Although this story contains detailed descriptions of fem/ slash, it is really a het story. It was written for the males out there who like fem/slash, including maybe Tyr Anasazi.
Rated NC-17.
MIGHT BE A WRESTLER YET.
By Janet Jaeger
Beka dug her heel into the floor and stiffened her stance, but it futile. The toe of his boot, placed behind her foot and pulled forward, toppled her backward under the pressure of gauntleted forearm. Once she was on the ground, he was on her body, holding both her arms at the wrist with one of his massive hands, pinning her pelvis to down with his own, and grinding into her. She felt his knee working its way between her legs, spreading them apart.
If I am going to have any chance at all, I am going to have to act fast. She thought. She managed to shift enough to the left to free one leg. His mind was on other things. He didn't seem to notice that she was able to get just enough leverage to deliver a kick to the back of his shin. Sure she was driving his knee into her own crotch, but the element of surprise allowed her to free her other leg and obtain just a bit of torque. He relaxed his hold and she freed an arm, rolling out from under him while he still held the other wrist. He was much stronger, but she was fast. Even she was surprised when she found herself completely free and straddling his prone body.
Almost effortlessly he rolled over under her and smiled. "Very well done, Beka Valentine, I'm going to bring out the combatant in you yet. I think we are done for the day."
She rose and extended her hand to pull him to his feet. It wasn't often you got a compliment on your fighting style from Tyr Anasazi. Beka took relish in any praise she got.
"Time to hit the showers," Tyr said as he pulled off his shredded tank top and dropped his soft cotton work-out shorts. Beka tried to divert her eyes from the naked Nietzschean as he walked to the crew shower. He treated her the same way he would treat Dylan or Harper -- would either of them be foolish enough to wrestle with him.
Time to fight fire with fire. She removed her tank top and shorts and stood in the shower next to the Tyr, who seemed much more interested in the flow of water going through his long braided hair than the blond, naked woman standing next to him.
* * * *
For the past two years it had become a never-ending mantra running through her head. He is a Nietzschean. He has no interest in me. He has no interest in human women. He has no interest in me. I am a human woman. He has no interest in me. He is my friend. He has no interest in me. It didn't work. She could say it from the time she got up in the morning until the time she went to bed, and still her sleep would be invaded by erotic dreams of unspeakable acts with the man who was now standing naked before her drying his hair with a towel while water beaded on his chest. She wanted to reach over and towel off his body and continue. . . .
Even after she had heard that he was married, something the other members of her crew had known and obviously sadistically not chosen to tell her, she continued to have erotic thoughts about him. She could tell by the changes in his actions that his visit with his wife had not gone well. She couldn't stop trying, now. She had been making small passes at him for the last few months and he hadn't actually rejected her. She could either just give up and continue chanting, or she could give it one last try.
* * * * *
She pulled a short robe from her locker and tied it loosely around her. Sitting on a bench in the shower room she watched as he began grooming, pulling a few stray hairs from his chest and rubbing his body with a waxy lotion that gave him a soft bluffed glow. It was difficult to believe that Nietzscheans would have a flaw like dry skin, so she was sure that this part of the ritual was only for physical enhancement.
She bent her knee, placing her foot up on the bench, and began to apply nail polish to her toes. Normally she would do this in her room. Hell, she hadn't painted her toe nails since the last time she had been to the beach; but today the ritual might serve as an ice breaker. Or at least, that is what she hoped.
"Why do you take the time to apply color to the nails of your feet, which no one is going to see on this ship, and not put it on your fingernails?"
That was exactly the question she had wanted him to ask. It worked. She glanced down at her close cut, smoothly filed fingers and smiled.
"You want to hear a story, Tyr. How much time do you have?"
"Enough, unless you insist on too many extraneous details, Captain Valentine."
"Well sit right down and I'll try to go fast."
"Let me grab some clothes."
"That will cut down on the story time, naked is fine. It doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you." She gave him a warm, friendly smile.
He was sitting close enough that she could smell him. His basic Nietzschean essence was enhanced but not masked of the remains of the soaps, lotions and oils he had applied to his body. Even when human men used Nietzschean bath products, they didn't smell like that. The memory of those scents often lingered in her mind long after Tyr was gone. Today she was going to give him a little lingering to deal with after she left.
* * * *
"Actually, I'm surprised that Rommie or Trance hasn't told you this story. I always figured the other women on this ship were unlikely to keep juicy gossip to themselves." She began.
"I am even more unlikely to discuss intimate relations with either of those two . . . women . . . than I am with you, Beka Valentine." He had a way of making his eyes and face soft that drove her crazy. He conveyed no emotion, only the absence thereof.
