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@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ
Damage
Palindrome.
.emordnilaP
Chapter Five@END_FILE_ID.DIZ

   Beverly put her head through the anteroom door. She'd make an awful spy.
She had to stop entering rooms like she was trying to tread her way through a
lawyer's chambers without doing something that might get her billed.
   The room was heated with a stove. Orange light shone from its grille in
tiger stripes. Deanna said she loved the idea of an in-room fire and would get
the Enterprise's engineering department to install one in her quarters. She and
Deanna had borrowed nightclothes from Dr Penfield's landlady and had no pleasant
way of backing out of an invitation to stay the night. Deanna was considering
putting a knot in the borrowed silk to keep it from trailing but didn't want to
risk making the thin material run. Beverly had an oil lamp that burned spiced
oil.
   'You don't have a hairy lip so you must be Deanna.' They had often giggled
over the mustaches the men of this period wore. The tall woman pulled her gown
up one calf and slid into the cool bed.
   'I can understand wanting to grow a mustache for a while if you've spent
every morning shaving it off for years,' Deanna said.
   Beverly frowned and lurched into a diatribe.
     'Shaving takes a few seconds. Besides, most men probably wouldn't wash
unless they were reminded to every day. Mustaches are almost worse than beards
They're grown by men too cowardly to grow beards.'
     'I don't think there's anything wrong with mustaches,' the bed was very
high, and Deanna needed to climb into it, 'it's just that I don't trust men in
beards.' Beverly asked her about their bearded executive officer, with whom the
Betazoid had once been close, remarking that he'd been clean-shaven then. 'No,
but he had a hairy heart. He said he'd love me forever.'
     The older woman had grown used to living alone and was vaguely irritated
at having to share a bed. She was used to sleeping in her bed's centre and
having the covers to herself, nor could she go through her nighttime rituals
Living in the crampt shuttle was hard enough, but staying here made things
much more complicated. The Betazoid was aware of her companion's snarkiness
but misinterpreted it.
     'There are good reasons for living with a man: firstly, you nearly double
your wardrobe, including shirts and jackets if you can get used to buttoning-up
with your left hand.' Deanna nearly mentioned that she could usually wear her
lover's shoes, but let that pass. 'Men are also good for reaching the top shelf
and opening jars, every woman should have one.'
     Beverly was much taller than her bed-mate but merely assented.
     'Of course, not a man from this era,' said Beverly. 'You see, a major cause
of impotence is arterial damage to the penis. The penis's artery, it's a big
artery, is between the balls and the penis. Damage to it restricts erectile
blood flow. And there's no better way to damage that artery than to sit on it.
Men don't sit on it when sitting on a normal chair but that's precisely where
they sit when on a bicycle seat or saddle. I think that's why cowboys kissed
their horses and rode off into the sunset, leaving the rescued widow behind:
their guns were jammed.' She began wondering how the Klingons managed the same
problem but noticed Deanna was gritting her teeth.
     'I wonder if he has a flush toilet?'
     Beverly tried becoming very small inside to keep the Betazoid from looking
within her. The red-headed woman gave a theatrical pause before shaking her head
to signal no.
     'He pointed out the commode to me. It's a chair with a hole cut into the
bottom with a pot and lid.' She pointed to the hall door. 'We could sneak out
to the shuttle.' Deanna stared at the fire in the lamp and fumed. She wouldn't
be discussing this aspect to the mission with anyone. She asked it the pot was
full. 'I don't know. The bottom part of the chair is like a cabinet, I couldn't
see. Besides, there are other pots on a rack. Don't think about it, pinch your
nose and recite the Star Fleet service oath.'
     Deanna uncrossed her legs and left with the lamp.
