DISCLAIMER: This is an unauthorized
work of fiction using characters that are (c) & TM by
Marvel Comics Group. No profit is being made on this story,
so I I'll invoke The Marvel Readers' Bill of Rights:
"8. The right to practice scripting and drawing our
Marvel characters for your own pleasure and amusement."
The story is (c) Tilman Stieve (Menshevik@aol.com).
You can download this and copy it for your entertainment,
but don't sell it for profit, or Marvel will set their lawyers
on you. Please do not archive this on your website without
informing me first.
story features descriptions of sexual acts between two consenting
women, one of whom can change her shape into that of a man
[M/F, F/F]. If you are too young to read them or if such descriptions
bother you, I must ask you not to continue.
Introductory Note: This story (originally published
in Tales of the Twilight Menshevik: The Collection
for the November 1998 mailing of MZS-APA) is set in the fictional
timeline of my series, Tales of the Twilight Menshevik.
To be precise, it is an expansion on the entry in Valerie
Cooper's diary for October 6, 1995 in A
Year in the Life. I hope this story is written so
it can be understood on its own, but to put the events of
this night in context and to see how the story of Valerie
and Raven continues, it is recommended to read A Year in
the Life before or after this one.
You will notice the unusual format in two columns. This story
is an attempt to tell a story from the points of view of both
of its protagonists in parallel, so I encourage you to move
from the left column to the right and vice versa as often
as you feel comfortable.
My thanks go to Alec Wire for helping me with the local background,
to Rivka Jacobs for her input, to Alyson Hurt for helping
me with the format, and to the readers who encouraged me to
write this story.
by Tilman Stieve,
aka the Menshevik
It was another hard workout, and we both are covered
in sweat. As usual when Raven gives me her special hand-to-hand
combat training, I feel battered and ache all over,
but in a good way. I do not have the impression that
I am making much progress. But then it is over three
weeks since our last session, and I did not practice
nearly enough alone. Well, at least I'm getting a better
shot, but then it is easier to practice shooting by
It never fails to deflate the small measure of pride
I feel for my improving abilities when I see how easy
Mystique makes it look. When she wants to, she can look
even elegant fighting; I'm not good enough for that
yet, probably never will be. Which is why Raven puts
so much emphasis on simple and dirty tricks in my training.
But with her, it can be so different! I actually find
it distracting how beautiful she looks when she's working
out, her strong muscles moving beneath her leotard.
That does not help me at all when I'm supposed to defend
myself against her.
Raven says I'm not doing badly, all things considered,
by which she probably means: Not bad for a civilian
who will be preoccupied with looking after herself and
won't do anything much for the others in a battle. That
may well be so. For all my yearning to take an active
hand in X-Factor, I'll always be the administrator,
the woman who has to keep the bigwigs satisfied, who
has to ensure that relations to other federal departments
continue to run smoothly, who has to handle a large
part of the team's outside relations. I may be part
secret agent, but I'm simply not Emma Peel.
After the debriefing, we adjourn to the gym for
our self-defense class. Valerie is getting better than
she gives herself credit for, but she is reaching a
plateau. I'm afraid she won't be able to go beyond that
unless she makes time to concentrate on this, and I
wonder if she'll ever find the time to do that this
side of the year 2000. On the other hand, her aim with
guns is very good and today we even tried out some fencing
with the foil. She enjoys herself -- my kind of woman.
There's probably nothing like physical violence to work
off the frustration and pent-up aggression she accumulates
as she deals with the various bureaucratic bodies, Congressional
committees and Keepers of Red Tape. And, I guess, the
headaches I sometimes supply.
I am sure she was trying to cop a feel in the third
bout just now and thought I didn't notice. Well, why
not? She's a young woman, she has healthy sexual appetites.
That time in Washington State could not have been a
fluke event. And she has said she would not mind if
I propositioned her openly, maybe she meant that more
seriously than I (or she?) thought. But then was a one-night
stand. We enjoyed it, but neither of us wanted or expected
something more to come out of it. If we do have sex
with each other again, it could become more complicated.
We have grown closer this past month, overcome quite
a few difficulties. Val is on my mind an awful lot,
and I'm actually beginning to feel closer to her. I
surprised myself when I kissed her on the bullet scar
she sustained when she almost killed herself to save
my life. She makes me feel less lonely.
We leave the gym and enter the shower-room. I am
no longer so shy as I was at our first private training
session to be naked in her presence. Do I subconsciously
want her to see me that way? Considering some of
the dreams I've been having about her, maybe I am.
Raven certainly has no hang-ups about letting me
see her body, hasn't had them when we started these
sessions, doesn't have them now. I pretend not to
look, but I watch out of the corner of my eyes when
she slowly lathers her breasts with sensuous deliberation.
I catch myself thinking it would be nice if those
were my hands on her smooth-skinned, resilient flesh.
She grins at me, making me feel a bit embarrassed.
When we're finally dressed, we decide to go for
a quick bite and some fun on M Street. It is perhaps
the nicest season in Georgetown, the leaves on the
trees are turning golden. Mystique teases me about
my 'all work and no play' attitude, calling me the
original party animal. I reluctantly have to admit
there is something to it. It is strange -- when
I was married, Edmond and I used to go out together
a lot, at least when we still were at home at one
and the same time. When I went out in high school
and later in college I used to go out on the town
with my friends all the time, at least until I started
working on my dissertation.
We head for the showers. I can't help noticing
the way she keeps looking at my body as we wash.
I do believe she feels sexually attracted to me.
I wonder if she is ready to acknowledge that herself?
Might as well put it to the test, I decide, and
I put on a bit of a show for her. Val really brings
out the exhibitionist in me. No, I definitely would
not mind another roll in the hay with the pretty
Dr. Cooper. If she thinks she's straight, well,
I could accomodate her. It would be a start. But
the way she is watching me...
She's quite good at avoiding me catching her
at it, but I know she's observing me closely. What
she fails to notice (because she is distracted by
our conversation) is that her movements are beginning
to mirror my own. How her hands are lingering on
her own erogenous zones a lot longer than usual.
She suddenly blushes and turns away -- I must have
given away my amusement. But praise be! She's looking
back. There may be hope for you yet, Valerie.
When we go to our lockers, I needle her about
the way she always seems to be engrossed in her
work. And so, after putting on more comfortable
clothes (and in my case my old black-haired Raven
Darkhölme shape), we set off for a night on the
town. She lets me choose where we go first, and
so we go to Tapas y Tango.
Of course, being involved with so many hush-hush operations
later was not exactly conducive to the quality of my
social life. And now, with X-Factor, as with Freedom
Force and the Captain America program before it, I don't
have any close friends. The only person with whom I
feel like discussing my private life (well, some aspects
of it, at any rate) seems to be Raven. I remark on this,
and she gets a very thoughtful expression. Finally she
says: "Yes, and that really is puzzling. That you
feel so comfortable with me in spite of everything I
did, even after ... you know. Why is that?"
She is referring to the time when at the end of our
mission to the Pacific Northwest she assumed the shape
of the object of my affections (okay, my lusts) and
had sex with me. I was livid when I found out, but in
retrospect it is astonishing how soon afterwards I returned
to our strange quasi-friendship, almost as if nothing
had happened. Why is that? I try to make light of the
matter: "Well, for one thing at times like now
I don't have to worry about where you are and who you
Maybe that actually is the key -- I'm certain I know
who she is, what kind of a person she is. In many respects,
she is an awful lot like me. We arrive at the place
Raven suggested, 'Tapas y Tango', a Latin American eatery
and dancing establishment. We choose a table not to
near the band because we want to continue our conversation.
"I used to do more of this," she says,
"but it's not so much fun alone. And few of the
people I work with is close enough that they'd want
to go out with me for a drink or a movie more than twice
a year." She smiles sadly, and then remembers what
we are just doing. "Apart from you, of course.
Funny, of all of X-Factor you're probably the one closest
Yes, odd that. Although she considers them her friends
collectively, Valerie has not grown close to any of
them. She pals around with Madrox and Carosella, but
though she tries, she can't totally hide that sometimes
she cannot take them seriously (now who does that remind
me of?). And with the others it does not seem to have
progressed much beyond mutual respect. Apart from Multiple
Boy and Strong Lad, I wonder how many of them even try
to see her as the person she is and not primarily as
the representative of the government she serves.
It must be chemistry -- we misread and underestimated
each other earlier on, but Val and I somehow clicked.
When I was head of D.A.R.P.A., my intuitive reading
of her helped me a lot in my job. Later, when I put
Freedom Force under her control, she understood me well,
perhaps to well. In many ways we are kindred spirits.
One thing we definitely have in common is that we don't
make friends easily. Another is perhaps a determination
to leave a mark, to change the world by any means necessary.
We want to make it what we think is a better place,
even though we sometimes were miles apart as to what
I decide to ask her the question back: "And why,
pray, do you stick around with me instead of maybe looking
for some more congenial company?"
