Title: PERFECT

Author: R.Schultz (cousindream@MSN.com)

Series: ST:TNG

Code: Crusher/Kamala

NOTE!!!!! This is an Alternate Universe story

Rating: NC-17/R for graphic sex.

Spoilers: The Perfect Mate, ST: TNG

Disclaimer: All the Star Treks belong to Paramount and whoever owns them. Im just letting their characters be a wee bit depraved. I'm not making any money off this. After I've thoroughly exposed their fictional people to a lil friendly harmless love and sex I'll put em back good as new. This STORY belongs to me via common-law copyright. Written Dec., 2000. Apx. 9500 words. My thanks to T'Lin for Beta Reading.

Summary: Ambassador Briam has brought his Golden Egg on board the ENTERPRISE, only for it to be opened accidentally by conniving Ferengi. Kamala, an empathic metamorph, was to be the bride to the leader of Voit Minor, and now her abilities are disturbing the crew and Captain. She cant help being the perfect female to any male, and she responds in turn.

Posted to the Femme Fuh-Q Fest, later to the ASCEM. May be archived, but please notify me.

Comments to cousindream@MSN.com

Warning! This story shows consensual sex between two (fictional) adult women. If not your cup of tea, go elsewhere. If you are underage to read this sort of thing, or if this is illegal in your
country or locale, please leave. Go.

PERFECT

With Ambassador Briam's Golden Egg opened by the Ferengi refugees on board, a woman, an empathic metamorph and bride-to-be has emerged. Too early. She had been put into one of their Stasis Fields to prevent her damage and early ripening.

She has been trained by her government from childhood to be the perfect bride. While overt hostilities may have almost disappeared in the present continuing armistices, the centuries-long war between the Kirosian and Voit Minor nations remains. A state of war still existed. Kamala, the perfect bride, was seen as the perfect gesture to end this sadness. A note of conciliation to finish their long grief. Her marriage to the leader of Voit Minor was to put an official fini to the war.

Instead, she was awakened early. Here, on this ship, she is ripening quickly to her empathic and sexual prime. Yet she is still her own person. She may be the jewel to an arranged marriage, but she has some freedoms while on my ship. I was not immediately aware there was a problem with her.

End of Captains Log.

We were having our customary Ladies Breakfast Club, nothing extraordinary at first. Ensign Ro Laren seems to be fitting well into our little chocolate/raktajino/coffee klatsch. Deanna Troi was putting my cranky too-long morning hair into a proper severe Captains bun when my Vulcan Ships Doctor, Lt. Commander Selar brought to my attention an irritating revelation. Ambassador Briam has restricted Kamala to her cabin. Lieutenant Lal then mentioned she has heard it as a rumor. This bears looking into. She should not be without an individuals freedoms on MY ship.

End of personal Log.

It had never occurred to him before that his charge might be so provocative, or desired, by another woman. Especially one who might also be StarShip Captain Beverly Howard. I still have not calmed down from that encounter. Now my mind is in a sudden turmoil again, and it is all because I am in the company of this ... perfect woman.

"Come in, Captain Howard, what a delightful surprise. Come in ..."

"Thank you." She had invited me in, but I was almost rooted to the spot by her unearthly beauty, and even more, her intense presence. I should have sent Deanna on this mission, hell, I could have sent any of a dozen officers for this task. But I needed to once again be in the company of this most desirable of females. It is wrong, it churns my emotions to be attracted to her. Yet I also seem to sense an affinity from her to me. I wondered if she looked at my red hair and wanted to take it down and run her fingers through it?

"Are you comfortable?" I asked.

"Reasonably. Under the circumstances." Still dressed in that gauzy and concealing gray dress. When her legs move I can see them flash under the thin cloth. So long they were. Standing close enough to kiss, my nose would barely lie at the height of those expressive lips. When she smiles, it is with a delightful up bend to the ends of her mouth, which invites me to lick them with my tongue.

I am here for ... business. Not to stand and admire the way this creature smiles or walks or speaks. "It has been brought to my attention that you have been told to remain in here." Would that we were alone together.

BUT WE ARE!, I scream to myself. No, would that we were lovers. That's a more honest statement. Would that I could begin peeling off the few layers of clothes Kamala wears.

I am a StarFleet Captain. I am a StarFleet Captain. I am above the wants of my glands.

"That's true, I'm afraid," she admits. Has anyone ever just put their hands through her hair just to feel it flow around their fingers? "It's at the request of the Ambassador ... who believes I might be disruptive to your crew..." I had a sudden flush of anger, irritability and flashing fire. Don't get a red-haired woman mad, Ambassador Briam.

"The performance of my crew is none of the Ambassadors business."

