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From: "Elf M. Sternberg" <elf@drizzle.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Journal Entry 087 / 01031  [Strawberries] (MF)
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Date: Wed, 25 Feb 2004 04:13:08 -0500
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Strawberries
Anar, Virta 14, 1031

"Kennet, I have a message for you."

I pushed away from the desk and looked up at the ceiling. It was a
habit borne of centuries of living with AIs, and I wondered if I would
ever break myself of it. "Yes, Hal?"

"It is from Tylia. She would like to know if you're available to see
her in her room this evening."

Without my even thinking about it, my schedule appeared before my
eyes, the block of time she was asking for highlighted in green over a
comfortable wooden theme, a yellow note with blue-black writing
stating that nothing was scheduled for me for many hours afterwards,
time enough for sleep to recover from anything Tylia might have in
store.

"Sure," I said, wondering if I even had a choice in the matter. I did,
I suppose, but Tylia at sixteen has become so irresistably lovely that
the very idea of my putting her off seemed ridiculous. "Tell her to
come on up."

She probably wouldn't have appreciated my thinking so, but her outfit
looked just a little silly on her. While I've seen her wear socks
before, the patent leather shoes just didn't look right on her Felinzi
feet. Whoever gave her suggestions did a good job with picking a
light-colored plaid skirt, however, and the medium-blue blazer over
her blouse accentuated rather than clashed with her fur color. I liked
the tie too. Rust-red colored, handsome.

A Catholic schoolgirl from an alternate universe. Cute. And
deliberately designed to give me an erection from the moment I walked
in the door. Given that I hadn't seen her in nearly eight months this
was definitely something to treasure.

"What's this?" I said, expecting the obvious. Dressing up for me has
always been one of Tylia's favorite games. I think she just likes to
dress up and I give her good excuses for doing so.

But she suprises me still. "Well," she said, her hands behind her back
as she trippingly sauntered over to me, "I thought that we could make
up for your being so mean to me recently."

"I'd like that," I said. "I didn't mean to, you know. It was just the
requirements of, you know, holding off the rebels." Coming back from
the dead. The fatigue of memory washed over me, passed, left me
feeling grounded.

She nodded. "I know. I forgive you. But... I want you to do something
with me." I waited. She pulled something out from behind her back, a
tall black bottle with a cork. "Get me drunk?"

I looked down at the bottle. A very handsome label on the cover
announced that whatever the drink was, it was named Nen Mezil. Further
down the label I read the contents: 'Strawberry Tequila Liqueur,' and
an alcohol content by volume of 18%. "Whew, powerful stuff," I said. I
looked up into her lovely black eyes. "Why?"

"Because," she said in that plaintive voice all teenagers have used
for millenia when the answer is obvious, at least to themselves. She
realized I wasn't kidding and said, "Because I want to. Everyone gets
drunk sometime, right? I figured now was a good time for me. And I
wouldn't trust anyone more than you to be around me and help me get to
the bathroom in time. Besides... They say a little lowers the
inhibitions and makes you feel horny."

"'They' say a lot of things," I said with a laugh. "So, tell me, are
you looking to get really, totally, falling down drunk, so drunk that
you end up puking your guts out and wishing you had done something
less painful like gouging your eyes out with dull cafeteria forks? Or
do you just want to get a little drunk, the kind of drunk you were
talking about, where you start feeling sexy?"

"The second," she said. "I don't want to get sick."

"I didn't think so," I said with a smile. She grinned back at me and
held out the bottle. I looked over at the table and said, "Get two
glasses, the kind used for whiskey. I don't want you going too fast on
this stuff."

She nodded, smiling, the schoolgirl again as she bounced over to the
cupboard and took out the glasses that I recommended. "Will these be
right?" she asked, holding out a pair, one for human mouths, one with
the triangular point for muzzles. I nodded and she flounced over to
the table, sitting down, looking the coquette again. "What's it like?"

"What's what like? Being drunk? Well... It's a loss of control, your
brain tells you it's fun, you slobber all over yourself, and if you do
too much of it you regret it in the morning. For all sorts of
reasons."

She laughed and then pointed. "Pour?" she said. I opened up the bottle
and was instantly tranported to the land of pigtails and sailor suits.
This was the kind of sweet stuff made for seducing hardly innocent
ingenues like Tylia. I looked over at the kitchen SDisk and said,
"Dave, get me a decent scotch."

A bottle of Laphroaigh appeared on the disk. I picked it up and poured
myself two fingers worth while giving Tylia three of her own. She
looked at me dubiously. "Hey," I said, "I'm older and more
experienced. I drink what I like, you can drink what you like."

