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Date: Mon, 1 Mar 2004 22:10:02 -0600
Subject: [ASCEM-S] New: "Quandry" 1/1 (VOY: J/Q(f) ) NC-17, challenge
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NEW: "Quandry" 1/1 (VOY: Janeway/Q(f)) NC-17

Title: "Quandry"
Author: R.Schultz( cousindream@msn.com  )
Part 1/1
Series: Star Trek (VOYAGER)
Code: F/F
Pairing: Janeway/Female Q
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Sometime sixth or seventh season.
Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount and ViaBorgCom.  They are 
filthy rich, not even including their off-shore accounts.  They'll 
get no richer suing me.  This story mine under Berne Laws, and is 
dedicated to subjecting our Captain to overwhelming and repeated 
sex.  Captain's need fortitude, luck, perseverance, and a good f**k 
once in a while.  Feb. 28, 2003, 8000 words.
Summary: Captain Janeway is the very model of a patient StarFleet 
not welcome here.  Nor is this a place for those living in nations 
or locales which disapprove of TrekSmut, thinking for oneself, or 
truths.  Shove off.  Go.  
Posted to the SlashGroup, with Challenge words being; Red, white and 
blue.  Posted later to the FFF & ASCEM.  May be archived, but please 
notify.  Comments to:  cousindream@msn.com




QUANDRY
                      by R.Schultz




The one I sought was in the second-from-the-bottom drawer.  Even as 
I held it in front of my face and caressed it, my belly was making 
those little anticipatory quivers.  I closed my eyes and lovingly 
folded my tongue over its irregular head, letting my instincts fold 
its long red length into my mouth.  I salivated over it as I probed 
my throat with its soft hard length.

I pulled out a bulb of lubricant and swung onto my bed.  My hand 
told me I was already wet and anticipating my nightly ritual.  I 
found the slot cut in its base, and turned the vibrating and 
twisting motions to Medium.  Then to low.  I wanted this to last a 
long while.

We'd needed to service the Jeffries back of the Bridge for some 
time, and Seven had willingly taken the work upon herself.

I had eventually followed her, and found myself in a Nexus, watching 
Seven squirm about and labor in the confined space of the tube.  At 
one point, actually honestly trying to help, my hand had been firmly 
glued to her splendid and giving butt.

It had been wonderful.  Short, but wonderful.

Therefore, tonight would be given over to thoughts of Seven.  Not 
B'Elanna, or Harry, or Chakotay, or Jenny Delaney.  Seven.

Hell is being a passionate woman and being in command half the 
Galaxy away from home.  Again the thought whispered at my firm 
resolve that it wouldn't hurt the command structure if I only took 
HALF the personnel on this ship to my bed.  Next month I could do 
the other half.

In Retro Satanis.

My eyes closed as I spread myself on my bed, trying already to 
recapture that passionate moment when I swam in fantasies centering 
on my tall ex-Borg.  I worked the writhing head of my dildo into the 
sopping cleft of my sex, knowing already my next moves.

"Seven of Nine, present and accounted for, Captain."

I didn't scream, but the damned interactive Risan toy must have 
bounced off the walls and ceiling a dozen times.

A large, luscious, and impossibly solid Seven slid her goddamned 
gorgeous abundant nudity across my bed to where she could begin 
tweaking my nipples with her fingers.

"Seven?" I managed to squeak.

"If you wish," my favorite blond said.  "Or I could be B'Elanna.  
B'Elanna likes black leather dildos in old-fashioned strap-ons.  
Riding Crops.  A paddle or two.  If you like that sort of thing."

"Q!!!!!" I shouted.  Totally enraged.  "Get your pompous ass OUT of 
my quarters!"

"Wrong Q," Seven seemed to say.  I loved it when she bent to suck on 
my nearest nipple.  Didn't like it.  Hated it.  Loved it.

It was Q, not my adorable Seven.

"I thought we had reached a modus operandi," I said.

"Wrong Q," she said again.  Suddenly my mouth-watering ex-Borg was 
replaced by a nude female figure I knew as the female Q.  She was 
quite definitely female, large breasts, but not the same size as 
Seven OR myself or anyone else.  Very nude.

That she was as nude as myself and still absolutely female in a 
lovely homo sapiens way was another surprise.

She was a she, no doubt about it.  The whole thing might be a 
travesty, a façade, but she looked female.

"Q?"

"Right on, Captain Janeway.  The one you know of as the female Q.  
Mother of Q's precocious son, and a convert to the study of homo 
sapients, the Federation and such passing fancies."

"You're naked,' I noted.  Piercing observation, Captain, I said to 
myself.

She sighed.  Heaving bosoms and all that.  Rather attractive heaving 
bosoms to tell the truth.

It's been a while between actual living genuine flesh and blood 
lovers.  Years.

In Retro Satanis.

"But of course," Q dimpled at me.  All that heaving bosom.  Sort of 
flowing over my heaving bosom when she leaned forward to lick my 
neck.  Nice licking.  Nice bosom.

It's been years.  Dammit, but she SEEMED real!

"All rather charming and such, I am sure," I said.  Maintaining my 
distance and sang froid and implacable coolness.

That nipple felt SSOOOO wonderful riding on my arm when she licked 
my neck again.  I'll bet the other nipple-on-a-breast felt just as 
wonderful.

