The BLTS Archive - Reeperbahn
eleventh in the Riding The Tick series
by R.Schultz (cousindream@aol.com)

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Spoilers: Set in first season The Next Generation

Disclaimer: All things Trek belong to Paramount, and they are a
jealous god. This is my story under common-law copyright, but I'm
putting your characters back good as new so please don't sue.

Written Christmas Eve, 2000. Apx. 5500 words. This story will be
posted on the Femme Fuh-Q Fest, then to ASCEM. Once it has, this story
may be archived, though I wish notification.

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It looked to be a slow Tuesday night despite the mild weather. Merry
Christmas 1959, Anno Domini. Whoopee. There were a few dock workers,
laborers, and sailors out on the cobbled street beyond the glass, but
not many even of those.

The little Christmas tree lights sparkling in the edges of my plate
glass window were pleasant to look at. Christian had strung colored
lights on two little pine trees, and placed one in each of the girl's
display windows. But inside I had a private excitement inside me.
Knowing, not just feeling, that this night would be one that Beverly
Crusher, me, would remember. This was going to be a very interesting
night for me.

Christmas Eve was two nights away and I knew this night would be an
early Christmas present to myself. There was holly on the doors
opposite. I idly wondered if a blue-dyed naked man had gathered it
with a golden scythe, and doubted it.

There, across the way, three more display windows flaunted the four
women sitting there on display. A skinny blond, but far younger than I
was. She had the advantage of the blush of youth still being on her
face. Well, maybe a little rouge helped, but she was definitely years
shy of my own age.

Two zuftig brunettes occupied the middle display window. Obviously
twins. They would draw many men, and I couldn't help realizing they
were my fiercest competition tonight. Each of them had gone out of
their way to chat me up when we had met. They kept waving to me, their
invitations obvious, but I wasn't interested. The bleached blond on
the right was chain-smoking again. Bored.

What I expected from this night... Ah! Customers! Time for Beverly
Howard Crusher, skilled whore, to seduce a customer or several.

I recognized the types immediately.

It was the mustaches that gave them away. Their clothes were subtly
different from the Dutch. English. But it was their military carriage
and those damned mustaches that did it for me. Young, other ranks,
from the RAF Air Bases component of the occupying Army Of The Rhine. I
could imagine any one of them working on Rolls Royce jet engines while
low-flying Vulcan Delta-bombers shook the sky as they came in
overhead.

Exciting, young, strong. Looking for a woman, and here I was. Knowing
this night would be more about passion than finance. Yes, young ones.
I knew one of the group milling down the Bahn would spot me. Would
want me. Would be my early Christmas present.

Time to get off my chair, drape the robe on the back of it, and flaunt
my aging Scots body. They might recognize me for a fellow citizen of
the Commonwealth from my red hair alone. I had the facial bones due me
from my Herbridean ancestry, but the hair was my own personal
trademark.

There were eight young potential customers out there, and my blood was
whispering that one of them would want me. Time to stand and bend and
move and pose. First one turned to notice me, then more. Half the
young airmen turned to me, and my spirits lifted. They liked what they
saw. A bit past my prime, but a prime example of what New Zealand
could produce. As whores go, I was Olympic-class talent and knew it.

Long legs sheathed in high-thigh nylons, kept in place by a simple
garter belt. Both legs drawing the eye to my black panties with the
light green bows on the front. Above that, my bustier, and a line of
belly visible between panty and black corsetlet bust lifter. My legs
near-perfect on top of my four-inch heels. With a simple tug the
reddish tips of my nipples could be seen above the stiff frontage of
my uplifter.

I turned, walked, turned again, letting them see the swell of buttocks
behind transparent black cloth. Lie, I think at them. Tell me I don't
have one sweet tight ass on me, topping firm young legs of a woman
half my age. Let me wrap those legs about you....

Turn again, feel my breasts shift and spike. Catching eyes, looking at
them, letting my smile be a small quiet one. Very little foundation on
tonight, touch of lipstick and rouge, plenty of eyeliner, let me
appear pale. I'm Scots, with a Scot's temper, and I should look the
part.

