body. It's nice not having to follow Starfleet guidelines any more. And these days I like to flaunt. I am woman, I am strong, I have a killer body and a mind to match. Tattoos are in fashion again, and looking for tattoos on my latest girlfriend has become an expected part of the voyage of discovery my life has become. Betty stirred as I continued to kiss her nice warm butt. Giggles erupted when I slid my hand between her thighs, finding the warm beauty of her sex. "How do you feel about morning quickies?"I asked. She placed her hand on mine, raising to her side, opening and lifting a knee into the air. Giving herself to my loving hand and fingers. She twisted her head so we could kiss, her eyes closing as my fingers entered her. I adored the heat of her, the human warmth's of her ass against my belly, her thighs, her back, her ankle rubbing my leg. She opened easily for me, giving me a heated place to enter, and a wet sound as I began the fucking rhythm. Suddenly she disengaged, rolling over, facing me, grabbing my hips, forcing me against her once more. So warm! I had forgotten during those lonely years how pleasing it was to be skin to skin with the silk and heat of another human. I was reborn, and if I was reborn a lesbian, it was an improvement. Her hand found me and I lifted my knee into the air to match hers, both our feet resting on our knees, giving ourselves to the other. We began to kiss and I forgot the world in her lips and her hand on my breasts and nipples and her fingers on and inside me, and mine on and in her. "Betty, Betty,"I chanted into her face, feeling her wetness, her bundle of curly hairs, the way she opened for me with a snick and a deep breath. Maybe this would be the one. The one that would not tire of me in a few days. "Betty, Betty, Betty,"I moaned and chanted, "you are so beautiful, so lovely, your pussy is trying to milk my fingers, do you like the way my insides feel? I love you, I love you, please, keep fucking me, I'm....." Coming. Coming. My hips buck, I go blind, I gasp and moan and finally scream and I hear an echo as Betty also Comes. We come together. And come. Some more. She bites my shoulder. It's okay. I've a dermal regenerator. If I've inflicted scratches on the WARM soft perfect young skin of Betty, I'll fix them too. When I fucked guys, males, I had frequently left bloody lines in their backs. With girls I had discovered that the old patterns re-emerged. We come and sigh and drown in the after of good sex. Until we can see and breath and lick our fingers and the fingers of the woman opposite. She sprawls over me and I enjoy the morning winds blowing her long blond hair across my face and breasts. We nap. --- My yellow and gold exercise set fits her, as do my shoes, so she joins me in a morning stretch to my river. I relish the sensation of my newer larger C cup moving with the strides and impacts of running. If -- when -- I sag, I'll have them fixed.. I'd tried smaller breasts, but all my life I've known the weight of large soft breasts and their movements. So I went to my neighbor and she enlarged me slowly, carefully, lovingly. Twice a day for three days she sculpted me and remade me. She could have done it in an hour, but for me she was creating an enduring masterpiece of a young woman's breasts. The come-along didn't knock me completely out, and I knew she kissed my new breasts at the end of the third day of growth. We both knew she was ultra-careful with me because she still loved me. Dear Beverly is so patient, so willing to help me, to allow me my indecision's and changes of mind. I idly wonder why we haven't yet become lovers, and decide it is not steam engine time. When it is right, we'll come to each other. After all, we both have all the time in the world now. Even in my bra I feel the flow and heft of my beautiful breasts. I think it would be fair to say I love the newer me. I jog and then run, and Betty is having a hard time keeping up with me, so I slow the pace. Can she be the one that stays? Jake is forever dashing off in one direction or another, the puppy trying to keep up on his shorter legs. Jake Junior. Big feet and ears down to the ground and eating like a horse. Betty adores my dogs, my place, the freedom of the Indiana prairie, the scent of heat, the insects and bees and dust and finally, the tang of running water. I show off by diving in once I've shucked my clothes. Betty joins us, me and the dogs are already climbing the far bank. Once there I do push-ups, showing off by doing thirty each on one hand and then the other. She joins me in more push-ups, until she collapses panting. She sits on my legs and I do sit-ups with her fingers tickling my nipples every time I rise up. She admires the little squares I can create on my abdomen, then begins to lick them. As if the entire process wasn't already planned in my mind. It's so sweet to take my lovers outdoors. To lay them in spring grass and listen to their groans accompanied by the rustles and gurgles