"Well, I don't know about you," she replies,
"but knowing I have a tracking device implanted
in my body does tend to cramp my style when I go out
on my own."
Ouch! That was a necessary precaution Forge and I took
when we forced Mystique to return to Federal service.
Now my gut feeling is that we probably could do without
it -- after all, if X-Factor really should find itself
up a creek without the proverbial paddle, would it not
actually make it more likely that she would betray the
team to escape? (I also sometimes suspect that if she
wanted to, she could find means to remove the tracker
quickly enough). Unfortunately, at the moment I'm not
entirely sure I can trust my instincts where she is
Our light dinners soon are served and we settle down.
Raven seems preoccupied, but she does continue between
bites: "I guess part of it is that much as we would
have liked to deny it, we are at heart like and like.
Twisted mirror-images of each others in a number of
ways, at least in the early days of our 'association'."
She looks at me in a mixture of surprise and joy when
I tell her that I have just been thinking the same thing.
She asks me why I spend so much time with her. I
try to win time by mentioning Forge's implanted tracker,
which makes her blush. Interesting. Normally she does
not react like that when challenged about things done
in her responsibility. But I wish I knew why I keep
feeling drawn to you, Val.
Three weeks I talked to Rogue about Val and me.
I said that in her I see myself as I might have been.
But that is not all. The more I think about the time
in that little town in the forests of Washington, the
more I am puzzled by my motives for seducing Valerie
as Sheriff Truman. It was not to get my own back at
her. Had I succeeded in keeping it secret, it would
not have been much of a revenge: All she would have
remembered would have been a night of passionate sex
that she found very pleasurable, as far as I can tell.
To really get under Val's skin it would have been
indispensable to let her know with whom had been exchanging
bodily fluids, yet I did not want her to. When she found
out I only felt bad about it. On the other hand, I had
not done it in a that avoided being found out. The 'secret'
could only hold until the next time she spoke or wrote
to Truman or her brother. Did I just want to find out
what sex with Val is like? Surely I can't have been
subconsciously jealous of the handsome sheriff and what
I thought he might have become to Valerie if he had
had slept with her?
She continues, underlining points with an occasional
stab or flourish of her fork: "We often are on
different wavelengths, but we easily understand each
other, most of the time. But maybe there is more to
it than that. When I look back at the past two months..."
She falters and nervously picks up her glass of wine
to take a sip. "Let's say I really enjoy being
with you, but I don't want to analyze everything to
I really have trouble putting my thoughts and feelings
into words under Valerie's eyes. What do I feel for
her? An affinity? Friendship? Maybe not exactly love,
but something a little more than friendship? For a moment
I'm at loss for words. I can see she senses my discomfort.
Thankfully she refrains from pressing the subject and
we go on to more enjoyable matters.
That actually comes as a relief to me -- maybe she
has the same kind of difficulty finding a handle to
her feelings about me as I have with my feelings for
her. We go on to safer subjects and discover that we
both are movie buffs. And so we start talking, about
the films she saw as a child in the 1930s and later
as a teenager in the 1940s. She is a bit amused when
I tell her of my early influences, how I saw 'Star Wars'
42 times before I left high school. But her smile is
not condescending. She actually enjoyed it too when
she saw it, even if she did not go back quite as often
as me. I'm glad Aunt Emma got me interested in European
cinema, at least I don't come over as a complete idiot
when Raven talks about which movies she obsessed when
she was little.
After our meal, we sit down at the bar for cocktails
and to watch the other patrons dance the lambada and
the tango. Raven asks me if I want to join them, and
I regretfully have to tell her that I can't do either.
But Raven won't take no for an answer: "Never mind,
I'll teach you. Stay here!" And off she runs.
I stay behind and play with my half-emptied glass.
No doubt she's going to the restrooms or some other
convenient place to transform herself into a man. I
idly wonder if she has something else in mind too, but
most of all I wonder what she'll look like.
When she returns, she is in a guise most appropriate
for what we have in mind. I guess. She looks as if she
came straight out of a Zorro movie, even has a thin
"May I have this dance, querida?" 'he' asks,
bowing down with the elegance of an experienced dancer
(oh damn, I'll make such a fool of myself!) I gulp down
the rest of my drink, and thus fortified and against
my better judgment, I take Raven's hand and follow her
onto the floor.
We find out that we both enjoy watching old and
new films. That is definitely something we could do
together in the future. It is a relief to talk to someone
to whom I don't have to explain who Brigitte Helm and
Louise Brooks were. Somehow I am not surprised that
she tells me that when she was young she was very much
into Star Wars. She does not contradict me when
I tell her I am sure that Princess Leia must have been
one of her prime role models. She only smiles, supporting
her head with one hand and gazing into space dreamily.
I suddenly feel an urge to stroke her hair, but I manage
to restrain myself.
Later, after desserts, we move over to bar and watch
the young ones dance. When I ask Valerie for a dance,
she says: "I'm afraid I'm not a good dancer. So
unless the band is game for the hokey-pokey..."
She gives me a self-deprecating smile and when I say
I can't believe that that is the only dance she can
do, she elaborates: "My parents say that I really
was into the hokey-pokey at birthday parties when I
went to kindergarten. I'm afraid in later years I did
not really get into dancing. I mean, I can manage a
waltz, but not a tango, certainly not to these standards."
So of course I have to offer her to teach her. I
rush of to the toilets to assume a male shape, which
will be more unobtrusive on the dance floor and...
It is harder than I thought to choose a shape. I
finally settle on a slightly Latin looking dark-haired
type roughly of Valerie's age. Vague echoes of Tyrone
Power in The Mark of Zorro. Val raises her eyebrows
when I return, but she also smiles.
She accepts my invitation to dance with slight unease,
but she accepts. She slips off her barstool and we make
our way into the throng as the band begins to play another
tango. We get into our starting positions, and away
I am not the most talented of students. The complicated
ways in which the more experienced women on the floor
twiddle their legs between steps are beyond me. I basically
hold on for dear life and try to avoid trampling on
Raven's feet or being trodden on myself. I am so relieved
that we manage to finish without major bruises and lacerations
that I consent to second one. This time we are more
ambitious, she even does a dip. I'm beginning to enjoy
We dance closer now, sometimes literally cheek to cheek
(the wiry hairs of the mustache are an amusing novelty).
She enjoys the way we cling together -- partly because
it is a tango, but also because it is something we want.
The eagerness with which I squeeze my upper body against
hers surprises me a little, but the experience is also
a satisfying. I'm beginning to wonder if Raven had an
'ulterior motive' for choosing this of all places. She
confirms it when she murmurs in my ear:
Valerie is definitely not in her element on the
dance-floor, but her chin signals her determination.
I dared her to join me in a dance, and she'll finish
it, one way or the other. At least she avoids stepping
on my feet, most of the time. Counting out the rhythm
beneath our breath, we launch into our first tango.
We manage to come through it in one piece, and,
her confidence raised by this unexpected fact, Valerie
agrees to a second round.
She still has to concentrate hard on keeping the
rhythm, but she is making progress. We dance more closely
than the first time, and I feel her warm body close
to mine. The twin pressure of her bosom against my chest,
her cheek brushing against mine, even her sweaty palm
in my hand, all these I experience with acutely heightened
sensibility. Technically, this dance is forgettable,
but it provides us with an intimate proximity which
"You know how they define the tango, don't you?
The vertical expression of a horizontal desire?"
I have to smile. That old saw. "Yes, I knew that.
And is it, in your case?"
"And what if it was?" she purrs, falling
back into her real contralto. "Admit it, you've
been tempted for weeks. I can tell. Body language is
one of the fifteen languages in which I'm fluent."
She is right. She sees how I look at her when we take
showers together. She remembers how I half-joked about
not being open to another sexual overture provided it
was done openly. And I have to think of some of the
dreams I've been having, especially the one where I
am making love to Edmond, and then he turns into Raven
and I am glad it was really her. Yes, ever since
I got over my mad at her, I have been lusting after
her. And the feeling is mutual, obviously.
We dip a second time. It feels good, letting go, trusting
her strong arms to hold me. I make up my mind. "Okay,
it is something I would like to try again. I'm curious
how it'll feel when I know it is actually you. And why
not? We're both grownups and we're both free agents,
romantically. I'd say let's do it."
All this talking and thinking is doing nothing for
my concentration, and I totally misjudge the next spin,
winding up in an embarrassing collision with her. Partly
because of that, and partly because of my excited anticipation
we make a hurried exit after the dance and head for
I pluck up the courage to make an indirect approach:
"You know how they define the tango, don't you?
The vertical expression of a horizontal desire?"
She is unfazed, in fact what she really wants is
for me to ask her directly: "Is it, in your case?"
No, she won't refuse me, she's clearly signaled
that. And with our bodies pressed closely together,
with the smell of her soap and her natural odor in my
nose, I no longer worry about the possible consequences.
