Lois POV

She just really doesn't get it. So what else is new?

*sigh*

She was a little surprised at how fast the news about her, the pictures, got distributed. Then she said she should have known better, since decades can be covered in a couple of pages. Whatever that means.

Any way, she thought she could just keep her head down, and interest would die out in a few days, maybe a week or ten days.

She just doesn't understand the dynamics of celebrity in this world, I guess. I prepared by immedieately getting an unlisted number and taking my name off the mailbox. Just in time, too.

That evening a tabloid called, and Scribe answered. They started trying to interview her, and she told them to go take a flying leap, then hung up. The next day the tabloid had her face pasted on the body of someone parachuteing with the title 'SCRIBE'S EXERCISE SECRETS'. I never saw anyone shred paper so fast in my life. One minute tabloid, the next, poof! Confetti.

She tried to keep up, as she termed it, 'what passes for a normal life with me.' It didn't help when we went to Lavender's Green a couple of nights later, and half the crowd was wearing Tee-shirts that said 'Scribe's Tribe.' She almost walked right back out, but they were all so happy to see her that she didn't have the heart.

She was subdued. Well, for Scribe, she was subdued. She only drank a Dirty Girl Scout, and a Kiss on the Cheek.

She let herself be coaxed into singing with the band, but she only sang quiet, rather sad songs. They had a strong effect anyway. I saw couples hugging and crying during something called 'I Will Always Love You'.

We got the news that she'd gone international just before we left. Clive came over to our table. He kissed her cheek gently. "How are you, love?"

"I'm better, Clive. I wanted to say thank you for..."

"Hush. It was more than a pleasure. That bitch had been giving the local Dominant community a bad rep. We knew it was just a matter of time before she snapped. I'm just sorry she snapped on you, sweetie. And it's a shame she had to mess up such a wonderful night for you. That was quite a triumph."

"Yeah, the song came out pretty well."

"I was talking about the publicity, darling. I must say, I appreciate the fact that they mentioned that I did your hair. I have queries comeing in from all over. One of the English princesses called to ask me to do her hair for some society do. I turned her down. I'd rather curry her polo pony."

"Publicity?"

"Didn't you know, Precious? You're famous. Check this out." He pulled a large, glossy magazine out of his leather jacket, and offered it. Scribe took it hesitantly. She stared at it for a minute, then looked up blankly and handed it to me.

It was an oversized picture magazine titled 'EXOTIQUE'. The cover was a medium shot of Scribe. It had apparently been taken at LG on the night of the incident. And it wasn't just a sedate headshot. I knew I'd seen flashbulbs popping.

Scribe was perched on the bar. Legs crossed in tight bluejeans, leaning back on her braced arms, the flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, and unbuttoned right about down to her cleavage. Her head was thrown back, neck arched in a pale bow. Her mouth was a little open, lips curved as if she were enjoying a delicious joke. Blue eyes were wide and sparkling. Soft cap of dark curls was sprinkled with gleams of gold and red. Every inch of skin shimmered just a bit, as if coated with either sweat, or glitter. The copy underneath it said 'WILD CHILD'. She looked like someone Amish mothers would warn their children about before sending them into the city, and the sort of person that said Amish youths would immediately seek out.

"Thank you, Clive." She said quietly. "I think I'll go home now."

I followed her, and we rode home in silence. Once back at the apartment, she removed her boots, and hefted them over her shoulder. I winced, waiting to see if I'd need to replace anything when they landed.

Instead she lowered them gently to the ground and sat on the sofa, then put her face in her hands. I went and touched her shoulder. "Scribe, what is it now?"

"Wild child? Freakin' wild child? Okay, the wild I'll give them. I guess I could qualify for that. But child? I'm forty freakin' years old! I haven't been a child since most of them were in rompers."

"They're not talking physically, Scribe." I sat beside her. "They're talking spiritually, emotionally..."

She sighed. "Mentally."

"No, you're not stupid. You're just..." I gestured. I didn't know how to describe something I found endearing without making it sound derogatory. "...you. Childlike. You're always meeting something new, and it gives us a fresh look at it through your eyes."

She snorted. "You're a journalist, Lois. Use the right word. Childish. Immature, headstrong, stubborn, self involved..."

"Some of those things," I agreed. "But you'd be a hell of a lot less interesting if you weren't. And you recognize your faults, you own them. A lot of people, if you suggested they were less than perfect would give you a blank look, and change the subject."

"Really? Admitting my faults is a good thing? Here I thought it was a form of passive aggression. Honestly, Lois." She took up the magazine, and gazed at it sorrowfully. "That's not me. They think I'm some sort of a sex siren." She gave a short laugh. "Got 'em fooled, haven't I?"

I sat next to her, took the magazine and laid it aside. I said "I wouldn't go as far as to say that." and kissed her.

Scribe's POV

The whole deal has me a little shook up. I used to grit my teeth at the celebrities in my world who moaned about not being able to live a 'normal life.'

I'm generally a sympathetic person, but I had precious little sympathy for them. My philosophy ran, "Look, if you're gonna take off your clothes on a forty foot high screen, pose next to nekkid in magazines with a couple of million circulation, shake your booty on satalite tv, marry one of the most famous princes in the world (forgive me,Diana. I've grown to understand), then you shouldn't whine if people follow you around and take pictures and such. It's part of the package."