Years.

"Leave my cabin," I growled.  Q sat up on the side of the bed.  "You 
have no business here, and especially not naked like that."

All that heaving bosom sort of flowing all over her chest as she 
breathed.

It's all a façade, laid on to tempt me.

"I'll leave, Captain," Q said.  "But only on condition that we 
talk.  We have to talk.  Do you mind if we talk?  I'd like to talk 
with you."

"About what?" I snarled.  She stood up and it was a little harder to 
think of her totally fictitious image as a solid projection, a fake, 
a lie.

She was the female Q I'd met before, she was most certainly was.  
Seeing her naked lent a new - air.  A new air to her.

Of all things she had bikini bottom tan lines and her pubes were 
trimmed so as not to show hairs in the crotch.  Nice tan.

It's all a lie.  A little voice, however, kept reminding me that 
it's been years.  How many In Retro Satanis's was I supposed to cope 
with?

"I'll meet you in your front cabin," Q said.  She rose smoothly to 
her feet and padded away.

For a lie she had a nice ass on her, and long legs.  I knew it was 
all a lie, but it was a carefully researched lie.  Most importantly 
she was a lie as a female Q and what she might look like.  Not 
Seven.  Not B'Elanna.  Not Sharona, the Homecoming Queen I had in 
the Boy's John while SS. Albert and Sigmund Intermediate took the 
Regional Conference title.

Q.  A tall female with breasts that were maybe a bit too big and 
sagged dreadfully already.  Big around the hips, long legs, an innie 
belly button and a pair of indentations above her ass.

Q.

"I'll get dressed and be waiting for you out here," her voice 
carried to me.  I sat on my bed for maybe six minutes debating 
various courses of action.  Settling on the one where I re-dressed 
and went to have a talk with Q.  The female one.  Not the one I 
thought of as the Perfect Pest.

Was there a difference?

In five minutes I was back in uniform and bracing myself for a 
hurricane.  Instead of a disaster I found Q in ruby slax and a deep-
cut-front ruby blouse of matching shade.  She - it - didn't have a 
bra on, but despite the expanse of mellow tanned bosom showing, it 
felt suddenly all very civilized.

She had a tall mug of something in her hand and asked if I'd take a 
double latte?  I settled on a strawberry after she assured me it was 
a good Edwards no-caff.  Replicator, but on her ration points she 
swore to me.  She said Voyager now had Edwards Brand on its 
Replicator menus.  A gift to me.

She pushed one of my comfortable (but a bitch to move) chairs over 
to the couch, and we settled down for a talk.  No twiddling of the 
nose and it was moved.  She physically lent a little back muscle to 
move the sucker.  It's all a façade, I reminded myself.  It's all a 
fiction for my benefit.  It's all a lie, true; but about ten degrees 
of frost melted off my shoulders.

We had a few friendly sips first before she turned to me and began 
talking.

"The Q owe you something, Captain.  Captain?  Not Kathryn?  Very 
well.  Captain.

"More specifically, I, as an individual Q owe you in particular 
something.

"Thanks to your race and in particular you," she went on, "I have a 
wonderful young Q of my own.  This means much to me."

I made vague dismissive motions but she went on.

"Q has made rather a botch of dealing with you humans, so I decided 
to do some research, meaningful research, rather than just throwing 
a miracle or three your way.

"Which is why I spent a number of years, my years, your years, 
whatever, living on your little planet as a female of your species.  
I wanted to get a feel for your species before thinking of what to 
gift you with.

"Some gifting ideas were decidedly grandiose, of course.  Making you 
Empress of the Galaxy.  Returning VOYAGER to Federation space.  
Making you physically sixteen terran years old again, but in the 
here and now.  Still in place as the courageous Captain of the USS 
VOYAGER.  Making you one of the most beautiful women in your region 
of space.  Rich, oodles of this and that.  Lots of possibilities 
came to me."

For a tall woman she was remarkably supple and graceful; curling 
into the chair, sitting on her legs, holding her knee under the 
other.  It was increasingly hard convincing myself it was all a lie, 
a façade.  A trick.

"They all foundered upon the rock of alterations," Q went on.  She 
was very much at ease sipping her latte.  It was becoming more 
difficult keeping my back ramrod straight.

"A rich Kathryn Janeway would not be you.  An utterly drop-dead 
gorgeous Kathryn Janeway would not be you.  Power.  Luck.  It would 
all alter you into someone else even as I gave you your gift.  And I 
wanted to gift YOU.  Not someone else."

"So I spent some time, real time, in a manner of speaking, in Q 
terms, being a human female."

A pause which I rushed into.

"And what did you learn in those Q years?" I asked.

She chuckled.

It's all a mask, a trick.  I found myself very much admiring the way 
her nipples poked at the cloth of her ruby blouse.  Mine don't poke 
like that.

"I learned to be a human female.  Not completely, I am not enough of 
a fool or an unfeeling barbarian to believe that.  I did not become 
human, no.  But I learned a little bit about how it . was.  Is.  To 
be a woman.

"It was very surprising."

"How so?"

"Q as a matter of our nature KNOW everything.  Everything.  All 
things from all time.

"But none of it is genuinely organized.  Or understood.

"Only with many centuries looking at humans has Q eventually 
discovered patterns and quirks in humanity.  And in a number of 
other of today's space-faring creatures.

