Males outnumber females by about four to one, I estimate – based, of course, on the attendees’ apparent gender. But who knows, right? Maybe some of the guys are actually gals. I think about Lorelei’s girlfriend Chaz, who’s so butch even I find her attractive. The realization that the crowd might contains other gender-bending outlaws gives me a secret buzz.
I spot one other Uhura, a slender white woman with fewer curves than I have. I can’t quite dismiss my feeling smug satisfaction. I’m more beautiful that she is, and I know it.
So where should I go first? Star Trek: Insurrection is scheduled to screen at eleven. I’ve only seen it once, on video. The seminar on Klingon grammar might be fun. There’s also a session about the new film supposedly coming in 2016.
I’m standing in the middle of the hall, scanning the convention program, when he slams into me from behind. The jolt almost dislodges the stuffing from my bra. I forget to adjust my pitch.
“Oof! Jeez, man! Be careful!” I turn to confront the clumsy lout who nearly knocked me over.
“Excuse me! I’m so sorry, miss! I was cleaning my glasses and didn’t notice...” He’s crouched at my feet, in fact, picking up a pair of dark-framed spectacles he obviously dropped on impact. He looks up at me with the most gorgeous pair of sky-blue eyes I’ve ever seen – somewhat unfocused, but full of a special light.
A surge of lust washes away my anger. “Oh, dear – I hope they’re not broken.” This time I sound more like a girl.
He favors me with a brilliant smile before settling the glasses on his razor-straight nose. “They seem okay.” With a smooth grace that makes me sweat, he rises to a standing position. He’s lean, athletic looking, at least half a head taller than me. And he’s obviously costumed as Captain Kirk, in a velvety, gold-toned shirt that shows off his broad shoulders plus tight black trousers that make my mouth water.
He misinterprets the intensity of my gaze. “I know. Who ever heard of Kirk wearing glasses?” He grins and my pulse quickens. “My astigmatism’s so bad, though, that contacts don’t really work for me.
“Actually, I was thinking you look quite a bit like the captain,” I gush. He does, too, with his tousled, sandy hair, high forehead and determined chin. The glasses make him look less macho than Kirk’s normal demeanor, more scholarly, but they don’t mar the resemblance too much. Certainly he has the same hero’s physique.
“Well, you’re the image of Uhura. You’ve really got her look.”
“Thanks.” I hold out my hand, uncharacteristically forward. “I’m Jen, by the way.”
“Peter.” His grip is firm, his skin cool. My cock leaks pre-cum into my constraining undergarments. “Nice to meet you, Jen.”
“Likewise.” I glance around at the crowd, thinning as participants disappear into various sessions. I want to drag him into an empty meeting room and peel that form-fitting uniform off his obviously sculpted chest. I push the idea to the background – maybe later? - and struggle to keep the conversation going. “Good attendance this year.”
“Oh? This is my first West Coast con. Just moved here from Boston three weeks ago. I’m doing my residency at Good Samaritan Hospital.”
“Oh – you’re a doctor! I’m surprised you didn’t dress up as McCoy.”
“Irony is not really my style.” He looks embarrassed, younger than he must be if he’s a resident physician. He’s staring at me at least as intently as I’m looking at him.
The silence lengthens. I realize he hasn’t released my hand. An ache grows in my chest, as if someone was pumping it full of gas. My dick is like living stone.
Those glorious baby blues trap me in place. I can’t move, can’t speak. The slightest vibration, and I’ll explode.
He feels it, too, the heat, the connection. But he thinks I’m a woman.