Convert this page to Pilot DOC Format
Disclaimer 1: This story is fairly explicit in its depiction of a love/sexual relationship between two consenting adult women. If you are under 18 years of age or if this type of story is illegal in the state or country in which you live, please do not read it. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story.
Disclaimer 2: This story uses characters which belong to MCA/UNIVERSAL TELEVISION. It was not written for profit. It was written as an alternative appreciation of the multi-dimensional relationship created by XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS producers, writers, and actors.
The First and the Last
We are committed to one another, that's mutually understood. I take care of her. She follows me willingly, and, in ways I don't think she fully fathoms, she takes care of me as well. Still, I sense that we have both longed for something more. Why tonight, I don't know. Perhaps the campfire enchanted or mesmerized us. Perhaps it was the moon, or the alignment of the stars, or the intoxicating scents of early spring foliage in the air. Or maybe some arrant deity smiled on our deeply felt, but, unarticulated desires.
We embrace standing as silhouettes in the darkness. I feel her body pressed to mine. I'm taller than she is and yet in this, as in everything, we fit together beautifully.
I let my hands wander to parts of her body I've never touched in this way before. I don't want to force her, to coerce her, or to move faster than she can. She embraces me and kisses my neck, and thereby tells me that I'm not pushing her at all.
Her hands now rest on my cheeks and she pulls my lips to hers. We've kissed before, as friends do, as sisters do, but this too is new. I taste her tongue. I taste her longing. I taste her apprehension. I taste her excitement.
I have some apprehension of my own as well. Part of me wants to hold tightly to the protective barrier I have carefully constructed over the years, and part of me longs to let myself be utterly vulnerable with her. I've spent my whole life shunning vulnerability. Vulnerability means defenselessness, weakness -- both of which are things I abhor and fear. But, her innocence, her naivety, her sincerity, her compassion, and her beauty have all combined to do battle against my guarded demeanor.
I let my hands caress her breasts. I've never touched them before either. I've seen them of course, casually, when we bathed or dressed. I always tried not to look too much, for fear my eyes would betray my thoughts.
Her hands roam down my back and under my skirt. She fondles my bottom. With that invitation, I scoop her up into my arms. I'm a strong woman and I lift her easily. She wraps her arms around my neck and I carry her to the bedroll.
She lies beneath me smiling. I sit on my heels above her. I stare at what I can see of her body by fire and moonlight. Shadows dance across her skin, dispersing, and yet somehow enhancing my visual impression of her. She unlaces her top, and I help her take it off over her head. I gaze down at her, appreciating the opportunity to finally look unabashedly. She is the perfect combination of sculpted,
chiseled angles and soft curves. I find her truly beautiful. She must see the adoration in my eyes because she guides my lips to hers and we kiss again deeply. I eventually let those kisses take my mouth to her neck, her collar bone, and, finally, to her breasts. Everything is gentle and unhurried. She breathes softly and she strokes my hair.
I can hear her heart beating. I cease all movements and exploration and just lie there with my ear pressed to her chest. I love that sound. I could stay there in her arms forever, but she gently raises me and sits up. She carefully removes my breastplate. Then, she touches my skin lightly, cautiously. Her fingertips tickle my collarbone and gradually come down to tops of my breasts, tracing the boarder line where one thin layer of leather protects flesh. She slides her fingertips slightly beneath that line and back out again. Then, keeping eye contact with me, she loosens the laces of my top and slowly pulls my shoulder straps down. My bodice falls gently around my waist.
I suddenly feel self-conscious. I'm not sure why. I've always been proud of my body and the shape I keep it in. And, I have been naked in front of her a thousand times, but this is uncharted ground. I breathe uneasily and my hands shake a bit. Suddenly I am afraid. The vulnerability issue rears its persistent head again. I don't know if I can let go sufficiently to be with her, though I long to with all my heart. She senses my distress.
"You're trembling," she whispers, and lovingly caresses my shoulders and arms.
"This is so..." I begin, but can't finish. I don't have the words.
"I know," she says and pauses. Then, with fervor and sincerity, she continues, "I love you. I have always loved you."
I try to look away, her eyes and these words are almost too much for me. I've always known her feelings. In actions large and small she demonstrates her love for me on a daily basis, but to hear her actually speak the words face to face... My love is as intense as hers is, and I want to answer, but I can't. I'm a warrior. I don't wield words beautifully the way she does. I can feel the tears welling up, and I try to choke them back.
She gently lifts my chin until my eyes meet hers, and she continues, softer than before, "And I trust you with all my being. Won't you trust me? Please trust me, Xena."
So, vulnerability is to be the ultimate test of my trust. She has given my life new meaning, new direction, new purpose. She calms the inner turmoil and pain that nearly overwhelm me at times. I've given her my friendship, my companionship, my loyalty, and my love. So why am I withholding my trust? For no good reason. With her simple, yet profound words, she teaches me in that moment. I suddenly realize that this kind of vulnerability--the kind you share with only one person in a lifetime--is not weakness. It's strength. And the "whole" that two separate, drifting, uncertain, miserable souls form together is the ultimate kind of strength. I realize that I should be forever grateful to have found the person that I can bare -- my body, yes, but, more importantly, -- my soul to. She smiles at me, and wipes the tears I haven't concealed very well. I smile back. Again, she has heard my unspoken thoughts--as she usually does.
We make love passionately, but freely and easily, gently and tenderly.
She gives herself to me completely, in this as in everything. I am determined not to disappoint her. I find I am receiving intense gratification from satisfying her, and her pleasure becomes my delight.
She follows my lead, doing as I have done. I find it frightening, but somehow deliciously pleasant letting go completely under the touch of her hands, fingers, lips, and tongue. This is not the first time I've had sex, nor, I suspect, am I her first. Yet, I'm new with her. Not because being with a woman is new, which it is, but because this is the first time I have made love when I was truly in love. It's also the only time I've been made love to so unselfishly. I know that I won't settle for anything less than this again. She is the one -- the one I want by my side forever: in bed, in battle, in sorrow, in joy, in menial every-day, boring tasks, in whatever life will send our way for as long as we both live. I know by her touch, her glance, and her smile that she feels the same.
I lie on my back and hold her in my arms afterwards, our satiated flesh naked to the whims of a warm, gentle breeze. She rests her head on my breast, her arm and leg draped lazily across my body. We don't say anything. Even the little bard is at a loss for words now, but none are needed. We have "spoken" heart to heart, mind to mind, soul to soul. All is understood. Nothing remains to be said.
Gradually, her breathing becomes regular and deep, and I know that she is sleeping. I will hold her through the night so she can wake up in my arms. I kiss the top of her head lightly and take the deepest breath of her I can. Though I'm not much on praying, still my mind constructs a simple, silent one thanking the powers that be for allowing me to find her, and for helping me realize what few will during their lifetimes -- complete, all-encompassing, requited love.
I allow my consciousness to slip from me and I drift to sleep utterly vulnerable and, for the first time, wholly content.