BEST CRUSHER STORY
Title: REEPERBAHN
Author: R. Schultz (cousindream@MSN.com)
Series: ST:TNG
Code: Crusher/Tasha Yar
Rating: NC-17/R
Spoilers: Set in first season The Next Generation
Summary: There is a very special street in Rotterdam, back on Old Earth, in the year 1959. One of the people there is Beverly Crusher, and she can be had for a price.....
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.
Comments to: cousindream@MSN.com
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."
END
