TITLE: The First of Many
AUTHOR: Damon Jones
RATING: R
SUMMARY: A short little comedy about Seven's first er... wet dream.
HOME PAGE: Damon's Home Page
FEEDBACK: damonrjones@hotmail.com

The First of Many

"REGENERATION CYCLE COMPLETE"

      With a gasp, Seven opened her eyes and took an unsteady step forward. The dream was already fading; only vague images remained of a pair of strong, masculine hands exploring her naked body, caressing, squeezing -- whose hands? -- the owner's identity seemed tantalisingly just beyond her grasp. However, though the dream itself had fragmented and faded, the feeling it had engendered in her was still strong. She was aware of her body in a way that she'd never been before; it seemed alive to the slightest pressure and friction. 'I am experiencing sexual arousal,' she suddenly realised with some surprise. Tentatively she raised her hands to her breasts, her breath catching at the sensations the contact produced. Even as her eyes closed, a small corner of her mind was analysing the feelings she was experiencing. Of course, she had been aware that sexual activity was considered highly pleasurable; this had been made abundantly clear to her during her recent research regarding human mating behaviour; in particular, this seemed evident when studying Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris... though some of the noises she had heard on deck nine, section twelve had at first seemed indicative of pain rather than pleasure. However, it was one thing to study the topic in the abstract and quite another to actually experience it. As her right-hand instinctively travelled down the front of her body towards the damp heat at the juncture of her thighs, she found coherent thought becoming increasingly difficult. An area of her anatomy that had previously been no more than a utilitarian organ suddenly seemed to offer an exquisite prize, and, as her fingers reached their goal, the reasoning, rational voice of her mind was consumed by the wave of sensation that spread through her. In her rapture, she failed to hear the hiss of the cargo bay doors opening.

      "Seven!"

     Shocked from her trance, she was dismayed to see Lieutenant Torres approaching her wearing a sardonic smile.

    "The data you asked for," the engineer said, holding out a PADD.

    "Data?" she repeated in a small voice, trying to hide her embarrassment and failing.

    "About the power-linkages to Astrometrics."

      "Thank you."

     Swallowing, she took the proffered PADD and watched as Torres turned and headed for the exit, stopping briefly to offer a gleeful parting-shot over her shoulder.

      "Oh, and Seven -- you might want to lock the doors next time."

      Stepping down from her alcove, her mood broken by Torres's interruption, she considered what had just happened to her. Prior to her recent research she had been unaware of the practice of masturbation (the Collective presumably considering it irrelevant) but she had found references in the ship's database while investigating human mating behaviour. However, considering it unimportant to her study, she had not investigated further. Obviously it was time to reconsider the matter. The morning's duties forgotten, she began to sift through the vast amount of data pertaining sexual behaviour in the Starfleet database.

    Seven was not in a good mood. Half-an-hour after she had begun her research, Commander Chakotay had entered the cargo bay demanding to know why she hadn't started her shift. Not only had she completely forgotten about her duties, but the Commander had been unusually short-tempered with her, suggesting sarcastically that perhaps she should take a few days off if she had other such pressing matters to attend to. Subsequently, she'd heard rumours throughout the morning that the Captain and her First Officer had had some kind of misunderstanding -- sexual in nature, if she'd correctly interpreted the innuendo and childish smirks. However, it was her dereliction of duty that vexed her most -- that she could have allowed herself to become so consumed by the morning's events that she'd actually forgotten about her shift in Astrometrics. It was... disturbing... to think that she was in thrall to a simple biological drive, and, against her will, she once more found herself pondering the dream that had instigated it all. Who's hands had they been? She felt a strange certainty that they belonged to someone she knew, that they hadn't been the hands of some faceless, dream-inspired entity but had belonged to one of Voyager's crew.

     Her mood wasn't improved when, upon entering the mess hall, she spotted Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Paris casting surreptitious glances in her direction and sniggering like a pair of mischievous children -- sniggering at her; and it wasn't hard to guess why. Suddenly angry, she strode towards their table, unsure of exactly what she was going to say, but unable to simply let the incident pass.

    "Hello, Seven," said Paris, struggling to stifle his mirth. "I heard you were a little late for your shift this morning."

     "Lieutenant, Ensign."

    As she looked imperiously down at them, inspiration struck.

    "Perhaps you could assist me with some research I am carrying out into the practice of onanism." She spoke in a not-too-loud, but penetratingly clear voice. "Would you describe your masturbatory habits." She was gratified to see their grins falter. "Do you ever use devices..."