She nodded and pulled the glass up to her muzzle, looking at me
dubiously, then tipped her head back and poured that pink stuff over
her tongue. She closed her eyes as it went down, shivering visibly as
it slid past her throat. She sighed. "Wow."

I pulled back my own drink and let it sear its way into my belly,
feeling it burn all the way down. It was a wonderful feeling, one that
I can't do that often, and almost immediately the effects began to
spread through my body. I am, I'm afraid, a very cheap drunk and the
little I had in front of me was more than enough to get me pleasantly
buzzed pleasantly quickly.

Tylia pointed at her glass. "More?" she said.

"What are you feeling?"

"Nothing, yet. Why, should I be feeling anything?"

"I would think so, by now," I said. "But I could be wrong." I poured
her some more. She downed it, then less than a minute later looked up
at me and said, "Now I feel it."

I nodded, the stuffed-brain feeling spreading from the knits of my
skull down over the cerebrum, a yarmulke of cotton inside my head. I
smiled at her, leaned elbows down onto the table, and said, "What does
it feel like?"

"Good," she said with a grin. She giggled. "Silly."

"Silly how?"

"Just silly," she said, giggling again. Another drink from her
tumbler, emptied it, and she dropped it next to the bottle, whack. She
rose, then gripped the edge. "Whoo..."

"Hoo," I offered. She wrinkled her nose at me as she swayed. If she
was feeling the way I was, this was already becoming interesting.
Damn, but she's a gorgeous creature, all black fur and glittery golden
eyes too damned clear for...

"Ken?"

"Huh?"

"You okay? Your face looked so sad for a second there."

"I was just thinking. You deserved something better then me."

"No, no," she said, kneeling at my feet, her head in my lap. Goddess,
but despite my feelings I could not keep from stroking her head. "No,
you were the best thing that could have happened to me."

"I'm a pervert."

"And people love you for it. I love you for it." She looked up, took
my hands, held them. "I'm drunk."

"I know." I smiled.

"Everyone knows about you and me, Ken. They did from the very
beginning. You made sure of that. You told Hal and Dave and P'nyssa
and Aaden. You told my Mom before you told me!" She giggled. "You're
not hiding me behind some secret door. Everyone knew I wanted to fuck
you a long time before you wanted to fuck me." She put her head down
in my nap, nuzzled her cheek against my thigh, the back of her head
and her left ear caressing the obvious bulge in my pants.

"But what will you do from here? Who will you fall in love with now?"

"Whoever I want. The same as you. Besides, I've already fallen in
love. With you."

"Can't last."

"Sure it can," she said. "Just because I can't have you because you
have P'nyssa and Aaden doesn't mean we're not gonna love each other
f'r ever an' ever." She picked up her head and took the glass, looked
at it. "More?"

I poured her a little more and she drank it. "Can you get so drunk you
don't know you're gonna get sick but you are?"

"Of course."

"Am I there yet?"

I looked down at her. She was wheeling, the checkered red of her tie
oscillating in patterns in my eyes that an AI might have interpreted
as obscene. "Might be." I stood up, my back cracking, then picked her
up. "You're little, and inexperienced, and so probably as cheap a
drunk as I. As me? As I am."

She giggled, looked at herself rested in my arms. "Dave helped you do
this."

"Prolly," I said.

"You are drunk," she said.

"You said that already."

"No I didn't."

"Don't argue with daddy," I said. "Shit. Didn't mean to say that."

She giggled. "I like the way you said that."

"You have a father. I like him. He's a good man."

"Yeah," she said as I dropped down the gravitics hole to the bedroom.
"But I would still like it if I could call you daddy."

"You're really drunk," I said. "Are you gonna regret that tomorrow?"

"I dunno." She pouted, and I wanted to kiss the pout away, so I did.
It was a sloppy kiss, the kind drunk people do. She liked it,
giggling, but it wasn't... I don't know.

She laughed as she tossed off her tie, her blouse, her skirt. In
seconds, she was naked on the bed, no longer a kit, not quite a
full-grown cat, something ineffably in-between, indescribably
beautiful. She crawled towards me on the bed, tail held high and
waving. She shook her head. "I'm having trouble keeping my balance."

"That happens," I said.

"Take off your clothes."

"Yes'm." I obeyed, tossing aside my kilt and my shirt, my shoes and
socks. She watched this all with intoxicated interest, her eyes
intense, my thoughts weltered with alcohol. She didn't pounce as she
normally would. Instead she slid up along me, caressing her fur along
my belly until her face evened with my own. She advanced one leg over
mine, straddling my hips.

She pouted again. "You're not hard."

"I'm drunk."

"Does that mean... ?"

"Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't."