My red hair floated around my shoulders as I turned and posed, being
female grace, female seductress, female desired. Nipples growing hard.
My earrings were tiny shining pieces of old steel behind plas. A gift
from a lover, straight from the heart. Flashing, negligible weight,
eye-catchers. My necklace a band of false ceramic gold pieces strung
around my long neck, accentuating it.

I bent to the four, letting my red hair flow, feeling my nipples
escape their hiding place. The tall skinny one with the biggest
mustache mouthed the words and I knew what he asked. I said yes, in
reply to him. Cupping my crotch with one hand and grasping some of my
red hair with the other. Yes, you young airman, you with the glands
and needs of youth, I'm a real redhead. Would you care to inspect at
close hand? Better yet, do you think, hope Beverly Crusher would give
you an exciting time? Think of all the tales you've heard about a
red-head's temper and a red-head's passion. Rely on it, in my case
it's all true.

The shorter one, a lot of West Indian in him, to my eye, he was saying
something to the other two. I think he's noticed it had been some
years since I had been able to pose as a teenager. Ah, but I could
show you a trick or two, little male. Beverly Howard Crusher, mother
of one, is the best damned whore on the Reeperbahn, and I could prove
it to you.

My building's doorway was between my show window and the other one
here at 44A Bibliotique. A sudden movement caught my eye. It was
someone hurrying inside to be my next customer. This was the one. This
was what my night looked like. Tall, light haired, perhaps the
prettiest of them all, of these British airmen.

The other display window at 44A was lit now, Evangeline having rushed
out to work up the group of Brit's. Her size let her pose as a student
in some girl's lycee in France or Belgium. Demure, dark dress, light
brown hair, straw hat, white anklets. She was going to get too old to
pull that off some day. But since when does a whore worry about
tomorrow? We live in the now.

The one who had gone inside, that one was mine. I went through my
door, smiling at my ... date. We grinned at each other, my skin
flushing and getting tingly to think of going to bed with this one. My
chest felt tight, the skin warm. I'm a whore who happens to enjoy her
work. Tonight, at least.

Christian shooed Lucy through next, into my now-empty display box.
Lucy was a big heroic-sized black-haired Aussie, and I liked her. We'd
worked together before, she liked my body. Fellow Empire girl, and she
reminded me to think of her if my customer wanted a threesome. She
gave me a pat on my backside in encouragement. Everyone liked my firm
butt.

Christian arranged for room rental, keeping the airman's PassKart
until he came down again. I had a chance to admire my date for the
night.

Blond, slender, effeminate, only mildly anxious, though not assured or
cocky. Oh, I knew beyond a doubt I was going to have fun tonight.
Blond-and-cute was already asking prices for all-nighters or special
treats.

This one was going to ring every bell in my carillon.

I led the way upstairs, letting my date enjoy the flow of still-tight
backside as I climbed the carpeted route to my room. Closing my eyes
and humming as a hand caressed my buttcheeks.

The name was given me was Damon, but I'd seen a different one on the
PassKart given to Christian. That was okay. I wanted this encounter
tonight to be between strangers. It was going to be a night of pure,
unadulterated lust. Nothing more. Nothing less. I'd decided it would
be that way.

"Beverly is my name," giving Blondie my real name. "And you are going
to remember this night for the rest of your life."

Blondie was momentarily confused when we stopped at the head of the
stairs. I leaned forward, letting my mouth brush smooth young cheek
and chin. Until our mouths were tight against each other. Oh, this was
going to be good! Right at that moment I felt being a lady of the
night was a wonderful thing to be!

I let my nipples be coaxed out of my bustier, and we stood in that
hallway as I was sucked and nibbled and pulled until my breasts felt
rock hard. Hands found my backside again, pulling my cheeks apart as
hands found my bottom, then my sex, from behind. Hot!

