She could not (would not) apologize for these brief encounters. Granted, cops were typically homophobic. Her male partner was typically so, in spite of his efforts toward liberal behavior. (But what could she expect from a married man with four kids, a wife and a mortgage? And a Catholic to boot...)

She had stopped analyzing her attraction to Elliot ages before. She'd skipped any attempt to press her luck, letting vivid fantasies suffice. (Often a good fantasy -- and a handy vibrator -- were better than the 'real thing' with some less-than-adequate date, anyway. They certainly beat the hell out of screwing up a good relationship with her partner.)

And as time passed, so did the longings. She'd been sure she'd find the 'right man' sooner or later. Her history and issues with men hadn't ever seemed to keep her from still wanting to be close to the opposite gender.

But the past year had been enlightening.

She'd managed to (narrowly) avoid most of the so-called 'fooling around' a lot of her college friends had been involved with during her school days. (Did she have regrets? Wish she could go back and do things differently? It was hard to say.)

She was certainly smart enough to know that she was frequently called a 'dyke' behind her back. (Along with many less-savory labels.) She didn't give a damn, really. But she did care about her record as an 'officer' of the law...

This 'new' attraction wasn't entirely a surprise. It had started with dreams (harmless enough) -- and quickly progressed to fantasy sessions not unlike those she'd practiced back when she'd been physically drawn to Stabler...

But it hadn't been enough. The dreams had increased in both frequency and intensity. She'd awaken in the dead of night with her heart pounding and body flushed -- rolling against the mattress in frustration. (Her fingers would quickly scamper up and down her damp flesh while she bit her lip to stifle her moans.)

It had told on her more than she'd anticipated. She'd begun to daydream at odd moments of the day. She knew she wasn't a typical 'dreamer.' The behavior didn't suit her. And her sleep had stopped being restful.

Finally she'd realized she had to do something. Take action. She wasn't a woman who liked to let life happen 'to' her.

So she'd taken every precaution she could think of. It had been helpful to have non-judgmental lesbian friends who would willingly give her advice. Through her contacts she'd managed to find several quiet and non-compromising 'establishments' where she could carefully pursue her needs (always varying where and when she went to further extend her caution).

Of course it wasn't easy to find exactly the right 'type' for these short occasions of stolen pleasure.

She wanted a woman who had the right look. A woman who would happily blur into exactly the right dream-partner when she squinted her eyes just so...

Here she was, again visiting a building that looked like any of the others that surrounded it. Quietly pointing at a picture on a sheet of those available for that night. No money exchanged hands. She'd set up a membership in this unique 'lonely hearts' club and could maintain her aloof demeanor while waiting to be escorted to a private room.

The room was just warm enough to exclude the need of a top sheet -- and dark enough to keep her from thinking too much about how her own body might look to her partner. She undressed with composure, neatly folding her clothes and putting them down on the plush divan at the end of the large bed. She sat down and waited, rising slowly to answer the polite scratch at the door.

Her companion quickly slipped out of the silky robe and they moved around opposite sides of the bed...

She liked the feel of the cool, slick satin sheets under her naked body. She liked the feel of the smooth, firm flesh under her questing fingers.

She liked the taste and smell of lotions; of perspiration and female musk as her tongue traced a gentle line along one curved thigh.

She hadn't avoided the 'oral goalpost' even on her first foray -- and now she struggled not to be too eager to press her partner's submission...

She continued to slide her lips and tongue over the soft skin, allowing her chin to just barely brush against the silky fair pubic hair...

"Please," the woman's voice half-pleaded, half-ordered her.

She settled her mouth to the target, a gentle rubbing of her lips to those blood-engorged nether-lips. Her lips could feel the tiny sharp tip of her partner's clitoris between the thick mounds of soft flesh. She touched it with a gentle prod of tongue and was pleased when the woman beneath her moaned and struggled.

It was never the same twice in a row, it seemed. Some women couldn't wait to feel the onslaught of impassioned oral sex -- while others could barely stand the slightest pressure of tongue to target...

She had easily recognized her own desire toward sexual dominance. She had to be the one who stretched above her supine partner. She had to be the one who made the other woman squirm and struggle.

It was easy to see -- when she'd allow herself to reflect on it -- why men hadn't managed to satisfy her needs. They were always too dominant, even when they'd allowed her to take the upper hand.

She lifted her face and squinted up at the quivering body in her line of sight. She could make out strands of long blond hair. It was good enough.

She now used her hands to hold down her partner's hips as she began to attack her lover in earnest. Her tongue lapped and thrust and prodded. Her lips pushed and rubbed. Her teeth gently nipped. She was merciless.

The onslaught of pouring wetness was only one small part of her reward. The other woman was moaning loudly and struggling heartily under her, but she was in control. It didn't matter how many times her lover was pushed to orgasm. She had to finish her feast. This was about her own needs... She could feel herself throbbing in orgasm as she continued.

And when she was satisfied with this, she finally slid her body up and over the shivering woman. She pressed herself against the muscular legs. She rode until she crested a second time; her heart pounding so hard she could feel the knocking in her eardrums.

She let herself drift then, as she rested on the firm flesh of the woman below her. She daydreamed. She pretended...

In her daydream the other woman was whispering to her. "I love you, Olivia."

She slept.