DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of T'Kuht and is copyright (c) 2002 by T'Kuht. Rated PG-13. I love the episode in Are You Being Served? titled "The Erotic Dreams of Mrs. Slocombe." I thought it was a perfectly suited titled to our favorite Vulcan and have been trying to come up with the story to the title for a while. After writing Separate Lives for my Interludes series found on SpockandChristine, I found the spot it needed to go in. Hope you like it, T'Kuht

The Erotic Dreams of Mr. Spock


Spock's head hit the pillow and within moments he was asleep. He was exhausted beyond his normal means. The different crisis lately had completely disrupted not only his sleep schedule but his meditations as well. Without being able to do either, he had worn down more quickly than he would have normally. He had also had a slight case of the Rigellian Flu. Normally such mundane diseases did not affect him, but his mixed genetic heritage was once again proving to be a problem. Swiftly he went past the haze; the darkness in its vortex welcomed him to the next phase of his sleep. A clinical part of his mind analyzed the sensations. But 90% of him didn't care. He only wanted that darkest black at the bottom of the vortex. There he could float and finally rest.

Hands strong and large glided along his sternum. Internally he shuddered with expectation. It had been so long. The hands were warm and calming to his cool body. The slight scent of a heady perfume came to his nose. She was beautiful. Opening his eyes he realized that she was a he. It was himself. Startled into paying strict attention to the details, he tried to understand what was going on. A voice, familiar and female emanated from his mouth, her mouth. Who was he and why was he dreaming that he was making love to her in this manner? With a slight turn of the head he could see her ivory shoulders, feel his own breath on her neck, and taste his kisses. An alien sound, not Vulcan, not human came from his body. It was a language that he did not recognize, but it was familiar. Then a word he did recognize came from his mouth, "Christine."

He was she, but how? He focused not on the sensual paradise she was experiencing but on who was doing this to her. It was extremely difficult. Her arousal was nearly suffocating to his consciousness. His face swam into view again. A wide smile and almost malevolent look was in his eyes. He spoke in English to her, "You cannot know how long it has been since I have had a woman to please and please me. I have been trapped in that prison for 500,000 years. Can you know what that is, to be imprisoned?"

Christine/Spock did not answer. This had to be Henoch while he was in Spock's body. Spock understood immediately, but he was no longer able to control the flow of the dream. Henoch plunged deep into her causing her/him to cry out in pain. No, not pain. She had not been unwilling. For her it was a pleasure that had long been denied. Spock allowed what he was feeling through her to guide him. He had not experienced this before. Her/his breathing was becoming erratic and almost difficult. Soft sounds began emerging from her/his throat. Hot hands kept teasing and tormenting the body Spock occupied. It was so hard to tell them apart now. He had become her and was completely lost now. She was an extremely passion filled woman. He never knew that till now. Every hair was standing on edge with desire and anticipation. He could 'feel' everything, and it was not wrong. He was not Vulcan in this instance. He was simply human and enjoying the pleasures of the flesh. As Henoch climaxed and they both cried out in the moment, the dream began to fade.

Up through the darkness, up through the vortex that had carried him down to sleep. The lights of his cabin were already up to quarter illumination as his sleep cycle ended. With a start he looked at the clock although he didn't really have to. He had slept for five hours. That was sufficient to refresh him.

Rolling off the bunk to sit at the edge of the bed, he tried to think. He was more confused than anything. How did he know what was going on while Henoch was in his body? He had been resting in the vessel in sickbay while it was all going on. Then it came to him like a flash. It was a memory that he had imprinted from her mind when he was hidden there. He had to have seen it while he was waiting there but not been aware of it. This was not first hand knowledge by him, but it was an accurate depiction of the events as they had occurred. He wondered if Chapel remembered at all. Henoch's mind control had created havoc with her memory patterns. Spock had approached her with this. She had admitted that while she remembered what had happened, she could not actually discern individual events. She had related it to being sedated and only half awake. Spock raised one eyebrow at that thought. If she was only half awake during the sexual encounter ... or encounters and what he felt was only half of what the human experienced, it was indeed a heady experience.

Spock had another five hours before he was due on the bridge. That gave him ample time to meditate on this particular problem. Becoming one with the incense of the firepot, he settled in to analyze everything. He had not related this to anyone, but he was what humans would have called a virgin. As a cadet he was only interested in doing the best he was capable of doing. As a midshipman, he was honor bound to perform his duties. Once he became an officer, his duties had made it nearly impossible for any relationship except professional to occur between him and a female crewmember. Leila would have been the only one, and they had not consummated their relationship because the spores did not allow emotions of that intensity to occur. It would have negated their effect. They had nuzzled and been affectionate. He had thought that was the apex of the sexual aspects of love. Now after the dream, he knew better. He wanted to feel that again, to be certain.

But, he reminded himself; he was not feeling sex through his body but through hers. That was the difference. Vulcans no doubt would not feel those intense emotions or sensations. Theirs would be muted and not as intoxicating. Vulcans would only see sex as the logical thing it could be. It was used to procreate, to ease the tensions of pon farr, but not simply to create pleasure in the sense that he had felt. That would not be logical. But if that was so, how did his mother, a human and theoretically just as sensual as Christine Chapel, handle his father's lack of interest?

Questions began appearing in his head, "Perhaps he is not as disinterested as you have always thought. You have never known what they did in the privacy of their bedroom suite. You were never allowed to see that portion of their lives. Perhaps they are just as passionate."

"No," he decided. "Not Father. Mother I would say yes. But Father spent far too many years pounding the idea of total control into my every thought and manner to have any passion without the fever of pon farr." How lonely a life his mother has led he realized. Sadness came over him and was quickly dispatched. She had chosen the life for herself. If she were displeased she could change it.

Spock considered his own knowledge now. He had knowledge of physical sensation that he had never known first hand. It was greatly tempting to experience it again simply to see if he would feel the same things that she had. That would not be proper. That would not be Vulcan. Humans often engaged in recreational sex that had no ties to the other person. One-night stands he'd heard. But somehow he did not think that if he began this line of experimentation that one night would do at all. He could feel the urges try to take over his entire thinking process. He would have to deal with them now when before he had never known. The dream however was safe. He could relive the dream even try to imagine what it was like to be in Henoch's place. Then he could look on her face instead of his. He could see her smile at him or frown or laugh or cry at his touch. The dreams he could deal with. They would have to serve as his experimental data.