Out Among the Stars by Alisa Lindfield-Pratt
Thunderous applause followed Anthony Rapp and Wilson Cruz as they exited the stage. In a franchise with little LGBTQI representation, their portrayal as openly gay, married main characters was groundbreaking.Star Trek, a long-time advocate for diversity and tolerance, had finally incorporated more queer characters.
The cheers were not just from the crowd, but from within me. My hidden self-emerged, and the thrill of it was both exciting and terrifying. Anthony and Wilson’s unapologetic presence inStar Trek Discoveryhad fueled my decision to risk being seen, even though I had spent most of my life concealing the truth from my family and friends. Eager to see my idols up close, I had braved my deepest anxieties to attend the event at Piranha, Las Vegas’ gay nightclub.
This was my first trip to the United States, my first encounter with gaudy yet enticing Las Vegas, and my first time at aStar Trekconvention. The stars, the cosplayers, the memorabilia, the daily afterparties, the instant friends I had made, immersed me inTrek24/7. Every moment of the convention wrapped me in a sense of homecoming. I had found my tribe.
The stage lights suddenly went dark, and then a drag queen channeling Deanna Troi, appeared. Amid the pulsating beats and swirling lights, I heard a rich honeyed American accent nearby.
“Are you enjoying the show?”
I turned to find a striking man standing beside me. In the dim light, his blue eyes shone with warmth, and every detail of his Spock costume, from the perfectly tailored sky-blue tunic to the sleek, form-hugging black pants, spoke of confidence and playful homage.
Overcome by his presence, I managed a hesitant, “Yes…yes…I am.”
With a smile, he extended his hand and said, “I’m Joe.”
His handshake was firm, his palm warm.
“I’m Justin,” I replied more steadily.
“Where are you from?” he asked, his tone straightforward and probing.
“Australia.”
“Wow. Cool.”
His gaze wandered over the outfit I had chosen, a tribute to Anthony and Wilson’s characters who had fueled my boldness. In that moment, the knots of fear that had choked me for so long loosened, replaced by conviction and spreading desire. And it felt exhilarating.
“I love your uniform,” he said, his words melting me.
A nod was all I could offer as the last layers of caution fell away. I leaned toward him, and our lips met in a kiss that was warm and intoxicating, with a trace of bourbon lingering in its depths. His touch, from the way he caressed my arm to the pressure on my thigh, was electrifying. His body pressed against mine, solid and unyielding. I responded to his kisses unrestrained, fueled by my longing. He pulled me closer, his tongue pushing against my lips, and I let it in. I ran my hand through his black hair and down his muscular back, drinking him in. Every minute, every motion, affirmed that there was no turning back. I surrendered to the truth.
After Step One by Pat Henshaw
Running away isn’t the hard part; knowing where to stop is.
Or maybe when to stop.
I’d been kicked out at sixteen for being unapologetically, unremorsefully, and unrepentantly gay. As my old man put it, I hadn’t even tried to get better.
So, out the door and yadda, yadda, yadda.
You always feel alone and different until you find out you’re a cliché. Or at least I did.
My journey began in a suburban neighborhood in San Diego. When I was kicked out, I went east to Phoenix then to Tucson, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Durango, St. George, and Carson City, finally landing in a tiny Sierra Nevada foothills town.
Ten years passed. I was older and much, much more tired.
In the tiny foothills town, I hoped to find a job, preferably with an employer who wasn’t going out of business, relocating soon, or dying. I needed rest. I needed a moment to stop, take a deep breath, and figure out what I was doing with my life.
I needed help.
Fortunately, I’d developed marketable skills through my travels. Nobody cooked up faster, juicier burgers or fixed minor engine problems quicker than I did. No retail register threw me for a loop; no employment form was too obtuse. I may not have a high school diploma, but so far no one had asked to see one when they hired me.
Rather than stagnate at any of the jobs, when boredom hit, I looked for another experience or got out of town. There was nothing to keep me anywhere.
So, here I was in a cabin nestled in a small residentialresort, heading into town to find a job. My available cash had been depleted by travel. Time to start the saving cycle again.