"You care about my well-being. Thank you, Captain." Oh, the lines of overblown poetry that come to mind. Her lips are a kiss waiting to be taken, her neck is a treasure waiting to be found, her legs ...

"I care about ..." (striding about, trying not to fixate on Kamala's physical magnetism) "I care about what happens on my ship."

"Yes, I know. This ship is very important to you, isn't it?"

"I've worked too many years, I've striven every second of my adult life to overcome my natural restrictions. I bite deep and hold on every time doubt is cast on my ability to command. I never give up. Never."

Important? She can't understand how even in this free and forgiving society I have had to commit my entire adult life to reaching this point. To being Captain Beverly Howard of the ENTERPRISE. Important? It is me; it is my life. Oh, yes ... oh, yes, it is.

"Are all Captains lives so ... solitary? Or just yours?" The shock her words throw me into. How could her words give me such a jolt? Could she be offering to share it with me?

"Don't," I say.

"What...?"

"Don't do this ... this ... this thing you do with men. I'm a woman and a Ship's Captain. Don't do it with me. Not to me, too." Don't listen to me, I want to cry. Do it to me, fill me. Then take me to your bedroom... Or considering the state I knew I was in, here would be as wonderful a place to take me as any. Do your empathic thing to me and give me and my life back to me full of the flavor and fire I know you possess.

"I'm afraid my premature emergence from stasis has left me a little bit ... vulnerable to the desires I sense from men. And women."

And what of the desires you sense flaming off the open souls of Captains?

"Nevertheless, this is who I am, Captain. You might as well ask a Vulcan to forego logic. Or a Klingon to be nonviolent. I cannot change. And I don't want to until the time has come to bond with my permanent mate. Why does it bother you?"

Meaning I shouldn't be in this state of arousal she must know I am in. " Frankly, it's difficult for me, for many of us to easily accept that a sentient being can only be what somebody else wants them to be." Her breasts are small, much smaller than Tasha Yar's. I could imagine each small perfection in turn fitting inside my mouth, growing hard and spiking as I sucked and nibbled on them.

"But that's what give a metamorph pleasure," Kamala noted.

I could give you pleasure, I wanted to cry. In my focused life I have had many lovers and no husband, but I know I could do this for you, WITH you. I have forgotten nothing of my Tasha, of what we did together. I shared a life with her. Why do I see her in you?

I asked of her wishes. "They are fulfilled by what I give others." So simple. I can barely allow the vision of her classic female head between my legs, doing everything I would wish that most beautiful of mouths could do to me. The feel of her kisses, the sureness of her movements. Then I shunt it to a secret holding area in my soul. I cannot savor the thought now.

"But what about when there are no others?"

"I'm ... incomplete. What curious questions, Captain," she adds.

She smiled, I wished she was smiling for me in that special way some women can. When they are basking in the presence of their female love. Her skin appeared so smooth as to make Satin seem coarse ...

"But you know me better than you realize. I'm independent, forceful, brilliant. And adventurous. Exactly as you would have me be, Captain." I would have you naked beneath me, groaning as I rub my body on yours, anticipating, triumphant, fulfilled ... being all that you could be and knowing there was more to come.

"I'll talk to the Ambassador about easing your restrictions," I managed. Was that delivered as smoothly as I hoped it had?

I am a StarShip Commander. I am a StarShip Commander. I am not an overripe poet, and I cannot be her lover. She is for Alrik. Why then can I not stop thinking of taking those soft breasts in my mouth? Until doomsday comes? Or her, one ...

Kamala thanks me, and I manage to exit. Outside her door I shudder and convulse. Unreleased desire, pent-up lust, I can't tell. Certainly shock. Carefully looking around first, I bend nearly
double, willing my stomach not to lose its contents. I breathed deeply, long and holding, I did that five times. Then I straightened, breathed deeply five more times. Looked about. No one
had seen my distress.

But I was still shaking. I shook my head, ran over my bun to ensure it was still in place. I was sweating. I needed to repair my image. And other things.

"Commander Riker." Quickly answered by my First. For a few seconds I shamefully admitted to myself that I had mentally chuckled to myself when Riker had to go off-duty to a holodeck for an apres Kamala break. My turn now.

"I'm returning to my cabin, Number One. Please inform me if you need me." And yes, William Riker, damn you old friend, forgive me but it's my turn to have an apres Kamala break. Before I break down in the middle of a command.

She would be - The Perfect Mate. If only she liked other women. If only she were my mate.

The Ambassador resisted the thought of allowing Kamala out of her cabin. On my side I pointed out he was on my ship and my rules prevailed. And yes, I know I bent the Prime directive again. Just a hair.

His objections were quite valid, though. My chest grew tighter just at the thought of being near her. The perfect solution had occurred to me, however. A chaperone.