Gentler now, hands caressing my nylons and the thighs under it.
Pulling me closer, tilting my head, finding each other's mouths,
tongues, breath loud in the other's ears. Again the searching hands on
my buttcheeks, one finger eventually poking the material of my black
panties into my body's opening from behind. I had to groan, as the
insistent finger found me again. Making the muscles of my opening try
to clench down on the inquisitive digit.

My hips and belly already knew something of the size and stiffness
that my customer had to offer me. I wanted it all. If what was poking
me was larger than average, well, that was welcome. I wanted a big one
tonight. The whore in me wanted to be filled.

I laughed when Blondie let me lag behind. It was my turn, my voice
insisting, asking for Blondie to give me a seductive walk, and I got
it. My hands found lovely buns, muscles, and a surprised tone. We
entered my room with me kneading and caressing my lover's cute ass.

Inside we kissed again, words tumbling out of my mouth about how I
usually didn't kiss, but I'd make an exception in this case. Because
of the night, for the audacity of it ... whatever. Tonight was going
to be more than just a commercial interlude. This customer was going
to be a lover, come hell or high water. I'd decided that. Me. Myself.
This time was going to be extraordinary. Someone was going to get one
HELL of a ride tonight.

Giggling to the night. Both of us were going to get a first-class ride
to remember. That stiff thing I fondled proved that. This one wasn't
going to get soft anytime this night. Bet on it!

We were still kissing as my breasts spilled over the slightly-lowered
bustier. My hands carefully unbuttoned pants, fondling that lovely
backside again and again. Then I was handling a large hunk of
masculine member, stiff, warming my hands with it's heat.

Always we kissed, again and again. Until I laid back my head and my
nipples were chewed and loved and soothed and bitten. Until I had a
vision of myself coming from that alone.

Pants on the floor, half-boots, boxer shorts, and thank God, the socks
also. The cloth cap went somewhere and I ran my hands incessantly
through that honey-blond hair. As Blondie's hands kept finding mine. I
asked no names, no one in that room asked for names. But I had to
whisper mine in my lover's ear. "Call me Beverly. I'm the best piece
of ass on the Reeperbahn."

To the sound of panting and murmurs I felt myself laid back on the
clean, if worn, bed. My boots went, my panties, the last of my
hesitations.

"Kiss me. There," I cried. "Yes, please. Oh please, use your mouth on
me there, please, I love a mouth on me there. You're the first
person... There's no one else's in me.... You're my first this
night... Please. Kiss me, lick me there. EAT me! I want to come at
least once before you stick that big thing of yours in me."

Clutching, desperation, teeth biting me on the insides of my thighs,
red marks, they'd be hickey's come morning. Teeth on my sex, tongue,
lips, a confusion of intents. Kiss there, lick that, suck on that leaf
of flesh, rub, poke a wet finger inside me, massage me, chew,
everything and anything. Time and again. Nothing deliberate or
planned, no, never. A maniac's style of attack. Here, there, again and
again. Until ...

Until my bead was caught between strong teeth. Until it was pulled out
from my body. Until hands pressed against my soft mound, making me
feel as if I was going to lose my clit entirely.

Until... I came.

It was a hard come, and had too much hurt to it, it was way too fast.
It was not at all.... It was so blindingly good. I was still sweating
and panting, the coil inside me barely quiet, still tight inside my
groin. My hands caught against my own sex, my body was on it's side in
the foetal position. Groaning, almost inaudibly. Darkness leaving my
eyes, light showing me the wall, a strong hand caressing my sweating
face. Words, soft whispers, gestures of patience, concern.

My lover, my lovely lover, was stiff and probably wanted an immediate
session of missionary love. But I couldn't stand that, not yet. It had
been too good and I felt like I was using coarse sandpaper on myself
just to touch my mound.

A whore wasn't supposed to come like this for a customer. She'd wear
herself to a stub if she did. But this was a special night with a
special someone of my own choice, and this particular red-headed whore
meant to spend the night enjoying sex, enjoying being a woman.