"I decided to be organized about it, and learn things the hard way 
from the very beginning."

I noticed things about her.  She always held her cup by anything but 
the little and ring finger.  Before she sipped, she blew across the 
top of the hot coffee.  Things.  Atmosphere.  Stagecraft in a 
HoloDrama.  It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.

"For starters I was a perky little Cuban woman come to San Francisco 
to work at Star Fleet.  I didn't have much money and my Standard was 
a little spotty.  But my ID was valid, and I was soon part of the 
Herd doing the things that needed to be done inside StarFleet Tower.

"I lived on what I earned.  I had built my perky little female as a 
biological entity.  I ate and drank and eventually evacuated a lot 
of what entered my body.  I dressed, my clothes cost too much, my 
shoes pinched, and a great many other humans wanted to use my body 
for sex.  The sex thing was interesting.  When let loose to do 
things on its own, a human body enjoys sex immensely.

"I got drunk, I took a few very nasty chemical proto-topicals, and I 
discovered what a pain in the neck monthly flows and ankle swelling 
could be if I didn't take my pills.

"In another incarnation I was also an Ensign on the latest 
incarnation of the ENTERPRISE.  Lowest of the high, so to speak.  
Tall and skinny.

"Then I was a widow on one of the Harmony Worlds.  You're a farm 
girl.  You know what it means to try to harvest a crop just ahead of 
the rains.

"Through it all I learned.  Or hoped I learned."

"Sound like you performed an amazing amount of study," I said.  It 
struck me that in human terms all Q were nuts.  Bonkers.

"Hopefully, yes, I learned a few things," she returned.

"When you're a little speck in the Universe like a human, it's hard 
not to despair.  Many do that by being more than themselves.  They 
become a couple, a family, a tribe, a nation, a class of workers, 
employees, bosses, races.  It's not a very pretty aspect of 
humanity, that part of it."  Her eyes met mine.

"In the mass humans tend to do things they never would or could as 
individuals.  Q saw this in you, and was disgusted by you.

"I see the smaller unit, Captain.

"You.  Me.  Seven.  Mark.  Phoebe.

"Somewhere in all my researches I discovered what I could offer you, 
Captain Kathryn Elizabeth Janeway.

"I can offer me.  Or the present physical manifestation of myself I 
can offer you.  No strings or snares attached."

My look must have asked thirty questions of her.

"I am someone completely out of your chain of command, Captain.  I 
do not even exist, according to some definitions.  Yet I am here, 
and I drink double-chocolate latte coffee, and I am a woman.  Let 
there be no doubt of that.

"I have taken men and women to my bed, in my various carnate 
manifestations.  Cardassians, a Romulan, a Ferengi, and others.  
Ferengi, by the way, are not to be despised.  They bring conscious 
dedication to cross-species mating.  I've slept around as the saying 
goes, and I've discovered it is fun to have sex.

"I don't think I can fall in love, not according to human terms.

"But I think I can be a good conversationalist.  I can dress 
reasonably well and can be enormously discreet.

"And the memory of your throat under my tongue is still exciting 
me.  I enjoyed the sight of you naked and resplendent on that light 
blue bedsheet of yours.  I'd like to use that bright red dildo on 
you and lick up your butter when you come."

She put down the empty cup, and folded her hands across her knees.  
When was the last time anyone used the term `resplendent' in 
connection with me?

"If you are willing. Captain, I'd like to come by for a few minutes 
in the morning, and share a morning coffee with you.  I'll bring two 
Danish.  I could simply `KNOW' what sort of Danish you like, but 
please Captain - Kathryn - would you tell me?

"Tell me and I'll bring them in a little brown paper bag and we'll 
have a very decorous moment together tomorrow.  And after that, if 
you have a moment, I can bring a thermos of latte with me and we can 
have a little low-key no-emergencies moment in your ready room."

"Q," I hesitated.  "Are you saying you're asking my permission to 
DATE me?!?!?"

"I'll try not to be Q, just for you," she offered.

I must have stared.

"We can pretend I'm a passenger on this ship, but no one else will 
ever see me.  But I'll be here, I'll be a date when you can feel 
yourself up to being my date.  Or someone to talk to.  Or anything 
else you need me to be."

"This is my gift?"

"Part of it.  I'll try to be your sounding board, or your father 
confessor, or your towel to cry on.  Anything.

"How many times have you dragged yourself to your cabin after a 
particularly harrowing stint fighting every evil son of a bitch in 
the Delta Quadrant and there was no one to hold you?

"At least I could be someone to pat you on the back."

"That doesn't sound much like a courtship," I ventured.

"I'm a damned devious Q," she answered.  "I hope to worm myself into 
your arms before I worm my way into your bed."

"Haven't you got other things you'll need to be doing?"

"Many.  I've done a few while we've been chatting."

Q.

"And what if I never bring myself to trust you or be friendly or any 
of those other things?"

"Then the coffee will be on my ration points."

"You're not allocated any ration points.  You're not even here."

"Think pointalist," she said.  My confusion showed.  She did that 
deliberately.  Even when making nice a Q could be irritating.

"A Frenchman named Seurat played with a form of painting once.  His 
paintings devolved down into separate little dots of paint if you 
got close enough.  It's a artist's trip down the rabbit hole to see 
the painting and then walk close enough to where it's points of 
color instead of a whole image."

