DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 2000 by Cheree Cargill. This is rated PG-13.

I Burn

Cheree Cargill

I am mad with the fever eating me alive like the gnawing, chewing, grinding of the insatiable jaws of a Regulan blood worm, but it is worse than that because while a Regulan blood worm is just an inch-long fluke that takes up residence in the left ventricle and doesn't actually do much harm to anyone other than a Regulan, no, especially not to a Vulcan because it prefers red blood to green, something that has saved me countless times, but not this time, for my blood burns like lighter fluid squirted carelessly on a vast barbecue and then having a match dropped on it so that it explodes in a vast pyrotechnic display, throwing charcoal briquettes and bratwurst to the four winds, even now, I burn like that, lusting after the one woman who can cool my fevered brow, laying her hands, cold as a Slurpee from 7-11 on a hot July day, colder even, against my burning, tortured brow, stroking my furrowed forehead and whispering, "Poor baby, poor hot baby, I feel your need and stand ready to strip off my scandalously short skirt and unloose my heaving breasts to soothe your burning, lusting need of a good lay," yea, I can hear her speak even now as my burning, lusting loins seek her cool, smooth thighs and the crotchless panties thereunder, and only then can I quiet this mad fever by lighting her cigarette later and asking in a voice hoarse with burning lust, "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"