Now I was sort of in the same boat. But it wasn't fair. It wasn't like I'd set out to be the focus of millions of pairs of eyes. I got drunk and sang kareoke in a gay bar. Big woo.

Then it dawned on me that this was mostly, not because of what I'd done, but because of what I was. I was an involuntary visitor from somewhere else. And there wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about the situation. No matter how quiet and self effacing I was, I was still going to be from another universe. There wasn't anything I could do about that.

Piss.

What really got me was the fact that so many of these people seemed to find the image I was projecting as sexy.

I just didn't see it. I mean, I was still plump. I still had uncontrolably curly hair (though I have to admit that Clive had worked wonders with it). I was still at the big four-oh, and I looked a long way from teenybopperhood.

I looked at the photo on EXOTIQUE, and all I saw was someone's maiden aunt acting up on a Saturday night. I more or less said so to Lois, inviting her to share my incredulity at the rest of the world.

Instead, she said, "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," and kissed me.

I'm not sure if my first reaction was sexual, or emotional. In any case, I put my arms around her and kissed her back.

It wasn't quite like that other time I kissed her. I was... sort of testing waters then. Seeing if I was going to freak out. If I had any tendencies at all in this direction. It hadn't been fair to Lois, really, because I knew darn good and well that that was all there was going to be right then. Now...

This time I was the one who parted my lips, almost questioningly. And I got an answer. The answer was a silent "Yes, thank you. That's exactly right. And my, don't you taste good?"

Her tongue went everywhere, with that small invitation. I felt it in parts of my mouth I didn't know existed. It was startling. I thought I had been kissed a fair amount since I'd arrived. I mean, Superman, Lois, even a quick one from Jimmy. Nothing this thorough and... determined.

With Clark, I had been the initiatore. With Diana, I had been the prey. This was different from both. Lois was moving aggressively, but I felt no danger. No fear. She'd already proved how much she cared for me. This seemed to be just another facet.

Her hands moved to the back of my head, sliding her fingers through my curls. All the way through, right out. She pulled back, and I took the opportunity to grab some oxygen. She sighed against my mouth. "Can you see why I wanted you to keep it long? It's so darn hard to get a grip."

"I happen to be doing very well without a grip, if you hadn't noticed. I haven't had a grip since..." I'm forced to shut up when she kisses me again. And she does manage to get a grip in my short hair, and holds my head firmly in place, and returns to mapping my mouth.

I'm not sure if she pushed me, or I fell, but I'm lying back on the sofa, legs dangling over the side, and she's sort of on top of me. And that's funny, because I'd always assumed that the first time I had someone on top of me, they'd have a Y chromosome. I find that this doesn't bother me.

There's a break, and Lois says, "Are you all right with this?"

"Huh? I dunno. I think I need another example to make up my mind."

"We can do that." This time she draws my tongue into her mouth and sucks on it while she unbuttons my shirt. She pushes the material aside, mumbling, "Something to be said for this odd bra of yours. It's easier to move than armor."

My hands are fluttering around, lighting here and there. "I... uh... I don't know what..."

"Whatever. You don't have to do a thing, if you don't want to." She ducks her head, and I get the first experience of someone other than a mammogram technitian touching my bare breast. Of course, they never used their lips... so it goes even beyond that.

I suddenly find that I'm in even greater need of oxygen, gasping deeply. "Oh, geez, no wonder Clark liked that." I feel her laugh against me, and let me tell you, that's a very interesting sensation. I hear the pop of my jeans snap opening, and the rough purr of the zipper going down. For a moment, I freeze, because the sounds call up too much. They make me think of white tiles, and disenfectant, and khaki, and helplessness, and pain.

Then Lois is holding me, and whispering, "It's all right, Scribe. Don't be afraid. I'm sorry, I forgot."

"It's all right. It was just a second."

"Are you sure?"

I put my face against her neck. "Not gonna let her do it to me, Lois. Not gonna let her hurt me all over again every time someone tries to get close." I take her hand, and lay it against my belly, then push it down. "You won't hurt me. I know that."

"No, I'd never hurt you." Her hand slides into my panties and begins a slow, gentle motion. It's different from with Clark. I was right. Skin on skin is better. She pulls my hand up under her skirt, and I find out that some of those girdles are bottomless. I try to mimic her movements, because I have absolutely no problem with what she's doing. She seems happy enough with my efforts, judgeing from the moaning. And I have to marvel at how different this is from the assault.

Lois is aggressive, but it's tempered with care and consideration. What she's doing is technically what Diana did, I'm still being penetrated, but it's so different. I'm being gently ravished instead of plundered. And the orgasm I have is just as intense as the one I had with Clark.

I lose control a little, and worry vaguely that I might be too rough in my own caresses. But Lois just hugs me, kisses me, and trembles against me for a long time. We still sleep in separate rooms, but she tucks me in again, like she did the first night. And this time she kisses me goodnight. And I'm getting a little clearer about my own place in the sexual universe.