Roses are Red, Valentines are Butch

It’s surprising how human our longtime enemies can seem at a diplomatic dinner party. Especially after a sample of their bloodwine.

The buffet table was filled almost to overflowing with various Federation and Klingon dishes. The Enterprise’s crew contributed sushi and shish kebab. Chekov baked several loaves of dark, crusty Russian bread. Spock prepared a ghastly vegetarian casserole that stank, in my humble opinion, like a mix of skunk cabbage and prune juice. Much to my surprise, the Klingons enthusiastically devoured the casserole and declared it fit for warriors.

I wasn’t about to try the gagh, not even in the interest of galactic peace, so I persuaded the fellow carving the roast targ that I really wouldn’t be offended at all by a well-done slice from the rump. My adventurous comrades could attempt to eat the more honorable oozing internal organs. Then a slice of bread, and some spidery baked tubers that looked rather like carrots, and I had what appeared to be an edible meal.

At the bar, a huge gray-bearded warrior served bloodwine while Sulu mixed Bloody Marys and took plenty of razzing from several Klingons who thought our cocktail glasses were by far the wussiest things they’d ever seen.

“And a glass of Bordeaux for you, Nyota.” Sulu handed across the wine before I’d even said a word. My refined tastes are well known, of course.

I made my way back toward the dining tables, sat down with a group of four Klingons, and introduced myself nicely. Three of them just grunted and gulped, while the fourth launched into a recital of his ancestry for what might have been several millennia. At any rate, I had already eaten my dinner by the time he finished.

Scotty, who looked as if he’d been indulging in every alcoholic beverage known to both cultures, stood in the center of the room instructing one of the Empire’s grand dowagers in the steps of that venerable Earth dance, the Macarena. With a band, no less. To hear a Klingon opera singer belting out fractured Macarena lyrics, accompanied by targ-skin drums and an enthusiastic clanging of bloodwine tankards, was an experience I wouldn’t have wished on my worst enemy. I knew I should have asked Sulu for something stronger to drink.

My table companions found the music very stimulating, and they all got up to dance. I was about to go back to the bar when an obviously inebriated Vixis, carrying two huge tankards of bloodwine, lurched against my table and slammed one of the tankards down right in front of me.

“Let us drink to a new era of peace between our worlds.” She collapsed into a chair, raised her tankard, and took a great gulp.

That didn’t leave me with any reasonable way to decline, so I did likewise. Actually, the taste wasn’t as dreadful as I had anticipated. In a way, it reminded me of a heavily spiced cider that I’d sampled in Canada several years earlier.

Vixis continued toasting the strength of our alliance, the glory of our shared victories, and so forth, until her tankard was empty. Although mine wasn’t much more than half empty, that was enough to leave me feeling a nice warm glow that even made Scotty’s absurd antics bearable. By now, he’d started leading a conga line that snaked halfway across the room.

“I see that many of the human females are wearing adornments of lace and flowers,” Vixis observed, with a glance toward the line of dancers. “What is the significance of such things?”

“The Valentine’s Day corsages? It’s an ancient Earth tradition. Once a year, men are supposed to bring romantic gifts to their women.” I had just broken up with my latest miserable excuse for a boyfriend, so I wasn’t in much of a mood to discuss the occasion except as a cultural curiosity. Fortunately, Vixis didn’t seem inclined to ask personal questions.

“Among Klingons also, the men are the romantic ones,” she informed me. Her gaze followed the conga line as it circled around the bar. “As part of the courtship ritual, the male is expected to recite love poetry.”

“I’m sure you must enjoy that,” I replied in a polite tone, although I frankly couldn’t imagine this fierce warrior swooning at the sound of romantic verses.

“Actually, I haven’t had the experience.” Vixis stared sadly into the depths of her empty tankard. “You see, I prefer women, and it is difficult to find a Klingon female who would be willing to behave in such a masculine fashion.”

Now that was definitely in the category of too much information. I tried to think of a graceful way to extricate myself. Well, I could always develop a sudden and irresistible urge to do the conga . . .

“I want romance,” Vixis lamented loudly, as a few heads began to turn in our direction. “I want to be courted. I want Valentines.”

And then she draped a sinewy arm over my shoulder, exhaled bloodwine fumes into my face, and whispered something else she wanted. It’s a good thing my skin is dark enough so that I don’t blush visibly.

Of all the situations I’d gotten myself into during my career, this had to be among the most embarrassing. There I was, in full view of all the senior officers and several high-ranking diplomats, with a drunk and maudlin Klingon lesbian all over me. I wondered where I could discreetly ditch Vixis without it turning into too much of a public scene.

A nearby corridor led from the banquet hall toward several small, comfortably furnished lounges. That would be a good place to explain to Vixis, graciously of course, that my sexual tastes really didn’t run to female Klingons. I managed to get Vixis into the corridor without too many people staring, thanks be to God and Scotty’s conga line.

I was beginning to feel a bit woozy from the effects of the bloodwine by the time we walked into an unoccupied lounge, with Vixis still hanging on my arm like some sort of overgrown parasite. The room looked bright and cheerful, with large flower arrangements on tables at either end of a generously sized couch.

Vixis promptly locked the door.

“Woo me,” she demanded, staring earnestly into my face with very bloodshot eyes as she gripped my forearms with bruising strength. “Recite the adoring poems of Kahless to his beloved.”

This really wasn’t going at all the way I’d intended. “Look, Vixis, there’s something I need to explain to you . . .”