of running water. Soon I am feeding my groin to her face, enjoying her tongue and lips and teeth and licking and sucking and especially the way she fucks her tongue tip into me until I scream and come on her pretty face. We swim some more, until I force her out of the river and once more open her for my own loving mouth. This is the moment I adore most about being a lesbian. The sex can be as good and as often as you want. The feeling of warmth and sisterhood and everything about being a woman can be so totally overpowering. It is a way of life now, it is life itself. And always the warmth of her body, the heat of her thighs about me, the silky silky silky whisper of woman's skin sliding over woman's skin. Afterwards, I lie between her legs, still smelling her and her come, visually adoring her femininity. I talk on, I always did talk a lot, too much. I talk about how perfect a woman's body is there. The way she opens, the feel of hairs and puffy labia and the tiny stiffness of a clit and the soft give and the way a vagina surrounds my fingers or tongue or my fist. The repressed poet in me, I guess. Betty loves it all. Loving B.S. is still the best way to a woman's heart. Or at least to her murmurs of desire. "Kat,"she murmurs at me as I gently expose the seat of her clit with an idle fingertip. "You're really eighty-six years old?" "Absolutely,"I brag, knowing damned well I look late thirties at worst. "Most rejuvie's have white temples and white streaks through their hair like I do mine. It's a common tip-off. If you see a cute gal with an old woman's hair, she's a rejuv." She ran her fingers through my hair as I licked her body hairs, enjoying the taste and scent and wonderful irritation. "Have you been an out lesbian for long?" "About ten months." "REALLY! And how long have you known you liked women?" "About ten months." She rolled on the ground laughing. Jake and I joined her and the puppy had an accident on us and we all scolded him and jumped into the river again, Jake included. We made love a few more times, resting in one of my carefully nurtured bowers of grass. Thousands of carefully gathered pebbles from my bowers had been thrown into the river. I liked making love beside my river, but I didn't love stones in my butt or knees. I fed black dirt and fertilizers and grass seeds to my bowers, and care, and memories. Always the memories. And the regrets. There, over by the five small elms, Atti had had her first fisting. Such an innocent. Over there Bianca came for hours, never stopping, until she was beyond exhaustion. There Kalaka had cried in pain as she came for me, my tongue, my fist, my adoration. She had been my first Klingon woman. Part-Klingon, but enough like my B'Elanna to make me cry and tell her of my Chief Engineer all these many years ago. She said she had surmised there were more than the two of us in this love nest alongside the river. I never saw her again, and I cried through the fall whenever I thought of her. I couldn't blame her for leaving. A woman wants to be loved for herself, and not for her resemblance to someone else. My neighbor, Beverly, came by and I persuaded Betty to pose for her. Flaunt, actually. Two weekends later the three of us met again at the river. Only Betty was the house guest of Beverly this time. That was okay, I told myself. I introduced her and Beverly to MY new house guest. Her name was Andrea. The four of us had dinner together, and swam in the river, and ran with the dogs. Andrea ran off with Betty before Monday. C'est la vie, I murmured to myself. I lied to myself. Then I walked back home to go get drunk. It should be easy for a small woman. --- What was wrong with me? I wondered. Granted I was looking for very short liaisons, just one step above one-night stands. Or was I? The answer to that was obvious when I bothered to be honest with myself. I was looking for love, not just good sex. But they all kept moving on. They just left. What was wrong with me? Not just short love affairs, I admitted. I was looking for the one who wanted to stay, the one I wanted to stay with me and be my lover with a capital L. Come abide with me, my chosen one, through all the years, the best is yet to come. Jake and Junior quieted after a little petting and replicated broiled horse meat, almost rare. I went outside, all the way to what was once my fence line. Now deer trails crossed it. It was always wet here, now. Reverting to pristine prairie. I turned in a circle, stopping to stare across the land at the afternoon sky. Jake and Junior met me at the gate, trying to cheer me up. They followed me to my squeaking antique-style porch swing. What was wrong with me? Why did they keep leaving? They left me, excepting a few times when I cut short relationships that were developing into major disasters overnight. The memories kept flooding in wherever I looked. The memories. And regrets. Always I thought if only I had said THIS instead of THAT, if only I had been gentle when I was