This is our night, we won't be hurting each other. It'll
just be a friendly fuck between two consenting adults,
no strings attached. We both want, and it won't change
the way we feel about each other, or at any rate it
won't make us feel bad. [If anything, it will make your
feelings for her even more gooey, says a nasty little
voice at the back of my head].
I take the plunge and tell her that she has wanted
it for weeks. And she admits it and says she is game.
We look deeply into each other's eyes, but the moment
is saved from a surfeit of emotion by a comic interruption
when Val gets overconfident as she pirouettes into a
spin and slams into me. She manages to step on both
my feet. She grins apologetically: "Why don't we
split to my place before I embarrass myself even more?"
After that tango, we leave, walking hand in hand.
I catch myself looking around me to see if there is
anyone watching us. Force of habit. Not a sausage, apparently.
Val keeps raising the pace as we go.
When we close the front door behind us, I try to curb
my impatience. I ask her if she wants a cup of coffee
or something. She says no. All the better. We both sit
down on the sofa, and she adjusts her shape. The one
she had until now was appropriate to teaching me the
tango, but not for what is to follow. This is a big
improvement. A bit surprisingly, she stays male. We
pause at the foot of the stairs. 'He' takes me into
her arms. I return the kiss with enthusiasm. My pulse
races in anticipation and we go upstairs to the bedroom.
We arrive in a short while. She unlocks the door
and holds it open for me. Slipping into the role of
the host, she offers to prepare a cup of coffee for
me. But I'm too impatient, and decline the offer.
Still, there is a short pause when we sit down in
the living-room and I change into a shape that I hope
will be more pleasing to her. The thin mustache is the
first thing to go. She seems to like the result. Before
going upstairs, she lets me embrace her. Her kiss is
hard. When we break apart, her breath is ragged. She
eagerly takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom.
It is the first time Raven has been here, and she looks
around it with undisguised curiosity. She seems to like
what she sees. It is strange: Here we are, about to
become as intimate as you can get physically, and I
feel funny because she is inspecting my bedroom, even
looking at the titles of the books on the bedside table
as I draw the curtains together. Enough of that. Turning
back from the window, I begin to undress. She stops
me: "No, let me. Please."
She takes my jacket and carefully drapes it over the
back of the vanity chair. Then she methodically unbuckles
the belt and opens my skirt, letting it slip to the
ground around my feet. I step out of it and kick off
my shoes. Her hands glide over my behind, then she slowly
undoes the buttons of my shirt. When she is finished,
she slips that down my arms as well. The cooler air
on my slightly clammy back makes me shiver for a moment.
The pantyhose comes off with a sigh as she slowly crouches
down to slip it off my feet, one by one. At the same
time, I take off my earrings and wristwatch, almost
It is very unlike her tidy, slightly impersonal
office. That has a modern stylishness, but it is not
unusual for a high-ranking official. This is different.
White curtains with a stylized black floral pattern,
tasteful wallpaper in muted pastel tones, an Art Déco
lamp (probably a reproduction) on the bedside table.
A tasteful ensemble. Wonder if she chose it herself
or hired an interior decorator. The bed is fairly hard.
Good, I hate soft mattresses. Val impatiently starts
to take off her clothes. But she stops when I ask her
to let me do it.
I take her stone-gray jacket and put it away. Her
skirt comes off next. The curves of her firm, well-rounded
buttocks call out for a quick fondling, and I don't
resist. Val sighs contentedly, then I proceed to unbutton
her cream-colored shirt. Beneath it, she is wearing
a powder-blue brassiere that matches her panties, both
more lacy affairs than the black slip and sports bra
she wore during our training session.
It is strange that I feel excited about undressing
Val. I've known her body a long time, lived in a facsimile
of her skin for weeks, we even had sex before.
Raven stands up again, looking deep into my eyes (we
are almost nose to nose, which looks a bit comical)
as she reaches behind my back to seek out the clasp
of my bra. We kiss again when she opens it.
Down comes the bra. Raven's eyebrows rise and she smacks
her lips when she sees that the nipples are already
a little stiff in anticipation. I let myself flop onto
the bed and she enjoys the view. I ask her: "Aren't
you going to get undressed yourself?" I guess I
could take off her clothes myself, but as she's not
in her real shape, I somehow don't feel like I need
to. Not that I mind the athletic male standing at the
foot of the bed and looking down on me appreciatively.
Raven undresses quickly and efficiently and then bows
down to pull off my panties. I draw up my legs and let
them fall apart. Raven's masculine semaphore begins
to react, and she lies down beside me. She gently begins
to explore my body with her hands and mouth. I am reminded
of the first time we two had sex, she was a gentle and
considerate lover then, very much the kind of man I
had hoped to go between the sheets with.
But is that the real Raven, I wonder. It is part of
her, that is clear from the way she would take Destiny's
hand and lovingly press it to her own cheek and then
slowly kiss it, as I saw her do it once during a long
flight. But it is not the entirety of her being. There
is also the wild, impatient, passionate and aggressive
side to her, the part of her that enjoys the violence
her self-chosen job entails -- both the formalized one
in the gym, and the practically unrestrained violence
on missions. I need that part of her as well, and I
tell her so.
She protests half-heartedly, but begins to grip harder,
shows less restraint in her nibbling on my sensitive
parts. The added pressure of her powerful fingers leaves
deep pink marks on the whitish skin of my breasts and
elsewhere on my body. I respond in kind. We devote a
lot less time to foreplay than we did then, but I'm
all keyed up, so it doesn't matter. She tests how far
she can go in roughly treating my breasts and is visibly
pleased by how far their tips have risen into throbbing,
spit-soaked erection. They hurt a bit, but it is a good
hurt. We shift our position so that my head ends up
in her crotch. She holds it tight as I deal with her
Soon she is ready for the main course. She is holding
her breath, struggling to hold back. Then she exhales
loudly and flops me back on my back. Again she looks
down at me, with a smile that is approaching a smirk.
She grabs my ankles and lifts them up above my shoulders
-- and hers. With a little assistance from me, she inserts
tab 'A' in slot 'B'. The intrusion is not gentle, I
wheeze as she plunges into me in one slow, powerful
thrust. But I can take her, my body adjusts to the situation.
Her face is contorted into an intense grimace as she
gradually increases her pace, moving in me like a well-oiled
piston. I try to counter her thrusts, but in my current
position that is rather difficult.
The difference, the thing that excites me is really
something intangible, it is the fact that this time
she knows who I am, that she wants me, and that she
knows I know.
Her pantyhose comes off smoothly. When I undo the
clasp of her brassiere, her hands come down on the back
of my head and pull me close for a kiss. We step apart
and she lowers her arms, allowing her wispy undergarment
to fall to the floor. My eyes dwell on her apple-sized
breasts. Very pretty. The smooth skin looks fresh and
clean. The nipples are already half-erect, grown in
size and cylindrical hardness. Yum!
Valerie sinks onto her back on the bed and smiles
at me across her prettily jiggling bosom, urging me
to get rid of my clothes myself. I do so under her watchful
eyes. Not like a showman, just quickly and without frills.
She seems to like my body. We'll play it safe and begin
with the het stuff. She enjoys that, it'll be a base
to build on. I don't think she's ever done it with a
woman. There will be time for that later.
We've saved up her slip for the last. It joins the
untidy pile of clothes on the floor, and the blond patch
between her legs is laid open for me to see. She falls
open like a book. I lie down beside her on the bed and
begin to fondle and kiss her.
But Valerie has other ideas: "Raven, I've had
you sensitive and gentle lover when we did it in August.
I want more. The way I feel now, I want it rough, I
want it tough, I want you to have your way with me."
"Isn't it a bit early for that?" I ask.
"It is a part of you, and I want all of you,
silly 'man'. Let's do it!"
"Okay, you asked for it!"
It becomes evident that she too has a more aggressive
side. But it is not a case of 'two people falling upon
each other like wild animals', as in a cheap novel.
It's a gradual build-up, where one tries out something,
waits for the other's reaction, and then we proceed
to the next level. I begin to pinch her nipples a little
rougher, then to twist them hard, and finally nip them
between my teeth. She draws in her breath with a hiss,
her fingernails dig into my back, low moans of pleasure
rise in her throat. Her nipples turn a deeper pink and
stand proudly. I now make her bring my male body to
full erection. She knows her way around there, I can't
take more than a short time of this.
Abruptly, I push her back so she lands belly-up.
Her feet end up behind my ears. With a jerk, I pull
her body towards me so that her behind is on the edge
of the bed. I pull her legs apart to lay her open. Her
hands guide me in, and I push forward, burying myself
inside her entirely in the first assault. She makes
a sound that starts out as a whimper slowly turns into
a moan of desire. My toes claw into the carpeted floor
as I try to improve my leverage. Intermittently, she
closes her eyes dreamily and throws back her head, concentrating
on her other senses. Then she opens them again and looks
at me with lust-glazed eyes.
I suggest we change our position, and I get down on
my hands and knees on the floor. She kneels down behind
me, firmly grips my thighs, and we slam into each other
in a quickening rhythm. I feel the pull of my breasts
flopping jerkily, wilder and wilder beneath the ribcage.