Data. Quite possibly the only male and nearly the only sentient on the ship impervious to her overpowering charms. I had forgotten about our guests, the miners we rescued. The Harelans.

Data and Kamala ventured inside Ten-Forward and found a party of the adventurous male miners still celebrating their survival with ale and noise. Kamala instinctively joined them, blending in, teasing them. Every emotion she evoked in the miners from Harelan Four, she amplified back. In mere seconds the situation had become poised on an edge, Data completely out of his depth. Only the arrival of Worf restored civility, and allowed the metamorph to escape. I'm sure my Klingon Ops officer was affected as well. Obviously Kamala could not be allowed the run of my ship at this moment in time.

The Good Doctor, ever putting her Vulcan nose about, quickly discovered I'd returned Kamala to her cabin. She was not happy about the decision. Nonetheless, I had to restrict our brown-eyed empath. I reserved the unwelcome duty of notification of these restrictions to myself, alone. I'd raised the prospect of increased freedom of movement and the company of my ship, and its crew. I must be the one to officially dash those hopes.

End of Captains Personal Log.

Why did she have to smell so clean and sweet? Or was it a perfume? How could she possibly NEED an artificial scent?

"Perhaps the Ambassador is right." Kamala said. " Perhaps I should remain in my quarters." Can I invent excuses for visiting her there if necessary? I hope so.

"I have every confidence in the self-control of my crew, Kamala, but there are guests and civilians on board," I noted.

"I understand. I will volunteer to stay in my quarters on the one condition. That you will visit me ..." she began. Then chuckled. "There it is again."

I managed to reply with a "What?"

"The wall you put between us."

"Kamala - you are one day away from an arranged marriage. Why would you want me to visit you in your quarters?"

"I said visit. I didn't ask you to make love to me." One of my finest moments was right then. My knees locked and I remained upright. I WANTED to make love to her, oh my, oh, yes, yes, yes.

To the credit of my StarFleet disciplines, instilled over years of habit, I stayed on my feet as she walked around me to the desk and sat in my chair.

Her hand idly running its long expressive fingers through the untidy strands of red hair so I had to brush it out of my face. Sometimes I consciously tempered my command persona by letting my hair escape its more severe buns and braids. Usually I wore it tight, against the back of my skull. Why did she touch my hair? Tasha had loved to caress my hair like that. Quickly, lightly, as a reminder of her affection.

Kamala picked up one of the archaeological oddments on my desk, examining it closely. "Ventannien thimble. Early Lapalonochal period, isn't it?" I embraced any conversational subject that would allow me to escape the moebius strip of my emotions. Before I collapsed, or broke down and assaulted that perfect beauty. I agreed with her, it was from that period.

"Have you seen the Ventannien woven art recovered from the Fourth Colony Dig?" I murmured something, faking control. "They say the colors are remarkably vibrant for their age," she continued.

"I've read about them for years, but they were so delicate - no one expected to find any preserved." My mind working again. Somehow staring at those long legs was more soothing than obsessing on those lips. "And how do you know about them?" I asked.

She got up from my chair, moving again. Legs flashing, smile endearing, breasts moving fractionally as she breathed. "I stay informed," she replied, "on a wide variety of subjects.

"After all, one never knows when the conversation might turn to Ventannien archaeology." Coming closer to me. "Or to the dark woman of Raven brows and mournful eyes of Shakespeares sonnets. Or to the triple falls of Benhursts Bow, near the village where you grew up."

"Your empathic powers told you all this about me?" Does your empathic powers tell you how I'd die for the privilege of licking your thighs and inhaling your scent before I took you in my mouth?

"Not quite that much. Mr. Data helped a little."

"I see." I saw nothing but the smooth skin of her neck. I wondered if she had heard of my love affair with my lovely Ops officer.

"My empathic powers can only sense a woman of deep passion and conviction. - So controlled. - So disciplined. I'm simply curious too know what lies beneath." Would that I could show you passions.

"Nothing! Nothing lies beneath!" Before I sat on the floor I managed to make my chair. "I'm really ... Im really quite dull ... I fall asleep each night with an old book in my hands."

She came around the desk to sit on the edge. I saw the way her thighs moved as she sat back. I wouldn't even need to stretch out my hand to touch them. Merely move it. To be able to feel the flesh of long leg beneath that dress.

"When a metamorph finds you interesting, Captain Howard, do not take it lightly." A sudden irrelevancy. "Did you know we have no green eyes on my planet, Captain Beverly Howard?"

"No, I did not know." And, oh no, no, I do not take your interest lightly. I'm just trying to be as dull as possible. I'm trying not to lift your dress, Kamala, open your legs, and enjoy the taste of
your sex on my tongue.

"Will you visit me?" I had to turn her down. Again she asked, and again I turned her down. She turned, as if to walk away.