rough, holding when I had been distant. What was wrong with me? --- Inside the MIRROR were a small scattering of women, a husky male obviously a bouncer, and a pair of bartenders who waited for me to reach them. So this was the place Atti had told me of. In the middle of Joliet, convenient to the University campus and it's swarms of youth busily mis-spending itself. Ten steps inside, the cacophonous drumbeat of loud music blasted my ear, startling me. I debated then, and then only, what to drink. They gave me a white wine and ice, they gave me something mildly sweet and not unpleasant, they gave me something to hold in my hands to keep them from shaking so bad. Suddenly I was scared. I, who had driven across a quadrant, been pronounced dead too many times, and lived perhaps long after my usefulness was over. I was afraid, and I turned to hide in a corner until my breath came back. Instead my retreat was blocked by a raw-boned black-haired Bajoran, her face all planes and angles, her smile wide, her face broad, her nose ridges badly binged. In the next two minutes I was given re-do's of all the pick-up routines ever shoveled my way in my own misspent youth. Only presented by a woman this time. Why I didn't immediately run off with her to begin my new life as a lesbian on the loose, I didn't understand until later. She was too much a man. And I hadn't come to the MIRROR to find a man. I had come to the MIRROR to find a woman. Someone obviously a woman. A femme. And I hadn't even realized it until that second. Confused, I turned away, not knowing what to say to her. She knew she was a woman, I was the one who didn't understand. When I finally turned around to apologize to her, she was gone. The music died. Then started up again, something slower, a plaintive voice speaking of losses and regrets, violins, clear pacing, old fashioned. My music was old-fashioned now. She was there again, her hands out, inviting me to join her. "Could I have this dance?" It became something quite different from my expectations. She courted me. No fevered caress's, no tongue-tip in my ear, no whispered lies or dreams. Just a dance. Just dialogue and compliments and idle chatter and questions. Talk. Flirtation, rather than seduction. Her name was Gitza and somehow divining me, she let me lead during our two dances. That in itself caused me some confusion. Until I realized it was what I wanted. Needed. I had been driven all my life to be the one in charge. This mannish lesbian guessed and became my femme in the space of seconds. No more fast talk, she had become a woman for me. Or at least more of a femme than she had been. She held me and let ME decide on her. I became the dom. Perfume, short gray and carmine dress, black satin unders, long hair in a dozen ribbons, subtle perfume of prairie flowers on my pulse points, lip gloss and eye shading, moderate heels no straps. I was the dom. I spiked and knew damned well the thought made me wet. The music was inevitably changed back to something jagged and irregular, but we had a few magic moments. Moments where she let me lead. Gitza and I had played and laughed on this swing, our hands bringing the other to climax's, our grins strong, our lust an adventure. Inside, now, I slowly wandered my house, blind and yet seeing. I sat on the stairs leading upstairs and recalled it was here where Gitza gave herself to me. Open, vulnerable, allowing me my own pace, my own needs, whatever I wanted. Right here on these stairs. She was young, her mons was covered with a thick smelly jungle of the most erotic hair I had ever encountered until that moment. Her large breasts flowed like water across her chest, her panties were gauzy bright red, she stuttered when she was excited. She tasted of musk and animal needs. I drowned in her. Her height was mostly legs and we comfortably spent hours head to toes, side by side, groaning and whispering love into our groins, tasting, biting, licking, inhaling. She let me take her out to my Indiana home twice more, and avoided me thereafter. What was wrong with me? I thought Laura might be the one. She talked of settling down and dropping the bar scene. Laura was nearly a half meter taller than me, her face another striking melange of planes and angles and bones. She took one look at me and said she'd never had a rejuvie before. Her belly was scarred after three children, three boys, but she refused to hide her marks. I realized I found them beautiful in their own essential way. They defined Laura, my hands and tongue defined her wounds as victory slashes. She suffered le petite mort for me a dozen times. There, on the front room rug was the first one I saw occur. I'd heard of the small death, and how some women went through it during sex, really good sex. She scared the utter hell out of me. The next weekend her sons came out with her, and it was a total disaster. The middle boy hated me for seducing his mother with my dykey lies. I recalled the truth that it was Laura who whispered