     Beverly lay waiting for the covers to warm. She, too, was not overjoyed
with the period's hygiene, and understood why most holo-deck fantasists chose
periods beginning in the teens or twenties when flush toilets and telephones
were common. Jean-Luc had grown up on a farm so certain smells didn't surprise
him. Beverly, however, had walked down the streets shaking her head, stunned
by the overwhelming amount of horse down perfuming the air. She pretended to
sleep when Deanna returned and waited with her eyes closed. In twenty minutes,
her bed-mate's breathing grew slower and deeper and finally Deanna began
snoring lightly. Every small movement irritated Beverly, but this was too much.
She rolled over and gently pushed Deanna onto her side so her tongue would
stop rattling against her uvulua.
     When Beverly's bed-mate slept deeply, she slid from the covers and tip-
toed through the hall in her nightdress. It had been years since she'd been
in a wooden-framed house and she started at every noise the house made as the
cold outside and fires inside played tug-of-war with the walls. The stairs
made unholy creaks as she climbed to William's room. His door was unlocked
Beverly put her ear to the gap.
     His breathing was deep and soft, nearly a sigh.
     She stood in the frigid black and took one cuff in her fingers to pull
an arm inside her nightdress. She shivered at touching her own gooseflesh.
Her pubic hairs were slightly wet. She began strumming herself, once, twice
and again and stopping when the friction between her and her nightdress became
too loud for her to hear him breathe.
     She pictured his chest expanding and shrinking, breathing cold air,
warming it, and then exhaling. Now that it had been heated in his lungs, next
to his heart, the air would float upwards from his pink lips.
     She'd heard his batman bringing bathwater to his room, it was picturing
him naked that kept her from sleep.
     Beverly rubbed her spine against the door frame to scratch an itch, then
stayed against it, widening her footing. She squared her fist inside her gown
to rub her knuckles against her loins. There was a pinch as she pulled away
some pubic hairs. She pictured him sleeping--O, this was too delicious--with
rosy nipples. He'd just bathed so his skin would be velvety and fresh and slip
against the bedclothes smoothly; therefore, if she slipped her hand under the
blankets it would first seem cool, then the secret space would grow warm as his
body heated the bed. Also, the folds under the covers could be dank and hot
from the water trapped by his body hair. Once she touched him her fingernails
might scrape his leg while searching for his nightshirt's hem. Then how slowly
would she have to be in raising it to his hips without waking him? After his
bath his pubic hair would seem like a hot house, with a ripe fruit, just for
her, eh? He might have gone to bed just after bathing and without taking the
trouble to dry himself because he was tired, and so she pictured him with a
cotton nightshirt clinging from the damp. He would be half-erect, breathing
even deeper than now, in thick restorative sleep. It would be twenty minutes
until his sleep cycle lightened and he could wake easily. She could kneel next
to the bed with her arm, stretched under the covers. A she caressed herself
there would be just enough dampness trapped on him for her to caress him in
time. It would be too delicious just using her fingertips to pet him and she
would build too rapidly so that she'd come just as a thick moisture pulsed
from him. Beverly imagined herself so overwhelmed she'd push her face into
the covers and inhale deeply until she regained control. That's how it would
be. And his syrup would never touch her, and if it did, it would just be for
a moment before the bedclothes scrubbed her hand as she pulled her arm free.
She wouldn't be touched.
     Beverly slid down the door jamb and put her other hand inside her
nightdress; she waited until the rustle subsided then pushed herself over the
edge once she heard his slumber again. Beverly snorted softly as she came. She
waited outside William's doorway until her heart subsided then went below to her
room, this time putting her feet on the sides of the steps where the planks were
less likely to groan.

Chapter Six:
     At opposite ends of the quad, the guard private and Deanna gaped. The
base was alive again. Hundreds of naked men were bathing in make-shift showers.
They'd hanged buckets from beams and filled them with the fire pump.