"Even the walls of Jericho fell, Captain Howard."

"Why are you doing this, Kamala?" I could not breathe. Every motion made me aware of the electric sensitivity of my breasts.

"There can be only one reason. Some part of you wants me to." You are wrong, Kamala. Every part of me wants you to.

As she leaves, she turns back to look at me. She returns to my side, and the door closes again.

"I've never thought much of loving a woman before now. Captain. Beverly. Now the idea excites me, it does not repel me. I could enjoy YOUR touches, my red-haired one. Would you show me much?"

Pause.

"Ah, I see you could." Without touching me, she turned and hurried out the door to her waiting chaperone, my Second, Data. I knew Deanna also was on that bridge. Most likely feeling the total melt-down my emotions were in.

I stared at the door in shock. Willing her back.

Shed said she would, could enjoy my touches. Sex between women had just been spoken of between us. I was leaping with fire in my sex and sweat on my chest.

Much as I disliked admitting it, I had to alleviate my distress. Locking the door command gave me a moment to lower my trousers and tear and rub at myself until I'd come into my unders. It was better the second time I did so.

Ambassador Briam has been assaulted by the Ferengi. He had responded to a summons and visited them. The harm was accidental, but the damage has been done. Briam, at his advanced age of two T-centuries, has long days ahead of him before all his internal damage can knit. Doctor Selar has done what she can, but the fragility of his health has turned a day of healing into a longer stay of some seriousness.

Much against my better instincts Kamala has persuaded me to take the Ambassador's place in the ongoing and non-finalized trade negotiations. As well as in the performance of the Marriage itself.

It has devolved upon me to represent the Kirosian parties at the coming momentous events. Not a duty I look forward to, but one it seems difficult to deny. Riker has volunteered himself for the task, but for sound reasons of protocol it is mine and mine alone. Would that I could assemble a Away Team to assist. But Chancellor Alrik is coming unaccompanied. Such a brave and formal courtesy and trust must be reciprocated with my solitary presence.

It would hardly do for a StarFleet Officer of inferior rank to my own to participate in these negotiations and wedding. For once I wish I had a spare Admiral tucked into a locker to take my place.

Not that the duties are that trying, but it is unnerving to spend so much time in close proximity to Kamala. This ultimate paradigmatic female confuses and distracts everyone she meets. Only Doctor Selar and Deanna Troi are untouched, amongst the senior Staff officers. And MOST of my female crew. The Lords of Kiros are expecting us to bring this war to an end and initiate a new existence as trading partners between the two old enemies. Hoping rather. They are stuck with us, me, now. Two females and Chancellor Alrik it would be.

Worf is still smarting under the face-to-face I had to give him for letting those Ferengi do as much mischief as they have. He wanted to come along as my personal protection, but Id carefully explained to everyone in a Ready Room session why I had to go alone. The Ferengi should count themselves fortunate to have the confines of the brig protecting them from my Klingon.

We, I, shall have to muddle through as best I can.

End of log.

There had been offers of marriage. Many of them, not all in my youth. Jack Crusher had come so close ... And Jean-Luc, he had sent shivers through me too.

I could have had children, with or without a husband. Even Tasha Yar had mentioned she could carry my genetic child. Or I hers. Parthenogenetic birth, snipping genetic characteristics from two women and re-installing the fertilized egg in the host mothers uterus. Not an easy procedure, but Selar had confirmed the possibility to my Tasha, and stated she could perform the procedure.

The fire of command burned in me, however. That seat on the bridge was my life vindicated.

Kamala had come up on me all unexpected, and she barely touched my arm to re-awaken my sensation of dying in flames. Her smile made me feel full, complete. Her smile bent my resolve and discipline to near breaking. She was going to make someone ELSE the perfect wife.

"Lieutenant Barclay says the holodeck awaits us. He has explained the procedures for altering the program, and I hope we can get this ordeal done without wreaking any more havoc on your ship. Shall we go inside, Captain Howard?"

Would you take my heart if I offered it? Instead I gave her my arm, forcing relaxation through my body. Carefully not patting her hand as she took my arm.

We entered the holodeck faux-marriage chamber together, my blood singing to be so near her. She looked about, then turned to smile at me. "Perfect," she said.

We have been through the simulations three times now, and I'm closing them down until tomorrow. We might simulate the ceremonies again, but I doubt it. At some point in rehearsals repetitions become counter-productive, and I feel they would not benefit from yet another simulation.

I've even learnt to play their illogical Xylophone with the cris-crossing scales. Emergency Hypno-learning like this will not be long retained, unless I keep up my playing, or practice rituals. But it will be sufficient for the morrow. Tomorrow we'll ... do what we feel is right. I vote not to go through them again, not to perfect each minor cliché or honorific. One unexpected benefit is that my play-acting has allowed me to devolve into a type of quietude.

