From: DashaK@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Dec 1999 01:13:21 EST
Subject: NEW: Painted Ladies by Dasha K. (1/3)
Source: xff


Painted Ladies by Dasha K.

Please archive at Gossamer and the Spooky site.  Anywhere 
else, I'd appreciate a note first.

Summary: The beginning of things.  Part of the Jitterbug 
Perfume series.
Rating: NC-17.  If you are under the age of eighteen or 
explicit sex between women isn't your cup of tea, move 
right along.
Classification: SRA
Keywords: Scully/other, slash
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.  I know it, you know 
it and if he cares, Chris Carter knows it, too.
Feedback:  I would be thrilled to hear from you, at 
dashak@aol.com
Spoilers: A tiny one for Pusher

Note:  If you can believe it, this is a prequel to "Viva 
Glam," which is a prequel to the Jitterbug Perfume series.  
However, you really don't have to have read any of the 
other stories to understand this.  If you'd like to read 
the other stories, though, you can find them at 
http://dasha.simplenet.com  All you need to know is that this 
story takes place shortly after the events of "Pusher."

Many thanks to my employers, for giving me two paid weeks 
off for the holidays. <g>

Mary Sue?  Huh, who's she? ;-)



It's two am, I think.  I'm not sure because I'm afraid to 
open my eyes and look at the digital clock on the wall.  
Even though I'm weary to the bone, I can't sleep.  If I 
fall asleep my pager will go off or a nurse will poke her 
head in and say, "Dr. Cheng, we need you."  Tommy Jackson's 
fever will be spiking or there will be a code.  I know this 
from experience.  But I need to sleep.  If I don't get at 
least a catnap, my brain won't be able to function enough 
to get through the full thirty-six hours.  A tired resident 
makes mistakes and I can't afford a mistake.  But I'm wired 
on endless cups of green tea and the adrenaline from 
running around Pediatrics managing one crisis after 
another.  

My brain keeps flickering with medical terms, the generic 
names for medications and useless trivia on patients.  
Natalie Peterson is six years old and wants to be an 
astronaut when she grows up.  Tranh Nguyen is wearing a 
jaunty red knitted cap to cover his chemo-bald head.  Henry 
Kessler has been crying all night.

All I want is for the voices in my head to shut up enough 
so that I can sink into sleep.

Usually I can manage it, but tonight for some reason it's 
difficult.

Sleep, sleep, I tell myself, picturing my grandmother 
rocking me as a little girl, during rainstorms.  "Sleep, 
Mei-Mei," she'd say to me in a singsong and I always 
drifted off in her strong, soft arms.

Shut up, voices.

It's not that I'm complaining.  This is the life I chose.  
I wanted to be a doctor since I was six years old and I cut 
open an earthworm in the backyard to see what was inside.  
I studied night and day in college and med school for this.  
This is what I want to do, and nothing makes me feel more 
complete.  I'd just like to sleep for a while.

I roll onto my stomach and fold the pillow under my cheek.  
The sheets smell like hospital, unlike my sheets at home, 
which always smell of warm flannel and my vanilla candles.

With a deep breath, I think of something that isn't 
remotely related to this hospital, or sick children, or 
twenty years of school and student loans.

I think of her.

It makes me smile in the dark to remember her.  Even though 
it was almost four months ago, I can remember every detail 
as if it were saved to videotape for posterity.  I spent 
less than twelve hours with Dana, but I'll never forget.

These days I don't really have the opportunity to make a 
connection with anyone new.  It's work, study, sleep, eat, 
work and work some more.  Sleep is what I do for fun.  It's 
my hobby.  I hadn't made love with anyone for six months 
before Dana.  So I have to cherish those rare times when I 
can be touched and touch.  I have to put them in little 
boxes, gift-wrap them in festive paper and save them to be 
opened at times when I really need them, when I need to be 
reminded that I'm not just Dr. Cheng, pediatrics resident, 
that I'm attractive, lovable, sexual.  I so often forget.

In the dark I unwrap my gift and inside is Dana.

She turns her head and gives me a slow, shy smile.  

I didn't fall in love with her that night, but I fell just 
the same.  In some ways, I'm still falling.

It feels good to be suspended in the air like this.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventy-two hours.  I kept repeating it in my head as I 
changed into my street clothes and left the hospital.  
Seventy-two hours, seventy-two hours free to catch up on 
sleep, to clean my apartment, to maybe cook some soup and 
play with Miu Miu.  

I was so tired I felt like I was high on barbiturates but 
instead of hopping on the bus, I chose to walk the mile and 
a half home from the hospital.  I needed the time to 
decompress from thirty-six straight hours before I could 
sleep.  I needed to readjust to the outside world.  Even 
though Pediatrics has lots of windows, I tend to ignore 
their presence.  I don't need to be reminded of the outside 
world. 

It was a rainy morning, my favorite kind in the world, 
which is a good thing if you live in San Francisco.  I 
opened my red umbrella and stepped out onto the crowded 
street, taking a deep breath of the scent of rain on 
pavement.  It was exhilarating to feel the rain on my 
cheeks as I climbed the steep hill home.

As soon as I walked in my apartment, I kissed Miu-Miu and 
crashed on the couch, listening to the rain beat of the 
windowpanes.

When I woke it was dark in the apartment and I felt out of 
time and had a crick in my back.  I got up with a groan, 
which sent the cat flying off the couch, yowling petulantly 
at me.  I stumbled into the bathroom, checking the clock in 
the bedroom on the way.  It was seven at night, which meant 
that I'd slept for almost eight hours.  I'd needed it.