Before I could finish my sentence, she let out a tremendous roar. There’s no other way to describe it. Vixis sounded like a howling wounded beast. She let go of my arm, which I thought was fortunate until she snatched up one of the flower vases and hurled it straight at my head, screaming, “Now!”

I retained just enough of my wits to duck, and the vase smashed against the wall behind me. Porcelain shards flew like shrapnel, one of them grazing my neck. I could feel a hot trickle of blood. Vixis certainly was in no mood for rational conversation.

Although calling for help was a possibility that crossed my mind, I didn’t want to put the diplomatic negotiations at risk. Not to mention the personal embarrassment. And as long as she just wanted poetry, well, maybe I could oblige. At any rate, it would be preferable to sudden decapitation by large heavy objects.

Not that I know much about who Kahless had been, or what he’d recited to his beloved, but I could try to substitute a bit of suitable Earth poetry. The first thing that came to mind was, “Roses are red, violets are blue,” but I was so drunk that I’d forgotten the rest of it. As I invented a few pitiful lines that I wouldn’t tell you even if I could remember them, I reminded myself that the universal translator generally made hash of even the best poetry, anyway.

And Vixis seemed to be calming down, as she stood in the center of the room breathing loudly. At least she wasn’t trying to brain me with the other vase. Encouraged by this, I launched into a rendition of several woefully mangled Shakespearean sonnets, after which I planned to tell Vixis that our relationship sadly just wasn’t destined to be.

I was quite taken aback when Vixis began sniffing my arms and growling in a low tone. Indelicate kennel images came to mind. Her mouth grazed my shoulder, and I could feel her hot breath as she licked away the blood from the scratch on my neck.

And that was about when I began to notice another effect of the bloodwine on my susceptible human physiology. To put it in less than genteel terms, I discovered that I was horny. Exceptionally so. It didn’t seem possible that I could actually enjoy being fondled and sniffed by this crude alien female, but there was no denying how I felt when Vixis turned her attention to the lower parts of my body.

She slid her hands up under my skirt and squeezed my rear, all the while nibbling and sniffing my legs. Mmm, it felt so good. Now this is completely unsuitable, I told myself sternly, looking down at her bony ridged head. And it was past time to explain that to Vixis, who had by now started tearing off my pantyhose with her teeth.

I had never before been desired with so much passion, with such raw lust. And I had never felt the way the bloodwine was making me feel. Don’t ask me to explain how I ended up sitting on the edge of the couch with my skirt pulled up and my legs apart, as Vixis ripped away the last shreds of my hose. My nether regions were left completely open and exposed to her invading tongue. She licked my juices with pleased growls.

There I was, me, Nyota Uhura, being obscenely devoured by this feral she-beast, and nothing had ever felt so incredibly wonderful. Between Vixis’ growls and my whimpers of pleasure, we had quite the exotic menagerie going. Anyone watching us from a secret vantage point would have thought he’d wandered into the local zoo. I hoped to hell there weren’t any hidden observation devices in the room.

I screamed like a wild animal myself as I reached my climax, having totally left behind all semblance of decorum. In answer, Vixis moaned in excitement and set about stripping off every bit of her clothing. Evidently, she expected me to return the favor.

And that, I could already see, was going to be a problem. For one thing, she had more hair on her crotch than most people have on their heads. Of course, she’d never heard of a razor. Ugh, she was on her period, too. No doubt a Klingon lover would have considered that a tasty bonus. But even if I had been inclined to eat hairy alien pussy, menstrual blood would definitely not have been my preferred flavoring.

Unfortunately, I was going to have to do something. From the way Vixis was snarling, it was plain that a failure to reciprocate would not be conducive to my continued good health. She climbed up on the couch, and I kissed her enthusiastically on the lips, mainly to forestall her suggesting that my mouth belonged somewhere else. My hand slid into the murky jungle between her legs and started working away, while I desperately hoped that would be enough to satisfy her.

Now she did have lovely breasts, big and firm, which I didn’t at all mind kissing. The nipples were ringed with pale reddish hairs like some sort of exotic grass. When I took a nipple tentatively into my mouth, Vixis moaned, “Harder,” and bucked her pelvis against my hand until three of my fingers were deep inside her.

Well, all right, I figured she’d asked for it. I bit down on that nipple almost hard enough to draw blood. Vixis shrieked in delight and clawed my shoulders as she came to orgasm. I was very glad that I still had on my uniform, or my shoulders would have been mincemeat.

She muttered a few drunken, half-coherent endearments and then unceremoniously fell asleep. I got up from the couch, washed my hands, and fixed my hair. Fortunately, I always carry an extra pair of hose tucked away in an inside pocket of my uniform. I do so hate to look untidy.

Of course I couldn’t leave Vixis naked and snoring on the couch, so I got her dressed as best I could manage and then left her to sleep off the bloodwine. As I opened the door, I glanced back toward her recumbent form and said quietly, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”


I never told a soul about my encounter with Vixis, mainly because they wouldn’t have believed it anyway. Life went on as usual. The Federation was able to maintain a peace with the Klingons, albeit a rather mistrustful one. My personal life didn’t change much, except that I added one name to my holiday card list.

And so you can see, Admiral, that I’m solely responsible for sending the encrypted subspace transmission to a Klingon warship — the transmission that was recently intercepted by Starfleet Intelligence. However, I assure you that the Enterprise’s officers and crew are completely loyal to the Federation and that my transmission contained no military information whatsoever. The message was merely a Valentine’s Day greeting for an old friend.

I hope I can count on your discretion in this matter, Admiral.