     Deanna was slowly going bats. This display was all she needed on top of
squatting into chamber pots while erectionless armies were poisoned by Romulan
diseases. She'd never been in a city with horses. Though passing a cruelly-
treated brute who knew only maltreatment made her cry; walking and riding in the
city between thousands of horses with genitals swinging between their hind legs
made her thoughts drift. This, and the costumed play-acting and danger of their
mission seemed to heighten every sense. Holo-deck illusions could be as perfect
as this, but lacked the detail. Unpleasantness was rarely programmed into holo-
deck fantasies, horse down, flies, poverty and hacking coughs, never figured in
holo-deck programmes of ancient cities. Knowing you could always shut the
programme off also flattened the experience; as she'd kept telling Lt. Barclay
in working-through his immature retreat, knowing something is real makes
anything else a bleached substitute.
     Now, through Dr. Penfield's office window, two hundred and more naked men
of every age bathed in large troughs in the sunlight's meagre warmth. Of course,
of her oft-repeated criteria, that men be taller than her so they'd be able to
get
stuff from the top shelf, she remembered to include that they know what a toilet
brush was, but this was, at present, beside the point. Even the older soldiers
with pale lines scratched over their arms and legs were pretty.
     Also, and possibly most importantly, was the texture of everything around
her. While her clothes made the Montreal October tolerable they took forever
getting into every morning. Yet knowing the bloomers and boots and buttons and
bustles were all part of a disguise and must therefore be perfect made dressing
in the foreign clothes exciting. Thank God she hadn't gone into research, what
compared with field-work like this? How could teaching, a delight of its own,
compare?
     She knew physical threats heightened concentration, as the captain had more
than once quoted to first-tour ensigns the scene from Three Musketeers where
D'Artanian first fights with the Cardinal's Guard. Dumas described both as
having the highest possible concern for the safety and wholeness of their skins,
but to feel it was delicious. She could almost swim in the sensation. Every part
of her felt heightened, from her fingers to her thoughts. She'd finally
understood how men could chase _les_sensations_fortes_ like a will'o'-the-wisp
and wanted to re-read T.E. Lawrence's memoirs; unfortunately he hadn't yet
written them. Right now he'd still be a young man, not yet grown twisted but
with his foundation weakened permanently. One of the saddest passages she'd ever
read was by a friend of his: 'He is not himself...he is never alive in what he
does.' Lawrence described himself as a pipe through which life flowed. 'It was
hard for me to straddle feeling and action,' he said. Throughout his life, and
despite his tremendous powers of self-analysis, everything felt unreal for him
except those few times when all Creation seemed at risk, poor man. For all his
physical courage he lacked the confidence to let life flow, to revel in the
pleasures of a moment. Danger was seductive and she wondered if she could wade
without getting too far from shore. Standing as still as possible she could feel
the silk and cotton under her dress covering her in gentle layers from toe to
neck.
     The earth grew orange as the sun lowered. The water the soldiers splashed
into the air flashed like brass. For moments, as the water rippled down faces,
forearms, chests and stomachs, the figures seemed to turn into into men of metal.
Her eyes kept flicking to the dark patches between their legs where the water
collected before showering away like sparks.
     Deanna knew Dr Penfield was very attracted to Dr Crusher and that he was
disappointed when she vanished, she'd escaped by cab back to the shuttle,
promising to send a message for Deanna, giving her in turn an excuse to leave.
Deanna knew Beverly wouldn't take advantage of the opportunity; Beverly was
actually cripplingly shy, actually. Beverly took pleasure in the quiet,
mechanical competence she had in her calling, but the closest she came to
opening up was in her amateur dramatics. Still, those were performances,
artifices. Privately, the counsellor hoped Beverly was playing doctor with a
handsome middle-aged bachelor now and again, there certainly wasn't a dearth of
those onboard the Enterprise.
     Outside the troopers got berated by Dr Penfield for risking a relapse
or worse and slowly the dancing pale men and boys stopped doing lovely things
with well-water and daylight as October imposed itself and made them cold.

Chapter Seven:
     Deanna entered and closed his door. Both wore only nightclothes. Deanna
gave him an armful of cedar bush branches. She knelt on his turned-down bed
and gave him the evergreen bough.