"Lemme see." She slid back and took my cock in her mouth, her warm
tongue slithering about its soft, textured procrastination. I couldn't
will it into hardness as much as I might have wanted, but she had no
such resistance. Blood fled from heedless corners of my body to supply
the erection that came on strong and hot as the summer storms above
the Castle. She soon had my member standing with the kind of pride
reserved for beautiful girls.

Without pausing for permission she rose up and straddled my hips once
more, plunging herself down onto my cock. She was a sea of desire, wet
and comforting, and my cock knew her insides as a haven of safety. The
slick chamber of her cunt welcomed me. I was drunk but I knew what was
asked of me here.

She rose up, then plunged down again. It was the kind of rhythm that
could only happen between familiars. Her mouth was open, her eyes a
vortex of expression, and I was sinking into her, her eyes, her cunt,
her mouth, lost to the kitten need of this beautiful young woman. I
thought, once upon a time I could have destroyed her but I didn't.
Instead, I sent her somewhere, made her into something different. My
hands reached up for her thighs and her ears fell. "Ken..."

"Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Just... tiring."

"Let me," I said. "We're wired for this kind of thing, we men." I
guided her down to the familiar mattress where between us a million
words of love had already been borne. She opened for me, an orchid
framed in black to be shafted by my desire. She was eager. So was I.
She bore my weight eagerly as I plummeted into her, crushed her, held
her down. She was mine now. I withdrew and plunged, withdrew and
plunged, repeating an act that ridiculed cruelty with parody by
sending her into ecstacy. She moaned my name as she came, her lissome
legs pulling upwards, inviting me deeper. We were already deeper, our
hearts conjoined by our commonality of purpose. It was clear then:
Aaden, P'nyssa, they sustain me: Tylia is me.

In that moment of realization we both disappeared into the rapture of
climax, each of us alone, both of us convicted of our togetherness. I
held her, nuzzled her fur, caressed her soft little ear, murmured love
into her. She gasped, looked up at me, her eyes alight. She had felt
it, she had seen it. I smiled. She knew the truth as well as I did.
"Ken..."

"Yeah?"

"I think I need to... " Her eyes suddenly slitted. I knew. I grabbed
her by the arm and pulled her into the bathroom where she emptied the
contents of her stomach into the throne. I knelt next her and asked
Dave to SDisk as much of the offending material away as possible. He
silently agreed to do everything he could, then mentioned giving her a
hangover relief. Be about it then, I told him.

He laughed in my head.

In a few minutes the care and medicine took hold and she stood up, her
eyes tired. "I don't think I want to do that again."

"Me neither," I muttered. "I feel awful."

"You didn't get sick," she said.

"No," I agreed. "Go rinse your mouth. The acids'll hurt your teeth if
you don't."

She did as I said, then followed me back into bed. "Ken..." she said.
"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"I think... I think I felt my psi get loose in there."

"Did it feel good?" I asked.

She nodded. I could tell she was miserable with the confession. I
guided her back to the bedroom and into bed, then lay beside her and
held her close. "I didn't feel anything like psi in there," I said,
not sure if I believed my own words or not. "And you have my
permission to do whatever you feel with me. I trust you, Tylia, as
much as you trust me."

"But..."

"No 'buts', young lady." She pouted, angry at me. I could see what was
going on in her head. Didn't I understand? Of course I did. She had
raw talent that could fire up a man for his future-- or crush him
utterly under the weight of failures yet to come. Everyone had those
hopes and fears, and she knew she could feed them... if only she knew
how. She knew now only how to overwhelm a fen with whatever was
already overwhelming-- hope or fear. She took the greatest of risks
with me, betting that I had more of the former than of the latter. She
had been right.

"But you're drunk."

"Doesn't change who I am. Did it change who you are?" She shook her
head. "There, see?" I kissed her forehead. "Now go to sleep." She
snuggled down next to me.

To me, there's always the question of the Tylia that might have been
if she had never met me. I like the person she has become and so do
most people who have met her, and so does she. But that still doesn't
ease the question of who she might have been, had she had a chance at
a normal life.

As if there were such a thing.
_________________________________________________________________

Journal Entry 087 / 01031
Strawberries

The Journal Entries of Kennet R'yal Shardik, et. al., and Related Tales
are Copyright (C) 1989-2004 Elf Mathieu Sternberg. 

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-
NoDerivs-NonCommercial License. To view a copy of this license, visit
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd-nc/1.0/ or send a letter to
Creative Commons, 559 Nathan Abbott Way, Stanford, California 94305,
USA.

--
Elf M. Sternberg, Proud to be an Extinctionist
http://www.drizzle.com/~elf/  

Nisi mecum concubueris, phobistae vicerint.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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