Kamala is here, with me, but my total focus on her has lessened, though not departed. I go now to meet Chancellor Alrik. I anticipate an easy set of negotiations. But then much would appear easy at this moment. Anything that doesn't involve my rubbing against Kamala for hours seems easy.

End of log.

Chancellor Alrik is an essentially shallow man. Much too focused on costs and balances. Yet our negotiations have been extraordinarily complete and swift.

At first he resented dealing with a female, but my Command Persona eventually allowed him to ignore my gender and get on with our needful business.

Once he realized my powers were quite broad, and I was determined to end this thing, he began to yield on point after point. Though far from empathic himself, he understood my purpose was to end this thing, this war. Not to score points or take advantage. Once he believed this, he could himself abandon public positions and posturing. He began to ease into the spirit of reconciliation. I had not much considered the immense advantages of negotiating alone, without the political baggage usually accompanying it.

To all intents and purposes the negotiations were finished within an hour after I had yielded twice to his demands. He softened his demands and his position. Even alleviating what I'd already conceded. His acts of forgiveness and acceptance give me high hopes for both the peace and for his marriage.

He is unhappy seeing females with power, but he can surmount his distaste. He is also a bit of a cold fish insofar as passions go, but he is neither selfish nor cruel.

Yet I will never like him as a man, for he will take away Kamala, and I have grown close to the metamorph. I shall miss her when she is gone.

End of log.

"Did you learn that from Commander Data as well? I shall have to have a talk with him."

We repaired to a couch and chair, our knees almost touching as we sat down. I sat on the edge of the chair.

Uncomfortable, I sipped a little hot chocolate, glancing at her nearby face. "Now that I know you're listening to the sound of my voice, I can't find anything to say." I can't find any way to say the things I want to.

"A StarShip Captain must encounter all sorts of lifeforms. Am I one of the most unique you've ever met? Please say yes."

"Yes," I manage, basking in the faint aura of nearness and scent.

"What a nice thing to say." She brought a hand to my hair then.

I was lost.

She ran her long fingers through my loose red hair, her enjoyment keenly displayed. My collapse imminent. My hand reached out, gently capturing her wrist.

"Kamala," I croaked, "I have done everything possible to discourage this." And wished for nothing less.

"Maybe that's the perfect way to attract a metamorph." She leaned to me, grinning, cocking her head for our first kiss.

She moved, I moved, by a miracle we did not fall on the floor. Kamala steering us. We fell onto the bed as one being, separated by the bounce, desperate to fit myself against her again, desperate to go crazy in her, on her, with her.

She was underneath, we couldn't stop kissing, nor focus enough to paw or caress or love. We were emotions that by accident had fleshy form. I moved, I moved again, and again, and again.

At that point some rational part of me finally understood aspects of my Tasha then. When she had made love to me that first time, loving a woman was nothing new to her. It was to me, but quickly we became lovers and the same sex thing was vaguely irrelevant. Now it was me that was bringing a straight girl over into that special kind of loving. Being her first woman.

I wondered if this was how Q felt when he's awing the little people with his miracles.

Tasha also could enjoy herself by rubbing her body on mine. Belly to belly, Tri something, the absolute thrill of just being skin to skin. Friction pulling and releasing at the clit as she used me, had me, brought herself off with my body. It was a part of lesbian loving I never quite understood. It was pleasant Tasha enjoyed my tired old body that way, but it had never been ... At least not to me.

Now we were belly to belly, and I was feeling myself build. Fire. Tighten. Center in my groin as I frantically rubbed my old abdomen against her flat young one. Moving slightly to where I sexed her hip. Oh Gggoooodd! It just kept getting better and better, the more I convulsed against her, the harder I ground, the faster my emotions, the more unending my climax.

Eventually I had to stop. too exhausted to continue, too spent, too unable to believe I could come this way. Once I had thought of this as Tasha's little eccentricity.

I could not get enough oxygen. Everything hurt from being too sensitive. Her head came up to kiss me, her mouth finding the ends of my mouth, sucking on my tongue when it appeared. But I had to roll off her, I felt too hot, my skin too prickly, my breasts swollen and aching.

Her lips followed me, her hands roaming over another woman's body for the first time. I gazed down the length of her body, wishing I had six hands to caress it. She held up my breast to look at it closely, then the other.

"We have no women's nipples this color," she noted. "So lovely, so red, like they were inflamed."

"They ... ARE ... inflamed."

She played with them, rubbing the nipples with her thumb, slyly smiling as my knees quivered and I felt my belly convulsed. She bent and inhaled one heavy hard nipple, her teeth fastening on the tip before attempting to swallow the whole breast.