"And if I look at things in this new perspective you're offering?  
If I go down the rabbit hole?  Will there be a mirror at the bottom 
where I can cross over into the other side?"

"Maybe," she smiled.  "And maybe there'll be a macaroon biscuit on a 
china saucer, and it'll have a tag that says; "Eat Me!""

I'll be damned.  I think she just made a genuine word play.  Eat me, 
indeed!

She stood, much as any human woman might, unwinding into standing on 
her two feet.  "I've taken enough of your time," she said.  "You 
have a ship to run and a universe to defeat.  And if it's 
satisfactory to you, I'll see you in the morning.  After you're 
dressed."  She took her cup over to the replicator, tossing the 
empty into the disposal slot.

"You never mentioned any likes concerning a Danish?"

"Simple cheese, hot, just one, and I'll split halves with you," I 
answered.

I found myself looking forward to it.  I escorted her to the door 
before I realized she could just go ahead and do that irritating 
blink-disappear thing Q do.  She paused as the cabin hatch went to 
the side.  There was no one in the corridor.

"By the way," Q said, one foot out the door.  "Seven is no longer a 
sexual innocent.  Not any more."

She moved, and the door closed.  I leaned forward immediately, 
intent on asking her to explain exactly what she implied.

There was no one in the corridor.

I hate Q.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


"That would be telling.  And yes, I know, I'm being irritating."

First thing she asked to be let in, I had to ask.

Damn Q!

She had a latte in a covered cup in one hand, and a little bag in 
the other.  She was wearing the sort of knee-length skirt popular 
the last time I was on Terra, but other than that presented an air 
of repressed efficency.  Peach blouse to the throat, tunic same 
electric blue as the skirt.

We had no one like her on the ship and no job where an office girl 
like her might be usefully employed.

She found my missing collar pip first try.

We sat at my little table and drank our coffee and had a Danish 
together and she played footsie with me.  It had been years since 
anyone rubbed my foot with theirs.  Anything.

She wore a little gold necklace with a phrase on it that eventually 
I leaned forward to read.

"NumberOneQ" it said.

She got me to talk in a neutral way about some of the problems of 
command.  It's a wonder what a great conversationalist everyone 
thinks a person is if they just keep their mouth shut and nod 
encouragingly once in a while.

She then told me of running a farm on God'sStrongRightArm, a planet 
in the Harmony Worlds.  Not hard scrabble, no.  Quite rich deep 
black soil, winter-summer extremes in livable range, quite an 
inviting place actually.  She talked of chickens and the local 
equivalent of foxes, and the latest series of injunctions of the 
Church in nearby Amiable.  As an ex-farm girl, I got a vivid word-
picture of the trials yet to come and just past.

Then she had to get to work, she said.  She dumped the coffee cup in 
the replicator disposal slot and hurried out the door.  I was right 
behind her but she had disappeared by then.

She appeared in my Ready Room in the afternoon of Alpha shift.  She 
entered via the door chime, wearing a blue science uniform and 
carrying a little bag (inside was a thin sliced pastrami and 
jalapeno cheese on toast sandwich as her lunch).  We took a cup of 
replicator coffee together, and she told me of a place called 
Hamburger Mary's she had discovered when she was a cadet at the San 
Francisco Academy.  And of her first set of hosiery that she wore 
for a date with a full Commander.

It was all lies.  It was all lies.  It was all lies.

But I enjoyed her stopping by for a few moments and sharing some non-
important time with me.

That evening she called me on the Communicator and made sure I could 
see her about nineteen-thirty.

She appeared in a casual brown bolero and swirl pants with a yellow 
blouse.

She had a four-pack of dark Piotr's ale, straight from the 
replicator, with condensation rolling down the bulb necks.  And a 
big hamburger with four razor thin cooked slices of onion and 
Klingon White cheese, the kind with the hard little tiny hot spicy 
thingies you didn't ask about in it.  She swore it was what you'd 
find on the menu at Hamburger Mary's.

We split the burger, and she kissed me on the back of my neck at one 
point.  It felt very real and very good.

It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.

And when was the last time reality gave me someone who brought dark 
beer and a kiss to my world?


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


Three nights later, after one of the usual Delta Quadrant 
emergencies, we had an evening of watching a good copy of "The 
Female Spy" with Shurchnya Goldstein and drinking Romulan Ale (just 
the one bottle each).  We discovered we were equally attracted to 
Shurchnya and that muscular goof who played her Control in the 
ancient mythical Balkan Kingdom of Ruritania.  We pause walked 
Shurchnya through the bit where her clothes are disintegrating in 
the DeConTam spray and made opinions as to whether it was her or a 
stand-in that was still wearing an old fashioned black leather strap-
on.  We agreed it really was Phantia in that same scene being led by 
a gold chain threaded through her nipple rings.  We talked dirty a 
lot.

The butter-rich popcorn was the best part.  


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


Q taught me how to play Jai Ali on the HoloDeck.  But not how to 
win.  She didn't fix my broken Ulna with a wriggle of her nose, but 
sent me off to SickBay.  For some reason I found that very 
endearing.  She befuddled Tom Paris and the EMH so that they didn't 
quite see Q standing around and making comforting noises at wounded 
me.