     'Stoke the fire.' She'd grown to love the scent of woodsmoke on this
mission, the cedar would scent the room nicely.
     William leapt to the hearth and threw in some coal, then too much kindling
and enough logs to burn until doomsday. Anything to make a lady happy. The room
was divided by the clothes horse before the fire, which cast a shadow along the
floor. He grew hard inside his blue nightshirt and tried standing slightly bent
so his penis wouldn't jutt-out ridiculously but couldn't and pulled the cloth
over his back and head. For an instant, as the cloth was wrapped about his face,
William could have been any man: a collection of soft and hard parts, all for
holding and kissing.
     He had a magnificent, broad scar on the inside of his biceps, underarm
and down his ribs. 'A Prussian lancer.' The counsellor never seen a healed scar
that large before. She pursed her lips nodded knowingly when he explained,
pretending to understand what a lancer was. 'It convinced me beyond question
or controversy to be a military doctor alone, not a soldier and doctor. Bugger
heroics.'
     Deanna knelt over him with her knees apart so she couldn't pleasure
herself. She pressed her arms like bars across his voice box and hips. Her
fists were balled then she locked herself into position so he couldn't squirm
free when he leapt at the first shock. Deanna relaxed her arms and pulled her
hair from her face so she could see what she was doing then stiffened again. He
had no idea what approached, but stared at her incredulously. He smelled nicely,
of linen and lavendar.
     Deanna took his hairy nipple in her mouth.
     He arched as though shot in the back and tried pushing her away but she
dug her forearm into his throat. The woman further calmed him by lessening
her touch to a thin point on his chest. She felt him tense and relax through
the tip of her tongue. His nipples were chrysanthemum burgundy. For fun she
bit him, to make certain he was paying attention. Deanna felt her nightgown
straining at her knee, almost to ripping. She bent forward and worked his
chest's other side until she purpled his skin, sucking persistently enough to
pull blood upwards.
     She took her forearm from his neck and traced his larynx with her
fingernails. His chest expanded as broadly as though he were running. Deanna
put her ear to his ribs and listened to the rushing inside his chest. She
traced down his abdomen with her face so close she couldn't focus on his hair
Then she closed her eyes and plunged her tongue into his belly button.
     William rolled and stood from the bed, pulling one of the blankets with
him. He put both fists to his lips and shivered. He was nearly hyperventilating
and stood with his feet widely apart to keep his balance.
     Deanna took his waist and ran her fingers over his abdomen as lightly
as she could, just tickling his light hairs. When she brushed the stringy
hairs on his scrotum he cringed and twisted. Deanna bit his hip bone and
suckled gently on its crown. The woman ran her hand up from the warm space
between his legs, up his sack and his penis, making him cringe so much that
she had to wrap one arm around him to keep him from escaping. She spider-
walked her fingers up his cock. He was lovely there, his skin was hard with
a soft plum on top. The moving yellow light made its blue veins rosy. Despite
her light touch he nearly had an orgasm. For a moment, when her fingers were
hanging above his shaft she thought he might spend into the air as though
she'd done a magic trick. William leapt from her into darkness for a moment
In the light again, he raised his hand to indicate a minute, as though he
were having a conversation with someone in the shadows and would rejoin her
He was ashamed of himself for being so weak that he nearly polluted the rug
like a schoolboy.
     In front of a woman.
     Deanna wasn't afraid of him, his legs were too beautiful for him to be
cruel. She watched him take a step further away from her as he waited to get
control of himself again. She'd never grow to like the men of this time, they
were unfinished diamonds that, however pretty, were still dark inside. Holo-
deck westerns wouldn't be the same, now, and that made her whistful.
     William backed toward her and turned. Deanna sat with her knees up, under
her nightgown. He touched his fingertips to hers, leading her around the bed.
