========
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q
Subject: Drag, Johnny, Drag
From: jeanita@cpcug.org (Jeanita)
Date: 6 Jun 1996 18:20:33 -0400


Okay, one night long time ago I was listening to WAMU when it was still
cool and they played these bawdy songs from the '30's.  I never
bought copies of them, so I can't attribute them, but I never forgot them
either.  They seemed entirely appropriate for Jean-Luc's incarnation as a
torch singer, so the dentist song and the hot dog song are from two
artists whose names I don't know, but thanks, Ladies. 

As far as this story goes, somebody stop me before I parody again!
  

     Jean-Luc was having the time of his life.  He was sitting on
the lap of a big Klingon who was staring at him like he couldn't
believe his eyes (No surprise since he was looking at a bald,
middle-aged starship captain who was dressed as a can-can girl,
his crinolines hiked up to show off plenty of thigh.).  Jean-Luc
had just finished singing a bawdy song about wanting a hot dog
for his roll (He wanted it hot, he didn't want it cold).  Now he
launched into a song about Big John the Dentist.

"I went to Big John the Dentist (he sang)
Because I had a hole to fill.
And I said to Big John the Dentist
'Won't you stick me with your drill?'"

     He lowered his eyelids seductively, singing straight into
the Klingon's face.  It was too much for the poor horny Klingon. 
His hands went around Jean-Luc's waist and began to ease their
way downwards.  
     'I'm such a tease,' Jean-Luc thought gleefully.  He slid off
the Klingon's lap, relishing the man's howl of frustration
and the jeers of his fellow warriors that Krug wasn't much of a man
if he couldn't keep her on his lap any longer than that!  The
tables were crowded so close together that he could stand above the
crowds, stepping through the glasses of ale from one table to the next
while he looked for his next victim.  Well that was an easy choice.  There
was his erstwhile nemesis, his arms crossed, scowling at Jean-Luc in rank
disapproval.  
     Jean-Luc headed straight for him.  Teasing, making Q a part
of his improvised performance, he ruffled the immortal's hair,
then walked around behind him and cradled Q's head against his
nonexistent bosom, singing:
  
     "This man is the one for me,
     He's got the biggest... feet I ever did see.
     And his hands they warm me through and through
     Tell me, what else could a poor girl do?
     
Q stiffened.  "Johnny," he muttered warningly through clenched
teeth.
     But Jean-Luc wasn't finished with him,  He slunk around to Q's
other side and plopped himself down in Q's lap, wiggling his butt
in time to the music and aping an expression of orgasmic ecstasy. 

     His codpiece is size triple E,
     His stamina's amazing,
     He woke me seven times last night,
     He almost drove me crazy.

     To Q's right one of the warriors winked and nudged at him. 
"She likes you."
     "HE," Q growled, "HE!  And no he doesn't like me, he's doing
this to irritate me."
     "Foreigners," the Klingon muttered disgustedly.  He went
back to staring at Jean-Luc who was slowly lifting his leg high
over his head.  In a feat of amazing physical agility (all those
yoga lessons had to be good for something) he looped his leg
around the back of Q's head.  The Klingons went beserk, clapping
and cheering and howling.  Q stared bloody murder, but Jean-Luc
only winked impishly, unhooked his leg and turned around on Q's
lap so they were both facing the same direction.  He picked up
Q's untouched beer, and held it high over both their heads. 
"Open wide, baby," he crooned, and let the beer slowly spill over
their faces. 
     Some Klingons were actually holding themselves by now.  One
of them was biting the table.  
     Q snapped his fingers and time stopped.
     "I think this is quite enough, Jean-Luc," the immortal said.
     Jean-Luc stuck his lower lip out in a pout.  "You never let
me have any fun."
     "I materialized that can-can girl's outfit for you," Q
protested.
     "Well, let me get some use out of it, then.  Didn't you
think I was good?"
     "You were great, Captain," The Q known to him as Amanda
suddenly materialized next to him.  "Your dress is so pretty, and
your shoes are just perfect!"
     The captain perked up, sticking his leg out for her inspection.  "Do
you really think so?"
     Amanda smiled winningly.  "Yes, I do.  I think you're just
the loveliest thing I've ever seen."  She leaned forward,
effectively shutting Q from their conversation.  "Do you mind if
I come see you later tonight?"
     "Well,"  Jean-Luc blushed and looked down bashfully.  "I
guess it would be okay."
     The Q generally didn't air dirty laundry in public, but Q was
truly angry now.  "I saw him first.  You can't just go around
seducing my toys."
     "I just want to meet him at the stage door.  I want to be
his stage door Johnny." She winked at Picard.  "Then I'll give
him back."
     "Well, okay, but promise no touchie-feelie."
     "I promise," Amanda lied.
     Q sighed.  This was truly getting out of hand.  "Only one
more song," he admonished, "then you have to leave the stage."
     "After I finish pouring beer over you, play the Kankana,"
Jean-Luc coaxed.
     "You just use me as your own personal holodeck," Q
complained.  He snapped his fingers again and suddenly beer was
trickling all over his face as Jean-Luc's other hand slowly pulled the
folds of crinoline out of the way, exposing his lacy silk panties.  He
brought the half-empty glass down to his waist then opened his legs and 
deliberately poured the last of the beer over his groin, throwing
his head back and gasping at the sensation of cold liquid on his
warm flesh.  Two Klingons groaned, apparently overcome by the
sight.  Just then the familiar strains of the cancan started and
Jean-Luc leapt up onto Q's table.  Good thing it was bolted to
the floor.  Johnny kicked his feet and snapped his fingers in
time to the music.  He moved from table-top to table-top so that
by the time the song was over he stood, flushed and triumphant,
back on the tiny stage while the Klingons' roar of approval shook
the rafters.


