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The Ron Jeremy of Klingons

Leah Holbrook Sackett

    He was the Ron Jeremy of Klingons. I didn’t speak Klingon, but I approached his booth anyway. Somehow, I didn’t think the language gap was going to be a problem. I’d never found Klingons attractive even though I was well aware of the appeal of their ridged foreheads from fan blogs, but would the facial adhesive fixing the prosthetic in place be able to withstand the friction?

    I also was never a Ron Jeremy fan. I was aware, and I respected him in his industry, but he didn’t do it for me until now as I eyed this squat man in Klingon costume.

    I was a Trekkie, thus my presence at this Comic Con. I was recently dumped, thus my presence alone. The line leading from his booth was clogged with other interested parties. I squeezed in at the back of the line confident in my Counselor Troi get-up. What was I looking for an autograph, a selfie, a ride? I was going to have to lay on the flirting heavy, but to what end? I framed and reframed my situation. My appeal was both sexual and Trekkie driven. Think of the bragging rights back at the bookstore, and how Jason would get wind of it at next month’s cos-play Trekkie club. This was incentive enough to proposition the Ron Jeremy Klingon. I wondered if anyone else saw the raw sexual appeal? Did he mean to give off a pornographic vibe?
    I wanted to play-up the flirtation and ease into the proposition smoothly, but it was too crowded and hard to hear for that approach. I was blunt, and now I had a date that night with Sew’chuS, son of Wutlhjorgh of House Ngoy’loQjeq
when Comic-Con closed. I ran his name over and over in my mind in case I was called on to say it. How often did he get laid like this? We donned our wool coats to walk from the conference venue to his hotel room. He carried a large box that claimed to once have been the shipment container of Tidy Cats. He either stocks up or has a lot of cats. It dented the mystique of our role-play, but I looked past it. I’d looked past worse than a box before.
    I held the door open for him as he thrust his way into the foyer of the hotel. Once inside his room, with the box tucked behind the stiff sofa, he returned to his persona, Sew’chuS, son of Wutlhjorgh of House Ngoy’loQjeq. I knew the basics of the mating rituals, but not enough, so during the conference, I had Googled a more specific layout of the Klingon mating grounds. There was a lot of speculation, what else could there be. I went down the rabbit hole of Trekkie sex and read fan theory, posts on Reddit, and found the Michael Dorn clips. This was a thin veneer we were working under. Breaking character at this point was likely to shatter all expectations. While I was so much prettier, I realized he had the upper hand due to his dual appeal. Apparently, I was not the first to notice the Ron Jeremy look-a-like.

    “Let’s eat. I’m starving,” Sew’chuS said while dialing the hotel phone, I couldn’t stand the tension. I decided to kick things off with a guttural projection from the back of my throat, which turned into a hacking sputum. I was still getting over a cough. He brought me a glass of water from the bathroom. I nodded my thanks.
    “No problem. I live with 7 cats. I’m used to that,” Sew’chuS said.
    Well, that answered that. He was kind and asked me if I was ready to go on, but his gentlemen’s ways were really putting a damper on the theme.

    He restrained me against the wall and sniffed my hand before kissing and releasing me. I knew what was expected of me, but I didn’t want to get him in trouble with the hotel. However, I had committed to this unearthly role play, I needed to see it through. I picked up the table lamp nearest me and threw it at him. His eyes went wide. There was a shift in his countenance, not unlike a child in dress-up who whole-heartedly believes he is the character of his costume. I remembered how my little brother had taken things too far when wearing his Incredible Hulk Underoos. He climbed the bookshelf and threw a growing pile of books to the floor, and when Dad spanked him, he continued his Hulk roar.

    Shit. I hope Ron Jeremy Klingon doesn’t break my clavicle as this is a common mating outcome. I just wanted to ride his forehead. He picked me up and tossed me on the bed. He spread my legs. I still had my Spanx on. The ideal outcome of Spanx is to look sexier, less fat. The bad side of Spanx is it is hard to peel off.
    “Do you consent? It’s hard to tell with the Klingon theme,” Sew’chuS said.
    While it deflated the moment, a bit, I appreciated his diligence in definitively gaining my consent. He kept his bulky gear on, and he turned out to be a grower, not a shower. I excused myself to the bathroom to wriggle out of the Spanx. This took longer than what was ideal for the mood. When I returned, his top half was in costume, but his lower half was decidedly sporting a Ron Jeremy look. Was this Ron Jeremy? I crawled onto the bed and sat on the upper part of his face. It was stimulating but hampered by my fear of farting. I had chili nachos earlier. He began to tug at his prosthetic. It was slipping. I figured doggy style was a likely Klingon pose, so I moved into position. Finally, we were in business and for a lot longer than I had anticipated. I actually had an orgasm, surprising with all of the starting and stopping. I think the clinking sound of his armor blended with his grunts of satisfaction sealed the deal. I was beginning to get tired. It had been a long day walking the Comic-Con floor. Finally, he finished, and that was when it occurred to me, we never talked about condoms. I was freaking out. What the hell kind of STDs do Klingon’s carry? He lay flat on his back, his forehead askew, pantless, and snoring to befit a Klingon. Did I stay or go? Should I take a picture? His penis had returned to its resting nature. I might humiliate him, it would not be an accurate presentation. I peeled off my Deanna Troi custom and slipped between the blankets, but I could not sleep. Then I remembered the room service. I peeked out the door and found the food trolley. I ate the Belgium waffles, a little soggy for their delay, but enjoyable all the same. Unfortunately, my hot chocolate was cold. I poured myself back into my costume, minus the Spanx. I crammed that thing into my purse. I braved the cold and headed for my car. I blogged about my sexperience while the car warmed up. I had boldly gone where none of my Trekkie friends had gone before.

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