Finally clean of the assorted sweat and muck working with 
children for a day and half will coat on a person's body, I 
wandered into the kitchen in my bathrobe and slammed most 
of a bottle of apple juice while checking my messages.  My 
mother, nagging me to come to Sunday dinner.  The dentist's 
office.  My mother, nagging me again to come to Sunday 
dinner.  The vet's office.  My mother, going for a record-
breaking third nag about Sunday dinner.

Such a popular girl I was.

The last message was from my friend Alice.  "May, honey, 
didn't you say you'd be off tonight?  Come meet me for a 
drink at Belladonna.  I haven't seen you in so long and we 
have tons to catch up on.  Do I have to beg?"

No, she didn't.  I called her back and we arranged to meet 
at nine.

Even though Belladonna is less than three blocks from my 
apartment, I hadn't been there in almost a year.  That's 
what kind of social life a resident has.  I got a little 
too excited for my own good at the idea of wearing 
something other than scrubs or sweats and having a glass of 
wine and some gossip with a good friend.

I probably tried on every outfit in my closet, pathetic 
beast that I was.  I blasted Massive Attack on the stereo, 
hoping to hell it wasn't bothering Mrs. DiAngelo upstairs.  
It took nearly an hour to pick out something to wear, 
although I took a break to make a sandwich and let the cat 
do some gymnastics with a piece of colorful fleece on a 
stick.

The irony of the fact that while at the hospital I can make 
split-second judgement calls that affect a patient's life 
but it took me forever to decide on a pair of shoes, did 
not escape me.

At a quarter of nine I walked out of the house wearing my 
leather coat, a little red t-shirt and a long, tight black 
skirt. My face felt strange with makeup on, but I was bound 
and determined to go for my best femme goddess look that 
night.  Usually the most I managed to get on my face before 
trudging off to work was some cherry-flavored Chapstick.  
But tonight was all about shiny red lipstick.

It wasn't like I was expecting to meet anyone that night.  
It was just Alice and I've known her since college.  It was 
a matter of pride, though.  I had a tendency to forget I 
was a woman.

It was still raining a bit when I stepped outside, but 
almost as soon as I unfurled my umbrella, it ended.  I 
sighed happily as I tapped down the street. 

On my way to the bar, I thought about how some cities have 
a masculine character and some feminine.  I think that's 
why I never truly warmed up to Chicago.  It was a big, 
brusque, masculine city.  San Francisco is softer, more 
accommodating.  No wonder so many gays and lesbians live 
here.  I smiled at my own twisted logic, which sounded like 
something one of my stoned floormates in college would have 
said.  "So like, dude, San Francisco is, like, a feminine 
city, you know? Man, like it just has a womanly vibe . . ."

The light is soft and pink in Belladonna.  When I had more 
time, the year I took off between med school and residency 
to work at the Chinese-American Women and Children's 
Clinic, I came here all the time.  There was a little group 
of about eight of us who would gather in different 
permutations.  We'd order a few bottles of wine and some 
crostini and get mildly smashed as we bitched about the 
women who had done us wrong and why girlie girls got no 
respect in the lesbian scene.  Sometimes, on the weekends, 
we'd end up at a dance club, writhing in the strobe lights 
to harsh music.  I was seeing Jaye then and we'd hide out 
in the corners and kiss with mouths that tasted of vodka-
cranberries.  There was more than one time that we'd 
stumble home just as it was getting light and not even make 
it to the bedroom; we'd end up fucking on the couch or on 
the rug or, on one memorable occasion, the kitchen table.

Now I scanned the crowd and didn't recognize a single face 
sitting at the small tables.  Women were laughing and 
sharing secrets, lighting cigarettes and sipping wine, but 
I didn't know any of them.  I did recognize Lee, the 
bartender, though.  She raised her hand in a greeting and 
waved me over.  "Where the hell you been, Cheng?"

I smiled and shrugged.  "At the hospital, Lee.  Can you get 
me a glass of wine?"

"I got a good Chardonnay for you, honey."  She pulled the 
cork out of a green bottle and poured me a glass.  "Hey, 
your friend Alice called.  She can't make it."

In the mirror behind the bar I could see the disappointment 
on my face.  "You're kidding."

"Nope.  Her car won't start."

Since Alice lived way the hell out in Benicia, there was no 
way she could just hop in a cab.  Damn.

"The wine's on me, May," Lee said, patting my hand.  "It's 
just good to see your beautiful face in here."

I thanked her and we chatted for a while, until she got 
busy with a rush of drink orders.

Sipping my wine, I wandered into the sea of tables, 
deciding I might as well stay to finish my drink before I 
went home to lie on the couch and watch movies before 
falling asleep again.

I was about to sit down at the one empty table when I heard 
someone coughing in that way that told me she wasn't used 
to drinking a shot.  Without even thinking about it, I 
grabbed a napkin off a table and handed it to her.

"Oh God, thanks," she said, wiping her lips off.

"Drink much tequila?" I said with a smile, turning around a 
bit so I could get a better look at her.

I liked what I saw.  She was small and slender, probably my 
height, wearing a blue-gray sweater, jeans and a pair of 
black boots.  Her hair was a true red, not from a bottle, 
and wavy. Her eyes looked blue, although it was hard to 
tell in the dim, rosy light of the bar.  She looked like 
she was about my age, maybe a few years older.  Pretty, but 
not in that knockout way.  Her looks were the kind that 
would sneak up on you at a later date, when you'd roll over 
in bed and think, holy shit, this woman is gorgeous.