Strong hands turned me over, strong lips kissed my brow and nose,
cheek and neck, petting my hair, caressing my shoulder and arm.

Careful hands, muscular hands, accustomed to doing physical things,
opened my bustier. I could feel each lace as it eased loose. I was
unsure whether I wanted my last piece of clothing off. My breasts
sagged, no other word for it, and I tried not to make that fact
glaringly obvious. A whore's got to look her best. This lover didn't
seem the type to mind. Older woman, a sag here, a roll of soft belly
there, it obviously wasn't going to matter to THIS lover. So damned
STIFF!

The black bustier went somewhere and my breasts hardened under hands
and mouth and tongue. They still hurt a little from my recent come,
but turned to stiffness with love adoring them.

Oooohhhh... No doubt about it. A woman, even an old whore like me, she
liked attentions being paid to her breasts. Most men really didn't
understand how sharp cutting bleeding fiery it felt to have her
breasts, her nipples ... Ooohh...

Then a hand found my groin, and all the soreness seemed to have
occurred last week. I was still sore so good, but those hands... Those
hands with the fingers that knew how to pet and touch and take back to
the mouth again and again until I was wet where fingers rubbed at me
so deliciously painfully. I was rocking my hips into those fingers
which I couldn't seem to make rub at me hard enough.

Then my unsuckled breast was brought up to my mouth, given to me to
chew and bite and suck, my own nipple in my mouth as that hand ... and
that loving soft mouth on my other nipple ... Until I ...

I never quite passed out, and I clearly remembered eeeking in short
pulses, until it stopped hurting so good. I remembered being folded
into my lover's strong body, held, my sweaty back caressed, my body
shuddering, enjoying other's fingers on my ribs. One of my hands
wrapped around the stiffness I had yet to enjoy this night....

It wasn't much of a blanket, but it was clean and unpatched, and it
had been pulled from the sides of the bed and folded over me. Us.
Warming me, confusing me. Words, comforting words given to an old
whore by someone who had yet to reach their own satisfactions. No
matter. We had this entire night. And I didn't give a hot damn whether
any money ever changed hands.

There was a naked body behind me, I could feel caressing hands on my
sides and ribs, and I was at peace.

The next time I awoke I was focused again. I twisted in our little
cocoon, facing my...dearest lover. Never a customer, not now. I'd been
waiting for this night for too long a time. It was fated, it was
planned. Now my mouth found another's, now my nipples were handled by
long soft fingers, now my hand found and played with plastic stiffness
and soft breast. I broke to twist away and down, my mouth already
anticipating what my hands had found. When I lifted my head to clear
my last cobwebs, my own private Christmas present was stiff and hot
against my hand. Wet from my spit.

Complaints, murmurs, more kisses, hands still busy, my breasts pinched
and soothed as they swung and touched stiffness. I maneuvered them
against what I had had in my mouth, rubbing it with my prickling
nipples. My turn. Again.

I went to lay back, to open myself for my lover, but she stopped me
with a tug and whispered words. Oh yes, I loved the ... superior
position. How dry and clinical that sounded for something so full of
possibilities. We re-adjusted ourselves, myself rising to a kneeling
position, a hand busy on a stiffness that would soon be inside me.

Her hands stopped me again, turning me, guiding me. Making me face the
large mirror on the wardrobe door.

I straddled her stomach, looking back over my shoulder. Giggling,
caressing young flat belly, strong young thighs with muscles lying
underneath soft woman's skin. One hand always working stiffness,
enjoying the feel of it in my hand.

Moving, rising, until I knelt above it. Touching myself with the head,
rubbing my slick lips with it. Churning myself, exploring my opening
with what I wanted so bad. Looking back again, mouthing a kiss to my
lover. Feeling that thing seeking to enter me. Not needing a damned
ounce of lube.

I wished the mirror was closer, so I could more carefully watch ... it
... find the muscled beginning of my core, my ...