Anchored against the bed, I can let my left hand roam
under my body, now playing with a breast, then down
to my sex to add to my arousal. We stumble onto our
side, I feel her moist breath in the nape of my neck.
Hear her panting and inarticulate utterings. She picks
up my free leg pinning it up with her left arm grabbing
my left boob with her bigstrong hand I groan as she
squeezes and twists the soft tingling gland pinches
the sensitized tip in the rhythm of our lovemaking.
Lovemaking? That's one word for it, 'rutting' would
be more appropriate. Who gives a damn, I so hard so
hotmoist love not fast enough you sweatslickheat Raven
harderfasterthrusts explodingstarburstsparkle this bloodrushnervesthrob
is so musclesclamp and I yell out my ecstasy as we climax
together and I feel her shuddering release in me. I
hear her triumphant roar, and then we both go still.
For a while, she is content to let me be the aggressor,
but soon she wants to take a more active part. She complains
that she can't do that in this position, so we regroup.
She goes down on her knees to better answer my thrusts
as I take her from behind. With one hand she adds to
her enjoyment, roving between her free-swinging breasts
and her crotch. Good thing too, as I am almost unmindful
of her pleasure in the state I'm in. Gradually we fall
onto our right arms and legs. I reach around her left
leg to seize her breast once more, handling it roughly,
relishing the pliable feel of its flesh in my clawing
fingers and her moaning and surprisingly colorful shouts
exhorting me to be harder, faster, rougher. I feel as
if the heat in my crotch is making a column of mercury
rise, and when it hits the top my head will burst. The
movements of my pelvis become frenzied, Val's panting
and moaning louder and faster, my flaring nostrils draw
in the mingled smells sweating bodies Val's vise-like
muscles grip me buttocks as fenders her heat fires me
up oh thank you Val we both reach the peak she wildly
contracts the twitching in her back against my stomach
and chest, I'm over the brink and pour forth into her.
I turn back to kiss her mouth. After that unrestrained
session, a more sedate pause is called for. My hand
glides down and back, coming to rest on her compact
male behind. She wipes the sweat off my brow and delicately
licks it from her fingers as if it was honey.
Finally, she withdraws from me and we clamber back
into the bed. We get to talk again. "That was quite
something," I tell her, "hope you enjoyed
it as much as I did." This gets me wondering, and
I ask her that, since she probably has a lot of experience
in both sexes, how she feels about the differences of
doing it in a male and female body.
"Both have their advantages and drawbacks,"
she says in reply, "but on the whole I prefer to
be in a woman's body. When I'm a man, it feels a bit
strange and limited, having almost all erogenous feelings
focused to the dangly bit between the legs. But yes,
I enjoyed that just now. I had not realized how much
I had wanted it so unrestrained."
"But if you prefer to have sex as a woman,"
I say to that, "why didn't you turn back into female
form just now? I mean, I obviously enjoyed it a lot
this way, but I wanted this to be what you wanted too."
"I thought that was what you wanted. As far as
I know, you've never had sex with a woman before. I
thought you would not like it as much."
"I don't know how I will enjoy it, because I never
tried it." I smile at her, disarmingly I hope.
"But then I never tried to tango before tonight,
and I enjoyed that a lot. Perhaps you could be my teacher
"Well, I guess I might be persuaded," she
says (still in male form). "But maybe you're not
as inexperienced as you say. I bet you had quite a bit
of sex with at least one woman." As I start to
speak up, she shows what she meant by shapeshifting
into... me. There is something to that, I guess, playing
with myself could be taken as a lesbian experience in
the widest sense.
Afterwards, we lie on the carpet, spoon-fashion,
languorously kissing. Our bodies are pressed close together,
and we now take a little more time for the caresses
we exchange. Her face is radiant as she turns around
back towards me for an uncomfortable kiss.
But then we adjourn to the bed, lie down in between
the sheets and pick up our conversation. Valerie gets
me to talk about how different I feel about having sex
in male and female shape, and that sets off my mind
on a tangent.
We did not use a condom just now. It just hits me:
I could have got her pregnant just now. It happened
before, when Irene and I conceived Kurt. But I'm sure
Valerie is on the pill. In any case it's no use worrying.
We'll take things as they come [if she isn't on the
pill, Val will no doubt have a discreet little abortion,
says the voice at the back of my head]. For an instant
I am troubled by these thoughts. Does that mean I would
like her to bear me a child? That's crazy. I mean, I
like her, but if I really loved her, I'd have to let
her go. She's much better off when she's not intimately
linked to me. Being friends who once or twice go to
bed with each other is a different, less messy matter.
Valerie, for her part, says she is surprised that
I did not have sex with her as a woman just now. Yes,
that is very odd, especially considering how she had
been looking at me in the shower. Funny that I want
to play it safe with her, as if taking risks wasn't
my calling-card, normally.
In the end, I don't take much persuading when Val
asks me to initiate her into sapphic play. Since I like
her body, I morph into her shape, on the rationale that
when she masturbated she had her first lesbian experiences.
Valerie's eyes widen, then resume their normal aspect
when the coin drops.
She is fascinated, looking all over my replication
of her body, holding her right hand next to mine, scrutinizing
my face with her cornflower blue eyes.
Raven's power never ceases to astonish me. I look all
over her (my?) body and cautiously reach out to touch
her left breast. She's got the weight, skin texture,
color, everything right down to the fifth decimal point.
It's a perfect match, apart from the flushed marks left
by her fingers on my left breast, but if she wanted
to, I'm sure she could also do those. I take her nipple
between my thumb and two fingers. I pinch it, and I
feel how the rush of blood into it heats it up, I see
how the pink color of the bud and its surrounding band
deepens, just or nearly so as it would in mine. As I
pull experimentally, it gives way a little, and the
whole breast follows, growing longer, changing to a
cone. When I let go, the elasticity of the flesh quickly
returns it to its familiar pear-like shape. Its wobbling
is most attractive, even if I say so myself.
Raven's idea is something on the lines of me doing
to her what I would want to have someone to do to me,
and I slowly begin to shift from exploring her (my)
body to trying to stimulate it. Still, I feel daunted
by the prospect of my lesbian deflowering, so I am grateful
for her quick parody of Yoda (actually she sounds more
like Fozzy Bear, but it is easy to confuse the two voices)
to help me take the plunge.
How do I begin? I eventually start at her mouth, wondering
what it will be like. Her lips are softer than they
were when she was a man, more yielding, softer, warmer.
At first I hold back my tongue, then it gradually snakes
forward into the cave of her mouth, where it explores
the hedges of her teeth, the strange formation of her
palate and then becomes involved with its counterpart.
Raven becomes more active herself, not content with
playing with my tongue in her mouth she also begins
forays into mine.
What next? Check out the body parts that are different
from a man's? With eyes closed, I let my hands glide
down her back and the sides of her body, along the dipping
route across her waist. The skin is a lot smoother than
it was ten minutes ago, there is a lot less hair. Raven's
movements begin to mirror my own. Accustomed to being
with men, I find Raven's well-padded behind an intriguing
discovery. Wonder if she enjoys my fondling as much
as I do hers. Guess she does, unless that purring moan
was just put on.
We draw apart after a while of this, and I return my
attention to her breasts. After letting me caress them
for a few minutes, Raven comes up with something else.
She takes her own right breast in hand and squeezes
it forward. She starts to roll its hardening tip against
the nipple of my left breast opposite. I start doing
the same thing, and for a while we are playing at dueling
nipples, which looks a bit odd, but feels as if electric
sparks pass from one little cylinder to the other. Then
we do it with no hands, pressing and rolling against
"Lie down," she tells me. She crawls over
me to go down on my breasts. Hers dangle temptingly
above my face. I want to feel them on my mouth, to suck
in their flesh, to lick the point into hardness. Only
last month I had realized that I could feel sexually
and romantically attracted to a woman -- Raven -- now
I'm living out these feelings, and my apprehensions
about this unfamiliar territory are just gone.
"Amazing," she whispers. With a finger,
she traces the contour of her own determined jawline
on my face, then her hand drops down to my left breast
as she begins to compare it closely with its original.
She snuggles up to my left side to hold hers up to it,
then tests the consistency of mine by pinching the tip
and giving it a tug to see how far it will expand. She
seems content by its behavior, and smacks her lips.
It does not bother her to be with her naked doppelgänger,
it only arouses her intense curiosity.
Feeling her touch in a female body is starting to
key me up, and my voice becomes a little more husky
than expected when I tell her: "Well, you should
have a pretty good idea what turns on a woman with this
kind of a body. Want to put it into practice?"
"Well, I'll give it a shot," she replies
with a slight note of apprehension in her voice.
I just can't resist: "Try not you must, young
Skywalker, do you must!"
She giggles, which is probably a good thing. Maybe
it helps her to overcome her nervousness.