Ungracefully, Deanna hopped forward on her backside with her feet out. He knelt
at the bed's edge and held her ankles as she propelled herself with her arms
until she sat with her back square on the mattress edge with her feet on either
side of the angle; her nightgown was twisted and ballooning gently in the
shifting air. William let go her ankles and lifted her gown from between them.
She looked at him with a happy half grin. His eyes flicked toward her once and
vanished from her sight as he leaned into her.
     She hadn't a clue how she'd got the impression, but thought like many that
people from the deep, dark past didn't like oral pleasure. She knew the Greeks
had their Baccanalia and the Romans their orgies, but somehow cunnilingus was
supposed to have fallen from the arts and flowered into being again shortly
before her own generation. Then she remembered her mother causing a great stink
at a cultural conference where she announced in a round-table discussion among
academics, ambassadors, potentates and prime ministers that, 'Each generation
believes it alone discovered oral sex.'
     Deanna sensed William open his mouth a centimeter from her and inhaled
broadly, dragging cool air over her. She watched his chest expand under his
shoulders; then he exhaled a humid caress. His mustache began brushing her
clitoris an instant before she took his tongue inside her.
     Her pleasure was fractured. Deanna kept wondering why he'd stared at her
feet, perhaps he thought they were too large? In fact, he'd been fascinated
by seeing nail varnish on toes, a fashion that wouldn't come about until the
l920s.
     As he suckled softly, she stroked his ears and filled the the room with
female sounds. Bending to nuzzle his sweet-smelling hair arced a sharpness over
her back as she over-stretched. He suckled earnestly and forcefully, driving her
toward her upward, not permitting her to enjoy her ascent. She couldn't push him
away during her orgasm and detected malicious joy, nearly schadenfreud. Deanna's
eyes teared as she lurched from one crest into another forceful ascent
immediately, he was paying her in turn for not letting him up before.
     Her breasts ached. She tried slipping her gown from her shoulders
gracefully but accidentally dragged the silk over one nipple and quickened her
mad climb; she pinched her breasts' tips, mingling sharpness and delight.
Lastly, she stretched backwards to lean on one elbow, letting orgasm overtake
her.
     She sagged and her vision darkened slightly. Deanna knew what would happen
now and waited in a hot languor for him. She began inching backwards, toward
the headboard but gave up for lack of energy and looked at him blearily as he
climbed over the stain they'd left on the bed's corner. He walked on his knees
toward her and dropped to his hands and knees. William smelled nicely; Deanna
didn't look at him, her eyelids were heavy. The fire was a deceptive pleasure:
it had made the room too hot and stolen oxygen from the air, making her dozy.
She wanted sleep but knew one more act needed playing. She made him wait a
moment as she arranged herself. Unevenly, he put himself atop her on all fours
with his hairy member dangling under him like an ornament. She marvelled at the
different textures he had: the crinkled skin on his bag, the smooth, oily shaft
and soft bloom of a head. A sugar cane stalk with a liquor inside for her
pleasure. Deanna caressed top of his glans to bend him to the right angle. She
held William still until she could focus. Deanna giggled when he nudged inside
her slowly. He was overwhelmed and opened his mouth into a wide O. A pearl of
saliva onto her cheek. Deanna pushed and pulled on his thighs, urging him to
hurry-up and wait. Something she adored but was always gone in an instant was
the difference in temperatures she felt as she enveloped a man. Men seemed
always cooler to her, but only for a sliding second, before they absorbed her
heat. Deanna smiled under closed eyes as she took him and felt his muscles
tighten and slacken. His ocean rocking made her doze lightly, she didn't feel
him spurt but woke as William shivered and grunted. His public hairs tickled
her clitoris such that she was aroused again. Deanna took her wrists in her
opposing hands and pressed against his kidneys, keeping him within.
     'Wait,' she said, and rocked her hips under him until she came. He
withdrew just as she crested and from her dozing confusion surfaced a fleeting
impression of maleness, as though she expelled him with her orgasm. They
separated and rolled sideways, sleeping immediately in the cotton and wool nest.
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