She shrugged.  "It's been a while."

This was the part where I really should have smiled and 
nodded and gone off to drink my wine, but I was so 
desperate for someone to talk to that I stuck out my hand 
and said, "My name's May."

Her hand was warm and soft as she clasped my fingers for a 
handshake.  "I'm Dana," she said in a soft, low voice.  She 
blinked and hesitated for a moment and then said, "Do you 
want to sit down?"

I joined her at the table.  She looked nervous for some 
reason but her smile was irresistible, shy and sweet.  
Maybe it was the lighting, but she had dark shadows under 
her eyes, like she'd gotten as little sleep lately as I 
had.

"I don't make a habit of talking to strangers in bars," 
Dana said.  "But since I don't live in San Francisco, 
everyone's a stranger, so I suppose I have to break my own 
rule if I want to talk to anyone."

"Where are you from?"

"Washington, D.C.  I'm out here for a conference, but I fly 
home tomorrow morning."

"Oh yeah?  What kind of conference?"  I tried to guess, 
since I'm good at that.  People watching is my specialty.  
When I was a kid, I used to spend Saturdays with my 
grandmother.  I'd help her do her weekly shopping in 
Chinatown and then she'd take me to North Beach for a 
pastry at an Italian cafe.  We'd sit at a sidewalk table if 
the weather was nice and tell each other stories about the 
people that passed us.  Dana looked like she was maybe in 
software or teaching.  She wasn't slick enough for sales or 
marketing.

"Forensic pathology," she said.

My eyebrows rose.

"You know, like Quincy," She sipped her beer chaser.

"I know," I said with a grin.  "I'm a doctor, too.  Third-
year pediatrics resident."

"Aha," she said.  "I remember that all too well."

And then the conversation just began to flow.  The waitress 
came by and we ordered another round, barely stopping our 
talk.  We shared stories about missed sleep, aching feet 
and complete and utter lack of social life.  It turned out 
that we even had a friend in common.  Her med school 
friend, Mike Hudson, was now Chief Resident in OB-GYN at my 
hospital.

As I talked to her, I wondered if she was straight.  
Granted, we were in a lesbian bar, but something about her 
said straight girl to me.  I can't tell you why, she just 
seemed that way.  I have a finely honed gay-dar, although 
it hasn't stopped me from a string of affairs with confused 
straight girls.

The longer I sat next to her at the table and the more I 
smelled her vanilla and sandalwood perfume and watched her 
fine white skin get pinker from drinking, the more I began 
to want her.  I wondered what would happen if I were to 
make a move.  I've never been good at that, especially 
then, when I was so sadly out of practice.

"This is a nice place," she said, glancing around.  Next to 
us, two women were lightly kissing over a plate of 
artichoke dip.  "I'm glad I came tonight."

"How did you end up here?"

"I don't know.  I was walking for hours and my feet hurt, 
so I just sort of stumbled in here.  I liked the name."

"It means beautiful woman," I said in a half-whisper.  My 
shoe had slid off my foot and as if my foot had a mind of 
its own, it began sliding up her calf.  I waited for her to 
flash me a disgusted look but she just looked at me through 
her thick lashes.

And then she surprised the hell out me.  Dana's hand found 
mine under the table and squeezed.  "You're awfully 
beautiful," she said.

The flush spread across my face in record time.  When was 
the last time anyone had called me beautiful, not counting 
Lee the bartender?  I was raised to believe that beautiful 
was a six foot tall California blonde with a tan, not a 
short, stumpy-legged Asian girl with a crooked front tooth 
and unruly hair, so even when someone did happen to call me 
beautiful, I had a hard time believing it.  But somehow, I 
believed Dana.  She didn't seem calculating enough to lie.

She leaned into me and her dark pink lips grazed mine.  
What are you doing, I thought, but then her mouth pressed 
into mine harder and I found myself opening to her, 
venturing to touch her tongue with my own.  She tasted 
sweet, like beer and lime.  My hand stroked her cheek and 
it was so soft, like baby skin.

I'd forgotten how it felt to want.  To need to be 
connected, to get wet from just one kiss.

Her smile as we pulled apart was self-conscious.  "I'm 
sorry," she said, her hands shaking on the table.  "I don't 
know what got into me."

"I'm not sorry," I said and kissed her again, long and 
slow.

People were staring at us now.  I could feel their eyes on 
us.  "Maybe, we should get out of here," I offered.

The look on her face was astonished and I was able to see 
that she'd never kissed a woman before.  I wondered what 
had made her do it.  Perhaps she felt safer out of town.

"Or not," I added.

She shook her bobbed head.  "No.  Let's leave."

As we stood, she said, in a halting voice, "May--I've 
never--"

I didn't let her finish.  "I know, I could just tell.  
Don't worry about it."

I took her by the hand and led her out the door.

End of (1/3)

Painted Ladies by Dasha K. (2/3)

Disclaimers and everything in the first part.

Outside it had begun to rain again.  It wasn't exactly rain 
but an oddly beautiful mist falling from the sky, that made 
a glow around the streetlights. Almost as much as I love a 
rainy day, I love the look of the streetlights reflecting 
on the puddles.  San Francisco is a city made for rain.  
Some cities look dingy and depressing when under rain 
clouds, but this city shines like a patrician jewel even 
under heavy rain.  I missed nights like this when I was in 
med school in Chicago.  

Dana lifted up her face to the stars and smiled.  "This is 
a wonderful city."

"I wouldn't live anywhere else," I said and opened my 
umbrella.  I motioned her to join me underneath the red 
plastic.  "Come on, you don't want to get wet."

