Ralph The Romulan

(by Cappy, 08 October 2011)


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Club Sitting 

Thursday night, mid-February 1983, a cold and windy evening in the city; a 
good night to stay in, but we didn't. Sarah wanted to see Stone Of Silence, 
an acoustic vocal trio playing once a week at The Owl, a "seen better days" 
club just outside of downtown. She had gone to high school with Jennie, one 
of the singer/guitarists. We arrived at the club at 9:30 and had to park 
two blocks away and bend ourselves into the wind for the walk to the club. 
Valet parking? Not so much. The Owl barely had an address. We paid the $3 
cover, slipped thru the curtain and into the darkened room. It was like 
going to see "Ishtar" in the eighth week of release; in other words, it was 
empty. We took a semi-circular booth on the right side of the stage. There 
were two other couples and a solo guy spread through the other 80 or so 
seats. Did I mention that it was dark? I tripped on the step-up to the 
booth, then recovered and settled into the middle of the six person 
cushioned alcove. Sarah moved in next to me and we used our lighters to try 
to locate something wet and warming on the single page laminated menu. We 
decided on a cup of soup and coffee. When the waitress appeared, I was 
going to ask if the soup was home-made, but thought better of it. 

The "opening act" came on stage without any announcement and introduced 
himself as 

"Ralph The Romulan". He, naturally, sang his songs in Romulan and 
accompanied himself on what appeared to be a homemade electric 
zither/autoharp hybrid while in full Romulan costume. With his right foot, 
he operated a slide projector, which showed the English translation of his 
lyrics on a white sheet in the rear of the stage. By the middle of the 
first song, I wished I was home, watching "Welcome Back Kotter" reruns. It 
was awful, truly, truly awful; but perhaps not as awful as the soup. The 
soup was beyond description, I mean, how can you ruin soup? Let me count 
the ways. His songs were relentless dirges about intergalactic warfare and 
massacres. "The Warbird came out of the wormhole like vengeance on the 
wing!" he'd talk-sing. His zither/autoharp playing wouldn't have suffered 
were his fingers taped together. 

I thought to myself, "Sarah, you owe me for this one". We'd been dating for 
about two years and had recently moved in together. We tried our best to 
"live in sin", deeply in sin, legs and backs bending into impossible 
angles, ropes of jism flying everywhere, requiring a good half hour of 
cleanup afterwards. We were young and in lust. 

Around the middle of Ralph's second song ("planets exploded into asteroids 
become, inferior species flung into the sun"), I noticed Sarah open her 
purse and remove her pack of Winstons. 

As she reached for her lighter, I slowly moved my left hand to my crotch, 
unzipped, and congratulated myself for going commando. I slowly slipped my 
dick out and began rubbing it lightly. I glanced to my left as Sarah put 
the cigarette to her lips, flipped the wheel of her lighter and lit her 
smoke. She inhaled as she put her lighter back down and exhaled thru her 
nose, then without removing the cigarette from her mouth, took a second 
puff and blew it towards the ceiling. The dark background and the ambient 
stage-lighting created a perfect exhalation contrast for her smoking. The 
smoke appeared silver and noirish, drifting slowly and distinctly in the 
still air of the club. I smiled in the dark and took her left hand in my 
right. She turned to me and smiled. I held her hand for a moment, then 
squeezed it and brought it below the level of the table to my hardening 
cock. 

She squeezed my dick and began rubbing it. 

"So, is this how it's gonna be?" she asked, without turning her head. 

"Yes, this is how it's gonna be", I responded. She laughed. 

"Alright mister, you asked for it, let's see if you can take it!" Sarah 
stroked and smoked. She removed her hand and brought it to her mouth for 
some saliva, returned it and sped up and varied her stroking. She was 
smiling and I was hard. Ralph the Romulan wailed about "hyperdrive engines 
clawing for light speed, escaping the black hole was our biggest need". 

Every time Sarah brought her Winston to her lips, I would lean to her ear 
and ask her a question. She would continue looking straight ahead, drawing 
on her cigarette, exhale a long cone of smoke, then begin to answer my 
question with a whispered residual talking exhale, little explosions of 
smoke escaping her mouth and nose with each word. She was still pumping me 
with studied insouciance, rubbing her thumb across the head and slit every 
few strokes. 

She started to bring the cigarette to her lips, but then, as my head moved 
toward hers, she diverted her arm movement and placed the cigarette to my 
lips and held it in the "v" of her fingers. I inhaled, then moved my lips 
to her already open mouth and exhaled slowly as our lips and tongues began 
to dance. Sarah exhaled the smoke gently back into my mouth, then pulled 
away and exhaled upward while shaking her head. 

"Well" she said, "I guess you can take it". 

"Why do you ever doubt me?" I asked. She giggled and squeezed me with her 
warm fingers. 

We continued our game until she had almost finished her cigarette. She 
turned to me and whispered. 

"Do you want to cum or are we just playing?" 

"Just playing" I said "but later-." 

"Yes, later" she replied, giving me a final shake and withdrawing her hand. 
She licked between her fingers, smacked her lips, and extinguished her 
cigarette. 

The Romulan sagas continued unabated. I was afraid it would all end with 
some kind of Gotterdammerung, an explosive science fiction Viking funeral 
right there on stage in the empty club involving fire trucks and future 
court testimony. But Ralph began to wind it up, announcing "the climactic 
battle", strumming furiously and wailing in cosmic sadness about the fate 
of his fellow warriors. "Vulcans be damned, can't break their fall; the 
Borg eventually will take us all!" 

Unfortunately, when the lights came up, I had to face the soup. In the 
process of moving the remains to the other side of the round table, I 
noticed that the club had filled significantly. 

There were now about 40 people in attendance, not that the applause for 
Ralph would have tipped me off. We ordered beers and while awaiting their 
delivery, Jennie, Sarah's schoolmate and Stone Of Silence member, plopped 
into the booth, leaned her guitar on the table and hugged Sarah and I. She 
thanked us for coming and spent five minutes catching up with Sarah. I 
interrupted to ask, "You're not going to do any of the Klingon tunes 
tonight, are you?". She laughed. 

"You mean you saw Ralph's set? That's his concept album! He almost never 
does that anymore. He must be off his meds again." 

"Lucky us" I said, with just a soupcon of sarcasm. Sarah smiled
enigmatically. 

"I think you were lucky enough-" 

"Inside joke?" asked Jennie. 


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