what she had wanted to do to my small hard body. She was the one enamored of me as soon as she saw me on the MIRROR's dance floor. This boy wanted his Mommy to regain her senses and return to his Dad. I was keeping her from doing that. The oldest son, a teenager, got me alone after we'd been to my river, and started to roll on me. When he started fondling my groin I'd had quite a good deal more than enough. I told Laura of her oldest boy's unasked predations. Laura blew her stack, accused me of lying, and that was that. Did I lead him on? I don't think so. Was it something wrong with me? Then there were the two young gals. Most empathetically I told them I did NOT do sex in the ladies dumper, thank you. But somehow I wound up in a stall with the two of them and they hauled my ashes very well to Havana and back, thank you. Me bent over the marble throne, biting my tongue and coming from sensory overload from two sets of experienced hands. It was a very nice dumper mind you. Veined green marble, clean, clean air, soft padded seats and benches and gold-plated faucets. Well, the two gals had me and had me good. After an hour or so they broke it off. Me panting, I never saw my panties or bra again, my shoes were gone, and sweat was dripping down my chin. They had to get on home now, or their mom would skin them alive. Mom? The MIRROR had a little patio outside, and I didn't give much of a damn if there was deep snow on the tables. I needed to catch my breath before I either melted down out of shame for doing two schoolgirls or whatever, or went after the two Lolita's with a phaser set on ten. The bartender came out with a thick blanket, wearing a thick coat herself. She talked me back inside and fed me a few sweet soda drinks and lots of sympathy. Her name was Bonnie, she was easily fifty kilos overweight, and she was the closest thing to an angel I was likely to see that night. They were called the Bobsey Twins and they were step-sisters. They went to the interMed University, so at least they were older than I had suddenly feared. They'd done a number on other rejuvie's before. They liked going after women three or six times their age. NOW I find out. Like most of my houseguests -- hell, lovers is the better term -- Bonnie adored Jake and Jake Junior, who REALLY had a potty problem at the time. The Bobsey Twins never met Jake and Jake Junior and the more losers them. One night I strolled into the MIRROR and she gave me a free drink and introduced me to her new girlfriend. What was the matter with me? Jaimie Lee was another giantess, horsey face, magnificent body, wearing a wedding ring. She liked biting my ear and licking my neck and I didn't believe her when she said her husband allowed her the occasional woman or two. She was the first lesbian I ever knew who had the clean smooth mons of a child. No stubble, no dryness from a dep creme. Just a soft tender skin like a murmured word of deeply felt love. Beverly found me the creme Jamie Lee used, and it gave me a soft tender skin there that I hadn't had for three quarters of a century. Jamie Lee hardly lifted her face from my body all that night she first saw me bald and beautiful. That first evening after we met at the MIRROR we checked into a transient hostel in Evanston and she unwrapped herself with my help as if we were opening the scrolls found on Styris Minor. Phoebe would have given a foot to use her in one of her famous nude sculptures. I fell in love. She was careful of me, spoke to me and touched me. Her words were honey and flowers, her laughter ice breaking in a distant river, her touch Cee-Tee that left a line of coolness and fire. We fed ourselves the other's beauty, my tongue hurt from the rapture her clean sex left in my mind. We loved and nurtured and came all night long. Did I mention I thought her beautiful? I hurt inside almost enough to die, for unbidden I was already afraid she would be gone, like smoke, if I ever let my eyes drift from her. We spent three nights and two days in that room, discovering we had no limits with each other. She bent me over and cleaned my heinie and it was heaven, I came .... and came again. For her I returned the blessing, extending my personal horizons as I found less and less about her to complain about. I was in love and mentally prayed Naomi would understand, when she returned to find me married, or whatever, to this seraphim. That first week after we'd discovered each other was spent with my Comm unit always in my blouse pocket. Ready to hand if she called me. Call me, I begged, and she did not. Call her I demanded of myself, and I did not, for fear she would be angry. My waking dreams were of her large pink-tipped breasts and that impossibly smooth groin beckoning me and my loving mouth. She called Friday, and I feigned surprise and calm, begging her to tell me she loved me. We had two nights and two days in Evanston and I slept for thirty hours straight when I returned home. It was the happiest exhaustion I had