We began making our way down the street, passing other 
bars, boutiques, restaurants still jammed with people.  
"Where are we going?" I asked her.

She turned her face to mine.  "I assumed we were going to 
your place," she said, her cheeks pink.

I stopped and touched her arm.  "Are you okay with this, 
Dana?"

"I think so."  She bit her lip.  "I've never done this 
before.  Never with a woman or a man.  I just don't go home 
with people I've met in bars."  Dana laughed a little.  
"Come to think of it, I don't go to bars in general."

"I don't exactly do bar pickups, either, in case you were 
wondering that about me.  I don't have the time or the 
inclination."

We began walking again, crossing the street and turning 
left towards my apartment building.  "Why me, then?" she 
asked.

"Maybe I should be asking you that," I said.  "Why are you 
doing this?"

Her look was direct, blue eyes boring straight into mine.  
"I don't know.  When I figure it out, I'll tell you, okay?"

I laughed and dug my keys out of my bag.

We walked up to the third floor and I unlocked the door and 
switched the lights on.  Dana walked a few steps inside and 
looked around.  My apartment is small and cluttered, but 
clean.  I have this weird thing when I can't sleep, where I 
go around with a pail full of Pine-Sol and start scrubbing 
things down.  That night it was in decent shape, for once, 
most of the books put away in the bookcases and all the 
assorted glasses and plates in the kitchen sink instead of 
scattered on the coffee table.

I dropped my keys on the end table and shrugged out of my 
leather coat. Miu Miu came over for her dose of adulation 
and then went over to Dana to give her a speculative sniff.

"Your cat is gorgeous," she said, stroking her fur.

"Thanks.  Her name is Miu Miu."

Dana laughed.  "You named your cat after Prada's secondary 
line?"

A woman after my own heart.  Not many people I knew got the 
name.  "Well, that and how it sounds like a cat name and it 
also sounds like a Chinese name. My family nickname is 
'Mei-Mei,' which means 'little sister.'"

She wandered over to the windows and stared out at the view 
of the street below and a row of nearly identical apartment 
buildings across the street.

"Can I get you a glass of wine?" I asked, wondering where 
to begin.  I seemed to have lost all my cool in my 
protracted period of celibacy.

She nodded.

When I returned with a glass of Riesling for each of us, 
she was still standing at the window, seemingly lost in 
thought.  I touched her shoulder and she jumped a little.

"Are you okay?" I handed her a glass.

She nodded.  "I'm sorry," she said, "I must seem like a 
real mess to you."

I could feel my eyebrows knit together.  "You seem just 
fine.  Do you feel like a mess?"

We wandered over to the couch.  I picked up the remote and 
turned the stereo to the local jazz station.  They were 
playing Duke Ellington. 

"Things have been . . ." she started to say and paused for 
some wine.  "I can't even explain it to you, May.  You 
wouldn't understand."  

I snorted.  "Fight with the boyfriend?"

The look Dana gave me was withering.  "There is no man in 
my life right now.  It's other things.  It's just been 
stressful lately.  I didn't tell you this at the bar, but 
I'm an FBI agent."

Just like Dana back at Belladonna, I began to choke on my 
drink.  She patted my back and grinned.  "Did I throw you 
for a loop, May?"

"You don't seem like an FBI agent."

Her eyebrow rose.  "Why?  Just because I'm not a big, butch 
woman with comfortable shoes and no-nonsense hair?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to stereotype.  Although I'm actually 
glad you're not a big, butch woman."

"Why?  Not your type?"

I shook my head.

"What is your type?"

I couldn't tell her that I had a strange fascination with 
ostensibly straight women.  My nickname in college was TD-- 
"The Despoiler," since I had a string of flings with girls 
who had just broken up with their boyfriends. I'm sure 
there's some deep, psychoanalytical reason why I'm 
attracted to them, but I haven't yet been in the mood to 
plumb those depths of my soul.  I do know that I like very 
feminine woman.  I want to kiss lips that are coated in 
slick lipstick.  When I take a shirt off, I want the bra 
and panties to be lacy and silky.  I want curves, perfume 
and painted fingernails.  And unfortunately, those women 
can be hard to find.

And there's nothing like the expression on the face of a 
woman who has never before kissed another woman, after 
she's received her first kiss.  It's a heady mix of wonder, 
confusion, arousal and shame.  It gets me wet.

It made me want to kiss Dana again.

"You're my type," I say.  "Strong, smart, and gorgeous.  
Feminine but not too girlie-girl."

She looked down at her hands.  "You're sweet to say those 
things."

"You don't believe them?"  But I knew too well what it was 
like to not believe compliments.

Her smile was sad.  "May, I don't know what I believe 
anymore."

While we probably could have spent the rest of the night 
discussing just why she was so unsure of her beliefs, I 
knew time was short.  Come morning, Dana would be on a 
plane across the country.  And I wanted her so much it was 
beginning to ache.

I touched her cheek.  "Let me help you," I whispered.  "Let 
me make you feel good."

Dana blinked several times and appeared to be thinking.  "I 
want to kiss you," she whispered after a long pause.  "But 
I'm scared."

I pushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear.  She had 
lovely little ears, pink and crowned with small pearl 
studs.  "I'm not going to bite."

A glimmer of a smile flickered over her lips.

"Unless you ask me to," I added and nuzzled her neck with 
my nose, getting a closer whiff of the warm scent of her 
perfume.