I cried loudly, slammed back onto the bed and felt my eyes roll back in my head. My legs opened, my knees jumped into the air, and my own hand squeezed the tightness of my other breast.

Kamala was watching, and she took that breast from me and worked her muscular hand around the breast still wet from her mouth. Pinching, squeezing, kneading, holding. I took her hand to my belly, and pulled the free breast's nipple as I bent my head. We both suckled on my breasts, my nipples. When her hand found my center, my bead, my soft crying mound, I bit down on my own nipple and came again.

After long moments I loosed Kamala from my aching nipples. I cupped them, trying to protect them, as I realized Kamala was ready for more kissing. We met, myself breathing hard through my nose as I climbed back into reality. Then her hand once more ran its fingers through my curly thatch of body hair. A finger found me again, caressed me, teased me, rubbed me soft and hard with the heel of her hand or long tapering fingers. I could only lie back, panting, staring in the metamorphs happy grinning face.

Soon all thought of other actions disappeared as her light fingers explored my sex, found my entrance, entered me, rubbed me. She wet her fingers again and again until she entered me effortlessly.

Smoothly. Painlessly. When I began coming again she somehow bent to take a breast into her mouth.

She was holding me tight to her when I stopped shuddering, long after I stopped crying out. Licking the tears and sweat on my face.

I reached down to find her, scooting on the bed, until I was able to take one small large-nippled breast into my own mouth.

She came that way, my hand feeling and caressing her body hair, her tiny pearl. A breast in my mouth. She fed me each in turn, the nipples quadrupling in size and achieving an angry brown tone. I hadn't known a woman's nipples could become so hard, so big, so much larger. I realized I had missed much in my long self-imposed denials.

This time we convulsed together. A leg each in the air, our groins whipping into the others hand, our hands rubbing each others arm as we found the core of each others wetness and heat.

After that.... Experience. We both needed time to rest. My head fell back, Kamala snuggled her long lanky frame against my overheated one, and she hummed a half-heard tune into my hair. I closed my eyes...

...And awoke with Kamala on her elbow, running a hand up and down my body. Caressing my too-soft belly, wandering up and down my thighs. Touching my triangular patch of dark curly hair when she saw I was awake. Fondling me, enjoying me, making me prickle and heat already.

"Kamala..." I managed. Then she giggled, the first time I ever heard this dignified lioness giggle. Empath.

She rolled onto her back, scooting up so her head was bent by the back wall. Bent so she watch. I knew in an instant what the next stage of our lovemaking was going to be.

I rolled to her, rising on hands and knee, kissing my brown-eyed love on her eyelids, her cheeks, her neck. We kissed again and again, plying tongues against the others lips, letting Kamala capture my tongue and suck on it. Then we kissed again and she caressed my lips with her tongue.

Somehow I got to her breasts, letting my hair create a tent over me as I breathed in and enjoyed each enlarging nipple in turn. So hard she got there! So large... So ... perfect.

She cried out as I chewed on them, hissing when I gently worried and bit on her nipples. Teasing them until they seemed to generate heat.

Her belly button, her belly. Then I was scooting so I hung half over the bed. Laying between her now opened legs, my shoulders opening her further as I put my face closer to her.

She was so beautiful. I told her so, warming inside to the smile growing on her face. She happily opened herself wider, bringing up her feet to tilt and tighten her groin. Her hands stretched herself, exposing the top of her divide for my mouth.

The SCENT of her! Female arousal rose from her like mist from a light rain. My lungs filled with it. My head moved Kamala's hands away for long minutes. I bent forward to gather her groin hair into my mouth, chewing, inhaling, tasting her woman's fragrance. Sucking on her hair, licking it, caressing every hair I could with my love and my lips. Relishing the combination of scent and taste.

Her thighs jerked when I brought my nipping teeth to the insides of her legs. She moaned, or I did, or both of us. Always inhaling that perfume of Kamala. I had not been mistaken about the sweetness of her personal scent. Every inhalation provoked the memory of another fruit, some long gone sensation. Her essence of musk and sweetness made my mouth water. The sight of her provoked awe.

You are so beautiful, I managed. Soft pouting leaves filling out as I breathed on them. Petals. Mysteries. Openness. Perfect.

I worked these petals gently, then rougher as Kamalas sighs told me I was doing what she wanted. Her bead was indeed a tiny white pearl, and she offered it to me. I fully intended to worship it.

I commented on the delightful racial difference of her prominent clit topping this tiny hard red growth. She said she would see mine soon. Her sweet voice saying that made me warm, made me tingle, made me center in my own groin.

But first there were lickings, kisses, caresses with my tongue. Then attempts to swallow it. Discovering with grateful delight that her entire protective knob, sheath, was both firm, like gristle in my mouth, and pliable. A large/small knob centering her femininity. Responding to my mouths love.