ever suffered. Next week, in Evanston, she introduced me to her husband. I had literally dismissed him from my mind. She offered me an arrangement. We would do a threesome. I leaped at the chance. His name was Aswanel, and he was very tender and solicitous with me. Taller than his wife, long strong hands, when embarrassed he would smile and bow his head to the side. He allowed me to take him first in my mouth. I had forgotten how pungent and bleachey men tasted when they came. Jamie Lee stayed with me all the time. Protecting me, helping me, masturbating me, kissing me, loving me even as I wound tighter and tighter into a multiple of comes. When he finally came in me I cried from relief that it was finally over, for the moment, and regret that it was over for the moment. We double-teamed him with our bodies and our hands and our mouths, bringing him erect time and time again. I had forgotten how much I had enjoyed men. Aswanel reminded me. The next morning I pulled on a dress and silently stole out the door of the hostel with only my credit filches and that dress. I loved Jamie Lee. I left her and her husband still wrapped in sleep's arms. I never talked to either one of them again. --- - The snows were carried away by the rains, Jake Junior grew from puppy into dog, and I went to another place, POPEYE'S, in Covington. I was afraid to go inside, afraid I might find someone else who I'd learn to love. Instead she found me outside, sitting on a stone bench and wringing my hands. She was Yancy, long dark brown hair, eyebrows almost one single line, she reminded me of sweet Atti, my post-Naomi love. Yancy was a carpenter's dream. Flat as a board and easy to nail. She took me to her place in Chillicothe, stripping me naked as we went through her parlor. She put on one of the new Risan panty-dildos, the ones that melded to your body without the threads like the regular self-seater. I was in awe of her muscles, she lubricated me, she easily lifted me and she and her long dildo took me standing up. I held on for dear life and wrapped my legs around her and drew blood with my desperate biting and scratching. She never stopped, she never faltered, she barely worked up a sweat holding me and carrying me and making me come. There, pressed against the wall. The next weekend she came out to my farm, and immediately began training my dogs. She adored my baby-smooth pussy, and was forever kissing it or fondling it. She fixed two of my bug picker robots and a cranky weeder machine. I kept remembering Naomi and wondered if I had found her unlike clone. We'd use the sex chair and then do exercises, then more love-making, then more exercise. She was the first woman since Naomi who liked to rub groins together and come that way. I studied her sleeping form for hours in the morning light, mentally kissing and loving every square millimeter of her. She was perfect. We compared muscles and training programs, we enjoyed using our mouths more than fisting, we ran and swam and held hands whilst running across much of Indiana. She could do no wrong. There WAS one small problem, though. She left to go to San Francisco. Her husband was on the ROYAL ROSE and she had to go to him. I had a tall glass of red burgundy and couldn't dull the pain. So I got into my flic and went back to the MIRROR. I found Betty that night. Now I sat miserably on my stairs, wondering what was wrong with me? Jake escorted my unexpected guest into my abject presence. "I'm going to see whether I can get a buzz on, Kathryn Elizabeth Janeway,"Beverly chirped at me. "Would you please join me in this endeavor?" She waved a probably choice French cognac at me. Suddenly I remembered Sandrine's one night when B'Elanna had broken up with Tom again. She had this bottle of cognac she swore wasn't replicated, and I helped her take the edge off her sorrows. B'Elanna was one cocky butch female, but she couldn't hold her likker worth a damn. Too small a body to metabolize it well, just like me. I must be getting old. I actually wished for just a second that I was back on the HoloDeck with my Chief Engineer, holding her hand while she cried and got maudlin after two doubles of that fine cognac. Beverly was soaked in her sweats, and I suddenly realized it was raining by now. We dialed up some nice new fuzzy sweats for her, and she flaunted her wet body at me a little. Just a little. I don't think either one of us was up to either flaunting or fucking this evening. She'd lost Betty at the same time I lost Andrea, after all. We moved our party to my couch and I dialed up an old recipe for hot mulled rum for us. We klinked a silent toast and settled back into my couch and tried to enjoy our pissed-off moods. Silence for long minutes while we managed to inhale large cups of spice-and-watered hot rum. "What's wrong with me?"I asked my dear neighbor. "I can't .... They all leave and go away?" "How old are you, Katie?" "Eighty-six. And?" "And how old have your string of recent girlfriends