It begins slowly with our mouths joining, the caressing
touch of two pairs of moist lips. Hers start tentatively,
then grow more enterprising and more mobile, it feels
like butterflies brushing their wings across my tingling
lips. Again I notice how nice she smells. Momentarily
her eyes close, and then her pointed tongue slowly intrudes
into my mouth. I reciprocate with mine, and I feel her
relaxing. Her hands move down my back, they are on their
way to my behind.
As she slowly and caressingly travels all over my
back with her active hands, I do the same to her. Too
bad the mirror is so far away from the bed, it should
be fun to look at ourselves, two Valeries caressing
each other in perfect symmetry. Val's movements are
gaining in confidence, and I am beginning to feel how
the first bubbles of my sexual excitement are rising
to the surface as her palms and fingers sensuously go
over the curves of my (her) compact buttocks. Our French
kissing continues all the while, and it seems she is
enjoying it, if the soulful sighs that accompany her
exhalations are anything to go by.
She leans back for a moment and her hands play with
my breasts again. Her fingers can be both hard and soft,
and they are pleasantly warm. My breasts swell at her
attentions. My nipples harden, and so do hers when we
begin to rub them against and around one another. We
both luxuriate in that rising excitement and in the
rising temperature as we roll our breasts against each
other in circular motions. Valerie has thrown back her
head, groans contentedly.
She lies down on the bed when I ask her, looking
up at me, curious about what I'm up to. I hunch above
her and bring down my mouth on her bosom. The hillocks
are flattened by their weight, the nipples stand up
proud from their creamy skin. I have placed myself so
that my breasts hang down close to her face, and she
pulls one to her mouth immediately, and begins to suckle
on them thoroughly. The erotic symmetry of our position
gives me the idea to play a little game, where I mirror
her caresses, do to her what she is doing to my breasts.
Valerie chuckles prettily when she realizes what I am
doing, and redoubles her efforts.
Raven sighs with feeling when I gently bite down on
her left nipple, but then she does the same to mine.
After a few minutes of sexual play I realize that she
is always following suit with what I am doing. This
is fun, and it helps me to get it right. I have to giggle.
When we are both breathing raggedly, she crawls forward
or, relative to my body, downwards, tracing the way
with her lips and tongue. This is it. She is approaching
my femininity, and at the same time, hers is coming
ever closer to my face...
It is not the first time for me to be in that particular
position, just the first time with a woman. I discover
I enjoy the active part even more than I had expected,
but after a while my growing arousal becomes too much
for me, and I just lay back and let her lips, fingers
and tongue bring me to the peak.
Valerie realizes what I am doing and is amused (and
relaxed). After a while, I decide it is enough, and
move into that old standby, the '69'. Her mound is appetizing
under its blonde furry patch, and I go to work at once.
Val is a bit hesitant at first, but quickly learns what
to do and how to do it best. I am fascinated by her
smell, her trembling writhings, her taste and by her
eagerness to try out the new play.
In a position like this it is hard for both partners
to stay focused. When you are approaching orgasm yourself,
it becomes harder to properly concentrate on helping
your partner to hers. Valerie eventually gives up and
lets me finish the job on her. I shift again so I can
observe her face (and the way the tendons in her neck
come out) as she climaxes.
I tell her it was great, and so it was, but actually
what I felt -- the orgasm, the closeness, the weirdness
of making love to a woman in my body -- is indescribable.
I can't put all of it into words. But now it is time
for me to return her favor. Raven is a sensuous woman
and an appreciative lover, I find it easier than I expected
to raise her sexual arousal. "My, you are a quick
learner," she chuckles. I begin to try out things
I have only heard or read about. I'm doing stuff that
could get us into trouble with the law in some parts
of This Great Nation -- me, a government official! She
whimpers full of passionate intensity, her hands knead
the flesh of her bosom, her back arches and undulates,
her head thrashes wildly about, her cries of ecstasy
become louder and louder -- is that really my doing?
For a minute after her climax she just lies there panting,
but we then slip under the sheet together. I lie in
Raven's strong arms. She has changed back to what is
'normalcy' for her, her well-muscled body (which makes
mine look frail), Prussian blue skin and dark red hair.
She cradles my head between her breasts.
"That was wonderful," she huskily says
after her noisy orgasm subsides. She seems about to
say more, but she shuts up and immediately returns to
her task of getting me off. Looking at her down my body,
I can see she is enjoying this. I bet she is realizing
her power as she sees how her actions are bringing me
from arousal to ecstasy and she begins to experiment
with how and where she applies her active mouth and
her busy fingers my breaths turn into moans my head
thrashes leftright I think I hear my blood rushing in
my ears wow I would not have thought Val would even
know about that but now she is oh doing it my
doing it to me she reaches my core I you who would have
thought my hands squeeze my breasts I am getting there
Valerie my body heats up she smiles triumphantly I AM
After I become coherent again, we are both loath
to separate. I hold her to me and we luxuriate in the
dissipating heat of our sweaty bodies. We slowly exchange
gentle caresses (this is the first time she has a chance
to familiarize herself with my real body) and talk.
I feel light-headed, and I just have to kiss her from
time to time. In hushed tones we easily segue from one
topic to the next, we are both happy with how the evening
had progressed, and continue to enjoy our companionship.
At first we can't stay serious, especially when she
relates how she 'subliminally' affected my behavior
in the shower-room earlier on.
After telling me how she first met Irene, she asks
me if that was my first lesbian experience or the first
time I felt sexually interested in a woman.
"Yes on the one, no on the other," I say.
"I had a few flings (less than Madonna, maybe less
than Princess Di, I guess), but all were with men. In
my senior high school year when I thought that Gretchen
Tyler, the captain of the basketball team, looked damned
attractive and I wondered what it would be like with
her. She was proud to call herself a dyke, which daunted
me, because I thought she might make fun of me as being
no more than a bi-curious little girl. By the time I
finally worked up enough courage to approach her, she
already had a steady girlfriend. And a few years later
I met Edmond and he bowled me over. A year after we
were introduced, we were married.
Who would have thought a month ago that I would
find it so gratifying to lie with Val? Or that she would
drop her guard as much as she does now as she snuggles
up to me and cheerfully babbles on? Or that I would
be so moved by her fearless trust? She knows what the
arms and hands that hold her have done, but to her they
hold no fear. We happily enjoy our intimacy. An intimacy
that for the moment also embraces our conversation.
We start by reminiscing -- about previous sexual
encounters, about old lovers and partners. For the first
time I have the feeling that her emotions and memories
are directly translated into words, without being filtered
through Val's political agenda and her calculation of
the likely effect on the listener. She becomes quite
talkative, tells me about the first time she had sex,
and of the only previous time she can remember when
she felt physically attracted to a female acquaintance,
back in high school. At one point she waxes sentimental
about how happy she felt during the first year of her
marriage to Edmond Atkinson. Immediately, she becomes
flustered for a moment, and exclaims: "I'm not
carrying a torch for him or anything. It's just he used
to be such a big part of my life back then."
And we were happy together, for the first year. But
then our careers took off and we grew apart, and ...
and I really don't think you're interested in what I
used to feel for Ed..."
She smiles at me indulgently as I hurry to explain
that although I once loved him, that chapter is over.
But why do that? I don't feel embarrassed about my other
sexual partners, am I afraid she'd see Ed as a romantic
rival? Just because we had a nice evening and some of
the greatest sex I can remember doesn't mean we're a
couple, does it? We satisfied our curiosity, we had
our fun, tomorrow we'll go our separate ways, right?
But it feels so good to confide in Raven, even about
Ed and what went wrong in our marriage.
Still, I feel a bit uncomfortable. As Raven seems to
be hinting, my super-ego must be worried I may have
become too open to her. But why? I did not give away
anything that I have to be ashamed of. The mere fact
that I went to bed with her is easily more fraught with
the danger of embarrassment than any of the little peccadilloes
to which I confessed. I did not 'talk shop', so no matters
of national security were under threat of disclosure
However, she wants to show me that she trusts me too,
and drops a bombshell: She once was married to Sabretooth.
My first reaction is to ask her if she loved him. It
almost makes me forget my embarrassment about not having
deduced it myself (both are called Creed, for Pete's
sake, but so far no one made the connection).
It does come as a relief that she says that she had
associated with him for ulterior motives, that beyond
his obvious animalistic appeal, that as she got to know
him better she felt repelled by him. For a moment I
had trouble reconciling the woman I thought I knew --
to a limited extent, as I am well aware -- with someone
who would willingly enter a close association with a
deranged killer like Sabretooth. But this makes sense.
I know her violent side, but she mostly keeps it under
control. She detests violence that does not serve a
purpose, and that is of course Sabretooth's forte.
So there only was one love of her life, after all:
Irene Adler. As Raven confirms when she explains about
her relationship to Victor Creed. I guess it must have
been some kind of marriage or liaison of convenience
with Nightcrawler's father as well, but I'll leave that
subject for another time. I realize the problem is not
that I am afraid I might tell her too much about me
and learn to little about her. It is that I suspect
that subconsciously I've been acting as if I was in
a long-term relationship with Raven, and now my conscious
mind is at a quandary whether to follow this instinct
of my heart or not. I try to find the right words to
explain this. It is hard, because I am still grasping
myself for the answer about my own feelings. But a lot
is going to depend on how Raven feels.