It looked as it were growing shorter as I felt it easing inside,
through my opening. I could see it so clearly. Diminishing as it
entered me. Tasha's hands busy on my back and ribs. Touches, caresses
on my buttcheeks as I forced myself to sit down. Slowly. Let it find
me. Slide inside me. All the way ...

I was more than wet enough. My jars and tubes of cream were not needed
for this lover. She made me so hot when we were together! So wet! So
fulfilled.....

So full.

It was gone from view, it was all inside me, filling me and promising
so much more. Loving hands held my butt, helping balance me as I rose
up on the dildo. A change in position. My legs came forward, until I
was impaling myself again, this time in a squat. Movements, small
ones, believing what was in me WAS in me, holding it's base with my
giving muscles.

Enjoying it in me. Studying it with my eyes, my imagination. My hands
on my thighs as I rose and fell a few millimeters on it. My hand
sneaked under me, sending electric sparks through my groin as I worked
my own body hair. I felt myself with this thing inside me. Feeling the
edges. Squatting down hard, being so full, feeling my rings of muscles
quake as I bottomed out on it.

Seeing it as I raised my hips. Feeling it withdraw from me, then go
back in as I let my body impale itself once more. I was in love with
myself, watching myself begin to move up and down. I may never have
felt so much a woman as I did at that moment in time.

Up, further, down harder, hearing the faint smick as I sat down hard,
filling myself, rubbing myself on the base, adoring the circular waves
of sparkles building out of me where we were joined. Looking at myself
in the mirror. Building the rhythm. Fondling the loving hands coming
from behind, helping me steady, always caressing my soft woman's ass.
Always there. Hands on hips, touching ribs.

We scooted backwards, until my darling could support herself against
the wall. We re-adjusted ourselves, such flares of fire as I rotated
and moved on that stiff heaven-sent masculinity. Such words I used
when speaking to myself. Distancing myself from my body even as I WAS
my body. I had no mind, I only thought I did. The only thing I had in
existence was what was inside me, rubbing me, winding me tighter and
tighter.

Then I was pulled back, making me, no, letting me lean back against my
strong lover. I helped her find my breasts, crying pitiful words as
both our pairs of hands found my breasts, pinched my nipples.

I watched our hands bring me tighter and tighter, I could feel sweat
going down my breasts to leak off my nipples. Her hands were in my
groin now, fingers busy on me, me wet for anything given this night.

I was so ... beautiful

I was in love with myself, I could say it, I could think of nothing
more beautiful than my body as I rose into my come.

My hips could not move fast enough, and on each downstroke I rotated
myself, gasping at the surges building in me and flowing out through
me as I watched myself impale myself faster and faster. Until...

Moments like this are what makes a life worth living. When Tasha's
fingers found my clit, rubbed it, worked me as I whipped myself up and
down on her dildo. Until I had to freeze in place.

Rubbing myself as I tried to feel every millimeter, every gram of
weight, enjoying the way it moved so stiffly inside me, every part of
me clasping and unclasping for ... I ...

Again, I never quite collapsed. My hands clawed into Tasha's arms,
nails drawing blood. I watched myself cry, mouth open, a sudden series
of up-and-down flurries helping me work my way through the sensations
almost too painful and too total and too good for me to stand. I
collapsed back against her, knowing she was going to caress me softly.
Soothing me.

Petting my mound, touching where I met the toy deep inside me.

"Tasha..."

Kissing my back, my arms, bringing a hand back to kiss the palm.
"What, love?"

"Oh, Tasha," I murmured. "That was so good that time, so very good.
And do you know the best part?" She murmured into my neck, her hands
finding my sweaty belly to caress.

"I know you're not going to be upset if you don't come with me." I
felt her smile behind my neck.

"Because I don't think I'm going to be in any position to do much
besides relish that compolodial dildo stuck in me. Not for hours. I
just want to lean back against you, enjoy you, and feel myself
occasionally clamping on that damned big lovely thing you're wearing."
My breath coming back.

"Do you mind..."