"I'm not scared of being with you because you're a woman, 
May.  If anything, I find that reassuring.  I'm scared that 
I'll disappoint you."

"How could you disappoint me?" 

Turning to me, she said, "I'm not any good at this."  Her 
hands came together and apart in a bewildered gesture.  
"I'm not a very good lover."

I had to fight to keep my eyes from rolling.  "Oh yeah, who 
says?"

"I haven't been with anyone in a long time.  More than 
three years, actually.  It's mostly because my work is my 
life.  I have no energy to give to that part of myself."

Picturing my next thirty-six hour stint, I smiled in 
recognition of the feeling.

Dana went on, "But it's more than that.  I'm just not 
successful at relationships, at sex.  I don't know why, but 
I'm not."  She looked at me again and her face colored.  
"God, I can't believe I'm telling you all this.  I mean, we 
just met an hour or so ago."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who isn't so 
close to the situation."  That's how I used to be with Lee, 
the bartender, as cliched as it sounds.  I could sit up at 
the bar and spill all my girl troubles and she'd make 
things seem so clear with just a few words of advice.

She nodded.  "Maybe.  I'm sorry for spilling all my 
troubles.  I just feel really apprehensive about this.  I 
don't know where to start."

"First of all, we don't have to do anything tonight," I 
said, while secretly thinking that I had to have her in the 
next minute or die.  "But if you want to, all you have to 
do to begin is kiss me."

The air seemed to actually thicken, to have a palpable mass 
as she looked at me with those big blue-gray eyes and her 
full lips began to part in a smile.  Come on, come on, I 
silently urged.

I have no idea why I wanted her so much.  Maybe it was 
because it had been so damn long for me.  Maybe it was 
because Dana was so gorgeous.  Or maybe it was just one of 
those freaks of chemistry.  From the minute I sat down next 
to her at Belladonna, I'd wanted her.

And her smile grew wider and no longer shy, and she leaned 
into me and touched my face.  "This is so weird," she 
whispered.  "I've never looked at a woman and desired her 
before."

Just those small words and I was wet and ready for her.

"It's okay to want me," I said.  "I'm not planning on 
telling your mother."

She kissed me then, long and hard, plunging her tongue into 
my mouth, teasing me with it, sucking on my lips, mingling 
what was left of my lipstick with what was left of hers.  
Her lipstick tasted slightly of black currants.  I groaned 
into her mouth with happiness and arousal.  Not a good 
lover my left butt cheek, I thought.  Any woman who could 
kiss like that had to be a rare talent in bed.

I felt drunk with my power.  I'd show her.  I'd show her 
how good she could be at making love.

Dana crawled on top of me, straddling my lap and still 
kissing me hard, her hands in my hair, ruffling the short 
strands.  I couldn't breathe, couldn't catch up with my 
rapidly beating heart, but I didn't care.  What's a little 
respiration when a gorgeous redhead is sucking the life out 
of your lips and sliding her own mouth down to suck at your 
neck?

She pulled away and gave me a lopsided smile.  What a mouth 
on her.  "You're beautiful," she said.  

I grinned at that.  "Kiss me again," I said.

We kissed for what felt like days and weeks, like Jamie and 
I used to kiss when we were babysitting together in high 
school and the kids were asleep and the parents not 
expected back for hours.  Jamie and I never got caught and 
were known throughout the neighborhood as the best damn 
babysitters in town.  Little did the parents know that 
sometimes we'd make love in their beds.  This felt wild and 
forbidden like those days, although I'm not sure why.  

My hands reached up to touch her breasts through her 
sweater and she jerked away, just a little.  "Is this 
okay?" I whispered.

She tipped her head back a little and let out her breath.  
"Oh, yeah."

Her breasts were small, but round and firm under her bra.  
I like smaller breasts because I'm rather small myself, and 
don't like to feel outclassed.  Dana's were a perfect 
handful each and I cupped and stroked them as she licked 
the outline of my ear.

"You like that?" I asked.

Her muffled grunt was enough of an answer for me.

I was so wet I could practically feel the juices coming 
through my skirt.  Dana's hand drifted down to my chest and 
began to shyly touch my breasts.  I wasn't wearing a bra 
that night.  I'm so flat chested there's really no need to 
wear one unless I'm wearing something really clinging.  A 
small cry left my mouth as she began to trace my left 
nipple with her fingertips, so slowly and tentatively it 
almost hurt.

"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you," I whispered and 
she looked at me with deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

My hands began to pull her sweater off and she nodded at me 
as if to say it was okay.  I smiled in appreciation at the 
sight of her breasts encased in a modest white lace bra.  
It had a front clasp and I pried it open and drew the lace 
off her body.  She had a lovely little body, a perfectly 
curved hourglass.  I'm shaped more like a boy, despite my 
femme tendencies.  I don't have hips to speak of, sadly.  
But Dana was slender but lush and round at the same time.

With a maneuver that would have made my college self-
defense instructor proud I managed to flip her off my lap 
and onto the couch on her back.  Dana gazed up at me with a 
look that said she could have defended herself if she'd 
wanted to, but she hadn't wanted to.  I bent my head to her 
to take each of her sweet, hard nipples in my mouth and 
suck on them in turns.  Her hands stroked my shoulders as I 
sucked her breasts and her breath came out in little pants.  
One of Dana's legs rose to lock itself around my back and 
she actually started grinding her pelvis into me.  This was 
going to be so good.

I lifted my head from her breasts and she made a "don't 
stop" noise.  

"This couch is kind of cramped," I said.  "I have a nice 
big bed if you'd like to go there."