"Strange," I reply, "you never mentioned
him that much before. If I hadn't raided your personal
files, I might not even know you used to be married."
Valerie seems strangely distracted after that. Probably
having second thoughts about her candor to me. And I
realize how much I wish that won't be the last such
occasion of mutual confidence. For a while we fall silent,
and at last I say: "I don't know, maybe you think
you're giving away too much? Please don't. If you can
trust me, I can trust you. Is there anything that you
want me to talk about? Something you've never asked
or where you think I lied to you?"
Her answer is supremely confident: "If I did
not trust you -- a lot -- we wouldn't be here, and we
certainly wouldn't be here naked. Besides, what could
you tell me that would really surprise me? What happened
in the past may help me to understand what you did,
but could it change how I feel about you now?"
"Well, how about this: Haven't you ever wondered
why my son Graydon and Sabretooth have the same surname?
Victor is his father. We used to be married."
That gets her attention, she shrinks back momentarily:
"Do, er, did you love him? Why...?"
Strange that that is her first question, but here
at least I can reassure her: "What you call a marriage
of convenience. We were freelance spies, lying low for
half a year. He didn't even know who or what I really
was. He thought I was a German called Leni Zauber who
enjoyed rough animalistic sex..."
She looks at me curiously: What have we just been
doing? "Well, I do enjoy it," I admit, "as
a change of pace. With Victor it definitely became too
much. No, with him it was for a well-defined purpose
-- to shake off the Russians -- and the more I got to
know him, the more eager I was to get away. After I
got pregnant when it turned out that the spermicide
on the condom didn't work on him, I did hope that at
least his child would turn out to be less of a psychopath
than him. Unfortunately..."
"But you found Sabretooth attractive?"
She won't let the subject go.
"Only on a purely sensual level, and only to
begin with. I suppose if you didn't know he was a mass-killer,
you too might have gone into bed with him for one night."
She does not look happy when I say that, but she also
does not contradict me. "No, so far there only
was one person I truly loved." I don't have to
mention her name.
So the matter of our growing confidence does not
trouble Valerie as much as I thought. After another
silence, she finally says: "Raven, what is going
to happen tomorrow and the days after? I thought tonight
would be no more than two consenting adults pleasing
and comforting each other for a night, and then we'd
go on to being just friends..."
As I talk and frame my words, it becomes clear to me
that this is no time for half-measures. I know we are
sexually compatible (well, duh!), I love being with
her and there are things I admire about her, such as
her inner strength and how she kept loving her foster
daughter, even though Rogue rebelled against her. More
importantly, I care for her deeply (I must care a lot
for Raven when I even admit it to Forge!). I want her
to be my friend, or more. And I am sure (I hope) that
she cares for me, or how else do I interpret that she
invited me into her room on the anniversary of Destiny's
death? That she kissed me then, when I left? I lay awake
until past 3:00 a.m. that night, and it wasn't because
I felt sorry for her. So am I saying too much when I
blurt out: "I think I've fallen in love with you"?
At least Raven does not reject the idea out of hand.
She lets me go on a bit about what I think about the
problems that are likely to await us. And as far as
can tell, she is listening not unsympathetically.
I remember Garance's words from Les Enfants du Paradis:
"C'est si simple, l'amour." But it's not.
Love is not simple at all, and with the likes of us,
it is bound to be very complicated. Please God,
don't let her think I'm making a complete fool of myself!
For an instant, I sense my confidence evaporating, but
I finally manage to ask her what she thinks.
Raven remains silent for a while. With her eyes, those
opaque golden orbs it is hard to tell what she is thinking,
but it seems clear that her mind is working really hard
on the question. She does not (dares not?) look into
my eyes, but she keeps holding me tight. Dare I draw
a measure of comfort from that?
After what seems like hours (but actually must have
been minutes), Raven breaks her silence: "Valerie,
this is not exactly sudden, but it is a development
I had not foreseen. I know that it does not come easy
to lay yourself as open as you just did. I am touched.
But I also have to think some more if I am ready yet
for a real relationship again. It is only two years
since Irene died..." Oh damn, here comes the brush-off!
"Let's see. You're clearly the best friend I have
at the moment, not counting family. I'm grateful for
that, so I'm a bit scared of what might happen if we
tried to be more than friends and failed..."
I try to convince her that I really do all I can so
that our new friendship will endure no matter what,
but she puts her finger on my lips and stops me. "I
care for you, Valerie," she whispers, "I realized
that in the weeks after you found out about me impersonating
Sheriff Harry. If I mess this up, I might hurt you more
then I did then. But more importantly: we won't be able
to keep it a secret. You'll be asked to resign your
post. It's an invitation to disaster."
Dammit! Does she think I didn't think of that? It is
a real risk, granted. But I can face it. By now, I can
become a player even outside the government bureaucracy.
I think, or hope, I can find a measure of happiness
with Raven, that she can find it with me. If that is
not just a wish-fantasy, I think it would be worth taking
risks with my career. If she feels something for me,
why does she have to play at being the practical woman?
Why doesn't she go with her feelings?
That was what I thought too, but like Val I'm beginning
to have second thoughts.
"Now I see how much I enjoy being close to
you. Not just for the sex. I mean, we've been talking
for over an hour now, and I feel I could go on just
talking until the morning. You've said I care for you,
and I if you're honest, you must admit you care for
me. There really should be a better way of going about
this, but it all boils down to this: I think I've fallen
in love with you, Raven."
That statement does is not a total surprise after
the build-up, still I am not prepared for it. "And
you honestly think we could be lovers?" I ask at
"Let's say it is a possibility I feel I, we
have to explore," she continues undaunted. "I
know that there's bound to be complications, but with
a little patience it could work. Of course, if we stop
right here, it would probably keep both our lives with
certain other people easier." But Valerie is not
someone who sticks to what's safe and uncomplicated;
that is one of her most endearing traits. "So you
know I'm going into this with both eyes wide open,"
she goes on, "and I am willing to face the risks.
What do you think? Am I totally deluded or what?"
What can I say? What experience in life can compare
with loving an d knowing one is loved? I like being
with her, there's no denying it. It is amazing how my
view of her changed: Easy foe, then respected enemy,
uneasy ally, and now... I have to admit to myself that
I care for Valerie, more than for any other 'flatscan',
more than for most mutants. If I did not care for her,
it would be easy -- I'd wave her good-bye or become
her bedmate for a while, depending on what best suited
my designs. As I did with Forge and Wolverine. But with
I find myself actually wishing that she'd think
well of me. She fascinates me. Although she knows what
kind of views I had when I led the Brotherhood, she
did not let her fears poison her mind. She has always
been loyal to her friends, even in times when loyalty
is hard to give. I am certain she would put one hundred
percent into our relationship if I say yes. Finally,
I can no longer sustain the silence...
Am I being honest about not being ready for a relationship
after Irene's death? Isn't it time to move on, after
over two years? Or is there a hidden reason why I am
reluctant, something don't want to face?
I am sure you'll do your best that we'll remain
friends, but who knows how you, or I for that matter,
ultimately will react should our 'romance' turn sour?
Or am I again trying to hide an underlying reason? And
does that not also go for my fears about our affair
becoming public knowledge? At least in part, even though
here I am talking about a very real danger to Valerie's
"Okay, okay, you don't have to spell it out,"
she says. "I think my take on the possible risks
is not that different from yours, if not with your kind
of pessimism content." She sighs in exasperation.
"If I became your 'significant other', there would
be nothing wrong with that. Nothing. Whoever tried to
cause us grief would be in for a battle. I'd fight them
till it's over, and it wouldn't be over till I say so."
I tell her how I feel about this, in no uncertain terms.
The detached observer in me is a bit surprised at my
own passion. So, it would seem, is Raven. She grasps
my hand and squeezes it. At least she seems to appreciate
She actually appears tongue-tied, at loss for words.
Oh Lord, am I being too impatient? Does she feel hemmed
in, cornered, that I'm trying to force her to make a
choice she does not want to face yet? Her brow is furrowed,
she seems to want to start to say something, but then
thinks better of it. What if she think it's okay to
sleep with a flatscan for kicks, but not to share your
life with her? What am I thinking? She's given me more
respect than she has shown to any of her mutant compeers
on the team. Or is she worried about the age thing?
I am easily young enough to be her daughter, after all.
Does she view me as an over-emotional, love-struck little
girl? Have I given too little consideration to that
aspect because she does not look like her age? How old
is she really? At least in her sixties if she really
is Graydon Creed's mother. So she must be close to being
old enough to be my grandmother, actually. Strange that
I never considered it a real problem. But should I,
That's our Val, a scrapper, and not lacking in self-confidence.