"I was . . . well let's say that on most civilized planets I would probably have been 'illegal.' But I didn't live on a planet; I lived on the Maru. You grow up fast in space. I'd been fighting off my father's friends for several years, and as much as I don't like to admit it, I wasn't always successful. Lots of angst, if you get my drift. I known you Nietzscheans expect the act of sex to produce a baby, but when you are fifteen . . . the last thing. . . "
"I get the point Beka. I would consider your analysis of intergalactic age of consent statutes to be unnecessary details. You said you had a story to tell me."
"Yea, I want to tell you about the first time I ever had sex with a woman." She watched for a change in his face. It was there, very subtle, but definitely there. A small arch of an eyebrow, flick of an eyelid and flair of a nostril. Yep, it was there.
"We were spending a week on this small planet while some work was done on the Maru. We had to stay in a hotel, and after spending the first night sleeping on the floor while my father entertained some lady in his bed, I sure wasn't looking forward to the rest of the trip. I was totally shocked when my father told me that another of his lady friends had invited me to spend some time at her house.
"I was expecting some whore's lair, but was totally shocked when I was taken to this huge house behind a tall, gated, stone fence. It was like the king's castles I had read about in fairy tales, except this castle belonged to a woman."
"I can just imagine what she did in the towers and dungeons." He muttered.
"Now who's supplying the unnecessary editorial comment?" she continued.
"Anyway, I'd sort of been expecting this because Rafe had told me that my father had sent him off for a weekend with this woman who had taught him all those things involving sex that my father didn't want to have to tell him. Don't know if that is how Nietzschean men do it or not? Usually human girls learn from their mothers, but not having one, I guess my father thought this Sandra babe was as close as he could get, although she certainly wasn't the motherly type.
"We spent most of the first day discussing clothing and grooming. She let me try on her clothes and prance in front of her mirror. Then she moved on to your basic reproductive biology and birth control. I was really glad for that part. The last thing I wanted was to end up pregnant by some man with bad breath and fast hands.
"She even told me about cocktails and what to order that was classy and wouldn't get you too drunk. We tried the various liquors and I have to admit I did get a little drunk, even on her safe cocktails. Maybe a lot drunk. She seemed to be enjoying it though. I'd let her do most of the talking, and was a eager listener."
"Unlike today," Tyr commented editorially.
She ignored the comment and continued. "Actually after dinner I sobered up a bit. Our conversations became more two sided and less general. I got to talk about myself. I told her about some of the men on my father's ship matching names and actions as best as I could remember. I think she knew all but one of them and laughed about my worrying about getting pregnant, telling me that they had been 'clipped'."
"I cannot imagine why human men actually chose to terminate their ability to father children." Again the emotion in his voice was not reflected on his face.
"She looked right at me and with a big smile told me that if I was so worried about getting pregnant, perhaps I should stick to women. I must have had this totally blank look on my face that let her know that I had no idea what she was talking about. She asked me if I had ever made love with a woman and I shook my head.
"'Well, I guess I've got some more teaching to do,' she said to me. Just like that. More teaching to do. My first female sexual encounter was motivated by learning and not by lust. She leaned over and pulled me to her and kissed me on the lips. The first thing I noticed was that she didn't have bad breath.
"In the beginning she seemed detached, teaching me how to do things 'by the numbers' but as we continued both of us seemed to get more and more physically turned on. She made me feel her breasts, which were huge and soft with nipples that looked and tasted like chocolate covered cherries. Of course she reassured me that a lot of men liked smaller breasts especially when they were firm and pert like mine. She knew all the right things to say.
"I know you don't want me to include the unnecessary details, so I won't spend a lot of time how she showed me how to lick the various folds and crevices in a woman's body. She would take her tongue to places my fingers had gone, as if she had been watching me in my bed for years.
Yep, it appears to be working. His face seems to be getting glazed over. He's trying not to let me know this is affecting him, but I can tell. Time for even more details.
"She took my face in her hands and stared directly into my eyes and said 'And don't think that just because you like the feel of a good hard cock in you, that you have to avoid women.' I looked back in disbelief. It was exactly what I was thinking. She got up and opened a large wooden cupboard and watched as my eyes popped out of my head.
"She continued, 'Most of us have tools of the trade in all shapes and sizes. You'll know when you meet a woman who knows how to use her tools that size really doesn't matter.' She picked up a huge one, must have been modeled after a horse or something and added 'Some of them are just for the "gah effect" to poke fun at the men who think they are well hung'
Wonder if he's thinking about poking a little fun. She allowed her eyes to drift down and wondered about the size of his penis when it was engorged. While not noting any change in his penis, she did notice a few beads of sweat at the base of his neck, just below the Adam's apple.
"She had this wonderful two headed dildo. Showed me how we could sit facing each other with it between us, rocking back and forth, arms and legs intertwined. Both of us could feel the same pleasure, truly share. It was indescribable knowing that neither of you were taking but that you were both giving and truly sharing." She rocked back and forth silently on the bench, as if he wasn't there watching.
"Beka?"
"What?"
"We do have jobs. Captain Hunt has always questioned our 'fight training' and we don't want to have him think that we are actually . . .