Afterwards she took me to bed, sort of, while she made tea with 
honey and lemon for me.  Of zero medical use, but very comforting.

She was gone when I thought to ask her for a heating pad.  After the 
HoloDoctor's ministrations, a heating pad was unnecessary.  But it 
was comforting when I eventually lay down with it.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


She brought a good thirty ripe tomatos from hydroponics (which 
universe's hydroponics I never asked - maybe from Earth) and we made 
spaghetti sauce from scratch.  Two days it took, actually.  Nine 
liters we made.  Onions, spices, bell peppers, slow cooking (and I 
hadn't known my kitchenette plate was capable of simmer cooking of a 
giant metal cooking pot).

I gave four liters to Neelix and told him to replicate it with NO 
Leola Root.  Just lots of cooked spaghetti and lots of sauce.

Everyone on the bridge got a half-liter bulb of my sauce.  B'Elanna 
recognized it as spaghetti sauce as soon as she got her bulb.  Harry 
didn't realize before this that mushrooms were used in it.  Comes 
from eating replicator knock-offs all the time.

Next comes pan-fried chicken, a la' Gretchen.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


I read Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451" aloud to her one night.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


Excepting Christmas we just had the two HoloDecks on VOYAGER.  
Usually booked days in advance.  Suddenly we had a new one on Number 
Ten deck, and Q met me in front of it.  She promised my standard 
daytime uniform would be appropriate, so I came in my 
Work blacks.  Her back was to me, and I thought it was someone else 
from Systems.  She turned, and I realized she grew taller and larger 
as she did so.  She was reminding me how she could be on this ship 
and never be seen.  She was giving me a reality check.  It was all a 
lie, she was reminding me.

But then the HoloDeck was all a lie as well.  And we'd had a few 
nice evenings in it.  Lies, but fun.

"I'm all on tiptoes, damn you!  Where are we going this time?"

"We're going shopping."

"Where?  What?"

"Mashibi's"

"And that is?"

"Dress shop on Lincoln, in the Richmond, San Francisco."

The door opened and we were striding downhill, the calm Pacific off 
in the distance, and a few civilians mixed in with numerous Fleet.  
We were already there, and Q led me inside the shop.

She went straight to the larger ladies section, and I peeled off to 
the petites.  The real live sales woman threw me onto the Holo 
platform and began questioning me as to what I wanted.  I hadn't a 
clue.

Q informed me, her voice carrying from some distance.  "We're going 
dancing, casual, intimate, nothing requiring formal wear.  I'm going 
low back-strap shoes and lots of back showing in basic white or 
black, I think."

In the end I picked something knit and clinging.  I have the damned 
small body necessary to wear knits without appearing like the fat 
woman in the traveling circus, I might as well flaunt it.  The first 
sales holo had me in it with no bra on, and I was entranced.  It had 
a few subtle cantilevers in front and I was lifted instead of 
sagging.  I adore my nipples showing, have for decades.

"Tell me," I asked.  "Can you show me with opera hose?  Garter 
belt?  No other...

The knit blended down from a tingly pink to lavender at the fringe, 
and I daringly viewed the version ending on the high side of mid-
thigh.  I did a high-kick and admired all the firm middle-aged thigh 
flashing in the holo.

Suddenly Q was there, looking at the entire package.  I was 
breathing hard because I knew very well that I was in a type of 
classic `Fuck-Me-Blind' dress that I hadn't dared wear in a quarter 
century.

"It's beautiful," she softly said.

"It's too bad this sort of gaudy self-advertising package went out 
of style twenty years ago," I griped.  "Do you think it makes my 
legs look longer?"

"Yes.  And it's in style again," Q commented.

We were on Terra.  I suddenly knew this.

This wasn't a HoloDeck Make-Believe.  We were on Earth.  And I 
didn't dare run out and find out what was happening on the Home 
Planet.  At home, in Indiana.  I looked Q in her eyes and she softly 
shook her head in an emphatic `No".

We were here - but I also couldn't walk away from VOYAGER, not by 
myself, not leaving them stranded in the delta Quadrant.

"Makes you look very sexy, Captain," she said, in a change of 
subjects.  I suddenly turned to my sometimes nemesis with a question 
or two in my eyes.

"Where were you planning to take me dancing?"

"A place called "The Purdiwallia" in Standard.  It's in Sannekhret, 
one of the better townlets in the nearest Malabar Hills above 
Mumbai, what we used to call Bombay, when there was a Bombay.  The 
food is exotic or western bland, your choice, no curries, and they 
have four different big rooms where you can eat or dance.

"One venue is for a live show, this week featuring a group of the 
males who've trained all their lives to be traditional pantomime 
female dramatic dancers.  Every lesbian in the sub-continent has a 
holo-poster of some such male-as-female dancer on her walls.  
They're stars in India, and all the dykegirls lust after them.

"One room is always totally food-oriented.  Food is very important 
in the Indian states.  It's Javanese buffet this week, with a lovely 
specialty house providing the waiters.  All males posing as females 
posing as males.  Very chic.

"One of the dance floors is modern.  `Whampas', `Out Loud', that 
sort of thing bellows from the music box.  The other dancing room is 
more traditional.  The females dance their formal little thing and 
the males almost ignore the females wooing them.  Except."

"Except what?"