"But I'd be wasting my time if you wouldn't be
with me. Please, give it a chance, at least let's test
how we get along for half a year." She starts out
angry with my negative attitude, but ends up imploringly.
"I haven't felt anything like it since the best
days of my marriage. The more you tell me it's a bad
idea, the surer I am. We won't be what you and Irene
were, but I am positive we can find our own way of living
together and loving one another that will last."
What do I say now? 'I love you Val, we should stop
seeing each other'? That's what she does not want, and,
if I'm honest, it would be painful to me to. But do
I want to take the plunge? What will that do to my sense
of independence? When I lived with Irene, I felt I was
calling the shots -- even though Irene did not agree
to everything I said. After I was forced to join X-Factor,
I still could tell myself that they would not be able
to prevent me from escaping if I felt it necessary.
But if I actually become Valerie's 'significant other',
I'll no longer be the sole mistress of my destiny because
Val will not allow me to be that of hers, no matter
what she says now. And a woman like Valerie, although
she loves me as I am and will do anything to make me
feel better about my new role, will not let me to revert
to the Mystique I once was. Not that I'm seriously thinking
of doing that right now...
Somehow, Raven appears almost ageless. Physically,
she can be any age she wants to be. Mentally, there
were moments when I thought I was more grown-up than
she (what she did in Washington State was a rather immature
stunt), but maybe I envy her way she sometimes acts
on impulse off-duty. Should I be glad or worried that
she is taking her time to think things over now? In
any case, the difference between our ages is not a problem.
As Mystique she keeps abreast of modern culture so she
won't be caught out when she disguises herself as a
teenager, and if our conversations these past few months
showed, our ages do not cause any problems in our communication.
Now she even looked angry for a moment. Maybe it was
a mistake. If we do get together, it will be a big change,
and we have not yet really gone into what it will mean
for her life. I want to rectify my mistake, but she
only says: "Please give me a little more time,
I want to think this through."
That is unkind. [It is the truth, woman!] She is
the best thing that happened to me since Irene's death,
except, maybe, learning that Rogue was not dead. Would
it be possible to find happiness a second time -- with
Val? [Forget about that, remember what is important!
Her agenda is not yours! She hopes for an illusion!]
But she's not stupid, she's a very sharp woman out to
find her way. My aims and hers actually are not that
far apart -- our disagreement is over methods, and Valerie
should be open to rational argument. [You make her sound
like little Miss Perfect.] Oh shut up, if you haven't
anything more relevant to say!
My silence is beginning to worry Valerie. Better
make up my mind. Do I like being around her? Yes. Am
I too chicken to attempt a relationship with her? I
should bloody well hope not. Does she love me? She says
she does, why not see if she's right; the proof of the
pudding is in the eating. Do I love her?
She gazes at me in what appears to be a friendly way,
but she also looks troubled. I'm beginning to wonder
if I would have had the courage to ask her if I had
done the 'sensible' thing and waited until tomorrow,
"Valerie," she finally says, "if that
is what you really want, I think I owe it to you to
give it a fair chance. No, that sounds a bit stupid,
as if I'm doing it out of a sense of obligation. What
I feel for you goes beyond friendship and enjoying sex.
Ugh, I can't believe I said that! I'm so sorry."
We had sex tonight, doesn't that indicate something?
Okay, it does not have to mean it's serious. Not for
me, not for Val. But I did not do it just for my gratification
or, worse, to manipulate Val. I wanted to be close to
her, and I was glad to give her something she wanted.
And at least subconsciously we must have known that
after tonight things can't be the same between us. We
took that risk. Yes, I do love her.
I try to find the right words. I don't want to sound
like a jerk or like a starry-eyed romantic. Now why
do I think that? Because there is something about her
that makes me feel a bit like how I felt when I first
met Irene, or when I first fell in love? Goodness, listen
to me rambling in little circles explaining what I mean!
I try to tell her I don't mind, but she hurriedly rattles
on: "It wasn't love at first sight for us, but
I'm pretty certain that it's the real thing. So in one
word, the answer is 'yes'. And if it actually works
out, I'll be happy. Meaning, er, I'll do everything
I can to make it work out."
She moves closer, there is less than an inch of air
between our faces. I seize the moment and kiss her on
the lips. It is a solemn moment in both our lives, one
that divides them into eras 'before' and 'after'. I
hope it does not mark the beginning of the end for us.
Raven is as awed as me and she whispers: "I love
you, Val. Never expected it, but I'm in love with Valerie
All this was thirsty work, I go to fetch some mineral
water. I am relieved. It was not what I had expected
when this evening began, and I think I went further
than I would have, if not for the buzz from our lovemaking
(yes, in retrospect that is what it was -- not just
'friendly' sex). And then I was afraid I advanced too
quickly for Raven to follow.
When I get to the kitchen, I remember the bottle of
champagne in the pantry, and I bring that as well. And
a couple of wine-glasses, they're probably wrong for
champagne, but they're the prettiest I can find. I want
to toast the venture on which we're embarking, and Raven
gets out of bed to join me.
We make quite a picture: two women, one flushed pink,
the other dark blue, standing almost naked, face to
face and bringing our glasses together with a loud 'clink'
before draining them in one draught.
As she moves to get back into bed, I sit down beside
her and refill the glasses. I am bubbling with confidence,
and as she still is a bit tense, I try to impart a bit
of it to her. To ease her mind, I agree that we won't
advertise our liaison to begin with. We won't go to
elaborate lengths to hide it, we should end up keeping
it secret for the six months we set as our 'trial period'.
I'm pretty sure the others will be discreet (well, maybe
we should watch Jamie and Random).
It is really too late to go to sleep -- in a few hours
we have to go to work. So I remind Raven that we have
not yet made love with her in her real shape.
"Real shape to a degree. It probably still is
influenced by my wishes." Pointing to her breasts
she goes on: "I think these are a bit larger then
when I revert to my blue shape through losing control
of my power."
"And very becoming they look on you too. I guess
it beats plastic surgery," I say.
"You know, it really bugs me that so many women
have implants these days," she says. "It really
makes my life harder. The scars obviously are no problem,
but to recreate the consistency without using silicone,
to make them look as fake as Demi Moore's is a bastard
of a job. It was easier when I was younger."
We share a giggle. We shut up.
At least I don't forget to tell her I love her.
I wince at some of the things I say, but somehow I can't
seem to avoid them. Normally I don't have this problem
of verbalizing what I want to put across. Is it because
of how I feel about her?
We seal our agreement with a kiss. Let's hope I
did not just commit a big, big mistake. But when I see
her face light up, I somehow can't help feeling happy.
Even if I am still amazed me how our feelings for each
other have evolved. To begin with, I saw her as my enemy,
and now I just agreed to settle down with her? Wonder
what Irene would have said to that, had she foreseen
it. Or did she foresee it, but did not mention it for
fear it would not come to pass? I always wondered why
she was so intent on Forge and me getting together.
Could it have been because she knew I would react the
way I did, with determined resistance? Only now to fall
prey to an even less likely object of affection?
Valerie goes out for water, but when she returns,
she is also carrying a bottle of champagne. "It's
about room temperature, I'm afraid," she says,
"but I did not expect we'd be needing it. Feel
like a glass?" She produces two long-stemmed, wide-brimmed
crystal glasses. They really must be meant for some
cocktail or other, but she either doesn't know or doesn't
I take one, and she pours and proposes: "To
the coming half-year -- and to us being together for
the ones that follow!" After we gulp down our drinks,
she sits down on the edge of the bed beside me and looks
deep in my eyes: "You won't regret it, I promise."
Thankfully she agrees to keep our romance under
wraps for starters. She does not want to believe things
might not work out between us, but she indulges me,
knowing it will be a useful precaution in any event.
She grins: "At least we only have comparatively
few people to watch out for. So far we're not of interest
to the media because of our sex lives, we don't have
Congressional committees and special investigators ferreting
out our entire lives, and we're not committing adultery.
So we're not in as precarious a position as a president
having it off with a pretty intern."
I snort. "Ha! Bubba would have to be an even
bigger fool than I took him for if he did that!
But with us it isn't hypothetical. We really are having
"Making love," she retorts. And she snuggles
up closer, making it clear that she would not mind to
take up where we left off before starting our long night's
conversation. "You know, you still seem a bit tense
to me, and it would be a lovely way to relax."
Outside, the first birds are clearing their throats,
we might as well forget about sleep. We could do worse
than to begin our journey into the unknown by making
love with me in my real shape for the first time.
We exchange a few light-hearted remarks about what
should be considered my 'true' shape, and then we go
into a lingering kiss.
We begin with a deep sensuous kiss, our tongues sinuously
entwined, before I move down from her mouth to her throat
(my lips feel her heartbeat racing through her carotid)
and from there to her recently discussed bosom. I pause
for a moment, sit back to take in the sight: Two full,
but firm, dark blue domes, slightly pendulous for all
that. The tips are even darker, almost black, with a
purplish tinge. When they are still they give the impression
of two large blue eyes staring up at me, but they rise
a bit and separate with every inhalation. Good thing
I did not turn off the light after our toast.