Tasha chuckled in my ear, almost silent. "If you could do it, you
could ride this damned toy the entire night long, and I'd never feel
deprived. Besides...." I could sense that warm smile again. God, I
loved it so when she gave me that smile. Feeling it was for me, about
me.

"....You weren't the only one coming when you rode that thing. I know
it doesn't always work that way, but this time your efforts were so
damned ... energetic. I'm not sure if it was one long one, or two or
three that merged, but yes, my dear red-head, my most wonderful slut,
I joined you during that wild ride."

I purred, so pleased at her words. With my shaking fingers I felt the
bottom of the dildo, where it had anchored itself in her groin. Tasha
jerked when my fingers found her clit underneath the thin cicliene
plastic covering her. Underneath that wonderful film, I smiled to know
I'd find one gorgeously wet woman.

Tasha had told me the women of the period I'd just pretended to be in,
they had no such advantage. IF they could find something to use on
each other, these female lovers of women ... Oh hell, I'm a lesbian.
At least with Tasha, and I've got to stop skirting the use of the
proper words. I'm a lesbian.

The lesbians back then had to strap or tie things ... dildo's, damn
it! Dildo's. Not `things'. Lesbians back then had to tie dildos on,
then use them on each other. If they could. Love each other with them.
I liked the love word. I loved Tasha Yar.

Now the toys sprayed out kilo's of cicliene plastic threads out from
the base, and anchored themselves. I wonder what it was like to be a
lesbian back then? Besides no one admitting any existed. Not able to
touch your lover in public.... No nice toys to make the sex more
fun.... Considered crazy for loving another woman. Called perverts.

My muscles were cramping, but I didn't want to move. My backside
rested on my strong blonde's belly, her hands kept touching me. My
nipples were still hard and I adored the sight of myself in the
mirror. Spread wide over Tasha's legs, crouching open and obscene and
so very, very, very loved. So full of that adorable toy, joining me to
Tasha with only a few centimeters showing. I wanted to spend the next
week like this, admiring my deliciously obscene pose. Doctor
"Well-And-Truly-Fucked" Beverly Howard-Crusher sitting on one the most
wonderful devices ever created by woman.

If anyone ever told me a male invented this thing, I'd be amazed and
badly disappointed.

All good things must come to an end. Tasha helped me rise off her toy,
guiding me alongside her as I almost collapsed from the sad empty
feeling I was suffering. We kissed a few times before we rolled down
onto the bed. Touching each other full length.

Tasha touched the controls, and moaned as the base of the dildo
retracted into itself. She let me lick the base, slick with her own
wetness. Then she scooted down. I spread myself for my darling,
letting her lick and taste me. Letting Tasha enjoy my essence of come.

It was so satisfying. Such a lovely Christmas present. The gift of
Tasha herself.

We talked more as we dressed for public view. I kept the hose and
garter belt on underneath my shapeless exercise suit. Left the panties
off. Let Tasha's hands touch me in those places, enjoying her
attentions. Both of us knowing the secret of what we'd just done. What
I still wore. Outside we were just another few members of the crew.
But I felt inside like a complete slut.

"You said you'd used the whore scenario before," treading carefully.
Faintly jealous of all those previous women she'd known. And men.

"But the reality... When you... You KNOW a whore didn't get chances to
enjoy herself." Remembering Tasha reluctantly saying she had been a
child... So young, selling... Her small flat-chested body... It still
horrified me.

Tasha knew somehow what I was leading up to.

"The reality of being a whore is pain and fear and other things, none
good. We all know that. But the FANTASY is a different thing. Most
women have never been allowed to be creatures of lusts. Desires. And
still aren't. The Federation is an anomaly, letting it's women be
other things. Most females in this quadrant are still told never to
let themselves go, not in that manner, not with sex. But in fantasies,
a whore could be a complete sexual animal. No restraints, no hedging,
no limits.

"In a fantasy a woman can admit to being anything she wants to be.
Including enjoying sex. Simple, really. Some need that fantasy thing
to let themselves finally enjoy themselves."