"The Males are also females.  It's the Coromandelese version of a 
Mingles Place for Butch and Femme."

"Sounds exotic."

"Not so exotic as it will be when we're dancing."

"How so?"

"You'll be dressed as a female, not a male.  That's not much done 
there."

"We'll be dancing traditional?  And who designated you the femme?"

She ignored my question about gender assignment.  "You'll twirl 
about once in a while, and I'll be dancing around you and at you.  
Trust me.  I know how to perform the appropriate dance.  Everyone 
will admire my skill and pacing."

"They'll laugh at us," I giggled.

"Every woman in the place will want to take your tight little ass 
home with her and do terrible outrageous things to and with you.  
Trust me on this.  Especially with that rainbow knit.  

"Does it come in a version with the skirt higher on your thighs?" Q 
asked.

"It's called a blouse then," I returned.

Q paid, and we changed in the shop, and then returned to the 
holodeck hatch where we left our Fleet UniWorkSuits.  Then we went 
straight to "The Purdiwallia" and Mumbia, in exotic Maharashtra Free 
State.

It was evening with a few last rays of light setting in the black-
blue Arabian Sea.  I could see a Heavy Lifter out there, towing a 
long string of cargo float-barges towards Africa.  Below us I could 
clearly make out the perfectly circular giant bay.  After the 
Troubles and the Gene Wars there was nothing left there but 
radioactivity and ash from the hydrogen event that turned Bombay 
into one of the world's most perfect and deadly harbors.  Now it's a 
city again, though a small one.

There were hundreds of women lounging outside "The Purdiwallia", and 
more going inside or coming out.  Everyone glanced at us and our non-
local dresses and our pale skins.  A few came closer behind us to 
admire all the bare Q showing in the back of her dress.  And maybe a 
few to admire both our legs.

As we negotiated the entranceway, caressing hands kept finding my 
butt.  I was infuriated and flattered, in equal measure.  A few I 
glared at boldly made clear their admiration of my body.

The tops of my opera hose showed, as well as my garter belt straps 
in the version I bought.  In this one more of me was showing, for 
there was about two less centimeters to the dress.  I have short 
legs, but in this dress they looked a meter long.  I'd been 
considering going sans panties, but not with this rendition.  And 
for footwear, middle heels with straps seemed about right.  The 
shoes gave me a few centimeters in height and something pointey to 
use as a deadly weapon if the need arose.

As it was, Bombay was a hair chilly.  Muggy, sort of like a bad San 
Francisco morning when the sun doesn't break through.  A decidedly 
brisk wind whistled up my ass as we entered the sprawling hillside 
establishment.

Q's black with white blouse ensemble ended a little high on the 
thighs as well, and an incredible amount of back showed when she 
turned.  Right down to where you could see that her ass separated 
into two cheeks.  Vivid glowing red throng panties.

The stones outside the door were uneven as hell, and I thought that 
either or both of us were going to suicide on the walk inside, but I 
clutched her arm with a death grip, and we managed.  I think every 
woman in the place mentally undressed the new white meat and her 
girl friend, and I could feel me being damp.

Tom Paris or Harry Kim being let into this place would have thought 
they'd died and gone to heaven.  A devious Captain would fail to 
warn them it's a Gal's Joint.

The air control system was wheezing mightily, but all it was doing 
was cut the muggy to comfortable dry.  Fair enough.

We went immediately to the dance floor area.  Until they knew us, it 
would be impolite to ask for an alcoholic beverage.  Not in this 
part of India.  Local laws, usually flouted, abhorred liquor, even 
synthehol.  Not prohibition, but close.

Q paid the cover with a flash of her Iso Filches, and then parked me 
to one side of a glaring glowing orange line, and went back to join 
the Femmes.  A few Saris were visible there, but mostly I saw tri-
dresses and cleavage on that side.  Modern femme.  Q was marking 
time until most of the other girly-girls were bending and gesturing 
and swinging in their dances.  On my side I was the only one in a 
dress, but those glancing at me made a popping noise thing with a 
finger flexing the insides of their cheek at me.

Realizing eventually I was in a form of line dancing, on my side of 
the orange line, I smiled and began loosening up.  Just follow what 
everyone else was doing.

Four or five of the Butch females were in tuxedos.  Black tie and 
tails.  A style I haven't thought lesbians wore for centuries.

When Q danced a formalized circle around me, she showed me the back 
of her head. Just like all the rest.  I asked her about the thing 
with the Butch's popping their finger in their mouths.

Q laughed.  "It means they think if you ate them you'd probably pop 
their eardrums.  They think you're hot.  Very hot!"

After that my ears were in a permanent state of flaming red, but it 
was encouraging getting all those smiling white teeth in all those 
lovely dark faces.

When I turned back to Q, I realized she had left her jacket 
elsewhere.

Her blouse was a band of cloth which looped around her neck, 
enclosing (barely) her large soft breasts.  No bra, no panties, no 
shame.  She fell out of her restraining cloths a dozen times, but 
she never missed a step.  The Tuxedo dancers had also lost their 
jackets, and as all of them just wore a white stiff boiled shirt 
front, there was very little left to the imagination.

All that dark shining skin, the overwhelming smells, not all of them 
nice, all those flashing white teeth and black eyes, all that moving 
womanhood.  Everywhere I looked nipples were out and being gentled.  
Or roughened.