Then I swoop down like a bird of prey and return to
my oral ministrations, working my way upwards from the
base of each cupola, but stopping just short of the
hardening tips, on the outer rims of her areoles. I'm
so intent on my task that I barely notice her hands
holding the back of my head and tousling my hair. When
I rub my cheek against her left breast, I can feel the
intensity of Raven's heartbeat. Low guttural moans purr
forth from her chest and throat.
I wonder what Raven would say if I told her that I
learned a bit about this when I lived with Edmond (maybe
some other time). He sometimes kidded me about my 'breast
fixation' because of the time I spent on his chest and
nipples when we went to bed with each other. In retrospect
that, and maybe also my occasionally reading his Playboys
-- for the interviews, of course! -- may have had a
I now take the pleasant weight of her breast firmly
in hand, my fingers pressing into the resilient flesh
and pushing up the tips. She draws in her breath with
a hiss as my mouth finally settles on the peak of her
left breast. I flinch as her fingernails dig into my
shoulders, but I don't let that distract me for long.
My tongue feels the way her areole crinkles and the
grainy bumps rise, grow and harden. The half-globe heats
up and the nipple becomes rock-hard under my lips, tongue
I pick up my glass. Raven divines my intention when
I hold it up to her left breast, and she takes her own
glass. "Let's keep it in pleasant symmetry,"
she explains. She bows forward, dipping the tips into
the pale golden liquid, which immediately flows over
the brim. Bubbles form on her submerged nipples and
areoles, tiny silver pearls against dark blue. We put
aside the glasses, leaving the upper thirds of her breasts
glittering under a film of aromatic wetness. Looking
at them, I conclude that the bell curve and the chain
curve are the most enticing connections between two
She sinks back onto the bed, and I immediately lower
my lips and begin to kiss her bosom and lick up the
tasty wine. While I mainly concentrate on her left breast,
she lifts up the right one to save it from the imminent
danger of neglect. Her tongue snakes out between her
lips and its tip manages to reach the peak. It dances
on the engorged bud and the crinkled band around it.
Alternating between her two abundant breasts, we wind
up in positions where our tongues meet and play with
each other as both our mouths work on the same nipple
at the same time.
This time Valerie takes the more active part from
the start, but it also clear that we have chosen to
go about our lovemaking more slowly, patiently and deliberately.
Val is an enthusiastic and quick learner after getting
rid of her 'lesbian virginity' tonight. Her tongue dances
into my mouth, her lips and teeth caress and gently
nibble on my upper, then my lower lip. A soft hum grows
in her throat. Her mouth moves along the line of my
jaw towards my left ear (nibbling the lobe), then diagonally
down to my throat (I have to giggle involuntarily when
her warm, moist breath tickles a sensitive spot). Down
past my collar-bones she travels until she reaches my
breasts. There she lingers for a long while, pushing
me back into the big soft pillow.
She works her way up in a spiral towards the tip
of each breast, but teasingly, tormentingly she stops
short of the nipple, only to begin anew at the underside
of the other breast. She really is good at this, my
back arches to push my boob towards her active mouth.
Her lips keep changing -- one moment they feel soft,
performing a feathery dance, next they harden as she
sucks me in, then they draw back to allow her tongue
and teeth to get at me. Warm waves of sexual excitation
radiate in widening circles from the centers of my breasts,
it seems that they are transmitting through direct links
with each other, with my sex, with my other erogenous
zones. It feels great just to lie back and enjoy it.
Gradually Val's beautiful, finely structured hands
(the nails at the ends of her slender fingers clipped
fairly short) join her mouth, squeezing my breasts,
pushing them together, shaping them. After teasing me
for minutes, she pounces on my prominent left nipple
-- at last! Her spit makes the roughness of her tongue
glide more smoothly across the teat and around the surrounding
ring, but it also makes the sensation more intense.
I hear myself moaning as the nipple throbs and becomes
warmer with my accelerating heartbeat.
Valerie playfully cools the tip down with a glass
of champagne, and I join in that game. Together we splash
my breasts with the wine. The sparkling bubbles tickle
my skin pleasantly, the cool liquid makes my flesh contract,
the scent teases my nose. My breasts are glossy with
champagne; Valerie looks on with dilating eyes. I lie
down again, and she empties the remaining contents of
her glass on my front.
She eagerly hunches down above me and begins to
lick up the champagne. It does seem she is playing favorites:
again she concentrates on my port mammary, so I have
to take the matter of the neglected starboard one into
my own hand. I lift it up and start licking the nipple
myself. The salty taste of the skin, the sweet wine
and the prickling sensation in my nerve-endings combine
in a heady mix. After a while, Val joins in, her pointed
tongue swirling around the nipple and the blade of my
tongue. We continue this, moving from the right breast
to the left and back again.
Raven has remained mostly passive until now, but she
begins to reciprocate as I switch to her other breast.
Her hands cup my breasts and she gently begins to knead
them. She kisses the top of my head, until her arousal
makes her breathe in sharply again. "Oh Valerie!"
she moans. She purrs and tries to lift me up, lowering
her head towards my torso.
"Later," I tell her. "First let me pleasure
I crawl down along her body and arrive at the red-furred
treasure framed by the symmetrical curves of her thighs
and hips. I descend on it and make love to her with
my mouth. I am learning how not too rush things, how
to slowly build up the ascent. At first she coaches
me a bit, but after a while all I hear are her moans
of passion and some slurping noises. I look up an see
her pushing her breasts together in an attempt to reach
both nipples with her mouth. Then, as I move in for
the finale, her hips buck, she throws back her head,
her hand dig into the blanket and bedsheet, and her
loud ecstatic groans ring in my ears.
And afterwards, when her excitement has died down,
she slowly goes over my body. I feel pleasantly sleepy
as she seeks out the part that will best respond to
her touch. And I feel it is a loving touch. She gives
me what I want -- I've had and enjoyed the rough and
tumble earlier on, now I am slowly falling into half-sleep,
and she gives me the gentle, languorous loving that
The ascent to my climax is slow and less steep than
the previous ones, but the important thing this time
is not the speed with which I approach my orgasm or
its ultimate intensity, but the indefinable quality
that makes this an expression of our love.
But eventually, I do reach my climax, and after that
I am clearly ready for sleep. My attempt to stifle my
yawn is in vain. Kissing me on my forehead, Raven gets
ready to leave. I said we were going to keep our relationship
to ourselves, so she feels she has to be back in her
quarters before the others get up. "G'night, Raven,"
I say and go into a big, big yawn.
"Good night, my little Jedi," she says and
blows me a kiss before
I slowly begin to caress her more than before. My
hands go through her hair, grip her shoulders and then
move down along the sides of her ribcage and onto her
breasts. Their soft warmth is pleasant in my palms as
my fingers contract and relax in a rhythm that is even
slower than the movement of her mouth and its parts
on my breasts. I freeze as my excitation peaks again.
When that little climax subsides, I move to lift her
so that my lips can reach her chest, but she stops me.
She wants to 'pleasure' me first.
She moves down along my body and soon settles down
between my legs. She is becoming an accomplished oralist.
At first I think I have to give her helpful hints, but
then I am overwhelmed by the rising tide of sexual arousal
she is using her mouth fingers nipples kissing rubbing
touching licking moving around my thighs exploring my
femininity probing me and bringing me to my orgasm.
Afterwards I still feel a tingling buzz. We both
are drowsy, and she deserves a bit of a rest. She gets
to lie down and let me make love to her. Now is the
time for restraint, for tenderness, for the gentle approach.
I take care how I stroke her body with lightly fluttering
fingers, how I slowly make my progress over the different
parts of her body with my lips. Occasionally we take
breaks just to kiss. She makes murmuring purrs that
sometimes already begin to signal her tiredness. Her
fingers idly play with my hair, and her body is a lot
more relaxed than it was ten minutes ago.
Slowly but surely she lets herself be helped along
to her climax. A sweet pink blush spreads over her throat
and bosom, her breath accelerates, muscles contract.
I have to smile. Had this only been an occasion just
for sex, this night was a success. But it became much
Afterwards, she falls limp. She vainly attempts
to continue our conversation, but her need for sleep
is overpowering. She is yawning. Well, it is time for
me to leave anyway, if I want to be back in my quarters
before the others rise. When I bid her "au revoir,
I'm looking forward to the evening", her reply
is swallowed by a wide yawn.
"Good night, my little Jedi," I tell her
as I am about to go out of the room. But she has already
fallen asleep, so I go back to the bed to lay her out
more comfortably and to straighten out her blanket.
Her eminently kissable lips are curled in a contented
slight smile. Her expression is almost innocent, but
I resist the urge to pet her. Instead, I check that
the catch on her alarm-clock is off (it would be so
much nicer to wake her myself in the morning... But
wait, I can phone her!) and get into an inconspicuous
shape to go out onto the street.
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