Wonderful; out of all men in the galaxy my mother has taken it upon herself to yet again interrupt my restful existence with the putrid company of Charles Braithwaite. Now, I was never too familiar when it came to my old man; but, something tells me my mother's affinity for my father's charm was either forged in compensation for his good looks, or since his death she's had a thing for losers. In a moment I was up and moving; I needed to find something to occupy my brain now that the last intergalactic academy had expelled me based on, "Indecent relations resulting in faculty compromise"-otherwise known as when you get caught fucking the teacher, you get in big trouble. I shrugged on my leather jacket, renewed with purpose since the death of my old man; I personally think I wore it better, but I suppose I'll never fully enjoy delivering that punch line without its intended audience present let alone alive.
My mother caught me; the look in her eyes that of disappointment and discontentment. She knew who she was; she knew she was no longer the stand alone, brazen, independent Winona Kirk that my father had grown to love. The woman who stood before me was a shell of Winona Kirk, a memory of a woman who had passed long ago. As imperceptible as it may seem, I had a great deal of love for my mother; my loathing stemmed from selfish decisions that came about as soon as someone lost their cuddle buddy, the person who pokes the poo… You get what I'm saying.
"You're going out?" She whispered to me, gathering her arms together, holding herself close as if for comfort. I nodded, barely allowing my gaze to meet hers, disgusted with the acts that she'd only moments committed in pathetic hopes to ease the frustration of being widowed whilst experiencing what I'm frequently reminded of as a "Horrible childbirth".
"Yeah, I'm gonna go stop by The Tavern for a few… Probably pick up some milk while I'm out. You need some, right?" I lifted my gaze finally, meeting hers and instantly feeling like the asshole I'm sure I appeared to be. She nodded, looking down as if also unable to accept the truth that she saw in the resemblance between father and son, even after all these years.
"Jim…" The corners of her mouth turned up in a smile and I knew I had less than five minutes to vacate her line of vision before I was taken on yet again another tangent of how much my mother and father love me, that the series of unfortunate events that were my life were none of my doing, that her affinity for bringing strange men into the home is neither my fault, nor something she can refrain from at the moment… In other words I was in for Winona Kirk's almighty shit-show; I wasn't in the mood. I was relieved of carrying out the harrowing duty of sending my mother back to bed, escorting her with a vintage bottle of Jack Daniels, when her most recent concubine graced us with his sweltering presence.
"Jim… Do you mind grabbing me-"I didn't really let him finish; whenever I was graced with the opportunity to do so, I rejected the men my mother brought home for the both of us. I laid a forceful hand on his shoulder, gripped his shirt with a firm hand, shook it for good measure and smirked. "Always a pleasure Charlie… Mom." With my snarky remark quota thoroughly exceeded, I grabbed the keys for my bike and swung open the door with renewed purpose. I could already hear the argument unfolding; soon the dulcet sounds of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys were humming from my Rover 5000. I was flying through rural Iowa in a matter of seconds. I could only imagine that despite my devilishly good looks, an attraction for machines and their ability to go vroom were some qualities I shared with my father. The hum of the motor as it tried its hardest to support my lean yet toned 167 lb body, the gentle rocking of the carriage as it ran over the rough terrain of rural Iowa; all of it was enough to drive a man mad. I'm not saying that I would ever been keen to a life without sex; but, if a man such as myself were posed with the option to choose between woman and machine? I'm not sure the end result would be that of popular belief.
I was at Quarks Tavern in a matter of minutes, a norm for me especially if I had the pleasure of utilizing my Rover 5000. The hum of the bar was convivial, homey if you will, for a gentleman such as myself. In a minute my senses were overthrown; the smell of cheap perfume and Klatubian Head Tails had my head spinning, the one on my shoulders just for justifiable clarification. I looked around, surveying the crowd that had begun to gather in front of the tavern; cadets suited in their red undergraduate uniforms looking both eager for a good time and awaiting a tour of Iowa, Kirk style. I smirked, my mind beginning its journey throughout the crowd of women to determine which alien species I hadn't yet had the pleasure of knowing personally. It wasn't long before my eyes settled on a species that I had a hard time pinpointing: She appeared to be a puzzling shade of blue, adorned in her red cadet uniform looking around sheepishly for what I could only assume was a cadet classmate that had abandoned her in the hopes of finding some poor schmuck to mooch drinks off of.
I began my descent, assuming a predators position; it wasn't too long though that I began stalking my prey before what I identified as her boyfriend came up behind her obviously with the intention of taking their evening elsewhere; Figures. I rolled my eyes, squared my shoulders, and began pushing my way through the bar. Truth be told, I didn't really need to seek female attention at the Tavern, I had more than enough willing women back home. I sometimes wonder if my father was a ladies' man, whether my mother just so happened to be the sorry soul that wound up getting pregnant in the back of some retro Chrysler 6000. These, Dear Reader, were the thoughts that kept me awake at night.