I love you, Beverly she said, caressing the hair of my head as it fanned across her belly.

I lifted my head, smiling, licking her body hairs again as the ball of one hand rubbed and enjoyed the prominent kernel of her sex. I love you, Kamala, I crooned. My heart breaking because we both knew this was ... the ultimate one-night stand.

Look at me, she commanded. Keep looking at me, she begged. I want to see those lovely green eyes as I come. Her hands gently but emphatically returned my head to its task. As I did, I dipped my mouth ... finally ... to the entrance of her as a woman. I probed. loved, swallowed and chewed on petals. Swallowed, tasted, licked her there, enjoying the sweet musk of her.

Somehow her one hand guided me back to her stiff button. Kamala's hands then left my hair to concentrate on brutally squeezing her own breasts. So large the nipples looked, so firm her bead felt, so heady her aura. I kept my adoring eyes on Kamala's face, working her with mouth and teeth. Feeling her spasm, holding tight to her hips, dipping my head to lick and swallow her there. Her words were weak and garbled, but her eyes and touches said she loved me.

Could ever the universe be more perfect that at that instant?

Actually it could. As I discovered when it was my turn, and later in that too-short night. Empath's made the perfect lover.

By a miracle no one saw me leave Kamala's cabin. By sheer will I walked normally, drawing only the customary short nod from a few crew members anxious to avoid a Captain walking about outside her normal duty hours. My mind repeating again and again the same phrase. In a few hours she would be out of my sight. As of a few minutes ago I would never again hold her. Pain.

Pain was my companion, each step taking me from my perfect love. Pain was my knowledge that never again would I caress her soft skin or lick her perfect flower. Suckle her large nipples. Feel her hand inside me. Look into her smiling eyes or hear that tingling giggle.

I hope I traversed the distance to my cabin without outwardly betraying how stricken my soul was. If my sex ached, it was nothing to the sense of loss growing in my middle. Each step was a journey through my Grandfather's Hell. Each step took me further from the Kamala of the Perfect Kiss. The sex we'd had, now seemed a puny token for the pain I felt at losing the Perfect Woman.

All my will left once my door wheezed shut behind me. I went to my knees, to all fours. Fighting dizziness and fatigue. Blessed fatigue. The mechanism attempting to shut itself down for needed overhaul and repairs. Hair in my eyes I managed to find my bed, crawling the whole distance. I sprawled across part of it, catching my breath. Crying non-stop, taking in cups of breath, hiccuping, wiping my nose and face with a sleeve. I only saw a few stars, and they left when I managed to roll over, partially increasing the surface of bed underneath.

I breathed deep ...

... And shuddered awake. I felt like I had been on a binge. I had been. Groaned when parts of me protested loudly as I tried to rise. Stomach upset seemed so trivial to the upset still hurting my heart. Tears again rolled out of my eyes.

I'd loved the woman of my dreams. I'd lost the woman of my dreams.

At least I managed to find the throne to empty my stomach into. Sweating, feeling disgusted with myself, feeling an emptiness between my throat and my hips. Sick and dizzy. I needed help, but recoiled from displaying any weakness, any flaw in my Command Persona. Too bad. Not enough hours with the Perfect Woman made me ache, made me try to remember every nuance of love with her. Being away from her had brought me to the brink, and I needed assistance.

One difference between female senior members of StarFleet and the male ones, is that we are more willing to accept personal aid when circumstances call for it.

I think.

Sweet Friend Doctor Selar responded instantly when I took the opportunity of utilizing my unconventional sleeping attire this morning. I'd passed out in my uniform and my Comm badge was still right where it was supposed to be, on my chest. Handy.

What was truly astonishing was the sound of my door opening as the good Doctor swept into my suite. She was all business when she saw me leaning on the wall. First order of business was a series of shots with the hypospray. Vitamins, relaxants, pain deadeners, mind clarifiers.

"How did you do that?" I managed to ask.

"I was standing outside your door, debating whether or not to use my medical over-rides to save you again." Lovingly she coaxed and forced me to fall back on the bed. She tugged off my boots, then went for my pants, ignoring the way I groaned as she rolled my body this way or that. "Did you think the Ladies Breakfast Club couldn't deduce what would happen, what did happen, and the aftermath? Not to mention the withdrawal pains you were feeling were evident to Deanna
as soon as she came near you.

"You've said it before, Captain Howard. "Betazoid empathy and Vulcan logic are a combination hard to beat.""

Deanna came through next, serious, grinning, caring, there when the Captain needed her. Between the two of them they got me naked in short order.

I croaked a question about the missing member of my Breakfast Club.