Two Weeks Later:

Deanna Troi and Will Riker knocked hesitantly on the door with
the big gold star on it.  
     "Come in, Wilkommen, bien venu," a languid baritone
answered.  
     They walked in to find their captain in a dressing gown,
cotton between his toes and a bottle of nail polish on the floor
by his feet.  He didn't bother to look up.
     "Just put the flowers on the table," he said, busily
painting away.  "And no, I can't go out with you.  I have a
boyfriend and he's very jealous."
     "I didn't bring any flowers, Captain,"  Deanna's
distinctive Betazed accent made him look up in surprise.
     "Uh, neither did I, sir," Riker said contritely.  He was
looking at Picard's bare legs and wishing he'd brought at least a
rose or something.  
     "Well, how are you both?" Picard smiled and put his nail-
polish down.  "Did you come to see the show?"
     "Actually, Captain,"  Deanna cleared her throat
uncomfortably.  "We came to find out what was going on."
     "I should think that was perfectly clear from my letter of
resignation." Picard said.  "I'm leaving Starfleet effective the
day my vacation ends in order to become a cabaret singer. 
That's tomorrow."
     "It's rather sudden, Sir."
     Picard shrugged and picked up his bottle of nail-polish
again.  "Well, these things happen."
     Riker took in the dresses that festooned every inch of space. 
He looked at the lacy panties and bras, the garter belt that had
been casually tossed on a dresser, the high heeled shoes.  "I
understand that you do a drag act?"
     "Yes, Will."  Picard looked up and smiled again.  "Wait
until you see it.  They love me here.  They've never seen
anything like it."
     "That's a safe bet."  Riker muttered.
     "So this fulfills a part of you that you never thought you
could express.  Is that it, Captain?"
     "Something like that," Picard answered briefly.  He hated it
when Troi analyzed him.  He would be glad when tomorrow came and
he was no longer a part of Starfleet.  He would tell her to go to
hell.
     "Ah, Deanna,"  Riker still hadn't stopped staring at
Picard's legs.  "Why don't you let Captain Picard and I have a
fer moments to ourselves."
     Deanna gave him one warning glance and stepped outside.
     Riker ignored her.  He sat down at Picard's feet.  "You poor
thing, your hands are shaking.  This visit has upset you, hasn't it?
Here."  He reached for the bottle of nailpolish.  "Better let me
do that."
     Picard handed him the bottle with a look of skepticism, but
Riker's hands were gentle and deft.  "Such delicate feet," Riker
said admiringly.  "They must get sore after a hard night dancing
in those heels."
     "Well, actually, they do." Picard admitted.
     "Mm.  How does that feel?"  Riker started to rub softly. 
"Better?"
     "Yes, much better, Will, but I don't think..."
     "Shhh.  Let me do this, for you, Captain.  It can be your
going away present."
     "Well," Picard responded hesitantly.  He glanced nervously
towards the door.  His boyfriend really was *very* jealous.
     "Just a little bit," Riker coaxed.  He started rubbing
Picard's leg.  "Does that feel good," he asked.
     "Yes, but..."
     "Then why don't you let me do some more.  You know, if you
lie down on the bed I could do both legs more easily.  This doesn't
have to be about sex or anything."
     "Really?"  Picard looked at him with wide, doubting eyes. 
"You promise?"
     "Cross my heart," Riker answered.
     An hour later, Picard tried to nudge Will awake.  He hadn't
meant for them to fall asleep.  His boyfriend was due in less
than half an hour and he had to get Will dressed and out of
there.  Oh why had he done it!  Why had he been so fickle?  Why
was he such an easy girl to get to know?  His boyfriend would be
so angry if he found out.  
     "Quickly, Will,"  He shoved Riker off the bed.  "Get
dressed."
     "Wha..?  Oh, Captain. "  He looked sincerely into Picard's
eyes.  "You are like a miracle come true, Captain."
     "Yes, yes, Will.  Just get dressed."
     "I mean it.  I've never been with anyone as special as you
before."
     "Put your clothes on!  Save the sweet talk for later." 
Picard was running around the room frantically gathering up all
Riker's clothing.  
     Just then there was a knock at the door.  Picard looked up,
his eyes full of dread.  "Krug," he said in a small voice.  "Is
that you?"
     The door burst open.  Will stepped protectively in front of
the mostly naked Picard, but fortunately instead of a jealous
Klingon, it was only Q standing there.
     Q stared at Picard disapprovingly.  "You little tramp! 
That's the third one this week.  Poor Krug doesn't know you've
made a mockery of his devotion.  I should tell him what you're
really like, you slut!"


Well, gentle readers, will Q tell Krug?  Will Krug's heart be broken?
Will Deanna and Will coax him back to Starfleet or has Picard really found
his true calling?  Is Jean-Luc really a tramp, or is Q just jealous?

(To be continued)
(by whoever)
--