     "Seven..." began Torres in a threatening tone.

    "Do you indulge in mutual masturbation?"

      "I'm warning you, Seven..."

    Seeing their flushes of embarrassment, she allowed herself a faint, triumphant smile.

    "Ah, Neelix," said Paris with forced good cheer.

     She turned to see the Talaxian sidle up to her with an anxious grin on his face. "Seven, is there a problem?"

    "No."

     "Perhaps I could tempt you with today's special..."

     "Whatever is available will be sufficient."

    "Good," he chuckled nervously. "One pleeka rind casserole coming right up."

      Though she considered her point made, she couldn't resist a final taunt. "Lieutenant, I imagine that Ensign Paris, as a human, often fails to fulfil your sexual needs. How often do you have recourse to satisfy yourself?"

    "Okay, that's enough!" Torres snapped furiously, getting to her feet, her eyes burning; but she could tell that the engineer's anger was warring both with her own embarrassment and an underlying sense of guilt at having mocked her.

      She stared back imperturbably, her mood greatly improved. Noting with satisfaction that the eyes of the entire mess hall were on them, she finally turned and allowed Neelix to guide her away, obviously fearing that a physical confrontation was imminent. She was touched, though, and a little surprised when he muttered under his breath, "Touche, Seven."

     "Good morning, Seven."

      "Doctor."

      As he retrieved a tricorder, he spoke with a mixture of protectiveness and gleeful curiosity. "I hear you had yet another altercation with Lieutenant Torres in the mess hall yesterday."

    She sighed, but said nothing.

     "This is becoming something of a habit, Seven. I know she can be a little difficult sometimes, but you really shouldn't let her get to you."

     She cocked her metallic eyebrow, but again said nothing, gaining a certain amount of amusement from teasing him.

     As he began his scans, his impatience got the better of him. "Well, what was it about this time?"

    She sighed again, debating what to tell him. "I have begun a new study."

     "Oh no. You haven't been following them again have you?"

     "No. I'm surprised that you don't know."

      "Ensign Kim was a bit reticent as to the actual cause of the argument."

      "I was enquiring about their masturbatory practises."

     He paused in his scans, and she watched a range of expressions cross his face: shock, amusement and then... was that embarrassment?

      "I see," he said finally. "And what prompted this latest study?"

      "Do you need to ask, Doctor?"

      Resuming his scans, he spoke in a carefully neutral voice. "I have several medical texts on the topic that you might find useful."

      "Thank you, but I believe that I have sufficient theoretical knowledge now."

      "I see."

      There was a moment's silence, and she realised that he was avoiding eye-contact. "Doctor, you seem embarrassed."

      "Not at all," he replied, looking up at her at last, almost defiantly, and she suddenly became aware of the tension that had been between them since the moment she'd entered sickbay. She also realised that it wasn't so much the subject of their conversation that was disturbing him, as the fact that he was discussing it with her.

     She looked away quickly, feeling unexpectedly nervous, his close proximity becoming strangely disquieting. Her chest felt tight and there was a fluttering sensation in her stomach. She felt a short-lived relief when he turned his attention back to his tricorder.

      "Mmm... pulse one-hundred-and-ten. Seven, do you feel all right?"

      She could tell from the tone of his voice that he knew there was nothing physically wrong with her. Her throat was dry, and that, combined with the tension she was feeling caused her reply to emerge as a strained whisper. "Yes."

      Now she was the one trying to avoid eye-contact, and looking down she found her gaze drawn to his hands. It was with a feeling of inevitability that she realised these were the hands from her dream, the hands she'd imagined caressing and squeezing -- exploring her nakedness. The feelings came back to her in vivid detail; each touch, each caress, gentle but strong seemed to burn her skin; finally she could put a face to her dream... and he was here, now, dangerously close. With some effort, she tore her gaze from his hands and, looking up at him, spoke, struggling to maintain control of her voice, but unable to stop the trembling caused by the palpitation of her heart.

      "Doctor, I've always found your lessons most useful. As I told you, I have acquired sufficient theoretical knowledge of masturbation," the last few words came out in a breathless rush, "But I believe a practical demonstration would be prudent."

      "I see," he squeaked, apparently paralysed with fear or shock, or possibly a combination of both.

      Grabbing his wrist in what would have been a painful grip for someone of flesh-and-blood, she began to pull his hand downwards.

      "Comply," she growled, her need becoming overwhelming.

    "Computer, lock sickbay doors," he managed to gasp as he let the tricorder fall.

      And so began the first of many lessons.

THE END