"Lal?" Selar answered. "Your faithful Third officer is on the bridge yet. Being on duty where a good little android should be. And coincidentally masking our endeavors here and your emotionally distraught condition."

Feeling the effects of Selar's pharmacology, I was able to stand and walk as my bath was drawn. Getting into it was a problem until Deanna climbed into my bath first. Clothes and boots and all.
Assisting me into that large body of now soap-scented liquid. Then they both helped me enjoy my warm soothing bath which immediately put me to sleep again.

Ignoring the wet, Selar helped my head stay above the water, giving my hair a quick shampoo. Deanna ignored those parts of her blue dress that tended to float in my bath water. I had to blush when Deanna's helpful hands on my body made me get warm and spike. My time with Kamala had made all of me seem an erogenous zone.

Luxury of luxuries, my dearest fellow female officers toweled me dry. More or less. Provoking fits of giggles whenever their hands touched me in places they shouldn't touch. Groggy despite the Doctor's hypo, nearly asleep again, I reveled in the decadence of someone else pampering me like that.

"I've a wedding to perform ..." I began.

"At ten o'clock zulu time, we know," Selar commented. "Which is still a pair of hours away. In the interval, you are going back to bed. We will get you there, fit as a violin, and have you so full of whatever I eventually prescribe that you'll waft through doors six centimeters above the deck. Trust me."

To the side I saw Deanna stripping out of the last of her soaking wet clothes. Quite lovingly nude, she and the Good Doctor bustled me to bed again, and lay me in it.

The feel of warm soft skin...

Deanna Troi was in bed with me. Naked. Female, shoving me to the side, burrowing under the covers.

"Shut up, Beverly. Don't even say it." I didn't say it, but I felt so loved at that moment. So comforted. So female, as I felt my body adjust to her large breasts and felt her long curly black hair on my own breasts. Even after Kamala it felt so comforting to hold Deanna. It had been so long since ... back then.

Selar adjusted the covers over us both, patting us on our shoulders. Smiling. I was going to hear about this little escapade for ... forever.

"You need someone to be with at this moment. In this case the someone can provide emotional aid if you begin falling into a fugue again. Or help you in other ways.

"We both love you, Beverly, and we're going to get you through this crises," she cooed to me.

"I'll leave three hypo's on the table," she said crisply to Deanna. "The red one should be given last, preferably within a half-hour of the actual ceremony. It should carry our Dear Captain through this."

"I'll get your wet clothes in the replicator before I leave, Counselor Troi. As well as the Captain's. Take good care of her, make sure she's in Kamala's cabin by quarter to the hour, and on the Holodeck by Ten on the dot. You might try stuffing something sugary and bad for her in her mouth for breakfast. The short-term physiological lift will make such a food acceptable. Both of you should eat something before the pair of you leave for the Chancellor's Wedding."

Leaning close to my ear, Selar continued. "Deanna and I both felt it advisable someone stay with you at all times, this morning. I have my own duties, Riker will cover for you if he is able, and Deanna volunteered to care for you."

The whole damned ship must be aware of my emotional overload. I held Deanna more closely, caressing her back, feeling cared for.

A slightly muffled voice alongside me pointed out that unadorned skin, nudity, is prevalent in the betazoid culture.

Selar visually checked us again later. She placed a new uniform on my nightstand, a blue outfit for Deanna alongside it. Then she efficiently went out my door after only minutes more work in my main cabin area.

"You don't still steal the blankets at night, do you Beverly?"

An hour and some later, I awoke to find a few square centimeters of blanket warming my cooling body. Deanna had rolled herself in them, depriving me of the rest.

Almost there, I suddenly took a veer back to the Turbolift. In a few minutes my exhausted body was by the door of Troi's counseling cubicle. In her little ways Deanna had made the space her own. I approved. The computer told me she was alone, so I went in. So lovely she was in her blue. It suited her well.

I went directly over to her. Bent. She turned her face to me, her eyes half-lidded. We kissed. Trying not to cry when the kiss reminded me of Kamala. Not succeeding, Troi taking my tears with her fingertips. Her look questioning me, waiting for me to speak.

"Thank you, Deanna, you and the Breakfast Club has saved my life and most of my honor. I hope to heal, get over this. The pain of loss. Please bear with me as ... I do whatever I can. Let me heal. Kamala is too fresh and the hurt is too deep."

Caressing her cheek. Admiring the perfect blackness of her hair. "I'll be in there, inside myself, and I'll come out again. You know they can't keep a Howard down. Will you bear with me? Say yes?" We kissed, a child's kiss, and she wiped my face with her sleeve.

Out in the corridor again, I walked straight and upright. Amazing. Heading for a bed that desperately needed me, or vice-versa. Not rubbing my lips where Deanna had left her kiss.

Pretending in my mind that it had been Kamala's perfect kiss.

END

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