I smiled at her. "You read that in a book, didn't you?"

"Some of it, the phrases that made what I knew sound right to
professors and outsiders. Come along, sweetheart. We should leave. I
don't know how much time we have left in this holodeck program, but it
can't be much longer. Don't forget, we're doing this tonight, instead
of closer to Christmas because of how hard it is to get holo time.
Don't forget that."

I asked a last favor, and we left the program still going as we walked
"downstairs." We'd changed into our casual clothes by now. Our
costumes in our bags. Mine as the Rotterdam whore, Tasha's as the
young Brit airman, complete with groomed blond mustache.

At the bottom of the stairs Christian smiled at us, wishing us a Merry
Christmas in old English. A hologram wishing us Happy Holidays. It had
all been so REAL when I was in that window. I'd BELIEVED I was a whore
in old Rotterdam.

I paused, walking one last time into the show window, feeling
nostalgic already for it's twinkling Christmas lights. That it was all
an illusion didn't diminish the instant sense of nostalgia and loss in
the slightest.

Lucy said she'd had a nice night, standing to give both Tasha and I a
soft kiss on the cheek. "Nice bit of Sheila there," she commented,
speaking of Tasha. "If you ever get tired of her, toss her my way." A
hologram's holographic lesbian lust.

God, I KNEW her! I could recall her little blond girlfriend. I knew
Christian and the way he'd play with his keys in his pocket. I knew
Lucy and her chuckle. I knew Evangeline and her gum-chewing. The girls
across the street, the look in men's eyes as they judged me as a
sexual partner. Knew they could buy me. I knew them all.

In minutes we were out on the Reeperbahn, finding the air cold and the
night air surprisingly clear. There were stars overhead. Earth's
ages-old sky. Two Dutch Police sauntered down the way, nodding and
wishing a good night to us both.

I turned to my young blond lover, kissing her, holding her tight, our
bags forgotten on the cobbles. Lucy watched us through the window,
undoubtedly smiling at the way we held on to each other.

"Oh, Tasha, I don't want this to ever end. I just want to go back
inside. I want to spend every night being bought by you, having sex
with you. Loving you. Never letting it ever end." Tasha murmured some
things, not directly denying me my wishes and illusions. Holding me.
Feeling warm in my arms. Finally I pulled away, her fingers wiping my
tears.

"End program", I firmly said.

Outside the holodeck we held hands, letting a couple in swimming and
diving gear enter behind us. Enjoying whatever time we'd left them to
use.

Tasha asked to walk me back to my cabin, and we held hands the entire
distance. We kissed in front of my door, a smile spreading across my
face. "Aren't you coming inside?" I asked.

Tasha made excuses, surprised when I wouldn't let go of her. The door
opened and I pulled her inside. "Aren't you going to see your
Christmas present?" I teased.

On my bed were her uniforms and off-duty wear, shoes and underwear,
make-up and Tasha's antique pistols in their special boxes.

Her clothes, small bits of her life. She looked unsure. Poor burdened
Data had done most of the work, at Deanna's direction. Moving a large
portion of Tasha here, to my cabin, my life.

"Wesley will take a few days to move out, and I've already asked the
Captain to authorize the moving. Wes will happily take your nice big
cabin, if he can." My face happy and pleading at the same time.

"You are my life, Tasha. I love you so much. Will you move in with me?
Please?" I didn't dare ask her to be my wife. Yet. I didn't even know
what the right words were. Would we both be wives? Husbands? No, that
didn't sound right.

Part of me admitted I still quailed at the idea of marrying another
woman.

Part of me accepted asking her to move in was a step down that road.
Moving in. We both knew this changed us from an item, a pair, hot
lovers, and moved us into the status of couple.

Not bad for a straight girl raised in a household where John Knox's
stern portrait hung on the living room wall.

We held each other so tight my back ached. I was shedding tears again.

"Merry Christmas, Tasha."

---

continued in the twelfth story in the Riding The Tick series 'Mirrors'