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From: "Elf M. Sternberg" <elf@pendorwright.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Journal Entry 087 / 01031  Strawberries (0)
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Date: Sat, 22 May 2010 10:10:03 -0400
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Strawberries
Seren, Lothess 13, 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.

----------------------
The Journal Entries of Kennet R'yal Shardik 
and Related Tales.

The entire archive of stories can be found at:
http://www.pendorwright.com/journals

Copyright 2004 Elf Mathieu Sternberg.
Distributed under the Creative Commons License BY-ND-NC/1.0
Some Rights Reserved. 

Elf's latest stories are available in paperback!  Buy 
the genderbending novel _Sterlings_, available
now from http://stores.lulu.com/elfsternberg

--

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