Thank you, Gene Roddenberry, for creating the Star Trek universe and the Klingon race.
Before I met my ex-husband, I was never really into Star Trek; I had watched the movies along with The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine shows on TV, but I was far from considering myself a Trekkie.
To me Trekkies were the stereotypical ugly basement dwelling geeks.
Shortly after I had met my ex, he revealed to me just how much of a geek he was – he informed me that he attended Star Trek conventions regularly. As if that wasn’t enough, he told me that he was actually one of those that dressed up; he went all out and had a custom-made Klingon uniform, and even had a Klingon name and rank on an imaginary Bird of Prey.
From head to toe he would go all out; I was accepting, as I liked going to Renaissance and Medieval Faires and dressing up accordingly.
I wasn’t quite ready for the experience of a full-blown Star Trek convention though.
As we made that first road trip journey to the hotel and convention center a few hours south of where we lived, he prepped me on all I needed to be aware of – or so I thought. I was both excited and anxious; I still didn’t know what to expect and I hated not knowing. We met up at the hotel with his friends, who also dressed up; I wasn’t as hip, so I opted to just dress Goth.
At this particular convention, my ex had a pre-sale ticket for the full dress banquet. The event sold out and I wasn’t able to get a ticket, so I got to wait in the hotel lobby while he ate and drank with his friends.
This left me open to indulge in one of my favorite past times – I loved to sit back and observe people; Star Trek conventions, it just so happened, were a people watching paradise!
One thing in particular I noticed was that a lot of these Klingons had accoutrements similar to those in the BDSM crowd; my interest was piqued.
Some of the big and rugged Klingons that saw me watching them looked at me as if I were their dinner; I could feel the weight of their desirous and wicked passions as they glanced my way, smiling devilishly.
I saw so many creative Trekkie and sci-fi costumes; I kept walking past the ballroom, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside.
As I pressed my face to the crack between the doors, a man came up next to me and spoke what I now know to be Klingon and followed it up with, “You should be smiling! Why are you not smiling? Do you not know who I am?”
His eyes were bugging out of his face, and then I recognized him. “Gowron?” He offered up a laugh and said, “Yes, it is I! I must have startled you.” He then broke character, “But seriously, smile my dear and enjoy life!”
He took my hand and twirled me around as if dancing, then he walked through the doors of the banquet to loud cheers of Klingons shouting his name.
My ex was upset to say the least when I told him of my encounter with Robert O’Reilly AKA Gowron, Star Trek’s Leader of the Klingon High Council; I didn’t even have to pay to meet him.
When we got back to our room later that night, I asked my ex why he didn’t just tell me that this was more of a BDSM convention than Star Trek, I would have fit in a bit easier with that knowledge.
Let me now take the time to dispel the stereotype of Trekkies – they are not all ugly basement dwelling geeks like I had originally thought.
Some of the most intelligent and handsome looking people I’ve ever met, attended these and other sci-fi fan based conventions. Sure, you have your odd balls of the crowd, but that’s common in any social circle.
One of the most interesting events at the conventions were the Klingon weddings. Everyone would dress head to toe in their best Star Trek garb and take part; seeing the Klingons touch their bat’leths (Klingon swords) tip to tip to form an archway was always a visual treat.
I was disappointed to find out that no one ever performed a Klingon divorce – which involves the wife smacking the husband in the face saying loudly, “N’Gos tlhogh Cha!” (Our marriage is done!) and then spitting on him to end the arrangement.
I’m sure a lot of people would have loved to see that – I know I would have.
One well-known convention fact is that Klingons love to party; some of the best parties I have ever been to were at conventions with Klingons tending bar.
The drinks they made, like the “Klingon Rite of Passage” – a series of six shots with each one getting stronger in succession – will have you speaking Klingon in no time flat. The parties would go on sometimes until the next morning; the daylight would scare most Klingons back to the comfort of a dark and cool hotel room, if they hadn’t already found a compatible mate for the evening.
Every year people sought me out to get a new costume accoutrement. My ex, who had attended these conventions many years longer than I had, soon became known as “the whip lady’s man”; this incensed him.
As with most genre based social groups, like the SCA, Trekkies for the most part had watered down morality when it came to sex; it was a literal breeding ground of depravity for an experimental young woman like myself at the time.
My ex and I shared an open relationship – once we married we continued with it. I tested and stretched a lot of sexual boundaries at these conventions; I always had fun, however I could, and ironically never with my ex.
I’m convinced that my main attraction to Klingons is the bad ass manner in which they portray themselves; I find that extremely irresistible.
The thought of having a big, strong and dominating man take charge of me with passion was intoxicating – never mind if he had make-up and ridges on his head. I couldn’t get enough of it. I’ll admit that I’ve sampled a variety of Klingons over the years.
My ex-husband didn’t fit the big bad ass Klingon criteria; he was far from being a bad ass. I however was a bad ass bitch that everyone at the conventions knew; some even wanted to get next to me – in one way or another.
I have both good and bad tales of sex (mostly with Klingons) at the conventions.
One big, tall and brash Klingon in particular got me so hot and bothered just by flirting and kissing me in the hallways between room parties – alas when we finally consummated our lust, it took him longer to take off my boots than to have sex. It was sobering – I left the room feeling incredibly let down. I immediately made my way to a room party, grabbed a drink and started hunting for my next prey.
Looking back, I think I enjoyed the hunt more than the conquest.
For years we attended these conventions every spring; I knew I would have a three to four-day weekend of drunken debauchery to look forward to.
I had a few weekend long love affairs with brave and dashing Klingons over the years; the memories of which remain buried deep in the corners of my mind to think upon when the fancy strikes.
Star Trek holds a very special place in my heart – and sometimes a little below the waist – thanks to those wild and wonderful weekends spent at Star Trek conventions.
I cannot help but smile a wicked grin when I see Klingons on TV or in the movies, remembering the parties, debauchery and most of all, the friendships I forged. I have met a lot of wonderfully interesting and colorful people over the years, a lot of whom I am still friends with to this day.
In retrospect, I still wish I could have talked my ex-husband into performing a Klingon divorce – it would have certainly been cheaper and a lot more interesting than a boring human one.
Heghlu’meH QaQ jajvam! – Today is a good day to die!