Deanna Troi Wakes Up Gay

Deanna Troi, esteemed counsellor aboard the USS Enterprise and she of the stunningly obvious lines stirred gently from her slumbers, her raven locks fanned out over the pillow. She'd had a fitful night, her sleep punctuated by unusual dreams and she made a mental note to visit Beverly for a check-up before her duty shift started. She wasn't sure what psychological relevance it had but she couldn't shake some of the images from her dreams. Women playing softball, reciting poetry to each other, and. . . yes, Martina Navratilova, the 20th Century Terran tennis champion.

With a breathy sigh, Deanna slipped from the Starfleet issue blue sheets and padded towards the sonic shower, hoping that it would work out some of the tension from her elegant limbs. As per her usual morning ritual, she stopped in front of the mirror to brush her teeth. Replacing her toothbrush, she gazed at her reflection with a frown. It seemed suddenly impractical to maintain her elaborate hairstyle, the dark ringlets trailing down her back. In fact, she often missed breakfast thanks to bad hair days; minutes wasted trying to tease and coax her bouffant into the silky mass of curls that everyone expected of her.

Well, dammit, she was sick and tired of being so femme. With a determined glint in her eyes, Deanna reached for a pair of scissors. . .

With her head held high, Deanna marched quickly down the corridor to the turbolift in her sensible Doc Marten shoes. She'd chosen to forgo her normal footwear of choice- high heels. After all, how many times had she nearly broken an ankle when the ship was unexpectedly attacked? All because she was expected to conform to the heterosexist patriarchy. Well, no more!

As she continued down the corridor, she smirked to herself as several Ensigns stopped to stare and speak in hushed whispers. Her makeover was causing quite a bit of a stir. She fingered her newly shorn locks idly as she waited for the turbolift to arrive. When the doors parted, she stepped inside and found herself standing next to Ensign Ro Laren, the young Bajoran helmswoman. Ensign Laren gave her an appreciative once-over and Deanna's smile spread. She was supposed to be having dinner with Will tonight but she had a feeling she might be making alternative arrangements, judging by the intense attraction she was detecting from the other woman. . . Plus she'd had enough of Will's beard.

Winking at Ensign Laren, Deanna disembarked from the lift and headed to the Sickbay. Almost as soon as the doors parted, she was struck by the great emotions emanating from the CMO's office. The lights were dimmed but there appeared to be some activity going on in there. Peering through the transparent partition, Deanna gasped as she witnessed Beverly ravishing a more than willing Nurse Ogawa on her desk. The red haired Doctor threw back her head in a fit of passion and Deanna beat a hasty retreat, allowing the amorous pair their privacy.

Deanna was somewhat surprised. She never knew that Beverly was interested in women sexually. She remembered how uptight Beverly had been about that female Trill... As Deanna pondered this turn of events, she stumbled upon two female Ensigns kissing passionately in the corridor, in full view of everyone. Further down the corridor, other female couples were in varying states of undress.

Much as she would have liked to stop and enjoy the show of Sapphic lovin', Deanna had responsibilities, even as her empathic abilities were assaulted by all the dykeadelic goings-on. She had to inform the Captain. Rushing into the turbolift, and trying to ignore the two women fervently necking beside her, Deanna struggled to collect her thoughts. She was deposited on the bridge and she staggered towards the Captain.

"Captain. . . I'm sensing great gayness and immense. . ." She faltered a few steps and fainted before she could complete her words.

When she awoke Deanna found herself in the Sickbay, reclining on a biobed. A bald, surly looking man was extending the probe section of a medical tricorder over her. She sensed nothing from him and realised he was the Emergency Medical Hologram.

"She's resumed consciousness." The EMH informed the Captain who appeared in her line of sight.

Inching her head to the left, Deanna saw that Beverly was also lying on a biobed, her arms and legs restrained. The russet medic was writhing and moaning intermittently. "Alyssa. . . You must munch my russet rug!"

As she surveyed the rest of the room, Deanna noticed that it was full of similarly distressed women. She was sensing desperation and great sexual frustration.

"What's going on?" Deanna demanded in her muddy European accent.

"Doctor?" Captain Picard prompted the EMH.

The EMH frowned. "According to my gaycorder – the 24th Century update of gaydar - we picked up a little known virus on the last planet we visited. It causes acute homosexual desire in females." As he spoke, the Doctor minced over to Beverly and administered a sedative before returning to Deanna's side.

"Is there a cure?" Picard asked with concern, the harsh overhead lights glinting off his bald pate.

"Well, I've given them all a large dose of anti-lesbiotics but I've never encountered this kind of thing before. We can only wait and see."

The Captain looked grim. "I see."

"In the meantime," the Doctor said brightly, "perhaps you should set up an emergency womyn-only bar in the holodeck. Arrange some wimmin's poetry readings. I'd be happy to conduct some seminars on examining your own cervix."

"Very well. Anything else?"

"Yes, I'd advise you to play music on a ship-wide frequency. I've taken the liberty of compiling a list."

The Doctor handed a PADD to the Captain.

"kd lang, Melissa Etheridge, the Indigo Girls, Janis Ian, Sophie B. Hawkins, Ani DiFranco…" Picard read aloud with a groan.

The EMH pursed his lips sternly. "We have to make them as comfortable as possible."

As the Captain left and the Doctor went to attend to the other patients, Deanna slipped into a deep sleep and dreamt of hairy armpits, dungarees and clitori.

The End