She sat up and blew some strands of hair out of her face.  
"So, this is real," she said.

"It's real."  I offered her a hand to help her up from the 
couch.

End of (2/3)

Painted Ladies by Dasha K. (3/3)

Disclaimers and all the boring stuff in the first part.


In silence we walked the few short steps to my bedroom.  
Thank God I'd cleaned up a bit before I'd left the house or 
she'd probably have run and fled from the sight of medical 
journals and dyke erotica 'zines scattered all over the 
place, mingling with cat toys and dirty underpants.  Now 
the bedroom was neat and ordered and even cozy looking with 
just the bedside lamp on and Miu Miu curled up on the end 
of the bed.  I picked the cat up and tossed her out of the 
room, shutting the door on her outraged meow.

Dana stood in the middle of the room as if unsure of what 
to do.  I wasn't too sure either, so I just walked up to 
her and kissed her again, my fingers running all over the 
smooth skin of her back.

"This is unfair," she said, and began to pull off my t-
shirt.

Oh, skin against skin.  It felt so good, so new.  

Dana pulled away and bent to pull off her black boots and 
socks.  I did the same with my own shoes.  Her fingers went 
to the fly of her jeans.  "Do you want me to take them 
off?" she said.

What a stupid question.  I stepped back to watch her 
slender white legs and pale pink panties emerge from the 
jeans.  It was all I could do not to tackle her onto the 
bed and spread those pretty legs apart.

I wiggled out of my skirt and stood in front of her, hoping 
she wouldn't be disgusted by my skinny body.  It was times 
like these that I hated being a woman, hated having to feel 
so conscious of the flaws on my body.  And I was acutely 
aware of the fact that I hadn't shaved my legs in about 
five days out of sheer laziness. But Dana only smiled and 
stepped closer to stroke my breasts with her soft hands.

I tugged her by the hand to the bed and turned down the 
sheets.  Sitting against the wooden headboard, I spread my 
legs into a vee and motioned for her to sit between them.  
"What are you planning?" she said with a suspicious look.

"Don't you trust me?" I said.

Good question, really.  How much can you trust someone you 
just met in a bar?

Trust me anyhow, I thought.  I won't hurt you.

Dana raised her eyebrows at me and sat between my legs, her 
back against my chest.  

"All I want is to give you pleasure," I said into her 
sweet-smelling hair.  "Just for one night.  I need it and 
you need it."  I began to run my palms up and down her 
smooth legs.

She leaned back a bit, relaxing.  "I want that," she 
whispered.  "I haven't had that in so long."

Her head rose and a small gasp came from her.  I looked up 
and saw that she'd noticed that sitting where we were on my 
bed she could see the two of us in the mirror over the 
dressing table.

It was a pretty sight, the two of us together-- my dark 
gold legs on the outside and her pale white limbs on the 
inside, her auburn hair spilling over my shoulder.

I pointed at the mirror.  "Do you like what you see?"

She nodded.

I began to touch her then, one hand lightly kneading and 
cupping her breasts and one sliding between her thighs to 
stroke the thin, silky material at the crotch of her 
panties.

"Keep watching," I said.  "I want you to see how good you 
can feel."

"We're beautiful together, May," Dana said with a beatific 
smile.  And we were that night.  We were gorgeous, worthy 
of art.

"Tell me how to touch you," I asked her.  "I want to know 
how to make you come."

The look on her reflection's face was slightly alarmed.

"I . . . I don't know," she said.

"Sure you do.  How do you touch yourself when you're alone, 
when you want to feel pleasure?"

"I'm not used to talking about that, May."

"You can't get what you want until you ask for it."  Her 
breasts were getting heavier in my hands, swelling and 
filling with her arousal, the nipples turning a darker rose 
and hardening as I kept circling them with my fingers.  

Just like riding a bike, I dizzily thought, you never 
really forget.  It all comes back when you need it.

Her hand moved down to join mine between her thighs.  "I 
don't know if I can tell you but I can show you."

"Show me."

She shifted her bottom up a little and I helped her off 
with her panties, which went sailing over the edge of the 
mattress to the wood floor below.  I watched in the mirror 
as her hand and mine delved into the coppery curls between 
her legs.  "I like it slow," she whispered, and our fingers 
dipped into her slippery flesh and then began to stroke her 
clit in a circular motion.

Her head rested on my shoulder and her mouth opened.  "Like 
that," she groaned.  "Oh yes, May, just like that."

I felt her lift off the bed as her hips began to rotate.  
The air filled with the tangy scent of her arousal and it 
made my mouth water, but I had to satisfy my oral craving 
by kissing the silky flesh of the nape of her neck.  Dana 
was coming apart under my hands and it made my head spin.

"Is this what you want?" I asked her.

"Yes, yes, but I want more . . ." she moaned.

I took that as the magic sign to slip two fingers into her 
tight heat.  The sound she made when I did that went 
straight to my bones.  

"Harder," Dana said.

I watched in rapt fascination as I fucked her with my 
fingers, my thumb brushing against her clit with every pass 
of my hand.  I watched as her mouth opened and closed but 
no sound came out.  I watched the dusky flush begin to 
spread across the fine skin of her face and chest.  

And I heard her cry out sharply as she began to come.

In the mirror she lifted her hips up and squeezed her eyes 
shut, her fingers scrabbling to clutch at the light blue 
sheets on the bed.  She looked like she was drowning and I 
was thrilled to be able to give that to her.

She was still after a minute, breathing hard in my arms.