My stalk through the tavern proved to be unsuccessful and I resumed my habitual arrangement at the bar.
"Hi… I'd like a Klabmoon Fire Tea…"
Whoa. Who the fuck was that? I turned my eyes east to the sound of the voice: a woman, definitely no older than twenty five human years, young and yet committing to a long list of drinks, all of which none that typically were reserved for light weights; this definitely seemed worthy of my attention. "Three Budweiser Classics…" Budweiser classics? Hm, no doubt for a male friend; either way I was never shy of some burly competition. "Two Kardazian Sunrises…" Bitch drinks, oh yes, denying this opportunity would be like baking a cake and giving it away to a Romulan.
"That's a lot of drinks for one woman…" I found my tongue and in moment I began thinking of all the ways I could make her scream. I lifted my eyes to adorn my prey: dark complexion, long blackish hair, red cadet uniform-perfect. She looked at me, obviously sizing me up, and yet she seemed… uninterested? She looked away, but only after sufficiently cutting her eye in my direction; God, she made my dick hard. "And a shot of Jack's, straight up." So she likes to play dirty? I can do that.
"Make that two, her shots on me." I nodded to Benjamin, one of the rare yet comforting human bartenders that still existed in this day and age. "Her shots on her… Thanks, but no thanks." Alright, a dinner and a show was never an opportunity I allowed to escape me. I could already feel the rumblings in my stomach as my overactive organ located south of my extremely expensive Clatoonian Belt Buckle began to make itself known-What can I say? I liked to be prepared.
We began our conversation with several unsuccessful attempts at a name; her name was Uhura, a name typical for a Swahili speaking native to Africa, she was studying Xenal Linguistics and our entire conversation was spent with me wondering how fast she'd be able to make me come knowing her tongue was capable of mastering several alien languages. Before long, I found I was able to convince her to dance, and dance she most definitely could. She made a point of returning the drinks to her friends, Dumb and Ditzy Green girl, Dumb and Dumber, Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dee, oh-and not to mention the blue girl I had previously suspected I'd be stuffing at the end of the night. God, she knew how to dance. In a minute she had my dick practically popping out my pants, her ass fit perfectly in my hands and it wasn't long before I was aching at the idea of taking her against the side of the tavern.
Of course, Jim Kirk's life just wouldn't be Jim Kirks life if I wasn't hilariously interrupted with a seven inch erection caught in between the ass cheeks of this devilishly beautiful Swahili speaking, xenal linguistic studying cadet.
"Hey!" I looked back and Jesus, I knew that would hurt in the morning. "Shaft!" She screamed, not the exact scream I had in mind, I'll be honest with you. Sucker punches weren't really my style and so once I had worked up the moxie to deter my thoughts from ejaculation, I managed to assess the situation as I needed to. So, what happened was… I was dancing with this super hot girl from Africa, when Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber just so happened to tip off Super-Hot African Girl's ex/current/its-complicated boyfriend. Ex/current/it's-complicated decided to take it upon himself to show up to the Tavern with specific reservation to kick my ass, and he totally wouldn't have been able to if it was just him but of course pack mentality is a hard thing to shake when it comes to mindless jungle freaks so… I got my ass kicked.
"You understand what the federation is, don't you? It's important; it's a peace keeping and humanitarian armada…" I was snapped from my blissful reverie, admittedly wondering whether or not Cadet Uhura was listed in the cadet's pages. Captain Christopher Pike: a pathetic fan boy who had a hard on for my old man and admittedly made it his mission to die in action as heroically, (by my own admission pathetically), as Captain George Samuel Kirk Sr. did. He had taken it upon himself to endow some knowledge into me, something I'm sure my father would've done had he decided his family was more important than the honorable U.S.S Kalvin. Captain Pikes actual mission was to get me to enlist in star fleet; I answered him with a response fitting for the ridiculousness of his proposal. Now, we had found ourselves in the back of the now closed and cleared Tavern, and he decided it was time to spew the song and dance that was: The intergalactic federation is a peacekeeping armada who employs several hundred thousand cadets every quarter to bravely commit their lives to intergalactic terrorism, right… Sign me right the fuck up.
"Are we done?" His eyes were full of disappointment, God… I was tired of people looking at me like that. He nodded, and he rose from his chair with renewed purpose. "I'm done…" Wow, who knew that was all it took. Admittedly, his company had resulted in acquiring a small buzz from the Budweiser Classics left behind.
"Your father was Captain of the star ship; he saved eight hundred lives… Including your mothers and yours. I dare you to do better…"
God dammit.