(I orginally wrote this article for issue 301 of fab! magazine, tgirl column, 2006)

A woman slunk by in an exact replica of Princess Leia’s slave girl costume from Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, complete with metal bra and flimsy loincloth. A 30-something beefcake of a guy dressed as He-Man, from the cartoon Masters of the Universe, did a Chippendales-inspired groin gyration while chanting, “I am power!” His girlfriend, in a She-ra, Princess of Power super-bikini, approached me, whispering lustfully, “Haven’t seen you since Club Sin.” “You’ve mistaken me for another shemale,” I replied politely. I tried to escape from perverts expressing their kink through sci-fi drag at Toronto Trek 20, a respectable Star Trek and science fiction convention. I wanted to look available in case any hot Klingons beamed in. In the ’80s, while the other Grade 8 boys were jerking off to sweet Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth album cover or saccharine videos of Tiffany’s mall tour, I was wanking over Worf, Star Trek: The Next Generation’s animalistic, honour-bound stereotype of masculinity in a spandex uniform.

Never a hardcore Trekker, I watched the show because I was hot for Data –an android programmed with sexual capabilities – in my opinion, the most underused crew member. But mostly I lusted for Klingons, space Neanderthals with antiquated gender politics and forehead bumps, real rough-around-the-edges guys. Yes, there´s more…. »