been?" "Maybe.... A quarter or a third my age?" I'd figured out where this line of inquiry was going. "Is that's what is wrong? I'm too.... They're too young?" "Not exactly. Rephrase that query to ask if they've ever been in your shoes." At least the mulled gingered rum smelled heavenly. "Tell me, Katie E. Janeway,"Beverly continued, "if I said to you that you could get that for a Cred note, would you smile?" "Of course,"I returned. "That was old Red what's-his' name's favorite punch line." "Shoes,"she finished. "And if I called you high-priced help, would you get mad?" "The Way-Back Machine,"I grinned. "Yes, I'd get mad." Bev topped off my mug and nodded. "Well,"my neighbor said, "Betty didn't have the faintest idea what good high-priced help was about. She lacked the referents we, you and I, share. No matter how good the sex might be, she doesn't know anything of the universe as it was when we were both growing up. "In the same way, do you know what a topping is?" "Something you put on a banana split sundae? A musical group?" "When you get to have the last word in an argument. A perfect retaliatory zinger." I mulled that over a little. "There's nothing wrong with me?" "I've been there,"Beverly said. "I hit San Francisco in '71 with a great new body and a taste for young women, and I went crazy. "First I went crazy trying to set a new Federation record for how many under-thirty women I could talk into warming my sheets. Then I went crazy trying to understand why none of them wanted to stay around for long." "How did you get sane again?" "Luck. The Fleet blew into town and a certain curly-haired brunette Betazoid beamed down and blew my mind. Among other things. I learned all over again to appreciate a woman with a few years under her belt. "Older women ARE better, in my opinion. At least they're better for other older women." "I know a few long-term couples...."I began, but Beverly interrupted me. "I've known a few myself,"she said. "Like Naomi and yourself, they're common, but it's still true that most of these sweet young felines want other sweet young felines. For long term living, at least. "Naomi said she'd return some day, didn't she? "So don't worry about it. Most younger gals don't communicate all that well with us old broads. We're great in bed, but they move on once the sex has lost it's novelty." Beverly was right. You win, you lose, and you can't tell which until you see the hand you've been dealt. Smile at your losses, it confuses the hell out of everyone. "If you're game,"Bev continued, "I know of this place in Ann Arbor, lots of young smooth-skinned felines who are looking to get their ears scratched. Two pale red-heads like us should cut a wide swath through all that sweet girl-flesh. "It's a little far away for a night's dash, but I've heard they have this dance stage where amateur ecdysiasts perform on most nights. You game to putting a Cred note down some gal's G-string?" "What's a G-string and when do you want to go?" "Guess. The night's before us. If they've no strippers tonight, we can always make our own entertainment." "When you get thrown by a horse...."I began. "You jump in the saddle again, and right quick, podnuh.," Bev laughed. I knew just what sort of saddle we were talking about. "I haven't a thing to wear,"I said, "that doesn't show a whole lot more of Kathryn Elizabeth Janeway than my Daddy would have thought proper,"I said. "Got anything that shows that darling rose tattoo you have over most of your breast?" Like that one, do you? I thought. "Damned near transparent, and I've some very skimpy black panties to go with it." "Sounds great. I have a two-piece in tulle, that doesn't leave a damned thing uncovered between my tits and my pube hairs. And the top's sheer enough to show my nips good if they spike. Sound good?" "Yummy." "We'll take your flic to my place first, to get my suit. We'll leave my cognac and the bottle of rum here, okay? Oh, and Kat?" "Hum?" "You can watch me force my body into that cat-suit if you promise to fondle in a lascivious manner at some point in the process." "Promise. And I'm a lascivious woman of my word I'll have you know." I even managed a small laugh. Doing something was always preferable to doing nothing. That precept had gotten us across a galactic quadrant, yea, these many years ago. Where the hell was B'Elanna these days? And Annika? Something else to do. Tomorrow. Tonight.... Tonight hitting someplace looking like a thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum struck me as a good idea. That sounded interesting. Two old broads entering the place at the same time, like an away-team assault. I didn't even know if the Doctor dances. It'd be funny if she was called the Dancing Doctor and I didn't even know it. I'll help her fake it if she doesn't. Yeah. Enter with phasers set on kill. Take no prisoners. We'll wow them all. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. --- continued in the third story in the Aide Memorie series 'Two Feathers'