Things were different in Maharshtra State, evidently.  No likker, 
but public fondling was okay.  Some of the dresses were raised out 
of the way for a bit of obscene manipulation.

Q stood before me, swaying in time to the discordant sitar and 
cymbal music.  Tempting me.

She pulled a breast out from the cover of her loop of white cloth.  
She held it out to me and I moved forward, over the orange line, 
looking at her eyes and smiling.

It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.  She's Q.  It's all a lie.

I leaned forward and took the offered hot hard little nipple into my 
mouth.  The entire room sighed - or maybe it was just me.  Or Q.  I 
was ready and eager when she offered the other to me as well.

My mouth was made to suck on her breasts.

If it was a lie, it made me swoon nonetheless.

As I sucked, Q spoke into the warm night air, thick with foreign 
smells and irritating music and the caresses of dozens of women 
speaking in a tongue I had never learned.

"Site to site," she proclaimed to some unknown listener.  "Two to 
beam directly to the Captain's cabin."

Were we on Terra?  Or was it just another HoloDeck fantasy?  It 
didn't matter which, so long as I had these magnificent breasts to 
suckle on.

Our UniWorkSuit clothes were teleported to my cabin as well as the 
two of us.  In the morning I could still smell the scent of India, 
even when masked by a night of incessant sex.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


She replicated a blue-yoke work uniform and left her clothes in my 
closet the next morning.  If she hadn't stayed and got me through my 
morning ritual I might have stumbled back to bed for some needful 
sleep.

Fortunately I got a few hours on the couch in my Ready-Room.

Q commed me on my way home to my cabin, and said she'd be a little 
late.  

Q was Q.  She could have been there for me the instant my cabin 
welcomed me back.  But she wasn't.

It was all a lie.  She's Q.  It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.

But the unexpected time gave me a chance to bubble-bath, perfume, 
get into a spanking new electric green negligee where most 
everything was hinted at.  Then get the candles lit and on the table 
when we sat down for a little lentil soup and Heineken's Platinum 
from Mars.

We danced.  She took me to bed, undressed while I slithered out of 
my green number, and I gave her two quick cums.

It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.  It's all a lie.

But afterwards, when she held me and licked the coating of her 
juices flavoring my lower face, I realized I needed this.  It had 
been too many years and I needed this.  Her.  A woman.  In my bed.  
Maybe any woman would have done.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


I quickly discovered Q liked morning quickies.  Not, however, so 
long as they had to be rushed.

When she determined she wanted morning sex, she'd get up early, and 
I'd snorkel back into bed while she laid out my clothes and hers, 
and found my pips to attach on my collar.  Coffee ready to be 
brewed, not replicated.  The beans were replicated (I think), but 
the coffee came out of a little chrome shiny thingamajig she 
prepped.  Always something for breakfast.  Q believed in a balanced 
breakfast, even if the proportions were small.  Then she'd crawl 
back into bed and lick me awake with her feverishly frantic tongue.

I'd had a few women in my time, but Q had the prize for intensity of 
tongue.

We had a few self-seating Risan dildos we used on each other, but 
for morning loving she liked to borrow between her Captain's pale 
thighs and do sensuous things with her mouth until my purring body 
was fully awake and already accelerating to Warp Five.

It was all a lie, I guess, but it no longer mattered.  For these 
months she'd come home, or be waiting for me.  Adventures, close 
scrapes, disasters, grueling crises, all of them resulted in me 
dragging my weary little body home and hoping Q was still there for 
me.  She'd hold me while I cried, and nod periodically while I 
ranted and raved.

It was all a lie.  A fantasy.  But it was a lie I could live with.

This morning had been one of those mornings.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


Chakotay had asked me once (very discreetly), if I was seeing 
someone.  He was probably being a spokesperson for the entire Bridge 
crew and a few others besides.  Neelix had been unbelievably nosy 
and prodding the other day, trying to get me to publicly proclaim 
who my `Close Friend' amongst the crew was.

B'Elanna said there was a pool going on who the lucky slob was.  
Which probably explained why Neelix was so insistent.  The EMH 
reminded me I hadn't been in for one of his Super Dooper Massages 
for fourteen weeks.

It was immensely satisfying to smirk a knowing insidious wicked 
little smirk and pretend all the innocence of a host of Seraphrim 
lay behind my slightly honestly confused face.

The Captain is getting her ashes hauled big time and she isn't 
admitting a thing.  Nyah, nyah, nyah!

The one shadow, (actually two shadows) were Q being Q and Seven of 
Nine.

I would welcome Q in my arms at night, kiss her good-bye in the 
morning, and pretend there were reasons why we couldn't be public 
around our little love affair.

The truth was we weren't having a love affair.

The truth was she didn't exist, not in my universe.  Not exactly.

This morning we'd showered together and I was enjoying soaping her 
down when I wondered what things would be like when she's gone?

She's Q.  We're having some top-drawer sex.  Not a romance.

In bed we could tell each other lover's fibs about how we loved each 
other.  Looking at that familiar back being wet and appealing I knew 
this was a temporary thing.  It could only be a temporary thing.  
She was Q.

That made me very sad, and the depressing feeling had lasted all 
morning.


-   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -   -


The other problem surfaced that very afternoon.  Seven.