I turned us so that we tumbled onto the bed below, lying on 
our sides and still wrapped in each other.  I could smell 
her pleasure and her sweat and I wanted always to remember 
her scent, to remind myself that there was one night in my 
life when I felt like a woman, not just a doctor.

Dana's eyes opened and she smiled.  "That was amazing, May.  
Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," I said, pausing to kiss her again.  
"We've only gotten started tonight."

"Good," she said, "I don't want to stop."

"So, what was that you were saying about not being good in 
bed?"  I lifted her hand to my lips and began kissing her 
fingers.

A strange expression crossed her face.  "Well, I haven't 
really done anything to you, yet."

"So, you really don't think you're a good lover?"

Her eyes closed and for a moment I was afraid she might 
start crying.  "I've been told I'm cold."

I had to snort at that.  "And you believed that?"

"Well, you hear something like that, you tend to believe 
it."  She shrugged her thin shoulders.

"Let me guess, someone told you that when you were breaking 
up, right?"

Dana's eyes opened again.  "How did you know?"

"Because I've gotten the same routine.  It's bullshit.  If 
someone is unhappy with the way you are in bed, they should 
tell you about it at the time, not save it up until you 
break up.  By that time, the point is kind of moot, don't 
you think?"

We both started laughing and it turned into an endless 
kiss, slippery and wet with desire.

Dana turned me onto my back and straddled me.  "I want to 
make you feel good now," she said, her eyes no longer 
looking tired like they had back in the bar.  She looked 
alive, her face still flushed from her orgasm.

I squeezed her soft ass.  "Go for it."

She was so shy it was precious.  Dana kissed me all over, 
tiny birdlike kisses on my skin, little licks and nips with 
her tongue and teeth.  I trembled under her body, stroking 
her everywhere I could reach.

Her touch became more assured as she seemed to forget to be 
self-conscious, as she latched her lips around one of my 
nipples and began to suck.  She treated each of my breasts 
in turn with lavish care and I felt her straddle my thigh 
and move up and down on it, the little devil.

I was moaning almost constantly now, while her fingers 
crept down my belly and found me where I was dripping with 
need for her.  "Touch me," I begged.

Dana left my breasts and kissed her way down my stomach.  I 
froze, considering the implications of what she seemed 
about to do.  Was she truly going to go down on me?  I 
hadn't even done it to her yet, and she'd never been with a 
woman before.

I was about to find out what a brave woman Dana was.  She 
must be something else as a FBI agent.

I felt her hot breath blowing across my pubic hair.  I 
lifted my head from the pillow.  "You don't have to do 
this, Dana," I said.

Her smile was full and delicious.  "I want to, May.  Just 
tell me if I'm doing it wrong."

I ran my fingers through her mussed hair.  "Just do what 
feels good to you when someone is going down on you."

And so she began.  The touch of her tongue was so hesitant 
that at first I couldn't feel much of anything, just light 
kitten-laps up and down my folds.

"A little harder," I said, encouraging her with my hands on 
her warm shoulders.

If I lifted my head a bit I could still see us in the 
dressing table mirror, could see her shiny red hair between 
my legs.

She made a muffled sound and began to circle my clit with 
her tongue in earnest.  "That's good," I groaned, feeling 
the pressure begin to rise.  "Oh, that's really nice, Dana.  
But give me your fingers."

Dana looked up at me with half-closed eyes and bent her 
head to me again, slipping a finger deep inside.  

I closed my eyes as she fucked me with two fingers, her 
mouth making slurping sounds as she ate me.  I thought 
about the deep blue of the Pacific, a sunny day.  I saw 
Dana and me lying in the sun in bikinis, hidden somewhere 
in a quiet cove, baking in the sun and making love in the 
shade of a beach umbrella.  I could hear the screech of 
seagulls and smell the hot sand.

She was a little clumsy at what she was doing, but she 
didn't have ten plus years of experience like I did.  
Still, I gave her top grades for effort and enthusiasm.  
For a woman who had never entertained thoughts of being 
with another woman, she certainly had the potential to give 
good head.  Cold in bed, please.

One more deep thrust of her fingers into me and I started 
shaking with the roller coaster force of my climax.  I 
mumbled a whole load of nonsense as I was taken with the 
deep waves of pleasure.

Dana peeked up at me as soon as my orgasm subsided.  "Wow," 
she said.

I pulled her up to me so that we were eye to eye.  "I can't 
believe you did that." 

"Didn't you like it?" she said in a smart-ass voice.

"Of course I did, I just didn't expect that you'd want to 
do that, your first time in bed with a woman."

"I don't take a lot of chances."  Dana lazily ran her hand 
up and down my back.  "My professional life is really . . . 
strange and difficult and often scary, but in my personal 
life, everything is kept on a safe, controllable level.  
For one night, I wanted to try something new."

"Did you enjoy it?"

She nodded.  "I did.  It was different, but I liked it."  
Dana leaned over and kissed my forehead.  "I like the way 
you taste.  It's warm and sort of sweet."

"Glad I've made a convert," I laughed.

"I don't know about that," she said.  "I'm primarily 
attracted to men."

"You can like both, you know."

She wrapped a warm leg around my hip.  "Are you ever 
attracted to men?"

"Sometimes.  I think Harrison Ford is hot."

Dana laughed.

I went on, "But for the most part it's women for me.  It's 
always been that way.  I had boyfriends in high school, but 
I'd fool around with my friend Jamie behind their backs.  
She's now president of the Los Angeles Lesbian and Gay 
Coalition."

