Here goes. I'm not using the actual book on tape that Gillian Anderson and whoever the guy was did. It was so long ago, I can't remember the quality of the reading, or what bits got abridged. The stuff marked off by three *** are quotes directly from "Exit to Eden" by Anne Rice, with her sentence structure and grammar. This is the first Mu/Sc story I've ever attempted. Fair warning. WARNING: NC-17 for implied b/d/s/m fun and a naughty word or two. Also, it's implied that Mulder may have "played" with both men and women, but no loving descriptions of homoerotic whathaveyou. So sorry. Eject to Eden By Emily Gifford 1993 Fox Mulder stretched on his bed, arching his back. Nothing quite like a relaxing book on tape, he thought as he adjusted his headphones. Thank God for Next-Door Frances, legally blind and willing to share her Serves for the Blind unabridged talking books with him. She'd handed this one, Anne Rice's "Exit to Eden," to him with a smirk an hour before, telling him she hoped he enjoyed it as much as she and her husband had. Frances was an angel; what a relief it was to shut his eyes as he "read." He punched play and settled back on the bed, hands behind his head, listening as a soft voice spoke to him. *** A slave doesn't get shown at one of those auctions unless he or she has had the best prior training, unless every test has been passed *** Memories, each one rendered and preserved in perfect detail, unlocked themselves in Mulder's mind. He hadn't played d/s games in years, but when he had, he'd done so wholeheartedly, embracing every experience, eager to learn all his masters and mistresses had been willing to teach him. He thought about those times, and realized that, like Elliott in the book, he'd often overwhelmed and even frightened his tops with the totality of his surrender, his willingness to explore the darker side of his own desire. His arms were still behind his head, even though his erection was straining for attention. He chuckled soft when he realized that he had slipped easily and automatically into "sub space;" alone in his apartment, his last Mistress a distant memory, he was still waiting for permission to touch himself. Well, why not? he thought. If he couldn't have a live, in-the-flesh Mistress, why not let the book's Lisa do it for him? *** He was still agitated, almost frantic. And my touching him made it worse. I reached back and undid the strap that was holding his hands and his arms. *** After an agonizing eternity, she had finally given permission! As the woman's voice in his ear described Elliott's reaching for her, holding her, kissing her as if starved for her, driving himself into her, Mulder touched his throbbing cock, increasing his tempo as "Lisa" described what Elliott did to her, taking her with urgency, with frantic need. *** I felt that sudden little spurt of my fluids against him, that impossible opening up, the sensation positively raging, as he came, roaring right over it, stoking it and stoking it and driving it further, until I shattered, screaming No, No, No, and God and Shit and Damn... *** "No!" Mulder screamed the word, wanting the pleasure delayed, but unable to stop it as that soft voice relentless whispered to him. "No! No! God! Shit! Damn!" Mulder's cries echoed through his apartment as his orgasm rocked him, quaked him, took him beyond the sea. He turned off the tape. He couldn't take anymore of that. Not now, not yet. But this was the most intense autoerotic experience of his life, and this tape, with that voice, was now going to be copied in flagrant violation of the law, to become one of his more treasured posessions. TWO MONTHS LATER On an airplane bound for Washington State, Mulder was taking the measure of his new partner, who sat in the seat next to him, flipping through file folders stuffed with notes. She was so... prim, he thought. Impossible to believe that a fellow Generation X'er could be starchy and efficient. She just didn't look like someone who had ever taken Extasy while listening to Depeche Mode. But her personnel file said she was three years younger than he. But there was something about her that spoke of desires carefully banked; an inner life that longed for more than the job, deeper pleasures than a chemical yielding out to 100%. "Mulder, is something wrong?" she was asking at his scrutiny, and suddenly he knew why she had instantly seemed so familiar to him. "Um, Agent Scully, this is a long shot, but have you ever done any voice-over work? Like for commercials or something?" She shook her head. "I'm barely 30 years old, Agent Mulder, and an MD who's also been a lecturer at Quantico. I haven't had time for a second career." Mulder shook his head. "It's just that... there's something familiar about your voice, Agent Scully. Must be your clarity of diction reminds me of an old teacher or something." Scully paused. "Well, you know, I do volunteer as a reader for Services for the Blind. It's a good way to get in some non- professional reading, and I can just whip out a book and a tape recorder to do it whenever I have the time and the inclination. But I doubt you'd have listened to any of those tapes; they're on restricted distribution, and I doubt you'd be interested in the kinds of books I read." "What kind is that, Agent Scully?" She blushed. "Well, I have to confess... mostly romantic novels." He smiled, but not in mockery. "It's a nice world to go to from a job like this." She smiled back at him. "Yes. Well, maybe we ought to review some of these files..." She turned to some papers on the fold-out tray in front of her, completely missing the look of mixed speculation and adoration that briefly crossed Mulder's features before he schooled his face back into impassivity. "You know, Agent Scully," he said, his voice even, "I think we're going to work quite well together." END -- "And then they all went to the seashore." -Al Gifford