I didn't need to read the general's mind as she stares at me on the bridge. Those hands clasped tightly behind her back, her uniform flattening out all the unflattering curves to appease the male-centric worldview of a male-dominated military, I know she despises me.
I answer to a power greater than her. I stand, hands on my hips, how I want and where I want. I let my breasts dangle freely under loose-fitting robes. They jiggle when I move, and I know that every eye of every petty officer is mine, while she's forced to give an actual order to snap them back to attention.
It makes me laugh just thinking about it. In return, I can hear her seethe.
I know she fantasizes about taking that lightsaber off my belt and igniting it in passionate rage. I know she yearns to tear through my clothes, turn sensual tease into naked exposure and watch me cry as I sense the fantasies of those men turn toward violent domination and rape. I know she wants to take my blade and slash through my chest, sever the symbols of her scorn and watch - growing wet between her thighs - as the medics are forced to tightly bind what's left before I bleed to death on the floor of the Finalizer. No more jiggle. No more flirtatious twists and turns. No more of my so-called Jedi body tricks...
It really is a pity that the general is blind and deaf to the Force.
Otherwise, she'd find that our fantaises are very much one in the same. She'd see that merely imaginging that beam of plasma searing through my flesh is enough to make me hot and flustered under my helmet. She'd know that the sound of her condescending laughter is music to my ears, and that the Force is simply not enough. I desire to be penetrated and painfully, utterly bound by the most powerful woman in the galaxy.
One day, we will both get what we so desperately want.
Until then, I will let her despise me in the hope she figures it out on her own.
FILL: shared fantasies
I answer to a power greater than her. I stand, hands on my hips, how I want and where I want. I let my breasts dangle freely under loose-fitting robes. They jiggle when I move, and I know that every eye of every petty officer is mine, while she's forced to give an actual order to snap them back to attention.
It makes me laugh just thinking about it. In return, I can hear her seethe.
I know she fantasizes about taking that lightsaber off my belt and igniting it in passionate rage. I know she yearns to tear through my clothes, turn sensual tease into naked exposure and watch me cry as I sense the fantasies of those men turn toward violent domination and rape. I know she wants to take my blade and slash through my chest, sever the symbols of her scorn and watch - growing wet between her thighs - as the medics are forced to tightly bind what's left before I bleed to death on the floor of the Finalizer. No more jiggle. No more flirtatious twists and turns. No more of my so-called Jedi body tricks...
It really is a pity that the general is blind and deaf to the Force.
Otherwise, she'd find that our fantaises are very much one in the same. She'd see that merely imaginging that beam of plasma searing through my flesh is enough to make me hot and flustered under my helmet. She'd know that the sound of her condescending laughter is music to my ears, and that the Force is simply not enough. I desire to be penetrated and painfully, utterly bound by the most powerful woman in the galaxy.
One day, we will both get what we so desperately want.
Until then, I will let her despise me in the hope she figures it out on her own.