"I can't imagine growing up gay.  It's hard enough to be a 
teenager.  I was the moodiest teen girl you ever saw.  A 
mouthful of braces and one hell of a bad attitude."

"I'll bet you were adorable.  I would probably have 
followed you around, hoping you'd invite me for a 
sleepover," I said.

"Maybe I wouldn't have been so moody if we'd had one of 
those sleepovers."

"You know, you can stay here tonight if you'd like," I 
said, my heart starting to beat faster.  I just wanted to 
fall asleep with her near me and know that for once I 
wasn't sleeping all alone.

Go ahead, call me needy.  You won't be the first.

"I'd like to," she replied and kissed me again.  "I haven't 
really slept all week.  I've had too much on my mind."

We began to kiss again and kissing led to touching and 
touching led to sucking and stroking and finally, finally 
burying my face in her wetness and tasting her juices, 
getting them all over my face as I made her cry out in 
orgasm not once but twice.  I showed her what I could do 
and what I could make her do.  I had her sit up against the 
headboard so she could watch me making love to her, so she 
could watch her own face as she came apart under my tongue 
and fingers.  And I came, too, rubbing my mound against the 
sheets, as she came, the two of us shuddering and moaning 
together.

Sometime afterwards we wound up going to the kitchen.  She 
was wearing my green silk kimono, which exposed a healthy 
portion of her slender legs.  I was in an old tee shirt and 
caught a glance of myself in the hallway mirror, my black 
hair standing on end. Dana ruffled my hair and smiled.  
"You look like the singer of an 80s New Wave band."

I pinched her bottom.  "I'll take that as a compliment."

Neither of us had eaten in a while so I heated up some 
spaghetti my neighbor had made for me.  Mrs. DiAngelo is 
afraid that I'll starve to death so she sends me care 
packages of pasta and rum cakes. 

I loved watching her slurping spaghetti noodles and 
remembering what those lips of hers had done to me in bed.

After we'd eaten, Dana walked over to the living room 
windows.  She pointed to the sky.  "Look, May."

The skies must have cleared after the rain, for I saw the 
biggest, brightest full moon I'd ever had the privilege to 
view in my life.  It made the entire neighborhood glow with 
a supernaturally silver light.

"I see a lot of things in my work that I refuse to 
believe," she said, taking my hand, "but a moon like this 
makes me believe everything is possible."

I squeezed her fingers.  "Everything is possible.  I have 
to believe in that."

Dana turned to me and smiled.  "I do, too."

We went to bed shortly after that, falling in an exhausted 
slumber in each other's arms.  Before I drifted off, I 
reminded myself to wake early enough in the morning to make 
love to her before she had to go.

Just before dawn, I was awoken by the sound of her voice.  
Dana was moaning, but it wasn't a good sound.  "Put down 
the gun," she cried out in a voice muffled by her pillow.  
"Don't do it, Muller, put the gun down, can't you see he's 
pushing you?"

Who's Muller and why does he have a gun, I thought. It made 
no sense to me, but then, nightmares rarely do.  I touched 
her shoulder and kissed her head and she finally went quiet 
and peaceful, falling into a less disturbed place in her 
slumber.  I followed right behind her, to a sleep that held 
no dreams.

When I did finally wake to daylight, it was ten in the 
morning and her side of the bed was empty.  The only sign 
she'd been there was the green kimono, neatly draped over 
the chair in the corner, and the pillow, which was still 
indented in the shape of her head.  But I could still smell 
her on my fingers and on the sheets.

She'd left me a note on the kitchen table, thanking me for 
the wonderful night but explaining that she had a plane to 
catch.  "You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you 
up," the note read.

I didn't hold it against her.  Sleep was a valuable thing.

But I did miss her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I must have fallen asleep even if I don't remember doing 
it, for the next thing I know the on-call room fills with 
light from the hallway and I see Kelly Hamner standing 
there.  "May," she says softly, "You need to wake up.  
Billy is spiking again."

Just as I'd suspected.

The clock reads 4:20, which means I slept for more than two 
hours.  I slept and dreamed of Dana.  I often do that here.

With a sigh I sit up and stretch.  In my mind, I carefully 
put my memories of Dana back into the box where they 
belong, put them away until I need them again.  There will 
be another long night when I won't be able to sleep, when 
I'll need to remember a singular, perfect night when I made 
love with a beautiful woman and felt nothing but pleasure 
and joy.  A night when we watched the full moon and then 
fell asleep entwined in each other.

I stand and slip on my shoes, straighten out my rumpled 
scrubs.  Dana is placed on the highest shelf in my mind and 
I head out into the hallway, ready to deal with the world 
once more.

End


Notes:

I've noticed that after I finish a big MSR, I'm always in 
the mood to write a Scully/Other story.  I guess it's the 
literary equivalent of a palate-cleansing sorbet between 
courses. <g> (And yes, I do know how to spell Mulder.  May 
was just hearing things incorrectly)

Thanks to TOB for letting me steal bits and pieces of her 
life and inimitable sense of humor for this story.  Next 
trip to Sephora, the lipstick is on me, baby!

And of course, I cannot go without humbly thanking my 
friends and wonderful editors, Gwen and Plausible 
Deniability, for taking their time to beta with care and 
precision.

This story is for all of you who wheedled and bribed for 
more May and Scully fun.  You guys know who you are and I 
thank you for keeping the idea alive in my brain. And 
thanks to Sharon and Chris for showing me what a gorgeous 
city San Francisco is. 

Feedback would be very much appreciated and cherished.  I 
always wonder if I've lost all my audience when I step into 
the slash pool. dashak@aol.com