Periodically I swung through most levels of the ship.  Showing the 
flag, being the approachable Captain, trying to stay on top of 
innumerable and impending catastrophes.

I went right down to Cargo Bay Two and the Borg regeneration 
alcoves.  There she still was.  Five months of getting top-grade sex 
from Q and my thoughts still came back to Seven.

It wasn't even intended.  I planned to swing through, visually check 
things, and go hit a number of other departments before riding the 
turbo-lift up to the Bridge.

Instead I climbed up onto the rim and wrapped my arms around the 
regenerating ex-drone.

She was so warm, so soft, so big, so human, so scarred, so 
desirable, so kissable.  It most definitely did NOT feel like I was 
kissing a fresh corpse.  It felt wonderful.  She smelled clean and 
fresh in a way I'd never known any other woman to be.

She awoke as I really got down into it.

Her Borg hand came to the back of my head, the other snuck between 
my arm and my body, pulling me closer to her.

Eventually I broke the kiss, and eased my head into the space under 
her chin.  I kissed, then licked her long perfect neck, my hands 
incessantly searching for the Holy Grail in the planes and curves of 
her back and waist.

"Captain?" was her plaintive little query.

"I'm going to kiss you again," I said.  I leaned up and pulled that 
damned full-lipped face down to mine.

The next time I came up for air I realized her hands were all over 
me, including my backside.

"Seven?" I smiled up at her.

"You will be assimilated.  Resistance is futile."

She began taking my clothes off.

The tunic went somewhere (I hoped I didn't lose any pips off my 
collar).  One strong Borg arm easily pressed me close and lifted me 
to where she could worry my nipples with her teeth right through my 
underblouse and bra.

At least now I knew the answer to the question as to whether or not 
she was capable of physically loving women.  The other question 
answered was whether she felt that way towards me in particular.

"We can't do this," I whispered in a decidedly wavery voice.

She immediately straightened up like someone had just stuck an 
iridium flagpole up her ass.

"You are correct, Captain.  We cannot do this."

I'm standing there with metal hard nipples and no tunic and now 
she's Miss Shipshape And Proper.

"You have someone else, and it is decidedly improper for me to 
intrude on your commitment and honor.  Please forgive me.  If you do 
not have female sex partners, please let me give you a double 
apology for my unbecoming actions.  They shall not reoccur."

I leaned back closer, my arms going around her and my hands filling 
with superb rounded Borg buttocks that have figured large in my 
imagination for years.

"I meant," I said in as soft and alluring a voice as I was capable 
of producing at the moment, "is that this wasn't the proper place 
and time to be - getting friendly like this."

I bent my head up and closed my eyes and she obediently took the 
cues and kissed me again.  After a space of some minutes she finally 
let her tongue tip meet mine.  She was delicious.

"And yes - I do have female lovers.

"Will you be mine?"

Seven turned to stone for some minutes, and I smiled at her and 
continued finding places I hadn't yet caressed on Seven's body.  
Mind you, I was tempted to get REALLY obscene, but I was due on the 
Bridge.

"You already have a lover.  All the ship knows, though information 
as to who that person is has not yet been discovered.

"Are you aware Vorik is running a form of lottery based on who that 
unknown person is?"

Blood will be spilled.

"She's history, as of now," I solemnly intoned.  I noticed Seven's 
ears perked up at the `She' appellation.  "Give me the day, give me 
a little time to break up with her, and I'll be back for you.

"Can you wait a little while before becoming my official Number One 
Girl?"

"Will I be assimiliated?"

"Devoured."

Seven grinned.  An honest big lots-of-teeth grin.  Then she kissed 
me again.

"I shall await devourment."

"Grrrrr," I smiled back.

As I swept through the door, I thought to myself that went well.  
Totally unplanned, but marvelously well.

Now comes the breaking-up with Q.

I'd meant just to leave a note, saying we just HAD to talk.

Instead I found an empty cabin.

Her clothes were gone from the wardrobe.  Her shoes had disappeared 
from my floor.  No cosmetics were left in the dumper.

In the kitchenette the big metal cooking pot nestled alongside the 
cooking plate section of the counter.  On the counter itself sat the 
latte coffee machine she'd got me.  The stasis box was empty of half 
the food, if I was to make a rough guess.

There was only the one rumpled space in the bedclothes, just big 
enough for one small Captain.

Q was gone.  It was as if she had never been here.

For a few minutes I sat on the edge of my bed.  Running a hand over 
where Q usually slept, the side nearest the entranceway.  Q was gone 
and I was in twenty mixed minds about her going.

Eventually I realized she'd given me my gift and had now left me to 
move on.

That was immensely civilized of her.  Quite unlike Q.

Eventually I rose to my feet and trundled out my door.  It was time 
and past some to get to the Bridge and resume being the Hell-On-
Wheels Captain of the invincible ship VOYAGER.

I wondered who the blazes Seven had been having fun and games with?  
It would not be polite to ask.

Maybe she'd blurt it out some time.  Like after a little leisured 
love and sex, late at night.  Pillow talk.  I won't ask, I won't 
intrude, I shan't judge, but I DAMNED well will find out.  If she's 
going to be the one I love, truths have to be told.

Love.  I can use the word again.

How the hell do I tell her about Q?  I'll find a way.



--------------END



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