"I'm sorry, Tyr, I sometimes get a little carried away during this part of the story."
She surveyed his body again. On someone with lighter skin a blush might be evident, but it was hard to tell on Tyr. He's fighting it. Fighting it as hard as he fought me this morning. But I'm getting better. I might be a wrestler yet.
"I bet you were wondering what this has to do with fingernails, right? Well we're just about there. We were lying back on her bed, in each other's arms. I just kept snuggling back up to her, rubbing myself on her legs like a kitten. I couldn't get enough of this "safe sex" and yet I wanted more. I wasn't sure that I could even express it. It was almost as if she was reading my mind."
"Well I know that you didn't become exclusively lesbian from all the comments you have been tossing my way over the past few months. Do you consider Nietzschean males different? Or just another species you haven't conquered."
Does the name Charlimagne Boulivar mean anything to you, Tyr? Back to your story, Beka you've almost got him. She reached over and grabbed a towel and rubbed it over her shoulders, and chest.
"Guess I didn't get completely dry." She made it obvious that she was lying and watched as he took a towel, wiped his neck, and laid it carefully over his lap. Good going, Bek.
"I thought I knew a lot about sex, I'd read a lot. So nothing she told me up to that point, or tried with me, was totally shocking. But as I was writhing there, she sat up and looked down at me and smiled with this closed mouth grin. 'Got one more secret for you little bird.' She said, 'let me see your fingernails?'"
"I, like most teenage girls, had grown mine really long. I really wanted to have them painted red with glitter and gold on them like I'd seen on most of my father's whores. Teenage girls are like that you know. She held my hand in hers and I looked at her nails. They were short, very short, buffed but uncolored.
"I was shocked at what she did then. She took my hand and with her mouth she bit off each of my long fingernails. First one had and then the other. She did it sensually, licking my palm and fingers as she proceeded. Rubbing her lips over the tips of the fingers as her sharp teeth worked on the nails. It was scary. I'd never really felt that someone was actually eating part of me."
"Please don't tell me that she swallowed." Tyr made the comment without emotion, and then as if he realized the connotations of his words produced a huge smile on his face. It's the first time I've ever seen him smile about sex.
"No, she spit them out, in a tissue, like a true whore." Beka smiled back. She noticed the humorous interlude had increased, not lessened the tension that was growing in Tyr's body and that the towel had moved slightly.
"Then she produced this small pumice stick and carefully filed and rounded each fingernail to the contour of the end of the finger. Now we had identical fingers. I must have had a question on my face because she just smiled and began her demonstration.
"'She went through a host of permutations of how you could use individual, multiple, or combinations of fingers to penetrate and stimulate. Fingernails were dangerous. Men didn't let women with long fingernails anywhere near . . . . you know what I am talking about don't you, Tyr?"
Obviously from the way he is beginning to squirm, he does.
"Then she showed me her secret move. The little bird. Using all your fingers together like a beak to . . . She told me to start with women, experienced women. They wouldn't expect a young thing like me to know that trick and would be at my beck and call. Beck and call. Beka's beck and call. I liked that.
"She also told me that some men liked the move, too. With men the bird move is a little more problematic, but she told me some men, liked women who know how to use their hands."
"Then she showed me. Can you imagine what it is like to have someone's whole hand inside you?" She paused and waited. She knew Nietzscheans were good at visualization. She was also fairly sure that it was something Tyr had never thought about.
"Of course you have to have small hands." She added casually not looking at him. The change in his breathing was all she needed. She allowed him to think that she didn't notice.
"I keep my nails like this for a purpose. Every once in a while I find a woman . . or a man. . . who carefully checks out my hands, and then buys me a drink. I know I am in for a most interesting night."
"But how does she. . . or he. . . know that you are . . . Well let's say that you just like short nails or didn't bother to apply polish?"
"That is why, Tyr, it is important that I always keep my toenails polished. Anyone who paints their toenails and doesn't do their fingernails. . . must have a pretty damn good reason."
She heard a throaty groan from Tyr. She gave him a second to compose himself and got up and walked over to her locker and pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt. He continued to sit on the bench and stare at her.
"That's an interesting story, Beka. May I make just one suggestion."
"What's that."
"I'd suggest that you don't tell either Captain Hunt or Mr. Harper that story. It might be just too much for either of them to take."
* * * *
She looked over her shoulder at the huge Nietzschean man sitting on the wooden bench. Of course she wouldn't tell this story to Dylan or Harper. Her relationships with both of them were based on truth and trust. There was no way that she would make up a story like that to get them sexually excited.
I'm expected to be at work in less than a half hour. I guess I have time to get back to my room and get a coat of purple polish on my nails. He won't miss that when he looks over at me while I am working. I'm sure he'll be looking carefully. Wonder what he will think then. I so enjoy messing with his mind.
Jan -- December 2002